His kitchen was a disaster and he felt like the world's worst cook. "Stop it, please," he begged. The oven didn't much care for that as it spat out another plume of dark smoke. Paul could hear the sounds of a fading lifesigns monitor in his mind. He waved at the smoke, the fan system desperately trying to suck it away, and pulled his mess out of the oven.

As he looked at it, he knew it was a goner. He stepped back and sniffed the air, but immediately regretted it. "It doesn't even smell like cake." He slung off his oven mitts and stepped back from the stove.

He was a damned good doctor. He could perform any number of delicate surgeries. He was one of the best officers at Starfleet Medical. He was normally a very good baker. But, for whatever reason, this particular recipe was making him look like a first-year med student and a completely incompetent idiot in the kitchen.

Paul stared at the remains of his cake and frowned, replaying everything he did to make it in his mind. He couldn't find fault with any of it. He had perfectly followed the instructions and his mother claimed this was the best recipe she had for this cake.

He had to get this right. He wiped his hands on his apron and glanced over at the chronometer. "Damn," he muttered. Time was running out.

His doorbell rang and he jumped, heart thudding in his ears. Who would be visiting him today? He had taken the day off for this. Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself but he was anything but. He headed to his door and opened it.

"Paulie!" his sister squealed, enveloping him into a hug despite the fact her hands were full of shopping bags. She squeezed him tight before releasing him. "Oh, Paulie, you're ... you're ..." She looked him up and down. "Messy," she finally said. She pulled at his apron. "And in total Mom-mode."

He was caught between anger, confusion, surprise, and annoyance. "Vicky, what the hell are you doing here?"

Her blue eyes rolled and she barged past him, not even bothering to ask to come in. "I was in town and decided to stop by." She coughed as she got closer to the kitchen. "Did you set up a funeral pyre in here?"

He hung his head for a moment before walking away from the door, it shutting behind him. She had already deposited her bags onto the floor and was standing in the entryway to the kitchen. Dressed in a bright yellow top and a pair of khaki shorts, she looked like she belonged on a beach rather than in his apartment.

She turned to him, a curious expression on her face. "Well?" Before he could respond she pointed at his head. "And what's that?."

He reached up and pulled some dried batter out of his hair. "Batter." He slung it onto the floor, completely uncaring about how messy it was. He could clean later. He would've liked to deal with Vicky later, too, but there was no way that was happening. He pointed at the kitchen. "I'm trying to bake a cake."

She forced down a laugh but her face still stretched into a smile. "That's supposed to be a cake?" she asked, clearly referencing the burned monstrosity sitting on the counter. "I thought it was burned Klingon food."

He winced. "Look, do you remember what today is?"

"Friday?"

He covered his eyes with his palm, dragging it down his face. "Wednesday, actually. But that's not the point." He sighed. Vicky was never good about dates. "It's Seven's birthday."

Vicky's face lit up in understanding. "Oh! You're baking for her." She looked back at the kitchen and then to him. "Are you sure it's her birthday? I swear I set a reminder in my computer."

He stared at her coolly. "Yes, it's her birthday."

She pursed her lips. "Well, that means we're going shopping this weekend."

Red alert sirens began blaring in his head. "What are you talking about?"

She beamed at him. "I promised her I'd take her shopping for her birthday," she stated factually, like it was common knowledge.

"When?"

She looked up at a spot on the ceiling as she rubbed her chin. "Um ... Christmas?"

He winced again. "Jesus, Vicky, Christmas? That was a mess."

She crossed her arms. "Well, I'm sure she remembers and I'm doing it." The way she spoke, there was little doubt in Paul's mind that she would.

He didn't like the idea at all but Seven would probably turn her down, so it wasn't that big a deal. But the cake was. "Look, I don't have time to sit and talk, I need to bake a cake." He made his way into the kitchen and began pulling out ingredients from the fridge.

She huffed like he had insulted her. "I can help."

"HA!" Paul laughed heartily at that. Vicky wasn't a cook by any stretch of the imagination. "The only thing you know how to cook is yourself in the sun." He got out the last of the ingredients and slammed the fridge door shut, his frustration getting the better of him. "Which, as I've told you repeatedly, is a bad idea," he scolded. "How many summers are you going to BBQ yourself?"

She glared at him. "I cook." She reached into one of her bags and pulled out some strange foods - or things he assumed were foods, anyway. "I was out at the market picking up things."

He arched an eyebrow and channeled T'Kel. "Really?"

She put her strange foods back into the bag and waltzed into the kitchen, head held high. "I'm gonna help." She picked up a nearby PADD and scanned through the recipe. "A strawberry shortcake?"

He snatched the PADD from her and held it above her head, like they were kids again. He was still taller than her, especially because she wasn't in heels. "No."

She made a pouty face. "I can help, really!"

He glanced at the chronometer and did the math. If he tried this by himself he'd be able to do it, but he'd hardly have any time to clean up. He couldn't possibly show up at Seven's apartment like this ...

Sensing a shift in moods, Vicky's mouth curled into a grin. "Say ‘yes'. You know you want to, come on, Paulie!"

Reluctantly, he dropped his hand from above his head and gave her the PADD. "Fine."

She tapped him lightly with it. "Yes!" She brought up the recipe again and read through it. "Okay, so you have all the ingredients?"

He sighed. Please don't let me regret this, he prayed to whatever power was listening. "Yes, I got it all."

She rubbed the bottom of her chin with one finger. "Hmm. So, why'd the cake die?"

He could only offer a shrug. He hadn't anticipated the cake being hard to make at all, which is partly why he was in such a time crunch now. He was usually very good at baking things. "It's Mom's recipe and she swore by it."

She nodded along. "Well, she's not going to be much help: the two of them are on vacation and incommunicado."

"Yes, I know," he said, annoyed. Another oversight on his part. Confidence was his undoing in all this. "I need this cake, Vicky. I need it to work and I need it to be good."

Her eyes bounced between the PADD and the ingredients he had set out. After a moment, she held up a finger. "I bet we can make a substitution and make this work."

He tensed and cocked his head slightly to the side. "I don't like the sound of that."

She went over to her bags and pulled out a jar of something. "This can solve our problems, honest to God. I've used it before to make some brownies."

"Brownies," he repeated back, uninspired. "We're not making brownies."

She made a "duh" face. "I know that. But mom's recipe isn't meant for a modern stove."

He frowned. "A stove's a stove, Vicky. Modern or not, Mom's stove still puts out heat."

She returned the frown. "Look, you destroyed one cake already. Do you really want to show up empty-handed?"

He shook his head. Of course he didn't want to show up empty-handed, but he couldn't really rely on Vicky - Vicky, of all people - for cooking help, could he? "My options are limited," he forced himself to say.

She set the jar on the counter and popped it open. "In that case, we'll put this together, stick it in the oven, and then get you cleaned up." She patted him on the back. "I promise, it'll be fine."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I hope you're right."

****

He stood at her door, cake in hand, and could only hope that it tasted as good as it smelled. The baking had been a success, a surprise success if there ever was one. In no universe did he ever expect his sister gaining the ability - or even the interest - to cook, but here he was, holding a cake she helped bake in his hand. Life is strange.

The door to Seven's apartment slid open to reveal her, dressed simply in a blue tunic and black leggings, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. He held his breath for a moment, a bit dazzled - a feeling he was sure would never leave him - and smiled at her. "Happy Birthday," he said as he held the cake box out. "Homemade strawberry shortcake."

Her eyes lit up with appreciation. "Thank you." She accepted the cake and waved him in. The two proceeded to the small dining room table, where she set the cake down. "I was not expecting this."

He beamed. "Well, I figured before we go for dinner, we better have dessert ready. I didn't want to order something from a restaurant when I could make it myself." He looked around, noticing a few more pictures on the walls. "You've redecorated a little."

She offered a small nod. "It seemed an appropriate time to do so." There seemed to be more she wanted to add, but didn't. Instead, she offered him a curious glance. "Will we be eating cake before or after dinner?"

He winked at her. "Well, you're the birthday girl. You decide."

She seemed surprised at that. Her brow furrowed after a moment. "Consumption of desserts is best in limited instances and, traditionally, after meals."

He held up a finger. "But it's your birthday, so you don't have the to follow the rules. I once ate nothing but my birthday cake for every meal one year."

Her eyebrow arched up. "I would not have expected such an indulgence from you." She sounded amused by the idea.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I was a teenager so ... not something I'd recommend." He pointed at the cake. "But I'll tell you, that smelled delicious when it came out of the oven." And not like a funeral pyre, he added silently.

She looked back at the cake and, after a moment of consideration, made her way into the kitchen. "I would like us to sample it now." She appraised him with warmth. "It should be ... enjoyable."

She began to take out the plates, knifes, and forks. Paul stepped forward to help but his wrist-unit vibrated slightly. He turned around and pulled up his sleeve. Who the hell was calling him?

Vicky. She had sent him a text. He tapped his screen and scrolled through it.

I think I grabbed the wrong jar, Paulie! Whatever you do, DON'T cut the cake!

He stared at his wrist-unit. What kind of nonsense was that? He wanted to text her back to get some clarification but from behind him there was a loud POP; it took a moment to register that his entire backside was now soaked and he could feel the sticky juices of the strawberries seeping through his clothes.

He turned around in dread and found Seven's face splattered with strawberry shortcake, the knife in her hand frozen over what remained of the baked good. It was obvious she had attempted to cut into it.

He opened his mouth to say something, to say anything, to apologize but all he could do was make a whimper. He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to compose himself.

Seven, cake not only on her face but also on her clothes and painted on the walls around her and behind her, set the knife down and wiped her face, her movements measured.

He had to say something. He removed his hand from his mouth and cleared his throat. "I'm ... I'm so, so, so sorry," he spilled forth, stumbling. He moved to her and pulled some cake off her shoulder. She was covered it in, far worse than he was, with cake and strawberries in her hair. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

She looked at her hand full of cake, and he wasn't sure what the look meant. She didn't seem angry, but she had every right to be. Something flickered in her eyes, something he had never seen before, and the corners of her mouth curled into a small smile.

"Seven," he began but he was cut off as cake was shoved into his mouth. He recoiled back in surprise, just as much from the taste of the cake - which was actually good - to the fact it was in his face. He wiped it and looked at her, grinning. "Seven!"

Her small smile had erupted into a larger one and, for the first time he could recall, he saw her teeth: pearly white and perfectly aligned, they matched the rest of her. "Now you have had your slice," she explained, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

He stood, completely flabbergasted - in the best way possible, of course. After months of dating, of seeing one another, this was the first genuine moment of unguarded joy. "I ... I think it tastes good," he managed before he doubled-over in laughter.

She allowed herself a laugh as well and they laughed together.

Despite it being her birthday, she had given him the greatest gift of all.