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extra sugar, extra salts [open]

CHARACTERS: Murphy Pendleton and You!
LOCATION: Kitchens.
SUMMARY: In Which February Becomes the Month Murphy Feeds Post-Apocalyptic Kids Food. Or anyone else who is hopeless in cooking, really.
NOTES: Feel free to assume this takes place whenever during the month!

The scent of herbs and spices waft from the corridors, leading into the kitchen. Murphy himself is surprised with the quality of the foods he finds here, allowing a variety of dishes he frequently indulges in when he's feeling up to it. It's not like the cooks of Ryall State Prison had a long and illustrious menu for the inmates there, and if it's one thing about his freedom that Murphy swore never to take for granted again, it's the chance to cook his own damn food.

Hell, even during his brief freedom in his own world, he hadn't been able to settle in long enough to find a decent kitchen or ingredients. Not like this place. That old life seems so long gone now, he can hardly remember what it was even like anymore. Every now and then, the ship reminds him.

So he loses himself, keeping his hands busy. Sometimes, that means cooking larger meals for more people other than himself or his wife, or whoever is left in his small circle of friends here.

Whether it's stir fry, sauté vegetables, gumbo, or even simple pancakes for breakfast... Chances are, anyone with a hungry belly wandering the halls would notice, and hardly be able to ignore.

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Pancakes are undoubtedly comfort food. Something that's simple and easy and satisfying, and its pleasant scents that no doubt rings like a breakfast bell. Or whatever time of day it's supposed to be.

Glancing over to the doorway with bags under his eyes, Murphy somehow managed a smile. "Pancakes," he simply says. "Hey, d'you like apples?"

Because these motherfucking pancakes have apples.

Hayley is curious and cautious, because the only fruit around here is grown in the gardens and she's not really sure who is sharing it and who isn't.

"I do like apples," she says as she moves into the kitchen to join him. "Where did you get them?"

"The gardens. It's no Farmer's Market, but it's 'bout the only place you can get fresh produce here."

He nods to the stack of pancakes on the counter. Crispy brown with cinnamon and apples baked into the centers, piled about a foot high like a breakfast mountain.

A little simper tugs at the corner of his lips. "Might've made more than I can stomach by myself."

Hayley smirks, "Oh, it's one of those trips to the kitchen."

"They smell good -- if you're offering, I'd be more than happy to take some off your hands." She offers him a smile, "I'm Hayley."

"Yeah, please. I'd hate for good food to go to waste."

Or at least he hopes it's good. (Spoilers: It's undoubtedly amazing.) He's been zoned out long enough that he wasn't even aware that he's just made enough to feed an orphanage until now.

"Murphy." He blinks, his eyes veering from her face to the cupboards. "There should be some syrup in there. And plates. Unless you think you can stomach twenty pancakes."

Who knows. Maybe she can. Murphy won't judge.

"Twenty? I might have to stop at ten."

Hayley does have a higher metabolism as a hybrid, but that's her wolf side and she's gotten used to that over the years. Either way, she takes the plate from the cupboard and grabs a few of them along with a fork and that aforementioned syrup.

"Where'd you learn to cook like this?"

Murphy just shrugs. Ten's good enough. He's just glad somebody came around hungry.

"Guess I decided it was a high time to learn when my first wife started eatin' for two." Seems like a whole other life, though. A whole other person with a happy little family. Sometimes, it's hard to believe that life was ever real at all. "Long time ago, though."

Even back then, Murphy wasn't the type of guy who'd let his pregnant wife get up to do the cooking. A habit which continued even after their son was born.

Hayley glances up, "How long ago?" She doesn't want to pry, but now she's more than curious. She wants to hear about the other parents on board this ship, wants to know that she's not alone in her desire to see her daughter.

It's not the prying that Murphy minds. For what it's worth, he has no qualms with talking about his son, about that life he's lost.

"Shit..." Murphy's not good with dates. Time hasn't meant much of anything to him these days. He manages to avoid eye contact by focusing on the pancake he's making right now, flipping it with one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other.

If he's had to hazard a guess, though...

"Somewhere between ten... fifteen years, now? I think that's right."

He was nearly twenty when his girlfriend got pregnant. Still a kid himself when they married, really.

"Did she have the baby? Sorry, I don't even really know you." She asks and apologizes with barely a breath between.

"I just had a child. A few months ago," she tries to give some context to her curiosity.

"Oh, no. No, it's okay, really." He glances to her. "She did have the baby. Those were some of the best damned years of my life."

Short-lived as it was. Six years is a blink of an eye when it's all been ripped away too soon.

Her clarification helps him understand, though, and even feel for her.

"I'm sorry. It's rough, not bein' able to be there for 'em, I know."

Hayley swallows the bite of pancake and nods. When she swallows, she looks to him, "She's safe. That's all that matters."

It's the truth and really, it's the first time she's actually admitted to it on the ship. She's avoided it, avoided having to explain that it's not just that she had to say goodbye to her, but that she knows she's still alive.

"Where I'm from, it's not safe for her. People wanted her dead. They tried -- they took her from me after I gave birth to her. I know she's safe, though, but I miss her. The only thing that makes it easier is that I know that I'd miss her back home, too."

Hayley pauses, shaking her head, "I'm sorry. Again."

That's all that matters. Murphy can understand that sentiment. He would give anything if that was the case with Charlie. If he could be here, knowing that he was alive and well and safe.

It hurts. Sometimes it needs to hurt. That he needs to let it, so it can pass. God knows keeping it inside for so long only screwed up his life more than it already was.

"Glad to hear that. That she's safe, I mean. We shouldn't... Parents aren't supposed to outlive their kids."

They aren't supposed to. But it happens. That's what sucks.

Finishing the most recent pancake, Murphy sets it aside on the stack of what's left of the already made pancakes. Switching off the stove, he then reaches for the cupboard above it, taking a bottle of bourbon with a quarter of it still left. He uses it sometimes -- for cooking.

Right now, though, he's pouring a little of what's left into a glass. After, he shakes the bottle at Hayley. "Want any to go with your pancakes?"

Pancakes and booze. Is that a thing? It should be a thing.

Hayley laughs, "Yes. Alcohol would probably help and I didn't mean to just put that all out here. It's the first time I've actually talked about it, though. Probably easier since I don't actually know you."

She takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly, cutting another corner off of the pancakes, "These are really good, by the way."

Murphy understands that better than you'd think, Hayley. He nods. "There... aren't that many 'round who'd know what it's like."

He's talked about it, but people always say the same thing. They try, and he appreciates that, but they always see with the eyes of someone who's never had a child, who's never known what it feels like to lose a part of yourself like that.

Setting down the bottle, he retrieves another glass from the cupboard. He hands her the shot of bourbon as he goes to grab himself a plate as well, so he's not drinking on an empty stomach.

"Glad to hear my efforts didn't go to waste." Because whoa, that's a lot of goddamn pancakes.

Hayley nods, taking that first sip of the alcohol after he pours it.

"I just have to keep reminding myself that if she was here she wouldn't be safe. That this ship has things that I can't protect her from." Taking a slow breath she exhales it evenly.

"I was pregnant here on board for a while and I just kept thinking that if I had her here - that I'd have to prepare a baby for the jump and it horrified me to think that one time she might be like the others and trapped in there for an entire jump cycle. I wouldn't want to go through that."

As Murphy starts piling a few pancakes onto a plate, he pauses at what she says. It's not the first time he's heard about women who've come here pregnant before, and then somehow... not. Otherwise, he's pretty sure he'd be seeing a lot more babies around. It's not something he's really given much thought to until now.

"No, can't say this is the best place to be raisin' a kid," he says as he finishes sliding the last pancake on with a fork. "My wife got trapped for a jump cycle... That was hard enough."

He tries not to think about all of the various ways shit could be even worse if it was his boy instead.

Hayley has paused in eating her pancakes and is instead focusing on the alcohol. It seems a better choice given the context of their conversation.

"Is she still here? Your wife?" Hayley asks, wondering if it makes it more difficult to have both of them here without their child.

Murphy nods to answer her question.

"My... second wife, actually." For some reason, he feels the need to clarify. Murphy still evades looking directly at Hayley when he talks, pretending to be more focused on taking the syrup to decorate his plate of pancakes with. "Carol, my first wife -- we couldn't make it work, after our son."

So no dead-wife-from-diseaseiatus or some other tragic accident to tell. Just a relationship that fell apart when two people couldn't figure out how to grieve properly.

It happens.

Hayley hadn't picked up on the mentions earlier, she didn't let them add up to anything more than a father missing his child and now it hits her what it all means.

"Everyone deals with loss in their own way. Sometimes two people can't find comfort in shared methods. I'm sure she doesn't fault you for it."

"We... both said and did some pretty shitty things back then. Don't know what she's doin' with it now, but I've learned to live with that."

For years he had lived in a cell going back and forth with it all. Who was to blame and who wasn't. At the time, Carol really did fault Murphy. Told him that what happened to their son was his fault, that he wasn't a good enough father to have been there when Charlie needed him most. For years, he believed her.

Spend enough time with nothing but silence and your thoughts, you either come to terms with some things or you let it eat you alive.

Suppose this is what feel-good assholes would call personal growth or some shit.

"I'm sure she's found her way through it, even the things you said."

The tone in the room got a bit dark, but she doesn't really mind it. She doesn't make any offhanded remarks trying to clear the air and instead just takes another sip of her drink.

"Women tend to be pretty forgiving," she states with a smile.

"Some are more than others, I'm sure," he agrees nevertheless. After all is said and done, he knows that he's forgiven her. Forgiving himself... That's a different story, and a much more treacherous one.

But still, there was Anne. His wife now. Her forgiveness had meant the world to him, when he needed those words more than any other. It wasn't Carol's, but it was enough.

An electric jolt seems to snap his brain out of a daze. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to... get all personal like that. Guess it's been awhile..."

Hayley waves it off, "It's fine. We both opened those doors. It's actually sort of nice to just talk about it and not have the other person nod numbly."

Picking up her fork, she cuts off another wedge of the stack, "Plus, you fed me. I'm not going to get upset over a little conversation."

"Well, I appreciate the company."

It might be another reason why he's picked up on such a habit of stress cooking. Not only is it a therapeutic distraction, he also has excuses to feed people and talk to them.

Totally not creepy at all or anything. After spending so long in prison with convicts of all kinds, the Tranquility crowd is a strangely welcome one.

"Guess it's been too long. Not really that many parents in this place to relate to."

extra sugar, extra salts [open]

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