IC INBOX

[hippie_ninja]

This is Jesus. Leave a message.

Comments

[hippie_ninja]

Jesus comes in without knocking because he'd said he'd be back and he's going on three days with minimal sleep, and in the Hilltop people came and went without announcing themselves.

He stops in the doorway when he sees K, then shuts the door quietly, studying him. He sees concern there, and fears the worst. Although for him the 'worst' is that V died and reanimated.

"K?"

[konstant]

K is normally more alert as well, and certainly would have noticed anyone being any louder than Jesus; but not only is he trusted, but K is deep, deep in thought.

At his name though, he blinks and every emotion on his face goes away, drops back to careful neutral. Then he registers that it's Jesus and he softens a bit again.

"Hey, sorry. I didn't hear you come in," he offers as he uncurls from where he'd had his legs folded up underneath him.

[hippie_ninja]

"It's all right." He sets a bag down on the counter; groceries. "What's on your mind?"

He looks at him, brow slightly furrowed in concern. "Is he okay?"

[konstant]

By the time K has made it over to investigate the bag, it would be nearly impossible to tell he'd been in any kind of mood different from his usual only moments ago. He's only brought groceries back here once, but that's all it takes to recognize what's happening with a bag full of food.

He shakes his head, though. No, he's not okay by a long shot and K doesn't know how to help, either. He drops his voice so it pitches between the two of them. "Healing physically, but - he feels so deeply, and I don't know what kind of damage it did him."

[hippie_ninja]

"The best thing we can do is just be here however he needs us," he says, soft, but clearly worried.

"I'll start by making dinner. He probably hasn't been eating much?" He gives K a quick look. "Neither of you?"

[konstant]

"I've been trying -" The smallest of stress fractures in his voice and face, because he has; keeping a flow of food constantly is one of very few things he's been able to think of that might help, on the most basic level of keeping V's body going if nothing else.

As for himself, he's just forgotten, or been too preoccupied otherwise. "I just don't know enough, maybe." That isn't it and he knows that, but the end result is the same: he's all too happy to clear out of Jesus's way, to give him the kitchen space, spotless except for two cereal bowls from an attempt at breakfast soaking in the sink.

[hippie_ninja]

"I could teach you," he says, taking his coat off, then his weapons (two knives and a gun) and laying thema all where they could be easily grabbed back up again. "I'm not making anything fancy, but if you want to help, I could teach you."

[konstant]

"I just don't know what to do with any of this," he says, still lingering close; he was going to watch regardless. He's a fast learner.

He's just never seen food like what's available here, and it had been a delight when he and V had brought a bag of groceries home and just done their best with it. Now it feels stressful, but he's relieved that regardless of what Jesus has it in mind to make, he at least has a plan of some kind. It means he has K's full attention.

"Everything in Los Angeles is either pre-packaged, pre-made, or a packet that gets dumped into boiling water."

[hippie_ninja]

He holds up a carrot and breaks it in half. "What does this smell like?" And, explaining, "The first thing I do is make sure everything smells good. You'll know if it's not."

Apocalypse cooking rules are a tiny bit different than what K might find on a cooking show.

[konstant]

K gives him a doubtful glance but doesn't argue; nothing here smells like he expects it to, even the noodles he does recognize. He smells it anyway.

"A little sweet," he tries, handing it back.

[hippie_ninja]

"Do you like it?" He didn't grimace, wasn't repulsed, which in Jesus's book is a sign it's edible. He offers up a potato. "What about this?"

[konstant]

K will literally eat anything that's been handed to him at least once.

He takes the potato, rubbing his thumb over the rough skin, considering it. He sniffs it and says, "It smells like dirt." As for the other question: "I haven't disliked anything I've found here."

[hippie_ninja]

"Neither have I." He looks up at him, sheepish. "I'm not a very good cook, K. I know how to roast things most people won't touch and I know how to pick road kill that won't make you sick. I've lived off the same thing for the last two years, almost every day. So fresh vegetables here, fresh meat?"

It's a dream. "We're going to have a poor man's Thanksgiving spread. Roast turkey breast, some mashed potatoes...some carrots."

[konstant]

K considers this. Then he holds out the potato.

"What is this called?"

[hippie_ninja]

"A potato. The sign in the store said it's a Yukon Gold," and it was slightly more expensive than the usual fare. He couldn't resist. "Do you want to cut it for me? It just needs to be in pieces about...eh, this big," showing him between thumb and forefinger.

[konstant]

"You know more than I do," is his point, but he does move around eagerly to get a knife and cutting board. He does know how to do that, more or less.

"What's Thanksgiving?"

[hippie_ninja]

"Oh," a faint laugh. "It used to be a holiday. Families got together, had a massive feast and were supposed to feel grateful for all the things they had."

His own experience with the holiday was not that so he has no fondness for it. "But roast turkey was the main entree. I haven't had turkey in years--they weren't smart enough to escape the walkers so they're all but extinct."

[konstant]

Extinct. He does know that word, and it makes him glance over at Jesus, something in the same family as dismayed flashing across his face in the moment before he glances at the bag, too.

"We can be grateful we have turkey," he suggests.

[hippie_ninja]

He looks up at him, heart fluttering at such a simple statement. They said earlier this was okay so he leans over--hands free, he's handling poultry--and kisses him. "As long as I don't burn it."

[konstant]

He doesn't melt the way he had yesterday, but he stops working with the knife and as he kisses Jesus back, he feels himself steady. He's still worried, there are still a lot of problems he doesn't have the solutions to, he still feels... heavy. But he's not alone in it.

"Then I'll be grateful for you, too," he adds.

[hippie_ninja]

"I'm grateful for you." He looks back at what he's doing but doesn't quite focus on it, distracted by K's presence beside him. "I never really had a good Thanksgiving. There was always a lot of fighting."

[konstant]

Finally, something K doesn't have to ask about. He covered holiday shifts for patrol officers. He responded to some of the kinds of calls that come in when families get together because they feel obligated to, for tradition.

Or just in general. "Is it something you'd want to give another try here?" is the most pertinent question as he goes back to cutting up potatoes, four words he never expected to hear tucked carefully close to his heart behind a smile.

[hippie_ninja]

"As long as I didn't have to plan it." Didn't have to pin any hopes to it. He looks up at K. "Is that something you'd want?"

[konstant]

"I've never had a family holiday," he says, which isn't an answer, just thinking aloud.

"Not really," he hedges a moment later; he has a memory, but even more than before now, he knows it's not really his. "But those sound like things that make sense to me to celebrate. And I think we could avoid fighting."

K, personally, doesn't fight.

[hippie_ninja]

He pictures it: a table with the people he's gathering up here. Rosita and V and Vrenille and K. Maybe some of their people. Maybe enough they'd need a large table, need to rent a room.

"I'd like that," he says, but quietly, afraid to commit to it.