IT 3
 

IT3
BY: THE BEVSTER
CODES: STNG, P/Cish but indirectly, 1/1
RATING: PG
ARCHIVE:  Sure, if you like, but keep my name attached.
FEEDBACK:  [email protected]

Author's Note:  Okay, I can't seem to stop now.  More goofiness from my
Warped Brain.  For my Bubbie :*

Summary:  More POVs from the others in P & C's lives.

THE CHAIR

You know, I don't mind taking the weight of two bodies.  I don't mind
reclining to the farthest point possible. I don't mind the squeaks that
have only recently developed because of the extra use.

What I mind is the bouncing relentlessly up and down.  Good Lord, do these
two NEVER take a break?  One would think the red head would have more to do
with her day than show up in his ready room every hour and a half.  He's
not as young as he used to be!  I don't know HOW he keeps up with her, but
he seems to manage somehow.

My springs were not really designed for multiple bodies at once, especially
with the added motion involved with these two.  I'm worn out.  And slamming
me into the wall didn't help much either although I don't think either of
them noticed.  I don't think the desk is very appreciative either.  I've
noticed a few new dings.  And that episode a few days ago where it was
swept clean and the red head was thrown down on it, well…..it was not a
pretty sight.  It's rather difficult not to notice these new injuries since
I'm left alone with the desk most of the time now.  Well, the desk, the
book and the fish.

That fish is rather odd, but then why should that surprise me?  I've seen
it eyeing the book as if it were a krill or something.  I can't begin to
imagine why.  Bizarre life form.

We used to have his company quite a bit before the red head garnered his
full attention.  Once his shift is up, he practically sprints out the door.
Or, if that isn't possible for whatever reason, she's here instead.  At
least this time I wasn't the furniture of choice, thank the Gods!  I don't
think the poor tapestry could take much more, quite frankly.  The poor
thing has practically been incorporated into my fabric from all the pushing
and mauling being done on top of it!

I know the sofa is in some pain right now.  I can hear it moaning.  I can't
really blame it.  It took a beating this afternoon and all I can think is:
better it than me!  I'm tired, I'm cranky, I need some oil on my
undercarriage.  I need a rest.  Isn't that what BEDS are for????

<groan>

******************************************

THE BIOBED

Right!  That's it!  I have HAD IT!  I am a piece of highly technical
medical equipment!  I am not some random padded mat to be used for romping!

<sigh>  You know, I do my job, I give her the information she requires, and
I know she appreciates it.  I stand here ready to assist in any way.  But
since she took up with the old bald guy, well, it's become embarrassing!

Does he not have enough to occupy him on the bridge?  Why is he down here
every two hours lunging at her?  She's a doctor not a sex toy!

And then, I'm simply supposed to lie beneath them (in whatever weird
position strikes his fancy TODAY!) and not relay the overload of
information I'm receiving from TWO bodies (neither lying remotely still!).
How?  How am I supposed to respond!?  He gets angry if I beep.  He makes
snide comments if I chirp.  I'm not supposed to light up when the two of
them are wrestling on top of me.  THIS IS MY JOB!!!!  Am I supposed to
simply shut down because it's "Playtime for Old Bald Guy?"

Is it MY fault he cannot perceive length and width while ripping her
clothes off?  No!  It is not my responsibility to make sure they don't
plummet to the floor!  If he can't figure out by now how wide I am, then he
can just take his sex games somewhere else.

I am so put upon.  What I wouldn't give for a holodoctor right now! But
I've heard tales about those holodocs too.  But then, I do like her, she's
gentle and knows me well.  She repaired me herself when I was ill.  All HE
ever does is call that nice man in engineering with the funny eyes. Perhaps
it will end soon and she will tire of his attentions and I can get back to
my real job.

<chirp>