The dark of the Red Dragon's kitchen in the early hours of morning was somehow peaceful. There was something sort of wonderful about that time of morning, when all was quiet; the sun just up, and Scotty had made it back through the back door after coming up the low, dawn-lit alley, with something cradled in his arm and the other arm full of groceries.
Today was Harold Lee's birthday.
The day had to be celebrated. Not that Scotty and Harold hadn't done a whole lot celebrating of late, but that was part of the pleasure of it; they had, then, every year from here out a chance to celebrate just being alive for something longer than a day. His birthday, their anniversary, Harold's birthday, all in a neat row.
The day had to be celebrated for other reasons, too: Thirty-three years ago, the man Scotty married had been brought into the world. Not this world, but it didn't matter -- thirty-three years ago, he had been brought into the world and would one day find himself where he is now, and that may have saved Scotty's life. More than once.
So, today was a joy; Harold Lee existed, breathed and was here. Today was an honor, too; Harold's husband might not be here, if not for Harold. And finally, today was simply a beautiful day where Scotty just happened to have a good reason to pamper Harold.
Scotty liked doing that anyway, and having a reason made it even better.
So, in the dark of the kitchen, he cooked. And it was quite a breakfast, the kind meant to fuel quite a bit of activity, if Harold wanted to move, or to leave him happily full and drowsy and comfortable. Scotty was good with either; it was Harold's day, and whatever he wanted, he was gonna get.
The pancake stack was impressive. Three of them, perfectly formed, large. They were filled with strawberries (but no binary suns), and between each layer of them, there was a cream cheese filling. On top was whipped cream and strawberry syrup, hand-made from fresh berries this morning.
It was a handsome breakfast for a handsome man. On the side of the tray was a side of thick ham, a salty counterpoint to all of the sweet, and then there was a glass of juice and a mug of hot caramel mocha.
Finally, the finishing touch was a whole bouquet of daisies. Scotty thought about roses, thought about a number of flowers, but he finally settled on daisies -- a wide lot of them, sunny yellow faces with a ring of pristine white petals.
He looked over the tray -- he'd borrowed one of the Red Dragon's silver serving trays for this, and it came with a stand, so all Harold would have to do was sit up to eat -- and grinned. Right down to proper silverware. Right down to the folded white linen napkin.
It was a good way to start off this day, and Scotty was humming a happy tune when he carried his husband's treat out of the kitchen, upstairs and back to their room.
Today was Harold Lee's birthday.
The day had to be celebrated. Not that Scotty and Harold hadn't done a whole lot celebrating of late, but that was part of the pleasure of it; they had, then, every year from here out a chance to celebrate just being alive for something longer than a day. His birthday, their anniversary, Harold's birthday, all in a neat row.
The day had to be celebrated for other reasons, too: Thirty-three years ago, the man Scotty married had been brought into the world. Not this world, but it didn't matter -- thirty-three years ago, he had been brought into the world and would one day find himself where he is now, and that may have saved Scotty's life. More than once.
So, today was a joy; Harold Lee existed, breathed and was here. Today was an honor, too; Harold's husband might not be here, if not for Harold. And finally, today was simply a beautiful day where Scotty just happened to have a good reason to pamper Harold.
Scotty liked doing that anyway, and having a reason made it even better.
So, in the dark of the kitchen, he cooked. And it was quite a breakfast, the kind meant to fuel quite a bit of activity, if Harold wanted to move, or to leave him happily full and drowsy and comfortable. Scotty was good with either; it was Harold's day, and whatever he wanted, he was gonna get.
The pancake stack was impressive. Three of them, perfectly formed, large. They were filled with strawberries (but no binary suns), and between each layer of them, there was a cream cheese filling. On top was whipped cream and strawberry syrup, hand-made from fresh berries this morning.
It was a handsome breakfast for a handsome man. On the side of the tray was a side of thick ham, a salty counterpoint to all of the sweet, and then there was a glass of juice and a mug of hot caramel mocha.
Finally, the finishing touch was a whole bouquet of daisies. Scotty thought about roses, thought about a number of flowers, but he finally settled on daisies -- a wide lot of them, sunny yellow faces with a ring of pristine white petals.
He looked over the tray -- he'd borrowed one of the Red Dragon's silver serving trays for this, and it came with a stand, so all Harold would have to do was sit up to eat -- and grinned. Right down to proper silverware. Right down to the folded white linen napkin.
It was a good way to start off this day, and Scotty was humming a happy tune when he carried his husband's treat out of the kitchen, upstairs and back to their room.