seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Zimbabwe
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
Candlelit rat masterpost
[ff.net link]
Summary: Gregory and Hell’s Chef have worked alongside each other for years now, though it feels like forever and will be forever, since no one can escape from Gregory house. Not even Gregory himself, but maybe with Chef there that isn’t so bad? Especially after one innocuous incident ends up driving them closer together. Pairing: Hell’s Chef/Gregory
cws provided on each chapter
chap 1
chap 2
chap 3
chap 4
Leave a comment?
Candlelit Rat: Chapter 1
[fic chapter list link] [next chapter]
cws: drugging (minor but the main characters are villains so), animal harm/rat harm, tail amputation
Summary: Gregory and Hell's Chef have worked alongside each other for years now, though it feels like forever and will be forever, since no one can escape from Gregory house. Not even Gregory himself, but maybe with Chef there that isn't so bad? Especially after one innocuous incident ends up driving them closer together. [ff.net link] Pairing: Hell’s Chef/Gregory
"So you have decided to have some!" Gregory said with sinister cheerfulness as he leered over the panicking guest.
Hell's chef watched them over his shoulder, his red eyes smouldering in the dark. It was easiest to scare guests when they first came to the house, before they'd fully accepted the madness around them and still clung to their precious normality. People were at their most uncomfortable when they were faced with the idea that reality- the world and more importantly themselves, was not what they thought it was.
That sort of discomfort was what Gregory most excelled at creating. With his empty smile and pleasant demeanour luring people into a false sense of security, making them believe he truly meant it when he called them "my friend". But he would yank that comfort away, leaving people unable to fully pin him down- even Chef had to admit he found Gregory hard to understand.
Though he liked to think that unlike the guests, Gregory actually meant it when he called him his friend. Not a close friend of course. Of course not. But something along those lines.
The guest looked despairingly at the rat in front of them, searching in his expression for the friendly old man he'd been just a few seconds ago. Whether they decided to trust him after all or were just frightened of the huge knife Chef brandished, they reached out a shaking hand to pick up the soup spoon.
There was a moment of expectation- Chef had been craving some excitement, some fear to bring to a boil since the last guest assimilated. And of course, Gregory felt the same way. Chef would never let anyone else in his kitchen but terror was a dish him and Gregory served up together.
The first drop of soup touched the guest's lips and his candle flame flickered with excitement. The guest finished their first mouthful and the spoon clattered to the floor. They staggered around as Gregory gloatingly crooned to them, "Oh dear! Are you feeling unwell, my friend? Well, surely you don't want to insult the chef's cooking with this behavi-"
The guest shoved past him for the door and Gregory yelped in surprise. Chef had to admit that for all his gift at manipulation Gregory couldn't fight to save his life. But he didn't have to, Chef was always the one who took care of these things.
He raised his knife to strike but the guest jostled past him, disorientating him. He struck blindly and there was a shriek of pain. But it wasn't the guest.
It was Gregory.
Chef pulled his knife out of the floorboard and with it the severed end of Gregory's tail came loose. Dark red blood seeped over the old creaky floorboards and Gregory gasped. He grabbed the bleeding stub he had for a tail and wrapped the corner of his coat around the wound, wincing with pain.
"I trust you to deal with our unruly guest while I take care of this… mishap." Gregory said in a clipped voice as he picked his spasming tail end off the floor and ran in the direction of Catherine's room.
Hell's Chef was left standing silent in the corridor, his knife splattered with blood.
The guest keeled over after a few more ungainly steps and the body was easily dragged back into their room and left there. Chef had more pressing things on his mind than torturing them further, so he left the body and wandered the halls, thinking.
He had always been a precise cook- his dishes were perfectly spiced, his meals cooked to the exact temperature and he never, ever made a mistake chopping meat. Never. Except now he'd made a mistake that was far worse than just messing up dinner.
He'd never had any time for anything other than cuisine- family, friends, relationships, those were just an unnecessary garnish to the rich flavour cooking gave his life. The first thing he ever said to Gregory had been "I'm no friend of yours."
It was strange to think that Gregory had only been middle aged then, like himself. Gregory had looked at him in surprise and removed his half moon glasses so Chef could notice the full blood red colour of his eyes. But nice eyes or not Gregory's overly friendly (yet slightly sinister) nature had infuriated him. Chef was a person who put things bluntly and simply, like a bland yet filling meal. You knew where you stood with it.
What he couldn't stand in cuisine was people covering up genuinely awful food with stupid garnishes so naturally he couldn't stand people who filled in conversations with empty compliments and sweet nothings. He'd expected Gregory to snap and his empty smile to fade but Gregory had just smiled and gently said;
"Perhaps I shouldn't be so overly familiar. But you do know…" his grin widened, "you're going to be staying a… while, so we have plenty of time to get to know each other, my fr-" he'd cut himself off before he said it again.
Chef mulled over how much things had changed since that first meeting as he guiltily wandered the halls. There had been a time when that word habit annoyed him. But not anymore, now he somewhat liked when Gregory called him his friend.
The reason he liked to think that Gregory didn't just call him that out of habit, but that he actually considered him a friend was because if he was being honest, that's what Gregory was to him. And the last thing he wanted was to lose that.
Gregory had left too fast for him to say anything. He hadn't had a chance to explain himself.
He washed the blood off his knife but he knew that until he did something he hadn't done since coming to Gregory House he wouldn't be able to feel clean; and that was apologise.
Candlelit Rat: Chapter 4
[prev chapter] [fic chapters masterpost]
cws: this chapter deals with Chef’s memory and identity loss as a result of joining Gregory House so heads up for that if it’s a trigger.
The only sounds in the pleasantly quiet kitchen were the simmering pot on the stove, Chef's methodical chopping and the sound of potato peels dropping onto the table.
It had been a long time since Gregory had had to cook anything. Chef had taken care of the House's meals for… what was it now? Two decades? Maybe less? Maybe more? Gregory smiled, both at the notion that time meant anything meaningful in this domain, and at how long they'd known each other for.
He still remembered the day Chef had first come to Gregory House, which had then been officially run by his mother and bore her name instead of his. Though of course he'd been the one doing all the work since- he even dropped out of his science school to pick up his mother's slack full time instead of continuing his education. That was why he'd been working the register when a tall, imposing man stepped through the old wooden door.
Chef had been a handsome young man who would've been much handsomer if he stopped scowling for a second, and wore something other than his white uniform and hat. The first thing he'd said had been "I'm no friend of yours." after Greg had casually referred to him as such. He'd been very uptight and closed off like that- Gregory immediately started guessing that he'd had some intimacy problems. Or maybe valuing his career over the other people in his life. Gregory was good at figuring people out like that, he had to be. He'd first learned how to measure the shift in people's moods and judge their character from his mother, where him figuring out what she was feeling and how she'd act was all that stood between him and a beating. And even that often wasn't enough.
And after he'd learned how to read people so closely, he couldn't turn it off. Chef was an interesting person to analyse. And a fun guest to mess with. He'd been hard to crack, but like everyone, once he stepped foot into Gregory House his fate was sealed. He came crawling back after just a few months of reality, and Gregory had his room ready for him.
Just like that, Chef had gone from being an esteemed professional to working Hell's kitchen. It was rare that a guest actually joined the ranks of hotel staff, and even rarer that any staff member became someone Greg would genuinely consider a friend. But despite his gruff personality him and Chef had always gotten on surprisingly well. And they did have fun together- terrorising the guests, dealing with growing old, or just sitting together in a rare comfortable silence.
It was strange to think about how much time had passed since that first meeting. Gregory was an old rat now, as his poor eyesight reminded him. He'd been squinting down at the so-called tater in his hands and finally resigned to putting his glasses on.
His greying blonde hair had kept falling into his eyes as well, so Chef watched as he tied it back with a bit of string. Chef had never seen Gregory with his hair in a ponytail before and as Greg tidied the escaping wisps he thought about how soft it looked. It must feel like the warm fur of his hand, but longer. He ached to touch it.
Gregory balanced his glasses on his snout and caught Chef staring at him. He grinned and pointed at his frames, "I may be a rat but I'm so blind you could mistake me for a bat." he joked.
Chef was confused, he was pretty sure Gregory wasn't blind. "You can see." He stated.
Gregory laughed at him and Chef felt slightly embarrassed. "It's an expression my friend," Gregory said, "blind as a bat. I suppose you wouldn't be familiar with it- I do believe you were from France originally, maybe they don't say that over there, perhaps French bats have better eyesight, hmhmhm!"
"I was… French?" Chef said in a baffled voice, not understanding what this detail had to do with bats or Gregory's eyes.
"Yes you were, but that's all in the past-" Gregory said somewhat sadly, "and about my glasses... maybe you'd understand what I mean if you tried them on."
He offered the frames to Chef. Chef didn't have much of a face anymore, only a demonic humanoid shape, so he had to hold up the glasses and peer through them. They were much thicker than he'd thought and it was like looking at the world underwater, or through the bottom of a wine bottle.
"You need this to see?" He asked and then it was his turn to laugh at Gregory. It was a deep rumble of a laugh that made Gregory smile. It was nice to hear him laughing, even if it was at him.
"Yes I do so can I have them back?" Chef let out one last dark chuckle and returned them.
Gregory went back to peeling the potatoes and Chef went back to pretending to chop them. All while secretly watching Gregory out of the corner of his eye. Gregory's eyes were lowered and he was deeply focused on his task, so the red irises were slightly hidden behind his glasses but not enough to hide their beautiful colour. Everytime he looked at them a million comparisons came to mind- expensive red wine, a red hot cooking fire, the pure scarlet of raw bloody meat. But none of them came close to describing the beauty of their colour. Or the feeling he felt when he looked at them.
Gregory glanced up and as their eyes met his flame sputtered from embarrassment. This was the second time he'd been caught staring at him. But despite his people skills Gregory was oblivious and just frowned at him, "If I peel any faster I'll get arthritis. Have you no sympathy for an old rat's frail tender paws?"
Chef didn't say anything while Gregory sulked like a petulant child. "What are we even making anyway."
"Surprise." Chef muttered, "Chef's special."
Gregory raised his eyebrows at him and Chef added, "You will like it. It has... cheese…"
The rat cheered up massively at the mention of cheese and started peeling his potatoes at record speed. It was hard to believe that this was the same person who'd been wailing about arthritis just a few seconds ago. But Gregory was like that, Chef supposed, at heart he was really just a big kid. He rarely showed it, but Gregoy was so fun loving and childlike deep down. It made the knowledge that he'd been denied the chance to actually be a child hard for Chef.
Or course it must be even harder for Gregory, Chef reminded himself. That was why he was doing this- Gregory deserved something nice after everything he'd been put through.
Gregory finished peeling his potatoes and wouldn't stop gloating about how well he peeled them as Chef silently chopped them. Greg noticed he cut each slice the exact same length and chopped them so quickly that the knife was just a whir of metal. He was impressed. He'd known that Chef was, well, a chef but seeing his talent in action like this was something else.
Chef added the potatoes to a pot as well as a few artful splashes of the stock he'd been boiling. "Stock," he said knowingly, "is the heart of any cuisine." Gregory could only nod as Chef continued to pepper in seasonings and finally added what Gregory liked to see- several slabs of tasty cheese.
Gregory sat back down at the table and drummed his claws on it. After just a few seconds he said impatiently, "How long is this going to take, my friend?"
Chef didn't reply, he was so engrossed in the cooking process. Greg had to repeat his question before he heard him.
"Soon." Chef said, "I will have to bring it to a boil first…"
"And what am I supposed to do while you're doing that, hm?"
Chef shrugged. "Entertain yourself."
Gregory continued drumming his fingers on the table. That was Chef's great drawback he supposed, a loyal and reliable friend who clearly cared about him a lot more than he'd initially thought, but not the best at conversation. In just a few minutes the rat was bored out of his mind. Gregory was used to feeling bored- it often seemed like his shifts at the register dragged on forever and ever. And when that happened he normally hummed to himself to keep the time.
He started drumming up a little rhythm on the table and hummed a little tune to himself. With all the potatoes he'd had to peel he had the one potato two potato rhyme stuck in his head, and while it was pretty childish humming it while tapping on the table was fun.
After a while he felt like showing off to Chef so he whistled the tune too. It was out of tune and way too shrill, but Chef was clearly trying to stir as silently as possible so the squelch of the melting cheese didn't distract him from the song.
Gregory reached the end of his song and did a mock bow. "Can you do… another song?" Chef asked quietly.
Gregory pretended not to be flattered by this request. "Hm, well, I don't know my friend. Can I? Should I?"
Chef turned to look at him and said in his deep, serious voice, "Please?"
Gregory was incredibly flustered at how serious he sounded. "Okay okay um… I'll do something else, since my audience asked so nicely hmhmhm."
He tried to think of something to whistle. He doubted Chef would appreciate the hip hop tunes he liked, though he also wasn't sure how he'd even go about whistling a rap song. Outside of that he couldn't think of any songs. He didn't know what sort of music Hell's Chef liked now that he thought about it. Maybe something French? Gregory started humming the only French song he knew.
Chef stopped stirring again and listened intently. He'd always liked Gregory's humming as he went about his shifts but something about this melody was particularly significant. It was something gentle and yet sad. And as he listened he couldn't help but feel like he'd heard it somewhere before, but he didn't know where. All he knew was that it had been someplace warm and safe. Like this kitchen, or like with Gregory, a place where he was happy.
"I know this song," he said eventually, "Frère... Jacque…"
Gregory smiled at him. "Yeah. It's an uh, French nursery rhyme. You probably would've heard it as a kid."
Chef supposed that must have been it. And while he rarely thought of it, in that moment he missed the childhood he could never remember.
The gentle feeling faded and he was back to his usual self, with only cooking on his mind. He took the dish he'd been making and set it down in front of Gregory.
He theatrically took the lid off to reveal warm gooey cheese and potato bake- made specifically for Gregory.
"Bon appetit!" he said and Gregory didn't need to be told twice. While Chef normally admired how good Gregory was at dealing with people, something Chef had never been able to master, and how he had a grace and dignity around him that meant he looked elegant even while peeling a potato, seeing Gregory devour his meal with zero thought for etiquette was endearing too.
As Gregory looked at him Chef saw that his gorgeous eyes were filled with happiness. Something Gregory rarely seemed to genuinely feel. As Gregory got up to go back to work Chef genuinely felt sad to see him go. He wanted Gregory to stay with him. Not just today but always, it was more fun than cooking alone. It was way more fun listening to him do silly shrill renditions of nursery rhymes than listening to the boring bubbling of his pots.
Chef smiled at that. Maybe like Gregory, he was a bit childlike at heart. And in the same way he'd given Gregory what he should've had as a child, Gregory had given him a piece of his youth back.
In the following weeks as the residents passed the kitchen they could hear the never heard before sound of Chef humming emanating from the door. Humming something gentle and yet sad, and which reminded him of both the home he'd lost and the one he'd started to build for himself.
A song that reminded him of Gregory.
Candlelit Rat: Chapter 3
[prev chapter] [fic chapter list masterpost]
cws: mentions of Gregory being abused as a child, but this chapter is on the whole fluffy without ant depictions of abuse or anything.
Things had returned to normal at Gregory House following the incident with Gregory's tail- or as normal as they could be at a Purgatory Hell Hotel. Chef hadn't spent much time with his friend since Gregory stopped needing his help with his chores. Chef was needed in the kitchen anyway, and Gregory was needed elsewhere. He always said the guests weren't going to terrify themselves, and this one was proving rather difficult...
But on the occasion that they did pass each other in the hall Gregory would always smile at him. And not the empty, vacant yet menacing smile he had for everyone else, a genuine smile. One that bared Gregory's crooked and slightly yellowed teeth that had never seen a dentist and made his wine red eyes wrinkle at the corners. The sight of it filled Chef with a warmth he couldn't blame on the candle on his head.
He'd been thinking about Gregory a lot more recently he noticed. About the warmth of his tail, and his voice, and the brilliant bright red of his eyes. And just everything about him. While he'd always been fond of Gregory he couldn't remember ever caring about him like this- or anyone for that matter.
Everything had gone back to normal but even though he couldn't put his finger on it… everything had changed. Chef smiled and then frowned as he checked the larder- other things had also changed. Not all of them good.
He double checked the notes he took of his stock to be certain, and when he saw that he hadn't made a mistake (which of course he hadn't, he was perfect!) his candle flared with rage.
Someone had been stealing from his kitchen.
He grabbed his huge knife and started mercilessly attacking the bones lying on the chopping board. He imagined they were the remains of whatever monster did this and took out his anger on them till all that remained was bone meal dust. All the better for making soup stock really. And every chef knew that stock was the heart of any cuisi-
There was a sound outside. Chef silently pulled his knife free and crept to hide behind the kitchen counter. It was the thief! He was sure it was the thief, and if they liked his food so much he was sure they'd appreciate being made into it.
The door creaked open. He gripped his knife tighter. Then loosened his grip when he recognised Gregory's shuffling footsteps.
He stood up to his full height immediately and stood staring at the surprised rat.
"My my what an entrance- you nearly gave my old heart an attack." Gregory chuckled, "playing hide and seek are you?"
Chef realised that he must have looked pretty silly crouching behind the counter ready to ambush. But he wasn't playing any games. "Someone has been stealing." he said darkly. "Stealing from MY kitchen!"
Gregory nodded attentively. "Oh dear. Can I ask what had been stolen?"
"Food… pantry…" Chef muttered, "can not cook if… no food…"
"Yes yes I understand perfectly- a man's house is his castle, but in your case it's just a kitchen. And you wouldn't want your castle to suddenly lose its towers. But I think it's nothing to worry about; I'm sure it won't surprise you to learn that Gregory House has a… bit of a rat infestation." Gregory grinned.
"Rat cannot open pantry door." Chef gestured seriously, "Rat is… very tiny."
"Am I now?" Gregory took a seat at the kitchen table and folded his arms expectantly. "Well you wouldn't want that would you."
Chef could tell Gregory was implying something. He narrowed his eyes, he'd never been good at picking up on sarcasm or reading between the lines of what Gregory said. "Why are you here?" he asked bluntly, but Gregory knew him better than to be offended by his lack of social graces.
"Me? Why I am waiting for my promised banquet." Greg said with good humour, "where is my three course meal hm? My cheese with a side dish of cheese? You did promise to feed me the very best food you had to offer, and as it happens I'm feeling rather peckish."
Chef remembered that he had promised he'd feed Gregory after he'd confided in him. He also remembered what Gregory had said after he accepted, "you may live to regret it". And looking at Gregory's expectant self tapping his fingers together impatiently, not caring that Chef had work to do that didn't involve feeding a ravenous rat, Chef began to understand what he'd meant.
But that didn't mean he didn't want to give Gregory something nice to eat. Food was the most important thing in the world to him. While he couldn't remember his life food must have defined it, it defined his afterlife, after all. And the thought of someone as important to him as Gregory being deprived of this precious, valuable thing, and being deprived of it while he was a child at that, hurt him.
However he did have work to do. And while food defined him so did being a diligent worker, and that meant he did everything perfectly as soon as it needed to be done. But Gregory was also a hard worker- he'd still done his rounds despite his injury. And as Chef remembered how he'd helped Gregory an idea came to him.
"If rat wants food… he must…" Chef went to the recently raided pantry and dragged a sack out of it, "peel tater…"
"What the hell-" Gregory smiled at his ironic use of the phrase, "is a tater?"
Chef was disgusted- how could his friend not know what a tater was? "PO-TA-TO!" Chef bellowed each syllable to ensure Gregory heard and understood that not knowing what a potato was wouldn't be tolerated in Chef's kitchen.
"Goodness gracious!" Gregory yelped, "there's no need to shout, my friend… I may be going senile in my old age but I still know what a potato is..." Gregory sulked.
Chef gestured at the sack and said seriously, "Peel tater. Then I will feed."
Gregory pouted at having to do work and sulkily took a single, solitary potato from the sack. Chef handed him a peeler and their hands accidentally touched for a moment. Gregory's tail had been soft and warm, but his hand was so much softer and warmer- Chef's head started reeling just from that brief brush against his fur.
"Oh. Sorry." Gregory said dismissively while Chef hastily went back to his chopping board, and tried to repress everything that had just happened. He went back to his work and the kitchen filled with its familiar smells and sounds. It seemed that things had once again gone back to normal- but the scrape of Gregory's potato peeling said otherwise. Things were changing again.
While he was sure it had been a joke there was some truth to Gregory's castle analogy- his kitchen was the place he felt most safe and secure, even powerful. It really did feel like his castle, and now that it had been compromised by this thief some of that security had been taken from him. His food being stolen was insulting enough but so was the idea that someone would enter his space, his castle. Chef never let anyone into his kitchen in the same way he never let anyone into his heart.
But as he listened to Gregory start to gently hum under his breath he supposed he could make an exception for him.
[next chapter]
Candlelit Rat: Chapter 2
[last chapter] [fic chapter list]
cws: mentions of child abuse and neglect, physical child abuse and food neglect (Gregory is a child abuse victim) and rat harm continuing from the last chapter.
While no one could say Chef had done it on purpose, or that it had anything to do with the white bandage wrapped around Gregory's tail- breakfast and dinner the following day were Gregory's favourite foods.
This left all the guests who weren't avid cheese fans starving (which just meant more for Greg) and a very happy rat.
Chef was too busy in the kitchen working on the borderline inedible foods he used to torture new guests to see this though. But when it came to cooking, his precision was lacking that day. Every time he raised his knife to cut something he remembered Gregory's pained screech and almost put the blade back down. It was infuriating. All that over one rat- chefs were supposed to hate those anyway.
But the feud between chefs and rodents didn't stop him glancing at the kitchen clock far more often than usual. Gregory started his rounds at a certain time each day, and this time Chef would be waiting for him. Though he had no idea what he was actually going to say to him. Words had never been his strong point, especially not when it came to subjects completely unrelated to food.
He still hadn't figured it out when the time came and he stood near the stairs, his flame smoking from worry like one of his hated cigarettes as he waited.
He waited for much longer than expected. The evening had long turned to night and the mist that enveloped Gregory House every night had painted the graveyard outside a bleak grey by the time Chef heard Gregory's familiar shuffle on the stairs.
Chef listened out for Gregory humming to himself or quietly singing "Do you know who I am- they call me Gregory-y." under his breath but Greg was silent. He only spoke when he came around the corner and saw him.
"Oh. My my, aren't you up late, my friend. I thought late nights were bad for digestion?" Gregory said in his usual smug way.
Hell's Chef didn't say anything but his candle flame burned a little brighter when he heard Gregory's friendly tone and realised he wasn't angry at him. That or he was just hiding it well. Though he couldn't help but feel even guiltier at being called Gregory's friend when he'd done something friends should never do.
The stronger candlelight illuminated them both. Chef realised that Gregory was carrying his tail end in the same hand he uncomfortably held his own sputtering candle in, with his broom in the other. His red eyes lingered on the bandaged tail and Gregory sensed his discomfort.
"It's only a flesh wound." he tried to reassure him, "Catherine said it'll heal just fine- really she did. She even complimented your swordsmanship. Apparently she's never seen a cut so clean," he lowered his voice, "and between you and me, my friend, that syringe maniac would know! Hmhmhm!"
Normally Chef would have literally glowed at his talents receiving the recognition they deserved but this wasn't something he could ever accept a compliment for. He made a grunting noise and Gregory raised his eyebrows.
"Is there something you'd like to say to this old rat?" he asked, Chef slowly nodded.
There was a pause. Gregory patiently waited for him to speak, rather enjoying the uncharacteristically frantic look on the chef's face as he struggled to find the right words for what he wanted to say. Gregory had always liked seeing other people squirm and unfortunately for Chef he was no exception.
"Something, perhaps, about recent events?" he suggested innocently, "mayhaps regarding a… tail?" The unhappiness that was plain to read in Chef's face and body language as soon as Gregory said this didn't bring him the satisfaction he thought it would. He felt alarmed as he realised just how upset he was over this. He'd left the sanctity of his kitchen to wait for him in the drafty halls where his flame was in danger of blowing out just to apologise to him. He shouldn't have teased him like that.
"Please don't worry yourself- it doesn't even hurt me anymore. It's fine really." he said quickly but Hell's Chef interrupted him.
"I am a chef." he stated in his deep voice.
"You are?" Greg said in mock surprise, "I would have never guessed."
"I make the best cuisine. And I am a great chef." he insisted, "Great chefs are not supposed to make mistakes."
He paused again. "But I have made a bad mistake. As bad as… smoking puff puff." despite Chef's serious tone Gregory had to smile at the stupid name he had for cigarettes, "I am sorry."
His words hung in the air for a moment.
"Well…" Gregory was caught off guard. He'd never heard Chef talk so much in one go. The most he'd been expecting was a curt, professional apology, not a heart to heart between heartless monsters. "Maybe great chefs don't make mistakes but perhaps Hell's Chefs do. Besides, everyone makes mistakes my friend." Gregory said with equal sincerity. "I would say we're all only human but of course," Gregory smiled ominously, "That just wouldn't be true."
Chef's candle glowed and Gregory stood basking in his light for a while, enjoying the unexpected warmth.
"I must be continuing my rounds now." he said finally, "Farewell, my friend."
That was the first time since the incident that Chef felt he deserved to be called Gregory's friend. He happily stood aside to let the old rat pass him, still clutching his tail. That, Chef had to admit, was odd.
He pointed at it. "Why do you hold?"
"What? Oh this old thing," Gregory waggled his old withered tail, "it stings slightly when I let it drag across the floor. So I have to hold it like so. You can't imagine the inconvenience," he said self pityingly, "my rounds are going to take forever, which in a way I suppose they already do- I am trapped here for eternity after all, but even so. It's a pain."
That explained why Gregory had been later than expected. Chef tried to imagine cooking while holding something as important as Gregory's tail in one hand and he had to agree, it would make things take a lot longer.
As he thought that he suddenly had an idea. "I could hold for you."
"I'm sorry... are you asking if you can mind my poor tail for me? Hm!" Gregory said with amusement but Chef was serious as usual. "Well I suppose that would solve my little problem... Very well, here you go."
Chef held out his hands as Gregory carefully draped his bandaged tail over his palms. Chef hadn't expected it to be covered in a light dusting of fur, and he couldn't help but curiously stroke a thumb over the surface of it, marvelling at the texture. He also hadn't expected it to be so very…
"Warm…" he murmured.
"Well yes," Gregory said and Chef's flame flared with embarrassment- he didn't think he'd said it loud enough for him to hear! "It may not look it but that thing is chock full of blood vessels- Catherine would be begging to swap places with you if she only knew."
Chef remembered all the dark red blood seeping across the floorboards and his guilt returned.
"My blood goes there to cool when I get too hot." Greg continued, "Mama told me."
Chef could only nod.
"We rats are under-appreciated," Gregory lamented, "we're such a beautiful species but does anyone care? No. Oh I know all about what happens in the real world- my people have been blamed for plagues, people make rat poison and even set cats on us! Why, there's an entire profession called a rat catcher, can you imagine that? How would people feel if I started calling myself a people snatcher I wonder." Gregory was starting to get pretty worked up about the rat xenophobia he was obviously convinced existed, "I'm sure they wouldn't like it one bit."
Gregory carried on with this rant as he swept the floor. Chef simply tuned him out and focused on holding his tail. He noticed that it involuntarily twitched every time Gregory made a point he was particularly passionate about- kind of like how Chef's candle flared and sputtered when he got excited. It was a mannerism he found somehow… cute.
His eyes travelled up the tail's length and he noticed something. At the tail's base it became significantly thinner with less muscle. "Is there… blood vessel reason for that too?" Chef said bluntly, and pointed.
"-Not only that but mice… sorry what?" Gregory said distractedly, "oh, that. Well, I'd rather you not stare, my friend. I have a condition called matchstick tail."
"Matchstick… like for candle?" Chef said in confusion.
Gregory chuckled. "No no my friend. Matchstick tail is a little condition some rats have. An extreme case of square edged tail- it happens when a rat is… underfed and malnourished for a long period in his life. The tail doesn't get enough nutrients and you can see the rather unflattering result."
"You did not eat… proper food?!" Hell's Chef nearly dropped Gregory's injured tail in disgust at the man's lack of reverence for cuisine.
"It was hardly my decision," Gregory huffed, "Mama had more important matters than making sure her son got three meals a day."
"More important than Gregory?" he asked sadly. Gregory's mother, specifically the way she treated her son, was no secret to the residents of Gregory House. She didn't make any attempt to lower her voice when yelling at him and it wasn't unusual to see Gregory wandering the halls with various bruises, his empty smile etched onto his face. But though it was no secret and therefore no surprise the knowledge that Gregory's mother had treated him like that since he was a child was still hard to process.
While Hell's Chef knew that logically speaking, he must've been a human guest at the house at one point his memories of reality had long been severed. Just as the memories of all the residents who eventually returned to Gregory House were. But even though he couldn't remember his own childhood or mother and was now a literal demon, he somehow knew deep in his heart that this was not how children were meant to be treated.
"Yes," Gregory spat, "More important than me…"
There was a silence broken only by the sound of Gregory angrily sweeping. Chef thought to himself as he carefully held the tail about what Gregory had told him. While Gregory enjoyed pretending to be friendly and close to everyone he met, this was one of the few times Chef had felt actually close to him. As in… genuinely close. Not as a victim of Gregory's mind games, or even as a colleague. But on some other level.
Gregory had chosen to confide in him specifically. He couldn't help but feel like he'd been given important information- like a secret recipe. And he had to make the most of it while he had it.
"I can give you good food." he said slowly.
"Are you offering to feed me?" Gregory smiled, "Well… I suppose I did appreciate the "I'm sorry I cut your only tail off" cheeses. I just might take you up on that offer." Gregory added, "though you may live to regret it."
Gregory finished sweeping and gestured for Chef to follow him, carrying his tail behind him. Chef was standing right behind him and he could feel each careful step he took as he followed him. He almost laughed at how ridiculous their procession must look to anyone watching.
"Hmhm we must look pretty stupid." he giggled.
"We are not stupid," Chef said defensively, "we are… just friends…"
Gregory almost stopped at that. He didn't know where he'd picked the habit of calling everyone he met some sort of affectionate pet name, but he'd had it for as long as he could remember. If he was asked he'd probably say that it made the guests even more uncomfortable than they already were, but of course that didn't explain why he was so affectionate with everyone. If he was being honest he'd say the truth, that he'd been starved of the kindness he gave other people and growing up a lonely little boy, friends was all he'd ever really wanted. The way he acted- being so nice, calling people "friend"- it was all pretend. And he knew that, but it was nice to pretend. Gregory House was just one big illusion, one big game of pretend. He couldn't deny that he played it too. It was nice to pretend he had people who cared about him.
It was like ever since childhood there had been a hole inside him that his mother's love should've filled, and there was no lie he wouldn't tell himself to make it feel just a little bit less empty.
But this was no lie. And in all his years living in this place, no one had ever called him friend.
"Yes..." Gregory smiled genuinely for the first time in what felt like years, "I suppose we are friends."
[next chapter]
