Note: I know, I know, I said the previous tangent was probably going to be the last one I did for a while (operating word here being 'probably') but the idea for this popped into my head the other day and refused to go away until I wrote it.

Chapter summary: One of the many foundations of true love is self-sacrifice...but there are some lines that just shouldn't be crossed. Takes place a few months after FMBH. Rated G.

A Clash Of Tastes

Life was great. Everyone was happy and settled comfortably on Mars, and the last few months had been nothing but fun. So it took Throttle completely by surprise when he went home one afternoon and found his sensitive nostrils being assaulted by one of the foulest odors ever invented the second he stepped through the door.

Grimacing, he pressed a hand over his nose and quickly tracked the smell to the kitchen. Not that he wanted to go any closer to the smell, but he had to in order to get rid of it. "What in the name of all that's good and holy is going on around here?"

Tamerin was at the kitchen table, placidly slicing a pile of vegetables with a long knife. She looked up from her work and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Making pizzas. Are you okay? You look like you're going to be sick."

Well, that explained it. With a groan, Throttle slumped against the counter. "Dare I even ask what put this insane idea in your head?" he asked wearily.

His mate frowned at him, clearly perplexed by his reaction. "If you must know, I went with Charley on a trip to Earth a few days ago, and she treated me to dinner at a pizza parlor before we teleported back. I'd actually never had pizza before," she went on, as she lifted the fresh tomato she was slicing and sniffed it. "I thought it was really good, but this elderly Chicagoan I spoke to while we were there told me that no parlor today serves pizza as good as the kind he had as a kid."

She set the tomato down and slid a pile of neatly chopped onions into her hand with the side of the knife and dumped them into a nearby bowl. "It's apparently all in the freshness," she went on, as she set the knife aside and moved over to the counter, where rows of bowls already loaded with ingredients were laid out. "Even places that bake them fresh still only use pre-packaged ingredients, like canned tomato paste, frozen dough, pre-sliced cheese..."

Tamerin was busy looking over the bowls and didn't catch the way Throttle cringed at the word 'cheese.'

"So, I thought I'd give the old fashioned method a try and only use deli-fresh ingredients. Whole tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, peppers, I sliced the pepperoni myself, and-"

"Grated the mozzarella cheese," Throttle finished, cringing again.

"Of course. You can't make pizza without mozzarella."

"Well, you're going to have to learn how, because if there's one rule here on Mars, it's that you never bring cheese anywhere near a mouse."

His mate finally turned away from her prep-work and gave him a funny look. "Why's that?"

"Why?" Throttle echoed dryly. "Because it stinks. Your nose is almost as good as mine - doesn't the smell bother you?"

Tamerin frowned, looking puzzled, and turned back to the counter. Throttle took a step back and covered his nose again with a grimace as she picked up a partially grated block of mozzarella and sniffed it. "I always thought mozzarella had a nice, mild smell," she commented.

"Not to me it doesn't," Throttle grumbled, voice muffled.

She set the offensive food item down again and studied him for a moment. "I suppose I could use a substitute," she said thoughtfully...though he was pretty sure there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Maybe colby-jack. The texture is similar to mozzarella, so it should melt about the same way. It would probably have a unique flavor, too - very rich and exotic."

Throttle made a sputtering sound. "What are you, a connoisseur of cheese all of a sudden?"

Tamerin let out a giggle - a suspiciously playful one. "No, I just love cheese."

Groaning and slapping a hand over his heart like he'd just been stabbed, Throttle wobbled and leaned a hand on the counter for support. "You...love...cheese?" he said weakly. "I thought your favorite food was noodles."

Tamerin giggled again. "I love all kinds of food. And all kinds of cheese. Swiss, provolone, muenster..."

Throttle groaned again and lowered his head to the counter top with a whimper. "Please stop," he begged.

"And I adore the taste and smell of cheddar," she finished. He couldn't see her, what with his face pressed to the counter, but he could distinctly feel a trickle of amusement through their bond. She found his aversion to cheese amusing? That was definitely an open invitation for a good spanking.

"Cheddar looks like earwax," he said flatly.

With a sigh, Tamerin stepped closer to him and ran a soothing hand over his back. "Am I grossing my poor baby out?" she cooed.

Throttle wrinkled his nose and shied away. "Don't touch me," he warned, as he straightened up again.

Tamerin blinked innocently. "Why not?"

"Because your hands stink like cheese, that's why not."

Her expression still innocent, she looked down at her own palms for a moment - and then she brightened, like she had just thought of something. "I just realized, I haven't properly welcomed you home yet."

Throttle eyed her warily, wondering what she was up to now...but then it hit him. Even when he was gone for only a short time, she almost always gave him a hug when he got back.

"Uh, I don't think so," he said, as he hastily backed out of the kitchen.

With another playful giggle, Tamerin darted after him, and Throttle practically had to run to keep out of reach of her outstretched fingers. "Keep those cheese-tainted digits away from me," he ordered, as he retreated into the living room.

"Awww, but I wuvs you so much. You don't want to hurt my feelings with this rejection, do you?"

Throttle's eyes darted around for a moment before he vaulted to the safety of the opposite side of the couch. "You don't want me to pass out from disgust, do you?" he countered.

Tamerin appeared to think this over for a minute - and then she gave a hop, propelling herself up onto the couch cushions, where she bounced again and launched herself clear over the back of the couch. She reached out and wrapped both arms around his neck as she came back down, making Throttle lose his balance and fall backwards as her weight hit him. A moment later he found himself lying on his back on the rug, with his grinning mate curled up comfortably on his chest. "I think I ought to be punished," she noted, as she cuddled her head under his chin.

Throttle's nose twitched. "Or maybe you should just take a shower," he suggested dryly.

Not only did her hands smell like cheese, her hair kind of smelled like mushrooms. Curdled milk with a dash of fungus. Sexy.

The playful twinkle returning to her eyes, Tamerin lifted her head and smirked. "My sense of smell isn't as sharp as yours, so...you should probably come help scrub me up, in case I miss something."

"Mmm...tempting."

Very tempting, in fact. At least until a second later, when a small off-white figure suddenly came bursting through the front door and scampered through the room. With little Ako cradled in his arms, Michio came to a stop and stared blankly down at the two of them. Scrunching up his face, he hastily covered Ako's eyes. "Don't look," he warned, "they're being weird again."

He fled to his room, and Throttle sat up, carefully keeping his hands away from Tamerin's as he nudged her away with a disappointed sigh. Her expression finally turning serious, she smiled at him. "I'll go get rid of the, uh, offending object," she promised.

"Good. Then we can work on real dinner together. Compared to cheese, even more noodles sound good."

Tamerin looked thoughtful. "You know, I've always been a fan of elbow macaroni smothered in melted cheddar..."

Groaning, Throttle pushed his specs up and rubbed his eyes. "I mean it, now - no mac-and-cheese. Ever."

Tamerin smiled again as she got up. "Okay, hot shot, more hot dogs it is."

"If this is leading up to a crack about cheese dogs, I'm throwing you over my knee."

Laughing, she headed back to the kitchen. "Not in front of the kids. And I was going to suggest chili dogs."

"That's more like it."

Note: Inspiration for this silly thing came from a similar conversation I had with a native Chicagoan about today's pizza parlors. Think I'm going to have to give the uber-fresh method a try someday...

PS: This is the final tangent in the FMBH set, but another set will be coming soon that takes place post Together On Mars called, naturally, the TOM Tangents.