He's having a good day today. Enough to haul himself out of bed and greet everyone before 2pm, waving them off when Valentina calls everyone off to some press conference, existing outside a space that isn't just his private quarters. You take it as a sign to invite him to join you to make dinner.

The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in the pan fills the kitchen. You stand side by side, chopping vegetables at the counter and swapping quiet smiles. It wasn't a big deal. Just a simple dinner, but something about the way Bob took to it felt quietly significant. It's weirdly domestic. He thinks he likes that.

He's not the type to boast. Never has been. But when his hands move with a careful confidence, the rhythm of chopping, stirring and seasoning have him smiling proudly to himself. And when you make a comment about him doing great, he tucks that away into his memories for when things get bad again.

It feels good to be useful. He's spent so much time feeling like a loose cannon, a weapon waiting to break. But here, in this kitchen, he's just Bob. Just a guy making dinner with his friend.

Eventually you're both sitting at the table eating. He hasn't felt this light in days.

“This is good,” he pipes up.

You laugh. “You made it good.”

He shrugs, as if to play it off, but the pride is evident in the way he reaches for his glass and hides a grin behind the glass. It's not just about cooking. It's about being part of something normal. Later, when the dishes soak, he's leaning against the counter and watching you dry plates. He wants to say something more than "thanks" or "this was nice" but it feels unnecessary. He has a feeling you already know.

He doesn't want to go back to his room just yet. He wants more of this. Whatever the hell this is. Normalcy. Domesticity. It's almost romantic, two people standing around in a kitchen after a shared meal. It's an embarrassing thought, he realises. He's sure the pair of you are just friends. You jokingly refer to yourself as the spares of the group. Two loose cannons that can't be brought on missions. But the thought lingers nonetheless.

"I think I like this, you know," he pipes up eventually. "Just us around the compound. It's peaceful."