The Klingon Said What?
Once the doors to her quarters closed, Aalin leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief while rubbing the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. Finally, she thought. There is just enough time to make dinner before Chris finishes for the day and arrives …
"You're late. Alpha shift ended ninety minutes ago," his voice called out.
Why of all evenings is he early today? She replied, "Ah. Yes. The commander of this vessel ordered the subspace message we intercepted from a Klingon dreadnaught to its home world, the one the universal translator rendered as gibberish, be deciphered as soon as possible and preferably sooner. I'm the only linguist on board at the moment. Who did you think would receive the assignment?"
Chris walked out of the bedroom and crossed the living area. Once standing in front of her he answered, "Fair point. Kiss first, then report." He leaned down as she stretched up on tiptoes. When their lips parted he observed, "All of your briefings for me should be in private and begin with a kiss. Now, explain why the universal translator was flummoxed by a known Klingon dialect? Were they transmitting in code?"
"No."
"Anything I need to worry about?" Chris prompted when Aalin didn't elaborate.
"You? No."
With his hand resting on the small of her back Chris guided her to the sofa. "That's a cryptic answer. And curious. Sit and tell me what the message said. Klingon ships of this size or class don't usually cruise so far from home space." He frowned. "If there is no immediate danger, could later repercussions affect us?"
"Unlikely," she answered.
"And we continue one-word enigmas." His tone of voice turned firm and captainly. "I want details."
"There is little to report," Aalin clarified. "It was a personal transmission from spouse to spouse. I queued the translation directly to you and Number One. If you feel the need to review it … um … don't read it on the bridge … well … it's personal … and erotic." She blushed. "Very, very erotic. Which is the reason the universal translator struggled with the interpretation."
"You mean …"
"Yes, evidently subspace sexting is a thing in Klingon culture. If you rank high enough that is. This couple has been apart for months."
Chris' eyes crinkled and his head dipped. "How long did you work on the translation?" he asked between chuckles accompanied by quivering shoulders. "Did you warn Una about the nature of the message?"
She snorted. "Sorting out the vocabulary took hours. And no, I did not give her a heads up. I owe our first officer for her little prank when we had to overnight on Caprica." Her nose wrinkled (a tell which Chris found adorable) as Aalin emphasized, "In the woods. In tents. With sleeping bags." She added as an afterthought, "I despise camping. My idea of camping is a hotel without room service."
"As you have reminded me almost daily since we left orbit," Chris replied in a dry tone.
Ignoring his comment Aalin said, "By the way, in your copy of the translation I highlighted a section on page two every guy should learn and master."
He nuzzled then kissed the side of her neck before whispering in her ear, "There's something of that nature I don't know?"
She tilted her head in the opposite direction encouraging his ministrations. "Hmmm … what?"
"We should hurry the dinner portion of our date and get to proving my competence in this skill you've flagged."
Her hand traced down and across Chris' chest before resting on his thigh. "I thought date night when married wasn't about sex."
His hands began roaming her body. "I can't let a challenge go unmet."
"I'm not really hungry … for food that is," she said in a soft tone of voice as her lips sought his.
Chris satisfied her request with a lengthy intimate kiss. Standing he looked down at Aalin with a fond smile. "What kind of commanding officer would I be if I worked you overtime and then withheld dinner in order to ravish you?"
"I'm good with the ravishment first," she murmured as her hand sought his.
"I'll help with dinner." He gently tugged her to her feet while thinking, And maybe this time your attempt at cooking won't trigger the ship's automated fire response protocols.
"No need," she quickly insisted.
A bit too quickly Chris judged while noting her uneasy expression.
Aalin continued, "You've had a busy week. Go for a run. Read a book. Enjoy the downtime. The plan was I'd make dinner for you." She thought, Chris has mentored dozens of officers during his career. Not one of them nor his crew believes he can be a micromanager. But then none of them are married to him.
"It will take less time with two," he pointed out.
"Here's a better idea. Let's skip the cooking, grab something from the replicator and curl up on the sofa in front of a fire."
He persuaded with a dimpled smile, "I like doing typical, everyday tasks with you. We don't have many opportunities for those. Come on, it will be fun."
Aalin thought as she reluctantly followed him to the kitchen area, Someday I will overcome the power of those dimples. Maybe … unlikely … probably not … nope. Accept it.
Ever the commander Chris allotted their tasks; he the sauce, Aalin the pasta. As they moved in the small space their bodies brushed together, his hands rested on her waist as he scooted behind, her fingers caressed his back when he reached for a pan. She asked, "How is it you have once again dodged listening to the opera recording?"
"You mean Celeste?" he asked innocently.
"No, try again."
He grinned. "Chinchilla?"
"Oh for heaven's sake. Carmen. You'll like it."
"I'm saving it for an especially special occasion," Chris answered with his most sincere expression.
"Which will be?"
"Especially special can't be defined, you simply know it when it happens."
"Smooth," she conceded. "And clever."
"Thank you."
"Oils go in the right overhead cabinet please," Chris reminded. Enterprise's Captain is territorial with his kitchen. And runs it with the precision of a pilot. He pointed his spoon at the pot Aalin set on the burner for the pasta. "Add more salt. Use less water. The starch in the cooking liquid will be needed for the sauce, too much water will dilute it."
She dipped out a third of the water and sprinkled in a pinch of salt.
"More."
She handed him the salt box.
"Chop the vegetables for the sauce and I'll deal with the pasta," Chris suggested, that is if suggestions were uttered like orders. Periodically looking over his shoulder, he kept track of Aalin's progress. After checking for the third time he turned facing her and pointed out, "It's best if the pieces are roughly the same size."
"Christopher, I do not require supervision when cutting up a few onions and squash."
His skeptical expression did not go unnoticed. She reached for the bowl of green pods. "Why is this so difficult," she mumbled while trying to pry the peas out of their casing.
Chris shook his head. "Those are snap peas; you don't shell them. Did you ever set foot in a kitchen as a child? Don't answer, it was a rhetorical question."
When a section of a carrot projected off the cutting board and across the counter, he caught it in a swift motion then advised in an overly patient tone of voice, "Gentler stokes will avoid that. And if you curve your fingers inward and use your knuckles as a guide and brace for the knife, there is less chance of cutting yourself."
She paused and waved the chef's knife through the air. "Do you think mansplaining to one holding a sharp implement is wise?"
Striking a pose with hands on hips, as if he had all the time in the world, Chris meticulously examined Aalin, moving his eyes from head to toe and head again. "With that grip and your stance, I'd have the knife out of your hand and pointed at you in ten seconds."
Her eyes narrowed. His expression remained annoyingly serene. Seconds ticked by.
"Damn." Aalin tossed the knife on the counter then wrapped her arms around Chris. "How am I supposed to stay irritated with you? Is it wrong I find your soldier's assessment kind of hot?"
"I told you this would be fun."
She rolled her eyes.
Dinner was abandoned. Chris nailed the challenge receiving an A plus and earning extra credit.