Work Text:
Months: For the Kids
Paul finally pushes the call through, after a while, when the annoying indication light on the screen next to him just won’t stop harassing his concentration.
He won’t bother turning on the visual feed however.
“You there?”, Justin’s voice comes through the speaker, “We’ve gotten another short-notice seminar invitation for a presentation. At Risa this time”.
“Hmh?”, Paul responds absentmindedly from his work, in the middle of writing a line of script.
“An invitation. For an appearance”, Justin repeats deliberately, making himself understood, “Next weekend. On Risa”.
He gets no acknowledgement.
“Is this a bad time?” Justin huffs, “why the heck do you pick up, if you have no intention of listening?”
Still no response.
“Anyway. I know how you feel about these, and you did graciously suffer the last one”, Straal goes on with heavy tones of wryness in his voice. “I can go”, he then offers.
Paul just hums faintly. Justin will take that as a “yes”.
“We should probably go through the presentation material together at some point before that”, the man insists continuing with the conversation, much to Paul’s dismay, “it’s been a while since I’ve last presented it, and I’m sure you’ve made all sorts of revisions to it since”.
What the fuck is Justin going on about - how is he still on the line?
Paul is in the middle of his irked thought, when he suddenly remembers and snaps out of his ‘work coma’, “No. No, wait”.
“What do you mean "no”?“ Justin’s voice sounds fed up, "Paul, I need to be up to date with the stuff we’re putting out there”.
“No, where did you say it was? The conference.” Like that would really matter, “I could maybe do that”, Paul feigns a ‘sacrifice’.
“Really?” Justin sounds pleasantly surprised, yet dubious, “voluntarily leave your precious lab and the kids to me again?”
Paul had made it clear many times, that he didn’t think Justin cared enough of his dear crops, to be fully trusted with them.
“So as long as you remember to take care of them properly”. This time.
“I’ll feed them and monitor their climate, yes. But I put my line at reading them bedtime stories”, Justin jests. But isn’t too far off the truth.
“What a heartless dad you make”, Paul scoffs back, his voice only faintly suggestive of humor. “But yeah. Let me check on that and get back to you later”.
“You can’t tell now?”
“No, I’ll have to check”, Paul really doesn’t care to specify. It is none of Justin’s business anyway.
“Check what? How highly suspicious”, the man just insists.
Sheesh. Exactly why Paul doesn’t care to specify.
“Yes, Justin. Your suspicions are justified: I am cheating on you”, Paul can’t let the opportunity for a perfect joke to pass, even if it hits uncomfortably close to home for him. Justin doesn’t know that.
“Well, good. I don’t need to feel so bad about Amelia anymore”, the man quips, seemingly okay to finally drop the subject there.
“That was never an issue”, Paul laughs, “so as long as we’ll still stay together for the kids”. This analogy just keeps on writing itself.
Paul shuts the line to Justin’s jovial scoff, and goes on with the work. Or attempts to, as he soon finds himself distracted by his thoughts.
He turns his eyes away from his monitor on and gazes outside to the grey, misty weather. It’s a perfect, calm late morning - like most of his mornings tend to be: late. The night owl that he is.
The nature outside on this remote edge of the Deneva Station property, which Paul’s apartment window looks over, seems somehow even quieter and more tranquil than usually. Especially soothing now in the soft glow of the mist spreading out evenly across the yard.
The landscape outside the facility - “The Den”, as they have taken to calling their part of the vast complex - seems to have faded into the thick white fog, with the mountains - usually visible in the distance - completely vanished out of sight.
The white mist hanging across the yard is reflecting the dim daylight evenly to everywhere in the apartment too. All corners of the wide open space seem to bathe in the soft, pure glow of it, shadows seemingly nonexistent.
It truly is like there is no world outside their den today, and this is the only safe place left in the middle of the vast nothing outside.
It’s the perfect 'mushroom weather’ too, Paul muses in his head: a day like this would be great for taking the kiddos out of their “Nursery” into the fresh, open air. A thought, which reminds him to check, if the humidity level he had requested to get adjusted in Stella’s garden house earlier has taken effect yet: the stellar species just keeps growing so rapidly - requiring constant monitoring and all new spaces to be arranged for it’s housing. They’ll need to figure out something, or they’ll soon run out of space.
As he goes on to flip through the tabs he has open on his PADD - including the contacts list - he feels the thought, which interrupted his work concentration in the first place re-emerge: his eagerness to call Hugh.
He’d be keen to tap that contact button right now, but knows the doctor is still on his night duty at the moment and likely unable to answer.
They have started to form a habit to keep contact almost daily by now, and it is usual for Hugh to call Paul in between shifts, or when ever the doctor gets off-duty. It’s easier that way: the officer’s Starfleet regulated schedules are far more strict, than what ever hours the 'self-employed’ scientist can afford to work with.
Paul glances at the time. Suddenly the late morning doesn’t feel quite late enough - he could jump forward couple hours. But for now, he will just have to succumb to the natural pace of time and patiently wait out these hours till the evening.
But fuck, if the anticipation isn’t screwing with his concentration.