Breakfast [backdated]

[southphillyboy]

Gene hadn't slept that well the night before, tossing and turning and keeping Babe up too. Of course, it was part of it, wasn't it? Why they slept together. Cause sometimes it chased the nightmares away, holding them at bay. Other times

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[traiteur]

Gene, for his part, remains drifting between sleep and waking. The smell of bacon is making him stir, but unconsciousness hasn't yet let him go. He rolls onto his back, throwing an arm up over his face, and mumbling something unintelligible.

[southphillyboy]

Honestly, Babe couldn't tell you how it happened. He'd heard something, ducking his head out to have a listen and quietly call Gene's name. When he turned back there was smoke pouring out of the bacon pan, flame licking it sides. He barely had enoughtime to shout out and grab a lid before there's the high pitched alarm and the sprinklers turn on.

[traiteur]

The alarm kicks him out of his dream with its absurd wail, and all of a sudden there's water everywhere. He bolts upright, and for several moments he's got no fucking clue where he is. The obscenities pour out of his mouth in two different languages, a pigdin of Cajun French and good old-fashioned United States soldier honed swearing.

[southphillyboy]

There may be water but it doesn't mean it's any good at putting out a grease fire. Babe grabbed the lid. slamming it over the pan, knowing that cutting off the air means cutting off the fire.

It doesn't stop the water, not for a good minute or two. By the time he looks out of the kitchen again, he's sure that what he'd heard over the alarm is Gene, and he's not happy. Hell, Babe isn't happy, soaked to the skin through his tshirt and boxers, the carpet squelching under his feet. "Morning."