InsaneJournal

Dom, despite all the sleep he got that night (probably the most out of anyone), didn't feel rested when he woke up the next morning. Instead, he felt anxious. It had even taken him a moment to remember where he was, whose warm form was next to his. And then later to realize whose warm form wasn't next to hers. But Dom had expected that.

He carefully slid his hand away from where it had been placed on Wanda's waist sometime in the night. He went to piss then padded downstairs to the kitchen. He pulled himself up onto the counters, sitting there for quite sometime. He had slept in Pietro's clothes and now he could feel the uncomfortable lines the jeans had left on his legs. His entire body ached and he rolled his shoulders, trying to will away the kinks that were left there. He vaguely remembered having a dream that he was fighting a target he could see…but couldn't hit. Maybe that was when he had grabbed onto Wanda.

Dom looked at the clock. He needed to do something, anything. He needed to concentrate all his remaining energy on a minuet task, a simple task but something not simple enough that he couldn't fight away thought.

Sometimes, Dom had a kind of internal clock, like he had a feeling about things. Dom had a feeling Wanda would be up soon, and she's either be ravenous or not hungry at all. Either way, she had to eat. Dom flexed his hands experimentally and was greeted with a sharp stab of pain that caused him to wince. But cooking Dom knew how to do, and he was determined to take care of Wanda. Didn't he always boast a high pain tolerance?

Dom raided their fridge which seemed to only have the basics. It seemed that there were many things in there bought with every intention of someday making, then were forgotten. All that time in the Brotherhood had served Dom well, however. He had refused to let any of those other delinquents touch his food, even when they did occasionally take turns. So he had gotten decent, and slowly good at scrounging and scraping together food for a meal.

Not that they were terribly under-supplied. He stared at the fridge and started pulling things. He'd start Wanda out on bread in case her body rejected it and if it didn't, she could try something else. Dom knew he at least needed protein, and he figured Pietro too, if he hadn't already eaten.

He started a few things at once: toast in the toaster, bacon and sausage on the stove-top. He moved onto eggs, heating a pan. As he picked up the egg, he was reminded of his handicap. None other the other objects had been so small or delicate and it made his fingers got stiff and scream in pain. He sighed, trying to get his fingers to wrap when they simply wouldn't. He tried to crack it open on the edge of the bowl. He had once been able to do it one handed. But now, however, the egg smashed in his hand completely, running over his bandages and what little flesh showed beneath him.

He felt more frustrated than he should have been over a ruined egg. But maybe it was because it felt like more than the egg was breaking. Dom knew, however, that out of the three of them, he had to be the comic relief if no one else would be. So he just took a deep breath and washed the yolk off his hand.