Beyond tall panoramic windowpanes, the lights of distant stars winked and dimmed. This new restaurant was barely announced. The place known as Zawtay’s was tucked quietly into the ring of establishments around the tenth floor of the saucer section. For the moment, it was nearly empty. Tables carved of pale wood and amber-shaded lamps radiated warmth amidst the small crowd.

Captain Raku Mobra leaned back slightly in his chair, shoulders squared. His bronze skin was touched with the faint tan he had earned at the pool of Hotel Lanea’s Victory. The Cardinal’s lights had a way of softening his angular features. Greta Lazio sat across from him. She leaned forward on her forearms as her black hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders. She had insisted on coming here tonight. She was excited when she spotted the Italian dish while browsing the menu on her PADD earlier. Her brown eyes searched curiously towards the kitchen’s half-open arch. A flash of scarlet feathers revealed the Klowahkan chef at work.

“You’re still thinking about work, aren’t you?” she asked the Captain suddenly. Her dark eyes searched his.

Raku gave the faintest of smiles. “I’m always thinking about work, Greta. That’s the problem of carrying the chair. You never leave it.”

“I was hoping tonight you’d try,” she said teasingly. Her voice carried a touch of deep thought. She shifted slightly, her olive complexion a shade fairer than his. Her chocolate eyes gleamed just as dark as the Bajoran’s own.

Before he could answer, a waiter approached. The wiry, blond human carried himself with a blend of eagerness and deference. The slightly anxious look behind his emerald eyes suggested this was one of the first few tables he had served.

“Good evening,” he said with a small bow of his head. “My name is Alan. I’ll be your server. Have you both decided on what you’d like to try tonight?”

Greta sat up straighter. “I noticed you serve fresh pasta here. Tagliatelle alla Bolognese?” Her voice had a lilt of anticipation. The words almost flew off her tongue faster than Raku could process them.

“Yes, ma’am,” Alen replied with a smile. “Chef Zawtay Bastek makes it by hand each day. The sauce uses San Marzano tomatoes grown from seeds harvested directly from Italy. It’s as close to old Earth flavor as one can get out here.”

Greta’s smile widened. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I’ll have. And to drink, just a raspberry lemonade. No synthahol.” Greta didn’t even want to drink simulated alcohol while pregnant.

“Of course.” Alan tapped the notes into a PADD, then turned to Raku.

“I’ll try the Andorian tuber root noodles,” Raku said curiously. “The savory-sweet preparation, not too spicy.” He tapped the menu gently. “And a cocktail. The one with Bolian whisky mixed with blue curaçao, shaken.”

Alen nodded quickly. “”Mmm-hmm, the Cobalt Blood”, said the waiter as he looked at a picture of the drink on the menu. “Excellent choices. I will return shortly.” He retreated toward the kitchen. Silence once again surrounded Captain Raku and his partner.

Greta exhaled in a small burst, then leaned closer. Her elbows shifted against the table. “I saw the space they gave the Lazio-Oorl Foundation team today.”

Raku inclined his head. “And?”

Her lips pressed together for a moment. “It’s”, she paused. “Not impressive. Cramped. The bay feels tucked away like an afterthought. It’s hardly fitting for the work we’re doing. I put in a request for a larger one.”

Raku’s expression cooled slightly. “You asked to be moved?”

“Of course.” Her tone was light, but her eyes were serious. “Why wouldn’t I? We can’t function properly in a shoebox.”

“You can’t be moved right now,” Raku said flatly.

Her eyebrows arched. “Why not? There must be a dozen empty research bays. It’s just a matter of..”

“Because assignments are made according to operational needs, not convenience,” he cut in. His tone was carefully chosen, but terse. “Your foundation will have to adapt to the space allotted.”

Greta tilted her head. Black hair crept along her cheek. She let a slow, sly smile curve her lips. “Mobra,” she said as she lowered her voice. A sultry warmth crept in, “surely you could make an exception. Just this once.” Her fingers traced the stem of her glass in idle, suggestive circles.

Raku’s gaze didn’t waver. “No exceptions.”

Her smile faltered. She leaned back as her eyes narrowed. “That’s not very romantic, the way you say that.”

His jaw worked as he drew a quiet breath. His hands fell neatly on the table. “This isn’t about romance. It’s about duty. And if you expect me to compromise my judgments as a captain because of,” Raku lingered for a moment. “Us. Then you don’t know me as well as I thought.”

Her lips parted as if to fire back, but she held herself still. The silence between them stretched while the soft hum of the Cardinal vibrated faintly underfoot.

The waiter arrived with drinks as they snapped out of the moment. Greta accepted her lemonade with a quiet thank you. Raku took his cocktail. His glass caught the warm light in a swirl of blue and amber. The waiter sensed the tension and retreated quickly.

Greta sipped slowly, then set the glass down. Her gaze never left Raku’s. “You almost sound angry.”

“I am conflicted,” he admitted in a low voice. “I care for you more than I can put into words. But I cannot, and will not, allow that to interfere with my command decisions. If I bend once, it becomes easier to bend again. That is not the sort of captain I am, Greta.”

She studied him for a long, quiet moment. Her dark eyes softened. The fire in her earlier expression melted away. “I was just checking, Mobra.” Her voice carried no sharpness.

He blinked, uncertain.

Her smile returned, faint but gentle. “I wanted to see where your lines are drawn. And you drew them. That matters more than you think.” She reached across the table as her hand brushed his knuckles. “You’re right. It isn’t romantic. But it is you. That’s why I’m here.”

Raku exhaled as his shoulders loosened. He let her hand rest against his. The warmth of her touch broke through his composure.

Her eyes glimmered. “Maybe it’s my hormones talking. I’m more on edge than usual.” She glanced down at her still-flat stomach, then back to him with a rueful smile. “The space is fine, really. We’ll make it work. I don’t need a bigger bay.”

Something in the dark depths of her gaze soothed him. It was a reminder of why he had let her into the fragile sphere of his life in the first place. The argument now seemed to dissolve into the quiet hum of the restaurant.

Their food arrived after over half an hour of waiting. Greta’s pasta came steaming hot. The fresh tagliatelle curled amidst a thick, ruby sauce. Its aroma was rich with herbs and the sweetness of true tomatoes. She closed her eyes and savored the first bite. “It tastes like home,” she murmured.

Raku’s tuber root noodles shimmered faintly in their glaze. The Andorian dish balanced a savory sweetness that intrigued his palate. He ate slowly while he studied Greta’s pleased expression. The Bajoran let the complex flavors settle on his tongue before taking another bite.

Zawtay Bastek appeared from behind the Kitchen’s arch after they had eaten for a few moments. The Klowawkhan’s red plumage gleamed under the lamps. Orange eyes peered from above a yellow beak. He approached their table with a gracious nod. His scarlet plumage shifted with each step.

“Captain, Ms. Lazio,” he said in a voice that rumbled warmly. “It is an honor. I am Zawtay Bastek, chef of this humble establishment. I trust the dishes meet your expectations?”

“They exceed them,” Greta said as she lifted her fork with a smile. “This pasta is extraordinary. Truly.”

Zawtay inclined his head. His feathers fluffed slightly in pleased acknowledgment. “The pasta is rolled fresh each day, as tradition demands. I am sure you have heard of our sauce, by now. The San Marzano tomatoes are quite special indeed. Their seeds have traveled light-years. Each tomato is cultivated with care. The heritage of Earth is preserved in every bite.”

Greta’s eyes sparkled at his words. “It’s perfect.”

“And for you, Captain?”

“The tuber root noodles are excellent,” Raku said with measured approval. “Balanced. Unexpected.”

“Then I am content,” Zawtay replied. With another respectful bow, he withdrew back toward the kitchen. His crimson form returned to the burners, grills and ovens at his disposal.

The quiet returned. The couple ate and spoke little. The earlier tension had been dulled by food and warmth. Greta reached for her glass and sipped the lemonade slowly as she watched Raku.

“You know,” she said softly, “I don’t want to fight with you. Not now. Not ever, if we can help it.”

Raku looked at her over the rim of his glass. “Neither do I.”

Her smile was small, but it held. She rested her hand against her stomach again, unconsciously protective. Their eyes met. “We’ll figure it out. The work, the space, all of it. And us”, she said.

Something eased inside of the captain. He nodded once, slowly. “Yes. We will.”

For the first time that night, he let himself believe it.