Making the Call

 Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, and the 
      only profit I'm making from them is spiritual. Honest. *g* This story is a 
      response to Em's challenge on OTL to write a story of 350 words or less.


      by Dyce
      
      Hank glared at the screen of the video phone, and tapped his fingers 
      impatiently. He hated holding patterns at the best of times, but the 
      grey-on-white used by this particular hospital drove him particularly mad. 
      Pickup picku pickup ".....finally. Hello?" 
      The nurse on the video-phone smiled at him. "Hello, Doctor McCoy. Can I 
      help you?" 
      Hank nodded. "Is Cecilia there?" 
      The nurse noded. "I'll get her." Back to the holding pattern.. Hank 
      scowled, folding his arms grumpily. 
      After another minute or two, Cecelia appeared on the screen. "Hank? Is 
      something wrong over there?" 
      "Yes." Hank rested his chin on his hand and smiled at her. "I missed you." 

      Cecilia paused. "You called ... just to say you MISSED me?" 
      Hank shook his head solemnly. "Well, no, of course not." He smiled. "I 
      wanted to tell you that I love you, too." 
      Cecilia smiled back at him, reaching out to touch the screen. "Hank... 
      you're an incurable romantic." 
      Hank looked hopefully at her. "Could you, perchance, get off duty at 
      something approximating a reasonable time this fine evening? I feel a 
      sudden surge of romantic sentiment, and believe that a shared comestible 
      experience outside the domicile would be a fine beginning. 
      Cecilia chuckles, her eyes twinkling. "In that case, I promise to at least 
      try." 
      Hank chuckled, and blew her a kiss. "Get that stunning blue concoction out 
      of the back of your locker. I'll come and pick you up at six, and I won't 
      take no for an answer." He grinned. "If necessary, I will repeat the 
      events immediately preceeding our nuptials and carry you out the window." 
      His wife chuckled, blowing him a kiss in return. "You really are a 
      hopeless romantic. I'll see you at six then, love. Bye!" She cut the 
      transmission. 
      Hank smiled, running a hand through his grey hair. She was right, of 
      course. He was an incurable romantic. 
      But after all, a wedding anniversary was something special. And unlike 
      many things, with an anniversary the twentieth time one celebrated was as 
      important as the first. 
      End