Who: Jack & Kate [& OPEN] Where: The Kitchen when: 8:30ish
There were two great things about initially waking up back at the house that morning. The first was the relief that at least one chapter in this horror show, the worst one so far, was apparently over. For now, no one else was getting hurt, no one else was locked in a cell. The second was the happy, wiggling retriever puppy lapping at his face like he was made out of pork sausage. After a few minutes of snuggling and patting, Jack took a long shower, not entirely surprised when the dog bounded in with him. So, they both got clean, and after toweling off a wiggling Bosley, Jack dressed.
While it had occurred to him to go check on everyone before heading to the kitchen, it was early enough that he worried he'd start waking people up who needed the sleep a lot more than he did. Because he hadn't been injured. Because the only terrible thing that had happened to him was watching other people have terrible things done to others. It still didn't seem right, or fair, and even the relief he felt was tinged with guilt.
So, Jack did what he did best. With Bosley leaning against the kitchen island, lightly gnawing away on his on his squeaky teddy, Jack cooked. It was useful, it distracted him, and the company was good, even if the only replies he got to his commentary were chirps from the toy. With a pan of cinnamon rolls cooling on the counter, and a pile of waffles getting larger as the iron worked. The two-egg mini omelette with chicken and bell pepper he had cooking away in the skillet was nearly done, and in the interim Jack found himself craving a shot of something. His eyes grazed toward the billiard room, but instead he shifted to the coffee maker to refill his mug, trying not to consider how much better it would taste with some baileys.