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Brian is good at what he does, filling the mold made by the people around him. The Rumor needed a chef. While Sana could cook and Arkady could prep (not nice-versa) it was a rare occasion that they could both be available at the same time, with the needed supplies, to actually get the job done. And even then, they'd both be too tired to do the dishes.
It's been a long time since their awe-struck faces at first tasting some of Brian's food — quick and simple, the recipe was veritably etched into the back of his hand — And it will be a long time until they've tasted their last.
The spice cabinet flies open beneath his fingers, welcoming Brian home. He reaches for the coriander, cumin, and chili powder, swiping each under his nose to get a sense of their potency in the ship's current atmosphere. Then a pinch of ground fennel and celery salt. Those have never done him wrong.
They largely disperse in the boiling water, but Brian gives the rice a greedy stir, knowing he technically shouldn't, to watch the final traces fade away.
From another pan, the smell of onion fills the kitchen, steaming and hissing as the vegetables brown. He makes a space in their midst on the griddle to lay skirt steak in strips, remembering fondly the first time he'd witnessed a proper Maillard reaction. It had scared him. Then, on another pan, he lays strips of meat-substitute.
Keeping his eye on all the stove's activity is like a game to him now, one he's good at. Brian notices the threat to his dinner immediately, holding up a wooden spoon (and one eyebrow) when RJ follows their nose to the spot next to him, fork hidden behind their back. They reach for the lid of the rice. Brian uses the spoon.
More of the crew dribbles in. McCabe retreats into setting the table with Sana's help, leaving more of Brian's immediate space to Krejjh, which they fill eagerly and naturally.
Park enters, the furrow of a hard day fading from his brow when he sees how much of the work has already been done. Sana waves him off, but he insists, and then takes with great honor the task of distributing silverware, RJ getting the cups. Sana sits, chin in her palm, and sighs with upturned lips.
Then Arkady and Violet, hand in hand, make the group a crowd. They make their way to their seats with several 'excuse me's.
Brian uses the spoon on Krejjh.
He insists on serving all of them individually before setting up the spread for free access to seconds. It's a ritual, of sorts, and worth every moment. Krejjh helps. Brian takes a bowl from one of the crew, Sana's first, and spoons it full of rice, Krejjh adding the rest, before he carts it back to the table and gets a 'thank you' for his trouble, watching as they turn hungry eyes to the food in front of them but keep their hands hidden from sight. Krejjh sits, and Brian serves them last, placing a kiss on their forehead. Finally putting on his oven mitts to make use of the lazy Susan, and serving himself.
Then they eat. He feels a special kind of pride, watching as Violet takes a bite, eyes flaring for a brief moment before she brings her hand to her mouth, smiling guiltily. And Brian eats, and the food is good, and he's fulfilled himself too.
The place smells lovely, like home, and the conversation takes its lulls and crashes of conspiratorial stage-whispers and the uproar that follows. A warm feeling settles in Brian's stomach, which aches from laughter and eating a touch more than his fill. He wipes the beginning of a tear from his eye, and sighs, looking around at table of smiles all focused on Park as he tells an anecdote, then Arkady as she one-ups it, and on Park again as he returns the favor, lingering on his drink before the punchline. McCabe laughs so hard they choke, and cough, and after the 'are you okay?'s they laugh some more.
And Brian Jeeter feels content.