Author's Notes: Title is a reference to the phrase, "Some women are apples, some women are pears, but they all taste sweet."

Which is actually super weird when you stop to think about it, but, whatever.

Title: Some Women Are Apples

Author: ohladybegood

Rating: G

Summary: Tamina hates pears.

Dastan wakes to the sound of his saddlebag rustling. His hand curls automatically on his sword as he runs through an inventory of everything he has there: an extra blanket, an empty canteen, some fruit, and a scarf. Some of Garsiv's armor is in there as well, since it was his saddlebag that he stole.

He sits up. "If you're trying to kill me again, I swear to God I am going to knock you out and tie you to the horse," he warns Tamina tiredly, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm also not above selling you into slavery or keeping your hands tied."

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she orders scornfully. "I'm not trying to kill you. I'm hungry. I feel faint. I need sustenance."

Dastan yawns and leans back on his mat. "There's some fruit in the bag," he tells her and settles back.

"No there isn't," she whines.

"Yes there is. Look in the left side. There's a couple pears. Next to Garsiv's spare chain, maybe?"

She huffs, sitting back on her ankles. "Pears are not fruit," she hisses, crawling back to her mat. She sounds like she might cry, and it's so startling that he peels an eye open. "Pears can't even be considered food by human standards. They're hardly edible."

"Uh," he says.

Tamina curls up on her side. She doesn't seem to be aware that she's speaking out loud. "Pears aren't even fit for dogs. I wouldn't feed my worst enemy pears. I wouldn't feed you pears."

"Touching. Avoid hourglass-shaped fruits, got it."

He can see her roll her eyes in the dark. "It's not the shape, Dastan. It's . . . it's everything. It's the texture. And the taste. And the smell. Pears are vile. I would rather starve than eat a pear."

"That's good," he says dryly, "because at this rate, you might."

"You don't understand," she sighs, curling into a tight ball. Her voice is suddenly very small, a fall cry from her usual overpowering volume. "You probably love and and all food, don't you? You probably would be as happy eating a pear as a full-table buffet."

She's not far off; it's a soldier's habit to eat whatever he can whenever he can. But he can't stand the hitch in her voice, so he rolls onto his side to face her and shrugs. "I can't stand goat meat," he murmurs into the dark. "When I was a boy, before my parents died, we had a pet goat. Every time I eat one I can see its face staring at me."

Tamina doesn't answer, but he hears her shift closer to him in the dark.