Forgotten Bonds

Nineteen - Cooking Troubles

November 12th, 2008. Wednesday, 6:07 pm. 

The rest of the day had been pretty average, except for the fact that Wintergreen was absent through most of it. Slade made a simple lunch of sandwiches before he continued with the schedule. Dick was tired through much of the day, but he didn't say anything. The tickle in his throat was quickly becoming sorer. 

Yup, Dick figured he was getting sick, too. But he could endure it. The cold wasn't bad – hopefully he wouldn't have to cough through it too much. He really didn't want Slade to notice it. Dick was worried, though. If he really did get pretty sick, he wasn't sure how he'd be able to handle it. Alfred always flatly told him after dealing with him while getting over a virus or cold that he was the most difficult thing to grace his presence upon the planet. 

Dick really didn't need Slade to see that side of himself. The man would strangle him, probably. 

Slade had given him some free time since something came up with a contract. The man was currently in his room. Dick wasn't really sure what to do at that moment. Slade probably would be busy for awhile and Wintergreen wasn't in any condition to do anything. So, there was no one else to prepare something for dinner. 

Dick felt the need to do something helpful. He usually loved the feeling of helping others – like with his crime fighting. But here with Slade and Wintergreen there wasn't ever a chance for that. For a moment, Dick supposed that Slade was right – people really did do things for the thrill. 

But there was a difference between the thrill of something for excitement or pleasure and the feeling that you got inside your heart when doing nice things for the sole sake of being nice or helpful. 

Thus, Dick found himself inside the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets in search of something to make for dinner. He wasn't exactly the world's greatest chef, but he did pretty good for himself. Honestly, it didn't take much skill to fry up some eggs in a pan or toss some ham into the oven. Surely there was something he could whip up around here. 

But as Dick looked through the cabinets, he didn't really find anything that interested him. It was then that he caught sight of some blue boxes of pasta. He pulled one out of the lower cabinet and read the label. It said Rotelle and the pasta inside was in the shape of corkscrews. 

Smiling with his find, he grabbed a second box and a plastic jar of pasta sauce. Well, that just decided it: he was making pasta for everyone. He went into motion – grabbing a large pot, a metal colander, and a lid from beneath the countertop. He turned on the hot water and waited for it to heat up before filling the pot with water. 

With the colander inside the pot, Dick carried the sloshing hot water to the stovetop. Once he got the gas fire going, he grabbed the salt shaker from the table and sprinkled a heavy pinch into the water. Finally, he placed the lid on top. Then, he turned away, putting his hands on his hips; eyes searching through the kitchen. 

He needed something more. 

Dick walked to the fridge and looked inside; hoping that Wintergreen had some kind of meat. What was pasta without some meat? Luckily, he found some fresh ground beef and with a happy smile, he pulled it out of the fridge. 

Soon, there was another pan on the stovetop – now sizzling ground beef inside. Dick used a large mixing spoon to keep the ground beef from burning. He was quickly content with his tasks. It was nice doing something simple. During the past two months that he had been here, he never really had the chance to feel completely normal. It always felt like a major boarding school. There were quiet moments, but it still felt like a school.