A/N: My first Farscape fic! Inspired by a contest on another site. We had to incorporate certain words into the story. This takes place early first season (which is all I've seen so far, actually...), enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Farscape.

I Think You'll Last

"Haven't you folks ever heard of spaghetti?" John Crichton asked, staring down at the food cubes on the table before him.

"What?" D'Argo asked in his gruff voice. Crichton glanced up at him and shook his head.

"Spaghetti," he repeated. "It's a type of food. A kind of pasta."

"Pasta?" Rygel piped up. "Sounds elitist."

"Look who's talking," Aeryn shot back, barely looking up from her food.

"Must all our meals erupt into these chaotic arguments?" Zhaan asked, holding up her hands and looking from person to person.

Aeryn shook her head and went back to eating, letting her black hair fall in front of her face as she violently stabbed at her food. Rygel huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, looking every bit the slighted dignitary. D'Argo shot an annoyed glance at Crichton, who had returned to his meal as though nothing had happened.

"He started it," D'Argo growled, nodding towards Crichton.

"That's right!" Rygel added. "He did! All that talk about spa…spa…pasta, it was bound to rile someone up!"

"I'm just saying we need some better provisions," Crichton defended. "A guy can only stand food cubes for so long."

"Well, you're just going to have to adapt, then, aren't you?" Aeyrn snapped, bringing all conversation to a halt. Moya's inhabitants finished their meals in relative silence, and eventually began to leave the room.

Zhaan went first, her hands folded together as she strode gracefully away. Rygel followed, maneuvering himself so he could spit at Crichton's food on the way out, though he did miss. And D'Argo left shortly thereafter, casting a final glare at Crichton before he disappeared, leaving Aeryn and Crichton alone.

"Well," Crichton said with a sigh, leaning back as he spoke. "I'm done."

"I don't know why you insist on agitating them," Aeryn said calmly as she slowly finished her own meal.

"Agitate?" Crichton queried incredulously. "I was just wondering if some variety was within the realm of possibility."

"We could try yellow," Aeryn replied, holding up her fork, a green food cube nestled on the prongs. "Or blue," she added, popping the food into her mouth and glancing at Crichton. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Joking really doesn't become you," he said, watching Aeryn as she finished eating and set her utensils aside.

"I'll try and restrain myself next time," she replied, rising and heading for the door. Crichton was out of his seat in a shot. He grabbed her arm and ducked, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the face.

"Watch it!" he said, straightening up as Aeryn turned back to face him.

"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten you humans are fragile creatures," she said.

"It ain't that I'm fragile," Crichton retorted. "I'm just not too keen on a broken nose."

"Did you want something?" Aeryn asked in a bored tone. Crichton sighed.

"Yeah, I…uh. What do you think of me?"

Aeryn stared at him for a moment, an eyebrow raised in confusion as she studied him. Finally, she shook her head and barked a harsh laugh.

"Well, you don't make me swoon, if that's what you mean," she said. Crichton shook his head.

"No, I mean, well…do you think I'll last here?"

"Last? What do you mean?"

"Well, this is your world, not mine. I'm just wondering if you think I stand a chance…if you think I can survive here."

Aeryn surveyed him for a few moments, her eyes dark as she caught his gaze, holding it. Her face was set in its perpetual scowl, and Crichton wondered if asking her now, so soon after her ostricization from the Peacekeepers, had been the best idea.

Finally, though, she gave a sharp nod, never breaking eye contact, and spoke.

"Yes, Crichton," she said. "I think you'll last."