Fic: Kitchen Consequential (11/18)
Jan. 21st, 2010 06:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Kitchen Consequential (11/18)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,406
Pairings/Characters: Kirk/McCoy, implied Kirk/Gaila, implied Scotty/Gaila, Uhura, Joanna, Scotty, OMC
Disclaimer: Do not own or claim to own.
Warnings: AU set in New York City, 2009, with flashbacks to five years prior. Many references to the ST: XI canon.
Summary: All paths lead to the kitchen for the staff members of Enterprise, the newest critical darling on the New York restaurant scene. It's here that they come together as a team and find out just where they belong. Chapter 11: Jim's vision of the Best Thanksgiving Ever was all good to go, until his first snafu at the academy threatened to ruin his holiday spirit.
For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
"Oh, Bones, come on," Jim huffed. He stopped in the middle of the canned food aisle and reached into the shopping cart, pulling out the canned pumpkin. Bones rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively, which did nothing to deter him. "We need real pumpkin for the pie. What am I supposed to do with this fake-ass shit?"
"Well, I'm sorry, Jim, but you're not exactly out on the farm anymore."
"I never worked on a farm, god." As if he didn't get enough of that crap from Uhura and her constant "farmboy" cracks; he didn't need Bones picking up on it, too. He looked over his ingredient list again, which had to be as long as his two arms combined, and sighed mournfully to himself. "It's just that I want this to be the most kick-ass pumpkin pie ever. And it won't be as fluffy without real pumpkin. Don't you want Joanna to have the fluffiest pie she's ever tasted, Bones? There's gotta be a patch we can visit to go pick one. Like, in Connecticut or something? It'll be more authentic!"
Bones grumbled, taking the can back from Jim and throwing it in the cart again with a loud rattle. "Jim, Joanna's favorite food is Kraft macaroni and cheese, for god's sake. Joce and I can barely get her to eat a carrot on most days, let alone expect her to tell the difference between canned and fresh pumpkin. She won't give a rat's hairy ass what's in the pie as long as it has whipped cream on top, okay?"
"Well, of course it'll have whipped cream," Jim said, looking incredulous. "Handmade maple whipped cream and brown sugar crumble, to be exact."
Bones looked to the heavens again. "She likes Cool Whip," he said. Jim clutched at his chest and gasped in exaggerated horror.
"God, Bones...we have to teach her."
"Jim, I told you to stop calling me that. And you're driving me crazy with this cockamamie Thanksgiving menu. Gimme that thing." He swiped the paper out of Jim's hand and looked it over, shaking his head. "Look at this mess. Ginger walnut cranberry sauce, sweet potato au gratin...bread stuffing with pears, pecans, bacon and caramelized onions—well, that sounds pretty good, actually, but...honestly! Don't you think you're going overboard? What's going to be left for Uhura to bring?"
"I told her to bring a vegetable dish," he said, shrugging. "I was thinking I could make some mulled cider, too. Which I'll keep away from Joanna, don't worry."
Jim walked ahead of him down the aisle, then, searching for other things left on the list. He'd asked Uhura if she wanted to come a week earlier and he'd actually been surprised when she accepted the offer. He figured, the way she acted like a high-society girl with her nose turned up all the time, she had to have a hundred invitations to fancier Thanksgiving gatherings than one with Jim, Bones and his little girl in their scummy Inwood apartment. Turned out her father was a foreign diplomat and though she usually spent the holiday with him somewhere in the Upper East Side, he was going to be away on travel this year, and she wasn't relishing the idea of being alone. Jim couldn't blame her; this was going to be his first Thanksgiving without his mother and his brother Sam, and he already knew he was going to feel off the entire day.
Speaking of his mom, she'd finally come through with some extra spending money. He'd thought he might spend it on rent or maybe some new clothes—he really did need clothes, especially underwear—but here he was, ready to blow the majority of it on the best Thanksgiving meal he could prepare. If he couldn't be back at home, he at least wanted this much.
Also, Uhura was a pretty critical gal and if little Joanna was anything like her, he had his work cut out for him. It seemed no matter what kind of culinary feats Jim managed to pull off in their classes, Uhura was always severely unimpressed. She seemed to like Bones, though; he often tried to sell Jim on the idea that Uhura craved respect because she was high-society and also a woman and the combination meant people might not take her seriously. Jim could understand that—it was true that professional cooking was a male-dominated field, he wasn't blind to that—but it didn't mean that she had to act like she was better than him. She wouldn't even tell him her first name, for christ's sake. And she made it extremely clear that she was mainly coming to dinner because Bones and his daughter would be there. He'd been slightly stung until Uhura lowered her lashes and her defenses a bit, giving him a final, soft-spoken "Thank you, Jim," before taking her leave. He could tell she was grateful to be invited, deep down, and being the one to lift her spirits, just a little bit, sort of made his day. So now he was out to make sure everyone had the Thanksgiving dinner they deserved.
Bones sighed as they turned into the produce aisle, leaning his folded arms against the handlebar of the shopping cart as he watched Jim prod at fruit. "Can't believe I'm standing here, watching you sniff lemons. When did we get so domestic? Feel like I fell asleep somewhere along the line and got married again without knowing it."
"Are you kidding?" Jim laughed, putting a few lemons in a plastic bag. "We've been living on takeout and leftovers ever since school started; we haven't even had time to be really domestic. Though I'll feel bad correcting Joanna if she wants to call me her second daddy. I mean, I wouldn't blame her."
"Ugh, Jim..." Bones grunted at him, pulling a stricken face as he pushed the cart away. Jim followed after him, holding his arms out.
"I'll take Uncle Jim! Okay, what if I call you Daddy?"
Bones flipped him off as he went; Jim pouted and then spotted the pears, poking around for good ones. He ended up with four for the bag and one for him, and he took a big, noisy bite as he went to look for Bones again.
*
Jim watched, hands folded behind his back and trying his damnedest not to smirk, as his instructor sampled his panna cotta, dipping the light confection into the spray of raspberry foam he'd provided on the plate. The man—Chef Kobayashi Maru, some guy that Pike talked up all the time as one of the best instructors in the Academy, even though Pike was a superior chef in Jim's eyes—nodded once and put the spoon down again, barely even making eye contact as he moved down the row to the other students.
"Good, Mr. Kirk," he simply said, and then he was sampling something else. Jim frowned slightly at the faint praise, looking down at his half-eaten dish. He'd tasted the damn thing himself; it was light and delicate perfection, not just "good."
Uhura was the one to smirk now, whispering near Jim's ear. "What, upset because he didn't cream his pants? You know Maru's difficult to please. You should be happy he said anything nice at all."
"It was better than 'good,'" Jim whispered back, his shoulders stiffening. He liked Uhura a lot but she sure did love to needle him. "I don't want anything less than an A in Pastry Techniques. I didn't come all the way here not to ace all of my classes."
"Yeah, well, that's what we all want. But Maru's a hard-ass. It's kind of a no-win situation."
"I don't believe in no-win situations," he murmured.
Uhura just arched a delicate brow at that and shrugged, reaching up under her chef's hat to adjust one of the bobby pins in her immaculate bun. Jim knew she preferred to keep it in a ponytail, but most of the instructors, especially Maru, insisted it be kept firmly out of the way of the food. Jim exhaled and watched as Maru made his way down the row of students, assuming various expressions of apathy and disgust. Uhura tilted forward to watch the proceedings as well and they both cringed when an especially sensitive student ran out of the room crying because of whatever Maru muttered after tasting her dish.
"Poor kid," Jim murmured, squinting after her.
"She'll never make it if she doesn't toughen up," Uhura said primly. Jim gave her a dubious glance before his head was turned by something really out of this world: Kobayashi was on the other side of the room, creaming his pants—hopefully not in the literal sense.
"This is...this is delicious," the man said, looking in disbelief at the scoop of whatever dessert he had in his hand. "What's your name, again?"
"Montgomery Scott, sir," a heavily accented voice cheerfully supplied. Jim furrowed his brow, craning his neck to get a look at the guy. He was all smiles, grinning to the rest of the class as though he'd just won an award. He even waved a little in Jim's direction when he caught him staring. Jim blinked and waved back.
"Do we know that guy?" he whispered to Uhura out of the corner of his mouth.
"That's Scotty. I think he's slept with Gaila once or twice." She looked up at Jim and shrugged. "She said he's a pastry genius. And apparently, it's true."
"You don't say," he mused. Uhura gave him a withering look.
"What," she asked flatly, her hands on her hips. "You're scheming something, aren't you? I swear, Jim. I've known you, what...three months? And I can already read you like a book."
"What kind of book? Erotica? Harlequin romance?" Jim asked as Maru dismissed the class and people began to gather their things. He flashed his brightest smile as he reached for his bag, cocking his hip. "You know, I find it fascinating that you deem me interesting enough to pay such close attention. It's quite flattering, really."
"I don't. You're just that easy." She picked up her own bag and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "And to answer your question: probably horror."
"Why? Do I scare you with my dashing good looks? I can hold you if you're afraid."
Uhura took that moment to roll her eyes and purposely shove past him on her way out. People were always rolling their eyes at him in this city and yet, he always got the last laugh. Jim turned to take one last look at that Scotty guy, then pulled out his phone, sending Gaila a text, asking if she wanted to get together and practice some technique. Maybe that night, around eight-ish?
The answer, unsurprisingly, was a resounding yes.
*
By the end of the evening, Jim's face and neck were completely smeared with lipstick and he had a full-fledged IOU for Scotty's banana-rum macadamia flambé recipe. It arrived in his inbox the next morning, along with a note saying that Gaila would be more than happy to do him other "favors" in the future. Jim smirked and remembered how he'd come home the night before to Bones watching late-night talk shows on the sofa and drinking beer. He'd gotten one look at Jim's face and disheveled clothes, muttered, "Ever heard of soap, kid?" and went back to the TV. Jim had just laughed and shrugged it off, but he couldn't help but feel weirdly guilty. He went and slept in his own bed, for once.
That day, he had an exam for Chef Maru's class, which was basically to prepare something that would knock the guy's indifferent socks off. Most people were planning on going relatively safe, making desserts not unlike ones they'd made before. Jim, however, was planning on making that damn flambé. And yeah, he probably should have practiced the technique in advance, but who had time for that? The test was hours away. He knew what he was doing.
A few minutes into his turn and he was backing away from a veritable fireball emanating from his pan, Bones running around in the background yelling, "Damn it, Jim!" as he ran to fetch the fire extinguisher. Uhura was there too, of course, her panic during the height of the fire diminished greatly by the time the stovetop was covered in foam, reduced to quiet laughter into her fist. Jim stepped back and looked at the mess blankly; he idly reached up to make sure his eyebrows hadn't been singed off his face.
So...he wasn't good at everything. Sue him, right?
A few of the students on the other side of the room ran over to see what all the fuss was about, including Scotty, perky and oblivious as ever. "I like this school!" he exclaimed, looking around at the mess. "You know, it's exciting!"
Maru was none too pleased, however, barreling toward Jim with fists shaking in the air. "Kirk! Have you even practiced this technique before? How dare you march into this kitchen and put us all in peril—"
"Whoa, whoa!" Jim stepped back, putting his hands up. "Peril? Everyone was a safe distance away and we've got the fire extinguisher..."
But Maru wasn't having it. He was fuming as he folded his arms across his chest, staring Jim down. "Which you couldn't even retrieve yourself because you were cowering from your own fiery mess. I would think you'd know a thing or two about fire safety, Mr. Kirk, given your background."
Jim froze. The rage barreled through him, as quickly as that damn explosion had billowed up from his flambé, so fast that he had no immediate idea how to express it. Bones was by his side in a second, holding onto Jim's shoulder with a fierce, protective grip. Jim would remember later that even Uhura had looked scandalized at Maru's rude comment. He'd never discussed his past with either of them because it just wasn't something he wanted to talk about. But it wasn't like everyone didn't already know the entire story; it was a page in New York's culinary history by now. Jim knew all too well that just as Uhura had something to prove around this place, so did he. As soon as anyone came upon his name, everything was suddenly at stake.
"Now, see here, Chef," Bones hissed, pointing his long medic's finger at the unflinching instructor. "That was completely out of line, you hear me?"
"Bones," Jim said, cutting him off. Bones let him go, then, and everyone watched silently, waiting for his next words, likely hoping for a dramatic blowout. Jim just squared his shoulders and pursed his lips, nodding once to Maru. "I'm well aware of my 'background,' Chef. It's what inspired me to be here. And I'm working too damn hard to earn my own respect to have to ask for it on my dad's behalf as well. So, if you'll excuse me." He took off his hat, flinging it down on the counter and walking away. "Take your test and your fire safety and shove it. Sir."
The sound of the door slamming as he left the room echoed down the corridor as he walked. He reached back to untie the knot of his apron.
He went to bed as soon as he got home and Bones didn't bother him at all, letting him sleep as long as he wanted, even through dinner. Jim didn't wake until half past three, looking around his room groggily and exhaling when he checked his watch. He could hardly believe he'd slept through the entire evening.
His stomach rumbling, he rose with a yawn and went to the living room where Bones' laptop sat, using it to check his school e-mail. He half-expected a letter of expulsion waiting for him, after telling Maru to "shove it" and all. Probably in bad taste. He was surprised to find an e-mail waiting for him from the instructor himself.
From: k.maru@faculty.starfleet.edu
To: jt.kirk@starfleet.edu
Date: Tues, Nov. 23, 2004, 6:47:34 PM
Subject: Apologies
Mr. Kirk,
I owe you a sincere apology for my outburst earlier today. Mr. McCoy was right to admonish me; the personal attack was unwarranted and nasty at best. Despite any frustration I might have felt at the time, I am sincerely disappointed in myself for bringing up such a grievous loss on your part.
I must stress, however, that I was disappointed by your decision to put your grade at risk. You have demonstrated your skills as a highly competent pastry chef throughout the term and as a result, I will extend the opportunity to you to retake the final exam. Please return to the test kitchen at 2 PM tomorrow if you're amenable to this idea.
Sincerely,
Kobayashi Maru
Jim pursed his lips, rereading the letter a few times. Then he noticed a second e-mail from Bones, sent a few hours later.
From: lh.mccoy@starfleet.edu
To: jt.kirk@starfleet.edu
Date: Tues, Nov. 23, 2004, 9:23:07 PM
Subject: Leftovers
Fried chicken and cheese grits. In the fridge if you're hungry.
LHM
Jim smiled faintly to himself, logging off and heading into the kitchen.
*
By the time Jim arrived for his retake of the exam, he was more than ready for another nap, his internal body clock thrown off big-time. Maru was sitting and waiting for him and they nodded pleasantly to each other as Jim went to prepare his station. This time, his only audience member was Maru himself; most classes had either ended early or been canceled due to the holiday and the fact that many students had travel plans. Jim supposed it was a good thing he didn't have a plane to Iowa to catch.
This time, he took it nice and easy. He made a napoleon out of white chocolate raspberry mousse and a warm peach buttermilk biscuit, complete with glazed peach wedges and, of course, fresh whipped cream. Jim presented it to Maru without much fanfare when he was done, folding his hands behind his back as the instructor sampled it. Jim's brow went up when Maru's did, as that was the most facial expression he'd ever gotten out of the man—well, beyond the yelling.
"The peach biscuit is very unusual, Mr. Kirk," he said. "Family recipe?"
"You could say that," Jim replied, nodding faintly.
Maru put the spoon down after a moment, writing down some notes. "Thank you, Mr. Kirk. That will be all. Have a happy Thanksgiving."
"Yeah...you too."
Jim went to clean up and gather his things, exhaling when he was through. He picked up his bag and went to the door, pausing when Maru called out to him.
"Mr. Kirk," he said, smiling thinly and peering at Jim over his glasses. "You do realize that it's an extremely rare occasion that I give out an A to a student?"
"That's what I've heard," Jim replied, giving him a quizzical look. Maru just nodded and went back to his notebook and Jim made haste to get out of there. When he walked out of the building, Bones was sitting on the front steps, reading a book and waiting for him.
"How'd you do?" he asked, squinting up at him. Jim shrugged and reached into his bag, pulling out the baggie of extra peach biscuits he'd made and handing one to Bones.
"Who the hell knows? Let's go pick up Joanna, yeah?"
"Yeah, okay." Bones got to his feet, putting away the book and taking a bite of the biscuit. He made an almost orgasmic sound as he chewed, looking between the biscuit and Jim's face. "Jesus, Jim. This is so good it should be illegal."
Jim smiled and patted his back as they walked. "Remind me to go buy peaches and I'll make some more tomorrow."
*
When the doorbell rang, Joanna went tearing out of the kitchen, fast enough to nearly knock over an entire bowl of whipped cream. Jim caught it with a gasp and blinked at Bones, who just sighed and followed the sing-song trail of "Who iiiiis it?" coming from his daughter. Jim took off his oven mitt and went after them, smiling at the sight of Uhura in the doorway. She was holding a large bowl covered in saran wrap and her hair was down, which was something new to Jim. Uhura was always a stunner, but like this—relaxed and happy, beaming down at Joanna—she was drop-dead gorgeous.
"Hey, darlin'," Bones said, and he went to embrace her. She hugged him back with one arm, handing over the bowl to Jim.
"Hi, Len. Hi, Jim. I made a big, beautiful salad because I knew you boys wouldn't be making anything of redeeming nutritional value." Uhura knelt down and took Joanna's small hand in her own, shaking it gently. "Hello, little miss. What's your name?"
"Joanna." She dragged the toe of her patent-leather shoe along the floor, then reached out to touch Uhura's hair, making everyone laugh. "What's yours?"
"Jojo, this here is Miss Uhura. She's a friend of mine and Jim's," Bones said. Uhura nodded and shrugged one shoulder, tapping Joanna's nose.
"But you and your daddy can call me Nyota," she whispered. Jim nearly gasped where he stood against the wall, thrilled to have a first name at last.
"Can I call you Nyota, too?" he asked, as innocently as he could. Uhura gave him a terse smile as she stood up again, removing her gloves.
"No," she said sweetly.
Bones laughed and took her coat, hanging it up. Jim huffed and left the three of them there together, going back to the kitchen with the salad and placing it in the fridge. He still had to finish making the crumble for the pie, which was sitting on the counter. Just about everything else was done, though—turkey warm and resting, cranberry sauce in the fridge, sweet potato au gratin cooling on the stovetop. It would still be a few more minutes before the peach biscuits were ready.
Jim got to work on the crumble, his hands getting good and dusty with brown sugar. He blinked in surprise when someone tugged on his "Kiss the Cook" apron string; it was Uhura, standing there and smiling genuinely at him.
"Is that honest-to-god mulled cider?" she asked, lifting her brow with interest.
"Oh, yeah! Ah...where are my manners. Lemme just get you a glass and—"
"Don't worry about it, Jim. You've obviously got your hands full. Glasses are up here?" Uhura pointed to a cabinet and Jim nodded, watching as she went and used the ladle to pour herself a goblet full of cider from the big pot simmering on the stove. She was wearing a snug, ribbed red sweater and a black pencil skirt, looking every bit the Upper East Side resident she was. Somehow, she didn't come off as snobbish, though. He went about washing his hands and she sipped her cider, nodding. "Mmm. This is delicious, Jim. And the whole apartment smells amazing."
Jim shrugged, feeling oddly shy. "We wanted Joanna to have the best Thanksgiving she's just about ever had."
"I'm sure she will." Uhura stepped closer and hesitated before kissing Jim's cheek lightly, which was...well, a shock, to say the least. It didn't make him horny or anything, not by a long shot—just kind of warm and fuzzy. "Just following instructions," she said. She motioned to his apron and smiled brilliantly at him, showing off her perfectly white teeth. "Thank you again for inviting me. I wanted you to know that I really mean it...I'm happy to be here with you and Len."
"Don't mention it." Jim shrugged, trying to appear confident. "You're family now."
Uhura's brows shot up, her head tilting curiously. "You mean you and Len are...?"
"Oh...no! No, we've just become fast friends. I mean...it's sort of us against the world, you know? Our families are far away and even though Bones has Jojo here, it's still tough." He paused momentarily. "I've been keeping busy," he said, motioning to all the food, "but I'm pretty homesick, I guess. Especially today."
"Of course." She reached down and curled her hand around Jim's wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But you're following your path. You belong just where you are. And you have Len to look after you. That's lucky."
"I know."
She smiled one more time and then let him go, returning to the living room to sit with Bones and Joanna. Jim washed his hands and looked out from the kitchen, watching as Joanna immediately latched onto Uhura, scampering from one lap to another. In the background, the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special blared from the television and Bones appeared happier than Jim could ever recall seeing. Finally, he caught Bones' eye and the older man turned his head and winked at him.
"Hey, Jimmy—need some help in there?"
"Uncle Jim, when's pie time?" Joanna called, bouncing in Uhura's lap, still playing with her hair.
"Soon, Jojo! Hey, wanna taste-test the whipped cream while Dad carves the turkey?"
"Yes!" Joanna nodded firmly and went running over to retrieve a spoon filled with a dollop of the hand-whipped cream. Her eyes lit up when she licked it off. "It's so good!"
"She's been converted!" Jim exclaimed in his best televangelist voice, raising his arms to the sky. "Hallelujah!"
Bones just laughed as he stood and walked to the kitchen, poking Jim's chest along the way, right above the writing on his apron. "Job well done, Paula Deen," he said, dropping a kiss on Jim's temple as he went.
For Jim's part, he stood there and turned a distinct shade of pink while the women turned against him, giggling into their palms. Yeah, he thought, just as good as family.
*
A few weeks later, he logged onto his account in the student lounge, Bones sitting by his side and doing the same. Bones wouldn't tell Jim any of his grades for whatever reason, but Jim had no doubt he did well; he was grumpy in the kitchen, but the man was a fantastic chef. His own eyes went wide when the list of grades loaded on the screen.
"Well?" Bones asked, looking sideways at him. "Maru didn't flunk you, did he?"
"Worse," Jim huffed. He slumped against the desk's edge. "A minus."
Bones just laughed and laughed.
Previous: Chapter 10 || Next: Chapter 12
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,406
Pairings/Characters: Kirk/McCoy, implied Kirk/Gaila, implied Scotty/Gaila, Uhura, Joanna, Scotty, OMC
Disclaimer: Do not own or claim to own.
Warnings: AU set in New York City, 2009, with flashbacks to five years prior. Many references to the ST: XI canon.
Summary: All paths lead to the kitchen for the staff members of Enterprise, the newest critical darling on the New York restaurant scene. It's here that they come together as a team and find out just where they belong. Chapter 11: Jim's vision of the Best Thanksgiving Ever was all good to go, until his first snafu at the academy threatened to ruin his holiday spirit.
For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
"Oh, Bones, come on," Jim huffed. He stopped in the middle of the canned food aisle and reached into the shopping cart, pulling out the canned pumpkin. Bones rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively, which did nothing to deter him. "We need real pumpkin for the pie. What am I supposed to do with this fake-ass shit?"
"Well, I'm sorry, Jim, but you're not exactly out on the farm anymore."
"I never worked on a farm, god." As if he didn't get enough of that crap from Uhura and her constant "farmboy" cracks; he didn't need Bones picking up on it, too. He looked over his ingredient list again, which had to be as long as his two arms combined, and sighed mournfully to himself. "It's just that I want this to be the most kick-ass pumpkin pie ever. And it won't be as fluffy without real pumpkin. Don't you want Joanna to have the fluffiest pie she's ever tasted, Bones? There's gotta be a patch we can visit to go pick one. Like, in Connecticut or something? It'll be more authentic!"
Bones grumbled, taking the can back from Jim and throwing it in the cart again with a loud rattle. "Jim, Joanna's favorite food is Kraft macaroni and cheese, for god's sake. Joce and I can barely get her to eat a carrot on most days, let alone expect her to tell the difference between canned and fresh pumpkin. She won't give a rat's hairy ass what's in the pie as long as it has whipped cream on top, okay?"
"Well, of course it'll have whipped cream," Jim said, looking incredulous. "Handmade maple whipped cream and brown sugar crumble, to be exact."
Bones looked to the heavens again. "She likes Cool Whip," he said. Jim clutched at his chest and gasped in exaggerated horror.
"God, Bones...we have to teach her."
"Jim, I told you to stop calling me that. And you're driving me crazy with this cockamamie Thanksgiving menu. Gimme that thing." He swiped the paper out of Jim's hand and looked it over, shaking his head. "Look at this mess. Ginger walnut cranberry sauce, sweet potato au gratin...bread stuffing with pears, pecans, bacon and caramelized onions—well, that sounds pretty good, actually, but...honestly! Don't you think you're going overboard? What's going to be left for Uhura to bring?"
"I told her to bring a vegetable dish," he said, shrugging. "I was thinking I could make some mulled cider, too. Which I'll keep away from Joanna, don't worry."
Jim walked ahead of him down the aisle, then, searching for other things left on the list. He'd asked Uhura if she wanted to come a week earlier and he'd actually been surprised when she accepted the offer. He figured, the way she acted like a high-society girl with her nose turned up all the time, she had to have a hundred invitations to fancier Thanksgiving gatherings than one with Jim, Bones and his little girl in their scummy Inwood apartment. Turned out her father was a foreign diplomat and though she usually spent the holiday with him somewhere in the Upper East Side, he was going to be away on travel this year, and she wasn't relishing the idea of being alone. Jim couldn't blame her; this was going to be his first Thanksgiving without his mother and his brother Sam, and he already knew he was going to feel off the entire day.
Speaking of his mom, she'd finally come through with some extra spending money. He'd thought he might spend it on rent or maybe some new clothes—he really did need clothes, especially underwear—but here he was, ready to blow the majority of it on the best Thanksgiving meal he could prepare. If he couldn't be back at home, he at least wanted this much.
Also, Uhura was a pretty critical gal and if little Joanna was anything like her, he had his work cut out for him. It seemed no matter what kind of culinary feats Jim managed to pull off in their classes, Uhura was always severely unimpressed. She seemed to like Bones, though; he often tried to sell Jim on the idea that Uhura craved respect because she was high-society and also a woman and the combination meant people might not take her seriously. Jim could understand that—it was true that professional cooking was a male-dominated field, he wasn't blind to that—but it didn't mean that she had to act like she was better than him. She wouldn't even tell him her first name, for christ's sake. And she made it extremely clear that she was mainly coming to dinner because Bones and his daughter would be there. He'd been slightly stung until Uhura lowered her lashes and her defenses a bit, giving him a final, soft-spoken "Thank you, Jim," before taking her leave. He could tell she was grateful to be invited, deep down, and being the one to lift her spirits, just a little bit, sort of made his day. So now he was out to make sure everyone had the Thanksgiving dinner they deserved.
Bones sighed as they turned into the produce aisle, leaning his folded arms against the handlebar of the shopping cart as he watched Jim prod at fruit. "Can't believe I'm standing here, watching you sniff lemons. When did we get so domestic? Feel like I fell asleep somewhere along the line and got married again without knowing it."
"Are you kidding?" Jim laughed, putting a few lemons in a plastic bag. "We've been living on takeout and leftovers ever since school started; we haven't even had time to be really domestic. Though I'll feel bad correcting Joanna if she wants to call me her second daddy. I mean, I wouldn't blame her."
"Ugh, Jim..." Bones grunted at him, pulling a stricken face as he pushed the cart away. Jim followed after him, holding his arms out.
"I'll take Uncle Jim! Okay, what if I call you Daddy?"
Bones flipped him off as he went; Jim pouted and then spotted the pears, poking around for good ones. He ended up with four for the bag and one for him, and he took a big, noisy bite as he went to look for Bones again.
*
Jim watched, hands folded behind his back and trying his damnedest not to smirk, as his instructor sampled his panna cotta, dipping the light confection into the spray of raspberry foam he'd provided on the plate. The man—Chef Kobayashi Maru, some guy that Pike talked up all the time as one of the best instructors in the Academy, even though Pike was a superior chef in Jim's eyes—nodded once and put the spoon down again, barely even making eye contact as he moved down the row to the other students.
"Good, Mr. Kirk," he simply said, and then he was sampling something else. Jim frowned slightly at the faint praise, looking down at his half-eaten dish. He'd tasted the damn thing himself; it was light and delicate perfection, not just "good."
Uhura was the one to smirk now, whispering near Jim's ear. "What, upset because he didn't cream his pants? You know Maru's difficult to please. You should be happy he said anything nice at all."
"It was better than 'good,'" Jim whispered back, his shoulders stiffening. He liked Uhura a lot but she sure did love to needle him. "I don't want anything less than an A in Pastry Techniques. I didn't come all the way here not to ace all of my classes."
"Yeah, well, that's what we all want. But Maru's a hard-ass. It's kind of a no-win situation."
"I don't believe in no-win situations," he murmured.
Uhura just arched a delicate brow at that and shrugged, reaching up under her chef's hat to adjust one of the bobby pins in her immaculate bun. Jim knew she preferred to keep it in a ponytail, but most of the instructors, especially Maru, insisted it be kept firmly out of the way of the food. Jim exhaled and watched as Maru made his way down the row of students, assuming various expressions of apathy and disgust. Uhura tilted forward to watch the proceedings as well and they both cringed when an especially sensitive student ran out of the room crying because of whatever Maru muttered after tasting her dish.
"Poor kid," Jim murmured, squinting after her.
"She'll never make it if she doesn't toughen up," Uhura said primly. Jim gave her a dubious glance before his head was turned by something really out of this world: Kobayashi was on the other side of the room, creaming his pants—hopefully not in the literal sense.
"This is...this is delicious," the man said, looking in disbelief at the scoop of whatever dessert he had in his hand. "What's your name, again?"
"Montgomery Scott, sir," a heavily accented voice cheerfully supplied. Jim furrowed his brow, craning his neck to get a look at the guy. He was all smiles, grinning to the rest of the class as though he'd just won an award. He even waved a little in Jim's direction when he caught him staring. Jim blinked and waved back.
"Do we know that guy?" he whispered to Uhura out of the corner of his mouth.
"That's Scotty. I think he's slept with Gaila once or twice." She looked up at Jim and shrugged. "She said he's a pastry genius. And apparently, it's true."
"You don't say," he mused. Uhura gave him a withering look.
"What," she asked flatly, her hands on her hips. "You're scheming something, aren't you? I swear, Jim. I've known you, what...three months? And I can already read you like a book."
"What kind of book? Erotica? Harlequin romance?" Jim asked as Maru dismissed the class and people began to gather their things. He flashed his brightest smile as he reached for his bag, cocking his hip. "You know, I find it fascinating that you deem me interesting enough to pay such close attention. It's quite flattering, really."
"I don't. You're just that easy." She picked up her own bag and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "And to answer your question: probably horror."
"Why? Do I scare you with my dashing good looks? I can hold you if you're afraid."
Uhura took that moment to roll her eyes and purposely shove past him on her way out. People were always rolling their eyes at him in this city and yet, he always got the last laugh. Jim turned to take one last look at that Scotty guy, then pulled out his phone, sending Gaila a text, asking if she wanted to get together and practice some technique. Maybe that night, around eight-ish?
The answer, unsurprisingly, was a resounding yes.
*
By the end of the evening, Jim's face and neck were completely smeared with lipstick and he had a full-fledged IOU for Scotty's banana-rum macadamia flambé recipe. It arrived in his inbox the next morning, along with a note saying that Gaila would be more than happy to do him other "favors" in the future. Jim smirked and remembered how he'd come home the night before to Bones watching late-night talk shows on the sofa and drinking beer. He'd gotten one look at Jim's face and disheveled clothes, muttered, "Ever heard of soap, kid?" and went back to the TV. Jim had just laughed and shrugged it off, but he couldn't help but feel weirdly guilty. He went and slept in his own bed, for once.
That day, he had an exam for Chef Maru's class, which was basically to prepare something that would knock the guy's indifferent socks off. Most people were planning on going relatively safe, making desserts not unlike ones they'd made before. Jim, however, was planning on making that damn flambé. And yeah, he probably should have practiced the technique in advance, but who had time for that? The test was hours away. He knew what he was doing.
A few minutes into his turn and he was backing away from a veritable fireball emanating from his pan, Bones running around in the background yelling, "Damn it, Jim!" as he ran to fetch the fire extinguisher. Uhura was there too, of course, her panic during the height of the fire diminished greatly by the time the stovetop was covered in foam, reduced to quiet laughter into her fist. Jim stepped back and looked at the mess blankly; he idly reached up to make sure his eyebrows hadn't been singed off his face.
So...he wasn't good at everything. Sue him, right?
A few of the students on the other side of the room ran over to see what all the fuss was about, including Scotty, perky and oblivious as ever. "I like this school!" he exclaimed, looking around at the mess. "You know, it's exciting!"
Maru was none too pleased, however, barreling toward Jim with fists shaking in the air. "Kirk! Have you even practiced this technique before? How dare you march into this kitchen and put us all in peril—"
"Whoa, whoa!" Jim stepped back, putting his hands up. "Peril? Everyone was a safe distance away and we've got the fire extinguisher..."
But Maru wasn't having it. He was fuming as he folded his arms across his chest, staring Jim down. "Which you couldn't even retrieve yourself because you were cowering from your own fiery mess. I would think you'd know a thing or two about fire safety, Mr. Kirk, given your background."
Jim froze. The rage barreled through him, as quickly as that damn explosion had billowed up from his flambé, so fast that he had no immediate idea how to express it. Bones was by his side in a second, holding onto Jim's shoulder with a fierce, protective grip. Jim would remember later that even Uhura had looked scandalized at Maru's rude comment. He'd never discussed his past with either of them because it just wasn't something he wanted to talk about. But it wasn't like everyone didn't already know the entire story; it was a page in New York's culinary history by now. Jim knew all too well that just as Uhura had something to prove around this place, so did he. As soon as anyone came upon his name, everything was suddenly at stake.
"Now, see here, Chef," Bones hissed, pointing his long medic's finger at the unflinching instructor. "That was completely out of line, you hear me?"
"Bones," Jim said, cutting him off. Bones let him go, then, and everyone watched silently, waiting for his next words, likely hoping for a dramatic blowout. Jim just squared his shoulders and pursed his lips, nodding once to Maru. "I'm well aware of my 'background,' Chef. It's what inspired me to be here. And I'm working too damn hard to earn my own respect to have to ask for it on my dad's behalf as well. So, if you'll excuse me." He took off his hat, flinging it down on the counter and walking away. "Take your test and your fire safety and shove it. Sir."
The sound of the door slamming as he left the room echoed down the corridor as he walked. He reached back to untie the knot of his apron.
He went to bed as soon as he got home and Bones didn't bother him at all, letting him sleep as long as he wanted, even through dinner. Jim didn't wake until half past three, looking around his room groggily and exhaling when he checked his watch. He could hardly believe he'd slept through the entire evening.
His stomach rumbling, he rose with a yawn and went to the living room where Bones' laptop sat, using it to check his school e-mail. He half-expected a letter of expulsion waiting for him, after telling Maru to "shove it" and all. Probably in bad taste. He was surprised to find an e-mail waiting for him from the instructor himself.
From: k.maru@faculty.starfleet.edu
To: jt.kirk@starfleet.edu
Date: Tues, Nov. 23, 2004, 6:47:34 PM
Subject: Apologies
Mr. Kirk,
I owe you a sincere apology for my outburst earlier today. Mr. McCoy was right to admonish me; the personal attack was unwarranted and nasty at best. Despite any frustration I might have felt at the time, I am sincerely disappointed in myself for bringing up such a grievous loss on your part.
I must stress, however, that I was disappointed by your decision to put your grade at risk. You have demonstrated your skills as a highly competent pastry chef throughout the term and as a result, I will extend the opportunity to you to retake the final exam. Please return to the test kitchen at 2 PM tomorrow if you're amenable to this idea.
Sincerely,
Kobayashi Maru
Jim pursed his lips, rereading the letter a few times. Then he noticed a second e-mail from Bones, sent a few hours later.
From: lh.mccoy@starfleet.edu
To: jt.kirk@starfleet.edu
Date: Tues, Nov. 23, 2004, 9:23:07 PM
Subject: Leftovers
Fried chicken and cheese grits. In the fridge if you're hungry.
LHM
Jim smiled faintly to himself, logging off and heading into the kitchen.
*
By the time Jim arrived for his retake of the exam, he was more than ready for another nap, his internal body clock thrown off big-time. Maru was sitting and waiting for him and they nodded pleasantly to each other as Jim went to prepare his station. This time, his only audience member was Maru himself; most classes had either ended early or been canceled due to the holiday and the fact that many students had travel plans. Jim supposed it was a good thing he didn't have a plane to Iowa to catch.
This time, he took it nice and easy. He made a napoleon out of white chocolate raspberry mousse and a warm peach buttermilk biscuit, complete with glazed peach wedges and, of course, fresh whipped cream. Jim presented it to Maru without much fanfare when he was done, folding his hands behind his back as the instructor sampled it. Jim's brow went up when Maru's did, as that was the most facial expression he'd ever gotten out of the man—well, beyond the yelling.
"The peach biscuit is very unusual, Mr. Kirk," he said. "Family recipe?"
"You could say that," Jim replied, nodding faintly.
Maru put the spoon down after a moment, writing down some notes. "Thank you, Mr. Kirk. That will be all. Have a happy Thanksgiving."
"Yeah...you too."
Jim went to clean up and gather his things, exhaling when he was through. He picked up his bag and went to the door, pausing when Maru called out to him.
"Mr. Kirk," he said, smiling thinly and peering at Jim over his glasses. "You do realize that it's an extremely rare occasion that I give out an A to a student?"
"That's what I've heard," Jim replied, giving him a quizzical look. Maru just nodded and went back to his notebook and Jim made haste to get out of there. When he walked out of the building, Bones was sitting on the front steps, reading a book and waiting for him.
"How'd you do?" he asked, squinting up at him. Jim shrugged and reached into his bag, pulling out the baggie of extra peach biscuits he'd made and handing one to Bones.
"Who the hell knows? Let's go pick up Joanna, yeah?"
"Yeah, okay." Bones got to his feet, putting away the book and taking a bite of the biscuit. He made an almost orgasmic sound as he chewed, looking between the biscuit and Jim's face. "Jesus, Jim. This is so good it should be illegal."
Jim smiled and patted his back as they walked. "Remind me to go buy peaches and I'll make some more tomorrow."
*
When the doorbell rang, Joanna went tearing out of the kitchen, fast enough to nearly knock over an entire bowl of whipped cream. Jim caught it with a gasp and blinked at Bones, who just sighed and followed the sing-song trail of "Who iiiiis it?" coming from his daughter. Jim took off his oven mitt and went after them, smiling at the sight of Uhura in the doorway. She was holding a large bowl covered in saran wrap and her hair was down, which was something new to Jim. Uhura was always a stunner, but like this—relaxed and happy, beaming down at Joanna—she was drop-dead gorgeous.
"Hey, darlin'," Bones said, and he went to embrace her. She hugged him back with one arm, handing over the bowl to Jim.
"Hi, Len. Hi, Jim. I made a big, beautiful salad because I knew you boys wouldn't be making anything of redeeming nutritional value." Uhura knelt down and took Joanna's small hand in her own, shaking it gently. "Hello, little miss. What's your name?"
"Joanna." She dragged the toe of her patent-leather shoe along the floor, then reached out to touch Uhura's hair, making everyone laugh. "What's yours?"
"Jojo, this here is Miss Uhura. She's a friend of mine and Jim's," Bones said. Uhura nodded and shrugged one shoulder, tapping Joanna's nose.
"But you and your daddy can call me Nyota," she whispered. Jim nearly gasped where he stood against the wall, thrilled to have a first name at last.
"Can I call you Nyota, too?" he asked, as innocently as he could. Uhura gave him a terse smile as she stood up again, removing her gloves.
"No," she said sweetly.
Bones laughed and took her coat, hanging it up. Jim huffed and left the three of them there together, going back to the kitchen with the salad and placing it in the fridge. He still had to finish making the crumble for the pie, which was sitting on the counter. Just about everything else was done, though—turkey warm and resting, cranberry sauce in the fridge, sweet potato au gratin cooling on the stovetop. It would still be a few more minutes before the peach biscuits were ready.
Jim got to work on the crumble, his hands getting good and dusty with brown sugar. He blinked in surprise when someone tugged on his "Kiss the Cook" apron string; it was Uhura, standing there and smiling genuinely at him.
"Is that honest-to-god mulled cider?" she asked, lifting her brow with interest.
"Oh, yeah! Ah...where are my manners. Lemme just get you a glass and—"
"Don't worry about it, Jim. You've obviously got your hands full. Glasses are up here?" Uhura pointed to a cabinet and Jim nodded, watching as she went and used the ladle to pour herself a goblet full of cider from the big pot simmering on the stove. She was wearing a snug, ribbed red sweater and a black pencil skirt, looking every bit the Upper East Side resident she was. Somehow, she didn't come off as snobbish, though. He went about washing his hands and she sipped her cider, nodding. "Mmm. This is delicious, Jim. And the whole apartment smells amazing."
Jim shrugged, feeling oddly shy. "We wanted Joanna to have the best Thanksgiving she's just about ever had."
"I'm sure she will." Uhura stepped closer and hesitated before kissing Jim's cheek lightly, which was...well, a shock, to say the least. It didn't make him horny or anything, not by a long shot—just kind of warm and fuzzy. "Just following instructions," she said. She motioned to his apron and smiled brilliantly at him, showing off her perfectly white teeth. "Thank you again for inviting me. I wanted you to know that I really mean it...I'm happy to be here with you and Len."
"Don't mention it." Jim shrugged, trying to appear confident. "You're family now."
Uhura's brows shot up, her head tilting curiously. "You mean you and Len are...?"
"Oh...no! No, we've just become fast friends. I mean...it's sort of us against the world, you know? Our families are far away and even though Bones has Jojo here, it's still tough." He paused momentarily. "I've been keeping busy," he said, motioning to all the food, "but I'm pretty homesick, I guess. Especially today."
"Of course." She reached down and curled her hand around Jim's wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But you're following your path. You belong just where you are. And you have Len to look after you. That's lucky."
"I know."
She smiled one more time and then let him go, returning to the living room to sit with Bones and Joanna. Jim washed his hands and looked out from the kitchen, watching as Joanna immediately latched onto Uhura, scampering from one lap to another. In the background, the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special blared from the television and Bones appeared happier than Jim could ever recall seeing. Finally, he caught Bones' eye and the older man turned his head and winked at him.
"Hey, Jimmy—need some help in there?"
"Uncle Jim, when's pie time?" Joanna called, bouncing in Uhura's lap, still playing with her hair.
"Soon, Jojo! Hey, wanna taste-test the whipped cream while Dad carves the turkey?"
"Yes!" Joanna nodded firmly and went running over to retrieve a spoon filled with a dollop of the hand-whipped cream. Her eyes lit up when she licked it off. "It's so good!"
"She's been converted!" Jim exclaimed in his best televangelist voice, raising his arms to the sky. "Hallelujah!"
Bones just laughed as he stood and walked to the kitchen, poking Jim's chest along the way, right above the writing on his apron. "Job well done, Paula Deen," he said, dropping a kiss on Jim's temple as he went.
For Jim's part, he stood there and turned a distinct shade of pink while the women turned against him, giggling into their palms. Yeah, he thought, just as good as family.
*
A few weeks later, he logged onto his account in the student lounge, Bones sitting by his side and doing the same. Bones wouldn't tell Jim any of his grades for whatever reason, but Jim had no doubt he did well; he was grumpy in the kitchen, but the man was a fantastic chef. His own eyes went wide when the list of grades loaded on the screen.
"Well?" Bones asked, looking sideways at him. "Maru didn't flunk you, did he?"
"Worse," Jim huffed. He slumped against the desk's edge. "A minus."
Bones just laughed and laughed.
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