JL | CDR Valeese, LCDR Stacker | "Climbing Walls and Candlelight" pt 1

Posted on Sat Nov 4th, 2017 @ 9:36pm by Commander Valeese Stacker & Commander James Stacker

Mission: The Round Table
Location: LCDR Stacker's Quarters | Deck 681 | Cold Station Theta

He had heard, of course, about her being told to take several days off. Stacker wouldn't be much of an intelligence officer if he didn't keep an eye on the station's rumor mill, including current news and events; after all, sometimes the unexpected had a nasty way of coming back to snap one on the ass. Old grudges could fuel resentment, even four decades later. Lingering resentment bred bias, personal or otherwise. Bias could lead to fights. Fights led to injuries. Injuries led to personnel relieved of duty to aid in their recovery. And if you were a Vorta on a station whose inhabitants were taking a decidedly anti-Vorta slant, work was what you buried yourself in. He understood this.

He also understood - or liked to pretend he did - that she might want an outlet and someone to talk to. Quietly, away from the station. So with no small amount of trepidation on his part, he had commed Valeese to ask if she might want to come to dinner. Alone, just the two of them. He had just finished doing battle with the fire-suppression system in his quarters, ensuring it wouldn't provide a dramatic interruption to snuff out the two candles on the table, when the door chimed. Its two-tone affair washed across the couch and chairs in the sitting area, the small two-person dining table nearby, and the handful of pictures of sailing ships and steam-powered warships hanging on the walls. They were sparse quarters. But they were his.

"Enter!" he called from the panel on the far wall - the one next to the sweeping window with a grand view of space and stars - already heading for the door, that flutter in his chest not going unnoticed. The rakish pirate look was present: he'd taken the liberty of turning the lights down on her behalf. He could only hope she liked dinner, and the company that came with it.

A day and night alone or dinner with the fine fella wanting, so very badly, to be part of her life. the choice was lay bare in front of her, waiting for her to take it or leave it - but the choice had to be made quick and on the fly. No thinking about it. No weighing options. It had taken two beats of her heart before she'd agreed and peeled herself up from the warm confines of her couch to get dressed in something more appropriate than her sleep shirt and a blanket.

Jeans, an old academy t-shirt that fell off one of her shoulders but remained so soft and comfy she couldn't bring herself to turf it, and a pair of strappy shoes seemed feasible enough, cloaking her in comfort and that ready made style that promised a degree of easy familiarity. In short, she didn't feel the need to play the role of pretentious doctor or the worry wart trying to convince and woo through style and flash. Stacker would receive what he requested; her. Nothing more, nothing less, just the woman as she usually was during down time. Anything else would be a lie... And a lie wasn't what he deserved.

Looking around his quarters now, primarily fascinated with the soft flicker of candlelight, she stood mildly corrected. Maybe she should have traded the t-shirt for a decent blouse. "Candles? Dim lighting... Why Commander, I'm beginning to think you may actually like me." She teased.

He had stifled the involuntary desire to mouth 'wow' at her attire, believing - quite correctly, as the case was - that this was what she was probably most comfortable in during her off-duty time. The look may not have exactly matched the mood of the room, but the look was a side of Valeese that he hadn't seen, and it made him instantly relax. It wasn't like he was in the height of fashion himself: a dark Hawaiian shirt liberally decorated with the faded-white outlines of bygone cars from Earth, palm trees, and thatch houses, chinos, and boat shoes.

That damnable faint smile quirked the corners of his mouth as the door closed behind her, sealing them (temporarily) inside while her words still hung in the air. "And just think: we haven't even gotten to the food yet. It isn't every day I cook for myself and someone else," he added, a hand waving faintly to the table as he stood close to her. "Also, it isn't every day that I get to fight a heroic fight with the fire-suppression system. You wouldn't believe how sensitive it is to a couple of candles."

"Oh I would. One mess up, this place goes up like a roman candle with all the construction going on and how old the main frame is." Valeese gestured loosely towards the bulkheads and ceiling while directing amaranthine eyes towards his face and that soft little hint of a smile that dared to try and paint his features. "Would it make that fight worthwhile if I told you that I appreciated the effort? A lot?"

"Completely," he assured her, the smile widening a bit at her praise, the unmasked eye looking back into hers with the corner crinkled in amusement. He chuckled faintly as one hand found one of hers, fingers intertwining. "Although I'm sure you'd be equally entertained if the system went off. Nothing like a forcefield in your face to really motivate someone to haul ass."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that theory." She replied with a quick wag of her eyebrows and squeeze of her fingers as they laced with his. The presence of his touch became an instant reminder of the position he was beginning to fill in her life, a request for something more than the mundane - the ease of an ache that could easily be defined as loneliness. Novels were no longer cutting it, holding her attention, but leaving her deeply disappointed that their company didn't include some sort of tactile response. A book couldn't hug or touch, though, least of all hold her intrigue as long as he'd managed to now. "But I will agree that forcefields are excellent motivation... For a few things." She shrugged.

The chuckle deepened as he relaxed, whatever tension he'd been feeling starting to bleed away. Yes, this felt right. Natural. Ignorant of her thoughts, he momentarily wondered how in the quadrant he could have managed to miss on something like this for almost a decade. Before he could get lost in his thoughts, though, he gave her hand a slight tug and a head-nod towards the food waiting near the candles. As if on demand, a faint wafting scent of garlic bread came wandering their way. "And food can be as good of a motivator, sometimes. Or did you just come for the company?" He turned to face her, backing up slowly towards the table, hand not letting go of hers, that damnable smile still teasing his mouth and corner of his eye.

Allowing his touch to tug, Valeese followed demure as ever, "That's another thing I can neither confirm nor deny." Her smile was most certainly Cheshire in nature, wide, sweet, likely aggravating if she were toying and playing with anyone but him. The smell of garlic demanded her attention and worship at it's alter - the bulbous seasoning having quickly curried her favor, nor unlike the chef that decided to court her with it. It was everything and nothing, but still so very worth the pleasure of partaking... Just like the chef. Someday he'd come to understand her distinct love of all things culinary Terran, especially the Italian art of food in general. That someday was likely about to occur in scant minutes, and she was more than ready to share that tiny bit of herself with him. "But... I will admit that it smells delightful." It was the little things in this game of give and take.

Stacker seemed notably pleased that his efforts hadn't gone awry - those little birds on the wind had certainly seemed to suggest she loved at least one Terran food! - resulting in a slight gamble on his part. He gestured to the bread, that hand that had been holding her fingers sliding around her waist as he did. "Well there's garlic bread, and I'm sure you can smell the pasta primavera. Light alfredo sauce, onions, and tomatoes. I'm sorry if it was torturing you for ... well, the last few seconds." There was a quivering and teasing undertone there as he gave her a soft squeeze, more than willing to play the game of give and take and return the favor for a few seconds. "I know that one of us has a really, really good sense of smell," he whispered softly. It would have been serious, but it was hard to make it sound that way when that undertone was highlighting his every word.

"Better than you know," She quipped, leaning her head against him for a brief moment, "Tell me," slipping from his grasp she made her way to her seat. Had she chosen to stay, she'd have done just that... Stayed... Basked... Enjoyed him for him and not the food and the company as he'd desired, "Do you have Italian in your background or is this just something you enjoy? I know there's many different nationalities within Terran culture. They all have something special to offer."

He helped her sit, being a gentleman and pulling it back. Chivalry, even in the 25th century, was not dead, he told himself as he answered, making his way to the seat opposite her, where they could look at each other and enjoy the company and the food. "Something I enjoy," he said as he carefully unwrapped the foil around the garlic bread, letting it vent. "Barolia is an agriworld, so grains are plentiful. None of the original colonists were Italian by ancestry - most were from Federation core planets, so they're a hodgepodge - but sure enough they took to making pasta like a boat to water." His eyes flicked to her as he broke off a piece of steaming bread and slid it onto his plate, before turning the open end of the foil her way. "I like to think I picked up a trick here and there."

Folding hers legs and covering her lap with her napkin, Valeese nodded and stored away that interesting bit of information for another time, "That makes two of us with no Italian ancestry," She deadpanned, setting a selection of the steaming, savory goodness for herself. "I can't say that I've ever tried to make pasta from scratch, I've read on how it's done, seen it done a time or two down on the Promenade with some of the peddlers, but never tried it myself... Seems straight forward enough." Her head tilted as if she were weighing the truth of the statement, but it was brief and marked with a smile as she drew breath to speak again, "What I can tell you is that Vorta aren't necessarily known for anything great as far as culinary technique. If we had it, we lost it because of they who should not be flushed," Another shrug, her humor well entrenched in the conversation at hand as if it were no big deal or any great thing, "It's left the more progressive members of the species having to borrow from other cultures and test things out to see what works and what doesn't. I for one appreciate foods that have bold flavor and don't try to mask flavor with heavy spice. Indian, for instance, normally isn't for me." So easy it was to sit and talk and enjoy. Sharing was becoming second nature, and it should have panicked her but instead soothed her to know she wasn't alone in everything anymore. By all means he'd been given enough information, something as close to a confession as one could possibly get without the other party starting of a sentence with 'I confess', and yet there they were. She was free, not on trial, and they were both content and merry to warble over the merits of something as mundane, yet beautiful, as food.

"Well I must confess that I don't make the pasta here on the station. I do have an arrangement with a merchant who imports the occasional foodstuffs from Barolia, though," he revealed, making a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It isn't the same as making it myself, but I've found it's close enough." It occurred to him to wonder if the Vorta, who were known for many things - but cooking? since when did they take that up? and why? - had tried to borrow anything from the Klingons, and he stifled the urge to shudder. That was a culinary option that left a sour taste in his mouth, both literally and proverbially: he liked his food well-cooked and very, very dead. To further distract himself he took a bite. The crust crunched in his mouth as he bit down, putting any further words on temporary hold as he tasted the warm bread and slight garlic flavor spreading throughout his taste buds. His uncle - a retired marine colonel-turned-chef - would be pleased, he momentarily reflected with a near-sigh of pleasure at the taste.

"Seems I'm not the only one who visits the merchants." Valeese chuffed gently, her amusement levels elevating at the thought. Most of the officers she'd served with on the station frequented the less favorable channels available in order to obtain things and favors... Even information. Her vice happened to be books and various odds and ends that had come to be her own variety of heirlooms in an environment that could otherwise have been bland. In many ways the little Vorta had become a crow, attracted to certain 'shiny' objects she'd use to feather her little nest. The garlic bread was just one such thing that she could consider a 'shiny' and would happily include in her day to day life. The aroma, while fantastic, took second fiddle to the warm, crisp, buttery perfection that filled her mouth on that first bite. All she could do was melt, her eyes closing as she hummed her appreciation and finished her mouthful, "That... That is everything." She praised, going in for bite two.

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To Be Continued...
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Commander Valeese
Chief Medical Officer
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170

Lieutenant Commander James Stacker
Chief Intelligence Officer
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170