Soooo apparently our relationship wasn't as under the radar as we thought, and it floored me how many people seemed to have known about it. The banquet was over, Jon had to return to the bridge and only a few of us were left now. I looked around at my friends at the dining table, slightly stunned.

"Obvious to me," Phlox smiled, his eyes twinkling. "For reasons."

"Yeah, 'bout the third time Cap mentioned you with that little sigh in his voice right when we left Pythos V, I clued in," Trip added, finishing the last of his pecan pie. "So I decided to put it to the test on Risa."

"When you started showing up in a good mood," Maalik chuckled. "Dead giveaway, Fran. You never smiled before coffee until right around the time we encountered the Shabotax."

Sath shrugged, toying with his bottle of Vulcan beer. "Frankly I always knew . . . I mean it was pretty apparent and all."

I glared at them all, trying to stay mad but I couldn't, and laughed intead. "You guys-"

"Hey, it was your business and nobody else's," Trip pointed out, holding up his hands in a placating manner. "It's a small ship, and about the only real kindness we can do is to give each other that courtesy, right?"

"True," I told him, holding his gaze deliberately. I knew I'd hit the mark when he blushed.

"Still, it's unprecedented for Starfleet, and it will be interesting to see how it affects the next mission of this ship," Phlox pointed out. "We're due back to Earth within the next four months, barring any change of plan."

"Yeah," I sighed, automatically stacking plates as I rose. "That's been on my mind as well. I don't want to jeopardize Jon's career but I'm not sure about giving up my position in the galley either."

"Build your case," Phlox advised, moving to help me. "Set the example."

"Yeah," Trip added, "This ship is supposed to be groundbreaking. No reason that can't include the protocols as well, right?"

-oo00oo—

For the next several months I fretted. Part of it was because Jon was out on more complicated missions that took him off-ship, and into danger. I was never crazy about that part of his job, and confided all my worries to Porthos, who stayed with me whenever Jon was gone.

Part of it too, was the simply not knowing what was going to happen next. It hadn't been too bad when the only person I had to worry about was myself. But that wasn't the case anymore, and it took some getting used to. I learned how to keep several projects going to put my focus into something more useful than brooding, and that meant that not only was the culinary database expanding, but Maalik and I had enough recipes to consider writing a cookbook together down the line.

But I wasn't the only one who had trouble adjusting. Whenever Jon got back we made it a point to always spend the first night together just holding each other until we were both ready for more. Sometimes he'd been through something rough, and sometimes I was the one feeling unsettled or hurting. Either way, just being together helped, even if it took a few days or more for us to get back to normal.

And we talked.

"Kids? Yes," Jon told me one night as we basked in some lovely afterglow. "Vaguely I always thought they'd be part of the big picture, although not right now of course. How about you?"

"I never really gave the idea much thought. And then I met you and now . . . I'm still debating it," I confessed. "Kind of a new thought for me. Don't get me wrong; I like kids," I continued. "Most of the ones I've met are decent. But I never gave serious consideration to actually having any before."

"It's not set in stone," Jon assured me, hugging me a little tighter. "Seriously, Franny, I mean that."

"I know," I told him. "And that's not a 'no' on my part either. I guess I need to think about it as a possibility for us . . . but as you say, not now."

We were quiet for a little while, and he sighed. "I'm far more likely to die on the job than other people, sweetheart. Not that I want to upset you but you know those are the facts. You could be a widow on any given day."

"Man your pillow talk needs work," I teased, nipping at his shoulder. "Yes, I know that. I accepted the risk when I said 'yes' so if this is your way of trying to get out of marrying me it's not going to work. And I'd make a damned hot widow you know. I'd have to wear lots of slinky black lace."

"Oookay I'm definitely interested in that part," he purred. "If I get you some can we have a preview? You wouldn't deny a future dead husband that pleasure, right?"

"I dunno . . . showing you what you'd be missing before you're dead might influence you to stay alive," I pretended to pout. "That would cramp my style as a sexy vedova slinking around in an ebony satin corset, intimately caressing myself because I'm SO lonely and aroused."

"Annd I think I've just beat my own personal record for minimal refractory time," Jon announced in a low voice. "Next shopping trip: black lace."

"Oooh, the dead rise again," I noted cheerfully. "Is that for me?"

"Yep," he rolled over, pinning me down. "Can't keep a good future dead husband down. Or from going down."

I couldn't answer that; I was too busy moaning.

-oo00oo—

Finally the day came when we had orders to return to Earth. Ostensibly it was for repair/refitting and renewal but I sensed it was more than that. I didn't ask; Jon was duty-bound to keep anything classified to himself and we both knew it. Still, there were other things to consider as well and he was far more confident than I was.

"We're getting married, Franny, so I kind of have to meet them," he teased. "They're going to be my family too, you know."

"Yeah well don't blame me if you demand your ring back after you do," I sighed. "Mom will be great, but Nona and Aunt Gisella . . ." I gave a shiver.

"It will be fine," Jon reassured me. "I'll behave myself."

"You I'm not worried about," I countered, picking up Porthos and stroking his head. "Still . . . I suppose you're right. I'll see about maybe having lunch or something. As it is I have three meetings with Starfleet myself."

We arrived two weeks later and I managed to get through to my mother who was delighted. She agreed to host a lunch and I passed the info to Jon who found the first free day on his schedule for it.

And I went to meet Commander Justine Zindal, head of the newly formed Starfleet Culinary School.

"So . . . you've had a somewhat . . . busy mission, Chef De Marelli," she began in a snippy tone, and I hated her already. Commander Zindal was a tiny titanium nail of a woman with grey hair, grey eyes, grey attitude. I could tell she had a few axes to grind so I made myself comfortable at the other end of the long table.

Flanking her on either side were two other people: a gnome-like Vulcan man who'd been introduced as Soloc, intergalactic liaison for cultural affairs and a burly Petty Officer named O'Neil who was head of menu and cuisine design.

"Yes Ma'am," I replied. "I have. It's been quite a learning curve."

"You could call it that," Zindall sniffed, and looked at her holoscreen. "According to your reports, you brought foodstuffs aboard the Enterprise not once, but over three times that were unscreened and unidentified, which could have let to serious consequences."

"What?" I blinked at her. She gave me a fake smile.

"Apparently there was a near poisoning with some weird spice; a gift of undocumented raw meat, and a manifest from Korraav station that exceeded the purchase order to an unprecedented extent. Care to explain yourself, Chef?"

I took a breath. "We followed protocol for all incoming shipments of food to the Enterprise. In retrospect, I DO think there should be an ongoing review of those protocols, particularly when dealing with unknown foodstuffs, but as of our return, my kitchen screened and identified every item that passed through it. Ma'am."

She didn't look convinced. "What about this poisoning?"

"It was NOT a poisoning. The spice in question was Pla-ku mor, and a small percent of humanoids—in this case one person- had a mild . . . reaction to it. And fully recovered."

I was blushing but I held my ground.

"Pla-ku mor," the Vulcan, Soloc spoke up thoughtfully. "I'm familiar with it and its dopamine effects, Commander Zindal. A non-toxic herb; the seasoning database now has the side effect listed."

"Nevertheless-" she began, but the Petty Officer cleared his throat and it sounded like distant thunder.

"Minor flub, easily fixed. I want to know about the meat."

So I told them about the Shabotax and my rendering of the Cho'olk. Commander Zindal looked queasy, but both Soloc and O'Neil were interested, asking questions and listening to my story. When I talked about how the cuts had supplemented our food supply, both of them nodded.

"Expeditious and efficient of you," Soloc murmured. "Culturally sensitive as well."

"Smart," O'Neil agreed. "Mind you, I'd like to see better screening protocols for it though. Phlox is good but not every ship will have someone looking out for spoilage or contamination if they're busy in Sick Bay."

"It could be an adjacent duty for the Quartermaster," I offered up. "Or anyone out of the biology offices."

Commander Zindel made a face. "Moving ON," she continued, "What about these . . . items from Korraav station?"

"Gifts," I told her. "My sous, Maalik Khan, made an extremely good impression on the quartermistress there and she presented us with several samples as a gesture of goodwill. I made sure to screen every item for toxicity and nutritional value before serving it and have made several additions to our database of edible foods."

A Tellerite just . . . gave you the bounty?" Commander Zindel leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

I lowered my voice. "Umm yes. Point of fact, Maalik has this truly magnificent beard . . ."

I heard O'Neil laugh. "Yeah that would do it. Sprouted one myself two years ago and got hit on pretty hard in the mining bars of Cronus station. Their ladies do love a covered chin."

Soloc nodded. "It defies understanding but true. Chef De Marelli, as far as I am concerned you have come through the shakedown of the Enterprise commendably, and your suggestions on improvements for the galley are highly logical. I feel you would be well qualified to continue in your current position for a second mission, if you accept—"

"Hold on," Commander Zindal snarled. She gave me a cold smile from the far end of the table. "Before we make any recommendations here, I really, REALLY need to know why you used one of Starfleet's finest pieces of culinary technology to . . . re-create dead RATS, De Marelli."