Last week's b7friday topic was domestic matters. Set just after 'Pressure Point', 330 words, and a large spoiler for season 2.
"A coffee would be good," Avon said, once they were well clear of the solar system.
"Yeah." Vila spoke for the first time since asking where Gan was. "Well, you'll have to get your own, now."
"Oh? While we have a member of the Delta service grades on board?"
"Listen, you bas--"
"Leave him alone, Avon," Blake said dully. He rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering when he'd stop seeing Gan's dying face.
"Someone will have to do it. It's hardly demanding," Avon sorted through his tools, "and I haven't the time to waste."
"Implying that we have?" Jenna folded her arms. "I spend a lot more time piloting than you do fiddling with your latest toy. Back home, we call that a hobby."
Avon gave her a cold look, then, when it didn't work, directed it to Cally. "Perhaps--"
"No. Your race has a disturbing history of subjugation based entirely on gender. If you think that my ability to bear a child is in any way connected with making you drinks, then you are not as clever as you thought."
"Oh, stuff the lot of you." Vila stood up. "I'll do it."
"Thank you, Vila," Blake said quietly.
Vila ignored him. "And you know why Gan did? Because he liked you, all of you. So," he looked at Avon, "I'm not serving you lot. I'm getting a round in for friends, if you can grasp the difference."
"Vila--" Cally said.
"And don't worry, I won't raid your medical supplies." But he wouldn't promise not to spit in Avon's mug.
In the galley, Vila changed his mind about adding an extra dollop to the foamed milk on Avon's cappuccino. Even though he'd suggested it to Gan--and worse on occasion--Gan never had, despite Avon's insults.
Vila picked up the loaded tray and smiled faintly. He really didn't mind. Every time he did it, it would remind him of Gan.