The Soup Nazi

Rating: PG

Word count: 455

Spoilers: none

Setting: my Left Behind universe, aboard Rohvu

Disclaimer: the characters and 'verse aren't mine and I promise to put them away carefully when I'm done with them. No profit being made. Please don't sue.

Author's note: this unbetaed ficlet was written for jebbypal. For her birthday fic, she requested a little John and Chiana and said it would make her even happier if it was set in the LB 'verse. Happy birthday, chica:D


"Wha… What're you doing?" Chiana cocked her head to the side and watched Crichton stir the contents of a steaming pot. He pulled the long spoon from it with a flourish and turned toward her. A droplet of some thickish brown liquid dripped to the floor with a splat. She sniffed the air and took a step closer, peered in at the bubbling concoction.

When she reached a finger toward the pot to steal a taste, Crichton batted her hand away. "Hey, now…" He frowned at her. "That's dinner."

She sniffed again. "It doesn't smell like dinner." In fact, it didn't smell like anything she'd want to put into her mouth, but could just be the odor that lingered in the galley from the foods that had spoiled during the last sleep cycle, when the refrigeration unit had died. Belima had discovered it that morning, Crichton had already made the necessary repairs, and they had only lost a small portion of their precious food.

Crichton's eyes narrowed. "I cut off all the disgusting parts." He laid the spoon on the surface beside the pot and rummaged around in one of the nearby drawers. "Just needs a little seasoning, that's all."

"Seasoning, huh? What is it, anyway?" While he was otherwise occupied, she slipped a finger into the bowl of the spoon and quickly popped it into her mouth. The taste was nowhere near as bad as the smell and Chiana decided that it was just the aftermath of the earlier malfunction.

"Bel said it smelled good."

Chiana smiled. He sounded a little defensive. "Yeah? Well, Bel has eaten some pretty… pretty disgusting things." She drew her finger from her mouth with the same flourish Crichton had used with his spoon.

"Are you calling my soup disgusting?" Crichton turned to her, hands on hips, his tone outraged.

Chiana just grinned and looked him up and down. He had filled out again in the days since Reyna and Tokar had left and looked much more like the John Crichton she was used to. She hopped up onto the table and leaned back on her arms, legs swinging. "Maybe," she smirked.

"Ha! No soup for you!" His words had an odd trill to them and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He turned and stirred the contents of a small jar into the pot. "Seriously, Pip, taste this and tell me what you think."

She slid from the table and draped her wrists over his left shoulder, leaned into him to accept the smaller spoon he offered. He smelled like spices and leather and John Crichton and she filled her lungs with the scent as she tasted his zoop, then nipped at his ear. "Mmm… Delicious."