Sitting at the office, I am waiting for a call, but as always when you want
a phone to ring they never do, so I decided to write this little piece so
time will pass faster.

Disclaimer: I have 1 euro cent in my account, can I buy Will with that? In
the meantime I am waiting for that answer All Star Trek figures belong to
the late Gene Roddenberry, may he rest in peace.

A little inside of how Deanna might react when she is waiting for something:

Title: Am I…?
Written by Jester

You’re scared, waiting for the call that is not coming fast enough for you.
Every time you hear a ring from the telephone it is another person.

The hours passes so slow then when you are waiting for someone to call you.

It is like you are being thrown in the water and you can’t swim. On the side
of the pool are people watching you but they won’t help you. They are just
staring at you like I am not there, non-excisting.

I once was someone who had to call back people to give them some news but
sometimes I didn’t feel like calling them right now because the news was
good and no bad news, but being on the other side for once you don’t care if
it is bad or good news, you just want to hear the phone calling for you.

Finally after two hours of waiting, the person calls you. After explaining
where the complaints, how and since when, the waiting game begins all over
again but this time you have the person on the line which can give you
answers on the questions you have. The person made time to talk to you and
give you all the explanations you want.

A deep relieve washes over you when you put the phone down. The person isn’t
worried, so am I not anymore. My heart doesn’t go fast anymore, it is going
desame course as usual. You continue the job where you earlier couldn’t keep
you head at.

The person also reassured me that if I don’t trust it or anything I can come
over so they will give me a whole check-up, just to assure me, really sweet
of them.

When the shift ends I half smiling put the computer out and walk to the
turbolift where he is waiting for me as he does everyday. As he is in his
own thoughts he doesn’t see me smiling, which is good because I like to tell
him in private, in our own quarters.

After a wonderful dinner I throw my shoes of my feet, having a good book to
read I walk to the couch where I take a seat right in the middle. After he
cleaned the table off he brings himself to the couch and wants to start our
ritual. Everyday he reads out of a very old book, I love to hear his voice,
so comforting. Never will get tired of his voice and he knows it.

His arm goes around me and pulls me nearer but as he wants to speak:

[Imzadi….I need to tell you something…]

The End.