Hovering by devra

"You're hovering."

"You have a headache, I can tell by how close you're to the laptop."

"I have a headache, *because* you're hovering."

"That makes absolutely no sense, Daniel."

"I'm trying to work. I can *feel* you hovering—"

"I wasn't hovering, I was just sitting on the couch watching TV."



"Sitting. Hovering. Does it really make a difference? Your mere presence constitutes hovering."

"You shouldn't be working."

"Now, you're being a mother hen."

"No, now I'm watching out for my own ass, cause if Fraiser knows that I let you even open up that laptop, she'll be selling tickets for my next physical."

"I'm fine."

"Your nose is pressed up to the screen, you eyes are scrunched up like this and your brow has furrows deep enough to plant crops in them."


"Well the furrows are deep. Painfully deep. Headache deep. Concussion deep."

"I'm fine. Please, I'm begging you, go back and sit on the couch."

"But that means I'd still be hovering."

"No, you would be sitting. What you're doing now constitutes hovering."

"You said before that even when I sat—are you feeling alright? You look a little green around the edges."

"I'm fine."

"You said that already and you certainly don't look fine. Why don't you come to bed?

"No, I don't want to go to bed or to sleep nor do I want something to eat."

"Then where the hell are you going?"

"To get some aspirin."

"See, I knew you had a headache."

"I didn't until you started hovering."

"How about I go sit outside for say, thirty minutes, you finish your report, I'll finish that crossword puzzle—"

"Without my help?"

"Nice attitude. Yes, without your help, remember, you keep reminding me that the dumb Colonel is just an act."

"I apologize. Go finish your crossword, I'll finish my report—"

"And then we'll go to bed?"

"What's with this *we* stuff?

"Figured you could use a nice massage, a little rub—ow! What did you do that for?"

"I'll never finish what I'm doing if you send me these little visuals."


"Quit rubbing your hand, I didn't hit you that hard. Here, take the crossword, the pencil and go sit your ass outside like you promised."

"Slave driver."

"Survivalist, there's a difference."

* * *

"It's only been fifteen minutes, are you finished already?"


"Headache that bad? See I *told* you—"

"No, it's not the headache."

"Stomach still bothering you?"

"My stomach was *never* bothering me."


"How old are you? Where'd you learn that from, Cassie?"

"Don't try to throw me off course. If your headache's not that bad and you're not nauseous, but you didn't finish your work, not that I mind, but what the hell are you doing out here?"

" -- "

"Ehhh? Speak up, I can't hear you."

"I said I want to go to bed."

"Then go, who's stopping you. I have a few more minute to finish up my crossword puzzle."

"Okay. I'll just sit here—"


"Yes, Jack."

"You're hovering."

"Distracting isn't it."

"Well no—yes, it is actually. Did you come out here to prove that point?"


"Then why are you out here?"


"Aww jeesus, Daniel. Is this payback?"

"Want to take our hovering to a different venue?"

"What are you—oh, that feels really nice. Keep on—not in the backyard, Daniel!"

"You don't want me to touch your—"

"I never said that, I said *not* in the backyard. Big difference."

"Big, yeah."

"Stop smiling at me like that, put that tongue… oh yeah. Wait! Not in the backyard."


"Good start."


"How about the bed?"

"Bed's fine."

"Can you possibly keep your hands to yourself until I open the door—Damn it! Are you sure you only have one pair of hands, I could swear that you were touching me—"

"Open the door, Jack."


"Glad you're following orders."

"Daniel, can I at least *close* the door—oh god, yeah right there feels absolutely—"

"Don't just stand there, Jack. You could at least—hey, I liked that shirt."

* * *

"The kitchen's a mess."

"Well I wasn't the one who couldn't wait until we got into the bedroom."

"Funny Jack, I didn't hear you complaining at the time."

"My ass is still cold."

"Want me to warm it?"

"Maybe later, not now. Careful, don't slip on the oil, wouldn't want to explain that to Fraiser.

"Do you think Janet would find it believable, or understandable if I told her the best way to cure a concussion headache would be with sex?"

"Can I volunteer for the control group?"

"Of course."

"How could we broach the subject with her?"

"We could mention hovering."

"That's a start."

"Aren't you going to finish working?"

"No, I seem to have lost my train of thought."

"Funny I thought you were pretty much on track. I mean you pulled into the station, blew my—"

"Don't even go there."

"You don't want to work. I noticed that it's started raining outside, and since in the heat of the moment I *forgot* my crossword—"

"Oh yeah. Sorry about that. Didn't feel like rain."

"So we're right back to 'what do you feel like doing'?"


"Didn't we just?"

"Yeah, but that was here, and I think the deal we had mentioned the word bed."

"It did. Great memory."

"And massage."

"Rubbing, don't forget rubbing."


"How could we forget hovering?"

"Nope. Thank god for hovering."

The End!

Author's Comments:

A personal challenge to see if I could write a fic that was all talk and no action. This was the outcome. Maybe I should learn to go to bed before midnight instead.




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