Fall
Posted by xs on 07 Sep 2010 | Posted in: Side B
Nothing is certain but death and taxes.
Crawford had some opinions about that but it was a certain time of the financial year and he was predictably busy, dealing with both. Sir Richard had learned from Takatori that Crawford’s financial acumen wasn’t only rooted in his ability to rig the stock market. He was an asset when it came to protecting Kryptonbrand’s assets. A highly creative one, although Ken, ironically, was much better at math.
Takatori was presumably out there laughing, having turned his once deadly enemy into a glorified accountant.
A light was still showing in the living room window when Crawford finally got home. Ken was on an energy saving kick due to media brainwashing about the recession. He’d stopped leaving the welcoming light on when Crawford worked late and Crawford of course maintained that he wasn’t sentimental and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. So it was merely convenient, that Ken was still up, and Crawford wasn’t especially pleased, or anything resembling it.
He did allow himself to be a little surprised, when he opened the door from the hall to find Ken esconced on the sofa, feet up, with the television playing quietly and a large mixing bowl in his lap. Crawford draped his jacket across the back of a chair, loosening his tie as he leaned over to see what Ken was doing. Ken lifted sticky hands from the dough he was kneading. There were crumbs and flour on his teeshirt and jeans and the sofa cushions.
“Why?” Crawford asked, with no particular need to elaborate.
“Never done it before,” Ken replied, shrugging. “They had packs in the supermarket. I thought it would be nice.”
“Several times over, from the looks of things.” Crawford had just noticed the bowls lined up along the fireplace, Ken’s matching checkered teatowels draped over the tops.
“Well, we eat a lot,” Ken said.
Crawford sat on the end of the sofa, careful not to get flour on his expensive clothing. He was still close enough to reach over and run his fingers through Ken’s freshly trimmed hair. “Are you bored? I know I’ve been working late.”
“I like cooking,” Ken reminded him. “And you should be here when the boys are up, if you think I have time to get bored.”
“They’re back to school tomorrow,” Crawford observed, remembering.
“Hmm,” Ken said noncommittally. He left off kneading his batch of dough, lifting a towel that was folded beside him and covering the bowl before placing it at the end of the row with the others. Crawford glanced at the wall clock.
“When do you have to put these in the oven?”
“In about twenty minutes, starting with the first.” Ken grinned sheepishly. “I don’t think I’ll be going to bed for a while.”
“You’re an idiot,” Crawford told him, making sure Ken kept his messy hands to himself while they kissed. “And I’m tired, I’ll see you in bed.”
In the event he didn’t, his tiredness sending him to sleep before the aroma of baking bread had drifted up the stairs and throughout the house. In the morning, the bed was empty beside him, with little sign that Ken had been sleeping there or slipped out early to make breakfasts and organise the school run. The house was a lot louder, however, as three noisy school boys thundered along the landing and shouted about whose turn it was for the shower and where was their tennis gear. In the background, Shige’s radio alarm blared out unattended (and unswitched off) and someone was apparently flushing the toilet to oblivion.
They’d had the damn thing fixed twice already this month. Last month. Crawford rolled over in bed, happy to bury himself under the pillows and shut the infernal racket out, then remembered what day it was and pushed the duvet aside with a martyred sigh.
Takatori was out there laughing with Nagi and Fujimiya and probably half of Esset.
The boys were clustered in the kitchen doorway when Crawford caught up with them. Crawford finished tying his robe over his pyjamas and suppressed a yawn before putting his hands on two of the curious heads and moving them aside. Shige and Keigo fussed over their “ruined” hair while Crawford took in the sights.
Ken had been breadmaking with style, flour topped batch loaves and crusty french sticks artfully displayed in paper lined baskets amidst a quantity of small dumpling shaped rolls and some interestingly glazed bread rings. From somewhere he must have found a butter curler (Crawford had a fleeting impression of mini bugnucks) because a plate of butter curls had been placed alongside the flavored marmalades and Kaoru’s little pot of lemon curd. There wasn’t much room left for the regular breakfast things so Ken had set them out along the worktop while he himself was busy at the cooker, frying up. There was a pleasant smell of coffee as the percolator bubbled along beside him.
Crawford re-evaluated his initial assessment of Ken getting up early.
“Are we going to eat all those?” Keigo asked uncertainly.
“I’m sure you could try,” Crawford informed him, being well acquainted with nine year old appetites, “but I think it would acceptable to leave some for later.”
“Wow,” said Shige, forgetting for once to act like he wasn’t impressed. “We’re rolling in dough this morning.” He scraped his usual chair away from the table and sat down, looking immensely pleased with his own joke. “Oy, are those my baskets?” He’d just recognised the little coloured creations he’d woven in craft club.
“I’m only borrowing them,” Ken said, putting a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. Shige preffered Japanese food on principle but he made an exception for full English breakfasts. Actually they all did, including Ken, once he’d been convinced that Nana’s black pudding was a joke.
Keigo, of course, was quite willing to go continental. He perched on the edge of his chair, primly buttering one of the fresh rolls before loading it up with jam.
Crawford poured the coffee. “You’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, well,” Ken replied coherently. “It looks okay doesn’t it?”
“Restaurant quality at least but you’re going to have to freeze some.”
Ken gave him a tired, dirty look and Crawford slid an arm around his waist, passing over a mug of coffee with his free hand. “Alternatively you could take some to the shop.”
“Yeah, that would make sense.” Ken sipped his coffee. “I know I went a bit OTT.”
Again. “It’s always hard to gauge the ingredients first time,” Crawford said soothingly. There had been previous experiences with curry and, on one surreal occasion, when they’d been spending their evenings watching K-dramas, the large plastic washing bowl filled with kimchee. Ken with a huge kitchen to work in was a very experimental cook although baking was a bit of a departure. Bread made some sense, given his lack of a sweet tooth.
Ken grunted something monosyllabic in reply but stayed where he was, leaning against the counter and less obviously against Crawford. Shige was watching them both speculatively and at length chose his moment.
“Can I have fried bread?”
Little heathen.
“You can use the Hovis for that,” Ken replied, sighing as he turned away from Crawford and retrieved a wrapped, processed loaf from the bread bin. Shige grimaced guiltily behind Ken’s back when he caught Crawford’s eye, while beside him Keigo attempted to radiate superior disapproval and in Kaoru’s case a silent request to please be included.
Kaoru wasn’t at his brightest in the mornings but he was the first to ask the obvious question, when Ken went upstairs for a shower. Shige and Keigo were scuffling in the hall over a ball that would get their pocket money docked when they broke something. Crawford, meantime, had been assigned the task of checking over the school bags, distributing lunches and laptops and making sure that they’d all included their project pictures for the Busy Book. The theme this holiday had been boats.
Kaoru studied Shige’s creative interpretation with an air of curiosity before Crawford slid it into the bag. “What’s up with Dad?” He scratched his face sleepily.
Crawford zipped the bags up and eyed the large pile of dishes by the sink. It went against his nature to admit it but knowing something would happen didn’t always mean that you were prepared. Ken, however, appeared to be excelling in that regard.
“He’s missing you all,” Crawford replied. “In advance.”
