#1x04 - Belle Petite Gateau

Posted on Tue Feb 17th, 2026 @ 6:47pm by Lt Commander Stephen Jacobs Ph.D. & Lieutenant JG James Eve & Ensign Freya Sandison
Edited on on Tue Feb 17th, 2026 @ 6:52pm

2,582 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: The Forgotten Outpost
Location: Starbase 417
Timeline: 2401-09-05, 15:48

Summary: Freya returns from a trip and is met by Stephen at the space station docks. They go to a café, The Tin Goose, where they discuss her journey and review her sketches - including one of James, a fellow passenger. James, who happens to be Stephen’s friend, arrives unexpectedly. Freya is embarrassed about sketching him without permission, but James is unconcerned. The three converse, with Stephen noting their growing connection. Later, Stephen reflects on the situation alone in his quarters.

= Starbase 417 - Crew Arrival Lounge =

Once the ship had docked, nothing seemed to happen for quite a while. Then, in dribs and drabs, the first passengers appeared - some met by waiting friends or family, others travelling alone, possibly for a short stay before continuing their journeys.

The trickle turned to a steady flow. Finally, Stephen murmured to himself as he stepped toward the mass of people, never taking his eyes off her.

She saw him before he was close enough to speak and smiled, pure joy at the sight.

“There you are,” he said, smiling down at her. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “It’s good to be home.” And to be with you again, she would have liked to say but dared not.

“Here… let me take this.”

He reached for the heavy case, leaving her holding a slim satchel.

“Have you eaten? Are you hungry?” he asked.

“That’s kind. No, I’m fine as food goes. I had lunch only an hour or two ago, but I wouldn’t mind a coffee.” She looked at him hopefully.

“The Goose?” he asked, to which she nodded happily. “Come on, then.”

They turned to walk toward the exit, which led to the lower promenade and a café they often frequented - properly known as The Tin Goose but more often by the shortened name.

Once on the promenade, the crowd dispersed, making walking and talking easier.

He asked if she’d had a good trip and whether she’d enjoyed it.

“Yes and yes,” she replied, walking fast to keep up with his long strides. “The liner was fine both ways, and the room was larger than I expected - very comfortable. The other attendees were very pleasant. There was a small group of us in adjoining rooms who tended to stick together for meals and stuff. One was a bit loud, but… you know.” She smiled away the memory of Angela’s overzealous nature.

Stephen nodded. “And how did your presentation go?”

Freya took a deep breath, paused, then answered, “Very well.” She looked at him as their steps momentarily matched. “I did as you suggested and focused on one person as though they were the only one there. Once I got going, the nerves faded out, and it was fine… it went very well, actually. I was pleased.”

“Good, good - and well done. It’s not the easiest thing to address a crowd all staring at you in silence.”

“No, it’s not!” she agreed with feeling and laughed.

They turned into the brightly lit café, fortunate to find a window seat that a couple were vacating. A waitress was there to clear and clean it, asking if they could please order at the counter.

“No problem… thank you.”

Stephen waited for Freya to sit, then set her case beside her chair and went to order the coffee she’d asked for - but also added a couple of small cakes or biscuits. He wasn’t sure exactly what they were, but they looked enticing.

His offer to take the tray himself was gladly accepted; the café was filling fast with the influx of new arrivals, the staff pressed to keep up.

He made his way back to the window, carefully carrying the tray and setting cups and plates for them both with precision.

“You’re in the wrong job, you know,” she teased as he set the tray aside.

“Oh, I know that!” he replied with a chuckle as he sat down next to her, choosing that chair instead of the seat opposite.

“These are Belle Petite Gateaux, apparently,” he said, touching the plate. “French biscuits, she said, but they look more gateau-like, don’t you think?”

“They look lovely,” Freya replied. “I’m feeling peckish now.”

Both took a sip of the coffee before Stephen said, “It’s good to have you back. I’ve missed our lunches and chats.”

She smiled. “Me too,” she answered, thinking that was better than nothing.

Stephen placed one of the biscuits onto a plate for her, along with a slim fork, which proved not to work - the biscuit being too dense.

“Fingers.” She set the fork down.

A moment passed. Stephen drank coffee.

“Mmm… what is it?” she asked, savoring the taste. “Lemon? No…”

He took one for himself, biting into it and chewing thoughtfully. “No, it’s not lemon… no idea,” he concluded, taking another bite.

It’s lovely, she thought - not meaning the biscuit but the company, sitting with him, making light conversation yet sharing a friendship that was more than just acquaintance.

“So you had time for drawing?” he asked with a nod to the slim satchel.

“Mmm,” she agreed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Want to see?”

She knew the answer would be a yes, so didn’t wait for it but bent to unzip the satchel and lift out a modest-sized book with a moss-green cover.

Stephen had pushed their plates aside to make room for it, waiting with interest to see what it held.

“I did more life drawing than usual,” she explained, setting the book down and opening it, angling it so he could see it easily.

“Ah, so I see,” he replied, looking at a page of hands and profiles.

“That’s Angela,” she said as the page was turned to reveal four sketches of a plump, happy-looking girl.

“She looks cheery,” Stephen remarked.

Freya adopted a slightly resigned expression. “You could say that.”

Stephen grinned.

Studying the page of people’s actions - bending, sitting, twisting back, hands raised in various forms - Stephen silently admired Freya’s undoubted talent. Some outlines were but a few pencil strokes and obviously abandoned, while others captured the movement entirely.

He turned the page.

“Ahhh…” he murmured, surprised by the subject. “Who is this?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

“I have no idea!” she replied as though she cared not at all. “He was a fellow passenger, and when I saw him so engrossed in whatever it was he was reading, I thought I could capture him. He was so still - I mean, some models can’t hold a pose for that long without moving a little - but he was just fixated on his tablet, so I had the time to flesh the sketch out. As you see, I almost completed it.”

“It’s very detailed… it could almost - ”

“I should have asked him,” Freya said, ignoring what Stephen was about to say.

“How do you mean?”

“I should have excused the interruption and asked if he minded me sketching him, but I didn’t want to disturb his concentration and thought I’d only be there for a minute or two.”

“Right.” Stephen’s lips held mild amusement. “So he didn’t know he was your model?”

“Oh, he knows,” she replied, her tone one of regret. “After sitting there for so long, he suddenly raised his head - well, not exactly… he half raised it and looked straight at me.” She demonstrated the action by partly lowering her head and meeting Stephen’s eyes as though in a suspicious way.

He laughed softly.

“It’s not funny!” she declared. “It was mortifying.”

“Oh, Freya, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that he wouldn’t have minded - not at all.” He shook his head to stress the fact, but Freya frowned.

“His name is James Eve. He’s a JAG officer.”

Her jaw dropped with astonishment. “You know him?”

“Yes. He and I have been friends for a few years now, and trust me, he wouldn’t have minded the fact he was being captured in pencil.”

This news didn’t seem to ease the situation for her.

Stephen wanted to know what James had said.

“Nothing. I was so embarrassed I just shoved everything into my bag and scooted off.”

She saw Stephen’s mild amusement grow manyfold and, both looking and sounding chastened, added, “I didn’t see him again… thankfully.”

But you might, she told herself. If he’s such a good friend and is here on the station, then he’s bound to seek Stephen out.

-

The man in question had been walking along the promenade in a river of other newly arrived travelers, a large and somewhat heavy rucksack slung over his right shoulder, his mind on finding his allotted quarters - when, by chance, he glanced to one side and saw the pretty blonde-haired girl and his old friend Stephen Jacobs sitting together in deep conversation.

He stopped in his tracks, causing the man behind to cannon into him with an exclamation of annoyance.

“Mind where you’re going!” he snarled at James.

“Sorry… sorry,” James replied, raising a hand in surrender - but that earned only a death stare as the man moved on.

James picked up his rucksack, which had fallen to the floor, glancing again at the window where his friend and the pretty girl sat. He excused himself as he wove his way to the edge of the throng, then made his way into the café.

-

Stephen felt sorry for Freya’s unease, not liking to think that she had been so uncomfortable and ashamed, so he reached to place his hand on top of hers.

“Really, he wouldn’t have minded. It’s not so bad.”

“So, Old Man, this is how you spend your spare time, is it? Holding hands with a pretty young lady.”

They both looked up at the owner of the voice - one in horror, the other in pleased surprise.

“James! We were just talking about you,” Stephen declared, hastily getting to his feet. There followed a shaking of hands, then a hug with lots of back-patting before they stood apart, looking at each other with wide smiles.

“Were you indeed,” James said, sounding doubtful as he looked down at the young woman, who had the same rosy glow as when he’d watched her scuttle away. He glanced back at Stephen, who could tell by his expression that he was recalling what Freya had just explained to him.

“James… meet Freya Sandison, a friend of mine. Freya, this is James Eve, an even older friend of mine. He’s a lawyer of ill repute.”

James gave a loud laugh at this introduction but reached out a hand to Freya and smiled kindly.

“We meet at last… James,” he said.

Freya clasped the offered hand. “Freya,” she replied, then in a rush: “I’m so sorry for not asking your permission. I shouldn’t have just sat with you as an unknowing subject.”

James shook her hand. “No problem. I don’t mind,” he replied good-naturedly as he released it.

She looked at Stephen, who raised and lowered his eyebrows as if to say, See? I told you.

“Won’t you join us?” she asked James, thinking she should make amends.

“Yes, please do,” Stephen said, his hand already on a free chair.

“Thank you… if I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all. We were looking at sketches from Freya’s time away… coffee?”

“Sounds good.”

“Be right back.” And Stephen headed off to the counter.

Freya watched James sit down, her color fading back to its natural healthy pink.

“So, you’re a lawyer of ill repute, then?” she asked, breaking the ice.

“Ha! The Old Man likes his jokes,” James replied, seeing her begin to relax. “I work in understanding and interpreting international law. It’s a fascinating - and sometimes irritating, and often challenging - job, but it’s exactly what I enjoy doing.

“It’s always been the case, of course, that differing peoples have differing rules, regulations, and laws that seem absurd to others - but it works for them, and they stick to it. Sometimes simply because of tradition, sometimes because that’s how they want it, and sometimes because they refuse to be flexible.” He flashed a smile at her serious expression.

“Back on the liner, I was reading up on Romulan law. This is near to their territory - or what was theirs in the past. As you know, with the Romulan Empire having collapsed, there’s a lot of independent Romulan worlds. Most have their own laws; some stick to old ones, some don’t - and their relations with the Federation range from good to virtually nonexistent. So I’m getting to know what’s what.”

Stephen had returned during James’ explanation, placing a cup of coffee in front of him, then sitting down - glad to see that Freya seemed more at ease, more like her usual self. He watched her listening, knowing this probably wasn’t what she had expected her model to have been engaged in.

“So he’s not a lawyer of ill repute at all,” she said with a smile as she spoke to Stephen.

“Well, he’s not going to admit it, is he?” Stephen replied with mock surprise.

They all laughed. James took a few sips from his cup.

“You’re an artist, then,” he said, changing the subject - again with a kindly smile, obviously interested in her career.

“No, I’m a botanist,” she replied, and now it was her turn to smile at his surprise.

“But you still draw, right?” he asked, frowning a little, wondering if she dabbled in both careers simultaneously.

“As a hobby. I sometimes paint, but it’s more sketching these days - or pastels. I enjoy pastels.”

“May I?” Stephen asked her, indicating the book - thinking it better if she didn’t have to show her efforts herself. She nodded, so he opened the book at the correct page, then slid it toward James, turning it so that he could see.

His amusement faded as he saw himself on the page, taking a moment or two to absorb it all.

“This is amazing,” he said, still studying the work. “It truly is.”

“Thank you,” she replied softly - and for a second time, saw him half raise his head so she met his gaze.

Stephen saw the beginning of another friendship and was glad of it - yet suddenly, and without any justification, he felt the slightest twinge of something he wouldn’t admit to himself.

-

Hours later, lying in his bed, looking out at a workbee pass by his window, he told himself that this was what he’d wanted for her: someone her own age to admire and grow to love, someone who could offer so much that he could not.

He did want that - he’d told himself many, many times. But there, in that instant, he had seen it germinate - and found that witnessing it and thinking about it were poles apart.

= END =

 

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