Work Text:
Gordon has made breakfast (nearly) every day since he’s gotten home from Black Mesa. It was part of his plan to get his life back on track, part of his plan to take control of something. Something, anything.
It was easy when it was just him and Joshua. It got marginally less easy when Tommy joined them in their home. When, after months of dating, he moved in, made himself at home, took up the left side of Gordon’s bed. Had to fight him in order to climb out from under the covers every morning.
Every single morning. Without fail. Tommy struggled to keep him in bed, and Gordon struggled out to make breakfast for his family.
Today, though? Today was Friday, but it was also the day Tommy finally got sick of Gordon dragging himself out of bed so early in the morning. Was sick of how he’d force this ‘routine’ on himself, when it so clearly exhausted him - he got maybe, say, 5 hours of sleep every night? It wasn’t fair for him to do this every day.
Tommy woke up at 6:57 that morning, gently untangled himself from a still-snoring Gordon, and unplugged Gordon’s alarm clock. The man needed rest.
And Tommy needed to figure out how to make breakfast.
It’s not that he didn’t know how to make breakfast, it’s just - human breakfast? That’s human edible? Well. That’s different. Tommy can get away with soda in oatmeal because his stomach can’t physically reject it. Gordon and Joshua are a different story.
He’s made… uh, well. He hasn’t made a real breakfast in a long time. Maybe he can get away with eggs and rice?
The problem with that was that he wasn’t sure where Gordon put the rice cooker, and - he can use a pot, right? He’s used a pot before, back when he was too lazy to buy a rice cooker in college, and the rice turned out… fine. Fine enough. He can use a pot.
And the huge bag of rice, the 50lbs bag they have to pick up once every other month, that’s easy to find. Right next to the fridge, in the pantry, sitting right on the floor. He almost feels the need to ask before he uses it, even though it’s technically his house, now. Has been for months. So… his rice. Their rice.
Their rice. Funny thought.
He doesn’t ask, doesn’t have to. Opens the bag, scoops a couple cups into the pot, and closes the door, careful to make as little sound as possible. He’s not going to stand there and think about how soft it makes him feel to think about the fact that… everything in the kitchen is shared, now. He can’t. He’s got breakfast to make.
The bag of rice says it's pre-cleaned, doesn’t need washed, but he washes it anyway. It’s what he did as a child, what he did in college, and it’s what he still does now. The way you’re meant to do it - wash it ‘til the water runs clear! But, if he’s honest, he always stops pretty far before that point. The water can be kinda cloudy. That’s fine. It’s so much effort to make sure it’s all completely clean, anyway.
Water up to your knuckles, when you press your hand on the surface, he thinks. That’s what he remembers, so it’s what he does. Boil and then simmer, and then let it sit and cook.
It’s barely 7:10. Woof.
Speaking of ‘woof,’ Sunkist has trudged her way into the kitchen, pushed her snout under his hand as he checks his phone. Looking for attention, and her breakfast. Tommy scratches idly behind her ears, promising to feed her in a few minutes, as he responds to Dr. Coomer’s request for a group picnic next weekend. He hesitates to RSVP, because Gordon hasn’t been informed - Coomer sent the text at 3 AM, after all. But he’s left the man on read already, and you can’t just leave Coomer on read.
He shoots off a simple ‘Maybe!’ and hopes Coomer will wait until at least 10 to blow up both of their phones about his plans.
Sunkist pushes more insistently against the palm of his hand, and he finally gives up and gets her breakfast, fills her bowl with the special blend he’s got to feed her so she stays… immortal. Pats her head, leaves her to it, and makes his way down the hall to wake up Joshua for school.
Joshua is… Tommy’s cared a lot about kids his entire life, but this is a whole new level of caring about someone, he thinks. Joshua is like - Joshua’s perfect. Perfect son. No tinkering needed on Tommy’s part, he came wrapped up that way. Everything he does, every plate he’s accidentally broken, every outlet cover he’s attempted to pop off the wall, every time he’s tried and succeeded in making Gordon and Tommy laugh until they cry, it’s all perfect.
Even when he has to fight with Joshua to get out of bed, help him get dressed and gather all of his stuff together into his backpack, it’s perfect. Tommy loves every single part of this.
It’s barely 7:30, and Tommy’s going to cry about his could-be son for the fifth time that week.
Joshua’s 7 now, in that phase where he thinks he’s all grown up, so Tommy knows that when he gently shakes his shoulder, tells him to go brush his teeth and come and get breakfast, Josh is going to want to do it alone. Tommy and Gordon have learned to let him do things without help, when it’s things that are simple like this. No matter how hard it is.
He whines when Tommy ruffles his hair, but Tommy knows it isn’t genuine. Little man just thinks he’s too old for kid stuff anymore. Probably something his teachers are telling him, but Gordon’s been pretty adamant on letting Joshua have his childhood as long as he wants it.
And the opinion of the guy with the Beyblade collection? Absolutely. Hell yes.
Tommy returns to the kitchen. He’s got eggs to fry. Which - he doesn’t actually know how Joshua likes his eggs, so he errs on the side of scrambled. Makes enough for Joshua to probably get sick of it by the time the kid skips his way into the room, only half dressed.
Joshua’s signing as soon as he’s in the kitchen, immediately underfoot, [Where’s dad?]
It’s a nonverbal day, and that’s fine. Just has to make sure he’s paying more attention to where Joshua is, in case he’s trying to get his attention.
He plops the plate of scrambled eggs and rice in Joshua’s normal spot on the table, keeps his voice as low as he can. “He’s still asleep. He’s - your dad’s really tired. Been really tired, so he’s earned sleeping in, I think!”
Joshua follows him out and climbs up into his regular chair, trying to decide between picking up the fork or keeping his hands free for conversation. [I wanna sleep in, sleeping in sounds fun.]
“You sleep in every weekend! Let your dad have a day off. I’ll take you to school - uh, hi,” Tommy’s sentence stops as soon as he sees a bleary-eyed Gordon in the doorway, struggling to adjust to the kitchen light. Gordon looks exhausted. He’s exhausted, still, and Tommy’s entire goal for today is already failed, like that stupid thing Benry said all the time - Mission failed, we’ll get ‘em next time.
“Tommy, did you unplug my alarm?” He’s fighting back a yawn while he interrogates Tommy about his betrayal. Cute.
Well, it’s cute, and also a bit worrying. Because Tommy thought through everything about it all, except the idea that he could get caught. And what’s he supposed to say, now? ‘I did this thing without your permission, and if you’re mad, that’s fine, since it’s my fault?’
“You… uh, you needed a day off! I hope that’s fine?”
Gordon takes a second to process. “It’s - yeah, it’s fine, just… I have alarms on my phone, too.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, so, you made breakfast, huh? Trying to be spontaneous?”
“Well, uh - I just wanted to make sure Joshua ate something before I took him to school today, if that’s… if that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay, Joshua’s your - “ And Gordon stops, then, like he has to rewind the sentence in his head, try it again from the top, clean slate. It’s something Tommy does constantly, but with Gordon, it’s rare. “I trust you to look after him, okay? You don’t need to ask permission to make breakfast.”
“Sorry.”
Gordon’s face turns into something too close to pity, and he sets his phone down on the counter to grab Tommy’s hand, kiss his palm. “It’s fine, Tommy. You’re okay.”
“I just wanted you to sleep more. You need to - you have to sleep more, Mr. - uh, Gordon.”
“Don’t go lapsing into the ‘Mr. Freeman’ thing, again.”
He can’t stop the little “Sorry, sorry!” that comes out, and Gordon rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t mean it. Knows Tommy’s working on it. Finds it cute, like he’s said a million times.
“Don’t feel like you have to apologize, Tommy. Do you need help with eggs? Anything?”
Tommy doesn’t process that he’s asked a question until after he’s leaning forward into Gordon’s space, giving him a quick peck on the lips, and he tastes like mint - of course he already brushed his teeth. Tommy forgot all about doing that, what with the breakfast-making plans he made.
“Nope, no help needed.”