Fic: Food Of The Gods

[calliopes_pen]

Title: Food Of The Gods
Author: calliopes_pen
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Wash/Zoe; Mal/Inara; Simon/Kaylee.
Summary: When the men of Serenity are kicked out of the lives of the women, they try to make things up to them.
Beta Readers: noneofyours, sasha_anu, seandc
Word Count: 2,611
Author’s Note: This was written for aricadavidson, for wifesoup.



The day began as many days aboard Serenity did--with a glass of orange juice, thusly followed by an argument about the mundane. And it was on this day that the normal happiness of Wash and Zoe was rather...disturbed.

Wash had made a rather bad move, when he had incited the wrath of his warrior woman of a wife. He had merely said that perhaps, if they ever wanted to start a family, she shouldn’t be on the front lines as often. She could simply stay onboard Serenity--and while that may have been in part (a teeny tiny part) because of residual jealousy when she and Mal were together, he still thought it was a valid idea.

That, and when she asked if the newest slinky dress he had bought for her made her look fat, he answered in the affirmative. But that was only because he was simultaneously trying to read an instruction manual for how to fix a certain part of wiring that River had torn out of the pilot’s area! It needed to be fixed—who knew when the Alliance might suddenly appear, and they would need to make a quick getaway?!

And so, this was how Wash had come to be seated outside his and Zoe’s quarters--looking like a kicked puppy, and ever so slightly rumpled, due to being physically tossed out on his keister. With a slightly tired and dejected sigh, the pilot picked himself up and dusted himself off.

Just in time to hear an argument coming from two other cabins, at the same time. Wash simply shook his head, snorted, and prepared to walk off to the mess hall. "Soup it will be. Making up some wife soup, and finding a flower...do we even have flowers onboard this ship?!"

And that’s when two doors opened at the same time, and both Mal and Simon were dumped head over heels out the door, with rather befuddled looks on their faces. This same look may be found around the 'verse whenever a man simply cannot understand what he has done to provoke the female of the species. A look that a man either learns to recognize, or simply gets killed due to the ignorance of it.

Wash merely gave each man a cute little wave, and offered each man a hand up. “So...you having some trouble with the ladies, too, I assume?”

Mal turned and glared at each man, as he dusted off his pants. “Yes...and if you even think of daring to breathe a word of this to Jayne, I’ll sew your mouth shut, and dump you in a pit of snakes and scorpions! Dong ma?”

Wash looked at Mal with a knowing look, before saying “You called Inara that word again, didn’t ya?”

“Yes! When will I learn, I ask you?!”

As one, Simon, Wash, and Mal said, “Probably never.”

Glancing over at Simon, Mal asked, “And just what did you do ta Kaylee that would make the girl throw you out? She’s so happy that only killin’ a mess o’ puppies or burnin’ the last stash of strawberries would bother her!”

Simon glanced down at the floor, rubbed the back of his neck, and paused so long that the other two were beginning to think that Simon had burned the last shipment of strawberries. “No, I didn’t burn the strawberries--I wouldn’t be that idiotic. I...I told her being a mechanic was too messy, and that the grease was disgusting! She actually kicked me, before throwing me out. See that small footprint on my back? She’d had an especially greasy day in the engine!”

All Mal could do was slam his head against the wall. It was obvious to both of them that what Simon had done was so stupid that Mal was trying to avoid killing him. Making Kaylee angry was a gift that Simon had, though. Making up with her for that grievance would be a challenge fit for the gods.

All anyone could make out from Mal--as he currently had his hands over his face to stifle what sounded like laughter--was a small mumbling of “Kuong-juh duh! Vishnu on a tricycle!”

Glancing over at Mal carefully, Wash finally spit out with what he was thinking. “Uh huh...ya know...the three of us are in deep trouble. What say we fix ‘em a batch of food in mess hall, and try to figure things out?”

When they entered the mess hall, however, Jayne was there, peeling an apple. Mal reacted first with what could only be described as a furious growl. When Jayne continued to sit there, Mal reached into the cupboards, gathered ingredients for whatever he might make for Inara, and continued to glare at him the entire time.

Wash likened it to watching dogs fighting over their territory. Mal finally won the fight when Jayne simply snorted and left for parts unknown.

That taken care of, the stage was set for an attempt by the men to either win back the women they loved, or die in a grease fire, whichever came first.

And so it was that two and a half hours later, there was such a mess that everyone would be cleaning it up for days.

Wash made soup which, when he tried it to test it, tasted like a mixture of sawdust and grease. He promptly threw out the disgusting meal, and went to begin creating something better.

Mal burnt his eyebrows off, and had nothing to show for it except for what may have been the last shreds of charred bacon. Nobody knew for sure what it was, except for Mal. And he maintained his dignity as he calmly and quietly scraped it from the pan, and into the trash compactor.

Out of the carnage there came a howl of triumph--for Simon had made a perfect meal of eggs, waffles, and bacon. Surely this would win back Kaylee, he thought.

A look of jealousy and loathing was exchanged between Wash and Mal. Moments later, the howl of triumph turned into screams of desperation as the two of them threw Simon’s perfect meal out the airlock, where it then floated into the void for the next passerby to be thoroughly confused over the sight of it.

It was a miracle that none of the others onboard came to check and see where the shrieks were coming from. Everyone probably simply assumed it was River--again.

Mal, having calmly walked back into the kitchen, turned to Wash. “So...feeling artistic now, are we?” He could see Wash piling ingredients onto his plate. Meanwhile, both of them could hear the occasional the muttering of obscenities from Simon’s corner as he worked like a madman to create something better...stronger...tastier than ever before!

Mal and Wash silently vowed to keep a close eye on the sharper kitchen utensils...you never knew when the good doctor would finally break and get them.

Eventually, after an hour passed in silence, (it felt like an eternity) and quite a few concoctions were deemed to be useless, the three men finally decided on the simplest of possibilities.

Incredibly, it was Mal who offered the olive branch. “Simon? Sorry about the food...ya okay over there, Doc?”

After a look of disbelief was thrown Mal’s way, Simon finally responded to the apology. “It’s fine. I made something more to Kaylee’s likes, thanks to you.” Nodding in Wash’s direction, Simon continued, “You’re forgiven, too—just don’t ever do that again, got it?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve got it. Never mess with the doctor. So...what did everyone make? Simon, you want to go first?”

Feels like we’re in a cooking school. Displaying his meal, Simon calmly said, “It’s pancakes, with strawberries and cream. Mal?”

“Ice cream. Saves the rest of my body hair from another scorching." Looking around, Mal quickly swiped a can of whipped cream and chocolate sauce. “Wash?”

“Soup didn’t turn out right in this kitchen, so I tried to make a blueberry pie. Oh, and something that resembles clam chowder, from that recipe we picked up at some Alliance planet. It...looks pretty good, at very least. No idea how it tastes, so I’d best add a bit of whipped cream to the pie. Apple pie would make her kick me out all over again...”

A very confused Simon couldn’t resist asking for his reasons. “What’s wrong with apple pie?”

As Mal appeared to be ignoring the question, Wash whispered to Simon, “Grenades in apples lead to very, very bad memories for everyone. Bad subject...touchy subject. Leads to the Captain or Zoe wiping the floor with a body, so it might be best to drop it. Trust me on this.”

Following this, it was unanimously decided that it would be best if they all showered before they showed the ladies what had been prepared. They probably wouldn’t find a man covered in flour, scorch marks, or eggs very pleasing to the eyes, or seductive in any way, shape or form.

After this was done, they took their offerings of food, mentally prepared themselves for the possible fights, and left for their respective girlfriends.

What they didn’t prepare for was running into Jayne. Before anyone could threaten the man with death if he said anything out of line, he stared at Mal (who still had a tiny smudge of flour on his nose, from venturing back into the kitchen), looked at the food each of them carried, and upon seeing the fake flower on a tray, he began to laugh. “So...you’re gonna be waiters! The great Malcolm Reynolds cooks for the women!”

Mal shook his head, sighed, and carefully placed the food he had made quite a few feet away. Then, he walked back, and tapped Jayne on the shoulder from where he was currently doubled over from laughter. The man glanced up just in time to receive a punch to the nose that spun him around, and caused him to hit the ground.

A punch like that would have knocked most men unconscious--which was why it was a shock to all when Jayne mumbled “Sacré bleu!” The surprise now wasn’t that he was awake, but that he had spoken an old language that almost nobody knew.

Groggily, Jayne noticed the staring and mumbled, “What? I’m tryin’ ta learn a new language...saw an old learnin’ thing about Earth That Was on The Cortex...”

Simon, still surprised that Jayne would try to learn anything, responded with “Go to the infirmary, Jayne. I think that when Mal hit you, he jarred something...which you shouldn't have...” Shaking his head, Simon merely decided that Jayne could make it on his own--if not, Book or River might run across him and drag him to the infirmary. Well...River would probably try to braid his hair first, but he would eventually get help.

With that disturbing thought in Simon’s mind, and the strangeness of Jayne behind them, the three men continued on to the cabins of each woman. Where they would either be greeted with a slap to the face, a flying object to the head, or open arms. Nobody could say which it would be for certain.

Simon was the first to go. The others waited off to the side, just in case something was thrown--something that missed him. He knocked, and when the door was open, placed his foot in the doorway. Simon ignored the pain as the door was slammed on it, and urged, “Please, Kaylee! I’m sorry. Let me in, and I’ll show you how sorry.”

Kaylee’s reply was extremely crude, and the men cringed. Never let it be said that Kaylee can’t run down people with the best of them, if you actually make her angry. While the offer of pancakes wasn’t good enough, it was the next bit of information that would turn the tide in his favor.

“Kaylee...I made you pancakes…with a side of strawberries, cream, and a bit of chocolate syr--OOP!”

Before Simon was finished listing the last bit, the door had swung open, Simon’s shirt had been tightly grasped, and he was dragged into Kaylee’s quarters.

Mal and Wash glanced at each other, and then Mal quickly hurried to Inara’s door. Mal silently hoped the results would be similar, but with Inara you could never really tell. At least, in Mal’s case--the rest of the ship probably (and did!) know exactly how much he had royally messed up.

Mal reached up to knock, but before he could do anything the door opened. Inara was standing there, and if one were to look over her shoulder, one would see dozens of candles, and the lights turned low. They had each had the same idea. “Uh huh...well, I brought some ice cream and...”

Before Mal could finish that thought, Inara kissed him, grasped his shirt in one hand, and gestured for him to enter. The last thing that was heard from them as the door closed was Mal saying in wonder, “I take it I’m forgiven then!”

And then, there was only Wash. And the extra bottle of whipped cream that had fallen to the ground as Mal was pulled in. After a brief moment that, too, was gone, as a quick hand reached out from a vent in the floor, and pulled it in as it rolled by.

Wash shook his head in amazement at what had just occurred. River. Unless we have really big and sneaky rats hidin’ around here. Mutated rats. Guess I’m next, then. Here goes nothin’. You can do it, Wash. Just raise that hand and knock. Oh, please don’t kill me, warrior woman of my dreams!

Then, he ran to the kitchen, grabbed a cart to make it a nicer attempt at being sweet, and hurried back.

With the thought of a possible death at the hands of his wife in his mind, and his reflexes at the ready just in case he was to be physically harmed, Wash carefully knocked on the door. When it opened and Zoe stared at him, he was unable to determine whether or not he should duck. Instead, he decided to simply go for it.

“Zoe...sorry about the comment about the dress, and...well, let’s just forget all about that. I was stupid. I come bearing a peace offering!”

Zoe, looking a combination of amused and stoic, asked “Well? I don’t see anything.”

“Here!” And with that, he wheeled the cart over, secretly wishing that he could have borrowed some candles from Inara. It would have made it even more special in his eyes.

With a small smile, he lifted the lid and proclaimed, “Your favorite, m’dear.”

Seeing all the trouble he went to, Zoe smiled and opened the door. “Come in, Husband.”

With an ecstatic grin, Wash quickly wheeled the meal into the room before she could change her mind. As he entered their quarters, he saw that shouldn’t have been as worried as he was--because Zoe was dressed in a simple nightgown, and one small candle burned nearby. Zoe’s idea of allowing Wash to make it up to her suited him just fine.

As long as I don’t saying anything stupid after this, it should be good. Did the ladies know what we were doing?!

With the closing of the last door, that final thought, settled the last of the troubles for the men of Serenity.

Well...except for Jayne. After a few hours he was eventually lucid enough to make it to the infirmary all on his own.

He could never explain how his hair became braided, or why his body hair was shaved off, though. All Jayne could remember hearing was a strange snickering coming from the air vents...


Chinese Translations:
Dong ma = Understand
Kuong-juh duh! = Nuts!

French Translation:
Sacré bleu! = Holy Cow!