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"I think he may have had a relapse," Daphne Gollub speculated, sipping on a wine spritzer.
Ruth Valley turned to raise a questioning eyebrow at her companion. "He who?"
"Spock"
"Relapse into what?"
"Bastardism."
Ruth made a noise of disagreement that was much less adamant than it would have been two days ago.
Among the many details to be taken care of before the launch of the Nest ships was the awarding of supply contracts to various private businesses for items Starfleet did not produce or services they did not provide. Although the upper-level brass was making the actual decisions, each of the Nest ships was asked to provide personnel to act as technical advisors to help evaluate each company's bid. The captains of the other ships were present. However, Spock, in his infinite wisdom, had opted to send a large contingent of his senior officers in his stead.
Ruth knew he intended to give his staff - many of whom had been promoted recently - a glimpse of how policy-making operated in the upper echelons of power. She was beginning to think, however, that a big part of the reason why he wasn't there was that he'd just chickened out.
The product demonstrations hadn't been too bad. They had ranged from the mind-blowingly innovative to the stultifyingly banal. Ruth and Daffy had awarded a prize for the most relentlessly terrifying presentation to a company wishing to provide supplemental life insurance to starship personnel. The prize for the most unintentionally giggle-producing had gone to a company who'd come up with a new contraceptive. This manufacturer was so proud of how many alien sexually transmitted diseases their product could block that they'd devoted an unseemly amount of time and money to creating a holo dramatizing the adventures of some very hapless ensigns on shore leave - whom Ruth and Daffy had promptly renamed in honor of some of their shipmates.
What was really awful was the part that they were currently experiencing - the endless rounds of receptions and "meet and greets" where cutthroat politicking took place under the cover of drinks and polite chatter.
"The Borgias gave cocktail parties that were more relaxed," Daffy had concluded.
Ruth had brought the chemist along as her personal assistant. Gollub had, without prompting, immediately realized that her primary duty was to provide comparisons like this - as well as commentary on the attendees' hair, clothing, and personal tics, as well as speculation on who was screwing who, and an evaluation of which of the four shower heads demonstrated was the least likely to double as a sex toy. Valley was, therefore, surprised, when Daffy suddenly turned her back on the canape-munching crowd - wasting the excellent vantage point they'd acquired for observing and critiquing the natives at play.
"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!" Gollub had squeezed her eyes closed and hastily downed her drink.
"What is it?" Ruth asked, eagerly scanning the crowd for something worthy of such an extreme reaction.
Formal bids were due to be submitted by the end of that day. The herd of presenters and salesmen were being supplemented with an influx of newcomers in pricey suits. The corporate lawyers had begun their delicate mating dance with Starfleet's legal department.
"Not what. Who!" Daffy said from between her teeth. "It's your fucking cousin, David fucking Maxwell." She glanced back over her shoulder so rapidly she couldn't have had time to see anything. "Fuck! Is he coming over?"
Valley gave a resigned sigh as she recognized the face on top of one of those oh-so-expensively-drab suits. "Damn. Of course he's coming over. Why butt into my business from across the room when he could do it from close up?"
"Oh, fuck!" The chemist put down her glass and made a few frantic swipes at her hair and makeup. "Say something! Say something!" she hissed at her companion.
"Like what?"
"Dave!" Sulu called, smiling. The captain had been standing a few feet away from them having a conversation with Pavel Chekov about phaser couplings marked by the same sort of animation and enthusiasm most people reserved for discussions of couplings of a more carnal nature. "David Maxwell! How are you?"
"Like that," Daffy suggested tightly.
"Hi, K... Sulu," Maxwell was replying. "Sorry. Shalom, Ruth."
"Hi," Valley replied, thinking that a returned greeting of "peace" would be overly optimistic.
"Daffy?"
"Hi, David," Gollub turned and said in a voice squeaky with tension.
"You're in corporate now?" Sulu asked, shaking the former racer's hand.
"Cameron Intergalactic," Maxwell confirmed. "In the legal department - and yes, I've probably already heard that joke about lawyers."
"Don't introduce him. Don't introduce him," Daffy pleaded under her breath.
"Chekov, I'd like you to meet Dave Maxwell," Sulu was already saying.
"Oh, so you're Pavel Chekov?" Maxwell held out a hand for the navigator to shake. "I've heard all about you."
"Oh?" Chekov said, taking his hand with a bewildered smile. "I have never heard anything about you."
"Say something! Say something!" Gollub ordered her companion between her teeth.
"Like what?" Valley replied sotto voce.
"This is Ruth's cousin," Sulu explained.
"Like that," Daffy hissed.
"Yeah, Chekov was Del's roommate at the Academy," Valley said, providing the first bit of information that popped into her head. "You remember Del, right?"
"Of course I remember Del," Maxwell said, giving her back one of her patented all-teeth smiles. "Who needs to remember? Del is a figure in the news recently."
"Oh, shit," Ruth groaned.
"...From what they reported to be his defection to the Klingons at Betara," her cousin was continuing. "You remember Betara, right?"
Ruth smiled murderously. "Chekov, this is my cousin, David-I-can't-keep-my-fucking-nose-out-of-other-people's-fucking-business-Maxwell."
"Yes," her cousin replied in kind. "I am David-I-had-to-take-a-two-week-vacation-on-Pluto-to-keep-the-press-off-my-tail-after-my-cousin-defected-to-the-Klingons-with-someone-other-than-her-husband-Maxwell."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Chekov said, uncomfortably trying to retrieve his hand, not wishing to become an early casualty of the impending battle between the Valley-Maxwells.
Seeing that she could expect no further assistance from her immediate superior, Daffy Gollub screwed her courage to the sticking place and stepped forward. "Pavel," she corrected mildly, taking the navigator's arm, "you have heard of him. This is my friend David from the C-L-A-V-E. I write to him sometimes."
"Ah," Chekov said, turning his head to one side as he tried to reconcile the image of the confident lawyer standing in front of him with the pimple-faced, exclusively gay adolescent he had somehow always pictured Daffy's "Dear David" letters to be addressed to. "So you are all old friends from the time you were teenagers?"
"Some of us are just relatives," Ruth amended.
"And you are Daffy's... uh..." Maxwell paused and laughed. "Fiance? Boyfriend? Ex-Boyfriend?"
"Oh, it's still boyfriend this week," Daffy replied with faux cheerfulness before Chekov had time to be offended. "And how is your shiksa trophy... I mean, wife?"
"So funny," he said, giving her a little pinch on the cheek. "That's why we call her Daffy." He turned back to Sulu. "Listen, I want you all to be my guests for dinner tonight. And I warn you, I'm not taking no for an answer. Since this is all on Cameron Intergalactic's expense account, feel free to bring a guest." Maxwell turned to his cousin. "And when I say 'guest,' I mean the husband. Dying to meet the husband."
"Would you consider just dying?" Valley suggested.
"With comediennes like this, we won't need to go to a place with a floorshow." Completely ignoring the two women staring daggers through him, Maxwell turned back to the men. "Eight o'clock, Ambassador Club, The Cochrane Hotel?"
"Okay," Sulu agreed amiably - since there didn't seem to be any way out of it. "Sure."
"I'll send a driver to the base." Maxwell took out a small communications device and punched in a few commands. "We should keep this low profile, so no uniforms?"
"That would probably be prudent," Chekov said, since an opinion seemed to be required of him.
"Eight o'clock then. If you'll excuse me, I've got to go make nice with the Brass." Maxwell turned back for a moment to pat Gollub on the cheek. "Wear something pretty."
"Schmuck," Ruth pronounced as they watch him re-join the handshaking and backslapping crowd.
"Putz," Daffy agreed.
"Damn," Sulu said, wondering if he should claim that Jilla had come down with a headache.
"Who was that person?" Chekov asked.
He still didn't have a completely satisfactory answer to this question several hours later.
"Why does this David Maxwell person upset you so?" he asked the closed door of the bathroom of his temporary quarters at the Starfleet base.
"I'm not upset," came the muffled reply from inside. "He's just an old friend. No biggie. I can deal."
Chekov sniffed the air. "Daphne, are you smoking?"
For some reason, Daffy's reply sounded like, "Shut up."
"I don't think they allow smoking in this building."
When Gollub's second muffled reply came out sounding like, "Get stuffed, Herbert," Chekov decided to let the matter drop.
He adjusted the collar of his black, Cossack-style jacket. The coat had silver buttons and velvet trim. He hoped it would be appropriate for this Ambassador Club they were going to. "You said the two of you never dated."
"I... We... It's complicated."
"Daphne," Chekov began patiently, "if he was someone you had a relationship with, you needn't feel any pressure to conceal the fact from me."
"Oh, I needn't, need I?"
"The past is the past." He said, looking for a comb. "I suppose it was inevitable that I would someday meet one of your former lovers."
"Inevitable?" The bathroom door swooshed open to reveal Gollub in full makeup, eyes blazing. "Because I'm such a slut meeting a guy I shtupped is just too statistically probable?"
"Nooooooo," he replied emphatically, holding his hands up in surrender. "That is most certainly not what I meant to imply."
"Then what did you mean to imply?"
Chekov paused. "I have absolutely no idea. May I retract the statement completely?"
Daffy made an unfriendly hmph-ing noise.
The navigator had to smile as he looked at her. Gollub was wearing a simple navy colored gown that left her shoulders wonderfully bare. She had her hair up in curls -- the way he liked it -- and had on the silver jewelry he'd given her for her last birthday. "You look very beautiful."
Daffy's expression softened so much it looked like she might be about to cry. "Thank you."
"Would a kiss ruin your makeup?" he ventured.
"Probably," she replied, then relented, "But I have more."
He stepped forward and touched her lips very carefully. She felt so tense in his arms.
"Say that you love me," she whispered, holding on to him tightly.
"I do."
"I really need to hear it," she said, then pulled back so she was looking into his face. "In Anglo, not Russian."
"It's actually more meaningful to me in Russian," he pointed out.
"And it's more meaningful to me in Anglo."
"I love you, Daphne Gollub," he leaned forward and whispered into her ear. "I am in love with you."
He could feel her smile against his shoulder as she hugged him. "That's just not getting old any time soon."
"Just remember, he's going to be scrutinizing you for flaws, and won't hesitate to point out any he imagines," Ruth was reminding Spock for the seventh time as she finished combing out her hair,
Captain Spock glanced at her from where he sat quietly fingering the strings of his lyrette. "Imagines, my wife?" he commented mildly.
"Well, since you clearly don't have any..." Ruth returned with an impish grin.
"That is not what you said yesterday."
"Yesterday we weren't going to this fershlugginer dinner with my schmuck of a cousin," was the explanation.
"I see." Spock placed the lyrette on the bed and stood. "You look exceptionally lovely tonight, Ruth."
Ruth turned from the mirror, smiling fully at him. She wore a stunning ensemble in gold brocade. The sleeveless, form-fitting tunic plunged to a deep V between her breasts, the floor-length skirt was divided into panels that allowed her legs to show when she walked. She had even donned a beautiful necklace for the occasion. "You're not so bad yourself, handsome," she said, moving to his arms.
"Since this is the clothing you decided I should wear," he returned, "I would be surprised if you thought otherwise." His civilian wear was a black satin tunic with gold accents and bell-sleeves over slacks of a pale gold. He bent his head, kissing her gently.
"Mmmm," she murmured. "Maybe we'll just skip the dinner."
"Which would give your cousin ample opportunity to invent flaws, would it not?
"Yeah, but we wouldn't be there to hear them, so who cares?"
"Do you think my officers would be likely to forgive me - since I am certain they would not think to blame you?" This was both a gentle teasing and a genuine apology: Ruth hadn't been shy in telling him what his crew thought of his brilliant idea of having them rather than him attend the day's presentations.
Ruth chuckled, acknowledging both the ribbing and the admission of fault. "Nope," she replied. "Not a chance."
"Then attendance is the only reasonable option."
"Yeah." She frowned. "Have I ever mentioned that I hate logic?"
"No. Never," her husband deadpanned.
Another smile quirked over her lips. "Okay, love of my life, let's get this farce on the road."
"Come on, hon, we'll be late meeting Barak's driver," Sulu called. He was standing at the mirror, not really looking at his face as he combed his hair. He could see Jilla in the glass, her hands reaching behind her neck to fasten the jewelry she was donning. He was struck again by her beauty. The white-belted fuchsia dress had but one shoulder strap, and the typical Indiian-style oval cut-out over her breasts. It showed both her necklace and her ample figure most alluringly. They were running late because Jilla had been busy with the Engineering section of the D'Artagnan all day and - Sulu had to admit - he had insisted they make love before showering and changing for the dinner party. They had been separated for nearly a year, with the one memorable surprise Jeremy Paget had arranged, and Sulu still considered they had a hell of a lot of lost time to make up for.
"Perhaps you should begin to refer to him as 'David'," Jilla suggested softly.
Sulu grinned. "Don't worry, I don't make that kind of mistake."
Jilla shook her head disapprovingly. "I will never understand these 'nicknames,'" she demurred.
He stepped away from the dresser, straightening his tunic, an Asian design of blue, teal, pink, and green over black. "I know. But you tolerate them just the same."
"I have little choice."
He shrugged. "True." Then he held out his arms. "Come here."
Jilla's head lowered, her skin taking on a enchanting flush as she moved to his embrace.
"You're gonna be the most beautiful woman in the room," he whispered to her.
"Ruth will be there," she returned.
"And your point is?"
She flushed again, and he knew it pleased her that his tia was confirming the compliment.
He let his fingers trail over the nape of her neck. He'd convinced her to wear her hair up, something she usually didn't like doing because it revealed her pointed ears. He'd told her how unbearably tantalizing Japanese man found the back of a woman's neck, and she had blushed - but her hair was up.
"Celletyea," he said, softly nuzzling her ear.
She shivered in his arms. "Cortayel," came her murmured reply.
"This shirt not fit right in th' neck," Noel DelMonde was complaining, fingering the collar of his mostly white tunic beneath the black, short-waisted jacket.
Part of being a Security professional was the fact that you were never completely off duty. Jeremy Paget, resplendent in a white and gold form-fitting jumpsuit, had been watching the bartender's little monitors focused on the entrances and exits to the Ambassador Club simply because they were visible from where he and the engineer were having their drinks, not because he had any sense that something dreadful was about to happen.
"N.C., I want you to focus on a few things," he said, firmly taking the engineer by the arm and turning him so he couldn't see who was about to enter the restaurant.
"What you grabbin' me fo'?"
"First, Barak said I should bring a guest. He didn't know I would be bringing you."
"So?"
"I didn't know that he'd be inviting anyone else, so this is no one's fault."
Paget didn't know if the Cajun could get the identity of Maxwell's other guests from his mind or theirs, but when DelMonde's face darkened like a thundercloud, it was obvious he knew. "The second thing I want you to focus on," he continued, refusing to release the engineer's arm, "is that we know the young lady sitting in the corner over there freelances for GalactoVision and so if..." Paget pulled DelMonde back around so he wouldn't turn and glare. "...if you storm out of here right now, she's going to be filming you and you'll be on the evening news by the time you hit the door and shoulder-butt Spock on your way out."
"Sweet Mary, Mother o' Jesus Christ on a crutch," the engineer swore, closing his eyes.
"Third thing is," Paget continued, patting his pocket, "if - after I give you this quarter tab of sapphire I have right here - you down a bottle of bourbon on top of it, our intrepid girl reporter is still going to get enough footage of you puking your guts out to have the vultures from the press on us until there's another shuttle crash on Mars."
"I gonna kill that bitch if she not quit followin' me," the Cajun promised.
"Just don't do that during a slow news week." Jeremy took out the sapphire discreetly. "Besides a new harpy would hatch in a few days."
"I ain't got not'ing to say," DelMonde warned, accepting the blue pill. "I ain't got not'ing to say t' either one of 'em."
"Then don't say anything," Paget replied, straightening his friend's jacket. "I think we can all live with that."
Even before she entered the restaurant, Ruth could detect a familiar presence as if she were catching the last, dying notes of an old song.
"Del?"
"God forbid!" Daffy Gollub laughed. "Not even David is schmuck enough to invite..."
As had happened at Jade's wedding, Ruth was struck by how thin Del looked. He was leaning back against the bar, frowning into his drink, refusing to meet her eyes. After a year, DelMonde was beginning to have the look of a man who drank his lunch more often than he ate it. However, like everything else, it looked good on Del, giving his chiseled features a sharp delicacy they hadn't had before.
"Goodbye, low profile," Maxwell groaned. "Hello, condo on Pluto."
"Noel," Chekov said, sounding no more perturbed than he would have been had they run into Geoff Redford. He went forward to greet the engineer, dragging Daffy in tow.
The chemist shrugged an apology for this disloyalty as she was pulled past Ruth.
"And Jer," Sulu said, moving forward with Jilla as well.
"Yes." Maxwell said ruefully as he joined them. "Him I remember inviting,"
"Noel!" Chekov said, as he and his date reached the bar. "I am surprised to see you here."
"I fairly surprised I here myself," the engineer replied, with a burning glance towards Paget.
"I did not have a chance to speak to you at Captain Kirk's wedding," the navigator apologized.
"Yeah, you did. You talk to me fo' fifteen minutes 'bout how your new roommate grind his teeth all night."
"Oh," the Russian remembered. "Yes, I did."
"You were drunk," the two informed each other simultaneously.
"Jer, you didn't tell me you were invited to this little get-together," Sulu said, smiling at Paget, then turned a sympathetic version on DelMonde. "And sorry, Del."
The engineer grunted.
"Yeah," Jeremy returned, though his eyes were glued to Jilla. "If Saki were here we could have a Loonie Reunion."
"Saki?" Jilla questioned.
"Sakura," both Jeremy and Sulu replied. "And my Lord, you look stunning tonight, Lady," Paget added.
The Indiian flushed. "Thank you, Jeremy," she said. The TerAfrican shivered and Sulu punched him on the arm.
"Commander DelMonde," Jilla said, stepping forward. "I have been following your team's progress with great interest. You are to be congratulated on your accomplishments."
"Thank you, ma'am." Del's voice was toneless. "I afraid I can't say anyt'ing 'bout your accomplishments. I been makin' some effort not to follow the progress o' you an' your... team."
Jilla's brow furrowed in confusion. "But I have found your suggestions and modifications of the engineering specs quite insightful..."
"Not now, hon," Sulu murmured.
"But he has..."
"Humans habitually lie about their emotions, Lady," Jeremy reminded gently.
"You might as well say you sorry, Jer," DelMonde drawled. "I know I am."
Spock held out a hand to Ruth. "My wife."
She breathed in deeply and took it. "I don't want to do this," she whispered.
"Is it not better to get the initial awkwardness out of the way before your cousin interferes?"
"Too late," Ruth sighed, glancing over her shoulder, seeing David bearing down on them.
"Mr. DelMonde," Spock said, stepping forward.
Del's black eyes only lifted to the Vulcan's briefly. "Sir."
"I see you got dragged into this disaster too," Ruth tried brightly.
"Yeah, it like ol' home week - when your home was an insane asylum."
"Well, we are talking about the Clave," Ruth ventured.
"I not," the Cajun returned darkly.
"Del," Ruth chided gently. "At Jade's wedding, you said you wanted to be friends."
"I were pretty drunk then, darlin'," he informed her coldly. "An' if you excuse me, I like t' get back t' work on gettin' into a friendlier state o' mind."
"I think our table's ready," Paget said, hastily directing his friend away from the bar.
The hostess led them to a table with a design so chic it was almost nonfunctional.
"So you wound up with someone who grinds his teeth?" Jer asked Chekov, steering DelMonde towards the end of the long side of the table's triangular top. Sulu and Jilla sat next to him, while Spock and Ruth took the two places at the head of the table and Maxwell, Gollub and the navigator filled in the other side.
"Yes," Chekov replied as he held out a chair for Daffy. "At least I think that's what it is. It is a most unnerving noise."
"Well," Paget said jovially. "It can't be any worse than that tap-tap-tappin' thing N.C. does with his stylus when he's tryin' to think."
"That does take some getting accustomed to," Chekov agreed. "But that was never as disconcerting as when he..."
"... talks in his sleep," Jer supplied.
"I was actually thinking of when he..."
"...sings in his sleep," the two finished together.
"Talk about unnerving," Paget nodded.
"Well, ain't this every man's nightmare," Del said, taking another large sip of his drink. "Caught 'tween the missus an' the ex."
"My new roommate, though, will be much more pleasant." Chekov smiled as he took Gollub's hand.
"Well, well, well," Jeremy grinned. "So we're finally making it official?"
"Making what official?" Maxwell asked.
Daffy smiled. "Pavel and I are moving in together."
Amid the congratulations from the rest of the table, Del snorted and muttered sarcastically, "What a huge change that be. It not like I had to put up wit' her pantyhose all over th' bathroom fo' a couple o' years."
"Moving in together, huh?" Maxwell said. "That's almost like a commitment from our Daphne."
"May I get your drink orders?" A waitress interrupted before Gollub could move on her decision to throttle him. The young woman was dressed in a uniform so fashionable it bordered on ridiculous and had a manner so perky it had to be chemically induced.
"I'll have some white wine," Sulu replied, since he was closest to her. "You want the same, hon?"
"We have a nice selection of Vulcan mineral waters," the waitress offered before Jilla could reply. "Toolak Noor, Kokikak, and Shaloozikar."
"A glass of To'lk Nur would be acceptable," Jilla said, making no show of correcting the girl's pronunciation.
"And I will have the Sh'l-tst'kr," Spock ordered with equal politeness.
"Got ycasan?" Ruth asked.
"No," the waitress replied brightly. "But we do have a hiuthaberry schnapps from Deneb Four."
"Good for you," Valley congratulated her. "But since I don't like projectile vomiting, I think I'll stick with the white wine."
Before ordering, Maxwell turned to Gollub with a grin. "Do you still like to try the most meshuggeneh drink on the menu?"
"Not if it's hiuthaberry schnapps from Deneb Four," the chemist replied.
Maxwell turned to the waitress. "Bring us two Birds of Prey."
"What the hell's that?" Gollub asked, alarmed, offended, and still strangely excited and touched that he had ordered for her.
"It's a martini made with something that officially is not Romulan Ale."
"Romulan Ale cannot be legally imported to Earth," the waitress informed them primly as she gave a theatrical wink.
"And this respect for treaty and regulations, my friends," Maxwell said, pointing to her, "is what you go out and risk your lives for."
"Keeping the galaxy safe enough for restaurants in San Fran to illegally import Romulan Ale." Sulu shrugged. "It's a living."
"And you, sir?" the waitress asked Chekov, who was still trying to figure out why Ruth's cousin was ordering drinks for his date.
"Vodka."
"Would you like a vodka gimlet? A vodka sour? White Russian? Black Russian? Screwdriver? Kamikaze?" the waitress offered. Maxwell snorted and was ignored by everyone else at the table. "We also have a wide selection of vodka martinis including..."
"I would like," Chekov interrupted firmly, "vodka. In a glass."
"He's Russian," Daffy explained.
"Oh," the waitress nodded sympathetically as if that were a disease. "And you, sir?"
"I want bourbon," Del decided. "In a glass. And since I a Cajun, make it a great big ol' glass, sugar."
"I think you might like to try the white wine," Paget suggested pointedly.
"I t'ink you might like to try mindin' your own fuckin' business," the Cajun retorted.
"That's not in my nature or my job description," the security officer replied easily, then turned to the waitress. "He'll have a small bourbon and branch and I'll have the white wine."
"Ain't you a pushy date?" Del grumbled as the girl retreated.
"That is in his job description," Sulu teased automatically. "But his nature..."
The two ex-lovers exchanged a hasty "better not go there" look as Jilla shimmered between them from reflected emotion.
As the waitress left, David clapped his hands, as if calling some board meeting to attention. "So," he said with a wide grin. "Can I have relatively formal introductions?"
Ruth scowled. "David, this is Spock, captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC 1901 and my husband. Spock, this is my cousin David Maxwell."
Maxwell rose, extending his hand across the corner of the table to Spock. "Pleased to meet you, cousin-in-law," he said.
"Ruth has told me much of you," Spock returned cordially, ignoring the fact that Ruth had stuck out her tongue at the Terran.
"And this is my wife, Jilla," Sulu rejoined, claiming Maxwell's attention. "Hon, this is Ruth's cousin, David."
"This gettin' more than stupid," Del muttered.
"I am pleased to meet a member of Ruth's family," Jilla said.
Maxwell's face lit up with a genuinely charming smile. "Wife," he repeated. "And what a lovely young woman you are." As he was still standing, he bent to take the Indiian's hand from the table, giving it a courtly kiss. Then he turned his gaze to Sulu. "Who'd've ever thought you'd settle down, K - Sulu. But I'll bet nobody's surprised it's with a non-Terran."
"Schmuck," Ruth and Daffy murmured together.
As he re-took his seat, David turned his toothy grin to Paget. "Dreams die hard, hey, my friend?"
"Shut th' fuck up, Maxwell," Del grumbled. Ruth and Daffy silently seconded the suggestion.
Next to her, David Maxwell was looking at Daffy.
"What?" she demanded, finally unable to stand it any longer.
"The dress. The hair." He gestured. "You look so grown up. Nearly respectable."
"I think, Mr. Maxwell," Chekov laid a casually territorial arm around the back of Gollub's chair, "that you must still see Daphne as a mischievous adolescent."
"Mischievous?" The lawyer snorted. "The stories that I could tell you on this one..."
"Yeah." Gollub's smile was all pointed teeth. "But you won't."
"Not because I couldn't." Maxwell gave a half-laugh and shook a finger first at Daffy then his cousin. "If I had a credit for every time I had to pull one or both of these two out of...."
"Don't start with me, David," Ruth warned. "Unless you want to wind up in that condo on Pluto getting your meals through a straw."
"The past is the past, Mr. Maxwell," Spock said, laying a calming hand over his wife's. "And is perhaps best left so."
Chekov slipped a hand around Daphne's waist. "It is the individuals that we are today that is most important," he agreed.
"Kill me now," Del begged the heavens as both women turned to smile at their companions.
"If you weren't such a mean date," Jer said, batting his eyelashes, "I might say nice things too."
"This is nice." Maxwell tapped the bracelet on the arm Daffy had left on the table.
"The set was a birthday present from Pavel," Gollub said, modeling the piece obligingly.
"Russian, is it?"
"Your uncle make it?" Del speculated as the waitress returned with their drinks.
"Mmm," Chekov confirmed quickly and indistinctly.
"Your uncle makes jewelry?" Maxwell asked, lifting an eyebrow.
"My uncle... has a shop," the navigator confirmed.
"His uncle," Gollub said, looking at the bracelets in a suddenly new light, "is Maximilian Rostov."
Chekov shook his head. "Your friend wouldn't know my uncle."
"Yes, her friend does," Maxwell said, examining Daffy's necklace with a practiced eye. "I'm afraid my wife has quite a taste for expensive jewelry... particularly from some of the more exclusive European firms."
"Good for her," Daffy said spitefully.
"Serves you right," Ruth agreed.
"If," Gollub said, turning back to her boyfriend, "you got me Rostov jewels, then why didn't you tell me?"
"'Cause he not pay for 'em," Del told her as Chekov was taking in a deep breath and working on a strategic way to present this information. "He get this stuff fo' free when he ask fo' it."
"I always pay for materials," the Russian insisted.
"Always?" Daffy repeated suspiciously.
"That mus' be why th' stones all so tiny," Del pointed out.
"They are supposed to be that size," the navigator retorted. "He added those himself. I had asked him not to put in so many precious stones, but..."
"Oh, you asked him that, did you?" Gollub broke in.
"Well, I..." the Russian began awkwardly.
"An' here it jus' 'bout looked like you was gonna get laid tonight," Del said, shaking his head.
"Like you are?" Daffy asked, the tension making her not care if she was cruel.
"I dunno," the Cajun replied, unfazed. "If Jer keeps sweet talkin' me an' gettin' me liquored up..."
Between Sulu and Jeremy, Jilla silvered again.
"Considering that you now own an original Rostov set that's worth about enough to buy this restaurant," Maxwell put in. "I don't see how you can be too mad about how much he paid for it and how many stones you got. Especially considering the guys you've slept with for..."
"David!" both Ruth and Daffy screeched at him.
Their waitress had re-appeared. "May I tell you about our specials tonight?"
"I doubt we stop you," Del predicted.
"We have a variety of local specialties including: Vietnamese Maine Lobster and Prawn Spring Rolls, Roasted Wild Nigerian Salt Prawns, Martian Venison and Black Bean Chili with Onion Crisps, and Rack of Sonoma Lamb roasted with Rosemary Crust in Saurian brandy."
After the comments that could have been made on the merits of these items had passed in variations of amused, disgusted and unimpressed silence, Spock asked, "Have you a vegetarian menu, Miss?"
The waitress's eyes opened wide in sudden embarrassment. "Oh! Forgive me, sir! We certainly have several choices available, including Altarian Sweet-Root Stew, Quadrotriticale Pasta with Venusian Pesto Sauce, Toasted Fava Beans in a Rigellian Sesame Glaze..."
The Vulcan held up a hand. "Thank you."
"You got jambalaya?" Del put in.
After they ordered their dinners, with Maxwell insisting they get whatever they wanted and not to even look at the cost, he relaxed, leaning back in his chair and turned to Daffy.
"How's your Bird of Prey?"
"Bluish," Daffy pronounced, sipping the drink. "Everyone should be pleased to know that this establishment is not breaking any import laws."
"It's marketing genius, though, isn't it?" Maxwell said. "They tell you up front it isn't Romulan Ale."
"And it isn't."
"But you buy it."
"And apparently you've bought it at least twice."
The lawyer shrugged. "It's not a bad martini. And it's a good way to gauge a client's willingness to take a risk." He paused, glancing none-too-subtly at Daffy's partner. "Chekov, I noticed that you didn't try a Bird of Prey."
Pavel frowned. "I do not care for mixed drinks or Romulan Ale."
"Or being gauged?" Maxwell asked with a sharp smile.
Daffy made a sound that could have been a swallowed "eek!", then gave David a murderous glare. Ruth, Sulu, Jeremy and Del stifled chuckles.
"I have no fear of being evaluated, Mr. Maxwell," the navigator returned evenly.
"That Russian fo' 'Fuck you', Dave," Del translated.
"Speaking of evaluations..." Maxwell said, turning a penetrating gaze to Pavel, "Chekov, are you disappointed that you didn't get one of the first officer positions?"
The navigator opened his mouth, then closed it.
"Awkward pause," Del narrated.
"There were other, more senior officers in line ahead of me."
"Ruth isn't more senior than you are, is she?"
Del laughed into the icy silence. "Steeee-rike! You knock down all ten pins that time, Maxwell. You manage to offend or anger everyone at the table wit' that one. Even people wit' no emotions t'inkin' you a shit."
"Mr. Chekov is an excellent officer," Spock said. "I foresee no reason why he will not eventually have a command of his own."
"Eventually?"
"Mr. Maxwell, I..." Chekov began.
"Oh, don' worry, T-Paul," Del put in casually. "When I make captain, I pick you fo' my First Officer."
"I'd rather die. I'd rather serve as a first officer in the Klingon fleet."
On the opposite sides of the table, Sulu and Ruth each made a disgusted face. Jeremy patted Jilla's hand comfortingly.
"The Klingons ain't called you either, though, non?"
"You won't ever make captain," the Russian predicted sternly.
"Why not? Starfleet don't care if a captain a heartless bastard. They even pin a medal on your chest fo' it." Del smiled into the teeth of the waves of frost surrounding him. "See, Dave, I can do it too. Only difference is, I ain't doin' it by accident."
"Pluto, here I come," Maxwell said, shaking his head.
"Listen to me, Del," Ruth began heatedly. "You have no right to..."
"No, my wife," Spock interrupted. "Mr. DelMonde does have ample cause to have a negative emotional reaction to the events of the last year we all served together."
"He just don't have to be so generous in sharin' those feelings with everyone else," Paget said pointedly.
"That year was painful for all of us," Sulu said. "But we've dealt with it."
"And since Mr. DelMonde was separated from us during the immediate aftermath of those events," Spock said, "he has not had the same opportunities to reach the kinds of resolutions we have all been able to achieve with the repercussions of those events. Allowances must be made for him."
"Thank you ever so fuckin' much," Del replied graciously.
To her surprise, Ruth found that she could let go of the anger she felt. She had spoken out of a desire to defend her husband -- not out of that peculiar compunction to engage Del head on that she had always felt from the first moment she laid eyes on him. Something had changed. Something was gone. She still had feelings for Del - affection and even a strong attraction - but the inexorable pull that had always drawn her to him was gone. She no longer felt responsible for him. His bad behavior was his own problem - not hers.
"You are so understandin', sir," the engineer was continuing, behaving very, very, very badly as he let an innuendo-laden pause drop before adding, "...as always."
"But you don't have any command training," Chekov protested.
Everyone blinked at him.
"You will not be made captain because you have no command training," the navigator explained.
Del shook his head in amazement. "I really got you worried you gonna hafta be my First Officer, don' I?"
"It's a ridiculous notion."
"I dunno. If they start work on a new Nest ship tomorrow, it'd still take 'bout a year or two to get it ready fo' launch." DelMonde calculated. "If I start studyin' soon as I sober up..."
"That's ridiculous."
"No tellin' what I can accomplish if I put my mind to it. All I need is th' motivation."
"Ridiculous!"
"An' you know how much I love to tell you what to do. An' you'd finally have to stop callin' me 'Noel'," Del almost cackled. "Yep, T-Paul. I may have a reason to live after all."
It was a bang-up start to what was to feel like an incredibly long dinner.