Prompt 9: "I saved a piece for you." (Neelix, Chell & Tal Celes)

/

"Only this much rum? That's ridiculous!"

"My dear Mr. Neelix, please keep in mind that this is genuine alcohol we're dealing with."

"I should hope so! Cooking with synthehol is never the same."

"It's my last bottle, all right? So if you'd just – hey!"

Crewman Chell sputtered with indignation as Neelix upended the bottle over a jar of dried raisins, shaking it until the last drops fell out. Tal Celes, unnoticed by them both for the moment, rolled her eyes as she measured out cups of flour. It was great that Chell had volunteered to help out with preparations for the Christmas party, but did he have to be such a fussbudget about it? And Neelix was no better. The two of them had been like this all morning.

"If the Captain wants a genuine Earth Christmas cake, that's what she's going to get," Neelix declared, snatching the jar out from under Chell's nose. "There has to be enough rum for the raisins to soak up the flavor. Where's your generosity, Crewman?"

"All right, all right! Now what about the citrus?"

Their two sharp voices faded mercifully into the background of Celes' mind as she peered at the recipe on her padd. Neelix had divided it into three categories: wet ingredients (his), dry ingredients (hers), and flavoring (Chell's, although that may have been a mistake). She lost herself in the simple acts of measuring and stirring. There was something beautiful about the white grains of flour, sugar etc. flying out in little puffs around her. No doubt it was going to get all over her, but that's what sonic showers were for.

The galley looked and smelled very festive already, with garlands of silver tinsel draped around the counter, replicated springs of holly on every table, and the sweet spicy fragrance of raisins absorbing the rum. Pots and pans gleamed on their hooks. Even the two bickering bakers were oddly decorative if you weren't listening to them: Chell's round blue face shining with perspiration, Neelix's apron as spotted as his face and his gesturing hands …

Oh, hell. How many cups of sugar did I put in already?

"Not so much lemon juice! Not so much!" Neelix squawked. "Must I remind you that humans do not have cartilaginous linings on their tongues?"

"Excuse me, I think I know how to cook for humans at least as well as you do. Before I joined the Maquis, I worked in a Michelin-starred restaurant in New Marseilles."

"Well, I might not know what the hell a Mish-layn star is, but I've been head chef on this boat for six years. The recipe clearly states - "

He grabbed the padd he'd been using and shook it in Chell's face. The Bolian swatted it away, and – plop! – it landed screen down in Neelix's bowl of eggs. They weren't chicken eggs, but the eggs of some local animal from Neelix's last foraging mission, about twice as large, and with a greenish color that Celes didn't care to look at for too long. Neelix had sworn up and down that they would make the cake extra rich and fluffy. She just hoped the crew would agree.

"Well, the recipe doesn't state Delta Quadrant ingredients either. A real chef would know how to improvise."

Neelix fished the padd out and wiped it clean with a dish towel, scrunching up his whiskery face in disgust. "Ugh, you'd better hope this thing still functions. Don't talk to me about improvising, Crewman. Since the Haakonians destroyed my colony, I've learned how to improvise the hard way."

"And since the Cardassians destroyed mine, Mister, I've had to do the same."

They locked eyes like a pair of herd animals about to lock horns, glowering at each other over that bowl of green eggs. They looked so utterly ridiculous that Celes decided enough was enough. Captain Janeway had praised her once for unconventional thinking, and she had just gotten a most unconventional idea. She picked up her bowl.

Whomph!

"TAL!" Both men screeched in unison, covered in sugar and flour from head to toe.

"Oh, Prophets, I'm so sorry." She gave them her best wide-eyed look of innocence. "Must've tripped over my own feet. You can take it out of my replicator rations, okay?"

The best part of being the ship's idiot was that no one ever believed her capable of doing these things on purpose.

The Talaxian and the Bolian looked down at their white-dusted aprons, then at each other … then burst out laughing until their bellies shook and their eyes watered.

"Oh, that's all right," said Neelix, brushing flour out of his whiskers with a happy, tired sigh. "We'll have to start again from the beginning, that's all. Be a dear and sweep this up."

"Yessir," she said, scurrying off to the supply closet at the back of the galley.

By the time she found the dustpan (which she purposely delayed as long as possible), Chell and Neelix were looking positively misty-eyed. If the bottle of rum hadn't been empty, she would have suspected them of sharing it.

"Do forgive me, comrade," said Chell, patting Neelix on the arm. "It's just … the holiday season always makes me short-tempered."

"I love the holiday season," said Neelix, returning the pat, "But I understand what you mean."

"The last time I saw my restaurant, it was a pile of rubble." The ex-Maquis sniffed. "Along with every other building on the street. It was the entertainment district, for the gods' sakes, not a military target. It didn't make sense."

"You're absolutely right. War never makes sense. I miss my family so much."

Celes, who missed her family too but at least knew they were still alive, kept her head down and wielded her broom and dustpan as quietly as she could.

They started from the beginning. This time, instead of arguing, they traded devastating war stories and memories of home that made them cry into their cake batter. Tears seemed to improve it, though, because it turned out thick and smooth and rich, and allowed itself to be scraped into a pan with perfect ease.

Neelix had just closed the oven with a flourish and dusted off his hands when his commbadge suddenly chirped.

"Janeway to Neelix, please report to the briefing room."

"On my way, Captain. Neelix out." The Talaxian stared wistfully at the oven door. "Ah, well. Duty calls. I'm leaving the mess hall in your capable hands, then."

"Thank you," said the Bolian, beaming. "I promise I won't let you down."

"I was talking to Tal here. No offense, but she's got seniority." Neelix tweaked his sous chef's hairnet half off her head and – behind Chell's back – winked at her. She had the uncanny feeling he knew exactly what she'd meant to do with that bowl of flour.

She winked back.

"I do hope it won't be another away mission," were his last words as he scuttled out of the room. "I mean, we could always use the fresh ingredients, but … oh, I'd simply hate to miss the party!"

/

It was another away mission, and Neelix did miss the party.

By the time he, Vorik and Ayala finally made it off that planet – muddy, covered in scratches and thoroughly tired of each other, but at least with a few dilithium crystals and enough vegetable crates to fill the Delta Flyer's hull – the mess hall was empty. Even the smell of the cake had almost dissipated, replaced by end-of-day disinfectant. Chell and Celes were at the cleanup stage, wiping tables and putting up chairs.

Neelix hovered in the shadows, knowing he was being ridiculous, but still afraid to interrupt.

He was a jealous man. He knew this about himself. Jealousy had driven his sweet Kes away, long before she'd left the ship. He was damned if he'd make the same mistake in his professional life as in his private one … but the two crewmen looked so comfortable together, smiling and chatting. As if they could run the mess hall perfectly well without him.

Watch out, Neelix, Tom Paris had said once when a brain-damaged Tuvok had surprised them all with ice cream sundaes. If you're not careful, he'll put you out of a job. Harry Kim had agreed, and everyone around them had laughed.

They didn't seem to remember how much Neelix depended on this job. Most of them had families in the Alpha Quadrant, but he had no one. If he hadn't talked Captain Janeway into letting him stay, he'd most likely be dead or in jail by now.

He was just about to leave when they spotted him.

"Neelix!" Celes' face lit up with a smile as she came running, her dishcloth swinging in one hand. "You're back!"

"You should've been here," Chell added. "Everyone missed you."

"They did?"

"Of course! It's never the same without our Morale Officer, is it, Tal dear?"

Celes shook her head, still smiling.

"What about the cake?" Neelix asked, feeling better by the second. "How was it?"

"Well, I thought it was a little bland," said Chell officiously. "And so did Golwat … but the humans enjoyed it, and so did most of the others."

"Ensign Paris had three pieces!" Celes burst out. "And when the Captain had hers, she patted us each on the shoulder and smiled, didn't she, Chell?" The Bolian nodded. "The Borg kids all tried a little bit and they've only just started solid food. And, Neelix, get this – Commander Tuvok said all three of us were to be commended."

"Mr. Vulcan said that? Well, bless my soul!" Neelix pressed his hand to his chest, too happy to keep everything in. "I only wish I could have tasted that cake myself."

"We saved a piece for you," said Celes. "You didn't think we'd actually forget?"

He had thought exactly that, in fact, but they didn't need to know.

"Celes, you're an angel!" He flung out his arms in an extravagant, but very sincere, gesture of gratitude. "And Chell, you're … ah, not half bad yourself."

The Bolian bounded back to the galley as fast as his rotund frame could carry him, and came back holding a covered plate. He set it down (on the last unwiped table), whisked off the cover, and bowed with a flourish. Underneath it was a tiny brown square of cake.

It was … well, by Talaxian standards, it was pretty bland. Given the circumstances, however, it would still go down in Neelix's life as one of the best desserts he'd ever had.