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The kitchen was filled with the scent of dried herbs, ground meat, and flavored oil cooking together, and the fading sun cast the room in a golden glow. The Bachelor and the Haruspex were making dumplings: Artemy had made the filling, Daniil had made the dough, and now they were standing side by side in companionable silence, pulling the dough into shape.
Daniil had cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom that morning, but now, of course, there was cooking oil splattered on the stove and flour all across the counter, staining both his and Artemy's hands. It was only flour, though, the same flour they were using to cook with, and Daniil's brow was smooth, for once, and his stance relaxed. Beside him, Artemy was careful and efficient in his movements, rounding out the dough, filling it, and crimping the edges neatly.
Daniil was the one to break the silence, as he so often was. "Do you do this often, Artemy?" he asked. "You're awfully good at it."
Artemy glanced at Daniil, and a smile tugged at his lips. "It's been a while," he said. "But, it's not so hard." He looked at Daniil's pile of finished dumplings; there were fewer of them than Artemy's, but they were more uniform, more meticulously shaped. "You must have dumplings, in the Capital, don't you?"
It had been almost a year and a half since Daniil had been to the Capital; the sharp bite of homesickness had faded to an ache, and the question did not sting like it would have when he had first begun to settle down in Gorkhon.
"We have them, of course," Daniil said, not taking his eyes off his work. "I've only ever made them once, though. Way back when I was in university."
"Mm? There a story there?" Artemy's eyes were twinkling the way they did when he was expecting a punchline or a practical joke. Daniil huffed out a laugh.
"I'm afraid not, except that I made them rather poorly and half of them fell apart." Daniil paused a moment, thinking. "I did make another batch right afterwards, though, just to prove I could. I think I gave the first ones away."
Artemy tutted good-naturedly. "You gave away the ruined ones?"
"Mm-hm. They were edible, I just didn't want them." Daniil snickered, remembering. "I think that I said my roommate had made them. I was so embarrassed, I didn't want anyone to know I was the one who'd screwed them up."
Artemy chuckled. "Think they knew it was you?"
"Oh, definitely. I don't think my sack of a second-year roommate set foot in our kitchen a single time all year. He lived off of cold canned beans, as far as I could tell. An absolute nightmare." Daniil shuddered.
Artemy cast a sidelong glance at him and raised an eyebrow. "Horror of horrors. Such trials you endured."
Daniil elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "You wouldn't joke if you'd met the man. I couldn't wait to kick him out." He pleated the dough and pressed it together at the top, then let out a frustrated noise. "Damn. How do you get it to stick?"
"Hm." Artemy squinted at the bit of dough in Daniil's hands. "Don't let the oil from the filling get on the fold. That's why it keeps sliding off."
"Ah. Couldn't you have told me that sooner?"
"You're right, Daniil, forgive me. Next time, I'll be sure to warn you ahead of time that oil makes things slippery."
Daniil looked up suspiciously; Artemy looked rather smug. Daniil rolled his eyes.
"Next time, we'll do something only I know how to make," he grumbled. "See how you like it."
Artemy shook his head, laughing, and dusted the flour off his hands. "I think we've got enough. I'll start cooking them." He pulled out a match to light the stove, and Daniil, used to this routine, set down his last shaped dumpling and and began to clear the flour from the counter.
"You know," Artemy said as he waited for the pan on the stove to heat up, "I used to do this a lot, as a kid."
Daniil perked up. "Oh?"
There was a gentle smile on Artemy's face. "Stakh and Lara and Grief would all come over, and we'd make dozens and dozens of these things. Then my dad would cook them for us." He reached over and began to arrange the dumplings on the pan; they immediately began to sizzle. "Stakh and Grief liked to make a competition out of it, to see who could make the most."
Daniil put his cleaning cloth down and leaned back against the counter. "That sounds about right for them. Who usually won?"
"Grief did. Every time." Artemy's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Probably because he cheated. Stakh would start out totally focused on making dumplings as fast as he could, but Grief always found some way to distract him." His expression softened. "And then Lara would make them stop, and my dad would say he was the real winner because he'd tricked us into making him dinner." He shifted the pan on the flames, and the dumplings slid a bit and spat in the oil.
"I see," Daniil said quietly. "That sounds nice." He put a hand on Artemy's shoulder, and Artemy shot him a smile.
"It was."
They lapsed once more into silence, watching the dumplings turn crispy and golden until Artemy turned off the heat. They both just looked at the pan for a moment.
"It's so strange," Daniil said at last, "how quiet it is."
Murky and Sticky were spending the night at Lara's, along with a handful of other children. Some sort of school thing, Lara had said, and of course it was fine, it was Lara, but the kids had not spent a night away from home since moving in with Artemy.
Artemy ran a hand over his face, smiling wryly. "I know," he said. "I know. I know it's stupid to worry, but-"
"It's not stupid," Daniil said, rolling his eyes. "They're perfectly fine, but it's not stupid."
"Hmm."
Daniil pursed his lips, then pulled out a large ceramic bowl and piled the dumplings into it. "Come on, Artemy. Let's eat. Lara will make sure they're safe, and they'll be having a great time. It's good for them to get out with other kids their age."
Artemy sighed. "You're right, of course. I suppose I will have to get used to this."
"Well..." Daniil paused, brow furrowing. "I hope we don't have to get too used to it. Otherwise I'll have some choice words for Lara."
"Poor Lara," Artemy said drily, taking the bowl of dumplings from Daniil's hands and taking it over to the table, "to be left at the mercy of a Bachelor. I'd be quaking in my boots, around now, if I were her."
"Oh, she should be." Daniil's tone was light, and he was doing a bad job of concealing a smirk. "I'm told I can be very intimidating."
"Hm." Artemy looked Daniil up and down pointedly. "Somehow, I doubt that."
Daniil sniffed indignantly. "Never underestimate the power of good posture and projecting your voice, Burakh." His superior expression slipped back to something a little bit more serious. "Really, though, Artemy. They're perfectly fine. Come, now, you don't see me worrying, do you? And don't you always tell me that I worry about everything?"
Artemy squinted suspiciously at him. "You're really not anxious at all?"
"I-..." Daniil sighed. "All right, yes, a bit. But can you picture Lara's face if we came running in to save our children from her clutches? Imagine the carnage." He shuddered. "No, no, I think we're in far more danger than they are."
Artemy grimaced. "She would be pretty upset, wouldn't she?"
"She would, indeed. Listen-" Daniil took Artemy's hands in both of his, and looked him in the eye. "They'll be home before you know it, Tyoma," he said firmly. "Tomorrow morning. Safe and sound."
Artemy held his gaze for a moment, then nodded quietly. "Right. Of course. I know that." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and smiled. "Who am I to doubt the great Daniil Dankovsky?"
Daniil rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh, please, Artemy, don't make fun of-"
Before Daniil was even finished speaking, Artemy laughed, and pulled him in for a hug. His arms enveloped the smaller man rather completely, and, as was his custom, Daniil paused for a moment and then hugged him back. Daniil's hands were perpetually freezing cold, but his embrace was steady, and Artemy's natural warmth was enough for them both. This was safe; this was home.
"All right," Daniil said eventually, and pulled back with a soft smile on his face. "The dumplings are going to get cold. After all that trouble we put into making them, too. Let's eat, already, shall we?"
"Good idea."
They sat down to eat. The sun had slipped further down the horizon, changing the light on the horizon from orange to a startling pink. It was quieter than usual, yes; but it was still bright, and the warmth of good cooking and good company filled the little house. It was a perfectly ordinary evening for the Bachelor and the Haruspex. They were safe.
They were home.