"What do you mean I can’t cook!" Michael glared at Hunter as he put the dish of, what he thought looked like an appetizing stew, on the table.

"Chill out dude" Hunter replied, looking from the dish to Michael. "All I said was that you’re better at other things"

"Listen smart ass, from what I’ve seen you eat almost from the time you wake up till the time you go to bed, and it doesn’t seem to matter what you put into that mouth of yours."

"In case you haven’t noticed, most of what I put in my mouth is made by Ben."

Michael knew he was fighting a loosing battle. They had had this argument many times. He had tried to improve his cooking skills, but somehow whatever he attempted never turned out like the shiny picture in the book.

"Well until Ben gets back from his course, you’ll have to put up with my cooking or starve!"

"Starving sounds good," Hunter smirked as he left the table, grabbing a slice of bread on the way past. "Lucky I have a secret stash of ‘Mrs. Chips’ in my room."

Michael sighed before sitting down at the table and dishing himself spoonfuls of stew.

It didn’t taste that bad, he decided as he worked his way through it, ok, the vegetables could have been cooked more, and perhaps it needed a bit more seasoning, but it was edible.

Ben had never complained about his lack of cooking skills; he’d always teased him about it, not quite understanding how someone with a mother like Debbie, who could cater for an army at the moments notice, had not managed to inherit some of that ability.

Hunter was just a spoiled brat who needed to learn some manners, he decided as he cleaned up his plate and took it, along with the leftovers of the stew, to the kitchen.

He rinsed his plate, scraped what was left of the stew into the trash and began the dishes, not even bothering to call Hunter to dry them, which was his nightly chore.

When he finished cleaning the kitchen he headed into the living room, settling onto the couch, flicking through the TV channels but finding nothing that held his interest.

He was missed Ben. He always hated it when they were apart, and there were still another four days to go until he got back. He glanced at the clock, only eight pm, the thought of the long night ahead did nothing to improve his mood.

He reached for the phone, punched in some numbers, hoping for an answer.

"Hello"

"Hey Em"

"Michael!" Em’s voice always managed to bring a smile to his face "How’s things, baby?"

"I’m missing Ben"

"Awww….do you want to come over….we could watch some movies…eat ice cream…"

"That would be great, thanks Em"

He hung up and walked to the bottom of the stairs.

"Hunter! I’m going to Emmett’s for a few hours, make sure you finish your homework by the time I get back"

"Yeah, yeah!"

He sighed, grabbing his coat and heading out the door, the cold night air making him shiver as he made his way to Emmett’s place.

True to his word, Emmett had a stack of DVD’s piled high on the table when he arrived.

They settled onto the sofa, tubs of ice cream in front of them.

"What do you want to watch?"

"I don’t care"
"Michael, what’s the matter sweetie?"

"Hunter’s been giving me shit about my cooking!"

Emmett tried to keep the smile off his face but Michael caught it.

"See, you all think the same!" He fumed

"Sorry, I was just thinking about that birthday cake you made for him"

Michael couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

"Yeah, and that was made from a packet, and I still fucked it up!"

"It was the thought that counted."

"I guess."

"So….you want some cooking lessons?"

"I doubt there’s anything you could do that could help me."

"Now…now…that’s not the attitude to have!"

Emmett jumped up, pulling Michael to his feet.

"Follow me to my magical kitchen where anything is possible"

Michael laughed as Emmett dragged him to the kitchen, producing a brightly colored apron.

"First off you have to have the perfect accessories" He stated, pulling it over Michael’s head and tying it with a flourish.

He donned his own, then pulled out a handful of recipe books.

"So….what do you think would impress the kid?" he asked, flicking through the pages.

"I haven’t got a clue"

"How about this?" Emmett suggested.

Michael looked at the picture of what looked like a four star meal.

"You’re fucking kidding! I couldn’t make that!"

"You can, and you will!" Emmett declared, opening cupboards, dragging out dishes before piling the bench full of vegetables and things that Michael had no idea what they were.

"Em…seriously…I think this is a bad idea!"

Emmett ignored him as he turned on the gas and put a chopping board and large, if not dangerous looking knife, in front of him.

"You are going to do this…no arguments….now getting chopping"

Michael frowned before picking up the knife following Emmett’s directions and taking a sip from the glass of wine that he had provided every now and then to calm his nerves.

Four hours later, Emmett’s kitchen looked like a disaster area, a meal that Michael never thought he could make, sat in front of them.

"See, what did I tell you!" Emmett said proudly.

"I can’t believe it! It looks just like the picture in the book," Michael said, a huge grin on his face.

"And it will shut that smart ass kid up once and for all" Emmett laughed.

"Thanks Em." Michael hugged his best friend, not able to take the wide smile off his face.

"My pleasure sweetie…now we’ll pack this up for you to take home and serve up tomorrow night for dinner.

Michael nodded as Emmett rustled around in cupboards for suitable containers.

Another hour and a few more glasses of wine later, Michael was ready to leave, laden down with containers, the aromas still filling the room.

He hurried home, putting them in the fridge before heading upstairs and checking on Hunter who was sound asleep.

He crawled into bed, a happy smile on his face, looking forward to his son’s reaction when he served dinner tomorrow night.

The Next Evening:

"Hunter…dinner’s ready!" Michael yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

He walked back to the kitchen as he heard Hunter’s heavy footsteps running down the stairs, stopping at the kitchen door.

"Fuck….what smells so good?"

"Dinner!" Michael said, carrying the dishes to the table, Hunter on his heels.

"When did Ben get home?" Hunter asked, settling into his chair.

"He’s not."

"So who cooked this then?" he asked as he piled his plate high.

"I did"

"Bullshit!"

"Watch your mouth young man!" Michael answered "And I did cook it, thank you very much."

"Fuck…it’s good" Hunter managed to mumble between mouthfuls.

"Glad you approve" Michael grinned, watching his son reach for seconds.

He knew he would never produce a meal like this again, but for the moment he was more than happy to bask in Hunter’s appreciation of his efforts, but more than anything he was pleased that Ben would be home soon to take over the cooking duties.