It had been a very stressful day for the Harrison family - well, more stressful than usual. Before breakfast had even been put on the table, Arielle had had three panic attacks in a row because of a nightmare, causing her to go into her little space. Later that morning, Randy had gotten into a fight with one of the locals that ended with blood being drawn. He was in a bad mood for the next several hours, leaving Keith to take care of Arielle while he kept himself to himself. Lunch had been completely silent except for the tense sounds of chewing.

Finally, evening came. Keith was exhausted from keeping his family calm the whole day, but he knew he still had to prepare dinner. Arielle was reading quietly in her room, and Randy was having a smoke outside. The weather had begun to get chilly, and the sun was beginning to set outside. Stumbling into the bedroom he shared with Randy, Keith decided it wouldn't hurt to close his eyes for a couple minutes.

~

Randy was concerned. It had been a while since Keith had announced that he would be making dinner that night, but he still couldn't smell anything coming from inside the house. Worried for his husband, he stepped back inside and slipped off his shoes before heading to his bedroom. He wasn't too surprised by what he found when he peeked inside.

Keith was passed out on the mattress, still in his clothes, and Bowie was curled up at his feet. But, being the light sleeper he was, Keith stirred awake when he heard the door opening and Randy step inside.

"Oh - hi, darling," Keith murmured, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes. "Sorry I haven't made dinner yet, I-I'll get right on that . . ." Keith's voice trailed off, and Randy could see that he was having trouble getting up: he was too sleepy.

Narrowing his eyes, Randy sighed, annoyed that Keith hadn't asked him for help. He knew what he had to do. It had been a while since he had made a meal for his family, anyway, and Keith had worked his butt off the whole day. He deserved a break.

Randy approached the bed and hovered over the half-awake Keith. Careful so he wasn't putting his entire body weight on him, he pressed his lips against Keith's face, right on the corner of his mouth.

"Stay put, lover boy," Randy said gently. "My turn to cook dinner."

"But - "

"Shut up," Randy snapped, cutting Keith off. "If you cook dinner in this state, your face'll fall into the pot and you'll get burned worse than Jeff Woods."

Keith's lips curled into a small, drowsy smile.

"What's on your mind for tonight?" Randy offered. "I can make tacos; there's some steak in the freezer that Quentin brought on his last visit; if you want some comfort food, I can just make mac n' cheese. Whatever you want."

Keith thought for a moment. He would feel guilty asking Randy for something complex, as he didn't want him slaving away in the kitchen for him. But it had been a very long day. Besides, the thought of gobbling down a steaming bowl of chicken curry was making his mouth water already. And he knew Randy would do anything for him, even if he felt like he didn't deserve it.

"Can I have some chicken curry?" Keith asked finally, his tone rather weak, almost pathetic.

Randy nodded immediately.

"Comin' right up," he responded.

Randy kissed Keith again and left the room, but not before draping the blanket over him and tucking him in. After gathering ingredients for the chicken curry, he knocked on the door to his daughter's room.

"Hey, Ari?" he called. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, Dad!" Arielle answered.

Randy opened the door and peeked inside. Arielle was reading a tattered copy of The Book Thief, her legs swinging back and forth as she sat on her bed. She was wearing the blood red knitted beanie that had once belonged to Randy's brother Sully.

"Wanna be my sous chef?" Randy asked. "Keith's out for the count, so it's my turn to cook. We're having curry. His choice."

Arielle nodded, put her book away, and hopped off her bed. Nearly an hour later, she was on her step stool as Randy stirred the pot of curry. The chicken had been broiling in the pressure cooker, and now it needed to sit in the sauce so the flavors would develop properly. The dashes of spices had already been added, the vegetables chopped and plopped into the mixture.

Randy dipped in the mixing spoon, lifting out a puddle of thick, piping hot curry. Holding his other hand under it, he held it out to his daughter.

"Here - taste that, mija," Randy offered.

Arielle slurped up the spoonful, contemplating the taste as it slipped down her throat. Upon swallowing, she gave Randy the thumbs-up symbol.

Later, Keith woke up to the aromas of spices and perfectly cooked chicken wafting towards his nose. As his eyes fluttered open, he discovered a bowl of chicken curry being held under his nose. The next thing he knew, he was sitting up in bed, slurping down a bowl of one of his favorites foods. His family sat next to him, the two men and their daughter having a picnic on the bed. Bowie was sitting on the floor, contently lapping up his own share of the delicious curry.

"You really didn't have to do this for me." Keith said modestly.

"You saying I can't cook?" Randy snapped.

"No, I - "

"That's what I thought," Randy shot back, though he didn't appear mad at all. "Now finish your curry, baby."

Keith looked down to hide his smile. Randy was more affectionate in actions than in words. If he wanted to tell Keith how much he loved him while not having the energy to speak, he would do something for him, like carry him to bed so they could cuddle, get him a cigarette, or make him something to eat, like he was doing now.

"This is really good, Dad," Arielle piped up. "D'you think we can save some for Chris and Quentin?"

"Well, we made plenty," Randy replied. "So, yeah, we'll have a lot to share."