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“Ahhh, damn!” Jack hissed, immediately bringing his bleeding forefinger to his lips. The blood tasted coppery, but it soothed the pain so he didn’t mind as much. He was resigned to finish his task or die trying. Well, maybe not die, but at least until he passed out from blood loss.
Honestly, he couldn’t remember getting this many injuries when cooking before the zombie apocalypse. Then again, before the zombie apocalypse they actually had sharp knives that were used just for cooking and not primarily as weapons against zombies who got in too close. Also, he rarely cooked anything that didn’t come in a box and heat in the microwave, but that was beside the point. He was a student, what do you expect?
He really had thought that the kitchens in New Canton would have better supplies than Abel, but it turned out that feeding and defending over ten times the amount of people called for more supplies. So the kitchen was left with the dullest knives while runners took the others into the field. Logically, that made sense to him, but it didn’t stop him from feeling bitter.
Finger still in his mouth, Jack shuffled over to where he had laid the recipe. It had been torn from someone’s cookbook at some point and had snuck its way into New Canton via the fifth Harry Potter book. Someone had been using it as a bookmark, he guessed. But, no matter how it got there having a recipe for a dish other than the usual gruel the cooks whipped up was a rarity. Having the supplies to make it was another matter entirely.
In fact, it was practically a miracle he managed to get some instant pancake mix in a trade a few weeks prior. Unfortunately he couldn’t get everything. His big Canadian-style breakfast in bed would have to do without bacon. And sausage. And cheese. And maple syrup. He didn’t think Eugene would mind.
Miraculously, he had managed to snag a half of a red bell pepper and a zucchini from the kitchens a few days ago, so at least he had that. Speaking of which, that was what he needed to chop next. Fantastic.
He pulled the slightly pathetic looking potato toward him and grabbed the knife, wiping it on his shirt just to make sure all of the blood was off. Carefully, he began to chop the potato into slices. He did actually make it halfway through before he nicked another finger and shouted a curse.
It echoed through the kitchen. Luckily, the only time he had managed to weasel his way into using it was before breakfast, when the kitchen staff weren’t yet in for the day, so no one was there to scold him. Then again, no one was there to help him either, which may have been his downfall.
By the time he managed to put a somewhat appetizing meal together – complete with a whole slice of toast for each of them – he was sporting a bandage on nine out of ten fingers. Well, they weren’t bandages, exactly. It was really just some tape and a square of tissue if the bleeding was particularly awful. He didn’t even want to think of what Eugene would say, but actual bandages were scarce and he wasn’t about to go to the hospital for this.
Carefully, he placed the two plates on a makeshift tray along with two mismatched mugs of what he hoped was actual coffee. He practically held his breath all the way back to the bunk – it turns out that carrying a heavy tray with injured hands was slightly difficult. Who knew?
He made it to their bunk with only a few spills on the tray. It turns out that miracles do happen, apparently.
The door swung open with a light push and he stepped inside the dark room with the delicious smell of breakfast food wafting in behind him. He lightly kicked the door and it closed with a small thud. “’Gene?” he whispered, making his way over to the sleeping man. “’Geeeeene. Wakey wakey.”
A familiar groan reached his ears as the other man rolled over in bed, throwing an old flat pillow over his ears. “Wha’ d’ya wan’?” he grumbled. Today was supposed to be his day off. Phil and Zoë had taken over broadcasting and he had really been looking forward to a lie in.
“I’ve got something for you, ‘Gene. Wakey wakey eggs and bakey. Well, no bakey, really. Couldn’t find any that hadn’t gone bad, but I guess I should’ve expected that. C’mon ‘Gene…” he set the tray gingerly on their makeshift nightstand and went to yank the covers off the other man.
“Don’t you dare.” Eugene knew him too well. He rolled over with a grunt and glared at Jack who was wearing a shit-eating grin and running his hands through his hair. “I thought that, since we have the day off – which never happens, mind you – that we were going to have a nice lie in and-“
“I made you breakfast,” sometimes interrupting Eugene was the best way to go.
“What?”
“Made you breakfast, here,” he repeated as he gathered the tray with his injured hands. “I mean, I’m not a professional but it-“
He tripped. He freaking tripped. At the last damn minute, after he had torn his hands to shreds and still managed to get to the room in one piece, he tripped. The tray and everything on it went flying across the floor, most likely staining the small rug that they had worked so hard to get. “No! No no no no NO!”
He wanted to cry. He wanted to sit and wallow in his tears for hours. All he wanted was to give Eugene a good, restful day off, and enjoy a good lie in with him and he just had to go and ruin it. Desperately, he tried to shove everything back onto the plate and scavenge what he could, but a hand stopped him mid-way.
“Hey, hey,” came Eugene’s comforting voice. He took hold of one of Jack’s hands and pressed his forehead to his. “You did all of this for me?”
Tears still threatened to spill from his eyes as he responded. “Well, yeah,” he said with a sniffle. “It’s just that you’ve been so stressed lately and you were so excited to have a day off and I wanted to make it special and I’ve just bloody ruined it. Damn it! And I-“
The feeling of Eugene turning over his hands drove his rambling to a halt. Jack watched as the other man took his hands and held them together, examining his injuries. Then he laughed.
Not a big laugh, just a little chuckle. “You really are something, you know that?” he said. “Come back to bed.” Eugene hobbled his way back to the mattress they had pushed into a corner and crawled back under the blankets. He held them up for Jack.
“But the food?” Despite his question, Jack found himself drawn toward the bed.
“We’ll clean it up later.” With a teary-eyed smile, Jack snuggled in next to Eugene, ready to go back to sleep. “It probably tasted awful anyway.”
"HEY!"