Dinner Plans
I own nothing. Luckily, Janeway still talks to me.
=/\=
It's been a rough day.
I can make that admission now that it's nearly 2100 hours and I haven't sat down since leaving my ready room sometime before lunch. Crewman Jor catches my eye over a storage container and gives me a shy half-smile. Reflexively I return it; she is a very genuine and attentive person. She probably knows I'm having a worse day than I'm letting on, and I'm not letting on much.
Well, maybe just a bit.
A week ago, we had done some casual trading at a Loreen space station. Everything that had come aboard was catalogued and inspected by security before being properly stored away. Everything, apparently, except two flasks of Graadian whiskey.
I remember the stuff distinctly. The head of the station had warned us that it was an illegal beverage, and that possession of it was punishable not only by Loreen law, but by half a dozen other governments over the next two sectors.
Still, the Loreen station was running a lucrative black market and several of my crew were approached with offers of trading for the drink. Honestly, I had worried a bit about Tom Paris purchasing some; he'd been in a rough patch with B'Elanna, and he might have tried to use it as a peace offering. Tom had done me proud again though, and had come away from the Loreen station with only some exotic plants for B'Elanna, similar to the one that Chakotay talked me into getting for the ready room.
Not everyone had escaped so cleanly, though. Two days ago, Crewman Herriman had showed up late for his duty shift, and appeared to be intoxicated. Yesterday, he vanished altogether and Tuvok found him a Jeffries tube in the bowels of Voyager, completely drunk and holding a small flask of Graadian whiskey. As he recovered in sickbay, Tuvok got him to admit to having a second flask hidden away, but Herriman wouldn't give the whereabouts.
Usually, I don't get involved in matters like this, except to reprimand the crewmember in question. But Tuvok had politely reminded me that the fewer people who knew about this, the better. We would be in the vicinity of species that would refuse to trade with us, or worse, if word got out we had had an incident.
Knowing the rumor mill on my ship as I do (and probably more than the crew thinks I do), I decided Tuvok was right and took the search into my own hands. The hidden flask of toxic whiskey is getting beamed into space the moment Tuvok or I find it.
An involuntary groan escapes me as I open yet another container. The arches of my feet protest, and the small of my back pinches. I've been on my feet for far too long, and I'm dying to take my boots off. Mentally, I add this growing discomfort to my dull headache, tight shoulders, and occasional growling stomach. It has been a very long day, and looking through cargo containers throughout the ship isn't exactly stimulating. I've also had far too much time to think.
The container holds nothing except spare engineering components, and I snap the lid shut and slide sideways to open the next one.
My stomach growls again. Three hours earlier, I had commed Chakotay from the hydroponics bay and told him I had to cancel dinner tonight. He'd been disappointed, but had masked it well. I hoped my own frustration and disappointment hadn't been overly apparent, but knowing him, it probably was.
"Burning the midnight oil, captain?"
"I guess you could say that."
There had been a pause. "What are you doing, if I may ask? You haven't been on the bridge or your ready room since early this morning. It sounds like you're on a treasure hunt."
The man was nothing if not perceptive.
"When I find the lost cities of gold, you'll be the first to know, Chakotay. Rain check?"
"Absolutely. Happy hunting, and let me know if you need any help."
"Thanks."
As if he needed anything else on his to do list these days.
There is nothing amiss in this container either, and I take a deep breath and move towards the accessory replacement bins, dreading the layers of components stored in each of them. I'll have to go through them all thoroughly, because knowing Crewman Herriman, he will have hidden his booty carefully.
I've been looking forward to dinner this evening for several days, because Chakotay and I haven't been able to have dinner together for nearly a week. Some small part of me is flattered that I can see him straining under the constant call of duty just as much as I am. We both desperately need an evening off together, not talking about Voyager.
The first accessory bin has six layers of drawers, and after pulling each of them out in turn, I silently curse the idiot who thought this was an efficient storage method. I'm going to have Seven come up with something better, I tell myself. This isn't a treasure hunt so much as an inventory of ship supplies; something I should make Herriman do as punishment once he wakes up with hopefully a hell of a headache.
My thoughts stray back to dinner and Chakotay. Our dinners are typically the only time I eat a real meal. Generally it's a hurried cup of soup or half a sandwich in my ready room or the mess hall, and it only takes five minutes, tops. But I have to admit that I thoroughly enjoy taking a few hours to eat dinner, chat, and unwind with him. There is something vital to me about the relaxed atmosphere, the companionship, and I need it. And Chakotay can cook, too, blast it. It's always delicious. I have a sudden flashback to the most amazing vegetarian enchiladas that he made one night on New Earth…
I clench my eyes shut and lower my head to the cool container. I must be hungry if I'm daydreaming about that.
My stomach growls, confirming this.
Internally raging at myself, I open the next bin and pull out the top shelf, then the second. When I reach the third, I freeze. "Oh, for the love… Chakotay what hell is…"
"Did you say something to me, Captain?" Crewman Jor appears at the end of the stack of containers, spanner still in hand. She has been doing routine maintenance on Seven's alcove.
I hitch my face into half a smile. "No, crewman." Feeling the irony of what I have been searching for and what I have found tugging at me, I jerk my head towards the open bin.
"Captain?"
"I just found Commander Chakotay's stash of Anterian cider," I tell her wryly.
She smiles timidly. "I didn't know he had one, ma'am."
I chuckle. "He wouldn't tell me where he hid it."
"Well, now you know, Captain." She nods crisply and returns to her work.
I'm left staring at the cider with a crooked smile on my face. I run a finger over the cool glass, recalling how good the cider is. I'd had it for the first time with him at a reception, and both of us had loved it. I'd lamented a few weeks later not having bothered to trade for any, and he'd shown up the next evening with a bottle, promising where there was more where it came from.
I sigh, feeling my stomach caving in on itself. "That's it," I mumble, replacing the top shelves and snapping the bin shut. Okay universe, I can take a hint.
"Crewman, make sure nobody looks through the storage containers while you're here, all right?"
"Aye, Captain."
"Have a good night," I tell her, and set off through the doors at a brisk pace. I tap my combadge. "Janeway to Tuvok, status?"
"Captain, I regret to inform you that I have not yet been able to locate the item in question."
"That's all right, Tuvok, we'll work on it tomorrow. Get some rest."
"Thank you, Captain."
I am still smiling when I reach the relative privacy of the turbolift. I hit my combadge again as the doors slid shut. "Janeway to Chakotay."
"Captain. Did you find your chest of buried gold on Deck 14?" he asks wryly.
My smile broadens. "How does a late dinner sound? Or, if you've already eaten, you can have dessert."
He chuckles through the commlink. "I haven't eaten, actually. Want to stop by?"
"I'll be there in five minutes," I say. "What are you having?"
"How does pasta alfredo sound? With garlic toast?"
My mouth waters. "Heavenly."
"Would you like chicken in yours?"
"You know the answer to that."
"I do. I'll see you in a few minutes, Kathryn."
"I'm looking forward to it, Chakotay."
Graadian whiskey be damned, I have dinner plans.