The next morning, as Zoë strode up the ramp into the cargo bay, returning from her trip to town with the Captain; her nose was met with a most delicious smell. She turned her head up toward the galley and frowned slightly in thought. Who was cooking?

“Hello, I do smell food?” Mal said behind her. “And it ain’t burnin’.”

“It would seem so, Sir,” Zoë replied as she repositioned the sack she was carrying on her shoulder.

“That’s right mysterious.”

“Yes it is.”

“Shall we investigate?”

“Seems wrong not to, Sir,” she answered with a smile, and she received one in return.

They entered the galley to find Wash, of all people, behind the counter bustling about it in one of his loud shirts, russet jumpsuit tied around his waist. She saw Mal’s eyes widen, and moved to sit as he plopped into a chair at the end of the table.

“Well, isn’t this down right domesticated of you, Wash, and here I thought I’d just hired a hell of a pilot. Didn’t realize I’d gotten myself a cook in the process.”

Wash laughed, and Zoë chastised herself for enjoying the sound. “Well, you would be disappointed if you started getting used to the idea. This here’s about the only thing I can make worth eatin’, and I’m sure you’d tire of pancakes real quick like.”

“Don’t smell like pancakes,” Zoë said watching him flip one over deftly.

“Ain’t your average fair. These here are my gran’s speciality. Banana pancakes,” he said with a smirk. “Only got them on real serious occasions, on account of bananas and such being at a premium. After yesterday, I was feeling in need of some comfort food.” Zoë thought he’d glanced at her briefly as he’d said the last part, and she wondered which part of yesterday he was referring to exactly.

“Well, it’s right nice of you to share, Wash,” Mal said standing again, his voice sincere.

“Mff mm nzz,” Bester mumbled through a full mouth. He was obviously helping himself to Wash’s generosity. The thought irritated Zoë immensely.

“By the way, how’d it go in town, Captain? Did you sort out