Reliant ~ [John Soap MacTavish]

XXXI. Lexi

"Are you a good cook?" I ask as Soap fills up two glasses of water.

He lets out a breathy laugh before placing the glasses down on the kitchen counter. "Well.. I guess that depends on what you ask me to cook," he says, turning back to me with that usual grin.

"Ah," I respond, tipping my chin up a bit. "So that just tells me you're a shit cook then."

He chuckles as I stand up, gaze glued on mine as I walk towards him. "No. If you need eggs, I'm a fantastic cook, actually," he says, expression confident.

"Anything else you can make besides eggs?"

He scans the kitchen, seemingly spotting an array of ingredients. "Let's take this up a notch. How about spaghetti? Do you like that?"

"Just spaghetti? Plain?"

"—No," he looks at me sideways, hiding his laugh. "Spaghetti with some random red sauce we can put together."

"Okay, fine."

We start gathering the ingredients, and as we work side by side, the banter continues. Soap attempts to impress me with his chopping skills, but the uneven sizes of the vegetables tell a whole different story.

"Careful there, Chef," I tease. "We want diced carrots, not carrot confetti."

He grins, undeterred. "I'm just adding some artistic flair."

Soap squints at the stove when I add the diced onions and garlic. "Is it supposed to sizzle like that?"

I laugh. "That is the sound of progress, I hope. Though don't quote me on that."

Soap takes charge of the simmering sauce, occasionally tasting and adjusting the seasonings with a dramatic flourish. "A pinch of salt, that's the secret."

"Salt?" I can't help but laugh. "You think salt is going to save this disaster?"

Our attempts at teamwork involve a fair share of accidental elbow bumps and spilled ingredients, but the laughter that accompanies each mishap makes the process more enjoyable.

When it's time to cook the spaghetti, Soap eyes the pot uncertainly. "How hard can it be to boil pasta, right?"

"Right," I grin, letting him take the lead and stepping back to watch him.

But it doesn't take long for the spaghetti to stick together in a clump, and Soap panics in response. "Oh—shit, uhh," he mumbles, grabbing the edge of the pan where it's still hot. "Fuck."

"—Oh, shit, Johnny," I interject, grabbing his wrist to pull him to the sink. Quickly turning on the water-stream to keep his hand under it. "Keep this here, dumbass."

He laughs, clearly not in pain. "Look at you being caring and all."

"Sshh," I hush him with a grin before turning back to the pot of boiling water. I manage to save most of it, being able to take some of the largest clumps apart even though I'm a shit cook myself.

"You alright?" I ask.

"Fine."

My brows furrow and my expression turns confused as I still try to hold back a laugh. "Who the fuck grabs the edge of a pan like that?"

"—Hey," he interjects, pointing at me with the hand he's supposed to be holding under the water. "I told you before, I'm just used to cooking eg—" he starts rambling.

"—Johnny. Hand under the water."

Nearly half an hour later, Soap's hand cooled and the kitchen a mess, we're finally done plating our creation.