Lunchtime Chatting (Charlie!)

[pchekov]

Chekov was without a doubt happy when the officer had finally come to temporarily take his place on the bridge. For the past hour and a half, he'd heard his stomach make rumbling noises and it had suddenly made the poor 17-year-old feel very self-conscious.

The trip to the mess hall didn't take too long. That was one of the best parts about being on such a technologically advanced ship. The architects had done a wonderful job connecting every room together in an easy to access (and remember) fashion. The elevators sped the process of transport up even faster.

As Chekov proudly trekked through the halls, he passed friendly smiles to the different crew members that walked by. Sometimes he wished that he could learn everyone's names. It was such a shame that he traveled and worked with these people each day but if by some chance, they happened to be lost in the line of duty, he wouldn't know who they were or what their favorite drink was. Deep down, he wondered how many people would know who he had been if he happened to-

He didn't think anymore on the matter. He was a strong young man! He wasn't anywhere near death's clutches. His father had always been bragging about how much of a man his son was growing up to be. He'd make his father proud. If he was lucky, he might even become the captain of a ship someday!

"Yea, right," he muttered, thankful that no one was in his earshot. Then again, if they had been, they would just dismiss it as "that wacky Russian kid being weird."

The mess hall doors slid open with a graceful ease and Chekov entered, nodding at a couple of officers he recognized. He then proceeded to order some food (he wished that they had something less foreign to his tastes--perhaps some good beef stroganov or vareniky) and settled down at a nearby table once he had his rations.

"Finally! Some real food," he exclaimed, a large grin plastered across his cheeks. "Спасибо!"

[Ensign Rousseau]

It was all work and no play Charlie. Every second of her day was spent working. If she wasn't under the supervision of the officers in lieu of training, she was training herself physically and mentally for whatever came her way. Her free time this morning was spent in the Enterprise gym with a punching bag. She found the Enterprise gym to be far more satisfactory than her home gym in NYC because the punching bag was capable of telling you how much more force was needed and if your aim was accurate.

So thus, her morning was spent taking on a punching bag before she'd have to head up the decks for more training. Flight tactics, however challenging to Charlie, were not so much of a release as taking out her fire and passion on an innocent punching bag.

Finally, her stomach growled angrily, announcing it's protest to exercise without breakfast. Charlie had the nasty habit of ignoring her health. It wasn't smart, she knew, but her drive to be busy all the time overpowered her hunger a lot of the time. Granted, this was never good as one of her greatest fears was fainting out of need for sustenance.

She wiped sweat from her brow and removed her boxing gloves, moving into the dressing room to change. There weren't many people in the gym during this time because it was a few minutes into lunch. Most were either at work or eating. But Charlie? She was always at work until the very last moment. Right now was that last moment. She was beginning to feel the spiraling fatigue of having not eaten and burned off all her calories.

She changed and proceeded out into the bustling corridors, stepping into the illuminated elevator to the upper mess hall deck. She fiddled with her ponytail, noting to herself that it looked even more wild than usual: probably a side effect of boxing with an inanimate object.

The elevator opened with a light whoosh and she proceeded to the mess hall to retrieve a well-needed meal. After she'd piled her tray with more food than anyone thought necessary for someone her size, she scanned the tables for a place to sit. A small smile broke out across her face and she sat across from her fellow ensign, the young prodigy Chekov. He was more brilliant than she and she could do nothing but respect the boy five years her junior. "Hungry are you?" She laughed as she lifted a banana and began to peel it.

[pchekov]

The young curly-haired ensign had been busy shoveling his food into his mouth when he was delightfully joined by Ensign Rousseau. He had intended on greeting her but his mouth was unhelpfully filled with food. It took a moment before he swallowed down the mashed potatoes and briskly wiped his mouth off with a dispensable napkin.

"Ah! Rousseau! Allo," he said, adding a clumsy smile. He took notice of her tray full of food--she'd most likely been working hard again. He admired her devotion to her work. "Yea, my stomach gives me grumbles and I must give in and feed myself until it quiets."

He scooped up some mushy green vegetables. It looked like a hybrid of broccoli and spinach. There was no long drawn out hesitation... though he did give it a short look of unsureness before finally taking a bite.

"Aye-yie. This ship needs some better food. Tell me, are you a fan of okroshka?" When she didn't answer right away, he remembered she was American. "Soup? Good soup. My mother makes some wonderful okroshka. Grybnoy too!"

He tried to think about something else to talk about. He did notice that she looked a little fatigued.

"You look tired," he remarked, this time outside of the confines his mind. "Not in trouble, are you?"

[Ensign Rousseau]

Charlie laughed and glanced down at her own plate. "Yes I know that feeling all too well. My stomach is also protesting the severe lack of food." She took a bite of banana, twirling it idly in the air, drawing out her name in the air.

"I hear you there. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the food up and started walking on us." He brow furrowed at the name and she tried to sort through her knowledge of foreign foods for it. Even her textbook brain couldn't come up with an image to match to the name. "Oh yes, though I don't know it specifically. I'm sure that it's delicious. We need more diverse foods here." She noted nodding.

Vaguely she missed making macaroni and cheese with her mother. It had been their favorite meal and if given the chance she would make it someday on the ship. She wasn't sure they had the ingredients but if ever they docked, she'd find the necessary stuff. She loved to cook, surprisingly. It was one of her few hobbies that didn't involve physical exercise or weapons...depending on how you looked at it.

She grimaced as she examined the spagetti on her plate. The pasta was an odd green color. She'd seen pasta like it but had never been too keen on ingesting oddly colored foods.

She looked up at Chekov in slight surprise, rubbing at her temple absentmindedly. A headache had started to protest further her lack of food consumption. "Oh no, I've just been overworking myself as usual. It'd probably be smart to take a break, but I think I'm too stubborn for that."

[pchekov]

The Russian tilted his head back and raised one brow at Charlie's self-deprecation. Then he jabbed his fork in the air, using it to point at his friend.

"You think you so stubborn? Overvorking, yes, that's bad," he said, lowering his head afterward, as if he was telling her a secret, "Working hard - no, never bad. Just take care of yourself. Too pretty to be ending up in medical bay."

He lowered his fork and surveyed the tray full of food to see what he wanted to try next. There was some rice. It looked fairly normal. Couldn't have messed that up too much, he decided.

"Perhaps you need short break? Plenty people on this ship. They could do job for you while you relax."

As if on queue, a couple of officers and off-duty lieutenants had just entered the mess hall, bringing with them a lively bustle. Chekov rolled his eyes and sighed, disappointed that things were getting crowded. Hopefully, none of these guys were the idiots who would challenge him and insult his mother Russia. He didn't like having to argue. At least not in English.

[Ensign Rousseau]

Her brow pulled together an she gave a guilty shrug. "Well, if I just did my usual duties I wouldn't be overworking myself. But I've been training nonstop since I got here. I know at the Academy you train because training is necessary, but here you've already been trained so it's not necessary. But I guess I'm just anal. I want to be the best, you know. And that requires intensive work." She explained, finishing off her banana and tossing it haphazardly on her plate.

She laughed, tugging anxiously on her ponytail. He'd said she was pretty, which coming from him was just cute. But she wasn't used to such admonishments. In school she'd always been too focused to divert her attention to the opposite sex. She wasn't a kiss virgin or anything, but she didn't come across comments like him much. It seemed she had always been too concerned with a book in her hands or the punching bag at her fists.

"I could never allow that. I'd feel too guilty. It's my own fault anyway." She muttered, picking up a fork and poking lightly her spaghetti. She resolved that despite it's awkward coloring, she was going to eat it anyway. Her stomach growled in satisfaction at the revelation.

Charlie's eyes followed Chekov's, her brows going up in skepticism before settling in to form an angry V. She looked back at the seventeen year-old with a questioning look on her face. He looked annoyed and she could only resolve that it had something to do with the intruders into the mess hall.

[pchekov]

"Aie-yie, govno," he muttered under his breath. One of the men was infuriatingly familiar. He'd given Chekov somewhat of a hard time in the rec room a few days ago. He wore the red uniform of the security officers and was at least twice the 17-year-old's size, making him a force to reckon with. A bully.

Pavel turned back to Charlie and strayed his eyes from her concerned stare. In the back of his head, he was running the lines, "please don't notice me, please go away," in hopes that the bullying officer had forgotten about him by now. It was old hat, right? He sure hoped so.

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude," he said to Charlie, scratching the back of his head. "Food maybe make me feel a little sick. Don't worry."

Really? The food? Had that been the best excuse he could come up with? Like Charlie would believe his terrible excuse. She was far smarter than that. He stared back at his food. His appetite had faded away.

And then he heard the men sitting behind them standing up, moving over to where the food was being served. They walked right past Chekov and Charlie's table and the Russian boy held his breath until they were out of ear shot.

"Phew!" he exhaled, quite relieved. But his relaxation was short-lived. The bully officer turned in their direction, tray in hand. It took him only seconds to pinpoint the curly-haired ensign. Chekov sat, eye-wide and speechless, frozen in place.

[Ensign Rousseau]

The look reflected on Charlie's face was anything but believing. Her skepticism was plain and she set down her fork defiantly, crossing her thin arms over her chest. She didn't believe a word of it and she felt an annoyance mounting at the man at the bar. Obviously he'd done something to upset her good friend and that was not something she was going to stand for.

"As much as I have no doubt in the fact that this food would poison even the most wrought iron stomach, I don't think it's the only thing bothering you." Charlotte pronounced sardonically, leaning on her elbow and cocking her head at him.

She followed the young ensign's eyes and glared at the man with the tray. Her chin went up in defiance and her eyes narrowed dangerously. The man looked like he was out for lamb's blood in the form of Pavel. Oh ho ho, no. Never going to happen. Not whlie Charlie was around. She didn't spend hours in the gym with a punching bag for no reason.

She turned back to Pavel, pointing at the man surreptitiously. "Does he need to find his face bashed in? I'd be happy to oblige, my Russian friend." She offered, moving to mask the bully's view of Chekov.

[pchekov]

He heard what Charlie had said, but it was miles away in his concentration. The security officer approached the table with a large grin on his face, mirroring the toothy mouth of a lion. In an attempt to instantly annoy the young Russian, he set down his tray on one side of the table and scooted next to Chekov.

The curly-haired Russian only twitched and clutched his fork harder.

"Hey, kiddo," the security officer greeted him, in an insincere tone. He then took notice of Charlie and raised a brow. Without preamble, he put one thick arm around Chekov's shoulder and the young ensign shuddered."You don't mind if I sit here, do you? We're buddies."

Within moments, the officer's followers headed over with their food and joined the table. It was making Pavel incredibly uncomfortable. If only he were older. And bigger. They wouldn't even think twice about messing with him.

"Say, the officer spoke again, turning to his friends, "What's that funny little thing Mr. Crack-up says? Uh, uh - help me out here, fellas."

Chekov's blood was boiling. He gave Charlie a look that spoke volumes of "help me!"

"Dude sounds funny whatever he says!" another officer jeered.

"Vere is my wessels? Voo are you!? Vhat? Vhat? Kind'a like Elmer Fudd and Dracula put together, wouldn't you say?"

"Haha..." They hi-fived.

Finally, he reached his limit. Chekov quickly stood up, throwing off the officer's arm as he did so. He then slammed his hands on to the table and clenched his eyes shut.

"Leave!"

For a moment, the taunts stopped and the table fell silent. Had he reached them? Was it really that easy? He opened his eyes.

The men burst into laughter.

[Ensign Rousseau]

Charlie's fists clenched and a painful annoyed smile spread across her lips. She glared at the table, her green eyes flaring up with anger. You didn't piss Charlie off in any circumstance. She looked small, innocent, and shy but in reality she would gladly tear your head off without a second glance.

"I don't think you are." She hissed, lifting her eyes to the officer, her fingers gripping the table so tightly that her knuckles were white. "Therefore, I think it's best you find a different table. For your own personal health." She continued, looking stoically across the table at the apparent ring leader of the rag tag bullies.

She smirked, licking her teeth and shaking her head at them. She didn't appear affected by Chekov's outburst even as she stood slowly and waved a swift decisive hand to stifle their laughter.

"I think you missed what my friend said. He told you to leave. If that is too complex for your small cerebellum's to comprehend, I will gladly simplify it for you, if you know what I mean. I'm not too keen on explaining why you all had to go to the sick bay, but if I have to, I will."

She lifted a small hand, cracking her knuckles threateningly. She had little doubt that they would that they would laugh at her proclamation, but she didn't really care. She was not so affected by their opinions as Pavel was. She only saw it as making for a more rewarding fight.

Heck she was practically begging for them to get into a fight. If the end justifies the means...

[pchekov]

The officers took a look at Charlie and struggled to hold back snickers. Chekov couldn’t believe how immature grown men could be. Especially men who had been chosen to accompany the academy’s best on this mission. The red shirt slowly pushed himself away from the table and stood up, revealing himself to be a good foot and a half taller than Charlie. She seemed unfazed by the reaction – something Chekov was glad about.

“What? Is he your boyfriend? That’s cute. She’s dating a little kid.” The red shirt’s fellow officers smirked and shared sinister glances between each other. “Tell me, does he say anything in Russian when he’s making out with you? Vo-my god! Mmm zis kissin’k!”

The red shirt added in a fake gesture to the air, holding an invisible partner to mock make out with.

Chekov clenched his fists as tight as he could. The blood parted from where his knuckles were pulling on skin. Red-hot flashes kept pulsating in his eyes.

Finally, one of the officers, a blue shirt, spoke up. “Hey, maybe we should leave them alone,” he suggested, sounding somewhat genuine. “He looks kind of mad. We don’t want the captain on our asses.”

“Hah,” the red shirt scoffed. “’Cuz he’s a tattle tale.”

At that moment, the red shirt went to give Chekov a slap on the back. Before his hand could connect, the Russian spun around and mustered up all his strength in a single fist. Pop!

It took a second for him to realize what had just happened. The fact that the red shirt was clutching his nose and everyone else was staring with their mouths dropped confirmed that yes, he had indeed just punched the man. And it didn’t look like he was going to get away with it.

“Why you little-!” the red shirt growled, ignoring his nose. He grabbed Chekov by the collar and easily dragged the young man over. Uh-oh. That had been a bad idea. A really bad idea!

"Ahhh! Sorry! I'm sorry!" He hoped that Charlie would instantly step into action...

[Ensign Rousseau]

Charlie had an incredibly measure of self control. While her knuckles pulled tight the skin which covered them, the rest of her body remained rigid. Every muscle and tendon was coiling, readying for the spring. All she needed was one good reason to knock the idiots into oblivion and then her temper would release in a few good throws. She couldn't deny that when it came to situations like this, she had a bit of an anger problem. She never knew when to bite her tongue or when to stop throwing hits.

"Haha, well, as much as I do love my dear friend here, he's more like a brother. Do you know what I do to people who mess with my family?" She noted, her voice thickening to a low growl. She took a step towards him almost seductively and looked straight into his face with a strong but controlled glare.

It happened very quickly after that. The bully had gone in for a slap on Chekov's back and he'd retaliated. She was so proud. But a big man's fury was rarely ever forgotten until they got their butt's kicked. She almost laughed at the idea that they'd have to reveal she wiped the floor with them.

No one, I repeat, NO ONE, messes with Charlie's friends. Not unless they want to get killed.

"Paws off my friend. Now." It was more of an order than anything else. Calmly and stoically, her thin fingers curled around the bully's wrist, clamped down and twisted. So swiftly that someone as slow as he couldn't possibly have seen it coming, she pushed down on the man's accompanying shoulder with surprising force. Methodically she quickly pushed down further, twisted arm still grasped in her other hand, and forced his face to the ground.

"Like I said. You should have left before I have to damage you enough to take you to the sick bay. Capice?" What Charlie lacked in being social she made up for in well honed skill and combat.