Log: David and Sam, Saturday afternoon

[x-cannonball.livejournal.com]

While out picking up some new cooking supplies, David finds Sam in the middle of doing the exact same thing. They talk for the first time since Sam's issued challenge.


Helping Adrienne with shopping and cooking questions had gotten Sam interested into brushing up on his own cooking skills. He hadn't had to do a lot of that during his stay at Muir Island so he found that he was a little bit rusty. In an effort to address this, he'd decided to go out and pick up some new cooking supplies. Things like various pots and pans, some knives, and other miscellaneous items were required, including an apron. Several designs were available on a couple of racks, and Sam picked an XL sized one off of a hanger to try it on. He believed it to be like the apron in front, which was a plain white apron with a cheesy graphic of a pair of lips and 'Kiss The Cook!' on it. Once he'd put it on, however, and looked in a nearby mirror, he saw it was one of those aprons with a bikini clad woman's figure on it, making it look like its wearer was dressed as such. Whoops.

Had he been anyone else, David would probably have done a double take. Or at least let out an amused, high-pitched giggle. But as it was, he merely stared longer than he should have, a corner of his lips quirking upwards at the sight of the tall, blonde male in a provocative apron. The man looked vaguely familiar, though he could not quite place a name to the face, so the German merely placed his cooking essentials-filled basket on the floor and plucked a plain apron from the rack.

“You should get it,” he advised solemnly, giving the fabric a perfunctory check. “It suits you.”

Turning and looking up from his faux bikini clad body at the sound of someone's voice, Sam froze when he saw who it was that had spoke to him. He recognized the other man and instantly his mind flashed back to his brazenly issued challenge outside the Brownstone, which hadn't been one of his finer moments. Thinking back on that he could clearly see the man in front of him as he'd hung out one of the windows of the building, along with Wanda.

Sam cleared his throat before speaking. "Thought it was one of those." He pointed at the 'Kiss The Cook' variations hanging on the rack in front of him, which now seemed like it'd be a bad idea too, but not quite as bad as what he was wearing.

“Of course,” David agreed readily, deliberately dragging his gaze down the length of the saucy apron. It was not quite a leer, but his slow, studious look came close enough. Then, raising his eyes to meet Sam’s, he flashed a devious grin, replacing the white apron that he had snagged in favour of a dark blue one (since darker colours meant less visible oil stains). Deeming it satisfactory, he tossed it into his basket and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Go on, give it a spin,” he urged, undaunted by the fact that he still could not remember the other man’s name. Chances were, he was one of Xavier’s brood. The blonde clearly recognised him, so an identity would come to him eventually. His aging brain just needed some time. Or a hint or five.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Sam grinned sheepishly and forgot he was still wearing the apron until the other man made the spinning remark. Then he quickly untied the back of it and took it off before carefully hanging it back on its hanger. "Nah, I don't really think that's for me." Over by the other man there were other aprons in just solid colours so he went over to that rack, picking out a dark orange one that was much plainer and less embarrassing.

He looked at the other man, wondering if he remembered who Sam was, then decided he'd introduce himself anyway. "Don't know if you remember me or not, sir, but it's Sam, Sam Guthrie." He offered his hand to the other man. "I was, uh. Well, I was yelling outside your place that one time." Maybe a lot of people did that, he had no idea, so he added to the description. "Wanda was there too, both of y'all tried to talk some sense into me." Not that it had done much good but at least they hadn't obliged his request for brawling.

Grasping the proffered limb, David shook it even as he nodded thoughtfully. Now that the distracting apron had been removed, the name was free to ring some bells in his head. Given a change in lighting and a less polite tone of voice, there was indeed that resemblance to the raving young man below his and Wanda’s bedroom windows some two years ago.

“How could I forget?” He replied drily. It was not every day that your teammate’s ex-boyfriend threw down the gauntlet at your window in the middle of the night for no rhyme or reason. “Glad to see that you haven’t gotten yourself killed or maimed while I was away.”

Sam nodded as he shook the other man's hand. "Still alive, at least for now, sir." He grinned sheepishly, not sure what else to say. It was as awkward as hell but at least the other man didn't seem to be angry or upset about it, which was a good thing. "I know it's no excuse but there was a lot going on at the time and, well, losing her on top of that..." He rubbed the back of his neck again, looking for the words to explain but not really coming up with any. After trying to cope with Jay's situation he hadn't handled the break up with Vanessa well at all, to say the least. "I'm sorry, those are the words I'm looking for."

“Unnecessary,” David shrugged, bending to retrieve his basket. “But accepted.”

After all, he had obtained a drinking companion as a result of the whole debacle, which more than made up for the emotionally distraught man’s disturbance. In fact, it had been more amusing than annoying. But he would spare Sam’s pride and keep his silence on that matter. What did one do with a two-year belated apology anyway?

“Cooking?” He asked instead, using the inane question as a means of filling a potentially awkward silence. “Or just adding to your wardrobe?”

He chuckled at that, looking down at the orange apron he was holding in his hand now and then back at the one he'd just hung back up. "Cooking, yeah, trying to get back into the hang of it. I spent the last year or so away and didn't have to do much of it but now I'm trying to get back into it." While he knew of the other man's involvement with Vanessa et al he wasn't sure how much he should say about Muir Island so he kind of glossed over that part.

"How about yourself?" Sam nodded down at the basket David had just picked up.

Glancing down at the heavy basket in his hand, David hefted it a little and raised it so that Sam could peer into it. “I just got back in town myself. The, ah, dust bunnies have not been kind to a number of my belongings.”

Aside from his new apron, he had with him some oven mitts, baking trays, a medium-sized pot and a large non-stick saucepan that took up most of the basket space. Actually, he would need to get a trolley if he wanted to buy groceries. The spy had been deliberating on a pressure cooker when he ran into Sam. Somehow it seemed too much like cheating for his liking. “I cook a lot,” he said, as though it explained his purchases. Well, it did, but he was not going to say that it stemmed from his general distrust of food made by strangers.

Peer into the basket he did, raising his eyebrows at some of its contents. "Ooh, nice saucepan. Could use one of those, maybe." Sam would have to have a closer look at that himself perhaps. He just nodded at David's remarks, his own interest in cooking coming from having to help feed a large family and not out of distrust of strangers notwithstanding. "Cooking is kinda cathartic sometimes. I like it, anyway." Sam shrugged, not sure how much grown men were supposed to talk about their fondness of cooking with one another. Where was a copy of the Bro Code when you needed it, anyway?

Completely at ease in his own masculinity, David made a vague noise of agreement. “It’s also a practical skill.” For passing time, for feeding oneself, for not having to rely on someone else or on substandard takeout and restaurant food. “Assuming that you’re any good at it, of course.”

"It really is, yeah, totally." Sam nodded, clearing his throat again. It especially came in handy when he had to cover for his mother and had hungry young siblings demanding to be fed. Now he didn't have that much pressure but it was great to be able to make what you wanted, when you wanted, no questions asked. "I'm not bad, I reckon. I'm told I can make a mean chicken, heh. Hell, if you're ever over our way I'll show you, least I could do."

“I don’t go over there very often, but if I do, I’ll take you up on it.” Offering Sam a nod and a smile, David transferred his basket from one hand to the other. Perhaps they should end the conversation before it fell into the abyss of awkwardness where conversations with new acquaintances tended to go. At least he now knew that Vanessa was not altogether crazy for dating this kid. Sam Guthrie was not so bad for a guy who had once tried to yell the brownstone down and singlehandedly bring both Wanda and himself to heel.

“The saucepans are in aisle seven if you want to take a look. I should probably get around to buying things to cook for dinner as opposed to things that I cook dinner with.”

Returning the smile, Sam nodded again, making a mental note of where he said the saucepans were located. "Right, that sounds like a good idea. I should pick this up, maybe I'll go check them out. Thanks again, sir." He was glad that running into the man again hadn't resulted in anything bad, far from it, it had been nice to make amends for his prior transgressions and to find someone else interested in cooking to boot. Not a bad day at all.

“No problem,” David responded congenially. “Anytime. I’ve never been able to resist a man in a bikini.” His face completely straight, the German inclined his head in a parting nod and made to walk off towards where they were selling turkeys off at a discount. But he paused just before he made it past the gangly blonde and levelled a considering look at him.

“I also presume you’re not fifteen and hitting puberty, although it would explain the apron. So my name is David. Or North. Not ‘sir’.” After all, he may be getting old but Sam was no toddler out of day care. "And no, I will not fight you."