Who We Were, What We Became

Just the Tip of the Iceberg

A/N- Mark mentioned in his 'I EXPLAIN EVERYTHING' livestream that the chef having a family was' canon.' Granted, he joked that they were all dolls living with him in his trailer, but I like to think there's more to our lovable, surly chef than we may know.

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The loud music pulsed through the walls of the manor, leaving the Chef unable to concentrate on preparing the appetizers that Mark had requested he prepare. Scowling as a howl of laughter drowned out a few seconds of the music, most likely from that rowdy Colonel, he walked over to the sink and rinsed off the knife in his hand.

This party was out of the blue, and not something he expected of Mark. The man had been a recluse for years. Barely even came out of the master bedroom upstairs, let alone invited guests over. To host a gathering like this with no explanation as to it's purpose was confusing and downright weird. Very out of character for the man.

Chef shook his head, dismissing his employer from his mind. At least he didn't stare vacantly out the windows, wandering the halls in that creepy fashion he used to do. Anything was preferable to that, and it did seem like he'd regained some of the clarity and easy-going nature that had been lost since Celine had left him. Chef didn't dislike Mark exactly, but they weren't friends. He was his employer and the one who wrote his checks, nothing more.

At least this occasion allowed him to flex his love for cooking to a degree that the day-to-day humdrum of life in the manor hadn't. What many people didn't understand was that cooking was as much an art as it was an application. A great deal of technical skill went into the process, admittedly, but ultimately the result depended largely on the creativity and ingenuity of the chef himself. And Chef prided himself on being able to craft the very best meals for others to enjoy.

Another thump against the walls caused him to glare in the direction the others were causing a ruckus. Unfortunately for him, the extreme drunkenness of those attending would negate any worthwhile feedback he would've otherwise received for his hard work. They probably wouldn't even taste it, their minds too clouded with alcohol to understand what he put in to make the food taste so great.

His talents were wasted here, his time as well. The years he'd spent cooking for these damned people had all been for nothing. Before Mark had taken possession of the manor after his parents' death, things hadn't been quite as bad.

Mark's father had invited him to work for them, impressed at his talent in the kitchen. Back then, there had been social gatherings nearly every week, the heads of the house playing a large role in the community of the city. Well-known families and guests had been invited from far away places, and the house had thrived. For a chef, there had been much to do, many meals to serve, and there'd been a certain amount of enjoyment. Of course, he'd been much younger back then, more hopeful of what his future held.

He had expected this place to be a stepping stone into a satisfying and lengthy career as a tv chef, hosting his own world-renowned cooking show. But each rejection letter stung a little harder, each declined phone call to a network bit a little deeper, until he'd all but given up on his dream of making it big.

So here he remained, in a decaying mansion with no other aspirations to follow. Though, he had to admit, his lot in life wasn't all that bad. Who knew if he'd ever have met his wife, had he gone on to host that show? Would he ever have had his son, the light of his life? And when he compared the two, he'd give up a dozen network deals to live happily with the little family all his own. They were worth so much more.

The song in the other room ended, changing over to the next, and the attendees gave a hearty cheer. Chef finished garnishing the last of the appetizer, before picking up the tray and heading towards the door to serve it.