Epilogue

§ 10 §

Hoshi peered into the serving cabinet, looking for ravioli. Chef always made ravioli on Thursdays, so where were they? She wasn't in the mood for salad, or chicken marsala, or meatloaf. Fish might be good, but… ravioli was really what she felt like having. Nothing like a good dish of pasta…

"Have you lost something, Ensign?"

Hoshi smiled at the unmistakable accent and straightened up to face Malcolm. "Actually, something is missing." Her eyes fell on Malcolm's tray. "That," she said, pointing to the dish of ravioli sitting on it.

"Oh…" Malcolm said, tracking to what her finger was indicating. "I'm afraid I took the last portion. But I'll be more than happy to let you have it. I'll get something else."

Hoshi's jaw fell in embarrassment. "Oh, no," she blurted out. "That's not what I meant. I couldn't allow you to..."

Malcolm chuckled. "Please, Hoshi. I'm not going to wither and die if I don't eat ravioli today."

"Ravioli, anyone?" a voice called from the other side of the serving cabinet, as more servings of pasta were placed inside it.

"I guess we won't need to fight over it." Hoshi grinned happily, bent down and grabbed a plate. "Thank you, Chef. Thursdays just aren't right without your ravioli."

"Ah, Hoshi!" the voice exclaimed. "Just the person I wanted to see. Wait there, don't go away."

A moment later Chef appeared from the galley's door. "Oh, you're with Lieutenant Reed," he said, making it sound as if he were a shady character, and eyeing the Armoury Officer in a funny way.

Hoshi cast Malcolm a questioning look and got a shrug in reply. "It's good to see you're feeling well again, Chef," she said, deciding not to enquire. Indeed the man had recovered from his flu with unexpected speed: a mere couple of days and he was back on his feet and on his job. Phlox had beamed, explaining he had successfully tried out a new cure developed by the inter-species medical exchange programme.

"Sì, sì, grazie. But that's not what I want to talk to you about." Chef replied with a dismissive gesture of the hand. "I need to ask you something, Hoshi," he added, mysteriously.

"Me?" Hoshi frowned, bringing a hand to her chest while she balanced the tray on the other.

"Yes, you." Glancing challengingly in Reed's direction, Chef said, "Signor Reed here suggested I may be trying to have a fling with Commander Tucker."

Hoshi snorted loudly then quickly reined in her amusement at the sight of Chef's corrugated expression.

"Does that mean what I think it does?" Chef enquired, addressing Hoshi but keeping piercing eyes on Malcolm.

"Well, I wouldn't know what you think it means," Hoshi began, shifting her gaze to Reed, who was pursing his lips perhaps in the effort to keep a straight face. "But what it does mean is…" she faltered.

"…That you'd want to become romantically involved with him," Malcolm finished, coming to her rescue. "But I was only joking, Chef," he added with a good-humoured chuckle.

Chef stared at him for a moment longer. "I am offended, Lieutenant," he said irritably. "What an idea! Me and Commander Tucker! I mean, he's a nice person but -- the man likes resequenced meatloaf! Twisted the Captain's arm so I would include it in Enterprise's menu! Such poor taste… We would end up arguing all the time."

Hoshi bit her lip and shot an awkward glance at Malcolm.

"You instead, Signor Reed," Chef added mellifluously, waving a hand at the ravioli on Malcolm's plate, "Are definitely more my type…"

Malcolm took a step back. "Ah… I just grabbed the first plate I saw," he sputtered.

They all froze for a moment.

"Only joking, Lieutenant," Chef finally admitted, with a chuckle. "If I could choose someone on board to have a fling with, that would be Miss Hoshi." He bowed, gentlemanly taking her hand and kissing it.

"I'm flattered, Chef," Hoshi said, wondering what exactly the smirk on Malcolm's face meant.

Reed's eyes narrowed. "Well, that's a good thing," he commented. "Because if you wanted to have a fling with me you'd have to wait in line: Trip already made me some advances on that planet," he muttered. "Tried to dance cheek to cheek…"

Hoshi broke into giggles, hiding behind a hand.

"Oh," Chef moaned in despair. "The drugged pie!"

"You weren't the only one who made mistakes that day," Malcolm soothed him. "Besides, your knockout Asparagus Soup was very effective, putting those Naatians out of business before they could take apart the other two phase cannons." He grinned. "I could kiss you for that -- uhm you know, metaphorically," he hurried to add, taking another half a step back.

Chef gave them a gentle push towards an empty table. "Ah, no more joking," he said. "Go and have your meal. I need to get back to the galley." With that he turned and hurried away.

Hoshi slid into her seat and spread her napkin over her legs. "Dancing cheek to cheek?" she asked. "I would love to read your report." Her eyes were twinkling with suppressed mirth.

Malcolm glanced at her from across the table. "Well, you know that's not possible, Ensign." He paused. "But I suppose there would be nothing wrong if I were to comment on Trip's musical taste…" he added naughtily, his eyebrows darting up.

"No, I suppose not," Hoshi agreed nonchalantly. She liked Malcolm in this kind of mood. He was so different from the image of stiff propriety he generally liked to project.

"Perhaps one of these evenings we could…"

"Lieutenant, Ensign."

Hoshi cursed inwardly as she turned to face the man who had interrupted them with such bad timing. Crewman Kim of Malcolm's security team stood hesitantly a few feet away.

"Crewman," Malcolm acknowledged him, fork in mid air. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Actually, Sir, it's Ensign Sato I came looking for," the man said.

Hoshi looked at him in surprise. "Oh…" She gave Kim an encouraging smile.

Kim rubbed his neck nervously. "I hope it is – uhm – ok to ask, but… what does 'Kreuz, Birnbaum und Holler… Holler… something' mean?" he finally found the courage to enquire.

Hoshi's mouth fell open. "What?" she blurted out, making Kim pale. "Where have you heard that?"

The young man frowned, eying her worriedly. "Why?"

"Because I haven't got a clue to what it might mean, Ensign. Although it sounds like German – some kind of dialect I think – I'd say it's an expression of surprise."

Malcolm speared a ravioli, grinning. He shook his head. "I have a feeling I might know who said it and when," he commented.

Kim's mouth suddenly curved up too, as he exchanged a knowing glance with his CO.

"I believe the dialect is Bavarian, just like Ensign Müller," Malcolm said, raising his eyebrows eloquently. "Perhaps you ought to take a few lessons from him, Hoshi," he teased. "You can't be proficient in all sorts of Vulcan and Klingon dialects and ignore an Earth idiom, after all."

Hoshi eyed Malcolm, who was still grinning. She smirked mischievously. "Perhaps, instead of taking lessons, I should try and have a fling with Müller: I might learn some interesting expressions, besides Kreuz, Birnbaum und Holler-something. He's a good-looking man, and we are both Ensigns… wouldn't even break the rules…"

Malcolm's face fell instantly.

"I'd really be curious to know what it means," Kim muttered to himself.

"I'd say it's the equivalent of 'bloody hell'," a deep voice said. Müller took a couple of steps forward and came to stand next to Kim.

"Oh," Hoshi bit her lip and blushed, wondering how long Müller had been within hearing range; then scowled at Malcolm, who looked wholly entertained.

Kim cleared his throat. "Time to get back to work," he said awkwardly. "Lieutenant, Ensigns." He nodded and left, quickly disappearing through the door.

"A very theatrical entrance, Bernhard." Reed acknowledged his second with a tilt of his head.

A faint but knowing smile crossed Müller's face as he straightened his tall frame virtually to attention. He held out a padd. "Sorry to interrupt you, Sir. But I thought you would like to have an update of our repair work."

Malcolm took the padd. and gave it his full attention for a few moments. "Good to see we'll finally have the port cannon back online," he eventually said, raising his eyes. "Well done."

"Thank you, Sir."

"However, Ensign," Malcolm added, changing to his Lieutenant tone, "I must tell you that I do not approve of your use of swearwords on duty," he said gravely.

Müller swallowed. "I apologise, Sir. I…"

"I'm not finished," Reed interrupted him brusquely. There was a moment of tense silence. Müller stood so still that Hoshi found herself studying him closely for any signs of breathing. She felt bad for the man. Malcolm could be inflexible, when he wanted.

Reed narrowed his eyes. "The next time you feel the urge to utter profanities," he said coldly, "I recommend… you use some we can all understand, dammit."

Hoshi giggled softly. Müller's green eyes were crossed by a glint of humour. "Aye, Sir," he replied, baring teeth that could compete with Travis's.

Waving his fork at the ravioli remaining on his plate, Malcolm said, "Give me another ten minutes and I'll join you in the Armoury to run a check on that cannon."

"Aye, Sir." Reed's SIC made as if to leave, then stopped and added, turning serious again, "Not that I make a habit of using foul language, Lieutenant. I was simply…"

Reed held up a hand, stopping him. "Believe me, Bernhard: whatever that German curse means, it would pale in comparison to what I'd have said in your place." He shook his head as if to clear it from some terrible mental image. "Maybe it's better the Commander and I were delayed," he said grimly.

Müller smirked; then nodded and left, and Hoshi turned to Malcolm. "I thought you were serious, giving him that dressing down," she said, putting down her own fork.

Malcolm gave a breathy laugh. "Well, that was the whole point, wasn't it?" he said. His grey eyes were warm and deep today, and Hoshi was suddenly disappointed to see them shift away from her face to focus somewhere else. She turned to see what had caught his attention and saw Commander Tucker getting himself a drink at the dispenser.

"Well, look who's here," Reed muttered under his breath. "Our resident minstrel."

Trip put his drink on a tray, grabbed a dish of something and headed towards them, a trademark Tucker grin plastered on his face.

"Minstrel?" Hoshi asked, her lips curving upwards.

"Ah, forget I ever said anything, Hoshi," Malcolm hurried to say, seeing Trip approach.

"What are you two up to?" the Engineer asked, sliding into a seat near him. "I'm pretty sure I just saw Müller walk away from this table chucklin'."

"I was telling him about our mission," Malcolm teased.

Trip shot him a challenging look. "Hey, only T'Pol and the Capt'n have a right to know all the details about it," he said in mock outrage. "Besides, none of it was my fault, I was drugged."

"It wasn't really Chef's fault," Hoshi said, feeling she had to take Chef's defence. "He was coming down with the flu."

"Well, it certainly wasn't my fault," Malcolm butted in.

"What's the crime anyway?" Hoshi asked innocently.

Trip raised his eyebrows. "Ah, no, Hosh, darlin'. Sorry, but – as I said – only the Capt'n and T'Pol…"

"What about your little misadventure," Malcolm enquired, turning to the young linguist. "Whose fault was it?"

"Well, it wasn't the Captain's," Hoshi answered straightaway. "Maybe it was my fault. I should have picked up the Naatians' 'language' faster," she said grimly.

"Oh, come on, Hoshi," Malcolm comforted her. "From what I read of the Captain's report you were doing fine until Chef's Ominous Omelettes were brought in."

Hoshi's brow knitted in thought. "Chef couldn't know the Naatians felt threatened by the colour yellow."

They all looked at each other in silence for a moment then burst out together, "T'Pol?"

The thought that T'Pol could be at fault was so absurd that Hoshi broke into laughter, triggering a couple of snorts from her companions.

"But no, no," she hurried to add, shaking her head as she regained her composure. "It wasn't her fault the matrix translated 'yell' for 'yellow'."

Trip sighed. "Look, let's forget about it and move on, ok? It was nobody's fault, just one of those days, I guess."

"Well, I hope we don't have too many," Malcolm muttered.

Just then Chef appeared at the door of the galley, a plate high in the air, and Malcolm shot Trip a wide-eyed look. "Good grief, Trip. This is getting to be ridiculous! You didn't ask for more pie, did you?"

Trip turned in alarm to see Chef approach their table. "Nope. But I hope this time Chef made it right," he murmured.

"Don't tell me," Malcolm ground out.

Chef floated towards their table with the elegance of a dancer, and lowered the plate in front of Reed. On it sat a big slice of pineapple cake.

Just what Malcolm likes, Hoshi thought, noticing the Armoury Officer's discomfort at the sudden attention.

"Uhm, thank you, Chef," Reed mumbled self-consciously.

"Good. At least now ya won't say I'm Chef's favourite any more," Trip drawled.

Chef nodded firmly. "Exactly."

Malcolm smiled tautly and studied the cake closely, prodding it with his fork. "You did put your Thalassian sweet root jar well away from your sugar one after the other day, didn't you?" he asked meaningfully.

"Of course, Lieutenant," Chef huffed, rolling his eyes. "This is the real thing. Go ahead, taste it."

Malcolm put a tentative forkful in his mouth. "Uh, delicious," he mumbled around it.

"Don't worry," Chef beamed, "I told Manetti to get rid of the other pineapple cake." He elbowed Trip. "You know, I still had a big piece left from when I made those ration packs."

Malcolm and Trip exchanged a bewildered look.

"Ya mean to tell me that the pineapple cake we had on board that day…" Trip left the rest of the question unspoken. His brain was too busy figuring out what might have happened if Malcolm had actually accepted the cake he had offered him. "God!"

Malcolm shuddered. "Be grateful I'm not like you, Trip: needing to wallow in sugar." He shoved, nonetheless, another forkful of cake in his mouth.

"May I join the party?" a voice asked. "As you were," Archer hurried to add, approaching the group. Chef looked a bit flustered, so Archer put a hand on his shoulder. "Glad you're back, Chef," he said, squeezing gently. "Nothing personal, but Manetti always manages to overcook his pasta."

Chef relaxed into a smile. "The kid is not really Italian," he said with a shrug. "Born out of the old country."

Archer chuckled. "So, what are you celebrating?"

"I made pineapple cake and brought the Lieutenant a slice," Chef said. "But now, since you're all here, I'll bring out the rest," he said, making for the galley.

"Good idea," Malcolm called after him, smiling warmly as he put the last forkful of cake in his mouth.

"Too bad ya didn't let us stay around till the weather cleared, Capt'n," Trip complained. "Who knows now when we'll get another chance to get some platinum."

"It would have delayed our mission for too long, Trip," Archer said apologetically. "T'Pol claims the storms will last for at least another week."

Trip smirked. "Yeah. Still…"

"I told T'Pol to be on the look-out for some other planet rich in the ore," Archer said. "We'll come across one, sooner or later."

Hoshi patted Trip's shoulder. "Don't worry, Commander," she said. "Our little ship is sturdy. I doubt you'll need to get spare parts any time soon."

"Right you are, Hoshi," Malcolm butted in cheerfully. He got up from his seat, chuckling. "Where's the rest of that cake, Chef?" he shouted in the direction of the galley.

"Malcolm?" Trip said, pulling his sleeve. He exchanged a look with the others.

Malcolm turned to Trip, falling back heavily on his chair. "Besides, Commander," he slurred – slurred?

"Che seraaaaa seraaaa, whatever will beeee will beeee… the future's not ours to seeeee …"

"Manetti!" An angry voice floated out of the galley. "Which cake did you get rid of?"

THE END

I suppose at this point I can reveal what my challenge consisted in: - One of the characters had to say "This is not my day" – in Italian. - Another character had to utter the weird and untranslatable German-Bavarian swear "Kreuz, Birnbaum und Hollerstauden". - Trip was to sing "Summertime". - And last but not least Malcolm had to get hurt in some way (what else is new?)