Perhaps it was because the line was blurred between science and artistry.
Perhaps it was because of his scathing comment- When did it become a crime to enjoy a sensation or two? Of course, you'd be the last person to understand that!- the one that had managed to pique her interest even in the face of such aggravating circumstances- What do you mean?
Perhaps it was because, since that incident, she had come to realize that nutritional supplements- always precisely as appetizing as the name suggested- truly did not meet all of her needs.
Or, perhaps it was because she had begun to wish, to an intensive degree that still surprised her today, that he could enjoy something as simple as eating for himself.
Most likely, it was a combination of all of these that had spurred her on to develop her cooking skills.
Now, she found herself wondering if what she experienced while cooking, so akin to what she experienced in astrometrics labs, was at all similar to what Dr. Lewis Zimmerman experienced when he designed his holograms.
Did he feel more artist than scientist when he had poured his entire being into desigining the Doctor's matrix?
Did he wonder what his creation would become and how it would be received and whether it would be appreciated for every nuance, every detail, every carefully crafted subroutine?
Seven wondered about her own creation. How it would be received. If the delicate balance of subtle herbs and spices would be detected, the careful plating appreciated, the paired wine viewed as sufficiently complimentary to the dish as a whole.
The time of testing had come. A window of only 3.2 minutes was appropriate before the food would begin to cool, compromising the taste.
Limitations of time were never a challenge. Both plates were perfectly arranged, taken in hand, and set on the table. The wine was already poured and waiting.
He had lit a candle.
Seven smiled. He would. He had always had a quicker eye for romantic aesthetics.
"Far be it from me to leave all the cooking to you," he said. "This isn't the 1950s, and you're not a stepford wife."
She was briefly tempted to make some Borg-related joke. Instead, she simply said, "I promised you gourmet meals when you had the capability of enjoying them. I do not intend to neglect that promise."
He smiled softly. "You also insisted on teaching me to prepare some of those same meals. I intend to do my fair share."
"You handled the knife such that if you were an organic being you would have lost three fingers."
He came dangerously close to his usual petulant pout. The one she found secretly irresistible. Not that she would ever let him know that. "That was only when I was first beginning," he said.
Seven picked up her wine glass. "To shared experiences."
"Here here," came the ritual response.
They both took a sip.
He closed his eyes, smiling again. "I do enjoy a good red." He opened one eye. "I'm serious about doing my fair share."
"We are reaching the point at which optimal flavoring will begin to degrade."
He smiled slightly, but opened his eyes and took a bite. His eyes closed again and he chewed slowly. "Excellent. Excellent as always, Seven."
She did not try to suppress her own smile at that. She started to eat.
When the Doctor had finished chewing he spoke again. "Why do you really not want me to help with the cooking?"
Seven tried to ignore the flash of irritation she felt. She wanted to enjoy this quiet moment. Quiet moments like this had been rare lately. "It is unlikely there will be much opportunity for you to do so. Our lives have never remained calm for very long."
"That's true…" He set down his utensils and reached across the table to take her hand in his. "But I also know that's not the real reason."
The flash of irritation was harder to ignore this time. "Please, Doctor. Enjoy your meal."
He only looked at her more intently. "I am enjoying it. Very much. Good company is integral to a good meal."
"You are well aware of what I meant." She paused, and tried to sound less agitated. "Please."
The Doctor squeezed her hand and offered a deferring smile. He picked up his fork and continued to eat.
A moment passed. Seven felt her irritation pass with it.
"My my," the Doctor said eventually. "Oregano, fresh basil… the faintest hint of cayenne pepper- not enough to overwhelm the dish, but only enhance its natural flavors. Unlike what I'm told of what Neelix usually concocted. You really have outdone yourself this time, Seven."
She smiled again.
Perhaps it would not be too difficult to navigate the inevitable ego inflation that would follow an explanation.
"This is precisely the reason," she said.
The Doctor looked up and frowned. "Mm?"
"The reason why I wish to prepare every one of our shared meals. When circumstances are calm enough for cooking to be a possibility."
"I'm not sure I follow…"
Seven put her fork down. "Aside from our duets, you are clearly the superior pianist, painter, photographer, artist, storyteller-"
The Doctor blinked, frowning. "Seven-"
"-and every day you share those gifts with me-"
He put his own fork down again and seemed about to stand. "Seven, what are you talking about?"
"This is one artistic gift which I have honed with patience and intention. I wish to share it with you at every available opportunity, now that you have the means of enjoying it."
She looked up to meet his eyes.
The Doctor held her with a gaze so intense she couldn't look away. He peered into her soul, past all her metal-and-green-tinged darkness, to the vulnerable little Annika who had never left the core of her being.
She felt utterly exposed.
And utterly safe.
"I…" he blinked, and then the roles were reversed, his own eyes filled with emotion. There was no egotism following her explanation. Only the man she loved, deeply sensitive, and far more prone to insecurity than he liked to admit. He tried to cover it up with a smile. A smile they both knew was failing. "I didn't expect to have my soul read that way over dinner tonight, Seven."
"You have done much for me, Doctor. I wish to do this for you. When it is possible."
He smiled, his gaze falling to his plate. He took another slow, deliberate bite. Then his eyes flickered up to meet hers again. "This truly is delicious, my darling, thoughtful Seven of Nine. But I need you to know something."
He was grinning. Yet still not a hint of egotism was present.
"I mean this truly," he continued. "You could hand me a three-day-old raktajino or the most overly processed, prepackaged and mass-produced bag of glazed donut holes from Earth's seediest convenience store, you could hand me a plain slice of stale toast, or just a simple glass of water… And I would savor every drop." He shifted, just slightly, so that he was facing her more fully. "Seven. I can only enjoy these things because of you. You're the one who drafted the alterations to my program. You're the one who worked for eight months straight with Dr. Lewis Zimmerman to make it a reality. It's only because of you that I can enjoy…" he gestured at the table before them, the food, the wine, "…any of this." He paused again. "Seven, I need you to know how grateful I am."
She blinked, and was surprised that her eyes were damp. She swallowed, searching for a response. She heard the Doctor's chair scrape against the floor. She kept her eyes trained on the wine glass in front of her, knife and fork still gripped tightly in her hands. Her arms were soon pinned to her sides as the Doctor wrapped her in a tight hug. He kissed her temple lightly.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Was that too much?"
She found her voice. "No," she said quickly. "Do not apologize." She set down knife and fork and reached up to hold the Doctor's arm encircling her. "I am well aware that your dramatics come from a place of sincerity."
He laughed and squeezed her more tightly. "I'm glad someone knows it's not all just an act of melodrama." He paused. "Most of the time."
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy his warm embrace for a long moment. Then, "You are required to either kiss me or return to your own seat," she said quietly.
He let out a very theatrical sigh, then released her. "Oh, very well." He bent down and kissed her lightly. "So long as you remember that I can see through your facades just as well as you can see through mine." He sat down again and raised an eyebrow. "You're just as emotional and sentimental as I am."
That caused another smile she did not try to suppress. She raised a metal eyebrow. "That is a false statement. You still have the enhanced tricorder and the fan letter I gave you during our years in the Delta Quadrant."
"And as we've established, my dear, you spent several months working to give me the ability to eat and you now insist on preparing meals for me- all based on a single away mission during those same years in the Delta Quadrant." He took another bite and flashed her a self-satisfied smirk.
"Perhaps I will take your words a moment ago to heart and offer only prison rations tomorrow. I remember quite vividly you enjoyed them before." The smirk disappeared and was replaced with that petulant pout she had come to love. "A joke, Doctor."
He squinted and took another bite. "I'm beginning to suspect you enjoy making fun of me."
"Beginning to suspect?"
"So you admit it. You do enjoy poking fun at me."
"Only when the threat to your ego is minimal."
The squint was still there, but his mouth twitched into a smile. "And you know my ethical subroutines prevent me from retaliating. How is that fair?"
"It is not."
"Well." He took another sip of wine. "Lucky for you, I love you so much that I don't mind one bit."
That was as blatant an admission that he enjoyed their banter as he ever gave. And it was no wonder- he knew equally just how to poke fun at her when the time called for it. Usually it involved gentle teasing about her persistent denial of particularly strong emotions. Ocular implant malfunctioning again, Seven? Every now and then, it was an equally gentle prod at her previous ventures into romantic territory- Don't worry, I don't have any ligaments to tear- all now long passed and long resolved- I'm a doctor not a boxer... but I could easily modify my program to give myself a more formidable physique. At the time, that last one had actually caused her to laugh, before she had firmly insisted he do no such thing.
She looked up at him again.
He had continued to eat.
"I love you too, Doctor."
Yes.
She did enjoy these quiet moments.