The Food Of Love
At long last and after hours of nervously pacing, Captain Kathryn
Janeway was grudgingly granted permission by the EMH to see Seven,
currently an unhappy patient who was stretched out prostrate on a
bio-bed, looking drained and totally incapacitated.
Despite having spent most of the last six hours heaving up the
entire contents of her stomach, she still looked to Janeway like
some beautifully stunning Aphrodite .. if just a little washed-out.
All of which was amazing, given Seven's problem - food poisoning
- the unfortunate by-product of what should have been an
intimate, one-to-one dinner the previous evening in Janeway's
quarters.
Feeling anything but her usual perspicacious and steely-spined self,
a nervous Janeway almost flew across sickbay, immediately reaching
out to take hold of one of Seven's cold - very cold - hands.
Mortified that her Casserole Du Fuch had nearly slain her
Astrometrics Officer and recently declared partner, "Oh my God,
darling … I nearly killed you!" The Captain, already visibly pale,
found herself actually shaking when the sick woman seemed unable to
respond, "I know I said I'd prepared a meal to die for, but you
didn't have to take it so literally!"
"An error on my part, Captain. I apologize," Seven's oddly strained
voice barely registered.
"I should be apologizing to you!" Strong blue eyes sought out
the paler ones in a desperate attempt to make sure the patient
really was on the road to recovery, regardless of the doctor's now
positive reassurance. Kathryn Janeway grasped the precious hand
tighter and clasped it close to her chest. Seven did not resist.
A moment's pause, "Your cooking is not improving, Kathryn."
Raising her eyes to the ceiling, the honesty of the understatement
nearly choked the air out of the older woman's lungs. How were you
supposed to respond to the blatantly obvious?
"It was an accident," she said unnecessarily, just needing to
replace the tension around her with reassuring sound.
Only now did Seven's ice blue eyes focus softly on the other, the
glimmer of humor resonant within, "I am glad to hear it." Though
still unwell but clearly over the worst, she studied the anxious
woman at her side, concern and guilt etched into every beloved
feature .. and she took mercy. After all, hadn't Chakotay warned her
that in allowing Janeway to play chef, beyond replicator ability, it
was tantamount to a pre thanksgiving day turkey, up front and center,
declaring "Take my feathers, pluck me." The outcome was always
destined to be doomed.
"There is something positive to be gained from this," the ex drone
stated languidly.
There is? Janeway scrutinized Seven carefully, wondering for a
nanosecond if her culinary inabilities had sent the woman she adored,
mad. "Something positive …." she mumbled.
"Yes," came the deadpan response. "You may have inadvertently
discovered a weapon capable of seriously disabling the Borg."
Warmed by the words, Janeway gently laughed away the tension, "If we
could only get them to eat!"
Changing conversational direction and arching the oh so familiar
eyebrow, a look that never failed to weaken Janeway's resolve .. and
Seven knew it, "You said it was the food of Gods, the nectar of
angels …"
The Starfleet officer visibly cringed and shrugged her shoulders, "Yes,
well … since we don't see too many heavenly beings around now, I
think we can safely assume that one of my ancestors was their master
chef!"
"But your mother is an adept cook."
Janeway shook her head, "I take after my father's side, and have
inherited questionable culinary skills that are carved deep into the
psyche of the Janeway line." Almost cockily, with emphasis and light
banter, "I obviously haven't told you about Great Aunt Martha or my
cousin, Eleanor?"
The patient merely stared back. Janeway shrugged, "Another time,
maybe."
"I look forward to it," Seven sighed as she leaned further back into
the comfort of the bio-bed and momentarily closed her eyes.
In an unguarded moment of affection, not often practiced by the
Captain outside of her private quarters, Janeway reached out and
gently swept back a piece of errant hair that had fallen across
Seven's brow, finally running the back of her hand down the woman's
cheek. Then, leaning intimately down towards Seven, she whispered,
"All I wanted to do was give you an evening you'd never forget."
Love registered in every word.
"You were successful, Kathryn."
"I may never cook again." Deadpan.
"I feel better already." Pokerfaced.
Thinking to place a kiss on Seven's forehead, Janeway was annoyed to
find the EMH now hovering at her shoulder, irritatingly deflecting
her from her desired task.
"I'm sorry, Captain, but Seven needs to rest." His earnest face did
nothing to stop the Captain's ire.
Ever the professional, "Yes, of course."
Straightening up and looking back at the young woman who appeared to
have already taken the doctor's advice, her eyes closed as if in
sleep, Captain Janeway lamentably chose not to kiss and disturb the
precious form before her - that could wait. Instead, she leaned
forward again and very softly whispered, "I'll see you later, my
darling … rest well."
Acknowledging the doctor with a nod of her head, Janeway was almost
out through the sickbay doors when she heard, "Kathryn ..."
Pausing at the door and turning, aware it had been Seven's voice and
yet the woman remained as the Captain had left her, still and with
eyes closed.
" … I still love you."
The Captain, the cook and the lover flashed a satisfied grin as the
doors closed between them.
The end