Too Many Cooks

Posted on Mon Sep 1st, 2025 @ 10:18am by Chloe de la Vega & Commander Steven Greco & Char

1,723 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Year One: Strange Bedfellows
Location: USS Moore - DMZ
Timeline: MD 040: - 1430 hrs

Steve sighed as he saw that the young chef had followed him from the turbolift, seeing she wasn't going to let the reassignment go. "I'm sorry, Chloe, I don't know what to tell you. It's captain's orders that while we are escorting the Syndicate to Betazed that we are to secure all sensitive equipment, which means we need the mess hall for storage. You know how it goes, non-essential locations are used first." He explained for what felt like the hundredth time, glancing down at his PaDD hoping the woman would get the hint to drop the matter.

Chloe planted herself in front of Steve, arms crossed, eyes blazing.

“Estúpida Starfleet, siempre diciéndome qué hacer… idiotas (stupid Starfleet, always telling me what to do… idiots),” she muttered under her breath before snapping her gaze back to him.

“Non-essential? We’ve got six cargo bays, seis, sitting on this ship, and somehow it’s my mess hall that gets gutted like it’s nothing? You really expect me to swallow that?”

She jabbed her finger at the deck, her voice climbing with every word. “That galley is more than four walls and a stove. It’s where this crew comes when they’re exhausted, when they’ve had enough, when they need more than a ration bar out of a bloody replicator. It’s where they sit down and remember they’ve got each other. You take it away, you rip that out from under them.”

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. “And don’t insult me by saying I can ‘share’ with Char. That man and I barely tolerate sharing the same deck. He runs a lounge. I run a kitchen. Not the same. Never will be. Put us in one space and you’ll have more fireworks than the Syndicate.”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping into something more dangerous for how quiet it was. “I have bled myself into that mess hall, Commander. Every recipe, every plate, every hour past midnight—my heart is in those walls. And now you’re telling me it’s nothing but a storeroom?”

Steve stopped abruptly when Chloe blocked his path, leaning back on his heels until he could center his balance so he didn't run into the woman. He raised his eyebrow at her in skepticism. "I hear you, Chloe. Believe me, I do. I don't like it either but after the auxiliary engineering was broken into we need to start being more cautious. The Mess Hall is more secure than the cargo bays, that's why it's been used."

Seeing a passing crewman moving to leave, he smiled politely to him before moving himself and De La Vega to the side, speaking softly. "I don't like this either." he confessed, "and in truth, I agree with you. If it was up to me we'd have a mess hall but the captain feels that the DMZ is more vital for ship's morale. You don't like it, take it up with him." Greco added bluntly. He didn't like passing the buck to the captain, but it was still the truth. Without missing a beat, he stepped past her and moved towards the bar and it's keeper, mentally preparing himself for delivering the news.

Chloe fell into step beside him, fingertips brushing his sleeve—just enough to catch his attention as they walked.

“Steve… madre mía (my goodness). Six cargo bays on this ship and we box out the mess? I get careful. I don’t get that.”

She huffed, incredulous more than loud. “The mess is the ‘secure’ option—since when? It’s a kitchen, not a vault. And if I’m pushed into the DMZ with Char… he works a lounge; I run meals. We don’t fit. He’ll hate it, I’ll hate it, and the crew will get less. De verdad (truly).”

A beat. “So—how long is this for? What happens with meals? Is it replicator-only? Who tells the crew?” She shook her head. “I’ll do what I’m told. Just… don’t blindside me. Please. Loop me in.”

Her mouth tightened, but her voice stayed steady. “That room keeps people steady. Calling it ‘non-essential’—that stings.”

She gave his sleeve one more light squeeze and let go. “I’ll ask the captain in the morning. Tonight, just tell me what you need from me—and tell Char whatever you’re telling me. Vale (okay)?"

Greco sighed and looked at the chef with compassion. "Deck two is a lot more secure than where the cargo bays are. That's why, nothing more." He said softer. He knew the woman had her pride and didn't like the situation. "We will see that you have access to Char's stock room and a small grill and stove top is being placed on the far side of the ba..." The first officer sighed as he heard the loud fussing of the Bolian barkeep about said cooking area being installed by the engineers and looked to De la Vega as if for help. "We are all in this together." He said dryly to the chef as he sighed and considered the situation they were walking into.

Chloe breathed out through her nose, temper cooling to something tight but steady as she kept pace beside him.

“Alright. Deck two’s safer. I still hate it.” A beat. “If I’ve got Char’s stock room and a small grill, I can make do. I’ll need an extractor, fire suppression, a sanitiser, and a small cold box—basic hygiene. If Engineering can manage that, I won’t let the crew go hungry.”

Char’s bellow rolled across the DMZ. Chloe closed her eyes for half a second. “Por supuesto (of course).”

Steve nodded at the list of supplies needed. “I’ll see that it’s done. Just….try to control yourself when it comes to Char. I’m counting on you, Chloe.” Steve said anxiously.

Chloe’s smile turned guileless. “Relax, Commander. Me? Never. If anything gets messy, it won’t be from my side.”

Steve gave a small smile of appreciation and nodded to her in gratitude. “Thanks, I owe you.” He added softly before walking into the lounge.

Upon seeing Commander Greco enter, with de la Vega no less, Char came scurrying over from behind the bar, gesturing where the engineers were finishing working. “Commander, what is the meaning of this? They are saying the mess hall has been closed and she is going to work out of the DMZ now? I can’t have that!” He said indignantly.

Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose, in a valiant attempt to stay off a headache. “Char, I already went over this with Chloe. It’s captain’s orders. The mess is being shut down until we reach Betazed. You two are going to have to learn to get along.” His tone having an edge of finality to it.

Chloe’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Buenos días (good morning), Char. If ‘she’ is too much work, try Chloe—two syllables. Por favor (please).”

She glanced at the engineers, then back. “Since I’m apparently redecorating your lounge, you’ll get plenty of practice saying it.”

Her tone stayed pleasant, edges tucked in. “We’ll cope—professionally. You keep your bar tidy, I’ll keep the food safe, and we use names. ¿Vale? (okay?)”

Char looked at Chloe, shock at her presumption clear. “Keep my bar clean?” He asked offended, “I’ll have you know I have the up most standards for this lounge, far higher than that kitchen of yours! And stop speaking that gibberish at me. We have a universal translator for a reason!” He grumbled at her.

Chloe arched a brow, lips curling in a faint smile.

“Ay dios (oh god), Char… relax. I wasn’t questioning your dusting skills. Just pointing out you don’t run a galley. Clean in a kitchen isn’t wiping a counter, it’s keeping people alive. Big difference.”

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so it stung all the more.

“And if you don’t like my ‘gibberish’? Tough. It’s Spanish. Learn my name, learn a word or two—it won’t kill you.”

Char puffed out his chest to match his bulging eyes as he glared at the petite chef. "No, but you will with your knives!" He snapped before turning back to the commander. "Commander, I'm requesting a security detail be assigned to the DMZ at all times for my protection."

Steve looked at the two of them and wished he could throw himself out of the nearest airlock, watching the exchange. "Request denied." He said flatly, "Make it work." He added before turning to leave the two so called professionals to sort out the matter on their own.

Chloe stared at Char, then gave a slow blink and a laugh that was anything but amused.

“Please. The only thing you’re in danger of is an overcooked steak if you get under my feet. Don’t flatter yourself.”

She folded her arms, fixing him with a look that was sharp enough to cut without a blade. “Security detail… qué dramático (how dramatic). What’s next, panic buttons under the bar?”

Her smile thinned as she tipped her head toward the departing XO. “He’s right, Char. We make it work. I’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine. But you throw one more tantrum like that, and it won’t be Security you need—it’ll be thicker skin.”

Char's eyes widened and his skin turned a shade bluer in his bluster. "Don't be speaking that gibberish to me if you expect a response." He warned Chloe before going back to work at the bar, silently fuming.

Chloe watched him turn away, amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Sure, Char. Don’t worry—I don’t expect much of a response from you anyway.”

She let the words hang, light as a joke, but her eyes glinted as she moved off to claim her corner of the lounge.

 

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