These Inhibitors' Flaws (Reworked)

Chapter Seven

Hey.

So I'm back. Again. Is stress-writing a thing?

Anyway, so... this will probably (maybe?) be the last for a while since I literally start university again tomorrow, but we'll see I guess. I really fuck up Sonic in this one. As always I love reading your comments. I hope you enjoy, and I'll see you when I see you!

... 

Sonic stared into the bowl of soup Rouge had set in his hands. He was still on the floor in the bathroom, not sure if his legs could take his weight right now. Rouge didn't question it, or tell him to move. She just handed him the bowl, set down a plate with buttered bread next to him and left. It smelled pleasant. A translucent yellow broth with sliced carrots and potato, thick, flat egg noodles and what appeared to be parsley, thyme and flecks of fresh cracked pepper. It looked like an improvised chicken noodle soup, just missing the chicken part. He took a spoonful, blowing on it lightly to avoid scalding himself, before taking a bite.

His eyes lit up.

It was peppery. Very peppery. But Sonic loved it. Despite its black-pepper-forward flavour, the smooth broth was just as pleasant as it smelled. The carrots gave the soup a little snap. The potatoes were soft, but not mushy. The noodles were perfectly cooked, just slightly al dente which he loved. He ripped off a chunk from the thick-cut bread and dunked it in the broth. It must have been a salt and pepper loaf, judging by the black specks on the crust.

He had to ask Rouge for the recipe. It was so good.

Sonic didn't cook as often as he used to anymore. When he and Tails were younger, they would eat whatever they could find. Sometimes Sonic would heat up what they scavenged from bins over a fire or make a rough stew from the vegetables they managed to forage. Once they built their house, and were finally getting money for their heroism – granted, those checks from the president were infrequent at best – Sonic had a whole kitchen to work with and he could go to the shops in Central City. He would cook for them every day.

Sonic didn't think his cooking was particularly good. It was edible. Tails acted like whatever he cooked was the best thing on the planet. But he was his brother. Sonic had a feeling he was either trying to make him feel better or he'd ruined the kid's palate.

Eventually, Tails had found an interest in cooking himself. They traded off making meals for a few years. And then, one day, Sonic just sort of... stopped. Tails insisted Sonic cook on his birthday, and he would sometimes make a little something for special occasions. But only ever for Tails. He never cooked for anyone else.

He wanted to cook again.

He missed it.

It gave him something to focus on. Perhaps he could just forget about Dark and his inhibitors and Knuckles for a few hours. Just lose himself in the repetitive act of cutting vegetables, meat and fruit, or stirring something in a bowl or pot. He just wanted to listen to something sizzling in a pan, smell the aromatic scent of spices.

Sonic had finished off the whole bowl before he'd even realised.

He set the bowl down on the plate beside him. After pulling himself up to his feet using the sink, Sonic took a few tentative steps to see how well his feet would co-operate. Passable. He picked up the bowl and plate and made his way to the kitchen. Shadow had healed his arm and the other scrapes and bruises his body had taken from his little tumble in the forest, so at least his body was no longer protesting with every movement he made.

The entire time Shadow hadn't said a word though. Sonic wasn't much better; he'd been frozen, expecting a punch or worse. It had taken him off guard when he'd held his upper arm (much more gently than the last time he'd touched that arm) and healed him.