DISCLAIMER: Dr Paramount drills and fills and tells us to floss. We keep going back for those checkups even though it can be excruciating at times. But look what I found -- a barely used tube labeled "P/C" that was stuck in the back of the drawer. Looks like Dr Paramount forgot about this. Just a little squeeze... ah! Minty fresh! *********************************** IDIOSYNCRASIES by TrexPhile February 2001 "You did it again, didn't you?" Beverly's gaze shifted to Jean-Luc's reflection in the bathroom mirror. He seemed to be staring at something on the counter. She made one more pass with the toothbrush then leaned over the sink to spit and rinse. Towel dabbing her mouth, she turned toward him. He was still staring at something, those two vertical creases deep between his eyebrows. "Did what?" "That." He motioned stiffly. She looked. "What? Spit in the sink??" "No," he answered emphatically. "The toothpaste." She raised her eyes slowly. "The toothpaste....?" He snorted in disgust. "You squeezed it." She tossed the towel at the rack. It clung valiantly for a moment then dropped to sprawl half on the counter, half in the sink. Beverly ignored its plight. "Of course I squeezed it. How else am I going to get the toothpaste out?" "You squeezed it in the middle." She looked back at the violated white tube, then shrugged and picked it up to toss into the open drawer. "Yes, I suppose I did. Your point?" She breezed past her husband leaving him scowling at the still-open drawer. She loosened the bath towel from her body and tossed it toward the refresher, then began burrowing through her lingerie drawer. His voice echoed forth from the bathroom. "I see you've once again neglected to wipe the water from around the sink." She paused and sighed. "Sorry." She dropped a handful of underwear on top of the dresser and continued her search for the elusive pair. He emerged from the bathroom, towel in hand and stooped in front of the refresher. "Is this yours?" Her bath towel dangled from his fingertips. She shoved the underwear back in the drawer. "Yes." "Were you planning on actually placing it in the refresher any time soon?" She cocked her head. "Yes, *actually.* I was about to pencil it into my schedule for next Friday." She stepped into a pair of underwear, then knelt to poke around under the bed. Finding her favorite nightgown with a happy sigh, she sat on the bed and pulled it on. "But since my schedule is just so busy and since you seem prepared to do so, I'll let *you* do the honors instead." Jean-Luc's mouth opened and his brow furrowed deep enough to plant corn. "Beverly..." She approached him and took both towels from him. "Never mind. I'll do it." She gripped the hand towel with two fingertips. "I just hope you didn't wipe your used dental floss on this one." He stepped back as she tossed the towels inside the refresher. "I only did that one time as you very well know." "Yeah, that's what you say. I only happened to *catch* you doing it one time. No telling how many times you'd done it before. Or since." She disappeared into the living room. He followed. She whirled suddenly and he almost bumped noses with her. Her eyes narrowed. "Jean-Luc -- now that I think about it, you haven't been *spitting* in the hand towels, have you?" "What??" "You know -- all that throat-clearing and hawking I hear coming from the bathroom at night. Please tell me you're not *spitting* in the towels." "Of course not. That's disgusting. I would never do such a thing." She raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but you *will* wipe your used dental floss--" "Beverly!" She didn't continue. She strode over to the couch and sat down, reaching for her book. After a flustered moment, he followed -- and tripped over one of her shoes. "Dammit, Beverly!" She looked up, startled. He stood, pointing at the wayward shoe as if preparing to phaser it out of existence. "I tripped over that!" "Oh. Sorry." She opened her book. "Dammit," he repeated. "I've asked you to please not leave your shoes on the floor." "No -- you asked me to please not leave my shoes on the bedroom floor. This is the living room." "Beverly, you know what I mean. I could have seriously injured myself." "Don't worry, Jean-Luc. I'm a doctor, remember? I could probably fix a little bump on the head." She finished under her breath. "If I feel like it." She continued reading. Jean-Luc stood in the middle of the floor, staring at her incredulously. "Are you just going to sit there?" She looked up at him. "Why? I didn't see you fall down and bump your head." She studied him, eyes narrowed. "Or are you having a stroke, Jean- Luc? As a matter of fact, you look like you could be having some sort of cerebral event. Should I be concerned?" He took a deep breath and folded his arms. She rolled her eyes. "Fine." She got up, snatched up the shoe and tossed it through the open bedroom door where it thunked somewhere in the vicinity of her bedside table. "Better?" He exhaled loudly through his nose and, ignoring her, walked over to sit in his chair. After positioning himself regally, he pointed a finger toward the floor and looked up at her. She moved slowly back to the couch. "What?" "I assume," he said, his mouth and finger rigid, "that those are yours as well." She craned her neck and peered over the coffee table. "Your assumption is correct. I'm sorry -- did my evil hulking socks trip you?" "Beverly--" "FINE." She swooped over and snatched up the offending socks. "I'll get these out of your way, Mr Bojangles." She stopped mid-turn. "Jean-Luc," she said, her smile radiant. "Wouldn't you like to sniff these first?" She held them in front of his face. "Would I-- what?" She studied the socks for a second. "Oh never mind. You wouldn't want to sniff these. They've been worn, after all. They're not all fresh and clean and fluffy." He took a slow angry breath. She cackled. "Yes, just like that, Jean-Luc! You get your clean socks out and you sit right there on the edge of the bed, bare little toes at the ready and then you reverently pick up both socks and press them to your nose and breeeeeeeeeeeeeathe in and your eyes go all unfocused and then shut and this vacuous, rapturous smile just about breaks your face in half. Tell me." She leaned in closer. "Do you actually get off on it?" His gaze never left hers. She leaned in a little closer, socks still dangling. His mouth twitched. "I grant you that," he finally said. "Yes, I like to smell my socks before I put them on." She stood upright, beaming in triumph. With a flourish, she whirled to saunter off to the bedroom, socks in hand. "You do realize that you snore, don't you?" She stopped abruptly and turned back to face him. He was standing in front of the chair, hands on his trim hips, cocky amusement lurking on his face. "What?" He approached slowly and deliberately. "You snore. Not all the time. Only when you're sleeping very deeply. And when you're on your back." He stopped when he was within arm's reach. "But I must say -- it does carry. It's quite... resonant." She raised her chin defiantly. "You're lying. I do not snore." He shrugged. "Whatever you say. Of course, I can always ask Will for his assessment." "Will?..." "He called from the bridge one night last week. You were oblivious at the time, sawing your way through Dreamland Forest. He even asked me what that noise was. He seemed quite concerned for my safety, at least until I explained that it was just my lovely bride." She blanched. "You told him it was me??" "Of course I did. What did you expect me to tell him -- that I'd recently acquired a Klingon targ as a pet?" She whirled away. "Fine. I don't care." Jean-Luc followed her into the bedroom where she was tossing pillows onto the floor and flinging the covers aside. He stood silently, watching. She stopped suddenly and jabbed her forefinger toward him. "You SNIFF. In the bed. Every night. It's VERY annoying." "I sniff." "Yes." She demonstrated very noisily. "Like that. Are you afraid that your brains are going to slip out through your sinuses while you sleep? Must you *always* go through the sniffing routine every night?" He folded his arms across his chest. "My dear, you are not the only one having to endure strange behavior at night. Not only must I put up with the snoring but there's also the incessant humming. That goes on all during the day, of course, but you would think that you'd at least stop at night. And then there's the feet-rubbing." She moved closer to him. "Feet-rubbing." "Yes. Rubbing your feet against the covers. Back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes you even hum in rhythm with your feet." She stood nose to nose with him. "Why don't you try sniffing in rhythm with me? Perhaps we can become a musical act." They stared at each other for a long moment, the tension thick. Finally he turned away and headed for the bathroom. "Going to spit in some towels now?" she called after him. He didn't answer, just shut the door behind him. She continued preparing the bed, all the while humming a sharp-edged tune. She climbed in on her side and sat rigidly, pillows at her back, glaring at the bathroom door. As the minutes ticked by, she began to slump, then sighed and stared down at her clasped hands. After a bit, the door opened and he stood framed in the doorway. She looked up and allowed a tiny smile to grace her lips. "Jean-Luc--" "Do you need to use the restroom?" he interrupted. She looked bewildered and stammered her response. "Uh... no, no I don't." "Are you sure?" Her gaze hardened. "I'm not two years old, Jean-Luc. I know whether I have to pee or not." He raised his hands in mock surrender as he crossed to his side of the bed. "Just checking." He climbed into bed and began arranging the covers around him. "Just in case we started to make love." She sat and stared at him as he settled himself on his right side. "Make love?" "Yes. You know how you are -- we'll just get started and then you suddenly 'have to pee.'" She took a deep breath. "And just what makes you think that we'll be making love tonight? Or *any* night soon for that matter?" She flopped down on her side facing away from him. "Computer, lights out!" she hollered. The room disappeared into black silence. Total silence. There was no sniffing. No snoring. No humming. Not even any foot- rubbing. Only the quick almost-silent breaths of two humans who were very much awake. A voice broke through. "I really don't mind your humming. It's actually rather nice." Silence. "And the foot-rubbing is rather endearing." More silence. "And I was lying about the snoring. Your night breathing is virtually non- existent. Sometimes I even have to snuggle close to make sure you're still alive." More silence. And then a quiet response. "You only sniff a couple of times at night. I usually don't even notice." The covers swooshed softly as they turned to face each other. "I'm sorry about nagging you earlier. The shoes and socks and toothpaste aren't really that important. I was just being--" "You, Jean-Luc. You were just being you." "Well, I shouldn't--" She pressed a fingertip to his lips. "I knew all about your little idiosyncrasies and I married you anyway." He smiled beneath her fingertip. "Yes, you did. And I knew of yours." The covers rustled as she pressed herself against him. "And we still manage to get along famously. Especially here." She moved against him and he groaned. "Yes.... even if you sometimes have to interrupt the proceedings to pee." His breathing quickened. She giggled against his neck. "And even when you feel like you simply *must* announce that you're 'about to come.'" She licked the edge of his ear. He pulled back. "I don't do that... do I?" "Almost every time." She pressed her palm into the flesh of his backside and squeezed. "You started doing it after I happened to mention how very quiet you are during orgasm. I think you were just trying to be more 'vocal.' In your own way." He kissed along her chin. "Would you rather I stopped saying it?" His lips trailed down her neck. "I could groan or gasp instead." He smiled against the skin of her breast. "Like you're doing now." "God, I don't care if you recite the Prime Directive, Jean-Luc! Just don't stop what you're doing right now...." He chuckled softly and continued. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ A little while later, the darkness was filled with sighs and moans and panting. And then his voice. "I'm about--" The rest of his exclamation was muffled by her palm pressing against his mouth. He didn't seem to mind. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Even later, he awoke and, listening, smiled into the darkness. She was on her back again. He fumbled for the earplugs that he kept hidden in his bedside table and after inserting them, snuggled close to her and fell immediately asleep.