Work Text:
Excluding writing, Jane's not the best at many things. Cooking? Mediocre. Baking? She might be worse. Board games? Depends on the day. Being sneaky? On a good day, she could work it out.
The sun just hits the right spot on the kitchen windowsill. A new day in the Waves' Cradle rises, but no one is in sight. From what she knows, everybody's still asleep. The house only airs the rustles of the wind, the splash of waves, and the chirps of birds.
Jane pulls a recipe book from Jeanne's bookshelf to make simple but elevated stuff like bacon and eggs, pasta salad, pancakes, and lemonade. Her bacon and eggs are sizzling hot, the eggs having a slightly dry finish and some char due to her impatience with the stove, but that's not important. All the mix-ins for her salad are ready and her overmixed pancake batter is placed by the edge of the counter and the cooked ones are right in front. Currently, her record's not off to a good start. Some pancakes are very dense, others are close to inedible, but once in a while there’s a perfectly brown one with a more decent finish. Her hopes of creating something special for the group are starting to fade.
As she lays all the lemons and starts slicing, steam trails on her neck. Jane shrugs it off, her shoulders loosen as she continues slicing lemons and grabbing cups of water from the fridge. Pancakes are supposed to sizzle, right? Pasta needs more time before it's supposedly "al dente," doesn't it?
But the steam's too much to ignore at that point. She looks up and notices the kitchen's a bit foggier than usual. And when she slowly looks to her stove, eyes going wide, mouth agape.
"Shit, my pancakes!"
She turns off the burner for the pancake, instantly placing the unfortunately burnt victim on a paper towel, accidentally moving another knob. The pan had some marks of the charred, inedible clusterfuck that needed deep scrubbing. But it would be hard to cover. In a panic, she picked up the pan with her oven mitt to put it on the counter. Only to take it off and be met with the scorching metal of the pot with boiling pasta that hits her on the wrist.
Jane resists the urge to shout loud enough for the whole house to hear and instead winces at the numbness of her wrist that still holds the sting of her idiocy.
As she tends to it with the running water, the front door shuts.
Shit.
No. No. No, this can't be happening.
Steps slowly approach the kitchen. Sharp and formal, it could only be one person, and it just had to be the one she likes but the one she's not that close to.
Michael and Jane had some conversations the past few days. It flows easily between them - from work to favorite things to most memorable moments of their lives. Fortunately, she can be herself around him. Despite his cold exterior, he's secretly attentive and caring. He gave her a bracelet he bought in New Orleans that was the same color as her eyes. Unfortunately, she likes him and hasn't made much moves. Well, if one counts staring awkwardly into the other's eyes forgetting they can blink or intentionally sitting beside him so that their knees can touch and she knows he won't pull away, then maybe she's done something. But it's too subtle to pick up, not much like her at all.
Jane lowers the power of the faucet and ducks behind the counter writhing her body from the rush of temperature change with her small burn.
"What… why did I do that?" She whispers to herself, sighing in relief while turning off the gas without fully revealing herself. The steps briefly stop, only making time for the humid air that hits the curtains.
"You know…" The man's steps continue until he quickly but calmly turns off the sink, "There's usually a reason why Jeanne is the one who does this…"
"Jane."
He looks down at her, smiling. Jane stumbles up and takes two tries before placing her hand on the table, hiding the visibly red mark on her wrist.
"It could've been Li or anyone else. Am I that easy to spot?"
"Li wouldn't volunteer to cook without Jeanne knowing. And I'd know… I've been enjoying the show."
Michael approaches Jane with his arms open, ready to let her in.
"Come on, let me see your wrist."
Jane sighs and reluctantly shows him. She doesn't curse at him or put up a fight, it's too early. Jane rolls her eyes as his fingers brush her hand, he laughs. Well, that's what Michael thinks - it rather came off dry, Jane would've thought his voice cracked for a second.
"Just finish the salad and lemonade. Let me handle the rest."
"Thanks. But it's only a small burn. I can finish the rest myse-"
Michael hands Jane a lemon and a cup of ice, wrapping it in the nearest towel he could find and grabs her arm. When he dabs the wet pack, he lets his fingers gently provide warmth.
"I'll help with the pancakes and the pasta draining. Heal your wound with an ice pack then do the lemonade instead. Tell me if you need help with something."
"Michael it's-"
"Don't be stubborn now. You've done a lot, Jane. We'll get this done faster together."
By the time Jane turns back to the lemons, Michael's already started on grabbing another pan from the cabinet and puts enough batter for the pancakes. Jane smiles at the sounds of the now pleasant sizzle of the pan. The pungent smoke slowly leaves the kitchen as the windows are open.
"Doing good so far, Dawson?" Michael asks, flipping one over in a nearly perfect circular shape.
"Not so bad, Michael."
Soon enough, the man finishes a stack of pancakes and multitasks with helping Jane add the other ingredients of the pasta salad as well as having a head start on cleaning the dishes. Although more tolerable, Jane's burn makes it slightly slower for her to mix all the parts of the lemonade and mix the pasta salad simultaneously (with Michael secretly keeping an eye on her, of course).
Time passes and the pair are finally done with everything. Jane looks back at Michael and sees him hyperfocused on the dishes, she wants to talk to him but doesn't what to say. Without second thought, her mouth opens.
"You want some lemonade?" She asks, awkwardly waving her hand until the man turns around. Already drinking a cup.
"I still need to finish some of the dishes."
"We can do it later. Let's reward ourselves for our hard work first," Jane pours some lemonade and hands a cup to him.
"Fair. You're lucky I'm in a good mood," Michael concedes, sipping from said cup.
Jane smiles and nods as she takes another sip of the sour concoction. Her face scrunches from the lemon's punch and Michael has a slight tint of red on his cheeks that Jane decided not to question.
"So," Jane coughs mid question, "What do you think?"
He sounds out a short "mmm" and nods without hesitation. Unsurprisingly, he thinks the lemonade is delicious. Obviously, it's lemonade. But Michael goes quiet and meets her ecstatic gaze. He's swayed towards a yes partially because of the chef.
The sweetness and citrus feel reach his eyes and his heart skips a minute beat. He could give compliments, maybe a little kiss, but maybe it's too soon. To be frank, he's forgotten what it's like to let someone else fill in that space. But it could be worth a shot.
"Michael?"
"Oh, sorry. Yes, it's… pretty good. Maybe you can cook again sometime." The woman's eyes widen and she smiles.
"Assuming you don't burn the kitchen down again," He jokes and Jane's smile immediately leaves. She takes a step closer to Michael and puts down her drink. Seconds pass and they only look at each other's eyes. Jane tries hard to look somewhat upset, but Michael is only more amused by her.
"I… let's finish washing the dishes," Jane swallows her drink in one gulp and starts washing her cup at the sink. Michael lets out a stifle, but obliges, putting down the glass on the counter and starts washing beside Jane.
Minutes later, they have one dish left to clean. Outside, the bright rays of the sun shine in the kitchen and the sky clear blue, they could both feel the breeze on their backs. There's only some time left before the others drift awake and find them together. She needs to do something, he needs to do something.
"Hey, Michael?"
Michael shoots a glance at her, eyebrows furrowed, "Hmm?"
"Thanks for giving me a hand, I appreciate it."
He nods, a bit confused but seems grateful regardless, "Of course, Jane. No problem."
"If you don't mind…" She dries her hands with a towel and moves slightly closer to Michael, leaving no distance with their sides. She leans to her right more slowly, watching his expressions in case she reads the room wrong. But he continues to scrub the inside of the cup, so she presses a swift but soft kiss to the corner of his lips. Very very close to screwing up, but all the hectic shuffles in her stomach are gone. Whatever Michael was thinking is gone as he's frozen. Tap water rushing over his hands and that now squeaky clean glass.
"How long were you thinking of doing that?"
Jane scrambles on her words as she tries to explain what just happened but she puts her hands on the counter and she leans a little backward.
"A bit. Is that alright?"
Jane puts on a smile as much as she could but her grin gets increasingly difficult to stay put as silence takes over. He doesn't give her a response, no smile, no disgust, nothing. He continues to wash the glass and puts it back on the container. Jane takes two small shuffles farther from him until the faucet suddenly turns off.
"Jane… I didn't tell you to leave."
"So, will you?"
Michael finally turns to her with a smile. Searching her eyes a few seconds to let it all set in… or in case she wants to back out. This time, Michael's lips meet Jane's. She senses urgency from him, but somehow, he melts in her grasp. He makes her lean on the counter like her life depends on it.
Whatever was on her mind… it's gone now.
As assertive as he acts, his lips still timid, like he's unsure of his own actions. To make things more confusing, one hand grips tightly on the counter, his thumb touching her. The other hand simply hovers on her hips, like he only remembers mid-kiss that her pants could get wet.
Jane tugs the side of his blue shirt and pulls Michael even closer to her, her right arm resting on his shoulders, making it a bed for her poor wrist to rest. She cups his face and sighs in between to give herself more room to let the heat burning in her chest cool off, kissing him once more with a smile of victory on her face. The citrus still makes it onto their lips, somehow more tolerable than earlier. But Jane did everything she could to taste it all through him, devour as if it's her last.
As they both pull away, Michael and Jane look intently at each other before laughing and putting more distance within themselves.
"Seems like it's been on your mind quite a while," The writer smirks, a mischievous glint at her gaze.
"If you wish, I'd like for us to do it some other time," Michael asks with that damn formal voice again. She won't say straight to his face that it's hot, but she thinks it suits him. Just those simple thoughts bring a blush to her cheeks once more.
"Yeah. Fuck, I- yeah," She asks gleefully, "The cooking together or the kissing?"
He steps forward and presses a kiss on her forehead, putting a hand on her chin, making Jane glance up a bit.
"Both. Definitely both," Michael says, blushing as well.
A soft gasp makes them snap their attention back to the rest of the kitchen and they see Jeanne have some concern on her face, followed by a sight of relief.
"I was going to make some breakfast, but it seems you two beat me to it!"
"Ha. Jane and I thought to give you a surprise meal. It's mostly Jane's idea, though," Michael says, his eyes only on Jane.
"Well, I hear noises from Thomas and Li's room when I woke up. So maybe this is finally a time where we can all eat together. Unless you two…"
"Oh no, we could still make room for some food! We only had lemonade after all," Jane says, meeting Michael's glance and touching her lips. Subtly licking the corner of her lips for the remaining lemon juice that is on her… or Michael's, she doesn't remember. It wouldn't matter anyway since it'll all be gone by the end of breakfast.
But she has a feeling that her and Michael will finally act more than acquaintances, and she's happy it all started with her fuck-up at the most important time of the day.