Late Night Bake (Blind Date - John)

[karen4]

While becoming the chief medical officer on-board the Venia was like a dream come true, Lucy found herself often missing the simple pass-times she'd occupy back on Earth. She missed her common walks through the city, or the times where she'd play with Lady Devereaux's shar peis in the yard. But most of all, she missed baking. It was such a simple little thing, and yet, since she'd come onto the ship, she hadn't had the chance to.

And so, as she had the night off, she'd decided she was going to locate the kitchen they'd recently had put in. So long as the chef wasn't in, maybe she could pass some time baking things for the crew. It would be a good way to occupy herself for a few hours, even if she was the only one who ended up eating whatever she made--although she hoped she wouldn't be.

Finding the kitchen only took Lucy about five minutes after she'd left Medical Bay, and she entered the spacious room curiously. The counters and appliances were mostly made of stainless-steel, and while it didn't carry the same homey-feel as granite counter tops and stained-wood decor the Devereaux estate's kitchen, it had everything she'd need to accomplish her original goal.

Flicking on the light, she traipsed over to the oven and turned it on so that it could heat up to the needed 220°C to start with before wandering about the room and searching for the ingredients and utensils she'd need to make croissants. She had everything set out on the counter top and was just about to start when the kitchen door opened, and she looked up sharply to see who was there.

[jsneill]

John hadn't been off the Venia long before he was back on it again. He'd taken a week out to fill in some reports and help with a case, then the Venia stopped by and he was back on board, continuing his investigation into R4. The terrorist group had certainly helped fuel his research what with their attacks on the crew. He was right in the hub of all the action, and that was exactly where his superiors wanted him to be. Fun times.

Work was illuding him at this late hour, and living off coffee wasn't doing his body any good - a bad habit he'd developed over the last couple of years now he couldn't con his way into people's hotel rooms and buy expensive meals on their tabs. At least it wasn't as bad as prison food. He gagged at the thought of that stuff.

Rising from his chair, he ran a hand through his hair and walked along to the mess hall. Usually, the chef wouldn't abide having people in his kitchen, but John needed sustinence, and didn't want to use the food synthesisers which still littered the ship. He was sure there'd be something in the fridge he could use to whip up a meal of some sort. He hadn't expected someone to be already there.

It was Lucy, the French Chief Medical Officer. She looked rather alarmed by his presence, so he quickly held up his hands to show that he meant no harm. "Excusez-moi," he apologised, walking over to the counter, "just came to cook some dinner while the Chef isn't around to brandish his rolling pin at me in a threatening manner," he added with a smile as a explanation. "I see you had a similar idea."

[karen4]

As it would turn out, the person entering the kitchen was John. Lucy had met the man once or twice, though she didn't know much about him. In fact, the only reason she really remembered him much at all was because, aside from the communications officer Ciara Gallagher--who was more of an annoyance than anything else--he was one of the only other people aboard the Venia who was fluent in French as she was.

"Non, non, non, je suis désolé!" she said throatily, cringing a little at her instinctive use of French before flicking over to English. "Please, you don't need to apologize. Your arrival shouldn't have startled me as much as it did." She wasn't sure why she'd been so surprised. Perhaps it was just because she was apprehensive about the chef walking in on her and chasing her away from his precious work-station.

When John smiled at her, Lucy returned it timidly before looking down at the ingredients set out in front of her. She sucked in her lower lip for a moment, contemplative, before raising her eye again and thrumming her knuckles against the counter top a couple of times. "Um... would you, you know... like to bake with me?"

Instantly she felt foolish, but there was no taking the words back now that they'd been asked. At least he could simply say no if he wanted to, and that would be that. But Lucy had found that baking with someone else was always more entertaining than baking alone. Back home she'd had her mother, and even Lady Devereaux once or twice--but she barely knew John, and that was what pulled her eyes back down to the stainless-steel surface as she waited for his answer.

[jsneill]

It was fun having someone international on board, someone whose first and only language wasn't English, someone who had a completely different cultural background to all the others on board the ship. He didn't know much about Lucy yet, but he was sure that this situation would give him a chance to find out a little more, even if she seemed shy. He had a habit of bringing people out of themselves just by being generally charming and friendly.

"Il est très bien," he assured her, "never got over the habit of moving quietly," he said, "usually it's more amusing to watch people jump out of their skin. But I can understand why you'd be cautious, Alex has this aura which says 'stay out of my kitchen or feel my wrath." Alex was the chef, and if he knew you'd touched his equipment, you'd probably lose your fingers.

A smile spread across John's face as she asked if he wanted to bake with her. An interesting proposition, one that he wasn't usually asked - not even his mother had the time to ask him when he was a child. "Oui, oui," he nodded, "I'd love too," he eased the tension and embarrassment oozing from her side of the kitchen.

"What were you thinking of baking?" he asked, pulling his jacket off, hanging it on the back of a nearby chair and rolling up his shirt sleeves. He looked round at her and caught her brown his with his blue ones. She was a beautiful woman in her mid-twenties, and chief of the medical staff, she was very talented, and very lucky.

[karen4]

John accepted Lucy's offer, and she exhaled heavily in relief. That had spared both of them an awkward moment. As a wide grin split her face, she mimicked him by pushing up the sleeves of her woolen sweater. "Well, if you're going to help you'd best come and wash your hands," she pointed out, only then realizing that she hadn't washed her own.

"I was thinking about making croissants," she admitted a little sheepishly, shrugging lightly as she turned to the sink and twisted the tap. "Alex makes wonderful food, but I find that some of what the rest of the crew like so much I find rather heavy. I figured I'd make something a little lighter. Silly, I know."

After hastily scrubbing her hands clean with some of the soap Alex had left out by the sink, Lucy stepped aside to give John access to the sink so that he could do the same. He was an attractive man, she noted, one who would typically be labeled as mysterious or dangerous due to the aura that usually followed him and his reputation.

Now, however, leaning over a sink with his sleeves pushed back in preparation to help with some baking, he didn't look very dangerous to her. That comforted her. Maybe getting along with him wouldn't be that hard, after all. When she heard the water cut off, Lucy turned away to hide the fact she'd been staring at him--not that he didn't already know, but at least it hadn't been intentionally--and eyed the ingredients again.

"Why don't you start mixing the flour, sugar and salt while I get the butter ready?" she suggested, indicating one of the mixing bowls she'd pulled out. "You'll need two cups of flour, two teaspoons of salt and two table-spoons of sugar."

[jsneill]

"Yes ma'am," he said with a cheeky smile, following her over to the sink, waiting for her to wash her delicate hands before he lathered soap all over his. Didn't want anyone getting any of his germs, even if he did keep himself pretty clean for a man. He liked to keep himself smart and neat most of the time, he did have the occasional slob out, and even then, it wasn't particularly sloth like. He associated old sweat pants and dirty jeans with his past, one which he would mostly prefer to forget.

"Nice choice," he said with a nod, washing the soap from his hands, making sure he got the water up over his wrists as well, then dried them on a clean towel. Of course she would find the food heavy, she was practically a stick figure. If she wasn't a medical officer, then she could have been a model. "No, not silly," he said, "French food is some of the best in the galaxy. Always been my favourite place to eat."

John picked up the ingredients he needed and the measuring cup before standing in front of the mixing bowl. "Get the man to do the hard work," he joked, measuring out exactly the amounts she'd specified. She obviously knew what she was doing, so he followed her lead. He kept one eye on her as he stirred, he'd noticed her staring. But then, he was incredibly aware of nearly everything going on around him all the time. Force of habit.

"I take it you used to cook at home," he said, finishing mixing and looking over at her. He tried not to ask direct questions, just start a conversation. Delving into her past would lead to questions about his. He was open about it, he had to be, it wasn't like he could hide the fact that he was a convincted criminal, but he didn't go further back than when he changed his name. That was off-limits to pretty much everyone. "You seem to be an expert at this."

[karen4]

Having John call her "ma'am" made Lucy snort, and she made a point of rolling her eyes at him. "Je ne suis pas sûr si je devrais être complimenté ou insulté..." she mumbled under her breath, trying not to laugh as she waited for him to finish washing his hands. The compliment on her baking selection was unexpected, but it also pleased her--at least she wouldn't be the only one stuffing her face with croissants.

"Actually, I gave you the easy part," she giggled at his remark. Grabbing a cloth and running it under the water for a moment, she wrung it out before using it to wipe down the counter top as thoroughly. Then she slapped the butter down on the counter before sprinkling the needed three tablespoons of flour over it and blending them together.

Once she'd mixed it together, Lucy moved the butter onto a sheet of tinfoil and used her hands to mold it into a six inch square. She was just folding the edges of the foil up over the sides so that it could be refrigerated when John spoke again. "Whenever they let me into the kitchen," she answered, not inclined to go into much more detail than that. Talking about herself wasn't something she was particularly fond of.

"Moi?" she said in surprise at John's next comment, glancing back at him with a bemused look. "Certainement pas, monsieur. If you want to see an expert, you should watch ma mère in the kitchen. She's the chef. I'm just good at remembering things. Which comes in handy as a medical officer, I suppose."

As she filled a bowl with warm water to dissolve the yeast she asked lightly, "What about you? You don't seem to be too uncomfortable doing this."

[jsneill]

John held back a laugh, composing it into a smile as Lucy snorted and muttered. Part of him told him not to reply, but he couldn't help it. "Complimenté, naturellement," he said, "it's a mark of respect," he smiled, "et vous avez mon respect, mademoiselle." He was a natural charmer through years of practice. Originally, it had been to win people over to get what he wanted, now it was mostly to butter people up and make acquaintances.

Lapsing into French like this was good practice. He was fluent, of course, but like every person who had a second language, you could get rusty from time to time. He'd spent six months in France back when he'd started out as a con artist, learning the language of the country and the art of the con from a French small time white collar criminal. The man had taught him a lot, and got him started on the... well, technically the wrong path, but it was what he had wanted.

"You did?" John said, playing dumb, it was much more fun this way. He, and most men, were still children inside, playing on the teasing element between boys and girls. "Could have fooled me," he smirked. His question was met with the seven word answer, and immediately he made a mental note not to be too directly probing. That wouldn't work. He'd have to open up a bit more first.

"Ah, well, cela explique tout," he nodded, one of the best ways to learn was by watching and doing. "She must be un chef magnifique," he grinned, setting the bowl to the side so that he didn't knock it over - they didn't want his hard work crashing to the floor. "Well, yes, I can't imagine any patient would be happy if you couldn't remember what medicine to give them, or what surgery to do. They could end up with a liver where their heart should be." He knew that wasn't feasible, but all the same.

Of course, the question was turned back on him. "Well, I used to make my dinner as a kid," he said, getting dangerously close to past he didn't usually delve into, "but, like you, I've picked things up over the years. Except, I've picked it up from my travels. Thai cuisine est le meilleur," he said, "mais le Français est bon aussi." He could hardly keep a smile off his face, this was the best conversation he'd had since he'd first come aboard the ship.

[karen4]

"Even so, the last person I heard being called ma'am was Lady Devereaux, and it was ma mère saying it," Lucy chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. John's next comment made her arch one of her thin eyebrows. No doubt he was just being polite in saying so, but she still found it interesting, which is what tempted her to ask, "Et pourquoi ai-je votre respect, monsieur?"

When he acted as if he thought she'd given him the difficult job, she chortled and smirked. She reached over to grab the two-cup measure filled three-quarters of the way with warmed milk and pushed it in his direction as she said, "If you thought that was hard, then would it be too much to ask for you to pour this into your oh-so-complicated mixture?"

It had been too long since she'd last gotten to tease someone like this. In fact, the only person she'd been able to joke around with besides her mother had been Lord Devereaux's niece Lola, and that girl had gotten Lucy into trouble more times than she cared to count, despite being her only actual friend. And even then, she'd only seen her for a couple of days once or twice a year.

At his remark on her comment about memory and medicines, she laughed. "Yes, that would be quite the désastre. I imagine I'd lose my job if I gave someone a prescription for Acarbose tablets when they needed Accolate tablets or something like that." Now that would be horrible. Unless the person suffering from asthma also happened to have type two diabetes, but she highly doubted that that was the case for anyone on board.

When John spoke again, she turned to give him her undivided attention, and she shared his smile once he'd finished. It was blatant by the way he'd only tapped his past before bringing it forward to more recent events that he, like her, didn't really enjoy talking about himself. Well, they had at least one thing in common.

"It sounds as though you've been around. Me, I've never left la ma belle France, but I know French food inside-out and backwards."

[jsneill]

John wasn't quite sure where he'd picked up the habit of saying ma'am from, probably from school with the teachers there. None of them could control their classes of unruly children, and they were only public schools, but they still insisted on the kids calling them 'sir' and 'ma'am'. Lucy enquired as to why she had his respect. "Vous êtes jeune, magnifique, et intelligent. Et personne indiqué un mauvais mot contre vous," he said, "I think that earns you some respect."

"I think I can just about manage it," he said, being pedantic, but amusing. He lifted the cup from the counter and poured the milk in. "Voila!" he said rather flamboyantly, "and I do it with such panache." He threw her a grin, enjoying this visit to the kitchen a lot more than he originally thought he would. It was the company that made it enjoyable. He couldn't really remember the last time he had connected with a woman like this; it seemed like he'd been avoiding their company, at least past hellos and harmless flirting, for years.

John had once pretended to be a doctor, but he had absolutely no idea what medicines she was talking about or what they did, but he laughed all the same. "I'm sure we're all in capable hands," he said with a nod, turning away from the mixing bowl to face her properly. It would be a little while before the butter came out of the fridge, he assumed, so they would have time to chat.

"Vous pourriez dire cela," he said. Around was definitely one way of putting it. "Well, you're definitely not in belle France now," he pointed out, casting his eyes around the kitchen and out into the mess hall. This was probably the furthest she'd ever been from home. "I'm from New York originally," he said, "my Mother still lives there, benefitting from my wages in every way she possibly can, and I'm happy to accommodate her." His Mom was the only person in his life who was still around. He'd never known his Dad, his brother had left, and Terry...

He swallowed, reaching up to grab a couple of glasses from one of the cupboards. "Let's see what Alex has around here." He went straight for the fridge, "jus d'orange?" he suggested, "ou jus de pommes et de mangue?" It probably seemed like he was changing the subject, but he did honestly need a drink.

[karen4]

"Maintenant vous essayez simplement de me flatter," Lucy accused lightly, giggling a little, "Just you wait 'til the crew gets to know me better! Then you'll no doubt hear plenty of words spoken against me!" She was mostly joking, but you never could tell with such things. For all she knew, she'd just predicted what would actually happen--she seriously hoped not.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she watched as John poured the milk into the bowl and gave him a sarcastic round of applause when he announced grandly that he had, indeed, managed to do as she'd asked. "Bravo, Jean," she laughed, slipping in the French version of his name without thinking about it, "Très bien fait!" Making sure the yeast had completely dissolved, she stepped over to pour it into the larger bowl as well.

She grabbed the wooden spoon off the counter and made for the mixing bowl at the same time John turned to face her. Offering him a small smile, she slid passed him to start on mixing and glanced back at him as he answered her question. The brisk movement of Lucy's wrist slowed when she saw his expression fall slightly, an almost haunted look passing through his eyes.

Before she could ask if he was all right he went over to one of the cupboards to get a couple of glasses down. There was clearly something bothering him, but she chose not to pry, instead simply answering his question as if she hadn't noticed. "Je prendrai du jus d'orange, s'il vous plaît. Merci."

She was quiet for a moment, simply stirring and adding more flour when it was necessary. There were so many things she could say, and yet half of what she was able to come up with was too personal for her to be comfortable talking about when they'd really only just met. Finally the dough was think enough, and instead she turned the conversation back onto baking.

"Time for some hand-work," she informed him, tapping the spoon against the side of the bowl a couple of times to get the excess dough off. "Nous devons transformer ceci en masse pleine. Voulez-vous faire les honneurs?"

[jsneill]

"Pfft," John said with a shrug of his shoulders, "c'est vrai!" he nodded then smiled, focusing his attention on the task at hand for a moment instead of being all out charming. He was never bashful, but it was amusing to pretend to be. "Oh, I don't know about that," he chuckled, "but I'm sure we'll see soon enough. See who's right." He grinned.

John let out a short laugh when she called him Jean. It was funny hearing that version, especially considering that it wasn't his real name to begin with. But, for all intents and purposes, he was John Neill, had been for twelve years now. "Merci, merci," he said, bowing to her rather sarcastic round of applause. "C'est un grand accomplissement," he smirked, "pour moi de toute façon." Doing something as mundane as that and getting applause for it was certainly new to him. He'd stolen the Mona Lisa and not heard a peep.

He took a step backwards as she moved in to get to the bowl, then of course moved away as he got the glasses. His thoughts straying to Terry was always dangerous territory. Where she was concerned, his judgement was always effected. He never talked about her, he locked her and all thoughts of her away in the back of his mind, never to be touched. But, for some reason, his brain had throw up her name and he was struggling to get the image of her out of his head. Her gorgeous hair, beautiful smile. He needed to distract himself further.

"Une jus d'orange coming right up," he said, pouring her a glass, pushing it towards her before pouring a glass of the apple and mango for himself. Juice seemed so pedestrian, but he wasn't going to go searching for anything alcoholic, not right now anyway. Wine didn't exactly go well with croissants.

"Oui, oui," he nodded, taking the distraction willingly, "what else would I have pulled up my sleeves for?" he said, a smile finding its way back onto his face as he took the bowl from her and began beating the mixture, working those arm muscles of his. He wanted to talk some more, but he to think for a moment on how to do it without asking a direct and somewhat probing question. "I'm assuming you know France fairly well," he said, "I always loved la Riviera, où est votre favori endroit?"