|
|
!Joe Flanigan (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} dr_dolittle) wrote,@ 2009-04-14 19:25:00 |
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
Joe Flanigan, with Justin Long (NPC), David Hewlett, and especially Max. No Martha Stewart...
Strider has taken Mars's rope bone. Again. So Pixel jumps down off the mantel, swipes Strider across the nose, and takes the toy back to drag it across the floor to Mars.
If Joe or David were home, Max knew they'd tell Strider he was being bad.
Which is right on cue for the key to sound in the lock, and Joe to walk in the door. "I'm home, guys," he calls out, setting a bag down on the floor, then kicking off his shoes.
Joe! Max goes out to the front hallway. Joe, you're home.
"Hey there, Max," Joe smiles, reaching down and scritching him behind the ears. "How was your day? The squirrels in the yard again?"
Lotsa squirrels. And Strider's teasing Mars a lot.
"Oh, Strider," Joe sighs. "Pixel kick his ass?" he asks, heading for the door to the yard so he can let everyone out.
Quite a lot. Max heads outside with the other dogs. And then the phone rings.
"I'll feed you when you're done," Joe calls, picking up the phone. "Hello?"
"Hey, honey, it's me," David responds. "I've got some bad news."
"What level of bad news are we talking about here? Family bad news, or drivehard bad news?"
"Lee's got food poisoning. I'm going to have to close the next few nights. He's going to be okay, but he's going to be down a while."
Okay, that falls somewhere in between the two. "Oh, I'm sorry... mostly sorry for him, but for you too. You hate closing," Joe says. "I hate you closing."
"I know. And he's really not okay. Karl had to carry him outside to get him to the hospital, poor guy."
"He's in the hospital? Okay, you did not say hospital, and now I'm going to hell for complaining even a little bit, David."
"Yeah. I mean, it's food poisoning. He'll get over it. But he needs medical care. And I need to close up the store. I'm not going to ask the other guys to do it. Will you be okay tonight? I'll be able to make tomorrow's dinner for you before I go in to work."
"I'll be okay," Joe assures him. "Remember? I survived to the age you met me at, after all. And you used to close a lot more often before Justin's tantrum a few years ago."
"It wasn't a tantrum," David says. "Just a ... a ..."
"He stomped. His foot."
"Well, all right, yes, he did pitch a bit of a tantrum about me closing all the time and apparently not trusting him to do it right and... whatever else it was he was upset about."
"The delay on the latest... something. Game or software or... I don't know. I think it was just included in the discussion so that he'd have a list of three things," Joe says.
David chuckles. "Yeah. Listen, honey, phone's ringing so I've got to get that. I'll see you at eight-thirty."
"Go--we'll be fine. I'll see you in a few hours. Call if you need anything."
"Love you."
"Love you too." Joe manages not to sigh until he hangs up the phone, then starts on his route to go around and feed the animals. Then first, then his turn. He can call for pizza. Or... or maybe...
Interesting. Thought number two wins. Joe retires to the kitchen to check the fridge.
Where's David? He should be home. Max joins Joe in the kitchen once he's done eating his own dinner.
"David's gonna be late, buddy. Lee got sick, and David's got to close the store," Joe explains, digging around in the freezer.
What are you doing, Joe? Did David leave you some food?
"No, he didn't, but that's okay. I'm gonna make dinner."
Is that a good idea, Joe?
"Why would it not be a good idea, oh doubting Max?"
David always cooks. He says it's better that way.
"Well, David's not here right now, and he's going to be very tired when he gets home, so I think it's my turn to make him something," Joe says, finally finding what he's looking for, a THUNK resounding in the kitchen as he drops a solidly frozen roast beef onto the counter.
I'm really not sure about this, Joe. Max lies down on the floor, his nose on his paws. Pixel wanders in and climbs up onto his back.
"It's going to be fine, Max," Joe assures him. "David exaggerates about my lack of cooking ability." Okay... so for roast beef... he was going to need a pan. Probably a big one.
Is Joe cooking?
He's cooking, Pixel.
Oh, this should be hilarious.
"Oh come on!" Joe turns around, hands on both hips. "It's not going to be that bad!"
Suuuure.
Be nice, Pixel. Max can't turn around and look at her, but boy can he ever sound disapproving. Joe has to concentrate.
"Don't make me threaten to get the no-name brand food," Joe mutters, digging under the stove for a cookie sheet.
Why would you do that to us? That's just mean. Pixel bounds off of Max's back and wanders away.
"One down..." Joe murmurs. "Okay--so... roast beef. I'm gonna need barbeque sauce. I'm gonna need a lot of barbeque sauce."
Oh, Joe... Joe... Max gets up and wanders over to the sit near Joe's feet. I'm really not sure about this...
"You could have a little more faith in me, you know," Joe tells Max, wrestling the roast out of the package and setting it on the middle of the cookie sheet. "David's going to be home at eight-thirty, so I'd better turn the temperature up so this is done when he gets home. What else should we have?"
Max bumps up against Joe's leg. David can make dinner when he gets home.
"David will be tired when he gets home. Doesn't David deserve to come home to a nice, cooked meal, Max?" Joe asks, turning the oven on and cranking it to four hundred or so. "In most modern households, the man and the man split the cooking duties, you know."
But... you can't cook, Joe.
"Can't... or have not yet unleashed my cooking potential?"
I'm not so sure about this. You should wait until David comes home.
"Yes, well, you don't have opposable thumbs, so you can't call David and tell on me, so I get to make dinner."
I don't think this is a good idea.
"I know, buddy. I promise if it all goes wrong--which it won't--David will in no way blame you. Now--I think we should have potatoes too," Joe says, going to dig around in the cupboard.
Max steps in front of the cupboard.
"Dude."
This is a bad idea, Joe.
"It's potatoes, Max. How much trouble can I get into with potatoes?"
I can't let you do this. It's for your own good.
"I have made potatoes. I have! In college!"
I don't believe you.
"Six minutes, on high, don't forget to poke it with a fork first or you're going to be buying a new microwave." Joe puts his hands on his hips and looks smug.
Max knows perfectly well that Joe can pick him up and move him, but he stands his ground. No.
"Max. Seriously. Don't you think David deserves root vegetables?"
Pixel has taught me how to be stubborn, Joe.
"Has she now?" Oh, that's just a precious mental image.
Uh huh. And I can stand right here all night. Well, until he has to pee.
"Okay," Joe says, sighing, shrugging, and turning away. He looks out into the living room. "Oh my God, what is Strider doing? Is he heading into the office?"
No! Strider, that's not allowed! Max tears away with the sound of his wee toenails clicking on the linoleum.
Joe is going to hell for his lies.
But he has potatoes.
That wasn't nice, Joe. Max is all droopy when he comes back into the kitchen.
"I swear--Max, I swear--he was thinking about it. He must have turned the other way. Thank goodness you checked!"
You're making fun of me. Max whines and lies down under David's chair at the table.
"Max. Do I ever make fun of you?" Joe asks, stabbing at the potatoes with a fork, then plunking them onto the cookie sheet.
Max doesn't answer right away. No. Strider makes fun of me.
"Well, Strider can be kind of a dick, can't he? Remember we talked about that?" Joe says, going back to the fridge for the barbeque sauce.
Uh huh. I remember. He stole Mars's rope bone today. Twice! Twice, Joe. And Mars won't stick up for himself.
Joe sighs. "Maybe Mars should be at the shop with David all the time. Or does Strider just pick on you when Mars isn't here?" he asks, looking focused as he concentrates on squirting barbeque sauce on every square inch of roast beef.
He only picks on Mars. Mars is only little. That's a lot of that red stuff you're using, Joe.
"The red stuff makes it taste good, Max."
I'm not sure about this, Joe.
"You warned me. You get full I told you so points, and if it works out, I get all the credit. Deal?"
Max sighs.
"You get I told you so points after. Not in advance."
Oh, be that way. Max knows, he just knows, this is all going to end in tears!
"You're very pessimistic for a medium sized breed, you know that, right?"
I've listened to David talking about cooking.
"So what, you think you could do this better than I could?" Joe says, turning around to look at Max.
I don't have opposable thumbs, Joe.
"No, you don't, but you said you've been listening to David. You could help me, instead of just worrying. Although I really think this is going to be just fine."
David would put the meat in something taller.
"Huh." Joe looks at the cookie sheet. "Bit flat, is it?"
Too flat. Max moves closer.
"Like... a cake pan then?"
Bigger.
"Bigger... okay... what about this?" Joe digs through the cupboards and finds an actual roasting pan.
That looks like what he uses, Joe. Max wags his tail in approval.
"Okay--see? See how much better this is when we work as a team?" Joe tells him, transferring the roast and potatoes, barbeque sauce and all, onto the roasting pan.
You really should pay attention when David gives you lessons.
"I pay attention!" David's just really hot when he goes into teacher-mode.
You pay more attention to David than you do the food. You're like Spock and Kirk.
"Oh, now... is that really fair? Comparing us to the bunnies?"
I can hear the noises coming from the bedroom. I know what you're doing, Joe. I'm not a puppy. Even if he has been neutered.
"You should not be listening to goings on in the bedroom. And... we have jobs, and lives, and Kirk and Spock only take breaks for long enough to eat. When they aren't just eating while they do it," Joe says.
The whole house can hear you! Never mind that Max shouldn't listen.
Joe gasps. "Me or David?" Okay, he's curious.
Both of you. Max tilts his head. But mostly David.
Yeah, Joe's not surprised. David can be loud. "Looks like the oven's at temperature, so we can start cooking this now."
Max lies down low on the floor and whines.
"Okay, what now?"
Vegetables. Those green ones.
"There are a lot of green vegetables... can you narrow that down for me?"
Max blinks. There are?
"Oh, yeah. Most vegetables are green. Can you tell me what they look like, before David cuts them up?" Joe asks.
You know how David puts the green vegetables in a bowl and he puts some kind of sauce on them? I think he doesn't cook the vegetables when he does that.
Joe frowns. "A salad? You mean when he makes a salad? Vegetables that look like... they're kind of frilly and leafy, like leaves on trees?"
Yes! The big leaves! Make one of those.
"Okay--you won't believe me but I actually do know how to make one of those."
It looks kind of complicated, Joe.
"You do know that I can perform intricate surgeries. On hamsters."
I don't know what a hamster is. Is it little?
"Smaller than Templeton was."
Templeton was pretty small.
"So if I can operate on something like that, I can make a lettuce. A salad--I can make a salad."
Okay, Joe. Max lies down again.
No faith in him whatsoever. Joe sighs and opens the oven, blinking at the heat, then putting the roast inside.
Joe, you have to cover your hands if you're going to open the oven!
"I think that's only if you're taking stuff out, buddy," Joe assures him.
Are you sure? I have to keep my nose out of the oven or I could get hurt.
"Yes you do. Always keep your nose out of the oven. We don't want you getting singed."
Mars wanders into the kitchen, rope bone dangling from his mouth.
No. No, we don't. Max suddenly sighs. It's still me, Mars.
Just checking. Mars sits next to Max after sniffing his butt. What's he doing?
He's cooking dinner.
My David's job.
I know, Mars. It's a little scary.
"David's coming home late, Mars, so I'm doing him a favor and making dinner for him," Joe explains. "See? I'm being nice."
Good luck. Mars doesn't sound hopeful. He wanders away with his rope bone.
"None of you have the slightest faith in me, you know that? It's kind of discouraging."
We love you, Joe! Max moves closer and gently headbutts Joe's leg. We just think you might hurt yourself.
"I promise, I'll keep being really, really careful. Okay?" Joe says, bumping his leg against Max, just as gently.
You better. I couldn't explain to David what happened if something happened.
"I'm sure you'd find a way, but nothing's going to happen." Really, Max was such an alarmist.
If you say so, Joe.
"Okay. Meat's cooking, it smells just fine, and it's time for salads. Am I allowed to use a knife?"
I guess there's no other way to cut the vegetables, huh?
"Kind of difficult, yeah. It won't look very good. It'll be a bowl of vegetables instead of a salad."
There's nothing wrong with that. You won't cut off one of your opposable thumbs.
(The whole opposable thumb thing is such a sticking point for animals.)
"Remember what we were talking about with me doing surgery, Max?"
Yes, Joe. I remember. Max rests his nose on his paws again.
"Surgery uses knives."
It must be different.
Yeah, well... a lot less bloody. Vegetables don't need to be anaesthetized. "It's still using sharp things on little things."
Well, I suppose I don't have to watch, do I?
"No, Max, you don't. You can abstain from watching me cut things if it scares you."
Max puts one paw across his nose and closes his eyes. This is too dreadful to watch.
Joe sighs and goes to the fridge to start collecting vegetables. Honestly. No one has any faith in him at all.
And then the phone rings.
Joe, the phone's ringing. Max is a very helpful boy.
"Thank you, Max." You'd never know that Joe's brain is hurting a little bit from Max's constant stating the obvious. He picks up the phone without checking the display. "Hello?"
"Hey! It's me. I just want you to know I tried really, really hard to convince David not to work tonight."
"Justin... hi, I know you did. I mean, he didn't tell me, but I know that you would have," Joe says, smiling into the phone as he starts tearing lettuce into a bowl. "Tell me that the rest of you didn't eat whatever it is that Lee ate?"
"No. He tried that new little restaurant that opened up across the street. Had this chicken salad thing... the rest of us are going to stick to the Thai place, let me tell you. It was not pretty. Dude could barely move."
"Was David serious? Karl had to pick him up and carry him?" Joe asks.
"Yeah," says Justin. "Lee's got a good forty pounds on Karl. It was kind of impressive."
"Justin, you didn't stare at Karl's ass when he bent over to pick him up, did you?"
Justin's quiet a moment. "Why would I do that?" he asks.
"'Cause I've outright caught you at it before," Joe smirks, starting to cut the carrots. Oh, wait, was he supposed to peel those first? Ah, it'll be fine.
"Joe?"
"Uh huh?"
"What're ya doin' over there?" Justin asks, gently, not at all accusingly.
"Um... nothing?"
"Joe," says Justin, "are you cooking?"
"Technically, what I'm doing right now doesn't involve cooking. It's vegetables."
"Joe! Don't you love David?"
"What?" Joe sets the knife down and puts his hands on his hips. "Of course I love David! I'm doing a nice thing--I'm making a roast, and potatoes, and a salad."
"Ohmygod," Justin says in a small voice. "Have you ever cooked a roast before?"
"It's already in the oven, so technically, I am currently cooking a roast," Joe says. He can smell it. Or... well, he can smell something. Kind of carmelizey.
"Joe, I don't think this is a good idea."
"Oh my god, does Max get that from you?"
Justin laughs helplessly. "Has he spent all night telling you what a bad idea this is?"
"He's hiding his eyes because I'm using a knife at the moment. And yes."
"Oh, poor Max! Poor, poor Max. I'll have to give him some cheese next time I see him."
"No one, no one in the world has any faith in my ability not to blow up a kitchen," Joe sighs.
"With good reason."
"I'm not feeling the love here, Justin."
"We love you. We do. But you shouldn't cook."
"David is going to come home tired, and worn out, because everyone knows he shouldn't close the store, and I'm going to have dinner ready for him. Why is that a bad thing?"
Joe.
"Because you love him and you shouldn't force your cooking on him!"
Joe?
"I--hang on, Justin," Joe says, looking down. "Yeah, Max?"
Joe, the oven doesn't smell right.
"It's fine, Max--I'm sure it's just caramelizing," Joe tells Max, although he speaks into the phone.
"Joe," Justin says, very slowly, "are you frying up some onions?"
"No... no onions. Just the roast and the potatoes, and there's no onions. Just the barbeque sauce."
"Barbeque sauce?"
"For flavor, on the roast," Joe explains.
"How much did you use?"
"I don't know, half the bottle? It's not a small roast, so I had to cover it pretty well."
"Has David ever mentioned to you how easily sugar burns?"
There's a long pause from Joe's end of the phone. "The last time I tried to make spaghetti sauce using ketchup? But I didn't use ketchup on the roast!"
"Joe, barbeque sauce is full of sugar!"
"Well why didn't anyone tell me that?" Joe drops the phone and goes rushing over to the oven, opening it and coughing as smoke comes billowing out. "SHIT!"
Max can hear Justin through the phone. Max likes Justin. But Max does not like smoke, so he whines and goes to hide under David's chair.
Pixel wanders into the kitchen. Joe, are you trying to burn the house down?
Pixel, run for your life! Save yourself and Mars! Max is awfully overdramatic sometimes.
"Max, the house is not burning down!" Joe says, waving at the oven with a dishtowel and coughing more, sighing when the smoke alarm goes off. Of course.
Right, I'm going out into the backyard. I'll be back later. Pixel leaves.
Max is sad that he's too big to fit through the cat door. And that he doesn't have opposable thumbs for calling for help.
Joe keeps waving at the oven, coughing, and reaches out far enough to grab the phone. "Justin, you'd better not be calling the fire department. Or David."
"Are you burning down your house!?"
"No! There's just smoke!" A lot of smoke. "I think the barbeque sauce burned to the bottom of the pan."
"Sugar, Joe. Sugar."
"Yes, well... hindsight, twenty-twenty-blahblahblah," Joe sighs.
"Joe, Joe, Joe..."
"Okay, so a few things went wrong here," Joe says, coughing again and going over to the stove to turn it down. "I think it's possible the oven might have been a little bit hot."
"Or you used too much barbeque sauce."
"That too. I wonder if the roast is done," Joe murmurs, wedging the phone against his shoulder and finding the oven mitts so he can take it out. It's a very interesting colour.
"I fear for your man."
"Don't call him! I can fix this!"
"If I don't call him, I will hear about this all day tomorrow."
"I will rat you out on the Karl ass staring," Joe threatens.
"He has a great ass."
"I'm not answering that question without my boyfriend present, because that's the sort of thing I only say when David is right next to me."
"I wasn't asking you to say that Karl has a great ass. I was just saying that he does. I think I'm very jealous."
"Justin, I think I'm about to pass out from the smell of burning sugar and meat, so can I assure you that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your ass and you have no reason to be jealous of Karl's another time?"
Justin sighs. "You're not going to burn down your house?"
"The oven is off. Unless you think I can rinse off the burned stuff and try again?" Joe says, sounding hopeful.
"I thought you said you love David."
"Am I allowed to finish the salad?"
"I suppose so."
"You're not gonna call David. He'll only panic, and there weren't even any flames," Joe says.
Justin sighs. "I'm not going to call David. But I'm going to talk to him about it tomorrow."
"I'm sure you'll hear plenty. Max is going to be I told you so-ing until David gets home."
"You'll probably deserve it."
"The amount of crap I get for trying to do a nice thing is rather boggling, you know. I need to hang up and open every window in the place," Joe sighs.
"I'll see you later, Joe."
"Later--definitely later," Joe says, hanging up the phone. Maybe if he sprays pine sol room deodorizer everywhere, David'll just think he cleaned.
It could work.
*
David's home! Max can hear the garage door, and he races through the house to go meet David.
"Oh good. David's home." Joe manages not to swear... an unusual response for him to David coming home, for sure.
"Honey? Honey, are you all right?" David's got an armful of Thai food when he comes into the house.
Joe's eyes narrow at the boxes of Thai when David appears. "That no-assed little rat bastard."
"Justin sent me a text," David says, a little frantic when he reaches the kitchen. "Is everyone in one piece?"
"Oh, that isn't even sticking to the spirit of the law, let alone the letter," Joe mutters. Justin's in SO much trouble.
David puts the food down on the counter, then reaches for Joe. "He cares about us."
"I think that Max and Justin jinxed me," Joe says, going over to David and hugging him.
"I think your lack of cooking knowledge probably jinxed you." David kisses Joe very gently. "Silly man."
"Do I get any credit at all for trying to do something nice for you, even if I almost burned the kitchen up?" Joe says, very plaintive.
David kisses him again. "Of course you do."
"So... Justin sent you a text, did he?"
"He said he'd said he wouldn't call me."
"I'm telling on him to Karl, I swear."
"What?"
"It's... never mind. I wrecked the roast, David. And for the record, you can't blame Max. He tried very, very hard to get me to stop."
"I'm sure he did," David says with a little smile. "You could have just made me a sandwich."
"There's nothing romantic about a sandwich." Joe's lower lip is jutting out a little.
"I don't need romance all the time," David says. "I get to come home to you every day."
"Really?"
"Really."
"I love you so much," Joe says, leaning in and giving David a kiss. "And I will find a way to clean your roasting pan."
"Baking soda."
"Baking soda? Baking soda. I can do that," Joe promises. "After Thai food, maybe?"
"Yes. After Thai." David kisses his cheek. "I love you, you know. Even if you try to burn down our house."
"Well... technically, I tried to make you dinner. Almost burning down the house, that was just a bonus."
"And you have no idea how special I feel that you wanted to burn the house down just for me."
"You're the only one I would even dare attempt to do things that would result in a fire," Joe assures him.
David hugs him tight. "You're the best."
"And hey--look!" Joe says, wriggling out of his arms and dragging David over to the island. "I made a salad. All my limbs still intact!"
"Oh, look. There's lettuce and a carrot in there."
(Max hears the word 'carrot' and sneaks up to sit by David's feet.)
Joe looks terribly proud. "And Max thought I couldn't be trusted with a knife."
David kisses Joe's cheek. "I'm very proud of you."
"Thank you," Joe says, smiling back at him. "I'm not allowed to touch the oven anymore when you're not home, am I?"
"No, honey," David says, smiling. "You're not."
Joe sighs. "I think that's fair."
"Now, let's have some dinner. And I think my man deserves some ice cream tonight, too." David gently pushes Joe to the table.
"And I think you deserve a lot more than ice cream, just for putting up with me."
"I don't 'put up with' you, Joe. I love you."
"And I love you. Next time I'll find a better way of showing it. Something that doesn't involve you speeding home, afraid that you won't beat the fire trucks here," Joe says.
"Now that's how my man shows he loves me."
"Absence of fire trucks is how I say I care?"
"Yes."
"Done."
"And, Joe?"
"Uh huh?" Joe says, lifting containers out of the bags.
"Next time, please just make me a sandwich?"
"David? You've got yourself a deal."
Strider has taken Mars's rope bone. Again. So Pixel jumps down off the mantel, swipes Strider across the nose, and takes the toy back to drag it across the floor to Mars.
If Joe or David were home, Max knew they'd tell Strider he was being bad.
Which is right on cue for the key to sound in the lock, and Joe to walk in the door. "I'm home, guys," he calls out, setting a bag down on the floor, then kicking off his shoes.
Joe! Max goes out to the front hallway. Joe, you're home.
"Hey there, Max," Joe smiles, reaching down and scritching him behind the ears. "How was your day? The squirrels in the yard again?"
Lotsa squirrels. And Strider's teasing Mars a lot.
"Oh, Strider," Joe sighs. "Pixel kick his ass?" he asks, heading for the door to the yard so he can let everyone out.
Quite a lot. Max heads outside with the other dogs. And then the phone rings.
"I'll feed you when you're done," Joe calls, picking up the phone. "Hello?"
"Hey, honey, it's me," David responds. "I've got some bad news."
"What level of bad news are we talking about here? Family bad news, or drivehard bad news?"
"Lee's got food poisoning. I'm going to have to close the next few nights. He's going to be okay, but he's going to be down a while."
Okay, that falls somewhere in between the two. "Oh, I'm sorry... mostly sorry for him, but for you too. You hate closing," Joe says. "I hate you closing."
"I know. And he's really not okay. Karl had to carry him outside to get him to the hospital, poor guy."
"He's in the hospital? Okay, you did not say hospital, and now I'm going to hell for complaining even a little bit, David."
"Yeah. I mean, it's food poisoning. He'll get over it. But he needs medical care. And I need to close up the store. I'm not going to ask the other guys to do it. Will you be okay tonight? I'll be able to make tomorrow's dinner for you before I go in to work."
"I'll be okay," Joe assures him. "Remember? I survived to the age you met me at, after all. And you used to close a lot more often before Justin's tantrum a few years ago."
"It wasn't a tantrum," David says. "Just a ... a ..."
"He stomped. His foot."
"Well, all right, yes, he did pitch a bit of a tantrum about me closing all the time and apparently not trusting him to do it right and... whatever else it was he was upset about."
"The delay on the latest... something. Game or software or... I don't know. I think it was just included in the discussion so that he'd have a list of three things," Joe says.
David chuckles. "Yeah. Listen, honey, phone's ringing so I've got to get that. I'll see you at eight-thirty."
"Go--we'll be fine. I'll see you in a few hours. Call if you need anything."
"Love you."
"Love you too." Joe manages not to sigh until he hangs up the phone, then starts on his route to go around and feed the animals. Then first, then his turn. He can call for pizza. Or... or maybe...
Interesting. Thought number two wins. Joe retires to the kitchen to check the fridge.
Where's David? He should be home. Max joins Joe in the kitchen once he's done eating his own dinner.
"David's gonna be late, buddy. Lee got sick, and David's got to close the store," Joe explains, digging around in the freezer.
What are you doing, Joe? Did David leave you some food?
"No, he didn't, but that's okay. I'm gonna make dinner."
Is that a good idea, Joe?
"Why would it not be a good idea, oh doubting Max?"
David always cooks. He says it's better that way.
"Well, David's not here right now, and he's going to be very tired when he gets home, so I think it's my turn to make him something," Joe says, finally finding what he's looking for, a THUNK resounding in the kitchen as he drops a solidly frozen roast beef onto the counter.
I'm really not sure about this, Joe. Max lies down on the floor, his nose on his paws. Pixel wanders in and climbs up onto his back.
"It's going to be fine, Max," Joe assures him. "David exaggerates about my lack of cooking ability." Okay... so for roast beef... he was going to need a pan. Probably a big one.
Is Joe cooking?
He's cooking, Pixel.
Oh, this should be hilarious.
"Oh come on!" Joe turns around, hands on both hips. "It's not going to be that bad!"
Suuuure.
Be nice, Pixel. Max can't turn around and look at her, but boy can he ever sound disapproving. Joe has to concentrate.
"Don't make me threaten to get the no-name brand food," Joe mutters, digging under the stove for a cookie sheet.
Why would you do that to us? That's just mean. Pixel bounds off of Max's back and wanders away.
"One down..." Joe murmurs. "Okay--so... roast beef. I'm gonna need barbeque sauce. I'm gonna need a lot of barbeque sauce."
Oh, Joe... Joe... Max gets up and wanders over to the sit near Joe's feet. I'm really not sure about this...
"You could have a little more faith in me, you know," Joe tells Max, wrestling the roast out of the package and setting it on the middle of the cookie sheet. "David's going to be home at eight-thirty, so I'd better turn the temperature up so this is done when he gets home. What else should we have?"
Max bumps up against Joe's leg. David can make dinner when he gets home.
"David will be tired when he gets home. Doesn't David deserve to come home to a nice, cooked meal, Max?" Joe asks, turning the oven on and cranking it to four hundred or so. "In most modern households, the man and the man split the cooking duties, you know."
But... you can't cook, Joe.
"Can't... or have not yet unleashed my cooking potential?"
I'm not so sure about this. You should wait until David comes home.
"Yes, well, you don't have opposable thumbs, so you can't call David and tell on me, so I get to make dinner."
I don't think this is a good idea.
"I know, buddy. I promise if it all goes wrong--which it won't--David will in no way blame you. Now--I think we should have potatoes too," Joe says, going to dig around in the cupboard.
Max steps in front of the cupboard.
"Dude."
This is a bad idea, Joe.
"It's potatoes, Max. How much trouble can I get into with potatoes?"
I can't let you do this. It's for your own good.
"I have made potatoes. I have! In college!"
I don't believe you.
"Six minutes, on high, don't forget to poke it with a fork first or you're going to be buying a new microwave." Joe puts his hands on his hips and looks smug.
Max knows perfectly well that Joe can pick him up and move him, but he stands his ground. No.
"Max. Seriously. Don't you think David deserves root vegetables?"
Pixel has taught me how to be stubborn, Joe.
"Has she now?" Oh, that's just a precious mental image.
Uh huh. And I can stand right here all night. Well, until he has to pee.
"Okay," Joe says, sighing, shrugging, and turning away. He looks out into the living room. "Oh my God, what is Strider doing? Is he heading into the office?"
No! Strider, that's not allowed! Max tears away with the sound of his wee toenails clicking on the linoleum.
Joe is going to hell for his lies.
But he has potatoes.
That wasn't nice, Joe. Max is all droopy when he comes back into the kitchen.
"I swear--Max, I swear--he was thinking about it. He must have turned the other way. Thank goodness you checked!"
You're making fun of me. Max whines and lies down under David's chair at the table.
"Max. Do I ever make fun of you?" Joe asks, stabbing at the potatoes with a fork, then plunking them onto the cookie sheet.
Max doesn't answer right away. No. Strider makes fun of me.
"Well, Strider can be kind of a dick, can't he? Remember we talked about that?" Joe says, going back to the fridge for the barbeque sauce.
Uh huh. I remember. He stole Mars's rope bone today. Twice! Twice, Joe. And Mars won't stick up for himself.
Joe sighs. "Maybe Mars should be at the shop with David all the time. Or does Strider just pick on you when Mars isn't here?" he asks, looking focused as he concentrates on squirting barbeque sauce on every square inch of roast beef.
He only picks on Mars. Mars is only little. That's a lot of that red stuff you're using, Joe.
"The red stuff makes it taste good, Max."
I'm not sure about this, Joe.
"You warned me. You get full I told you so points, and if it works out, I get all the credit. Deal?"
Max sighs.
"You get I told you so points after. Not in advance."
Oh, be that way. Max knows, he just knows, this is all going to end in tears!
"You're very pessimistic for a medium sized breed, you know that, right?"
I've listened to David talking about cooking.
"So what, you think you could do this better than I could?" Joe says, turning around to look at Max.
I don't have opposable thumbs, Joe.
"No, you don't, but you said you've been listening to David. You could help me, instead of just worrying. Although I really think this is going to be just fine."
David would put the meat in something taller.
"Huh." Joe looks at the cookie sheet. "Bit flat, is it?"
Too flat. Max moves closer.
"Like... a cake pan then?"
Bigger.
"Bigger... okay... what about this?" Joe digs through the cupboards and finds an actual roasting pan.
That looks like what he uses, Joe. Max wags his tail in approval.
"Okay--see? See how much better this is when we work as a team?" Joe tells him, transferring the roast and potatoes, barbeque sauce and all, onto the roasting pan.
You really should pay attention when David gives you lessons.
"I pay attention!" David's just really hot when he goes into teacher-mode.
You pay more attention to David than you do the food. You're like Spock and Kirk.
"Oh, now... is that really fair? Comparing us to the bunnies?"
I can hear the noises coming from the bedroom. I know what you're doing, Joe. I'm not a puppy. Even if he has been neutered.
"You should not be listening to goings on in the bedroom. And... we have jobs, and lives, and Kirk and Spock only take breaks for long enough to eat. When they aren't just eating while they do it," Joe says.
The whole house can hear you! Never mind that Max shouldn't listen.
Joe gasps. "Me or David?" Okay, he's curious.
Both of you. Max tilts his head. But mostly David.
Yeah, Joe's not surprised. David can be loud. "Looks like the oven's at temperature, so we can start cooking this now."
Max lies down low on the floor and whines.
"Okay, what now?"
Vegetables. Those green ones.
"There are a lot of green vegetables... can you narrow that down for me?"
Max blinks. There are?
"Oh, yeah. Most vegetables are green. Can you tell me what they look like, before David cuts them up?" Joe asks.
You know how David puts the green vegetables in a bowl and he puts some kind of sauce on them? I think he doesn't cook the vegetables when he does that.
Joe frowns. "A salad? You mean when he makes a salad? Vegetables that look like... they're kind of frilly and leafy, like leaves on trees?"
Yes! The big leaves! Make one of those.
"Okay--you won't believe me but I actually do know how to make one of those."
It looks kind of complicated, Joe.
"You do know that I can perform intricate surgeries. On hamsters."
I don't know what a hamster is. Is it little?
"Smaller than Templeton was."
Templeton was pretty small.
"So if I can operate on something like that, I can make a lettuce. A salad--I can make a salad."
Okay, Joe. Max lies down again.
No faith in him whatsoever. Joe sighs and opens the oven, blinking at the heat, then putting the roast inside.
Joe, you have to cover your hands if you're going to open the oven!
"I think that's only if you're taking stuff out, buddy," Joe assures him.
Are you sure? I have to keep my nose out of the oven or I could get hurt.
"Yes you do. Always keep your nose out of the oven. We don't want you getting singed."
Mars wanders into the kitchen, rope bone dangling from his mouth.
No. No, we don't. Max suddenly sighs. It's still me, Mars.
Just checking. Mars sits next to Max after sniffing his butt. What's he doing?
He's cooking dinner.
My David's job.
I know, Mars. It's a little scary.
"David's coming home late, Mars, so I'm doing him a favor and making dinner for him," Joe explains. "See? I'm being nice."
Good luck. Mars doesn't sound hopeful. He wanders away with his rope bone.
"None of you have the slightest faith in me, you know that? It's kind of discouraging."
We love you, Joe! Max moves closer and gently headbutts Joe's leg. We just think you might hurt yourself.
"I promise, I'll keep being really, really careful. Okay?" Joe says, bumping his leg against Max, just as gently.
You better. I couldn't explain to David what happened if something happened.
"I'm sure you'd find a way, but nothing's going to happen." Really, Max was such an alarmist.
If you say so, Joe.
"Okay. Meat's cooking, it smells just fine, and it's time for salads. Am I allowed to use a knife?"
I guess there's no other way to cut the vegetables, huh?
"Kind of difficult, yeah. It won't look very good. It'll be a bowl of vegetables instead of a salad."
There's nothing wrong with that. You won't cut off one of your opposable thumbs.
(The whole opposable thumb thing is such a sticking point for animals.)
"Remember what we were talking about with me doing surgery, Max?"
Yes, Joe. I remember. Max rests his nose on his paws again.
"Surgery uses knives."
It must be different.
Yeah, well... a lot less bloody. Vegetables don't need to be anaesthetized. "It's still using sharp things on little things."
Well, I suppose I don't have to watch, do I?
"No, Max, you don't. You can abstain from watching me cut things if it scares you."
Max puts one paw across his nose and closes his eyes. This is too dreadful to watch.
Joe sighs and goes to the fridge to start collecting vegetables. Honestly. No one has any faith in him at all.
And then the phone rings.
Joe, the phone's ringing. Max is a very helpful boy.
"Thank you, Max." You'd never know that Joe's brain is hurting a little bit from Max's constant stating the obvious. He picks up the phone without checking the display. "Hello?"
"Hey! It's me. I just want you to know I tried really, really hard to convince David not to work tonight."
"Justin... hi, I know you did. I mean, he didn't tell me, but I know that you would have," Joe says, smiling into the phone as he starts tearing lettuce into a bowl. "Tell me that the rest of you didn't eat whatever it is that Lee ate?"
"No. He tried that new little restaurant that opened up across the street. Had this chicken salad thing... the rest of us are going to stick to the Thai place, let me tell you. It was not pretty. Dude could barely move."
"Was David serious? Karl had to pick him up and carry him?" Joe asks.
"Yeah," says Justin. "Lee's got a good forty pounds on Karl. It was kind of impressive."
"Justin, you didn't stare at Karl's ass when he bent over to pick him up, did you?"
Justin's quiet a moment. "Why would I do that?" he asks.
"'Cause I've outright caught you at it before," Joe smirks, starting to cut the carrots. Oh, wait, was he supposed to peel those first? Ah, it'll be fine.
"Joe?"
"Uh huh?"
"What're ya doin' over there?" Justin asks, gently, not at all accusingly.
"Um... nothing?"
"Joe," says Justin, "are you cooking?"
"Technically, what I'm doing right now doesn't involve cooking. It's vegetables."
"Joe! Don't you love David?"
"What?" Joe sets the knife down and puts his hands on his hips. "Of course I love David! I'm doing a nice thing--I'm making a roast, and potatoes, and a salad."
"Ohmygod," Justin says in a small voice. "Have you ever cooked a roast before?"
"It's already in the oven, so technically, I am currently cooking a roast," Joe says. He can smell it. Or... well, he can smell something. Kind of carmelizey.
"Joe, I don't think this is a good idea."
"Oh my god, does Max get that from you?"
Justin laughs helplessly. "Has he spent all night telling you what a bad idea this is?"
"He's hiding his eyes because I'm using a knife at the moment. And yes."
"Oh, poor Max! Poor, poor Max. I'll have to give him some cheese next time I see him."
"No one, no one in the world has any faith in my ability not to blow up a kitchen," Joe sighs.
"With good reason."
"I'm not feeling the love here, Justin."
"We love you. We do. But you shouldn't cook."
"David is going to come home tired, and worn out, because everyone knows he shouldn't close the store, and I'm going to have dinner ready for him. Why is that a bad thing?"
Joe.
"Because you love him and you shouldn't force your cooking on him!"
Joe?
"I--hang on, Justin," Joe says, looking down. "Yeah, Max?"
Joe, the oven doesn't smell right.
"It's fine, Max--I'm sure it's just caramelizing," Joe tells Max, although he speaks into the phone.
"Joe," Justin says, very slowly, "are you frying up some onions?"
"No... no onions. Just the roast and the potatoes, and there's no onions. Just the barbeque sauce."
"Barbeque sauce?"
"For flavor, on the roast," Joe explains.
"How much did you use?"
"I don't know, half the bottle? It's not a small roast, so I had to cover it pretty well."
"Has David ever mentioned to you how easily sugar burns?"
There's a long pause from Joe's end of the phone. "The last time I tried to make spaghetti sauce using ketchup? But I didn't use ketchup on the roast!"
"Joe, barbeque sauce is full of sugar!"
"Well why didn't anyone tell me that?" Joe drops the phone and goes rushing over to the oven, opening it and coughing as smoke comes billowing out. "SHIT!"
Max can hear Justin through the phone. Max likes Justin. But Max does not like smoke, so he whines and goes to hide under David's chair.
Pixel wanders into the kitchen. Joe, are you trying to burn the house down?
Pixel, run for your life! Save yourself and Mars! Max is awfully overdramatic sometimes.
"Max, the house is not burning down!" Joe says, waving at the oven with a dishtowel and coughing more, sighing when the smoke alarm goes off. Of course.
Right, I'm going out into the backyard. I'll be back later. Pixel leaves.
Max is sad that he's too big to fit through the cat door. And that he doesn't have opposable thumbs for calling for help.
Joe keeps waving at the oven, coughing, and reaches out far enough to grab the phone. "Justin, you'd better not be calling the fire department. Or David."
"Are you burning down your house!?"
"No! There's just smoke!" A lot of smoke. "I think the barbeque sauce burned to the bottom of the pan."
"Sugar, Joe. Sugar."
"Yes, well... hindsight, twenty-twenty-blahblahblah," Joe sighs.
"Joe, Joe, Joe..."
"Okay, so a few things went wrong here," Joe says, coughing again and going over to the stove to turn it down. "I think it's possible the oven might have been a little bit hot."
"Or you used too much barbeque sauce."
"That too. I wonder if the roast is done," Joe murmurs, wedging the phone against his shoulder and finding the oven mitts so he can take it out. It's a very interesting colour.
"I fear for your man."
"Don't call him! I can fix this!"
"If I don't call him, I will hear about this all day tomorrow."
"I will rat you out on the Karl ass staring," Joe threatens.
"He has a great ass."
"I'm not answering that question without my boyfriend present, because that's the sort of thing I only say when David is right next to me."
"I wasn't asking you to say that Karl has a great ass. I was just saying that he does. I think I'm very jealous."
"Justin, I think I'm about to pass out from the smell of burning sugar and meat, so can I assure you that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your ass and you have no reason to be jealous of Karl's another time?"
Justin sighs. "You're not going to burn down your house?"
"The oven is off. Unless you think I can rinse off the burned stuff and try again?" Joe says, sounding hopeful.
"I thought you said you love David."
"Am I allowed to finish the salad?"
"I suppose so."
"You're not gonna call David. He'll only panic, and there weren't even any flames," Joe says.
Justin sighs. "I'm not going to call David. But I'm going to talk to him about it tomorrow."
"I'm sure you'll hear plenty. Max is going to be I told you so-ing until David gets home."
"You'll probably deserve it."
"The amount of crap I get for trying to do a nice thing is rather boggling, you know. I need to hang up and open every window in the place," Joe sighs.
"I'll see you later, Joe."
"Later--definitely later," Joe says, hanging up the phone. Maybe if he sprays pine sol room deodorizer everywhere, David'll just think he cleaned.
It could work.
David's home! Max can hear the garage door, and he races through the house to go meet David.
"Oh good. David's home." Joe manages not to swear... an unusual response for him to David coming home, for sure.
"Honey? Honey, are you all right?" David's got an armful of Thai food when he comes into the house.
Joe's eyes narrow at the boxes of Thai when David appears. "That no-assed little rat bastard."
"Justin sent me a text," David says, a little frantic when he reaches the kitchen. "Is everyone in one piece?"
"Oh, that isn't even sticking to the spirit of the law, let alone the letter," Joe mutters. Justin's in SO much trouble.
David puts the food down on the counter, then reaches for Joe. "He cares about us."
"I think that Max and Justin jinxed me," Joe says, going over to David and hugging him.
"I think your lack of cooking knowledge probably jinxed you." David kisses Joe very gently. "Silly man."
"Do I get any credit at all for trying to do something nice for you, even if I almost burned the kitchen up?" Joe says, very plaintive.
David kisses him again. "Of course you do."
"So... Justin sent you a text, did he?"
"He said he'd said he wouldn't call me."
"I'm telling on him to Karl, I swear."
"What?"
"It's... never mind. I wrecked the roast, David. And for the record, you can't blame Max. He tried very, very hard to get me to stop."
"I'm sure he did," David says with a little smile. "You could have just made me a sandwich."
"There's nothing romantic about a sandwich." Joe's lower lip is jutting out a little.
"I don't need romance all the time," David says. "I get to come home to you every day."
"Really?"
"Really."
"I love you so much," Joe says, leaning in and giving David a kiss. "And I will find a way to clean your roasting pan."
"Baking soda."
"Baking soda? Baking soda. I can do that," Joe promises. "After Thai food, maybe?"
"Yes. After Thai." David kisses his cheek. "I love you, you know. Even if you try to burn down our house."
"Well... technically, I tried to make you dinner. Almost burning down the house, that was just a bonus."
"And you have no idea how special I feel that you wanted to burn the house down just for me."
"You're the only one I would even dare attempt to do things that would result in a fire," Joe assures him.
David hugs him tight. "You're the best."
"And hey--look!" Joe says, wriggling out of his arms and dragging David over to the island. "I made a salad. All my limbs still intact!"
"Oh, look. There's lettuce and a carrot in there."
(Max hears the word 'carrot' and sneaks up to sit by David's feet.)
Joe looks terribly proud. "And Max thought I couldn't be trusted with a knife."
David kisses Joe's cheek. "I'm very proud of you."
"Thank you," Joe says, smiling back at him. "I'm not allowed to touch the oven anymore when you're not home, am I?"
"No, honey," David says, smiling. "You're not."
Joe sighs. "I think that's fair."
"Now, let's have some dinner. And I think my man deserves some ice cream tonight, too." David gently pushes Joe to the table.
"And I think you deserve a lot more than ice cream, just for putting up with me."
"I don't 'put up with' you, Joe. I love you."
"And I love you. Next time I'll find a better way of showing it. Something that doesn't involve you speeding home, afraid that you won't beat the fire trucks here," Joe says.
"Now that's how my man shows he loves me."
"Absence of fire trucks is how I say I care?"
"Yes."
"Done."
"And, Joe?"
"Uh huh?" Joe says, lifting containers out of the bags.
"Next time, please just make me a sandwich?"
"David? You've got yourself a deal."
