Title: Spaghetti
Authors: Sita/T'eyla
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor/Silliness
Disclaimer: Not ours. Except for the sandwich. That's ours.
Warnings: Silliness, Slash (Tucker/Reed), Futurefic
AN: Another chatfic. A very crazy one. Enjoy. And please don't throw rotten vegetables. Throw some reviews, instead. Please?
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Okay, the foundations are laid… grilled bacon on mustardy wonderbread, covered with a fine layer of cheddar cheese – no, wait, the lettuce first. Right. Now the cheese, the tomatoes and the pickles... and didn't I have some roasted onions left somewhere in there... ah, there they are.
Something's missin'. Something's missin'. Somethin'... yellow. Always gotta have enough yellow in your sandwich. What's this now – hey! Sandwich Hawaii! Way cool. Okay, now the final touch... oops, that was a little too much. Those damn ketchup bottles will always do that to you.
"Trip!"
Damn, does he always hafta do that? "What?"
"You're dripping ketchup all over the place!"
"Sorry Mal." Happens when you pick up a sandwich like that. Jus' look at him, here he goes again, "Trip, sandwiches are supposed to go in your mouth, and they're not going to if they're bigger than your head, and-"
"TRIP, WATCH IT!"
"Ugh." Damn.
"Oh, just marvellous! Well, done, Mr. Tucker. The whole bloody mess on the floor. You know, I find it disturbing that you would eat something that looks like an overrun skunk when it's spread over a square meter of kitchen tiles. Wait, what are you doing?"
Tryin' to rescue my dinner, what does it look like to you?
"Trip, you are not going to still eat that, are you?"
Um... "No, of course not, Mal. I'm just cleanin' it up."
"Well, and a good thing it is that you are, because I'm not going to clean up after you again. Oh my God, you put ketchup on pineapple! Is nothing sacred?"
"An' you put mayonnaise on French fries, which is jus' as bad if not worse."
"Whatever. Anyway, do you have to leave a trail of barbecue sauce and ketchup after you every time you eat a sandwich? If one can call these accumulations of left-overs a sandwich at all."
"A trail? It's jus' the kitchen floor, and I'm cleanin' ip up right now."
"It's not just the kitchen floor, just the other day I found a huge smear of marshmellow spread on the sofa."
"That wasn't marshmellow spread, it was just a piece of fuzz from your fleece sweater."
"Indeed not, I do not have sweaters that shed large, creamy blobs of marshmellow goo."
"It wasn't marshmellow! You made one hell of a fuss 'bout it till you tried to get it off, and then you realized it was fleece!"
"That is simply not true, and I saw you walk in there with a marshmellow sandwich, and I told you not to get it on the good sofa, but of course the esteemed Mr. Tucker has to have his dose of sugar while watching baseball, right?"
"Nothin' wrong with a treat now and then, and I offered to make you one too."
"You know perfectly well that I hate that sticky glob, and how did you manage to get it on your trousers and the sofa anyway??"
"Well, I kinda dropped it half on myself and half on the sofa, but you were in the bathroom and I thought I'd gotten it off."
"How can one drop a sandwich when one has been told by a more careful person not to get it on the good sofa?"
"It slipped from my fingers. Things like that happen, you know."
"They don't happen to me, and it was me who had to scrub for half an hour until the stain came out!"
"Mal, you could've just left it. It was barely visible, and it was almost the same shade as the patterns on the sofa."
"Are you really suggesting that I keep a sofa in my living room that has a spot the size of a cowpat??"
"Huh? It was barely the size of a quarter. Anyways, if I'd known it would upset you like that, I would've scrubbed it myself, but you wouldn't let me! Everytime I came near you, you went into hysterics that I was not to come too close to the sofa!"
"Well, with good reason too! I should simply throw a heap of straw onto the floor, where you could lounge about and eat your messy sandwiches while watching ridiculous games on the vid!"
"Nah, don't do that, or I'd have to listen to you moan about the straw in the carpet."
"I would remove the carpet first, of course, it needs to be cleaned anyway after you and the captain spilled your beers... yes, I noticed, even though you put the table on top of the spot so I wouldn't see it!"
Way to go, Jon. Told you it wouldn't work. "You know what, Mal, I really don't think redecoratin' the livin' room was such a good idea - I mean, the carpet and the sofa and the expensive curtains are pretty and everything, but if I can't live in my livin' room, what use is it?"
"Well, "living" doesn't necessarily mean destroying your surroundings, and after you had got your way with our bedroom, we agreed that I could decide how to redesign the living room!"
"Yeah sure, I know... but I told you that I wanted a sofa that I could use as a sofa and not somethin' that makes you feel like a piece of museum's decoration when you're sittin' on it. Besides, you told me you wanted a bed that you could sleep in without drownin' in the mattress, and we got that rock-hard board of a mattress only for you."
"You wanted a sofa that had orange spots and blue squares on it!"
"Well, at least it woulda looked friendly. Friendlier than that coffin imitation you bought there, anyway."
"You have a mattress where you can drown all you please, it's only my side of the bed that is fairly normal in its consistency, and something out of a drug abuser's nightmare I would not exactly call friendly."
"I'm not a drug abuser, and I didn't see it in my nightmares, but I guess if I slept on a nail board like you every night, I would buy a coffin too, it's just more comfortable."
"Trip, you are making absolutely no sense, and there is still the fact that you left a marshmellow spot on the sofa!"
"Well, you cleaned it up, so what's the fuss?" Oops, now that didn't sound right. "As I said, I would've cleaned it up, but you wouldn't let me."
"I cleaned it up while you made the mess. Don't you think I'm entitled to a little fuss after that?"
"A little? Youre makin' it sound as if I'd killed your grandmother!"
"No, I would congratulate you and cook your favorite dinner if you had turned your homicidal urges against my family... speaking of dinner, did you remember to drop by the store and buy spaghetti like I told you to?"
"Uh... not exactly."
"What??"
"I did get somethin' from the store... not spaghetti, though."
"Trip, I told you explicitly that I had bought two cans of spaghetti sauce since it's my turn to cook dinner tonight, and I wrote it on a paper I put in your pocket myself... do I have to nail it to your forehead next time??"
"Hey, slow down, no one's gonna have to cook dinner tonight - you know, I was standin' in front of the shelf with the spaghetti, and all of a sudden I had to think of that girl in my Biology class that brought spoiled spaghetti so we could look at the mould, and that was really gross, I couldn't eat spaghetti for a whole year, well, and then I saw that they have this new ready-in-five-minutes dish with tortellini, so I bought that."
"Trip, when I'm planning dinner I can't take any random childhood memories of yours into account, and I told you before that when I say I'm going to make spaghetti, then I do mean that I actually intend to make spaghetti and not any other kind of pasta!"
"But you would've made just as much of a fuss if I hadn't eaten any spaghetti and a sandwich later on instead, so I figured I'd go with the tortellini."
"You would have eaten the spaghetti, Trip, I know you and you would have forgot about the incident in your Biology class five seconds after you had walked by the shelf with the pasta!"
"You didn't see those spaghetti, Mal. They were squirmin'."
"I'm not sure I want to hear this, and when I cook spaghetti for dinner, then we both eat spaghetti, and not tortellini, and certainly not messy sandwiches that leave trails of barbecue sauces throughout the house!"
"Well, maybe I should make dinner this week, and you can make dinner next week." When I'm away on that Engineering seminar.
"Are you saying that you don't like my cooking??"
I wouldn't dare. "No, I'm sayin' that I don't like the fuss you make about it every time."
"I'm not making any fuss, but when I tell you to buy spaghetti and you buy tortellini you shouldn't be surprised when I'm not happy about it!"
"I told you why I couldn't have spaghetti tonight. Only thinkin' of spaghetti makes me feel like throwin' up."
"Well, and what if I feel that tortellini look like the large boogers one of my classmates used to pick out of his nose and save in his lunchbox?"
"Well, then we're gonna have to have sandwiches after all."
"But I don't want any more spots on the sofa!"
"Hey, how about we eat out, Mal. No food will even come near the precious sofa."
"There is no reason to be sarcastic, Mr. Tucker, and quite frankly, I see no point in discussing this any further."
Oh great. Off he goes. Not again.
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He just always has to do that.
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I should probably go after him.
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"Mal? Are you in there?" Sure you are. Where else would you be, sulkin' in the bedroom as always. "Mal?"
"Don't you dare come in here, Mr. Tucker!"
Translation: you'll have to grovel some more before I allow you back into my good graces. "Where am I gonna sleep tonight? That sofa of yours is no good to sleep on."
"You're worried about where you're going to sleep? You hurt my feelings, you idiot!"
"Well, I figured that right now any apologies would be wasted and that I should try later. In the meantime, I will go and make myself a couple of sticky sandwiches and eat them in the livin' room. D'you want one too?"
"Stay away from the fridge! You're not even going near the ketchup bottle!"
"Whoa, Mal, careful with that door! I was jokin', jus' wanted you to come out of the bedroom."
"Do you really think this is an appropriate time for jokes?"
"As appropriate as any - so, seriously, I don't wanna eat tortellini tonight either, last time I had them I got sick afterwards. So what do you think of eatin' out?"
"Where do you want to go?"
"You pick the place, after all it would've been your turn to pick what we have for dinner."
"I picked home-made spaghetti, and I still don't think the spaghetti sauce should go to waste... but I will make allowances this once. How about I make spaghetti for myself and pizza for you?"
"We don't have any spaghetti, Mal."
"Aargh. Well, you should have bought them anyway, even if you didn't feel like eating them. An officer never questions his orders."
"I still outrank you, so it's me who gives the orders. We're gonna have sticky sandwiches first and ice cream afterwards, and eat them on the sofa in the livin' room while watchin' the wrestling match Billy Brutal versus Michael the Maniac."
"Sir, I shall now inform you that I will disobey your orders on grounds of inappropriateness, and that I will accept any reprimand you see fit."
"Hehe, can I lock you up in the brig?"
"Whatever measures you choose I shall accept sir."
"Really?"
"And I shall also be sulking in icy silence for at least ten days if you pursue this line of discussion, sir."
"What if I order you to spill the marshmellow spread on the sofa?"
"Twenty days."
"Oh, no fun. Okay, so I'm still starvin'. What options do we have, you said somethin' about pizza?"
"Indeed... I could make pizza dough, and we could watch a movie while it rises."
"And then? We'll have risin' pizza dough, and I will have to have that sandwich after all so I don't die from starvation."
"After the dough has risen, we can make pizza out of it... in case you hadn't noticed, there's no such thing as a pizza tree."
"Well, there is such a thing as frozen pizza..."
"Certainly not!"
"Sure, you even liked the one I had last night, you ate half of it during "The Evil Dead"."
"I had to distract myself in some way... in any case, when I am responsible for our dinner we are not having fast food!"
"It ain't fast food, it's pizza!"
"It's fast food pizza."
"We could order pizza, or Chinese food, if you like."
"I'm getting the distinct impression that you're desperately trying to avoid eating my home-made dinner, Mr. Tucker!"
"What are you going to make? There's no spaghetti, and the pizza dough-rise-make-bake procedure will have me dyin' either from starvation, or from bein' stabbed by my husband because I had a sandwich on the sofa!"
"I could make fish and chips."
"How long will that take?"
"Of course I will have to go to the store and buy the ingredients since you forgot to do the shopping today..."
"Sandwiches, Mal? You could make them... I'd tell you how to."
"Sandwiches is not a proper dinner... sloppy people may have a sandwich dinner on the sofa; we will not."
"I'm sloppy, you say so all the time."
"Yes you are."
"So, I can have sandwiches on the sofa."
"No, it is my duty to re-educate you."
"Waste of time, Mal, ask mah mom."
"I shall pick up where she gave up, and I'm very determined... we will start by going to the kitchen and re-organising the fridge, writing down what things we need, and going to the store... then I will cook dinner, and you will pass the time by taking care of the beer spots on the carpet."
"Nooo..."
"Yes, indeed."
Okay, time to get out the big guns, Mal. I know you're a sucker for the puppy dog look... You're doomed. "Mal, please don't do this, I had a very long day as it is."
"Yes, it is exactly... exactly what..."
"Please, Mal, can't we do this some other time? And have sandwiches? Just for now?"
"Well... if you put it that way... why don't you sit down on the couch, love, and relax a little... I'll see what I can find in the fridge to make you a big juicy sandwich..."
"Yeah, that's my Mally."
"Anything else you want, Trip? A cold beer? A pillow for your feet?"
"Nah I'm good, and don't forget to get somethin' for yourself as well, okay?"
"Oh, I won't need anything... I wouldn't want you to have to wait for your dinner, love."
He really is a sucker for the puppy eyes. "C'mon, I'll come with you, you make my dinner and I'll make yours."
"No no, Trip, you stay right here... you had a very long day, and it was terribly thoughtless of me to tire you out with my whining and complaining... I'll rush off to the kitchen, and you just relax, all right?"
"Uh..." Off he goes to the kitchen... what the hell is he up to now?
"AHHHH!"
"What? Did you hurt yourself, Mal?"
"Trip... oh my God... no..."
"What is it?" What's he starin' at in the fridge like that?
"Trip... I can't believe it... I'm so sorry... we don't have any of your favorite spiced ketchup left!"
"... that's okay, Mal."
"No, no it's not!"
"Yes it is, Mal, please, never mind."
"Yes, of course I mind, how terribly rude and thoughtless of me, to deprive you of that one little pleasure after you have worked so hard all day! I'll run down to the store and get it... just a second, Trip..."
"Malcolm! Stop it. I'll go to the store, and I will get spaghetti, and we will have spaghetti as you had planned it, and then we'll watch a movie and go to bed, okay?"
"Very much so, love."
"I hate you."
"I love you too, Trip."
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The End
Trip enjoys his sandwiches. We enjoy reviews. Please?