Midnight Rendezvous, Part 1

Posted on 16 Jan 2013 @ 2:23am by Ansen Pawlak & Lieutenant Jared Nicholas

3,813 words; about a 19 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo: Deck 2, Galley/Mess Hall
Timeline: MD -02: 2350hrs

[ON]

Jared still was not used to the Galileo's clock, to him it was still felt like 1750 not 2350. Besides, he was hungry and needed something to eat. He could of course have replicated something in his quarters, or better yet have cooked something on some of his contraband 'translation equipment' but decided to see if there was anyone in the kitchen.

He stepped into the dimly lit messroom and saw a light in the back. He decided he might as well check things out and moved through the nearly deserted mess hall to check it out.

He noticed the man, Pawlak if he recalled with headphones on listening to something he couldn't make out from his distance. Not wanting to startle the man he said, "Excuse me."

Ansen lay stretched out on the center island of the kitchen, waiting for the timer to go off beside him when it was time to take the turkey out for another round of marinating. In his headphones, a Trill symphonic orchestra played somber and lyrical.

He looked at the man streched out and wondered if he were asleep. He wasn't responding. He was going to call out again, but changed his mind. He went over and shook the chef's shoulder.

Ansen's eyes flicked open and swiveled to the face peering down at him. Tugging one of his earphones off, he asked, "Help you?"

Jared smiled at the man, "I couldn't sleep and remembered you did such a good job the other day that I might be able to convince you to fix me something now. Some kind of decadent comfort food. I do like decadent."

Ansen squinted at the now smiling face. Decadent comfort food. "You know it's the middle of the night, tak?" he inquired, rolling boneless off the counter and stretching. "What kind of decadence did you have in mind?"

Jared's smile turned to a smirk, "Oh that is just such a loaded question it almost just begs for some off color and slightly smart ass reply. But I'll be a good boy and stick with food. Something goey, with chocolate and rasberries and whipped cream and a little more chocolate. But, hey, I'm easy. What kind of decadence are you good at creating?"

Ansen eyed the smirking ensign, humming low and thoughtful in his throat. "Oh, any kind. I'd say 'take your pick', but if you're really that easy... " His lips curled into a sideways smile. "Maybe I'll just surprise you." Brows winging together playfully, he meandered over to the cabinets and began pulling out ingredients in satin-steel jars. "Ensign Nicholas, wasn't it?"

"That's right, but there is no need for such formality. You can call me Jared. I'd love to be surprised. As to my being easy, well that kind of depends on what exactly we're talking about.

"Jared, then. And I'm Ansen." Ansen poured a measure of thick, creamy milk-like substance into a pot and began the heating sequence on it, tapping spices from jars in one after another without measuring. When that was done, and spicy rich scents were beginning to drift up and out of the pot, he leaned back against the counter as he waited for the milk to warm. "What would you like to be talking about?" It wasn't his best line, but then again, he hadn't really been in the mood to play a game since the last mission. Since Marek had... Not that Marek had ever been remotely encouraging about Ansen's flirtatious tendencies or the rootless lifestyle that went along with them. But he'd been happy then, and carefree, allowing Marek to worry enough for the both of them. Now he was alone, with phantom pains in his chest and in the soles of his feet.

"I don't know, your favorite recipe, what you like to do in your off time, how cute you are. All of those would make interesting topics."

Ansen's smile slipped sideways again. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the scents rising from the pot beside him, or the fact that a devilishly grinning fellow in a uniform was flirting with him... But his mood was starting to pick up a little. "You're showing astoundingly good taste," he chuckled. "Though I don't have a favorite recipe. Do you?"

Jared moved a bit closer, but still maintained a discrete distance. "I am known to exhibit good taste," he returned. "I dabble in the kitchen, but I think my idea of a complicated dish is mac and cheese..

Whatever you're making it certainly smells good. You do look nicer when you smile, did anyone ever tell you that?"

Ansen shook his head, still chuckling, as he turned away to break a thick brick of chocolate into the pot. When I smile? he wondered. Without my clothes, certainly, a generous number of times, but when I smile? Might actually be a first time... How sad is that? "So you like decadence and comfort at the same time. Ever had a seven cheese and syto bean pasta?"

"No, I haven't but I'll try anything once. Well almost anything. At least when it comes to food anything. But decadence and comfort together sounds more like a date than food."

He paused not quite sure why the last line had come out, it had pushed the envelope of flirting a bit far, but it was out there now. "Seriously it sounds really good."

"The date or the food?" Ansen asked, tracking Jared's movement out of the corner of his eye. "Or both?"

Jared stopped now leaning against a cabinet, coincidentally the one that Stone had ranted about earlier, "Both of course."

"Hm." Ansen fished a spoon from its place hanging on the wall and stirred the pot, absently grabbing a pair of small cylindrical tubes and tapping their contents into the mix. "Of course?"

"Sorry," Jared replied in a tone that could have been genuine, "I'm a bit of a smart ass at times, but it just seemed like such a natural answer at the time. I really didn't come here looking for a date, but you are a good looking guy and well, I'm just a natural flirt."

"I guessed that much." Ansen smiled, "I'd wager you probably don't have to wander into mostly uninhabited parts of the ship in the middle of the night to find companionship if you're looking for it. As you're a good looking guy, yourself."

"Thanks," he replied, "And yeah I'd head some place a little more crowded if that had been my intent. Before we go too far down this path, I have to ask if you're in a relationship now?"

"Yes, actually," Ansen quipped. "I have a deep and abiding relationship with this stove. It's just so... hot. Aren't you, moja milosc?" he cooed, gently stroking the cool silver paneling. Ansen turned to look at Jared with a curious tilt. "Sorry," he said, with a blink and a smile, "Were you being se- nie. No; not at the moment, I'm not. Are you?"

"No, I'm not. And, yeah, I really was being serious. I'll flirt with just about anyone, I even flirted with Lt. Stone, but he was too dense to get it, but it's all in fun. But I don't date someone or get naked with them if they're in a relationship. Two reasons for that. I'm not that kind of guy to begin with and I don't want thing blowing up in my face.

"Not that- you're just very direct." Ansen looked at him quizzically, "Personally I would have gone and snooped around and asked people vague clue-gathering questions in a rather circumspect way whilst wooing my object of affection with tasty morsels. This works too, I'm just saying..." He paused, "Przepraszam, in the interest of clarity and your directness, is nakedness something I should consider up for discussion at this point?"

Jared blinked a couple of times before replying. "Well, I've always been a direct kind of guy, I've found it saves headaches all the way around. But I'm afraid that didn't come out exactly like I intended.

I just meant I don't get involved with people who are involved with people. I didn't mean to imply that we were going to get naked with each other, at least not tonight. I can't say I've never done a 'nice shoes let's fornicate one night stand' kind of thing, but I don't make a practice of it. You probably wouldn't have to twist my arm too much, if that's what you wanted, but when I said date, I meant date. One that might end in a kiss, but not... not a happy ending."

Ansen idly scratched just behind his ear, considering. "How about this. You open the bin there," he pointed to a large tank-like receptacle full of a variety of fresh kept fruits, "and find the raspberries. I'll finish this here. And we'll set aside the talk of dating until you know me well enough to know if you want that. Two flirtatious smart asses should not just talk themselves into such things, tak?"

Jared smirked at him, unable to help himself. "Sounds like a plan." He opened the receptacle and began rummaging through it looking for the raspberries.

Ansen left the stove for a minute to pull down a thick and heavy silver pan, which he then filled with the contents of the pot.

Finding a couple of small baskets of them, he picked out what he felt was the best and handed it over to Ansen.

The chef wiggled his fingers over the tiny fruits, then picked them up by the handful and spread them over the surface of the molted chocolate until they formed a thick layer over top. Grasping the heavy, matching lid, he pressed it down into the pan just above where the berries ended, flicked a locking mechanism on the side of the pan, and then rotated the whole assortment four times before setting it upside down on the counter. "Wuhkuh," he counted in Vulcan, slapping the palm of his hand against the topsy-turvied 'bottom' of the pan. "Dahkuh," he slapped it again, harder. The lever handle supporting the strange contraption slid in a measure. "Rehkuh," he pounded both hands against the bottom and the level pressed all the way in so that the pan was now flat to the surface of the counter. "Kehkuh," he hit the surface again, then glanced at Jared with a quick grin. "Through heat and careful manipulation, you are begun and will live only until you are destroyed by others or the passage of time. Ple'ma tsu rashaya?" Resting his hand in the center of the pan, he tapped his fingers into a rhythmic, but seemingly random pattern, and the pan lifted off against his hand. Revealed on the flattened 'lid' of the pan was a mold of steaming, dark chocolate, layered atop a 'crust' of raspberries, looking both solid and liquid at the same time. "Ri wi cake," he explained, prying the pan from his hand and setting it gently on the counter. "Otherwise known as 'yet not cake'. Fork or spoon?"

Jared's tongue flicked across his lips in anticipation. "Spoon," he said, "And that looks even better than I thought it would."

"I learned some tricks. They let me have my own kitchen. That's how it works." Ansen shrugged, pleased that the presentation was appreciated. He fetched a spoon and offered it to Jared. "Tastes better than it looks."

"You know there has to be some smart-ass flirtatious come back for that," he replied taking the spoon "But I can't think of it at the moment. He took the spoon and then dug into the gooey concoction. He took a bite and sighed contentedly. "Oh I think I'm in love now. Will you marry me?"

Ansen laughed, "Sure. But I'll want a ring. Best get on that." The timer went off just as he was hoisting himself up to sit on the counter, so he slipped back down and went to the oven, pulling a massive tray with a four legged bird on it from the oven and grunted as he heaved it onto the counter space beside. Grabbing a medium sized canister and a brush, he reapplied the marinade to the bird, painstakingly working the bristles of the brush into the crevices. "Honeymoon with the Drella or the Trill?"

"Oh, I don't care as long as I can eat this. Uhh, do you need help with that bird?"

"Only if you really want to," Ansen grinned. "Just need to have it prepped for the 'bon voyage' dinner tomorrow. It roasts for about eighteen hours total." He swept the brush over the top, dripping thick marinade over the bird, and glanced back at Jared, "What is it you do, anyway?"

"I am the language specialist, I can be a smart ass in eight languages."

Ansen's brows winged up. "So you're the reason I don't have to have a blue uniform on hand. Thank you. Never liked the fit." He smiled to himself, turning back to his marinating. "Only eight, hm?"

"Well nine if you count Chinese, which I know enough of now to be a smart ass. My next project is Japanese. So how many languages do you speak?"

Ansen screwed his face up, thinking. "Ah... twelve, I think. Not Chinese, yet. Or Japanese. I haven't heard enough of either." He grinned, "What's your favorite?"

"Romulan, it was one of my first, what about you? And I am impressed 12 is a lot to wrap your head around."

"Languages are easy for me; something about how my brain works," Ansen shrugged. "I'm impressed by anyone who could graduate Starfleet Academy. Or any academy. We all have our specialties." He lifted one side of the bird to brush at its underside. "Ferengi," he answered the question with a happy sigh. "Bargaining in Ferengi is one of the true pleasures in life. It's like a boxing match with words and wits."

"Seriously, languages are easy for you? Me too, again just because of the way I think. Nevertheless twelve is impressive. I may have to have you teach me Ferengi."

"Any time," Ansen agreed. "So you went to the Academy to specialize in languages? What were the classes like? Did they go into the histories of syntax and origin or...?"

"Yes I did, it was that or navigation, which I actually minored in. And yes that was part of the classes. But I also went to Stanford and they really emphasized it there. Star Fleet was more practical for the most part. You know Where is the bathroom, put down that phaser, stop in the name of the law, I'm from the Federation and I am here to help."

Ansen laughed. "I always wondered about the syntactical variations between Rihannsu and Vulcan. I get to thinking I understand them, but then sometimes, the sentence structures are flipped... for apparently no reason." He set the bird back down and tipped it from the side. "Did they explain that to you?"

"The theory is that they have a common root, but that the divergence caused a more, how should I say this, primitive form to develop. That would of course be the Rihannsu of course."

"Of course," the Pole agreed. "Assuming your teacher had a preference for Vulcans, which - the classes being Starfleet - probably was the case. History is written by the winners, and syntactical history changed by them. That was in a book I found in the LCARS a few years back. Don't remember the name." He paused, "Are you eating that entire thing in one sitting?"

Jared sat the spoon down wih a guilty expression. "Sorry I got a little carried away. I can't say that your theory is wrong. All history seems to have been written by the victors, it is the nature of things. However I don't think my professor preferred Vulcans over Romulans, nor do I think that he used primitive in a polemic sense."

"Tak, tak," Ansen nodded, opening the oven and heaving the heavy tray back inside once more, restating the timer. "It's not my theory. I don't have theories. No education, you see," he added with a grin. "Just grunt work and good ears. But it interests me. All of it. Why did you choose to learn Romulan as one of your first?"

Jared sat the spoon down and looked at Ansen with a long glance. Filriting was one thing, dating another, but letting down his defenses was on a whole different scale.

At length he responded, "The man that rescued me spoke it. It was only natural."

"Ah?" Ansen considered the officer. Jared's entire expression had changed at the mention. Fascinating. Rescued from what? he wanted to ask. But he knew that wary look. He'd worn it himself for years before he'd given up keeping secrets. Marek had worn it until he'd died. Suffering - early suffering - left its mark on the bearer. Jared hid it very well, but there it was, slipping out now. "Ihlla'nh," he murmured; he wasn't about to go prying into someone's private pain in the middle of the night. "I wasn't criticizing. About the cake," he added. "Just... surprised. And flattered. Do you want another? I can make those all night. They're fun."

A wave of relief washed over Jared and he visibly relaxed. Ansen wasn't going to push. Grateful for the change of subject he said, 'Yeah another one would be great. Maybe we could eat it together. This is a great time, but what would you like to do on an official date?"

"What would make it official?" Ansen inquired, quirking a brow as he went back to the stove to start another batch of Vulcan molten chocolate.

"Well I guess this could be considered official, two guys talking having fun together, but I meant one when we are both off duty. You know going out for drinks a holo advendture together, a trip to Risa. those kinds of thngs."

Risa. Ansen's grin widened engagingly. "I haven't been to a holodeck in a while. Risa... that was a nice place to visit. Good drinks. Terrible vodka, but good drinks." He looked at Jared, "When?"

Well tomorrow, or today technically I've got a pretty full day. How does tomorrow look for you, after we both get off shift? Or do you need more time to find someone to cover for you, seems you spend a lot of time here."

"I have someone," Ansen smiled, pointing to the corner where a white board leaned against the wall with the words 'use a replicator, come back later' in Standard, Vulcan, and Klingon. "I spend a lot of time here because I'm one of two civilians on board and it gets boring watching all the uniforms running up and down the halls. If everyone else is so useful, I should be too." He cocked his head to the side, "What do you do all day?"

"Right now pretty much just sit around and study. I'm going to talk to the Captain to see if they need a back up flight control officer, I'm pretty good with my hands."

"St-" Ansen tripped over his tongue, his smile going sideways again at the reference to Jared being good with his hands. Too easy. "Study what?"

"Languages primarily, documents if I'm lucky and psychology, xenoanthroplogy. If we come across ailens I can help analyze their speech patterns. Look beyond their words to what they are really saying."

"Xenoanthropology," Ansen repeated. There were times that reminded him very specifically that he'd never engaged in any kind of formal training to be on these ships. He knew he had a gift with languages, but it was a natural one. It hadn't required classes or book learning. Languages to him were like learning to hum a tune you heard a part of once. They stuck in his head and repeated until they were old favorites. Not that he was entirely uneducated. He'd done basic math and science... but it was very basic. And probably remedial in comparison to every other person on this ship. He barely knew how to hold a tricorder, let alone be able to read what the hell all the blips and dots were supposed to tell him about God knew what. No. Marek had offered to send him to a formal academy when Ansen had failed to meet Starfleet Academy's rigorous admission demands, but Ansen had elected to learn how to do something that was a mostly defunct profession in light of the onboard replicators. Oh, he was good. Very good. He could build a combination of flavors and textures far better, more unique, and fresher than anything a replicator could. But still, at this moment, even with a bird big enough to feed eighty people in the oven and a pot of Vulcan chocolate on the stove, he felt like an imbecile. "Well." And words, which were his favorite thing, failed him.

Jared stared at him for several long seconds. He saw the look that crossed the other man's face, a look of disapointment, regret perhaps, he couldn't quite read it and didn't want to intrude upon his private thoughts with his telepathy.

He didn't know what to say, so in the end he decided not to verbally reply. Instead, he did something he had not planned on doing when he first came in the kitchen, something he hadn't planned to do thirty seconds ago. He closed the gap between them till he was in Ansen's personal space.

He reached out and cupped the other man's cheek. The touch was personal, friendly, and for the moment platonic. "I don't know what just happened, what you're feeling, but I'm here for you.

He didn't know why he had said those words, he barely knew the man, perhaps it was just how the young linquist was wired.

Ansen didn't pause to think. As he shifted forward, he wondered if maybe he were just trying to breathe in some of that knowledge, or at the very least some of the words he seemed to have lost. Or maybe he was just being helpful, his helpful, normal self, with no napkin on hand. Then he brushed his lips against Jared's and he stopped worrying about why he'd moved in the first place, carefully nibbling the chocolate that had dribbled there. The kiss wasn't long or invasive, but the surface exploration was a thorough one. When the chocolate was cleaned away, he met Jared's eyes. "Dziekuje."

[OFF - TBC]

A joint post between:

Ensign Jared Nicholas
Language Specialist
USS Galileo

Ansen Pawlak
Chef
USS Galileo
(pNPC Lilou Peers)

RSS Feed