Disclaimer : I don't own the characters -- they're all Paramount's.

Author's Note : Well, it's official. I've lost it! Though I think the question JCUKjnr, and JetCJr9 and 10 will be asking is "Did she ever have it?" *g*. Feedback would be nice. :-)

Dedication : This fic could only be dedicated to one person -- Coral. Thanks, hon, for inspiring me to write this fic, and then being Alfred Hiddenbart The Third's biggest fan! *huggles* Thanks for everything, and weirdp forever!

Us toasters don't get the respect we deserve. I, Sir Alfred Hiddenbart the Third, have lived a long, time. I have seen many things, and been with many owners. And this man is the first owner I've had that has treated me with any respect.

I'll never forget the first time I saw him. I was held in a room for many weeks. Sophia Sofa informs me it was known as the Cargo Bay. But he came into the Cargo Bay. And selected me out of all the other toasters. He looked at me carefully, and I looked at those deep brown eyes, and knew instinctively that he was the owner of my dreams.

I like this owner. He treats us all with respect. He thanks Rachel Replicator when she has replicated something extremely well. And he sits on Sophia Sofa...he never flings himself onto her. Now that's the way the young should respect their elders, as Sophia Sofa is a very old sofa.

I'm a member of the "Respect the Toasters" campaign, you know. I've had reports of toasters all over the ship being beaten, kicked, hit, and on occasion - dare I say it - placed in the garbage recycler.

These acts cannot go unpunished. When we get back to the Alpha Quadrant, we're going to take this all the way to Starfleet Command. Their Toaster will know what to do.

I'll never forget GrandParental Unit, he was truly an insipration to me. *He* was Sir Alfred Hiddenbart the First. A pivotol character in Toaster history. He headed the campaign for equal rights for toasters. Not only that, but he once had the honour of making toast for Captain Kirk!

I doubt I will ever be honoured in such a way, but I am proud to be Sir Alfred Hiddenbart the Third, and am proud of my GrandParental Unit.

But although I may never have the honours or the glory that my GrandParental Unit had, I feel that I can be a pioneer in toaster history. I am one of the most senior toasters on board Voyager. However, I know I will never be as worthy of toasting as my GrandParental Unit. But I shall try my best to make him proud, but serving this owner as best I can. Toasting the bread a golden brown, and never burning it.

This reminds me of the time when I was a mere Toaster Scout. "I promise that I will do my best, to love all toasters, to serve my Owner and all of toaster kind, to help other toasters and to stick to the Toaster Hand Book For Safe Toasting."

But enough about me. Although I am a truly fascinating toaster, that will probably be glorified in later life, as the bravest toaster in the Delta Quadrant, I have a purpose at the moment. And that purpose isn't to grill toast. It is to tell a story.

Now, being a toaster of exploration, I have seen many things. I have many tales to tell, some that would amaze and astound you, some that would make you cringe, and some that would keep you in suspense for hours. But the tale

I will tell you is of my owner's romance, with the redheaded lady from the next cabin.

It all began on my owner's birthday. He went on duty early in the morning as usual. Bed noticed that he tossed and turned much more than usual, and chronometer told us all that it was exactly 1 year since the last festivities celebrating his birthday. It was obvious what was troubling him.

I made his toast especially well that morning, if I do say so myself. Perfectly golden, crisp but not burnt. Just the way he likes his toast. However, he was somewhat distracted. He didn't seem to enjoy eating his toast. Knife was particularly offended, becuase she had been trying to butter it to perfection, and believed she had done a fine job.

Soon after eating breakfast, he left, which was most peculiar. Usually he stays for a few moments, lingering, looking at the small picture of the red headed woman that he keeps hidden underneath Sophia Sofa's middle cushion.

But today, he marched out of his quarters with a grim look on his face.

This caused the socks to speculate on why he was doing this. I must admit, I wondered why he dislikes his birthday, though I did not engage in disrespectful gossip about it, as the socks did. However, one sock did produce an interesting theory on the subject.

"Perhaps it is his age," she suggested. "Shampoo says that his hair is thinning, and that might be what is depressing him."

"Nonsense," Rug argued. "He's just annoyed about growing older because the doctor said his fitness levels were dropping, a sign of old age."

"I think it would do you all good to show respect to our kind owner by ceasing to gossip idly about him in this fashion," I interrupted. "I don't believe that this conversation is allowing us any great insight into what is upsetting our owner, and Rug, you would do better to keep such personal things that you discover about our owner to yourself."

Rug looked away, turning a slight shade of pink at my disciplining her. I think Sophia Sofa probably would have stood up for Rug, had someone not entered the room at this point.

We all froze in our positions. The red haired lady had entered the room. I suddenly realised why she was so familiar. Not only was she the lady in the picture, but her Toaster had done lunch with my Parental Unit ~ Female Variety. She declares that Lady Henrietta Calusetta the second was a fine toaster, and a joy to talk to. Apparantly they did lunch many years ago. They made toast for the red haired lady and a man known as 'Justin.'

The red haired lady looked around before hissing "Come on. Quick."

Behind her, came an assortment of people. I recognised one woman, B'Elanna Torres. My cable quivered in the plug as I looked at her. She has done unthinkable things to toasters. I've heard reports of her throwing the last one at Mr Paris when he made a comment about 'Women,' that she found offensive. At Mr Paris? That poor toaster. He will be deeply missed.

I watch their actions closely as they set up various things in the room. I notice that a cake with candles on has been placed on the coffee table. Although no one seems to mind this, I am outraged. This is a fire hazard, and Mr Tuvok must be notified.

I squeak and shuffle indignantly. But no one seems to pay attention to me, a mere toaster. So I quieten down, and watch as a blonde haired human, and a young girl pin up some banners, saying "Happy Birthday."

A strange blonde haired woman with a curious piece of metal above her eye, that resembled my primary heater, came over, and examined me.

"Put me down!" I squealed, trying to jump back onto the table as she picked me up into her arms. "This is a violation of the Toaster/Human code. Please stop immediately!"

The woman paid no attention. "This unit is flawed," she stated simply. "It is likely to need replacement within the next 18-21 months." And with that, she placed me firmly back down on the table.

My heaters welled up. It wasn't my fault! And she didn't have to be so unfeeling. I know I have little time left, but a replacement? Please, no! Anything but that! Why am I being punished for my age?

Feeling extremely sad, I sat quietly, as a tiny tear rolled down my coating.

Just then, my owner entered the room. He blinked in amazement as everyone yelled "Surprise."

I looked on as the red-haired woman came up to him, and kissed him gently on the cheek, murmering "Happy Birthday, Chakotay."

My owner looked slightly displeased as he saw the people in his quarters, to celebrate his birthday, which he dislikes so. But he put on a brave face, smiled, and thanked everyone for coming, to wish him a happy birthday.

He opened his presents, and blew out the candles on his cake. But I couldn't focus on any of it. I was too worried about what the strange woman had said. My owner wouldn't really dispose of my like some common toaster, would he? He wouldn't place me in Rachel Replicator to vanish and never be seen again, would he? I had always trusted this owner, but now I was worried.

After the festivities, the threatening woman known as 'B'Elanna Torres' left, and I relaxed slightly. The only people left were the red-headed woman and my owner.

"So did you enjoy your party?" she asked curiosly.

"You know I didn't want a surprise party, Kathryn," my owner remarked, turning towards her, giving her a huge smile, showing off his dimples.

"You enjoyed it," she persisted. "Admit it!"

"Alright," my owner gave in. "I had a good time. It was more fun than I thought it would be."

The red-headed woman smiled. "I knew you'd enjoy it." She then turned to look at the pile of presents on the coffee table. "So what did everyone give you?"

"Some champagne, some socks, and a teddy bear from Naomi Wildman, amongst other things," my owner replied.

"You may have noticed that I didn't get you anything," the red-headed lady said.

"No, not really," my owner said.

"You don't have to be so polite," she said. "I know you noticed."

"OK," he said, smiling at her. "I did notice. But I don't mind, Kathryn."

"Well, I got you a present all the same." My owner smiled.

"Close your eyes," she instructed him.

My owner closed his eyes, and I watched as the red-headed woman leant over him, and kissed him softly on the lips. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he moved his arms around her waist, and the kiss increased in intensity.

The cutlery began to cheer for joy, and the socks began sniffing. Chronometer let out a loud wold-whistle. I, however, looked on in a dignified fashion. I was very happy for my owner. This woman has a toaster with a good reputation, and, after all, we do have an image to uphold.

When the woman finally left, my owner looked very happy. Much happier than he'd looked in a long time. I recognised the symptoms immediately. He was in love.

Of course, the socks, being as young as they are, didn't realise this. I, being far older, and wiser, knew at that moment that he was truly in love with that woman.

Then the courting began.

In my day, a man would go to pick up the woman, and take her to a fancy restaurant, or for a stroll in the park.

However, my owner courted the red-haired lady in a strange way.

For their dates, they would come to his quarters, and lounge around, drinking wine, and talking. At first, I was astounded that this was done so openly. Whatever happened to the good old days, when a lady would be courted in style? Should I, Sir Alfred Hiddenbart the third ever meet a toaster I found attractive, I would, of course, court them sensibly. I would take them for picnics in the breadbin, and for strolls along the table. We would not merely sit around, discussing toasting issues of the day.

After a satisfactory period of courting, the red-headed woman moved in. Slowly, at first. A few Padd's would be left here and there, and her coffee maker found it's way next to the Candlestick Twins.

But they day she moved in to me, was probably the day when she brought over her toaster. Lady Henrietta Calusetta the second joined me, on the table. But she was not at all like Mother described her.

To begin with, Lady Calusetta the second was easily three times my size. And she could hold 20 slices of toast in one go. And when she had toasted, she went off with a bang. Yes, Lady Calusetta the second was a unique toaster.

We quickly became friends. And then...more than just friends. I courted the magnificent Lady Calusetta the second, and we were wed months later, by Breadbin. It was a beautiful ceremony. We performed the toasting , and then we were married.

As for my owner, he married the red-haired lady, and they had 3 children. When they got home, they moved to a small farm in Indiana. I, of course, was head of the new dining room table, seconded only by my beautiful bride.

And that, is the story of my owner's romance, and also, of my own. I hope you have been paying attention to my story, and I believe it will be of great value to toasters everywhere. Goodnight.