Disclaimer: I don't own Firefly.
A/N: Set the day-cycle after "Jayne". Pre-series, at the moment.
Karla woke late the next morning. Her whole body ached much worse than it had yesterday. She made a mental note: tracer-induced internal electric shocks, plus hard labor, equal pain.
She sat up and winced as she stretched her back to its full height. There were a few satisfying cracks and Karla was up. She made an attempt to look more presentable using the sink and the mirror above it. In the end she gave up, changed her clothes and pressed the button on her console. The door hissed and opened and Karla climbed up the ladder.
Walking down the now familiar hall into the kitchen, Karla realized she had left the lights on the night before. She cursed under her breath in Chinese and listened intently to see if anyone had woken early that morning. A low humming could be heard from the kitchen and Karla cursed again. Please, don't be Mal. Please, don't be Mal!
But, as she crept gingerly into the kitchen's warm glow, Karla found that it was not Mal.
The ship's pilot, Wash, was standing next to the counter, pulling bits of protein paste out of a large bowl and shaping them into biscuits while humming a merry tune.
"'Morning." He said, looking up from his work. "Sleep well? The big lummox didn't give you too much trouble?"
Karla, groggy with sleep and pain, couldn't say much more to Wash's friendly manner than, "Whadawhodamunchins?"
He laughed and stamped another fake biscuit down onto the pan in front of him.
"Jayne. And yeah, I know you're supposed to be the new cook an' all, but what can I say? I got hungry."
Karla gave him a shocked and confused look and he laughed again.
"I invented the half asleep language. Don't ya' think I'd be fluent?"
"Ugh… My brain…." She managed, before slumping down into one of the mismatched chairs around the table.
"Lose too many brain cells when you were talking to Jayne? Happens to everyone he comes in contact with." Wash finished the biscuit molding and wipes his hands on the green coveralls he's wearing. Tossing the tray of protein into the oven, Wash plops down into a chair on the other side of the table.
"As for breakfast this morning, don't worry about it. We realize you went through a lot yesterday, so I volunteered to make breakfast this morning. Just don't tell Mal. As far as he knows, you were up at the crack of starlight making a tasty breakfast through all your pain and exhaustion." He grins cheekily at her, knowing he's done her a favor.
"Thanks," Karla starts, but is shushed by Wash.
"Don't thank me, just make sure there's something yummy waiting for us for dinner."
"What about lunch?" Karla says, though it is muffled, as her head is now face down in her folded arms.
"The crew normally finds food for themselves at lunch," Wash explains, "All you have to make is breakfast and dinner."
A timer dings somewhere in the kitchen and Mal enters the room.
"Sounds like some of breakfast is in the 'done' range." He grunts and looks between Karla and Wash through his blue eyes.
"Right! I ought t' get those." Karla hops up (immediately regretting the sudden movement) and pulls the oven door open. She thrusts open a random cabinet and breathes out happily when she realizes a serving bowl is staring back at her. Karla bends (again, too quickly) and opens the oven door, remembering at the last minute that things in the oven are usually hot and it would be wise to wrap something around her hands to protect them. She straightens up, biscuits in hand, and expertly lets them slide into the waiting serving bowl. One protein biscuit sticks to the pan, but Karla gives it a good jab and soon it's resting with its fellows in the bowl. She turns the knob on the oven to 'Off' and turns around to face a smiling Wash (who gives her a stealthy thumbs-up) and an unwillingly amused Captain Reynolds, who has an eyebrow cocked and a judgmental comment to add.
"Biscuits? That's it?" He walks over to her, and picks up one of the lumpy objects in the bowl.
"If it makes you feel any better, they were made with love."
Mal scowls at her comment.
"Kind of dense aren't they? And there aren't so many, for such a crew as mine. For your first day this is a bit…"
As Mal goes on saying all the things Karla could have done better, Wash seems to be getting redder and redder in the face.
"I think they're fine biscuits, Mal."
The Captain turns to face his pilot, who is now standing.
"Are you kiddin' me, Wash? Lookit, they're all lumpy an'—"
"Well, if you don't like the cook's cooking, than cook 'em yourself!" yelled the stocky man, wagging a biscuit in his Captain's face. Wash then turns on his heel and stalks towards the cockpit, taking a large bite out of the offending food.
Mal turns to Karla, his mouth agape and eyes wide. He looks to her, to where Wash has just disappeared, and back to her.
"What was that about?" He asks her.
Karla shrugs and puts her fist to her mouth in what Mal assumes is a thinking expression. What he doesn't know is, with all the stress and pain and added drama, that fist is the only thing keeping Karla from either going insane and laughing hysterically, or bursting out sobbing and curling up on the floor in the fetal position.