Hitting Means They Like You

Every chef has a secret. This could be one of Seven's…

XXX

It was a secret they kept from Captain Janeway for a long time. Due to the habit of gossiping on the relatively small ship, they had to keep it from the rest of the crew as well. It simply wouldn't do anyone any favors to have their meetings become public knowledge.

Their nightly meetings began innocently enough and over one of the most innocuous subjects possible: salad.

"Is there something wrong?" Seven asked. She stared expectantly at Chakotay, who was smirking.

"No, everything is perfect."

She quirked a brow in question.

"I was just thinking of the first time we started doing this." Chakotay gestured to the dinner in front of them. They sat in the mess hall, which had emptied of patrons about an hour earlier. A selection of vegetables, salad, rice, replicated chicken (which Chakotay admitted he wasn't opposed to), and creamy sauces lay spread out on the table between them.

"Indeed?" Seven shared his smirk briefly. "What made you think of it?"

"It's the same salad Kathryn tried to serve me." He didn't quite manage to keep a straight face as he looked across the table at Seven, thinking how grateful he was that Seven's drive for perfection extended into cooking.

"Does this version meet your expectations?" If anyone besides Seven asked such a question, it would have been coy, but she was serious.

"No." His smirk became a warm and grateful smile. "Everything exceeds expectations. It always does."

Though their dinner continued in silence after that, Seven and Chakotay fell into contemplating the same evening, unaware how similar their thoughts were.

It had all started on a calm, rather anticlimactically dull day when Captain Kathryn Janeway attempted to serve her first officer yet another ruined meal. The fish was bland and underdone, the steamed vegetables soggy and bereft of most of their color. The salad she'd presented had been so saturated with a sour dressing that Chakotay had wondered if Janeway was trying to torture him for some misdeed.

After his inedible dinner with Kathryn, Chakotay wandered into the mess hall, intending to grab a bite of whatever Neelix had left from that evening's service. The indigestion from Talaxian cooking seemed preferable to starvation.

It was in his moment of gastrointestinal weakness that Chakotay encountered Seven indulging in a guilty pleasure of her own: she'd made herself dinner. Since he first introduction to the culinary arts by Neelix, Seven had taken the opportunity her late nights provided to cultivate her cooking skills and provide herself with meals that were both nutritious and pleasant. It wasn't a nightly ritual since she appreciated the efficiency and value of a nutritional protein shake as much as a pot roast. However, her timing and his had collided that night and produced a weekly meeting that was fueled more by anticipation than ritualism.

Chakotay had walked in on Seven just setting down to a simple, but impeccably prepared meal of peppers with cheese, spaghetti and garlic bread. Chakotay's mouth had watered at the sight of it and before he knew it, he'd begged to join her. She'd agreed, taking pleasure in his compliments and enthusiastic pleasure. The next week found her in the kitchen preparing another meal - hoping without comprehension as to why it mattered that he would appear – and him eventually searching for something edible. Their weekly dinner was born.

Of course, their habit couldn't be let known to anyone. They both feared hurting Kathryn Janeway's feelings as well as Neelix's should he find out they were enjoying culinary delights that weren't provided by his own hands.

After about a dozen of their dinners, they began to realize other reasons why they shouldn't tell anyone else about it. Nothing got a group of humans talking faster than hints of forbidden romance. Though they never voiced that concern to each other, both Seven and Chakotay contemplated the social implications of their regular meetings and what they would say if their secret was discovered.

Appearances could be deceiving to a crew hungry for gossip.

It took Seven and Chakotay a little longer than they cared to admit to realize that appearances to a crew hungry for gossip could be perfectly accurate as well.

Drawn from his reverie by the clink of Seven's fork on her plate, Chakotay looked up at the beautiful woman with a fond smile. He was moved to think how much time and effort she'd expended just for him with these meals over the many months. Seven was known to prefer her post to socializing so the importance of her presence and dedication to their ritual was impossible to ignore. Kathryn kept up their meetings and cooked – in the loosest sense of the word – more for her own benefit. As a captain, she needed to ensure their relationship remained as stable as possible, if not always amiable, and Kathryn didn't have many other people she could chum with. Cracking jokes and discussing random topics with Chakotay was about as relaxed as Captain Janeway got with her officers. Their dinners were Kathryn's catharsis, not Chakotay's. When he and Seven sat down, it seemed a mutual pleasure.

"Seven," Chakotay began with some hesitation, "are you going to B'Elanna and Tom's baby shower next week?"

"I am uncertain." Her eyes darted up to his face, trying to read his expression. Chakotay looked down and so didn't notice her glance.

"Oh, well, it would be good to see you there." He hid his disappointment over her questionable answer in as light a tone and impersonal response as he could muster. With his mind on attempting to sound nonchalant, he didn't think through his own words or their implication. "You can put the Doctor's lessons to good use if you do." Damn, thought Chakotay with a wince. I didn't mean to say it like that.

"Yes." She looked away. Though teasing about the hologram's social lessons had long since ceased, Seven was conscious of the embarrassment their necessity produced.

More than embarrassment, however, Seven realized she didn't want Chakotay – or anyone – to think of her as a Borg drone fresh from the Collective. There were aspects of herself she was proud of, aspects that would only have been cultivated by being a drone. However, there were enough negative associations and connotations that she had grown to dislike being compared too closely to what she had been when first separated from the Collective. It was one thing to acknowledge the past and quite another to suggest nothing had changed.

"You know it will be a good chance for you to socialize. You spend too much time by yourself." Okay, Chakotay, just take your foot out of your mouth before she hits you. "It's not good." Damnit.

"I am aware of that, but my skills are not the same as yours." She stood abruptly, refusing to meet his regretful gaze. "Please excuse me, Commander. I have an early shift tomorrow."

"Seven, I'm sorry. I didn't mean -"

"Goodnight."

Chakotay watched her leave, unable to think of a response adequate to call her back.

His appetite gone, Chakotay cleared the table, several strains of the same thought rotating in his head: Why the hell did I say that?