Daddies Day Out

Posted on Thu 23rd May, 2019 @ 8:11am by Lieutenant JG Artyom Mikhailov
Edited on on Thu 23rd May, 2019 @ 2:24pm

930 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: A Diplomatic Affair
Location: Promenade, Deck 586
Timeline: MD 5, 1400

Artyom had just left JAG after having spent the last twelve-hours of his life signing and completing several dozen reports that he'd need to prove that he wasn't dead, and was presently on his way to pick Matthew up from his third day of daycare. Admittedly, Matthew had initially been adverse to being away from his father and the first day had proceeded poorly. But after another day or two, the 2 1/2 year old appeared to be enjoying his time there and in the company of several other kids his age. Once Artyom had Matthew in tow, they'd get a meal in the promenade before returning to their quarters where Artyom would get Matthew ready to go down for the night.

Formally dressed in his Starfleet duty uniform wearing a full pip and a half which still made him feel uncomfortable anytime someone referred to him as sir, Artyom nonetheless had a good feeling about being a part of the fleet again. Tomorrow, he'd report for his first day of work as an engineer aboard Starbase 109.

The doors to the daycare opened up to a chorus of laughter, screaming, crying, and music which Artyom had yet to acclimate to. He was greeted by a number of the caretakers as he made his way towards Matthew's classroom. Matthew's excitement upon seeing his father arrive was telltale, and he nearly plowed into three other children making his way to Artyom in a full run.

"Daddy!" Matthew exclaimed.

Artyom smiled back as he knelt down and greeted his son in return. Yes, perhaps their new life here would be better than he could have thought or hoped.

A short few minutes later, Artyom and Matthew had arrived on Deck 586 where they searched for a place to eat, eventually settling on the same eatery that Matthew seemed to prefer because they had mini corn dogs and french fries. Since they'd managed to get down here before shift change, the promenade wasn't terribly busy and finding a table wasn't difficult.

"What's this?" Matthew asked, raising one of the corn dogs.

"What do you think it is?" Artyom asked in return, having gotten very familiar with the "what" game that Matthew liked to play, asking what something was even though he already knew exactly what it was.

"A corn dog!" Matthew shouted with another broad smile before shoving the item into his mouth.

Artyom was happy to see his son so happy. "That's right," he said, raising his burger to his lips to take another hefty bite. After years of native fruit and small fauna, enjoying even a juicy patty was a delicacy in its own right.

"McDonald's, Daddy!" Arabella demanded, as only a four-year-old girl can demand.

"Don't think so today, Punkin. I need a little break from Mickey D's. How about this spot?" he asked. "It looks like it has corn dogs, and that's something different. Look, that little boy has one." McCabe smiled and nodded at the man sitting with his son.

One thing Bella knew was when to give in gracefully. Her daddy's voice had that definite "no" in it, so she said, "Okay, corn dogs are good, but it looks a lot like McDonald's to me."

Laughing, Anthony said, "You can have the last word today, but I get it tomorrow, deal?"

"Deal!" the little girl said. "But fries, too, okay? And lots of ketchup! Lots and lots!"

McCabe just shook his head and took his daughter to the counter. He was able to get a large chicken salad that was a little healthier than his usual day-off meal. As he looked around, holding the tray with their food, he noticed the table next to the other man and his son was open, so he said, "Hey, let's make a new friend today."

"Is it Make-A-New-Friend Day, Daddy? Because if it isn't, he might not want a new friend," Bella said, with all the logic of a four-year-old.

"Let's check and see what he thinks," Anthony answered, leading her to the table next to the other family.

"Hi, I hope you don't mind. My daughter and I noticed that your son likes corn dogs, too, and that could be the basis of a beautiful new friendship." He set their tray down, and held out a hand. "Anthony McCabe, Science. And my daughter, Arabella. Are you new to 109?"

"Just Bella is okay," his daughter interrupted. "Daddy, I can't get the ketchup open."

Her father took it and opened it, handing it back. He took his seat and watched the young fellow who seemed to have pretty good eye-hand control.

Artyom looked up and smiled in return while Matthew seemed to eyeball Bella with a mix of shyness and suspicion which Artyom assumed was centered on his corndogs. He patted his son on the back reassuringly with one hand while shaking Anthony's hand with the other. Artyom opened his mouth to speak and realized that what was about to come out was Russian -- which wouldn't have been terrible as the universal translator would have... translated -- but stopped himself. "Uh, we are, yes. Petty Offi..." Artyom paused again, remembering his posthumous promotion to officerhood. "I mean, Lieutenant Artyom Mikhailov."

"Those mine." Matthew said, pointing to Bella's corndogs.

"No they aren't." Artyom corrected. "Those are yours, and those are hers." He said, pointing between the two plates.

Matthew looked at his father with a questionable look, but seemed to accept the logic that it was possible for Bella to have gotten her own corndogs without magically stealing them from his own plate.

 

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