When Dobbs and Dessert Collide
Posted on Wed 13th Nov, 2019 @ 11:52pm by Lieutenant Damion Ildaran & Elizabeth Anderson M.D.
Edited on on Thu 14th Nov, 2019 @ 5:58pm
1,138 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
Resolution
Location: Elizabeth Anderson's Apartment, Riverwalk Village
Timeline: MD 2, 1830
(Previously, on Starbase 109)
An autopsy report--for three people. Damion stared at Elizabeth, feeling tension knot in his gut. "In a mild way?" He reached across the table and grasped the hand Elizabeth wasn't using to hold the PADD. "I've not got a secure device with me; I only had thoughts of seeing you this evening. Good God, Elizabeth, why didn't you say something? I'd have come over to be with you, so you wouldn't have to bear this thing alone--because you're more frightened than I've ever seen you. And if your Dobbs is my sick blaggard, you're right to be afraid."
"Tell you what," Damion said, keeping hold of Elizabeth's hand. "Before we go looking at autopsy reports, why don't we set that aside and just be two people who want to finish a delicious dinner and enjoy some time together? Once we've done that, then we can get down to business, eh?"
Elizabeth nodded and smiled slightly. "I think we are those two people. Business can wait." She squeezed his hand and let go to pick up her fork again. "You're right. I am nervous about this, but I also don't always ... hmmm, reflect? No, project. I don't always project my emotions properly. Don't worry about me." She began to eat, appearing calmer. "Anything funny come across your desk lately? I mean in the amusing-but-ridiculous-human sense?"
Damion took another bite of lasagna. "I heard Michaels in Security asked Muffet Langston out on a date. To understand why this is considered fuel for humor, you have to know that Michaels is a human male and Muffet an Arachna female. The black widow jokes are flying fast and furious and a few others, such as that Michaels' cello got jealous and broke a string."
"Oh, my. Now that's rather ... but did she accept?" Elizabeth asked. She wondered what kinds of jokes might fly if his fellow officers knew he was spending time with a holographic woman. She was sure they'd come up with some.
"That, I haven't heard," Damion said, "but I'm dying to find out."
"I suppose they could have many interests in common, form a friendship, perhaps? I haven't met her, but calling up a photograph, she has a rather pretty face. Not that I'm saying ... well, never mind. It will be interesting to see how things go. Do you have any idea where he plans to take her? Perhaps a play or a museum?" Suddenly, Anderson laughed. She covered her mouth and tried to keep it in, closed her eyes so she wouldn't look at Damion, but she couldn't help it.
"You know there's only one thing everyone wants to know!" she giggled.
"Whether they're going to kiss?" Damion suggested. "I'd think a first date would be a bit soon, but I don't know what Arachnae dating customs are like."
"No!" she snickered, picking up her fork. "Whether he survives the evening ... or afternoon. I'm wondering how he got up enough nerve to ask her out, but tell me, you know her. Is she charming and kind?"
Damion shrugged. "I can't say that I know her well; I've only met her a few times. But she's smart, sharp as a tack, has a witty sense of humor. I can understand why Michaels would like her company."
"Huh," Elizabeth laid down her fork, as she was finished eating. "That doesn't give me much to go on. I'll have to meet her for myself one of these days. I don't believe Arachnians are common in Starfleet. No, the DB tells me there are only about a dozen on duty. I wonder if she feels surrounded by aliens."
"I think you'd like her. Surrounded by aliens? Well, she is. Aren't we all? I haven't a clue what she eats, though, and I'm almost afraid to find out," Damion said. His eyes lit with merriment. "I hope Michaels checked the LCARS about that if he asked her to dinner."
Elizabeth laughed. "Presumably he would, out of self-interest. But, of course, they're members of the Federation, aren't they? I believe one of the prime directives is no eating your co-workers. Really, I'm being awful. Comic relief. I'm sure she's a lovely female, and everyone is maligning her terribly."
"Oh, not maligning her," Damion said, "maligning what she reminds people of. They like her." He ate a bite of salad and a piece of tomato. "What have you been up to when you weren't looking into Dobbs?"
"Work, of course," Anderson said, leaning back in her chair, and playing with the unused spoon. "Beyond that, establishing rapport with some of those in Brown Sector. Reading a few ancient books, novels mostly. The idea of writing fiction fascinates me. People live one life every day, and then go home and write in an entirely different framework, become someone completely different. It's very ... uh, human, I guess."
"Earth fiction amazed me when I first got to Earth," Damion said. "We have storytellers back home, even audio files of stories on some of the technic we have that still works. But Earth novels--any novel, really--the amount of description and detail possible in them is staggering, and so is the complexity, the, er, subplots. There's a sea adventure--20,000 Leagues Under the Sea--'tis dense with detail. I couldn't stop myself reading it. There are other novels--huge, long things that introduce dozens of characters and somehow tie all of them and their stories together. I don't see how writers do it." He drank a swallow of water. "So you've been to Brown Sector? Maybe you'll see me as Durant down there one of these days. I do small repair jobs and trade produce for sale items that I display at the shop. You know--'If you like this, go see Bortegh down in Brown Sector.' That kind of thing."
He gave a contented sigh as he finished his salad and then got up and collected their plates to wash. "Ready for dessert, or do you want to wait a bit?"
Elizabeth was not ready for more food. "Wait, I think. It will be more enjoyable later. Just toss those in the recycler. I'm experimenting with designs and that's not quite right yet. Why don't we sit on the couch and get that business part out of the way?"
Damion grinned at her. "My mother would have been appalled at the idea of not doing a proper washing up, but the lad I was at home would have welcomed a recycler." He put the dirty dishes, salad bowl, pan, and utensils inside the recycling compartment, closed the door, and pressed the button.
"Improper washing up all done. Show me this autopsy report and tell me about your connections. I'll see if I agree on it tying together."
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