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18 October 2008 @ 08:30 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 253: Question 253  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 858


Basil, tomatoes, the man cocked his head and proceeded to retrieve a small container from the fridge. Pesto, a bit of wine, some more herbs, oregano, rosemary, parsley, a bit of sage. Some herbs fresh from the garden, some grown and already dried. Garlic, onion, mince, already in the pan and cooking away. His eyes were avidly alive as he shifted the handle, back and forwards, back and forwards, then lifted the whole thing upwards with a sharp jerk, the spaghetti sauce ingredients juggling themselves in the air before tumbling back down to Earth. The frying pan hissed and the water in the saucepan bubbled, smells tumbling around the kitchen in a raucous display of rivalry and joviality.

Rocketed back into reality, the man looked at his face in the mirror of the bathroom. He looked plain tonight, his hair was standing up like it usually did, but his eyes lacked the sparkle that he so often wore. Sid saw this and smiled indifferently at his reflection, and it smiled benignly back. Something had told him to get out of the house that night, some intuition or hidden desire to explore, but his mind at large was still tired and resistant to leaving his own humble abode in the search for conquests and adventure, in either order.

There was a mashing of forks and spoons on the table as impatient children decided to humour themselves by annoying their parents. An early dinner was better than a later dinner, or so they preferred, but that didn’t in any single or multitude way prevent them from having decided that dinner not being served ten minutes before it even could be on the table, was immensely unsatisfactory. A stern look from their mother, who was finishing some paperwork on the dining table, dissolved the two young boys into fits of infant giggling. They liked to laugh.

Straightening his shirt collar and jacket, the man tugged at his clothing while waiting for an early evening taxi to roll by. It was not so much as he was nervous, because he was naturally a very confident and loud man, but it was just, different, that was all. Doing something like this, a date, with someone else, without her, without knowing, he had her to go home to. While there had never been anyone else real for them, when they had been with each other, they had still gone out with other people, charmed other peopled, slept with other people. This was different, because he didn’t have an inkling of the exact end of things, he didn’t have anyone to mull it over with afterwards while the children slept, and all was peaceful.

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. He hummed to himself and checked on the garlic bread in the oven, breathing in the rich smells of cooking food like the finest wine. And to him, it was like fine wine, cooking, because it raised his spirits, elated his mind and he could swim through it with ease, like a fish. Christopher was by his leg suddenly, the diplomat for his smaller brother, and the boy tugged impatiently on Sid’s pants. The chef ruffled the boy’s hair and deftly slipped an apron on him, plucked from a hook on the wall. Carefully, he tied the apron strings in a bow and handed the small child a bowl of salad. His brother, over the verge of walking and on the cusp of becoming an incredibly joyous child, came in and was ordered to take the serviettes to the table from a kitchen draw. They were nice big cloth ones and appeared heavy in the youngest boy’s hands, but Michael gripped them tightly anyway, lead back to the table by Chris, eager to serve, eager to please. He wondered how long it would be before aforementioned sibling rivalry broke out between them, and they no longer liked each other as much.

He opened the door to the other woman’s apartment, and he smiled at her, cautiously, optimistically glancing over her appearance, her dress, her curly hair tied back in a high, tight pony tail. She locked her front door and they walked off together, the man offering her his arm once they stepped out into the cool night air, punctuated frequently by noisy city sounds, as it always was.

He smiled fondly at the back of his wife’s head as she packed up her papers hurriedly upon the sound of their collective approach. Just as quickly as it had started, the preparation for dinner had come to a cumulative end and everything was ready to be set on the table and served out onto individual plates. There it was, the joviality, the excitement he had been working towards while listening to the common and seemingly endless stream of noises that came at a constant rate from the house and its inhabitants. Seated and eating soon after, there was an awesome satisfaction in the air for him. Not so much that it was a nice meal, but it was a nice meal, with his family, the latter being the most important part of the equation, in total.
Current Mood: nostalgicnostalgic
Current Music: Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol