* The Cake *

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

Sephiroth considered the reply a moment, wondering if the question was rhetorical. It looked for all the world like his second-in-command was losing a messy frontal assault against his kitchen. The small galley-like corner of the apartment was coated in a liberal dose of flour; sink stacked high with empty mixing bowls and pans. The air smelled suspiciously of burnt pastry. Arching an eyebrow in silent challenge, the general leaned against the wall and casually wiped a blob of powder-blue frosting off his friend’s abused apron. It tasted as it should, an almost too sweet mixture of whipping cream and sugar.

“Homemade?”

“Tada!” The dark haired man showed off his spoils of war. “Cake-a-la-Zack… well except the candles… those came from the gift shop downstairs.” It was lopsided, and rather forlorn looking despite the name cheerfully scrawled across the top; an amateur job at best.

“… I didn’t think you knew how to bake, colonel… I’m… impressed.”

“Yeah I can tell you’re totally bowled-over alright… go ahead and laugh… I don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t dare…Does Jenson know that you’ve gone through all this effort for his upcoming celebration of survival of the past year?” He watched the watched the frosting-covered man carefully store his treasure in the small refrigerator and helped himself to the nearly empty bowl of left over colored whipping-cream while his back was turned.

“You’re just jealous because I’ve never baked you a cake…”

“That’s probably it.” Sephiroth scooped a finger full of the sugary fluff off the edge of the bowl. “… Has he seemed a little… quieter than usual lately…?”

His second gave him a startled look, surprised that he had bothered to notice something so outside of his usual scope. If ‘the General’ was seen as the stern and distant father of their unusual group, then Zack prided himself on mothering them to death. Keeping track of birthdays was only part of the wider scope of duties that the man willingly took on to keep the troops feeling content and functional at the level demanded of them.

“He’s just homesick, that’s all… a bit of an informal party and some R&R time will fix him right up.”

“Hence why you didn’t just buy the food?”

“Watson and some of the other guys are going to do a proper Bar-B-Q, just like the kid has back home… it’ll be sort of a family thing, you know? Everyone chipping in…”

“Ah. What should I bring, I wonder… Somehow I don’t see myself competing with you in the kitchen…”

“I’m amazed that you know what one is.” The dark haired man ‘tsked’ in amusement and reclaimed the now-clean frosting container. “Sugar does not a healthy lunch make. Sit down at the table and I’ll fix us some sandwiches.”

“Yes sir.”

The sarcasm was ignored. “Damn straight.” Somehow he cleared enough counter to lay out some plates and a loaf of bread. “Mustard, general?”

“Please.”

Sephiroth wondered if the other men who found themselves invited to ‘lunch at Zack’s’ felt nostalgia when sitting at the small dining room table watching the officer make their meal. It was pointless to offer to help. The tiny kitchen barely fit one SOLDIER, much less two. He winced as his friend banged his head against the counter when stooping to retrieve a jar that had rolled to the floor. For anyone else it would have been a reminder of home. The general pillowed his head on his arms and watched in quiet pleasure. It wasn’t nostalgia he felt. Nostalgia implied that you were experiencing something that you had felt before.

He had felt uncomfortable the first time Zack had all but strong-armed him into a chair and cooked him a meal. He hadn’t known what he was supposed to do, or say. It had never occurred to him that it was unusual that no one had ever cooked for him before. Or rather no one had ever cooked for him with him in the room. The nameless Shinra employees of his childhood had never invited him into the kitchen to watch them work. Bland unmemorable food had simply shown up at his door every day, the plates whisked away afterwards. No one had ever fretted about burnt crusts or too much spice as they set the table and mourned their ‘bachelor lifestyle.’

“Penny for your thoughts?” He was handed his plate with a grin. A moment later a glass of water was provided.

“… nothing in particular…”

Zack pulled off his apron with a sigh, looking critically at the stains a moment before balling it up and carelessly pitching it on the kitchen floor. Claiming his own plate he slid into the remaining chair. “I dunno… you seemed to be thinking about something pretty hard…”

“If you must know… it was about food… and family… or how food is often the focal point of a family.”

“Yup. Why else do you think I feed the boys so damn much… good food is good morale.”

“Hmmm. Or is it just that they are overly generous with their compliments to the chef…?”

“Well my morale can sometimes use boosting too…” The reply was shameless, as was the smile. “Dig in. It’s not toxic, I promise.” As if daring his friend, he took a large bite out of his own meal.

“The mustard is too spicy.”

“Spice is good for you. Puts hair on your chest.”

Sephiroth looked askance at the man. The joke was beyond tired. It was dead. Only his second refused to accept it. “The only way any of us are ever getting any of that particular body hair back is if someone glues it on in the night as a prank.”

“Hush you… I have fond memories of my chest hair… and my stubble… damn chemicals.”

“I thought you liked not having to shave anymore…”

“Yeah but now I can’t grow a debonair mustache. How can I grow old and grey and twirl my mustache when my silly Mako enhanced biology refuses to concede and grant me a few hairs anywhere but the top of my head?”

“Be thankful you have the ones you do.”

“Believe me, if the SOLDIER program was a one-way-ticket to permanent baldness it would be even less popular than it is now.”

“You think?”

“Well I sure as hell wouldn’t have applied.”

“Ah vanity.”

“Shut up and eat your sandwich… sir.” The last was tacked on as an after thought.

The general simply smirked, the expression relaxing into a smile with out him meaning to. His roast beef was good, spiciness aside. It would help to counteract the unusual amount of sugar in his system at any rate. “Fair enough. But I still have no idea what to contribute to the lieutenant’s party… or should my gift be my conspicuous absence? ‘While the cat’s away…’”

“Oh you’re coming if I have to drag you.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

His friend simply smirked, “I think an official ‘present’ would be a little… hmm… out of character for you?”

“… Don’t ask me to bring beer…”

“Volleyball.”

Sephiroth blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You can find us a volleyball…” The SOLDIER leaned back in his chair and stretched. Muscle played impressively down the length of his bare arms as he worked to pop the joints in his shoulders. “I’ve got a lead on a net, but the ball eludes me. Pull rank on jerks down in Appropriations and get me one?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“We’ll have a one-on-one of course… after the kids have had their fun…”

“Who, you and me?” Incredulous, the white haired man stared at his companion. “I don’t play volleyball.”

“That’ll about even the odds then, I think. It’s really not that hard a game.” Zack’s smile was positively carnivorous.

“… and I suppose there’ll be a friendly wager among the men?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. You know how I abhor gambling…”

“So who are you betting will win?”

“Me, of course.” He grinned. “I’m the one who knows how to play after all…”

“… Don’t ask me for a loan when you lose.”

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” The dark haired man collected the plates and dumped them on the pile in the sink. Producing two new dishes from the cupboard he revealed the oven had one last surprise in store. He set it on the stovetop.

Clapping his hands together in childlike pleasure he turned back to his stunned superior. “So… who wants pie?”

*****