"you're just lazy."

[break][break] the quip comes naturally, too quick to think about. he moves back to the stove, peeking under the cover to look at the chicken. he shuffles the ingredients around with a spatula.

[break][break] he forgets who he's talking to.

[break][break] his head inclines backwards, blinking, at theo's words and shakes his head. "no but," he pauses, looking contemplative. "could probably make it, if i had a recipe." flynn isn't good at many things, but he'd always been good at following directions. ever since he'd been a kid.

[break][break] he smirks.

[break][break] "gotta make sure you don't starve."

[break][break]

[attr="class","tag"] THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","flynnsq"]

"rest, ice, elevation and —"

uh. shit. he's never been good at memorizing things. not now, not in high school. no, that's always been Alethea Ivanova 's strongsuit —

[break][break] a sharp jab of pain in his chest. whenever he thinks of her. he swallows. "you gonna write that down for me?" the grin he sends rory's way is wry; the doctor knows very well that most of this stuff generally goes above his head. it's why rocket stationed him in lilycove at all. didn't have to think too much when he was wrangling criminals.

[break][break] his head jerks into a nod. "thanks, doc." the endearment falls off his tongue easily, without even thinking about it. flynn moves to to rub his shoulder, wincing slightly, and then blinks when he realizes rory's still close.

[break][break] "yeah, yeah, " he drawls. then pauses.

[break][break] "... you'll probably see me again though."

[break][break] he was just being honest.

[attr="class","ooc"] Rory Faust [break]



[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-mightyena"]

a good person.

[break][break] if he'd been privy to Victor Wexler 's inner monologue, that would've been laughable. how would a teenager version of himself reacted to know that he had taken the route he had? how would his mother have reacted? his grandmother?

[break][break] disappointment.

[break][break] kristopher, his mother had said to him once affectionately, wrapping bandages around bloodied knuckles. we're better than that.

[break][break] but was he?

[break][break] flynn pulls up a form on the computer when vic begins to speak, tapping away at the screen. "yeah, poachers have been a problem area for a while," he said. rocket was a problem area too — but that was a different story. "what happened when you got there? were you alone?"

[break][break]

[attr="class","ooc"] Victor Wexler [break]

the chicken's next — cut to bite-sized pieces and thrown in the pan to stir. he places a cover on top, moving back to the cutting board.

[break][break] "it's cheaper than ordering out," he says, but knows it's a cop-out. flynn may not admit it easily, but he likes cooking. there's something soft in the way flynn says the words next, the same way he is whenever his mother is brought up. "my mom taught me how to cook, you know." it's one of the few memories that are still pure, not tarnished by rocket or thea or heartbreak.

[break][break] well. mostly.

[break][break] he grabs the mangos they brought from the store - peels and cuts them. a few sprinkles of seasoning are added - garlic powder, paprika, cilantro, paprika. he adds some more onions and tomato for extra measure, squeezing it all together with some fresh lime. then he mixes it together.

[break][break] he glances at THEO BECKETT .

[break][break] "learning anything?"

[attr="class","tag"] THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","flynnsq"]

"ha ha."

[break][break] flynn glances over his shoulder, a wry smile. "you're just aging yourself, you know."

[break][break] pushing the chicken to the side, he grabs some of the onion that they bought from the store. he cracks it open expertly with the blunt side of the knife and swiftly cuts them into tiny pieces. he does the same with a clove of garlic. "i'm not very good at teaching," he says. he thinks briefly of Alethea Ivanova . an old, hazy memory. something tightens in his chest. he ignores it. "but you can watch."

[break][break] he drizzles some oil over a pan, and then throws the ingredients on. he lets it sizzle momentarily, pushing the ingredients around with a wooden spatula.

[break][break]

[attr="class","tag"] THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","flynnsq"]

flynn is glad that theo doesn't pry. it helps, even just a little.

[break][break] his fingers wrap around the drawer's edge, pulling it out. he takes the one that looks the sharpest, sets it on the counter. "can't believe you've never had tacos," he says. "what did you feed your daughter?"

[break][break] a rare joke.

[break][break] he cuts though a sheet of plastic easily, the sharp edge of the knife slicing through like butter. under cold water, he rubs the chicken before placing them on a nearby cutting board. pats them dry with paper towels. seasons appropriately.

[break][break] the click-click-click sound of a stove.

[break][break] "can you cook?"

[break][break]

[attr="class","tag"] THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","flynnsq"]

"he died."

[break][break] it's been years. many years — flynn has had enough time to come to terms with noah's death. at least, he can talk about it without wanting to stab himself in the chest.

[break][break] it still hurts though.

[break][break] flynn turns, placing the flour tortillas on the counter. turning around, he glances at theo. "you keep your knives somewhere?" his smile is wry. "your cooking knives. not your stabbing ones."

[break][break]

[break][break]

[attr="class","tag"] THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","flynnsq"]

THEO BECKETT didn't seem like the dad type. sure, arguably, he could've been seen as a mentor for many rockets but... the organization didn't exactly breed the loving, warm type that one associated with fathers.

[break][break] rocket — flynn can't even imagine what it would be like to have had noah in rocket. or even thea.

[break][break] he swallows, grateful for the glass. it's cool in his hands, but burns on the way down his throat.

[break][break] a long pause.

[break][break] "... i had a son." he isn't sure what makes him say it. impulse? need? something to make the ache go away? "before."

[break][break] he takes another swig.

[break][break] it still hurts. but it's the good kind of hurt.

[break][break]

[attr="class","tag"] THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","flynnsq"]

my daughter.

[break][break] he freezes. something ice-cold seeps through his veins, not all unlike the same way it did on that story night five years ago.

[break][break] he thinks of Alethea Ivanova .

[break][break] "... i didn't know you were a dad."

[break][break]

[attr="class","tag"] THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","flynnsq"]

"won't say no, if you're offering."

[break][break] the grocery bags are sent out the counter, full of crinkling plastic. flynn begins to pull the supplies out one by one.

[break][break] he tries to look nonplussed as he asks.

[break][break] "who's that? i didn't know you were the sentimental type." the last is said as a joke, paired with a slight laugh, as he puts some eggs in the fridge for safe-keeping.

[break][break]

[attr="class","tag"] THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","flynnsq"]

"strong?" flynn snorts. "more like annoying."

[break][break] or maybe he should've just listened to captain when he said they needed a squad before trying to get that perp in particular. but flynn was stubborn — and he'd handled it himself.

[break][break] mostly anyway.

[break][break] he winces. "rice?" flynn's stupid — but not so stupid that he thinks that Rory Faust is talking about food. okay, fine, maybe he considered it. "you gonna tell me?" he says after a while.

[break][break]

[attr="class","ooc"] Rory Faust [break]



[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-mightyena"]

the look theo wears is almost comical, if not absolutely insane.

[break][break] who hadn't had tacos before?

[break][break] he gives an exasperated sigh.

[break][break] "we can stop by the grocery store on the way." he reaches for the mudkip that's still in theo's arms, scooping her under the arms like a baby. "c'mon, let's go."

[break][break]

[attr="class","tag"] THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","flynnsq"]