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Raffi shaded her brow from the noon sun and watched Seven and Laris disappear, baskets in hand, out of sight along the little French country lane. The baking hot gravel crunched under Raffi’s sandals as she and Zhaban made their way back along the wide path to the chateau.
“Is it always this hot?” Raffi huffed. The late summer sun flared from behind a thin cloud, bleaching the pale stone of Chateau Picard almost white in the heat. A strident chorus of crickets thrummed in the hedges as she turned to her companion.
“Is it hot?” said Zhaban, who looked comfortable even in a long sleeved shirt, “I hadn’t noticed.”
He stooped to yank out a dandelion from the gravel as they walked, “It’s the winter that gets me here. Laris’ cold feet are murder.”
Raffi chuckled, wondering what Laris and Seven would be talking about on their supply trip into the nearby village.
“How long have you guys been together?” she asked.
“Married or as Tal Shiar operatives?” Zhaban said with a grin.
“Romantically,” Raffi laughed.
“Oh, the Tal Shiar had its moments. A night watch can be very romantic if you have the right partner.” He rubbed a thumb against the dandelion’s petals, “What about you and the Ranger there?”
“A year,” the OPS officer smiled, “a year today actually.”
“Congratulations!” he said as he began picking petals off the flower, “any plans?”
“She said she doesn’t want to do anything special, I said I’d replicate dinner.”
“I remember my first anniversary meal with Laris,” he smiled at the memory, “we had viinerine . That was the first time I knew we were meant to be together.”
“That good, huh?”
“Food is the quickest way to someone's heart; after a good fly blade that is,” he joked and let the remains of the flower fall from his fingers, “you could always cook?”
“What, cook-cook?” Raffi said incredulously, “I don't know, I’m more of a replicator chef. What would I make anyway?”
“I’m making Laris viduus’anhae at the weekend.”
Raffi shook her head, not recognising the name.
“Romulan berry tart. Very bitter fruit, very blue. Romulan bakers used to make little patterns in the top of the tart with them.”
“That's so sweet, what patterns?”
“Oh flowers, stars, smiling faces, that sort of thing.” Zhaban rubbed the back of his neck remembering home, “they’re for lifting people spirits mostly, or happy occasions.”
Raffi remembered eating something similar on Romulus back when they were planning the evacuations. The dusky indigo fruits arranged carefully into smiling faces on the pale blue creme of the filling.
“I could give you the recipe?” the Romulan offered with a smile.
In the cool dark of the living room, Raffi found Cris and Agnes sprawled end-to-end on the sofa. They were each using the armrests for pillows, both engrossed in their reading. Raffi looked down at the fruit tart recipe from Zhaban and flicked to a blank data file, she cleared her throat.
Agnes looked up, Cris didn’t.
“Agnes, you don’t cook by any chance do you?” Raffi perched on an armchair, looking hopeful.
“Me? Cook? As in not out of a replicator?” She laughed, “Sorry Raffi, even at the Academy all I ate was ramen.”
Raffi snorted, “There are replicators in those rooms, y’know, how did you only have noodles?”
“It wasn’t by choice! The pattern buffer glitched on pretty much day one, and then everything tasted like spicy chicken ramen whether you wanted it to or not.” She laughed, resting her book open on her chest, “Honestly you do not want to know what spicy chicken ramen ice cream tastes like. It was deeply wrong.”
“Did you ever consider, oh I don’t know,” Raffi waved a loose hand in the air, “repairing the pattern buffer?”
“Like I had time!” Agnes scoffed, pushing herself up on the sofa, “I was only 18 by the time I finished pre-med,” she watched Raffi’s brow furrow and added, “I was fourteen when I started,”
The OPS officer looked suitably impressed.
“Child prodigy allegedly,” Agnes shrugged, “so teenage me could tell you the exact progression of the Andorian measles, but damned if I knew how to fix a replicator. Or cook. Sorry, Raffi.”
The cyberneticist prodded the Captain with her foot and grinned mischievously, “You can cook though.”
Rios peered over his hardback with a glare that said traitor. He turned to Raffi, who was expectantly hovering her fingers over her palm holo, ready to take notes.
“That’s true, I’ve had your cooking before and I’m still here,” she wiggled on the armchair, getting comfy, “gimme a recipe?”
The Captain turned to Agnes, with a serious expression, “And this is how you identify a disguised Tal Shiar agent in the house,” he turned back to his old friend, “who are you and what have you done with Raffi Musiker?”
Raffi threw a cushion at him, which he batted away, laughing.
“I’ve known you for years Raffi! I’ve never seen you cook, what gives?”
“Zhaban suggested-”
“I knew there was a Tal Shiar influence!” He laughed.
Raffi menaced him with another throw pillow and he chuckled.
“Look, Seven and I have been dating a year and I said I’d fix dinner.” Raffi explained.
“Replicator’s right in the kitchen Raf, don’t hurt yourself.”
“Cris, I am trying to be romantic here, Zhaban thinks it’s a nice idea,”
“Zhaban thinks it’s a nice idea,” Rios mouthed and rolled his eyes.
“Stop being sour,” Agnes prodded him in the ribs with her heel, “I think it’s a really sweet gesture Raffi.”
The OPS officer grinned at the solidarity.
“Right, Chef Rios,” she leaned in fingers poised over the holo, “go!”
“Ok,” Cris began, “my Mom used to make me caldillo de congrio,”
Raffi began typing the name studiously.
“So, first you slow boil the eel heads-”
Raffi raised a hand, “Cris, honey. I’m gonna stop you there. I’m not boiling eel heads,”
“Since when are you squeamish?” He scoffed, “You used to give the training lecture on thalaron radiation, those holo-images were really graphic.”
“Mmm-hmm, yeah, it's not the heads that's the problem, babe. It’s the fact its hotter than a valits’ armpit and I don’t want to stand around in eel steam all afternoon,”
“You don’t know what you're missing, it’s excellent,”
“Pass.” She smiled, “What else you got?”
“I know a great Chilean sea bass recipe?” He chanced, scratching his beard in thought.
“Eh, sea bass just brings back memories of those Academy ration packs,” she grimaced at the memory.
“Never happy,” Cris rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “Ok, how about Pannekoeken?”
She eyed him suspiciously, “Are there eels involved?”
“No.”
“Keep talking.”
Cris leaned forward and filled three glasses from the pitcher of lemonade on the coffee table. “Pop’s husband was Dutch. They met at the Academy, but they didn’t get together till they were both posted at the Ariane research center in Holland.”
He took a sip of his drink and continued, “His savoury Dutch pancakes were great. He used to make them for the officer’s dinner sometimes.”
“Here, I’ll write it for you.” He took the palm holo and began to type.
Cris wrote out the details from memory and saved the file as ‘Pop’s Pannekoeken’ with a soft smile tugging at his mouth.
“Many thanks!” Raffi nodded, “main course, check! Have you seen the others?”
Agnes nodded in the direction of the inner courtyard, “Picard and Soji are out there playing chess.”
Raffi gave a playful salute in thanks and headed off to find them.
“I think she’s biting off more than she can chew.” Rios mused as his friend left.
Agnes frowned at him, “Hey! You do remember Raffi is the only person in Starfleet who managed to unravel the whole Mars conspiracy?”
“I’m not saying Raf’s not clever,” Rios explained as he eased his book back open, “She’s way smarter than me, that’s for sure. I’m just saying that she the only person I’ve ever met who’s managed to burn toast-”
“That’s not that-”
“-with a replicator!” Cris finished.
“Ok,” Agnes laughed, “I guess that is impressive.”
In the shade of the quiet courtyard, the decisive click of Soji’s wooden chess piece on the board hung in the air, along with the heavy scent of the honeysuckle that filled the little space.
“Check,” Soji said with a smile, before turning as Raffi cleared her throat.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Raffi said, smiling as Picard mouthed ‘thank you’ behind the young Synth’s back. The Admiral was obviously losing.
“I’m trying to get some good recipes, simple ones,” Raffi stressed.
“Ooh!” Said Soji brightly, “Will and Deanna gave me a tomato soup recipe, if you’d like that?” she said, genuinely enthusiastic.
The Admiral smiled at the young Synth calling his old friends by their first names. La Sirena’s regular trips to Nepenthe over the last year had done the crew a world of good. He made a mental note to call Will later.
Soji held her hand out for Raffi’s palm holo and began to input the data at speed. Her fingers danced quickly across the projected interface.
“The secret,” she said cheerfully, “is the bunnycorn stock,” before handing the device back to Raffi.
Raffi wondered if having someone ask about a ‘real’ memory was what was causing the sparkle in her eye.
“I have an excellent recipe for French onion soup.” Picard said lacing his hands together and leaning back in his chair.
“Soup course’s taken now, JL,” Raffi teased, “any other suggestions?”
The old man looked thoughtful, “I do remember making lavender meringues once with Laris?”
Raffi added ‘J.L & Laris’ Lavender Meringues’ to her list.
“There’s a pot of lavender growing by the kitchen door and the meringues were extremely simple to make.” He caught Raffi’s playful glare, “not that I’m commenting on your skills as a chef of course, Raffi!” he held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Hmm, a likely story,” Raffi said with wry suspicion, clicking the palm holo closed decisively. “Beat him for me will you Soji?” She added with a wink.
“In precisely three moves!” The Synth grinned and nodded back.
A happy pitbull grin greeted Raffi as she stepped back into the kitchen. Number One’s collar was adorned with little flowers. Their delicate stems were tucked under the sturdy leather against his neck.
“Pretty boy,” Raffi cooed, kneeling down to talk to Number One and scratching his chin, “who’s been decorating you then, huh?”
“I’ll give you one guess,” Hugh said with a smile as he tugged on a walking boot.
“I think the brighter ones will look best!” Elnor’s voice floated through the open door to the patio, “what do you think, Hugh?”
“I think he’ll like any!” Hugh called out of the door as he stood up, wiggling his ankle to test the fit of his boot.
“Newly replicated,” he explained, “we’re going to go break them in.”
“Nice day for a walk,” Raffi stood and nodded at the blue sky hanging outside the gently fluttering curtains.
“Raffi?” Elnor asked cheerfully as he leaned around the door with a clutch of dandelions in one hand and cornflowers in the other. His bare shoulders blushed a gentle green from the sun.
“What do you think, yellow or blue?”
Raffi watched Number One wander over to the nun, hopeful for an afternoon walk.
“He looks like a security officer to me, give him yellow,”
“Done!” The young Romulan nodded, scattering the cornflowers onto the breeze and settling down cross-legged on the floor to tuck his collection of dandelions into the happy dog’s collar.
“So do either of you two have any ideas on what I can try to cook for Seven?”
“I didn’t know you cooked, Raffi?” Hugh said, packing water and a book into his rucksack and sounding impressed.
“I don’t usually.” She replied, “But I’m going to give it a go, I need easy recipes though.”
“Roti!” Elnor chimed enthusiastically, “I made them every day in the House of Truth, they are very easy to learn, I’m sure you would be able to master it.”
“That can go with the soup!” Raffi grinned, with an excited shimmy. It was all coming together.
“I could stay and help you with it, if you like?” Elnor offered cheerfully.
“No, I don’t want to disturb your walk,”
“Then I’ll make you some when we get back!” Elnor tucked the final flower into place and brushed the dandelion petals from his robe.
“May I?” Hugh took the palm holo from the OPS officer’s hand and began to type, “I know the recipe too,”
Raffi watched Hugh record the roti instructions, labelling the file:
“Bread > Roti > Qowat Milat Method > Elnor Variant > ‘Hugh Tested and Approved’”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any recipes of my own Raffi,” Hugh smiled a little sadly, “but, I know that whatever you make for Seven she’ll appreciate.” He took Elnor’s hand and pulled the younger man up from the floor.
“Good luck,” Hugh said kindly, nodding to Raffi before he offered his crooked arm to Elnor and whistled Number One to follow them out into the sun.
Raffi looked at the long list of ingredients and instructions on her palm holo and set about replicating the necessary things.
This was going to go well, she thought with a smile.
The warm evening air rustled in the bay trees out on the patio as Number One’s nose twitched. Sniffing deeply, he raised his head and shook himself awake at the smell of danger.
Something was burning.
His expression resolute, he sniffed at the air. The smell of smoke, and something he couldn’t place, was coming from inside the house. He set off at a determined lope for the open kitchen door.
Raffi sat at the kitchen table and looked around, defeated, at the mess. It had not gone well.
The soup, which should have had a smooth, creamy consistency, was currently distressingly close to jam at the bottom of a copper pot. A row of devastatingly blow-torched meringues were shoved hastily beside a smoking pile of ‘bread’. The Dutch pancakes had either welded themselves to the frying pan or, in one unfortunate case, to the ceiling.
The OPS officer listened to the soft tap of paw pads against the tiles and felt a heavy warmth on her knee. She looked down to see Number One’s head in her lap.
“I think dinner’s cancelled, Number One,” she sighed, and stroked his wide head. His collar was still tucked with flowers, though now they were rumpled and a little wilted. The pitbull’s soft brown eyes looked up at her consolingly, before a rogue mushroom pancake detached itself from the ceiling and landed next to him with a soft ‘ plap.’ He scarfed it down excitedly before he turned and trotted out of the room.
Raffi flicked a blackened crumb of bread dejectedly. The only thing she hadn’t attempted was the Romulan tart, but by that point it had all seemed a little like a lost cause. She rested her head on the table with a groan, before hearing the sound of paws return. She looked down to see a slimy, half chewed bone pushed into her lap.
Raffi smiled, “Thanks for sharing, buddy. Looks better than most of my attempts,” she put the bone next to the pile of ruined food, “you’re a good boy.”
The pitbull sat down proudly and looked pleased with a job well done, tongue lolling happily at the side of his big smile. His tail thumped enthusiastically on the stone floor as she scratched behind his pointed ears.
In the distance the gravel crunched. Number One’s ears pricked up and he let out a single alerting bark.
That was it, Raffi thought. They were back, and she had nothing to show for her efforts but a mess.
She could hear Laris and Zhaban talking outside as Seven ducked into the cool of the kitchen, her cheeks and shoulders flushed from the sun.
“I tried to make dinner,” Raffi said sheepishly as a charred meringue lost its battle with gravity and crumpled onto the table, “tried being the operative word.”
Seven raised an eyebrow, and smiled, “I did say you didn’t have to do anything,”
“I know,” Raffi propped her cheek against her hand, “but I wanted to surprise you.”
“This,” the xB gestured to the table strewn with ruined food and what looked like a dog bone, “does qualify as a surprise I think.”
“Worst part is, I really tried,” Raffi laughed in resignation, walking over to wind her arms around the Ranger’s waist. Seven put her basket down on the table and pulled Raffi into a hug.
“I appreciate the effort,” the xB kissed Raffi’s cheek, before something above them caught her eye. She suppressed a laugh as spotted a dangling slice of mushroom still clinging to the ceiling, “Did you ask Picard if you could redecorate?” she joked dryly.
“Please don’t tell Rios,” Raffi’s groan ended in a laugh, before she rested her head on Seven’s shoulder, “and sorry about dinner.”
“Well,” Seven holding up the basket “I’m sure we can still put something together,”
Seven showed Raffi the contents of her basket. Some bread, cheese and preserves were nestled safely in the cloth lining, as well as a box of strawberry tarts from the little patisserie in the village. The xB helped herself to a bottle of Chateau Picard from the wine rack and produced a chilled glass bottle of water from the replicator.
She added them to their basket.
“Sufficient?”
Seven offered her hand and a smile. The OPS officer nodded and gladly took both.
The well-worn dusty path through the vines was lit with warm evening light as the two of them walked. Raffi let her fingertips brush against the vineyard’s foliage. The soft texture of the leaves tickled her open palm. The fingers of her other hand were comfortably laced with Seven’s.
“I did on occasion prepare dinner for Captain Janeway and the senior officers,” Seven continued, carrying the basket and describing her culinary history, “my speciality was Luhvian quail in a truffle sauce, served with roasted chadre'kab.”
“Puts my charcoal with a side of carbon dust to shame! I didn’t know you could cook,” Raffi looked across at the xB, impressed, “you’re full of surprises.”
She pulled Seven’s hand up to kiss the warm metal of her knuckles.
“Cooking is simply applied science,” Seven’s words were tinted with a smile as she enjoyed the brief feeling of Raffi’s lips on her skin, “stringent research and development is key.”
They found a quiet spot under an oak tree at the edge of the vineyard and laid out the picnic blanket. Old, dry grass fluttered from its red tartan surface as they shook it open.
Raffi kicked off her sandals and used them to weigh down the edges of the blanket against the light breeze. Seven knelt and unpacked food as the two settled down to their meal.
The picnic didn’t disappoint. Raffi swept the last of the bread crumbs off the blanket while Seven took out the last box.
“I’ve been looking forward to these,” the xB looked fondly at the strawberry tarts as she passed one to Raffi. The fruit slices were arranged in exact concentric circles and nestled under a smooth sugar glaze.
It looked almost too good to eat, Raffi thought before taking a bite.
“Mmm!” Raffi rolled her eyes at the flavour. It was sweet and creamy and perfect.
Seven lowered her dessert after taking a bite. She cocked her head, her mouth pressed into a frown, “Not as good as I thought it might be.”
Raffi scoffed, “Are we eating the same thing here?”
“It’s not the same.”
“As what?” Raffi asked.
“Strawberry tarts were my favourite when I was younger,” the xB put the dessert back down on the open box, “back on Tendara colony.”
The xB wondered if it was the strawberries, or the pastry or her that was different. She’d been so young the last time…
“Maybe it's just a different recipe?” Raffi offered, taking in Seven’s thoughtful expression. She lay a comforting hand on her arm, “Or different ingredients maybe?”
“Perhaps,” Seven said, sounding unconvinced.
Raffi’s heart ached at Seven’s sad smile.
“Hang on,” Raffi thought of an idea. She pushed herself to her feet and darted to the closest vine. Hopping as she went, the drought-dry grass prickled at her bare feet. She yanked a bunch of grapes loose from under the shade of a leaf and settled back to kneel next to Seven.
“Let’s work on an improvement, shall we?”
She rinsed the stolen grapes with water from the bottle and then jammed the berries onto the fruit tart in a rough estimation of a smiley face.
“There you go, viduus’anhae!” Raffi notched her hands against her hips proudly, “Sort of. Half French, half Romulan.”
“Or grapes in a-”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it!” Raffi said proudly, “every recipe’s gotta start somewhere,” she passed Seven the pastry, “and can’t compare this to Tendara. A new recipe altogether,” she smiled kindly.
They each took a bite, grimacing at the gritty crunch of the seed-filled wine grapes in the otherwise perfect pastry.
“Needs work,” Raffi chewed, wincing, before spitting seeds into the grass and wiping her mouth.
“Evidently,” Seven teased, looking down at the pastry's wonky smile, “though I like the pattern.”
She picked a slice of glazed strawberry from the edge of a tart and popped it in her mouth, trying to get rid of the cloying flavour left by the grapes. Seven smiled at Raffi, feeling grateful for the OPS officer's attempt to lift her mood. The year they’d spent together hadn’t always been an easy one, but sitting here and watching the sun warm Raffi’s smile, she was thankful for all of it.
Seven was grateful for someone to share a meal with, even if it wasn’t perfect. Neither are we, she thought, though Raffi was certainly close.
“Something on your mind?” Raffi looked softly at her lover.
“You,” Seven said as Raffi eased a strand of Seven’s hair behind her ear.
Raffi let her fingers linger on the other woman's neck as her eyes dropped to the Ranger’s smile.
“You’ve got a little,” she trailed off and gently ran the edge of her thumb against the slight trace of patisserie’s glaze at Seven’s lip. Raffi held her gaze and licked the sweetness from her own skin with a smile. She was enjoying the way Seven’s skin flushed in the evening light.
“Here,” she murmured, shifting closer so their lips almost touched, “let me get the rest of that for you?”
“By all means,” Seven breathed, as Raffi closed the distance between them with a leisurely kiss, gently tugging at Seven’s lower lip before returning the taste to the xB’s mouth. Raffi grinned at the feeling of Seven’s hand around her waist insistently drawing them closer. She couldn’t suppress the soft moan at the fading hint of strawberry on the Seven's tongue.
Seven pulled back, a little breathless, “Perhaps don’t put that bit in the recipe?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Raffi grinned, her hand resting comfortably at Seven’s waist, “that was my favourite part.”
”Although,” Seven began as if deep in thought, “I believe most recipes require extensive research and development.” Seven smiled, shifting her weight and pinning Raffi down at the edge of the picnic blanket.
Raffi barely noticed the dry grass prickling her bare shoulders. She was too distracted by how Seven’s hair tumbled past her face, with the sunset sliding between the gold waves above her.
Raffi hooked a finger through Seven’s belt loops to tug her closer. “Extensive, eh?”
“Very thorough,” Seven smirked, “where would you like to start?”
Raffi’s laugh rang in the dusk air as Zhaban leaned against the open door of the kitchen. The Romulan’s dark silhouette cleanly cut a space against the evening sky. Faint stars began to add the final touches to the night above the vineyard. He closed his eyes to the view and smiled as he felt a familiar pair of hands wrap about his waist. Laris kissed the soft linen of his shirt, pressing the cloth against the hollow between his shoulders, before she leant around him to pull the door closed.
“Leave it,” he said, holding his boot against the weathered wood, “the ladies are still out in the vineyard.”
“Well I’m not leaving it unlocked,” Laris raised her eyebrows, “go get them.”
A distant, gentle laugh floated on the night air.
“It’s their anniversary, Laris.” He said, “I’ll just stay up.”
“Night watch? It’ll be like the good old days,” Laris smirked. She looked at the chaos on the kitchen table, “The hell happened here?”
“Raffi tried to cook.” Zhaban shrugged.
“Why? She’s clearly,” Laris raised a pointed eyebrow at the mess, “not good at it.”
“I told her the story about our first anniversary meal,” Zhaban said, pulling a wooden chair over and settling down by the open door, “I’ve got very happy memories of that bowl of viinerine.”
“But you know I didn’t make it,” she wiped some crumbs from the counter and tossed them into the sink. “I lied, the Tal Shiar were snapping at my heels back then. I didn’t have time for cooking.”
She looked at the rest of the chaos and decided Musiker could deal with it in the morning.
“I ordered the viinerine and told the delivery driver I’d disappear his kneecaps if he ever said anything.”
Zhaban laughed, “Yes, but it was the first time I knew you were lying,” he said, looking fondly at Laris, “I’d never spotted your tell until then. You never forget the first time.”
“Soft bastard,” she scoffed, dragging over a chair to join him on guard duty.
“Love you,” he said softly before reaching to the side table and picking up bread wrapped in a cloth napkin parcel.
“Love you too,” she rolled her eyes and leaned to kiss him lovingly on the forehead.
Zhaban sighed contentedly, enjoying the cool evening breeze across his face from the open door, and the faintly warm bread in the parcel in his hands.
“Now here, try some of this roti, that Qowat Milat boy’s an absolute genius.”