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“Lieutenants, so good to see you!” Neelix enthused.
“You see us every day, Neelix,” B’Elanna reminded him as she and Tom walked up to the mess hall serving counter. They were hit with a wall of heat, and both reacted with a puff of breath.
“Well, yes,” Neelix agreed, “but I’m extra happy to see you two right now.”
“Why’s that?” Tom’s smile looked only slightly rictus.
“You know how I’ve been brushing up, well,” he paused, “attempting to learn would be more accurate…”
Tom and B’Elanna shared a confused glance as Neelix’ words petered off. “Attempting to learn what, Neelix?” B’Elanna asked.
“Earth languages and cuisine, of course! For when we reach Earth.”
“Ummm… but you have a universal translator, remember?” B’Elanna reminded him.
“Not to mention that most archaic Earth languages simply aren’t used anymore,” Tom said. “Most people speak Standard.”
“Yes, well, I’m attempting to learn that, too.”
“Ohhhkay…” Tom nodded. “So, were you adding Klingon to the list?” He glanced at his wife, who didn’t look pleased at the prospect. His own garbled attempts at the difficult language were bad enough.
“That’s next,” he confirmed. “So I can venture out into the Beta Quadrant.” Neelix rocked back on his heels and smiled. “So, you know how I’d planned to make a French meal for tonight…?”
Tom and B’Elanna shared another look; they hadn’t.
“Cassay o’lay. It’s a little,” he pinched his thumb and fingers together, keeping his pinky aloft, “protein heavy but it should be delicious!”
“Sounds…great,” B’Elanna said. It actually sounded frightening.
“So, I was researching things to serve with it and a classic French bah-get seemed to be the best choice.” He smiled widely.
“Baguette?” Tom clarified. “It’s a crusty bread stick,” Tom told B’Elanna. Her trepidatious expression shifted to reassured.
“You speak frawn-says!?” Neelix grinned.
Tom shifted. B’Elanna had been telling him for years that–sometimes–he had a habit of being just a smidge pedantic with subjects he knew well. He realized, far too late, that he’d made a grievous error in correcting Neelix’ pronunciation.
“That means, do you speak French,” he told B’Elanna confidentially, his mouth stretched in a wide grin.
Then again, Neelix’ joy might just be worth the hours of tutoring that Tom saw in his future… “Un petit peu,” he confessed. “I spent a lot of time in Marseilles while I was at the Academy.” Actually, he’d spent a lot of time in one particular brasserie.
“At Shay Sandrine’s, of course!” Neelix nodded. “Well, that’s just perfect!”
“Umm…you were talking about dinner?” B’Elanna prompted. She was starving.
“Yes! Of course.” Neelix continued talking as he turned to grab something from the galley. “So, I decided to make the bread sticks, but then I remembered that the French word for ‘bread’ is paaay-hn!”
It really wasn’t, Tom thought. He opened his mouth and was debating correcting him again when B’Elanna kicked him in the ankle. He winced, and caught her swift glare.
“And you know,” Neelix threw over his shoulder as he rummaged through his cupboards, “it occurred to me that Tom’s last name is ‘Paris’! And that you two are,” he gestured to B’Elanna, “married, and that you’re half-Klingon, and that we didn’t celebrate the Day of Honor this year, which really is a shame if you ask me…”
B’Elanna couldn’t remember asking him…
“And I thought about how the French word for bread sounds like ‘pain’–”
“Ummm…” Tom said.
“–so my bag-ets could almost be called payhn-sticks, which is very similar to Klingon painstiks, which, of course, you employ during the Day of Honor! …though that sounds, well, a little painful to me…”
Neelix stopped to draw a breath and B’Elanna glared at her husband. “I didn’t show him the programme!” Tom was quick to deny.
“So I thought, why have plain old bag-ets when I could spice them up a little and make a Klingon version of breadsticks! I know how Klingons like their spicy food!”
“This one doesn’t,” B’Elanna muttered.
He placed a tray of long, golden, slightly misshapen bread–well–sticks on the counter with a little flourish. They were freckled with tiny red and black specks and had obviously been spiced, the original recipe amended with Neelix’ usual flare.
“Give them a try,” he encouraged them.
B’Elanna shot Tom a, save me look and he took a half-step toward the cheerful–and hopeful–cook, not really shielding his wife but feeling like he was. “Maybe she shouldn’t. You know how certain foods can interact with B’Elanna’s Klingon metabolism.”
“It’s perfectly safe for mommy and baby, I checked with the Doctor.” Neelix assured them.
He plucked two bread twists from the platter and held them out to them. B’Elanna took hers gingerly. “Thanks…” She shared yet another glance with her husband and he shrugged and sent her his, I tried but how bad can it be? look. Pretty darn bad, based on her experience.
B’Elanna took a breath, then put the pointy tip of the breadstick in her mouth and nibbled off a small piece. Heat hit her like a jolt from, well, an actual Klingon painstik! It felt like her mouth and lips were on fire! Tom, less prudent than her, was gasping and coughing beside her after biting off a sizeable chunk.
“Water,” he croaked. “Nee…Neelix! I nee… water!”
“Oh dear.” Neelix frowned but he quickly grabbed a jug and poured two glasses of water. B’Elanna and Tom grabbed the glasses and downed them in one long pull. Neelx tittered, and both glared at him.
Neelix picked up a bread stick and gave it a sniff. “Perhaps they are a bit peek-ant?” he agreed, frowning. “Maybe a bit too much cayenne,” he debated.
Tom’s eyes were watering and his throat was convulsing or he just would have corrected Neelix’ pronunciation this time. He pointed to his glass and Neelix refilled them both.
“They could power the warp core,” B’Elanna accused, her lips still stinging and her nose running.
“At least they’re aptly named,” Tom croaked.
“Oh? Oh! Ooohh. Get it?” Neelix grinned with delight. “The French word for water is ‘oohhh’!”