Work Text:
Meg swore, looking at the clock, “We’re running out of time.”
“Language.”
“I miss the days when I could tell you to shut up.”
“I don’t.” He stared glumly at the soup. “If we heat it up, it’ll cook faster, right?”
She frowned, “Probably?” She turned up the dial.
“What the hell,” Jo said slowly. “Have you done to my kitchen?”
Apollo wiped soup off of his face, before clearly remembering that he was a god, and snapped away the entire mess, and then snapping into existence, a very nice minestrone which definitely wasn’t from some restaurant. “Dinner is served!”