NODA
DISCLAIMER: The story is mine, along with Mannetti, but the rest belongs to a Higher Power and Paramount, not necessarily in that order, although in the cosmic scheme of things they�re probably equal. None of this was done for any profit so I feel it is acceptable to borrow the characters and concept for this brief interlude. This tale may be archived and/or used personally, but any other use, please ask.
Copyright 1998 by NODA [email protected]
NOTE: This came about due to some work-related angst, and since Neelix and I share the same occupation, I felt he would understand.
How would they like to stand in this heat all day just to have their efforts defamed with snide comments? I�m not saying their jobs are any easier. Every one on the ship has challenges before them, but do I walk into Engineering and tell them I could do a better job re-aligning the warp coils with my eyes closed? Ensign Mannetti said as much about lunch yesterday. And dinner. And I believe breakfast this morning as well. If he comes in here for lunch with that attitude, I�ve a good mind to let him try! What a sight! I�m almost tempted to watch him make a fool of himself. But he would destroy my kitchen, and it isn�t worth a few moments of satisfaction.
My Kitchen. My domain. It used to be that I was the Captain here. When did that change? When did everything I tried to do turn into a joke? Perhaps I never had their respect. Maybe they�ve never taken me seriously, I was just too high on trying to keep up *their* morale, that I ignored my own. Who�s going to keep up *my* morale, especially now that Kes is gone? Just one day without the usual, �Say, that doesn�t have leola root in it, does it?� and then a jab to the crewmember next to them, would be heaven. Do they think I *like* serving them the same variations on a theme? How would they like to come up with something new when all there is are Talaxian tomatoes and leola root? How many different combinations do they think I can make? Is it my fault we�re low on stores and leola is easily grown in the Hydroponics bay? When Kes was here she made an effort to grow a wide variety of plants, but now that she�s gone, they�ve installed some crewman who has neither the interest nor the inclination to try new methods of propagation. About the only thing I can get from there now are herbs and a few sickly vegetables to round out today�s version of leola and tomatoes.
What I wouldn�t give for a full pantry! Then I�d show them what I could do! I�d make the Captain a beverage that she wouldn�t be able to distinguish from her beloved coffee. I�d make a vegetable dish for Tuvok and Commander Chakotay that would take their breaths away. Even Tom would get his favorite, a pizza that would rival any he had at home in the Alpha Quadrant. Then they�d appreciate me. All the energy I put into making sure they�re happy. Not only with their food, but with life on the ship as well. Why do I continue to care? It�s obvious that Captain Janeway won�t dump me off on the next planet, so why do I sacrifice myself for their happiness?
*What�s up with Neelix?* I hear someone ask their tablemate as my pots and pans clatter with more than the usual amount of noise. The woman next to him shrugs. Either she doesn�t know or doesn�t care. I suspect it�s the latter. After all, who cares if the funny little guy behind the counter isn�t happy?
I grit my teeth as the lunch crowd starts to come in. There�s Mannetti. I�ve already steeled myself for his barb du jour, but surprisingly, it doesn�t come. He looks down. I can�t help myself, I ask if everything is okay.
"No," he answers quietly. He missed recording a phase variance in the deflector grid and B�Elanna and Tuvok have both read him the riot act. I can see he�s remorseful, it probably was an honest mistake, but I can see he�s upset that he let them down. I know how he feels. Every time I hear derogatory comments about my food I feel the same. That somehow I�ve let them down. They had expectations of me that I haven�t met.
I�m surprised to find I have something in common with the man whom I�ve come to think of as my culinary nemesis. I want to offer a word of cheer, but I know now is not the time. Perhaps later when he�s in a more receptive mood.
Consumed with my thoughts of Mannetti�s distress, I realize I�ve gotten through lunch without reacting to the crew�s standard slurs, almost grateful I had the distraction.
Everything is cleaned up and put away as the Captain and Commander Chakotay enter the Mess Hall. I�m frustrated and angry. To quote Tom Paris: this was the cherry on the cake of my day. I know I will return Janeway�s warm smile, and act as if it�s no trouble at all to re-heat the mid-day entree for both her and the Commander. After all, to use another of Paris� �twentieth-centuryisms,� I know what side my bread is buttered on. I�m rushing around, trying to get their meals together as the Captain stops me for a moment and places her hand on my arm, telling me with all sincerity that she doesn�t know what she would do without me. All it takes is those few words of gratitude to make it all worthwhile. And now I know. *She* is the morale officer, and any attempts I make pale in comparison.
The End