Fic: entered into with abandon
Title: entered into with abandon
Author: amy13
Fandom: Bandom - The Cab
Pairing: gen. (I know, right??)
Rating: PG (language)
Word count: 4300
A/N: I really didn't think I was going to be writing AIM fic at tigs the other night after a seemingly innocuous question on what my thoughts were re: Cash leaving The Cab... But there you go. Partial idea and story-line credit and a HUGE thank on beta-duty go to tigs! You rock!! :) Any remaining grammatical/spelling errors are my own.
I would like to point out that this is the second fic I've written that features cooking/food and references Iron Chef... In two different fandoms. *shrug* What can I say? ;)
Somewhere in the middle of all the touring that leads up to them recording Whisper War Cash gets completely sick to death of eating BigMacs and Kraft Easy-Mac. The thing is, he’s pretty much always liked to cook, but being on the road with your buddies in a van doesn’t really lend itself to gourmet cooking, right? So, Cash has become a champ at using one of those hot pot things that heats water with a little extension cord to make Ramen-based food that doesn’t totally suck. It really is amazing what you can do with just the stuff you can buy at a 7-11. A little chicken flavored ramen noodle packet and some, you know, actual vegetables (if the place has, like, those little packets of carrots with ranch dip) and sometimes even some little bits of chicken-in-a-can.
When he adds a bottle of beer to the hot pot ramen one night, instead of water, and then doses it up with some little jars of spices he may-or-may-not have stashed in the basket the last time they made a food run to real grocery store and not a 7-11 he’s pretty pleased with the results. He pours some into a mug and goes out looking for the rest of his band. When he runs into Ian a few minutes later he thrusts the mug out and is all, “Ian, dude. Taste this.”
Ian takes the mug from him and looks at it, askance. He says, “Dude, there’s vegetables in here, what the fuck, man?” But he takes a sip and he’s like, “Oh, wow. Where did you order this from?” He takes another sip from the mug and makes a happy little sound. “Oh, god - this so isn’t fast food,” and then, “You know, someone should totally open a ramen-noodle-only restaurant somewhere,” Ian says while he’s totally digging noodles from a mug of Cash’s new secret favorite dish ever, with his fingers.
Cash grins and doesn’t tell him that someone already has come up with that idea, but he makes a mental note to be sure to take him to one the next time they’re in a big city where there will be one - hell, he’s seen a few in Vegas. Ian’s pleasure over the soup makes him a little bit giddy.
He sees a thing on, like, the food channel or travel channel or something one night about these guys who make sculptures entirely out of carved fruit and vegetables and thinks it’s actually pretty cool - and he’s creative, right? So he goes online and Googles vegetable animals and stuff and a few days later when they drive past a produce stand on the side of the road he gets bitchy until they pull over and he buys some carrots and radishes and an eggplant, just because. And he sits in the back of the van with a little pocketknife and tries his hand at carving little radish roses, because those had looked like the easiest thing to actually attempt. Singer crawls his way to the back and leans over the back of the seat and arches an eyebrow at him. He’s all, “Dude… what…?” and Cash is like, “fuck off, dude,” and sort of thrusts the radish at him and refuses to justify it at all.
He never actually admits that the eggplant penguin that’s sitting on the van’s center console the next morning is his work, but the other guys don’t really have to ask, either.
So then the tour ends and they all go home and Cash is kind of fucking around, not doing much of anything when he sees the flyer at the library when he’s there picking up the books his mom had been waiting for and he thinks, “… huh…” which is how he ends up enrolled in a culinary class. Because, like, they’re going to learn how to make pasta and bread and shit like that and he thinks about how cool it felt when Ian liked his soup. And the classes are at night and only twice a week and the band usually fucks around kind of during the day and… so. Yeah.
And then they’re in California, working on recording Whisper War and it’s actually pretty cool. Cash hasn’t exactly been neglecting his practicing, but he hasn’t played so much for so many consecutive hours in a while now and his fingers hurt and his shoulders kind of ache, but it’s a good kind of ache. It’s nice to be able to submerge himself in the new tracks and just make music with his band.
Then one morning he’s the first one up (he can tell because it’s still too quiet in the apartment and Ian’s a lump under the covers of his bed and he can totally still hear Marshall snoring through the thin walls) so he wanders out to the kitchen and while he’s standing there surveying the fridge his eyes move from the eggs to the butter to the left-over remains of lemon slices from last night’s tequila shots on the counter and he thinks, “Huh.“
When everything’s pretty much done he puts on the coffee pot, then dishes up four plates of eggs benedict and tosses the pans in the dishwasher. When the guys come out they all line up for coffee, jostling each other out of the way to try and get there first, then wander to the table and start to eat. The sounds of ecstasy from all of them make him giddy for about 30 seconds before Marshall says, “Oh, god, where did you GET this, dude - fucking awesome,” and Cash says, “Uh… I made it?” and they all blink at him and then Ian cracks up and is like, “Nice, dude. Whatever. You can tell us where you ordered it from! Maybe they have other stuff - oh, god, I could totally go for some French toast, man.”
And Cash is kind of pissed that no one seems to believe he made the eggs, but at the same time… They did like them, so Cash totally counts that as a win. He doesn’t really realize he’s kind of pouting until Marshall is like, “Dude, who pissed in your cornflakes?” and Cash kind of throws his hands up and stomps off. When he gets back that night he’s got a few bags of stuff, and he’s muttering under his breath as he watches the cream come to a slight boil and whisks together the eggs and sugar. He figures there’s no way they’ll be able to deny what awesome skills he picked up in his class if he makes them crème brulee, right?
Not so much, because this time it actually almost devolves into a shouting match when no one believes he made it. Cash waves his little kitchen torch at them and talks about water baths and tempering the custard and the guys are totally cracking up and shaking their heads. Singer is all but licking the bowl when he finishes his but he laughs, too, and says, “Dude, nice try! C’mon, Halo tournament!” Cash pretty much stomps to the counter to put away the sugar and he’s too irritated to think about how the flaw in his plan was not showing them his progress as he went along and instead he’s totally rational and yells, “You guys suck!” as the others head out of the kitchen.
They finally get a clue the day they’ve taken off because it’s possible Johnson is getting, like, death plague or something and Cash is in the kitchen stirring a pot when Marshall comes looking for him. Cash is like, expounding on the virtues of sleep and tea being the best thing for Johnson right now while he cuts up some more of the tomatoes on the cutting board and adds them to the pot. He doesn’t really notice how Marshall’s answers are kind of one syllable, and the other guys kind of file into the kitchen one at a time, Johnson pulling up the rear, looking kind of pathetic in a pair of pj pants and a hoodie with his nose all red. When Cash sees they’re all there he dips a spoon in the soup to check it and shrugs, thinking it’s actually pretty good even if he didn’t have any fresh basil, which would have made it better.
He passes bowls of soup around and then comes back with a little bowl of this, like, thin-sour-cream looking stuff and he puts a swirl of it in everyone’s bowls before going back and kind of wiping a towel over the mess he’s made of the counter before dishing up his own bowl of soup. And he’s still talking about the chord progression for Risky Business when he sits down and takes a taste and kind of nods his head to himself (the cream totally rounds out the flavor) and Singer kind of pokes at his bowl, and he’s like, “… dude. You made this?” And for a minute Cash thinks he’s going to really lose his shit. He puts his spoon down, stands up and leans forward with his palms flat on either side of his own bowl and he’s like, “YES! Okay, YES! I COOK! I LIKE to cook! I’m GOOD at it, damn it!”
The rest of them kind of blink at him for a minute, and then Marshall takes a taste, and then Ian, then Johnson. And they’re kind of just blinking at him and they’re like, “Holy SHIT, dude, this is… this is awesome!!” Cash is kind of breathing heavily and he flops back down in his chair and Ian’s like, “Wait - did you actually make those eggs? And that crème brulee? Do you mean we could’ve been having shit like that all this time??”
And Cash just kind of sits there for a minute then covers his face with the dishtowel from the table and kind of groans in frustration, and he’s totally not pouting about his band being idiot assholes, okay? He’s not because he’s over that and they totally believe him now, right?
So... they tour for the album and, more often than not, Cash is up before everyone else. He drinks huge amounts of coffee and reads every cooking book he can get his hands on. And not, like, cookbooks. Like, honest to God textbooks about how to pair proteins and starches and shit. Johnson’s the most interested; Cash caught him flipping through his copy of The Textbook of Culinary Fundamentals one afternoon, but really for the most part the other guys are kind of more interested in just eating shit that tastes good, or fills them up - they’re not picky. He lives for hotel nights, and watches like, epic marathons of No Reservations on the Travel Channel because it’s food and sarcasm, which really are two of Cash’s most favorite things in life ever.
He gets his hands on like, every possible episode of Iron Chef available and makes them stop at Borders so he can get copies of the Naked Chef dvds and he may or may not have also accidentally bought a Julia Child box set. He does kick Marshall and Johnson out of the lounge so he can mainline episodes and take notes and shit while watching them on the bigger tv, because it’s a bitch to pause his laptop.
Cash is also totally not above begging favors from his more famous friends, so when they’re in New York City he calls in a favor to Pete, who calls in a few favors of his own and gets them into Mesa Grill, Bobby Flay’s restaurant, on a night when it’s absolutely reservation only. And it’s a fucking awesome meal and as he’s eating his desert Cash has this, like, moment of clarity where he realizes he kind of wants to be Bobby Flay, only cooler and less pretentious. Because he's totally stoked to be touring, he IS, he loves it - he does. But he also really loves that sort of wide-eyed, WOW moment people have when they taste something he made and it's good, too.
And really his life is kind of awesome - he’s learning new shit and playing shows and then the tour ends and they all head back home to relax and regroup and decide where things are going to go next.
And then Ian quits the band.
He tells them on a Tuesday, sitting in Johnson’s living room and they yell a little bit and then quietly agree that if it’s what he wants it’s better for all of them if he leaves before they all end up just arguing all the time and when he leaves that night they all kind of sit there for a while, just kind of staring at each other. And it's kind of, like... Well, it’s just kind of surreal, actually. They're all kind just of sitting there, feeling sorry for themselves because the album did pretty well, right? They toured and it was awesome, and Cash totally saw some of the same kids show up in multiple cities to see them play and...
Now it's... not totally falling apart? But feeling pretty fragile and tenuous, too.
They declare a mini-break, just so everyone can clear their heads and figure out what the hell they do next, so Cash goes home and crashes with his parents and he makes them some awesome meals with his new skills and his mom is totally jealous of his knife kit that he bought while he was taking his culinary classes, and one day he’s out walking around the strip and he sees this place, and it has a for sale sign, and…
Well…
He doesn’t tell the other guys, not at first. Because even though it’s probably a little bit crazy, it just. It makes no sense but for some reason when Cash thinks about it, it just feels like it’s the right thing and he just. He just knows.
But he’s not stupid, so he does some research via Google - looking up shit like zoning laws and he gets a realtor to take him in and show him around the place and to look it over and make sure it’s up to code and all that crap. And he spends a few long afternoons sitting on the bike rack that’s on the curb in front of the place, kicking the heels of his Chucks against the rungs of the thing, hands jammed in the pocket of his hoodie - just staring at it, head cocked to the side. Except, maybe, if he’s honest, it’s not really the building as it is that he’s seeing - it’s the building that’s slowly coming together in his mind as something that’s his. That he can make into the kind of place he thinks he could be proud of.
So, he goes to his lawyer (cause he totally has one, because he was stoked to get signed, but he's - as previously mentioned - not an idiot and he had that shit reviewed before he signed it) to find out what it would take to insure, and y'know... DO IT.
Cash signs the papers with a steady hand and he knows it was the right decision when he doesn't shake an inch or freak out 20 minutes later - when they hand him the keys and the only reaction he has is that he totally can’t stop grinning like a maniac.
And he's got fucking IDEAS, man. Like, he wants the place to be whatever the diner really wants it to be. He wants to open the kind of place where someone can get the frou frou meal with the huge plate with the perfect bite, or a pizza and a beer. He wants it to have a kick ass bar, and a vibe the minute you walk in that's like, welcoming to scene kids and foodies alike - he wants it to be chill and about the food and not about any of the bullshit bells and whistles, man. He talks to contractors and toys with the idea of putting in a little stage. Maybe just a little one, where a singer-songwriter type can play a set on an acoustic - it’s an idea that the contractor is completely behind; Cash has the room to do it.
And he's totally already plotting where in Vegas he can go buy the decor things he wants - which is how the cat accidentally gets out of the bag before he really figures out what or how he’s going to tell the band what he’s up to. Because one day Singer shows up at Cash's mom's house and Cash is sitting at the table with the blueprints and a huge cup of coffee, like, flipping through catalogues comparing upholstery samples to paint chips and shit and it's like. They kind of make eye contact for a minute, and then Singer slides into an open chair and he's like, " .... uh... Cash?"
And Cash… He can see the look in Singer's eye, and Singer looks kind of sad. He's tried Cash's food, and he's seen how excited he gets when people like what he’s made. How much fun he has experimenting and trying new techniques he’s learned. They’ve already started talking about and doing some preliminary writing for the new album, and it just hasn’t felt the same to him this time around. He still comes to writing sessions and practices. He still feels like the band is his, but. He’s been working things out with the lawyers and the reality company and setting up contractors and shit for his new restaurant and all of the work going into the restaurant has gotten him much more excited than the album-writing process has, this time. He’s been on the receiving end of more than one of Singer’s disapproving glares over the past few weeks.
And the thing is, he didn't really let himself think too much about what it would be like for the guys for him to be splitting his focus like this. To be as invested in two different things like he has been. And he realizes that it’s probably not fair to either thing - the band or the restaurant. But he also just knows, if he’s honest with himself, that the restaurant and cooking is where his passion is right now. And while he knows it's not something that they're going to be, like, ecstatic over (the idea of him leaving) that the guys will get it, in the long run.
He swallows and thinks, momentarily, about how hard it’s going to be for all of them. To have another member of the band leave so quickly on Ian’s heels and that, right there, is the biggest moment of regret he has. But he thinks about the restaurant, glances down at his lists and paint chips and he just…
They've been friends for too long for him to be able to keep it all a secret, or want to. And he wants to be able to do this thing and still keep his friends, to not have this be something that’s friendship ending. So he squares his shoulders a little bit and kind of spreads his hands out in front of him, over all the papers and shit and says, "Uh, yeah. Dude? I think we need to talk..."
Afterwards, there are a few weeks of radio silence that hurt more than Cash ever really imagined it could. But they also know Cash, and so they do understand. Eventually. And one day Marshall shows up at the house and he kind of sits at the table for a minute and then he says, “This really sucks.”
And Cash says, “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, man,” and then Marshall kind of shrugs, and leans forward and he takes a deep breath and he’s like, “So, show me what you’re thinking about.”
Two days later Singer texts him “u know u have 2 put the eggs on the menu right??” and after that the guys start suggesting all kinds of weird and random things for the menu. And Cash knows that they get it, really. Because when they decided to start the band and really go for it everyone thought they were crazy and it was just. It was what they needed to do, right? He thinks that the guys can get how this is one of those moments, for Cash. It’s totally the right thing for Cash to do even if it doesn't make sense to anyone else.
And so they announce the split and Cash basically spends the next six weeks sleeping on the floor of his new restaurant while the renovations are going on. He gets texts from the guys periodically and his mom shows up once a day to make sure he's eaten something that isn't completely sugar-based or mainlined from the coffee pot. He picks out flatware and plates and glasses for the bar. He hires waiters and line chefs and an accountant and a hostess. He mocks up a menu with the executive chef he hired, and they figure out what they really want the food to be about by working together. Cash fires the painter and hires a new one, and the night that the new bar is finally installed and it’s shined up and looking fucking amazing, he waves the contractor over and pours them each a shot and looks around the room and just grins before throwing it back.
And then all of the sudden... he's ready to open his doors
On opening night it’s all such a blur that Cash doesn’t even have a chance to freak out. The place is busy - which is awesome and unbelievable. Cash takes a minute before wading into the kitchen to look out at the room full of faces - only some of which are familiar, so it’s good to know that the place won’t be totally empty when his family decides to stop eating out every night. He heads back to the kitchen and gets to work making sure that shit goes as well as it can.
The kitchen is busy and it feels like it’s only been twenty minutes when it’s probably been more like two hours and for the most part Cash is doing final touches on plates and calling out orders to the line cooks but it’s fast-paced and fun and stressful all at the same time. And then the hostess comes back and is like, "Hey! Cash! D’you know your band's out there?"
He says, "What? They are?” And he goes to the door, holds it open for a slightly frazzled looking server and glances out into the crowded dining area to see. She points across the room and he grins when he sees them - all of the Alexes, plus Ian. They’re all piled into this booth in the back - and they’re passing plates around and laughing and Cash grins kind of hugely at her, shrugging his shoulder. “They're not... I mean. They USED to be -" and she's like, "Whatever, dude. Your band is out there."
And it’s like all of the sudden... It's okay? Because she's right. He may be moving in a totally different direction from the rest of them, but it's the right thing for all of them, ultimately, for this to go down the way it has. For him and Ian to go their own way. And besides, The Cab's already got some new dudes playing for them (who totally do not seem to have been invited tonight, thanks) and it's all falling into place for them, too.
They basically close the place that night. The hostess never even tries to turn the table, just keeps taking them beers and when it starts getting late, but before the kitchen’s ready to shut down, she takes out a round of appetizers to tide them over. And by the end of the night Cash finally manages to join them out at their table. He swings a chair from an empty table over to their booth and flops down all sweaty with his chef's coat unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders, all slouched down in his seat. He grins when Ian throws an arm around him and is like, "DUDE! Dude," shaking his head and they're all kind of grinning at each other stupidly.
"Hi," Cash says, waving a little and then they're all leaning forward, thumping him on the back, or shoulders - whatever they can reach, really. And Cash lets them ask him a bunch of questions, which he mostly answers with as much excitement as he can muster, but he's fucking exhausted. This entire thing has been amazing, but so completely draining and he's almost afraid that now that the "oh my God, I'm actually doing this" adrenaline rush of the last 24 hours has worn off he's going to fall asleep right where he's sitting. The conversation around him slowly shifts back to Ian and what it was like touring with Blink and Fall out Boy and playing for Panic!, and how the new guys are fitting in to band, and Cash just lets the familiar cadence of their voices wash over him for a while.
He's kind of nursing a beer, and thinking, "HOLY. SHIT.” as he looks around at the remaining guests, and his employees (he has fucking EMPLOYEES) straightening up and getting ready to close down for the night. He is absolutely not going to get himself all emotional about how fucking proud he is of himself, how exciting this entire adventure is going to be. He takes a sip of his beer, and Singer leans over and kind of just sort of nudges him with his elbow.
Cash looks over at him and grins.
the end.
Author: amy13
Fandom: Bandom - The Cab
Pairing: gen. (I know, right??)
Rating: PG (language)
Word count: 4300
A/N: I really didn't think I was going to be writing AIM fic at tigs the other night after a seemingly innocuous question on what my thoughts were re: Cash leaving The Cab... But there you go. Partial idea and story-line credit and a HUGE thank on beta-duty go to tigs! You rock!! :) Any remaining grammatical/spelling errors are my own.
I would like to point out that this is the second fic I've written that features cooking/food and references Iron Chef... In two different fandoms. *shrug* What can I say? ;)
Somewhere in the middle of all the touring that leads up to them recording Whisper War Cash gets completely sick to death of eating BigMacs and Kraft Easy-Mac. The thing is, he’s pretty much always liked to cook, but being on the road with your buddies in a van doesn’t really lend itself to gourmet cooking, right? So, Cash has become a champ at using one of those hot pot things that heats water with a little extension cord to make Ramen-based food that doesn’t totally suck. It really is amazing what you can do with just the stuff you can buy at a 7-11. A little chicken flavored ramen noodle packet and some, you know, actual vegetables (if the place has, like, those little packets of carrots with ranch dip) and sometimes even some little bits of chicken-in-a-can.
When he adds a bottle of beer to the hot pot ramen one night, instead of water, and then doses it up with some little jars of spices he may-or-may-not have stashed in the basket the last time they made a food run to real grocery store and not a 7-11 he’s pretty pleased with the results. He pours some into a mug and goes out looking for the rest of his band. When he runs into Ian a few minutes later he thrusts the mug out and is all, “Ian, dude. Taste this.”
Ian takes the mug from him and looks at it, askance. He says, “Dude, there’s vegetables in here, what the fuck, man?” But he takes a sip and he’s like, “Oh, wow. Where did you order this from?” He takes another sip from the mug and makes a happy little sound. “Oh, god - this so isn’t fast food,” and then, “You know, someone should totally open a ramen-noodle-only restaurant somewhere,” Ian says while he’s totally digging noodles from a mug of Cash’s new secret favorite dish ever, with his fingers.
Cash grins and doesn’t tell him that someone already has come up with that idea, but he makes a mental note to be sure to take him to one the next time they’re in a big city where there will be one - hell, he’s seen a few in Vegas. Ian’s pleasure over the soup makes him a little bit giddy.
He sees a thing on, like, the food channel or travel channel or something one night about these guys who make sculptures entirely out of carved fruit and vegetables and thinks it’s actually pretty cool - and he’s creative, right? So he goes online and Googles vegetable animals and stuff and a few days later when they drive past a produce stand on the side of the road he gets bitchy until they pull over and he buys some carrots and radishes and an eggplant, just because. And he sits in the back of the van with a little pocketknife and tries his hand at carving little radish roses, because those had looked like the easiest thing to actually attempt. Singer crawls his way to the back and leans over the back of the seat and arches an eyebrow at him. He’s all, “Dude… what…?” and Cash is like, “fuck off, dude,” and sort of thrusts the radish at him and refuses to justify it at all.
He never actually admits that the eggplant penguin that’s sitting on the van’s center console the next morning is his work, but the other guys don’t really have to ask, either.
So then the tour ends and they all go home and Cash is kind of fucking around, not doing much of anything when he sees the flyer at the library when he’s there picking up the books his mom had been waiting for and he thinks, “… huh…” which is how he ends up enrolled in a culinary class. Because, like, they’re going to learn how to make pasta and bread and shit like that and he thinks about how cool it felt when Ian liked his soup. And the classes are at night and only twice a week and the band usually fucks around kind of during the day and… so. Yeah.
And then they’re in California, working on recording Whisper War and it’s actually pretty cool. Cash hasn’t exactly been neglecting his practicing, but he hasn’t played so much for so many consecutive hours in a while now and his fingers hurt and his shoulders kind of ache, but it’s a good kind of ache. It’s nice to be able to submerge himself in the new tracks and just make music with his band.
Then one morning he’s the first one up (he can tell because it’s still too quiet in the apartment and Ian’s a lump under the covers of his bed and he can totally still hear Marshall snoring through the thin walls) so he wanders out to the kitchen and while he’s standing there surveying the fridge his eyes move from the eggs to the butter to the left-over remains of lemon slices from last night’s tequila shots on the counter and he thinks, “Huh.“
When everything’s pretty much done he puts on the coffee pot, then dishes up four plates of eggs benedict and tosses the pans in the dishwasher. When the guys come out they all line up for coffee, jostling each other out of the way to try and get there first, then wander to the table and start to eat. The sounds of ecstasy from all of them make him giddy for about 30 seconds before Marshall says, “Oh, god, where did you GET this, dude - fucking awesome,” and Cash says, “Uh… I made it?” and they all blink at him and then Ian cracks up and is like, “Nice, dude. Whatever. You can tell us where you ordered it from! Maybe they have other stuff - oh, god, I could totally go for some French toast, man.”
And Cash is kind of pissed that no one seems to believe he made the eggs, but at the same time… They did like them, so Cash totally counts that as a win. He doesn’t really realize he’s kind of pouting until Marshall is like, “Dude, who pissed in your cornflakes?” and Cash kind of throws his hands up and stomps off. When he gets back that night he’s got a few bags of stuff, and he’s muttering under his breath as he watches the cream come to a slight boil and whisks together the eggs and sugar. He figures there’s no way they’ll be able to deny what awesome skills he picked up in his class if he makes them crème brulee, right?
Not so much, because this time it actually almost devolves into a shouting match when no one believes he made it. Cash waves his little kitchen torch at them and talks about water baths and tempering the custard and the guys are totally cracking up and shaking their heads. Singer is all but licking the bowl when he finishes his but he laughs, too, and says, “Dude, nice try! C’mon, Halo tournament!” Cash pretty much stomps to the counter to put away the sugar and he’s too irritated to think about how the flaw in his plan was not showing them his progress as he went along and instead he’s totally rational and yells, “You guys suck!” as the others head out of the kitchen.
They finally get a clue the day they’ve taken off because it’s possible Johnson is getting, like, death plague or something and Cash is in the kitchen stirring a pot when Marshall comes looking for him. Cash is like, expounding on the virtues of sleep and tea being the best thing for Johnson right now while he cuts up some more of the tomatoes on the cutting board and adds them to the pot. He doesn’t really notice how Marshall’s answers are kind of one syllable, and the other guys kind of file into the kitchen one at a time, Johnson pulling up the rear, looking kind of pathetic in a pair of pj pants and a hoodie with his nose all red. When Cash sees they’re all there he dips a spoon in the soup to check it and shrugs, thinking it’s actually pretty good even if he didn’t have any fresh basil, which would have made it better.
He passes bowls of soup around and then comes back with a little bowl of this, like, thin-sour-cream looking stuff and he puts a swirl of it in everyone’s bowls before going back and kind of wiping a towel over the mess he’s made of the counter before dishing up his own bowl of soup. And he’s still talking about the chord progression for Risky Business when he sits down and takes a taste and kind of nods his head to himself (the cream totally rounds out the flavor) and Singer kind of pokes at his bowl, and he’s like, “… dude. You made this?” And for a minute Cash thinks he’s going to really lose his shit. He puts his spoon down, stands up and leans forward with his palms flat on either side of his own bowl and he’s like, “YES! Okay, YES! I COOK! I LIKE to cook! I’m GOOD at it, damn it!”
The rest of them kind of blink at him for a minute, and then Marshall takes a taste, and then Ian, then Johnson. And they’re kind of just blinking at him and they’re like, “Holy SHIT, dude, this is… this is awesome!!” Cash is kind of breathing heavily and he flops back down in his chair and Ian’s like, “Wait - did you actually make those eggs? And that crème brulee? Do you mean we could’ve been having shit like that all this time??”
And Cash just kind of sits there for a minute then covers his face with the dishtowel from the table and kind of groans in frustration, and he’s totally not pouting about his band being idiot assholes, okay? He’s not because he’s over that and they totally believe him now, right?
So... they tour for the album and, more often than not, Cash is up before everyone else. He drinks huge amounts of coffee and reads every cooking book he can get his hands on. And not, like, cookbooks. Like, honest to God textbooks about how to pair proteins and starches and shit. Johnson’s the most interested; Cash caught him flipping through his copy of The Textbook of Culinary Fundamentals one afternoon, but really for the most part the other guys are kind of more interested in just eating shit that tastes good, or fills them up - they’re not picky. He lives for hotel nights, and watches like, epic marathons of No Reservations on the Travel Channel because it’s food and sarcasm, which really are two of Cash’s most favorite things in life ever.
He gets his hands on like, every possible episode of Iron Chef available and makes them stop at Borders so he can get copies of the Naked Chef dvds and he may or may not have also accidentally bought a Julia Child box set. He does kick Marshall and Johnson out of the lounge so he can mainline episodes and take notes and shit while watching them on the bigger tv, because it’s a bitch to pause his laptop.
Cash is also totally not above begging favors from his more famous friends, so when they’re in New York City he calls in a favor to Pete, who calls in a few favors of his own and gets them into Mesa Grill, Bobby Flay’s restaurant, on a night when it’s absolutely reservation only. And it’s a fucking awesome meal and as he’s eating his desert Cash has this, like, moment of clarity where he realizes he kind of wants to be Bobby Flay, only cooler and less pretentious. Because he's totally stoked to be touring, he IS, he loves it - he does. But he also really loves that sort of wide-eyed, WOW moment people have when they taste something he made and it's good, too.
And really his life is kind of awesome - he’s learning new shit and playing shows and then the tour ends and they all head back home to relax and regroup and decide where things are going to go next.
And then Ian quits the band.
He tells them on a Tuesday, sitting in Johnson’s living room and they yell a little bit and then quietly agree that if it’s what he wants it’s better for all of them if he leaves before they all end up just arguing all the time and when he leaves that night they all kind of sit there for a while, just kind of staring at each other. And it's kind of, like... Well, it’s just kind of surreal, actually. They're all kind just of sitting there, feeling sorry for themselves because the album did pretty well, right? They toured and it was awesome, and Cash totally saw some of the same kids show up in multiple cities to see them play and...
Now it's... not totally falling apart? But feeling pretty fragile and tenuous, too.
They declare a mini-break, just so everyone can clear their heads and figure out what the hell they do next, so Cash goes home and crashes with his parents and he makes them some awesome meals with his new skills and his mom is totally jealous of his knife kit that he bought while he was taking his culinary classes, and one day he’s out walking around the strip and he sees this place, and it has a for sale sign, and…
Well…
He doesn’t tell the other guys, not at first. Because even though it’s probably a little bit crazy, it just. It makes no sense but for some reason when Cash thinks about it, it just feels like it’s the right thing and he just. He just knows.
But he’s not stupid, so he does some research via Google - looking up shit like zoning laws and he gets a realtor to take him in and show him around the place and to look it over and make sure it’s up to code and all that crap. And he spends a few long afternoons sitting on the bike rack that’s on the curb in front of the place, kicking the heels of his Chucks against the rungs of the thing, hands jammed in the pocket of his hoodie - just staring at it, head cocked to the side. Except, maybe, if he’s honest, it’s not really the building as it is that he’s seeing - it’s the building that’s slowly coming together in his mind as something that’s his. That he can make into the kind of place he thinks he could be proud of.
So, he goes to his lawyer (cause he totally has one, because he was stoked to get signed, but he's - as previously mentioned - not an idiot and he had that shit reviewed before he signed it) to find out what it would take to insure, and y'know... DO IT.
Cash signs the papers with a steady hand and he knows it was the right decision when he doesn't shake an inch or freak out 20 minutes later - when they hand him the keys and the only reaction he has is that he totally can’t stop grinning like a maniac.
And he's got fucking IDEAS, man. Like, he wants the place to be whatever the diner really wants it to be. He wants to open the kind of place where someone can get the frou frou meal with the huge plate with the perfect bite, or a pizza and a beer. He wants it to have a kick ass bar, and a vibe the minute you walk in that's like, welcoming to scene kids and foodies alike - he wants it to be chill and about the food and not about any of the bullshit bells and whistles, man. He talks to contractors and toys with the idea of putting in a little stage. Maybe just a little one, where a singer-songwriter type can play a set on an acoustic - it’s an idea that the contractor is completely behind; Cash has the room to do it.
And he's totally already plotting where in Vegas he can go buy the decor things he wants - which is how the cat accidentally gets out of the bag before he really figures out what or how he’s going to tell the band what he’s up to. Because one day Singer shows up at Cash's mom's house and Cash is sitting at the table with the blueprints and a huge cup of coffee, like, flipping through catalogues comparing upholstery samples to paint chips and shit and it's like. They kind of make eye contact for a minute, and then Singer slides into an open chair and he's like, " .... uh... Cash?"
And Cash… He can see the look in Singer's eye, and Singer looks kind of sad. He's tried Cash's food, and he's seen how excited he gets when people like what he’s made. How much fun he has experimenting and trying new techniques he’s learned. They’ve already started talking about and doing some preliminary writing for the new album, and it just hasn’t felt the same to him this time around. He still comes to writing sessions and practices. He still feels like the band is his, but. He’s been working things out with the lawyers and the reality company and setting up contractors and shit for his new restaurant and all of the work going into the restaurant has gotten him much more excited than the album-writing process has, this time. He’s been on the receiving end of more than one of Singer’s disapproving glares over the past few weeks.
And the thing is, he didn't really let himself think too much about what it would be like for the guys for him to be splitting his focus like this. To be as invested in two different things like he has been. And he realizes that it’s probably not fair to either thing - the band or the restaurant. But he also just knows, if he’s honest with himself, that the restaurant and cooking is where his passion is right now. And while he knows it's not something that they're going to be, like, ecstatic over (the idea of him leaving) that the guys will get it, in the long run.
He swallows and thinks, momentarily, about how hard it’s going to be for all of them. To have another member of the band leave so quickly on Ian’s heels and that, right there, is the biggest moment of regret he has. But he thinks about the restaurant, glances down at his lists and paint chips and he just…
They've been friends for too long for him to be able to keep it all a secret, or want to. And he wants to be able to do this thing and still keep his friends, to not have this be something that’s friendship ending. So he squares his shoulders a little bit and kind of spreads his hands out in front of him, over all the papers and shit and says, "Uh, yeah. Dude? I think we need to talk..."
Afterwards, there are a few weeks of radio silence that hurt more than Cash ever really imagined it could. But they also know Cash, and so they do understand. Eventually. And one day Marshall shows up at the house and he kind of sits at the table for a minute and then he says, “This really sucks.”
And Cash says, “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, man,” and then Marshall kind of shrugs, and leans forward and he takes a deep breath and he’s like, “So, show me what you’re thinking about.”
Two days later Singer texts him “u know u have 2 put the eggs on the menu right??” and after that the guys start suggesting all kinds of weird and random things for the menu. And Cash knows that they get it, really. Because when they decided to start the band and really go for it everyone thought they were crazy and it was just. It was what they needed to do, right? He thinks that the guys can get how this is one of those moments, for Cash. It’s totally the right thing for Cash to do even if it doesn't make sense to anyone else.
And so they announce the split and Cash basically spends the next six weeks sleeping on the floor of his new restaurant while the renovations are going on. He gets texts from the guys periodically and his mom shows up once a day to make sure he's eaten something that isn't completely sugar-based or mainlined from the coffee pot. He picks out flatware and plates and glasses for the bar. He hires waiters and line chefs and an accountant and a hostess. He mocks up a menu with the executive chef he hired, and they figure out what they really want the food to be about by working together. Cash fires the painter and hires a new one, and the night that the new bar is finally installed and it’s shined up and looking fucking amazing, he waves the contractor over and pours them each a shot and looks around the room and just grins before throwing it back.
And then all of the sudden... he's ready to open his doors
On opening night it’s all such a blur that Cash doesn’t even have a chance to freak out. The place is busy - which is awesome and unbelievable. Cash takes a minute before wading into the kitchen to look out at the room full of faces - only some of which are familiar, so it’s good to know that the place won’t be totally empty when his family decides to stop eating out every night. He heads back to the kitchen and gets to work making sure that shit goes as well as it can.
The kitchen is busy and it feels like it’s only been twenty minutes when it’s probably been more like two hours and for the most part Cash is doing final touches on plates and calling out orders to the line cooks but it’s fast-paced and fun and stressful all at the same time. And then the hostess comes back and is like, "Hey! Cash! D’you know your band's out there?"
He says, "What? They are?” And he goes to the door, holds it open for a slightly frazzled looking server and glances out into the crowded dining area to see. She points across the room and he grins when he sees them - all of the Alexes, plus Ian. They’re all piled into this booth in the back - and they’re passing plates around and laughing and Cash grins kind of hugely at her, shrugging his shoulder. “They're not... I mean. They USED to be -" and she's like, "Whatever, dude. Your band is out there."
And it’s like all of the sudden... It's okay? Because she's right. He may be moving in a totally different direction from the rest of them, but it's the right thing for all of them, ultimately, for this to go down the way it has. For him and Ian to go their own way. And besides, The Cab's already got some new dudes playing for them (who totally do not seem to have been invited tonight, thanks) and it's all falling into place for them, too.
They basically close the place that night. The hostess never even tries to turn the table, just keeps taking them beers and when it starts getting late, but before the kitchen’s ready to shut down, she takes out a round of appetizers to tide them over. And by the end of the night Cash finally manages to join them out at their table. He swings a chair from an empty table over to their booth and flops down all sweaty with his chef's coat unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders, all slouched down in his seat. He grins when Ian throws an arm around him and is like, "DUDE! Dude," shaking his head and they're all kind of grinning at each other stupidly.
"Hi," Cash says, waving a little and then they're all leaning forward, thumping him on the back, or shoulders - whatever they can reach, really. And Cash lets them ask him a bunch of questions, which he mostly answers with as much excitement as he can muster, but he's fucking exhausted. This entire thing has been amazing, but so completely draining and he's almost afraid that now that the "oh my God, I'm actually doing this" adrenaline rush of the last 24 hours has worn off he's going to fall asleep right where he's sitting. The conversation around him slowly shifts back to Ian and what it was like touring with Blink and Fall out Boy and playing for Panic!, and how the new guys are fitting in to band, and Cash just lets the familiar cadence of their voices wash over him for a while.
He's kind of nursing a beer, and thinking, "HOLY. SHIT.” as he looks around at the remaining guests, and his employees (he has fucking EMPLOYEES) straightening up and getting ready to close down for the night. He is absolutely not going to get himself all emotional about how fucking proud he is of himself, how exciting this entire adventure is going to be. He takes a sip of his beer, and Singer leans over and kind of just sort of nudges him with his elbow.
Cash looks over at him and grins.
the end.