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Oh, this might get cut from my PIC fic for I-changed-the-order-of-scenes and I-want-to-use-more-beta-canon reasons, or get included in an altered form, so I want to post it here for my Elnor and Saffi moots:
*****
Raffi woke to find three things were out of place: Seven was missing, her phaser rifle was missing, and her living room smelled strongly of fish. She crept out blearily, taking in the unusually neat pile of blankets tucked in around her couch—Elnor being a good guest, she guessed—and the clutter of plates and bowls on her kitchenette counter. The poor boy was very, very awake and practically incandescent as he waved to her. She took a deep breath and walked over to examine the damage. One plate had deviled eggs, another looked like some kind of cream soup, and one was some kind of rice dish with a roast fish with an eye that was looking at her. She tilted her head and grimaced at the fish, then looked up at Elnor with a smile that hurt to put on.
“Good morning,” she managed. “Ready for your day, I see.”
“I made breakfast,” he announced cheerfully, pointing to the plates. “Well, I replicated breakfast.” He frowned and looked at the plates. “At least, I think it’s breakfast.”
He was so happy. She couldn’t crush him. She pulled up a stool and picked up the deviled eggs. “Looks, uh, good! Did you, um, how did you pick what to make?”
Elnor’s smile slowly faded. “… It’s not breakfast, is it?”
Raffi frowned, then smiled and picked up her eggs with a shrug. “Well, it’s got eggs. That’s breakfast enough for me. And it looks--” She went to eat one of the eggs. Saw the fish. Began to gesture in circles with the egg. “--you know, it looks good. Dinner for breakfast is fine.”
He squinted at her, unconvinced, until she actually ate the egg. Once her mouth was free enough of egg to talk, she asked, “Where’s Seven?”
He pointed vaguely at the door. “Outside. She said something about target practice.”
That explained the missing rifle and the very soft sound of phaser fire. She finished up her plate of eggs and got up, squeezing into the kitchen to commandeer the replicator. “Okay. How about I show you what breakfast is supposed to be, huh?” She put the soup back inside and tapped some buttons. The fish was weird enough she was sure he was attached to it somehow, but the soup seemed safe to sacrifice. “Okay, computer, how about some… French toast.”
Elnor watched with confusion and interest as the soup dematerialized, then rematerialized as a pile of French toast. He took the plate and stabbed it experimentally. “So… eggs are breakfast.”
“Yes.”
“And bread is breakfast.”
“That’s right.”
“And sweet is breakfast?” He paused and pointed at the eggs. “But that is not sweet.”
“And rice is breakfast!” she added cheerfully, then added with grave seriousness. “But not fish. Or soup. At least, not in this sector of Earth. Other parts, maybe.”
Elnor nodded gravely, taking it all in. He pointed to his newest food object, the plate of French toast. “And this is breakfast in France.”
She rubbed the back of her neck with a grimace. “Actually, I think that’s just something we do in North America.”
The confusion on his face was palpable. She grabbed a piece of toast and squeezed past him back to her seat. She shrugged and sat down, taking a bite. “You’ve been to JL’s place, right? What does he eat for breakfast?”
Elnor thought about that for a second, then answered slowly, “Zhaban said he does most of the cooking at Chateau Picard. Zhaban is Romulan.”
She was afraid that she knew the answer, but she asked anyway, “So, what do you eat for breakfast on Vashti?”
Elnor shrugged and perked up a little. “Fruit, mostly. Something kind of like rice.” He glanced at the staring gaze of the fish. “And fish.”
There was a beat of silence. Raffi used it to finish her toast. Brushing crumbs off her hands, she deflected, “I thought Vashti didn’t have much by way of oceans.”
He shrugged again. “The Social Club has replicators.”
Raffi let any potential answer hang in the air for a moment, struggling to come up with a response that would save her. She shoveled some of the fish-rice onto her plate and began to eat. Elnor sat down next to her and began to cut his French toast into little triangles. But the moment evidently got a little too long, and after a few seconds of this she heard him sort of… snort. Then the unmistakeable sound of a snicker. She turned to him in disbelief right before he began to giggle openly.
“Oh, no! You’re screwing with me!”
He looked over at her with delight. “A little.”
“I cannot believe it! You really had me!” She pushed him lightly. “You made a whole fish just for that?”
“No! We really do eat a lot of fish! But, mostly molluscs. There’s something like this, but with molluscs and a sort of yellow sauce.” He pointed at the fish. “I just thought this looked interesting.”
She shook her head. “Before we go to San Francisco, I’m taking you to this Spanish place by the transporter station. You’ll like it. Oh, you know what we need? Drinks. Um… Computer, I need a coffee. Black. Iced.”
A cup materialized in the replicator with a cheerful beep. Elnor stared at it with a frown. “I don’t know coffee.”
She got up to get her cup. “It’s like tea, but stronger. You know tea, that stuff JL’s obsessed with?”
Elnor peered at her. “What do you mean, stronger?”
“Oh, you know, it’s….” She stared at the cup and cleared her throat. Oh, great. “… blacker, more bitter. That sort of thing.”
She could see he was not convinced. He took out his new, very shiny PADD and began to beep away on it. She decided to enjoy her coffee while she could and took a large quaff. She could see his eyes darting and his lips moving quietly as he worked his way through the Federation Standard, watching his brow knit further and further into disapproval.
“… a mild stimulant with addictive properties!” he read, looking up at her.
“Oh, come on, Elnor. JL drinks tea all the time, and he’s not a junkie.”
“You’re not allowed to drink it.”
“It’s really not that bad—Hey! No!”
He had reached across the counter to try and grab it. She held it above her head. Why was he so damn tall? In the midst of all of this, the door slid open, and a triumphant-looking Seven-of-Nine walked in with Raffi’s rifle perched on her shoulder.
“Looks like everyone’s awake. Guess who just—What in the galaxy are you doing?”
Elnor dropped back to the ground from his awkward half-perched position on the counter. “Seven! Raffi’s not allowed to have coffee. Tell her.”
Their eyes met. Slowly, Raffi shook her head. But it was too late. Seven was actually smiling. She snorted and walked over, then plucked the cup out of her hand with a little kiss. “You heard him. You’re not allowed to have coffee. That means it’s mine now.”
Raffi sighed and put her face in her hands. Don’t scream. “Computer? Just… give me a decaf. Black. Iced.”
Seven set the rifle down, then pulled the fish dish over to her and sat down. She had a small laugh at Raffi’s expense, then began to pick the fish apart with a fork. “Let me guess… Caffeine is off the table now, too.”
Elnor looked between them, hesitant for a moment, then leaned on the table with his hands in fists, ready to debate his point. He looked at Raffi very, very earnestly, as he said, “You want your commission back. You need to be clean. Starfleet told you that.”
She groaned and rubbed her eyelids. “Starfleet doesn’t care about a little caffeine, Elnor. Really. It’s not that bad. Half the fleet is hyped up on caffeine most of the time.”
He frowned and pointed out, “Half the fleet isn’t you.”
She took her, sadly, decaf and took a sip. At least it was cold. “I’m doing okay, really. You were there. We burned up all my snakeleaf. Threw out every bit of alcohol.” Well, most of it. She was sure they’d missed something hidden somewhere. “I want that reinstatement back more than anything I’ve ever wanted. I have to look after you, remember? I’m clean. I promise.”
Elnor continued to stare at her for a moment, like he was trying to peer into her soul. Finally, he turned to Seven. “You’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you?”
“Both eyes,” Seven confirmed. She looked up at Raffi with a smirk. “Often. It's a nice view.”
He rolled his eyes a little before sitting back down. He picked his fork back up and picked at his food. “I want you to be alright.”
Raffi watched him with a smile, then shook her head and sat back down. “Not everyone is a lost cause. I know, though. Thanks for trying.” At least someone was. “I appreciate it.”
He looked back up with one of those confident smiles, and she found herself forgiving him for the coffee. He finished his food and got up, then grabbed a little pile of clothes from beside the couch. “I’m going to get ready. The rest is for you two. If you want it.”
As he disappeared into the bathroom, Seven poked her breakfast with a fork and remarked, loudly, “You know, this is an idea. We should always have fish for breakfast.”
Raffi slid further into her seat, put her head on the counter, and groaned. She felt Seven rub her shoulder sympathetically.
“He has a point,” she pointed out quietly. “And it’s sweet he cares about you.”
“I know,” Raffi groaned. She put her head back up and held her fingers about an inch apart.“It’s just off the mark by a hair.” She looked back at the door, then over at Seven, and shook her head. “He’s going to get his ass kicked at the Academy. You know that.”
“You’re the one who convinced him to go,” Seven pointed out. She paused to take a dramatic sip of the stolen coffee. “And he can probably hear everything we’re saying.”
As if on cue, the door clicked open again, and Elnor emerged wearing an almost exact copy of what Seven was wearing, save for the leather jacket which had been replaced by something sort of like a windbreaker. It was obvious who had done the clothes selection. He grinned and set his—perfectly folded—robe onto the couch. “She’s right. I can hear everything. What do you think?”
Seven grinned broadly. “You look ready to impress.”
Raffi groaned. “He looks like a bike racer.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Seven gestured vaguely like she was painting around him. “All you need now is a phaser at your hip, and you’d fit right in. To the Rangers, anyway.”
Elnor shook his head faintly. “I’m not applying to the Fenris Rangers,” he reminded her, with perhaps the tiniest bit of amusement. “I’m applying to Starfleet.”
Raffi sighed and motioned him over. “You look great. Now let’s do something about your hair. You can’t walk into the Academy looking like a… samurai in a scifi movie.”
He seemed confused, but he came over anyway, sitting on one of the stools. He continued to stare into space with a look of intense focus as Raffi undid his topknot and began to comb out his hair. Finally, he looked back over his shoulder. “What is a samurai?”
“Old Earth warrior,” Raffi explained. “From Japan. You know the Daystrom Institute? Where Jurati works? That’s in Japan.”
A glimmer of curiosity came into his eyes. “Can we go see it?”
“Maybe if you do the science division track… They’ll probably make all you cadets take a field trip.” She turned his head back straight. “Now look forward so I don’t make this crooked.”
She finished tying it in a more sensible half-back style and turned him around. She pursed her lips as she studied her handiwork, then shook her head with a wince. “Nope. Still giving samurai. Let’s try, um...”
She undid the tie and tried holding his hair back in a ponytail, grimaced, then just sort of combed it down over his shoulders. As she fussed over him, he glanced at Seven with a bemused expression. Raffi just sort of kept muttering.
“… No, now he looks like a metalhead. What were you thinking with this jacket, Seven?”
Elnor looked back at her, calmly. “Raffi, it doesn’t matter what my hair looks like. They’re already going to judge me because of this.” He ran a hand over one of his forehead ridges. “I think you can stop worrying about it.”
He was right. She knew he was right. She sighed and shook her head. “Right. Okay. Um… I’ll just make it look a little bit nice, okay? For me?”
He looked skeptical, but nodded anyway. She put it back in the original half-back style, then sort of… combed some down over his ears. She studied him for a moment—longer than it took to actually commit to her decision—and nodded. God, she hoped this wasn’t a mistake. “Looks good.”
He folded his arms. “Can we go to San Francisco now?”
Raffi let him go with a weak sort of smile. He grabbed his small bag, put his spare clothes and PADD away, and headed for the door. As it slid closed, she groaned and put her face in her hand again. Seven looked over at her, arms folded across the chair, with a pitying sort of smirk on her face. “Did you fuss that much over Gabe’s hair?”
“I let Gabe wear his hair however he damn well wanted,” Raffi grumbled. “Even that one time he wanted it to be neon when he was six.” She dragged her hand down her face and stared at the door. “What’s wrong with me?”
Seven tilted her head, then began to list off, “You’re the one sponsoring him, you left Starfleet in disgrace twelve years ago, he’s not a Federation citizen, and he’s the first full-blooded Romulan to even attempt it.” She got up and picked up the rifle, going to put it away. “You have reasons to worry, but he’s also right about it not being the right things.”
Raffi sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She watched Seven move, in that confident, charming way of hers, her eyes drifting over the mechanical bits and pieces lacing her skin, before she disappeared into the next room. She called out, “You ever consider joining up?”
A dry laugh echoed from the bedroom. Seven came back, sans rifle, and folded her arms uncomfortably. “What, join Starfleet?” She shifted her weight, a frown passing over her face. She considered the question for a moment, scratching behind an ear with one hand, before walking to the door. “Let’s just get Elnor started before we start… thinking about that.”
So that was a no. And a yes. Why did Raffi feel like the way Elnor’s application turned out would have a bearing on the answer the next time she asked?
