A Judicious Application of Heat
(Many thanks to Andy, my partner in crime, for doing this with me. Thanks, Partner!--Maer)
Tuesday, 01 Oct 2520
Kuiper II Class, Summer’s Gift
En Route to Pericles Station
17:30 hrs, ship’s time
I made myself stop and call it a day a little earlier than was my habit. I had three weeks of travel to get through and only so many tasks that needed doing til we got there. The last thing I wanted was to spend a week inbound with nothing absorbing to do. It would rob me of an excuse to avoid Shepherd Faria and right now, I wasn’t feeling too charitable toward the man.
So I grabbed some waterless cleaner and got my hands presentable and quit the engine room for the forward lounge. Rick and Faria usually took up in the evenings at one of the tables there and I knew from experience that Joshua would also be in the galley getting dinner ready…and be in a position to hear every word spoken in the lounge. If Faria was inclined to make any further destructive remarks on the nature of man and his soul, Joshua wouldn’t have to face them alone tonight. I’d be right there with him. I ducked into the galley and sure enough, I found Joshua chopping something on the miniscule run of countertop.
“Can I get that for you?” I said as I stuck my head in. “I think the pot on the stove is about to boil over.”
***
Joshua glanced over his shoulder at Rina and stopped chopping long enough to wave for her to come in. "That'd be great. Just turn the heat down and give it a few stirs. It's going to need to simmer for a while."
He took a couple quick more chops at the garlic, moving the results into a finely minced pile. Ah, fresh garlic, how I miss thee. He had to basically mince the canned stuff to get any real flavor out of it. He finished up and moved the pile into its bowl, alongside the other neatly lined bowls piled high with vegetables, or what passed for vegetables.
"Hand me the sauté pan from underneath, would you?" he ordered Rina. Step into the kitchen and you should be prepared to take orders.
***
I did as he asked and tapped the spoon on the pot rim after stirring. Then I bent down to retrieve the sauté pan.
"Good God, there's three of them down here," I intoned from the cabinet beneath the burners. I shifted them free of the stack with the others. "What size do you need?"
***
He kneeled down beside her and reached for the largest of the pans. "We want this one," he said, holding it up in the air to show her, "because we have lots of vegetables that all need to be done together." He paused as he put the pan on the burner next to the now-simmering pot. "Not all at once, of course."
***
I eyed the chopped ingredients in their bowls, eyed the pan and gauged my talents in the kitchen.
“I’ll be glad to help but I don’t think you should trust me with any cooking. I suck at it, actually. I burn jello.”
***
"That's nonsense," he replied as he turned away from the stove to face Rina. "Cooking is much science as it is art. Are you trying to tell me that someone who can disassemble a ship's engine and put it back together again can't follow a basic recipe?" He raised a single eyebrow in her direction.
***
"That's not what I said. I can read and follow a recipe just fine. It's resisting the urge to tinker with it as I go that's the problem."
I crossed my arms and leaned against the fridge, it being the only spot I could loiter out of the way, and that only if nothing was needed out of the fridge.
***
"That's not going to happen." Joshua shook his head at Rina's retreat. "Guess what? You enter the kitchen, you work. Tonight, that means you get to learn how to sauté."
He pointed a finger at the floor in front of the stove. "Don't worry, I'll walk you through it." He looked at her for a second, smiled a secret little grin, and said, "Or are you too afraid to give this a shot?"
***
"Gimme the pan, you." I mock growled at him. I’d noticed before that he seemed most at ease with himself when in the kitchen. I was glad to see that giving orders was part of it.
***
He poured a little oil into the pan and turned the heat to medium high. "Medium high gives us a chance to cook the vegetables relatively quickly but without the burning that will happen when we're on high."
Without waiting for a response, he leaned close in front of her, his line of sight guiding hers, and pointed to the neatly lined bowls. "I've already done all the hard work, chopping everything and getting them mise en place." The neat order of having everything mise en place immensely satisfied his need for order that the 'Verse he was in certainly didn't provide.
***
I’d noticed he’d arranged the ingredients in their bowls, lined up like soldiers on parade and wondered how I never thought to try it before. It wasn’t that much different from my own laying out of tools and parts before starting a project. I suspected if I opened any of the galley’s drawers or cabinets, I would find them as ruthlessly organized as I kept my own shop. And why not? The galley was Joshua’s garage, so to speak, just as the engine room and the machine shop were mine. And drawing parallels, I asked,
“Is there any particular order to these ingredients relative to when you add them to the pan? Or does it matter?”
***
He nodded as he leaned back. "But first," he said, "you need to check the pan. It's not too hot, because it isn't smoking, but is it hot enough? Put your hand over it and feel."
When she moved her hand over the pan, Joshua noticed it wasn't close enough. He stepped in behind her, and placed his arm over hers, his hand over hers and gently pushed her hand closer to the surface of the pan. "It's the art part of cooking. You don't want to burn yourself, but you have to get in close in order to feel the heat rising."
***
I did as he’d instructed and was about to ask him about the smoking point of the oil when he came in behind me and put his hand over mine. It was tight in the galley and the press of him against my back made my blood snap to attention. His breath tickled my neck when he spoke and it slithered past my coveralls, sparking little thrills all the way down. The heat from the pan was hot on my hand, but the heat from him was hotter. It would burn my clothes off in a minute…
“Joshua,” I said, my voice thin. “Could you step back, please?”
***
He couldn't help himself. He knew, logically, that no matter what Rina said, ending up in bed together could only complicate things. But yet, here he was, flirting with her again. With dinner on the stove, for Pete’s sake. He stepped back, away from her curves and the closeness of her, to her left side again. "Pan's definitely hot enough."
He then motioned to the bowls again, moving his finger from left to right. "I've already ordered them. Things on the left are denser and will need longer to cook, so they'll go in first. Start with the carrots." A pale imitation of carrots is more like it, he thought. But no point in discouraging someone who's learning.
***
The sink beckoned with its promise of cold water and as much as I wanted it, I picked up the bowl of carrots instead and dumped them in the pan, giving them a little shake to spread them evenly across it.
"What's next?"
***
"We stir. If you feel bold, you can occasionally give the contents a little flip, like this." Joshua grabbed the pan handle and expertly gave it a twist, causing the carrots to briefly pop into the air. "After another minute, we'll add the onions. Then the peppers, and so on, until we get to the aromatics."
To his eye, Rina was a little flustered by his flirting. Oddly, that little bit of fluster made a happy little warm feeling curl up and take residence in his chest. Maybe that explained it. He just liked having that sort of effect on someone. My, aren't we shallow?
***
His fingers brushed mine as he took the pan and damned if that didn’t ratchet everything a little tighter. I stepped back and watched him flipping the carrots and tried to ignore the line of his arm and shoulders as he worked, or the way the muscles ripped beneath his skin. He’d rolled up his sleeves so there was plenty of skin for me to notice and I turned away from it to grab the onions. They were freshly chopped and pungent and they made my eyes water. I thrust the bowl at him, blinking tears and grateful they hampered my vision. Right now, my eyes were bigger than my stomach and I was dangerously close to biting off more than I could chew.
***
The smell of vegetables (or vegetable-like products) hit his nose and Joshua smiled. "See, this isn't so hard, is it, Rina? Just stop before you hit the cabbage and garlic. We'll do those separately." He watched her face as she added the peppers in. She had a raw beauty to her that was exactly opposite what he thought he had been attracted to. Had been being the operative words.
Why did life have to make things so messy and complicated? Why couldn't it be neat, ordered, and logical, like the kitchen? Things would be a lot easier to figure out.
***
I grabbed the next bowl in line and after handing it over, I squeezed past him to get to the sink. The water was cold and bracing as I splashed my face with it. I fumbled blindly for the towel, mentally kicking myself for not having it ready.
***
In a smooth, practiced motion, Joshua dumped the snow peas from the last bowl before the cabbage into the pan with his right hand. At the same time, he grabbed the towel hanging from the oven handle with his left hand and held it out for Rina. "No matter what you do, onions always make you cry."
***
I heard the rustle of cloth over the hiss of the pan and cautiously stretched a hand out in Joshua's direction. My fingers found the towel and I gratefully took it from him. I admit I hid behind it longer than drying off required. I needed the time to pull myself together.
"Garlic's next, right?" I asked, lowering the towel and reaching for the condiment in question. That's it. Keep it on the lesson. Focus.
***
"Hold on to that garlic for just a second." He stuck his left hand out in front of the garlic bowl, and with the right hand, lifted the pan off the stove. "Would you mind sliding me the larger empty bowl over there? We're going to put these in there before we do the cabbage and the garlic."
Joshua grabbed the spoon sitting by the stove with his free hand while he waited.
***
I did as he asked and the action steadied me, just as I'd hoped it would. I watched him transfer the freshly cooked veggies to the bowl and then throw the cabbage in the vacated pan.
"Why are you cooking the cabbage separately?" I kept to the side to avoid touching him by accident and watched as he worked the cabbage around.
***
He chuckled. "I'd like to say there's an elaborate science to it, but it's mostly just room. I like to be able to see the bottom of the pan when I add the garlic."
Joshua laid the spoon down on the counter, keeping the pan moving with his right hand. He then reached over to grab the garlic with his left. As he did, he let go of the pan and grabbed Rina's hand, putting it on the handle. "You're not getting away that easy, silly."
***
I’d had my minute and when he touched me again, I was ready for it. There was some awkward squeezing past as we swapped places but this time it didn’t faze me. I stirred the cabbage and began to relax, thinking that Joshua was right. The vegetable did indeed hog the pan and the other ingredients wouldn't have had their share of the heat.
"Is it supposed to get limp like that?" I asked a minute later, holding up a few strands on my spoon for emphasis.
***
He laughed and nodded. "Yes, the heat from the cooking will make most vegetables limp." He held the garlic bowl over the pan while she stirred.
"When I drop the garlic in, don't stir it for about 15 seconds...just long enough for you to smell the garlic." He borrowed the spoon for a second from Rina, their fingers briefly touching. He used it to stir the cabbage into a ring around the edge of the pan, then handed it back to her as he poured the garlic into the empty center.
***
I took the spoon back from Joshua and when the garlic hit the pan it sputtered. I stepped back to avoid the spitting oil and bumped right into him.
***
The body on body contact felt nice, even inadvertent. Joshua kept his hips touching her as he stepped into the small space to her right and grabbed the handles of the bubbling pot, lifting it off the burner. "Hot stuff coming past," he warned her, as he rolled back around her. Their backs touched as he came across her over to the sink, where he dumped the pasta into a waiting colander.
As he put the pot down beside the sink and waited for the pasta to drain, he motioned towards the bowl of vegetables on the counter. "You can add those back in now, Rina."
He reached over and slid the final bowl close to her. "And when you're done adding those in, mix in this," he said pointing to the bowl, "and turn the heat down to low."
***
I did as ordered and after the veggies were sizzling again I took up the final bowl and eyed the contents dubiously. It was dark and liquid and a sniff offered up a whiff of....
"Anise? But we're not having fish," I said without thinking.
***
He reached past her and turned the burner down. "I don't think you'll burn anything, but let's be safe." He then poured the pasta back into the still warm pot.
"It's five spice powder. Cheap, plentiful, and yes it does contain anise. But don't limit yourself to thinking it is only for fish." He then reached into the small refrigerator and pulled out the tiny bottle of garlic chili sauce. It might as well be gold for as much as it cost, he thought. But it made all the difference.
He gave her a look with a raised eyebrow as she stood there holding the bowl in her hand. "Are you planning to add that sometime before we start serving?"
***
"Slavedriver," I said, scowling at him and adding the liquid to the pan, pouring it in a spiraling trickle to distribute it evenly. Setting the bowl down with one hand, I took up the spoon again with the other and stirred everything up. The liquid sizzled and the steam turned fragrant and just for a moment, the aroma reminded me of Omar's penchant for udon and oyster sauce, with five spice fish on the side. I wonder which generation of stove he's on now? The way he slams the pans on it, I'll bet he's up to the hundred-and-fifth.
Thinking back on my dockside days made me compare Omar and Joshua's cooking styles. Omar was all splash and dash, peppered with a fair amount of cursing, though it was obvious he liked throwing something together and his results were usually tasty. Joshua was all about order and precision, leavened by a deft hand with the spices. Presentation was something he attended to as well, plating the food with as much care as he’d cooked it. With Omar, if it hit the table in the pot he made it in, we were doing good.
Both were good cooks in their own way and neither had managed to poison anyone yet. One thing, however, stood out immediately--Omar hated being crowded and I always gave the man some room. This was easily accomplished, as Omar’s living quarters covered the entire back wall of the garage. In the galley, it just wasn't possible, as Joshua's constant contact brought home. I wasn't sure what to make of that, since it wasn't predatory on his part...but there was an element of deliberation to it that had me wondering. I'd helped Christian with galley duty plenty of times and even though he was noticeably larger than Joshua, the galley back then had seemed roomier. Now it felt a little too cramped. I could follow Joshua moving around getting the pasta ready even though I kept my eyes firmly on the task in front of me, and having him ping my personal radar like that was distracting.
"How do I know when this is done?" I asked, seeking distraction from the distraction.
***
"If it is mixed in, it's done. If you'll bring the pan and the spoon over here, please..." He put the bottle of chili sauce down and lifted up the pasta pot. "We're going to dump it in here."
Normally, finishing dinner preparation contained a moment of satisfaction. It was a little different this time. Now there was a small twinge of disappointment that it was all done with. He enjoyed spending time with Rina and he also didn't get to cook with help often. Today had combined both.
***
"Watch your fingers," I warned him and wincing, I slid the contents of the pan into the pasta. Just about all of it landed where it should. "Huh. The last time I tried this, it ended up on the deck. Jeez, you could have heard Christian's shriek all the way back to the Core."
***
He laughed and twisted the cap off the garlic chili sauce. He tossed a dab in the pot. "I can just picture it."
He then took the spoon and stirred the veggies and pasta together. "Excellent work, Rina." He looked at her quizzically as he continued mixing. "How do I say that in Russian?"
***
"The man possessed quite a surprising range for a tenor. As for the Russian, it's 'Ohtlichn'ya rabohta, Ihreenah'," I pronounced carefully, stressing the second syllable in each word.
***
Interesting.
"'Ohtlichn'ya rabohta, Ihreenah'," Joshua repeated back to her perfectly. Would she notice that she used a different name just now?
***
I had my hand on the cutlery drawer when my head caught up with what I'd said, and I froze. I automatically did a headcount of everyone in the area. Looking out the pass-through, I saw Rick and Faria deep in a chess game, their attention only on their pieces. I suspected a bomb could have gone off without making an impression on those two. Nika was on the bridge and couldn't possibly have heard. Arden was likely in the medlab and likewise out of earshot. That left Joshua and I knew without looking just how close he was. And how sharp. But if he had somehow missed it, did I want to tip my hand by saying anything?
I yanked open the drawer and dug out the requisite number of forks, knives and spoons and silently cursed myself for my inattention. Speaking my mother's language with Joshua had felt nostalgic and homey and it had made me forget myself. Slips of the tongue were often disastrous to one's cover and though Summer's Gift was hardly a snake pit of intrigue, we did have a passenger on board whose agenda I hadn't yet determined. Paranoia settled round me like armor and the camaraderie I'd enjoyed while cooking evaporated.
"You wanna get the plates?" I asked Joshua without turning around. "Or should I?"
***
He might as well as stabbed her with a knife. The reaction was the same. He couldn't let it stand. He gently put a hand on each of her shoulders, and turned Rina to look at him. "I noticed, and I'm sorry. I should have just pointed out the difference, rather than repeating it."
In those hideously trashy Cortex romance films (which he had a weakness for), the hero at this point in the conversation usually unleashed a devastating kiss on the heroine, thereby distracting her from her worries. He thought about it for a brief instant before deciding it was a bad idea. Not just a bad idea, an incredibly bad idea.
Instead, he kept his voice calm as he reassured her. "Nobody heard you and you can trust me. Please don't shut me out."
***
“Ni'syeechas. Pazhalusta.” Every second syllable, brittle as glass. Not now. Please.
I ducked out from under his hands, his concern flaying me alive, and pulled open the cabinet for the dishes. The cutlery clattered on the top plate of the stack and I wrapped my fingers around the china. If I didn't watch it, I'd crack the plates. I sucked in a deep breath, readjusted my grip, and turned for the door.
***
Joshua stepped into the doorframe, blocking Rina's path. "I'm not asking for explanations or a history, Rina. But you can talk to me or you can punch me. I leave it up to you." And he stood there, hands folded together in front of him as he waited.
***
I could throw the dishes at him to get him to move, or I could stay trapped where I was and spill. Don't be an idiot. He's not going to nail you on the galley floor, not with Rick and Faria ten paces away. And even as I thought it, I knew it for a misdirection, a knee-jerk fall-back position to justify my freezing Joshua out. This had nothing to do with my personal hang-ups with intimacy. Knowing it was one thing, acting on it was another.
Something I couldn't do. Not right now.
"If we don't get a move on, dinner's going to get cold." I went up to him and quietly said, "Get the entree. I'll set the table."
***
Joshua looked at her for a minute and then quietly stepped to the side. He walked over to plate the lo mein, but as he did, he turned back. As Rina walked through the door, he called softly to her, "Vy mozhete doveryatʹ mne, Rina." You can trust me.
***
I paused on the way out and said very softly his shirt buttons, “Ni zdis, ni tepir.” Not here. Not now. Pasting a casual expression on my face, I went into the lounge to roust the chess players and set the table.
Since this season turned out to be RP heavy, it's only fair to include the link to everyone's efforts.
Go back to Shadowboxing | Go to Backstop
Go to Peripatetica - Rina's Journal entry and RP log
Go to Rina's Russian Glossary
Go to Rina's Crew Page
Go to EPISODES or TIMELINE
