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Once the kitchen had plated its last hot meal of the night, Jim congratulated his crew on another stellar night and headed for the bar to get the scuttlebutt from Scotty. The bar was still packed, and Scotty seemed to be by himself. He ducked behind the bar.
"Need a hand?"
"Much appreciated, if you remember how to work this side of the counter," Scotty replied, grinning.
"Just like riding a bike," Jim said, grinning back before jumping into the fray.
Two hours later, the last patron was gone, and Jim poured himself three fingers of scotch.
"You paying for that?" Came the amused voice of his floor manager, Christine Chapel.
"I earned this, Christine. I pulled double duty tonight!"
"Please," Scotty said, "you possibly earned some Famous Grouse with that mini-shift, you came nowhere near 25 year old Macallan territory."
"I think we can spare three fingers worth," Jim said, rolling his eyes.
The sous chef, Hikaru Sulu, walked into the bar. "The kitchen is down for the night. Are we having a meeting?"
"No, just the drink of your choice. It's on me," Jim said. "Scotty, you and Christine as well. Let's grab a table, and then, Scotty, if you will share the day's news?"
Drinks poured, they all sat at a table, and everyone looked to Scotty.
"Well, most interesting item of the day was brought to me by Pavel Chekov. He tells me that Khan is going to be looking for a sommelier in the next few weeks."
"Really?" Christine said, eyebrows rising. "I thought Carol was a fixture there."
"Apparently, her father tried to buy Khan out."
"Are you serious?" Jim demanded. "Marcus is a dick, but I didn't think he was crazy on top of it!"
"It's not totally out of character for him," Sulu pointed out. "He tried to squeeze Nyota out, too, remember? And she owns the resort, not just one restaurant on it."
"Yes, but, that's Nyota, she's forgiving! Trying to buy out Khan Singh is like--like--I can't even come up with a comparison here!' Jim said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “It's not good, though. It's like fucking with a serial killer instead of a pick pocket!"
"Jim, Khan is not a serial killer,' Christine said, shaking her head.
"He could be. He's damn cold."
"He's not cold," Christine said, firm. "A bit reserved, yes, but in general English people tend to be less brash than the average American who is approximately a metric ton less brash than you, so..."
"Whatever, I'm not that brash."
"Wait, what?" Scotty exclaimed in laughing disbelief as Sulu snorted inelegantly.
"You're so wrong for that, Jim," Sulu added a moment later. "And Christine is right. Pavel couldn't work under him if he was as bad as you wish we'd believe."
"Please. Pavel could work with Satan, the kid is unflappable."
"Wow, a serial killer, Satan, what did Khan ever do to you?"
Scotty reached over and patted her on the shoulder. "You're new here, so you don't know the ins and outs of the Kirk-Singh saga. It's the long and sometimes hilarious epic tale of ego and bitter enmity between two men who strive to outdo each other even though they don't do remotely the same sort of thing. Well. I mean, they both cook food and own restaurants, but there, dear Christine, is where the similarities end."