I'm back, baby. You can blame this on the fact that I haven't been able to stop watching Kitchen Nightmares since it showed up in my Netflix.

A few warnings: no profit, don't own jack besides these sweats and this laptop. M for the man on man touching about to happen up in here. Updates every other day. We're looking at a 3 chapter piece. On a more serious note, warning for major character death in later chapters.

ALSO I've been a vegan for three years, so if I fuck up the way you make a fancy... cheese? dish... I don't really care that much. But you can point it out, if you must.

Angelo's was the sort of restaurant that could intimidate anyone, Sam consoled himself as he stood on the threshold. It was a nice place to eat, so it'd be a terrifying place to work. That made perfect sense. Sam wasn't being a baby, Sam was being a sane individual. That was all.

He walked in the door. Still before opening, the chairs were stacked on the bare tables, occasionally a blonde and a brunette waitress passed through the dining room, not paying him any mind.

"Sam!" said the enthusiastic voice of the manager. Sam hadn't laid eyes on him since he got the job the day before.

"Oh, Zachariah, hi."

"Excited for the first day of work?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. He pressed on before Sam had a chance to respond, "How are your classes going? Stanford, honestly, a man after my own heart. C'mon, I'll take you to the kitchen. I remember those classes, hard work. Hard, hard work but look what they've got me." Zachaiah gestured around the restaurant. Sam nodded and tried to look impressed. As with his interview, he didn't particularly think that his half of the conversation was necessary.

Sam continued to nod as they came into the kitchen and Zachariah was waxing sentimental about shenanigan's that he had pulled while he was at his alma mater. He deposited Sam in front of a harried looking man in a chef's double breasted jacket already smeared with a red sauce along the sleeve.

"Sam, this is Gabriel." Zachariah said. Gabriel merely glanced up at Sam before turning back to his task. "Don't let him scare you. His bark is worse than his bite." Zachariah said in a light tone, but his eyes stayed on the chef, hard and warning. Gabriel didn't dignify that look with a response.

"Ok, well," Zachariah smiled, "I'll start setting up out there. Wait for the magic to happen."

He drummed on the order counter, earning a look of utter disdain from Gabriel before he slipped out of the kitchen.

Sam stood dumbly where he was.

"I need vegetables sliced for the salad bar and someone to lay these noodles for the lasagna. Then I'm going to need you to roast the garlic for me and take the crusts out of the oven for me before you put the lasagna in. Then just check inventory until we open."

Sam was the only other one it the kitchen.

"Oi, sous chef, that's you." Gabriel said, looking up at him.

"Oh, um right." Sam said, awkwardly stepping around the order counter to the kitchen. He was halfway to reaching cautiously for a zucchini.

"And the hand washing sink is behind you."

Sam blushed all the way up to his ears, but Gabriel wasn't looking so Sam figured it wasn't that bad.

As they prepped, Gabriel had Sam mostly finish the projects that he had already started. Pulling things from ovens, slicing foods, making sure all the shakers were full, the whole while Gabriel was quiet and focused, zipping around the kitchen, moving past Sam without even offering an apology or the occasional, 'excuse me.'

Sam could feel Gabriel watching him out of the corner of his eye, evaluating everything about him, from the way that the chef's jacket was too small on him, revealing the first four inches of his wrist and the buckle of his belt, to the way that Sam moved, too slowly, too clumsy. The feedback Sam was getting from Gabriel's silent evaluation was that he was coming up wanting in a lot of ways.

The delivery door squealed as it was opened and shut and Sam only saw a blur of red hair as a girl sped around the corner, into the office where Sam had seen the other waitresses stash their purses. She came back out, smoothing her hair into a low, serious ponytail, stopping short as she saw Sam watching her.

"Anna, you got to get out there." Gabriel said, appearing silently at Sam's elbow.

"Do you think he'll notice?"

"I don't think he has, but you're working with Ruby and Meg today."

"Really?" Anna's shoulders dropped. Gabriel gave her a sympathetic look.

The kitchen door flung open and the formerly jovial Zachariah was staring daggers at the late waitress.

"Anna, your shift started twenty minutes ago. I need to see you in my office."

"Cool your jets, Zachaiarh." snapped Gabriel suddenly. "I needed Anna to get some tomatoes from the store down the street because the ones you fucking order from that creep with a truck were waxy and complete crap. I've told you this shit a thousand times, you cheap bastard."

Zachariah's face paled then turned red in a matter of minutes. Anna quickly bustled out the swinging door, tying her apron as she went. Sam turned to his task of filling the paprika shakers.

"Gabriel." Zachariah said tightly, "The tomatoes we order from-"

"Are crap. I've told you before that I can't even use them. You'd know if you were here any day besides Friday and showed up early enough to meet the delivery. So, yeah, I asked Anna to get me real tomatoes because I'm not serving people crap so you can save sixty cents."

"I'd appreciate it if you took these complaints to me personally rather than... bark them out where anyone can hear them."

"If I had ten minutes to stand around and do nothing like you do, then, yeah, I'd love to hash this out over tea and biscuits in your office."

"Gabriel-"

"It's six, boss." Gabriel all but sneered, "And I'm going to need to start making dinner orders."

As if to prove his point, Meg came into the kitchen, sliding an order slip up and looking meaningfully at Gabriel.

"If you'll excuse me, sir." Gabriel drawled, "I actually have a job to do."

Zachariah seemed torn between chastising Gabriel's tone and needing Gabriel in the kitchen. Sam thought that maybe this wasn't the first time he'd struggled with this kind of internal conflict. With a nod of defeat, he stepped away from the shorter chef and went into his office. Gabriel read the order off the slip just as Ruby added another.

"Hey, sous chef, I need you to braise those meatballs before you put them in. You might have to roast some garlic for the sauce. Let me taste it after you do. After they're in the oven-"

"Ahh..." Sam looked dubiously at the tray of meatballs.

Ruby came in with another order, Anna hot on her heels. Meg stuck her head in the door.

"Gabe, baby, appetizers for table three. It's Eve and she looks peckish. You know how she loves to express her opinions to management."

But Gabriel was watching Sam, fully now, and there was no mistaking that look on his face. Horror and unmistakable furry. Gabriel shoved Sam out of the way, picking up the brush and painting the meatballs in fast, easy strokes with one hand as he lit the back burner with the other.

"Chop. Can you fucking chop garlic?" Gabriel snapped. Sam nodded quickly and Gabriel snorted before turning back to the order slips and reading the first, wiping his hands on a towel as he went.

"Gabe-" Meg pleaded as she slid another order slip onto the line. "Eve, please, she says something every time I walk by. Friggen Chuck put her near the kitchen like an idiot."

"Chuck is an idiot" Gabriel said, slicing peppers and laying them neatly and easily along the plate. "Don't hold it against him." Meg rolled her eyes but smiled at him, taking the tray he handed her.

"Sous, Roast the garlic. Put garlic in the pan." Gabriel barked over his shoulder. Sam did and was met with the terrible smell of something burning.

"OIL." Gabriel barked, "OIL first, for the love of... You don't just throw... It's useless, rinse the pan, give it to me. I'll freaking do it."

"Sorry- I'm..."

"Have you ever worked in a kitchen before?"

Sam was quiet. Gabriel let out an exasperated hiss.

"Have you ever worked at all before?"

Sam was quiet again. Gabriel actually growled and simply pointed to the dish sink as he shoved the ruined garlic pan into Sam's hand.

By the time Sam got back, Gabriel had two orders up on the counter, but there were two more slips than when Sam left.

"Put the meatballs in, watch them for twenty minutes. Then, Jesus, can you make salads? Are you capable of putting lettuce on a plate?"

"Y—yes."

"Good, then, I don't know, stay out of my way. Another freaking college kid." Gabriel rolled his eyes, mumbling to himself as he went.

"Gabriel, table six is getting antsy." Ruby was at the counter, looking past Sam at Gabriel's back as the chef roasted the garlic that Sam had ruined. "They just ordered salads. Fifteen minutes ago. What's the hold-up?"

Sam started tossing handfuls of lettuce on the plate, followed by cucumbers and tomatoes, none of which looked as professional as the plate he'd seen Gabriel send out.

"Well?" Ruby asked.

"Get your thong out of your ass." Gabriel snapped. "We're doing orders as they come. So fuck off."

Ruby made an affronted sound, but left without a counter argument. Gabriel pushed Sam aside, arranging the toppings on Sam's salad in concentric circles.

"Here, just." Gabriel said, tiredly, as Sam tried to copy his plate on the second salad. "Yeah, that's good enough. Put them up."

The rush went like that, Gabriel barking at Sam and then having to pick up the slack anyways, unhappily and seeming increasingly put-upon as the night progressed. But he never yelled at Sam in front of the waitresses and when even Zachariah came in, furious over a complaint about over cooked meatballs, Gabriel was the one who took the blame, yelling at Zachariah about inadequate ovens and stove tops. Zachariah puffed up, but then let Gabriel get back to his job. It seemed to be a defining characteristic of their relationship.

Finally it was ten, the kitchen was closed and Gabriel had shoved a mop into Sam's hand, which he took without question. It seemed only fair, since Gabriel had been working both of their jobs all night. Meg was the first to leave, cashing out her tips and walking, unafraid, down the dark streets to god-knew-where. Ruby disappeared, but no one seemed surprised or even angry about that until it was just Sam, Anna and Gabriel.

"I'm walking Anna to her car." Gabriel said over his shoulder, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, his chef's coat unbuttoned and flapping against his tank-top clad chest. Sam knew what that meant. It meant that Sam needed to hurry up, because everyone was going home and Gabriel was the one with the key, i.e. the one who was stuck waiting for Sam to finish.

Sam worked alone for a few minutes before he went out to the alley to dump the mop water.

"You know, I can fire you too." Gabriel's voice chimed. Sam started. "Oh, did I scare you?"

The nicotine on his voice made him sound lazy and the only real light in the alley was from his cigarette. It glowed brighter as he took a drag, making his brown eyes looked fiery gold, sinister and knowing as they were the only thing Sam could see in the darkness.

"A...a little." Sam allowed. "I figured you were, still ...saying goodbye... to Anna."

"You thought we were making out." Gabriel guessed. Sam shrugged. It wasn't any of his business. "You think she and I are fucking?"

This was getting out of hand and Sam felt like Gabriel knew it. He felt like Gabriel welcomed it. Gabriel exhaled his lungful of smoke, it swirled, invisible in the dark up to Sam. He could taste the burnt tobacco on his tongue. Sam stepped away as far as the alley would allow, but this was the first time Gabriel was talking to him, the first time he'd seen the man standing still. He wasn't about to walk away because Gabriel spoke too vulgarly, and too intimately for Sam's comfort.

"Are you going to fire me?" Sam asked. Gabriel sighed.

"No, freaking moose, no I won't. But read a cook book, something. Please. I can't even believe that Zachariah hired you."Another drag on his cigarette, another flash of his face, distorted by shadow and light. "That's a complete lie. I know why he hired you. Because he likes you and he thinks a monkey could do my job. Man's never worked a day in his life. Inherited the restaurant from his dad and since he went to some, friggen, stick-up-your-ass college and got an expensive piece of paper, he thinks he's Gordon Ramsey. But his Dad, Michael, he liked me. He understood what I did and made sure that I got some of the restaurant too. Knew that Zachariah would pummel it into the ground if given half a chance. His tomatoes are shit, by the way. I wasn't lying. I mean, Anna was late again and she was probably blowing her boyfriend, not getting tomatoes, but Zachariah's are crap."

Sam felt Gabriel's eyes on him, almost pitingly.

"Zachariah hires college kids a lot. You're not the first. But, uh, those other guys didn't leave. He will fire you. He has to put up with me, but you... he's fickle and he's volitile. He likes that you remind him of himself. But as much as he loves himself, he hates himself too. And he'll turn on you, just like he did to all the others."

"Please." Sam murmured, "I need this job, a job, so bad. I'll do anything."

"C'mon, Sam." Gabriel said, resigned, flicking the butt of his cigarette down the alley and walking back into the kitchen. Gabriel was much less unsettling under the harsh lights of the kitchen. He came out of Zachariah's office with a book. The pages were thick with oil and grease, but Sam could read them ok. "Learn something before you set the place on fire."

"Thank you." Sam said softly, tucking the book against his chest.

Sam went home that night and headed straight for his kitchen, propping the book open on the counter. Then he started a pot of coffee; Sam wasn't very good at cooking or plating, but he was very well versed in studying. So that was what he did. All night.

He had work at four, and went to sleep around six am. Maybe it was the stress or the caffene. All of Sam's dreams were about a kitchen and glowing eyes, lit by a lone cigarette in a dark alley.

He dreamed that he was lying open on a counter, his chest cracked open for everyone to see. And then, thankfully, someone put him back together with easy, practiced hands. Arranging him in concentric circles then shutting him up and sending him on his way.

Gabriel was smoking when Sam walked up that afternoon, he came in through the back door in the alleyway. Gabriel watched him, smirking when Sam got close enough.

"He came back." Gabriel said, half admiring half condescending. He wasn't so intimidating in the full light and he seemed smaller without the boxy chef's uniform.

Sam looked down at him before offering the book out. Gabriel held his cigarette between his lips as he took the book with both hands.

"Ask me how to make something." Sam said. Gabriel crinkled his brow.

"Pesto."

"It can be something harder than-"

"Pesto." Gabriel repeated.

"Basil, garlic, Parmesan, walnuts, pepper to taste. Mix together with olive oil to create a paste."

If Gabriel was surprised, he didn't show it. His face remained stony as he looked Sam over again.

"Manacotti."

"Ricotta, mozzarella, two eggs and parsley, mix in a medium bowl. Wrap in pasta and bake at 350."

"Meatballs."

"Ground beef, Parmesan, basil and bread crumbs. Combine and divide, bake at 400."

"Ok." said Gabriel, maybe a bit of pride in the corner of his eye. Gabriel looked down the alley so Sam didn't get a chance to see. "The special of the day today is our Italian Vegetable quiche."

"Oh. I don..." Quiche wasn't in the recipe book. Sam had read that thing cover to cover, thirty little recipes in Gabriel's cramped hand writing and no quiche.

He still couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed the test of some sort, and Sam had never failed a test before in his life.

"It's my special quiche and I don't give that shit away to anyone. Now get in there and make some new pesto." Sam hesitated, and Gabriel exhaled a mouthful of nicotine with the corners of his lips curled up into a half smile. "You did good, kiddo. Now scram and don't set the place on fire."

Sam's second day at work was much better than his first, at least for the first hour. He'd made pesto, so he'd figured he could conquer the world. Gabriel went so far as to trust him to keep an eye on the delicate quiche crusts while they were in the oven. Once or twice, Gabriel even looked away from him, expected that he could not epically fuck up whatever was in his hands. So Sam took that trust and ran with it, every minute he was earning Gabriel's trust, inch by inch. And Sam wanted it. Sam wanted Gabriel to like him.

Then came the dinner rush and once again, Sam was pushed aside as Gabriel took over his station, working for two. He was nicer about it, though. He called Sam an incompetent moose three times, but it was kinder than the day before.

"Gabriel, honey," it was Meg, peeking through the order slips and the plated food. "Joshua's here. He want's the special."

"'course he does." Gabriel said. He turned to look over his shoulder, "Hey, Sam, where did you put the crusts to cool?"

Sam's face fell. His stomach dropped and Gabriel cursed softly, dropping his face into the crook of his elbow. Sam leapt across the small kitchen space, throwing open the oven door and being greeted with the smell of burning food in full blast.

Meg watched from across the ticket counter, a disbelieving laugh on her face. Gabriel just shook his head and flicked his wrist, sending her out.

Some part of Sam's brain hadn't comprehended, something delusional that he had thought he had forgotten, an idea he long since abandoned. It wasn't over. It wasn't ruined. It couldn't be, there was no possible way he had fucked up so largely in a way that couldn't be fixed. He grabbed the tray and hissed at his own stupidity as it sizzled into his hand.

"Hey, hey, idiot, what the fuck are you-" Gabriel cut himself off as he looked up into Sam's face, grabbing a towel and taking the hot tray from the frozen sous chef. "Hey, uh, Sam. It's ok. It's quiche."

Sam was shaking. It wasn't about the quiche and Gabriel seemed to see that immediately. Gabriel tore his eyes away, dropping the inedible tray.

"Shit." Gabriel muttered, and when Sam looked up, Gabriel was looking at the swinging door. Sam recognized the balding head of Zachariah, aiming straight for them. Sam was having a deer in the headlights moment, so, thankfully, Gabriel grabbed his arm and shoved him toward the walk in fridge. "Just pull yourself together, kid." and then Sam was in the dark. The cold was just beginning to bite into his skin, most noticeably along his cheeks. Tears. He was crying. He hadn't realized. He heard the swinging door open and close.

"Meg has some very interesting news about the special tonight." Zachariah's voice; level and dangerous.

"Not happening. I burnt the crust and we don't have time to make a new batch to serve the dinner crowd. Better luck next week. If they ask for the quiche, push them towards the capponata. We're trying to get rid of that."

"Gabriel-"

"It's a kitchen. I burn things. It happens. I fucked up, and I'm sorry but there isn't any reason for you to look like someone twisted that stick up your ass."

"You cannot talk to me like that."

"I have other orders to prepare." Gabriel dismissed him.

"Gabriel, where is Sam?"

"Taking his ten. I'm not his keeper."

"Who was responsible for this?" Zachariah's voice was so soft and dangerous that Sam almost didn't hear.

"I just told you that it was me."

"Yes, but, Gabriel, you lie."

"Unless you want to make this antipasti, I'll need my kitchen to work."

"It's not your kitchen, Gabriel. It's mine. You are here because of a loophole in a contract and some sort of obligation to my father. You forget that. A lot. That special comes out tonight or you're going to be let go."

"If you fire me, this place will be under in a week."

"I guess we'll have to see."

"I'll put in my two weeks, then. Right now. Fuck you, Zachariah. I'll stay long enough to train someone new, but then, fuck you straight to hell you smarmy dick"

"You can just leave now, save me the headache."

There was a pause, then Gabriel spoke again, his voice lower, almost chastised.

"Joshua comes in a lot. He's a good guy. And these orders aren't going to make themselves. If I let you back here you'll start a fire or poison someone. I'll finish my shift and I'll train someone new. Then, we're done. Zach. You finally got rid of me, just like you always wanted."

The door swung closed again, then came the sounds of dishes in the kitchen being moved, orders being prepared. Sam wanted to move, he did. He didn't want to be trapped here, in the dark with that memory of the last time he ruined something, broke it beyond repair.

But just as it had, every time before, it had started playing in his head. Slow motion, excruciating in clarity. Over and over like a broken record. And Sam didn't have it in him to stop it, cut the memory off and shake himself out of it because it felt rude, wasteful, even to destroy that memory. That one last memory.

So he stayed in the dark and shivered for several reasons, only one of them being the cold.

"Hey, Sam?" Gabriel's voice came through the door. "You feeling better, kiddo?"

"Yeah, I just need another minute."

"It's been forty five of those. Can I help at all?"

"Um, maybe just another..."

"Sam, I'm coming in, don't strangle me or anything, ok?"

The door opened, letting in a flash of bright light like a halo around the chef's head. Sam was still a bit disoriented when Gabriel grabbed his bad hand, holding it toward the light. The skin on his hand was already beginning to blister. Gabriel let out a 'tut' sound and held up a bag of ice to the burn. Sam hissed but let him. He had grown numb to the cold in the freezer, and he welcomed the warmth of him. He fought the urge to move closer.

"You want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "About that full on PTSD face you gave me back there. Are you ok, Sam?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. It's over. Was being stupid."

Gabriel didn't say anything, beginning to wrap Sam's hand.

"Gabriel? Are you really... going to quit?"

"Doesn't look like I have much of a choice, does it, kiddo?" Gabriel smiled dryly. "I'll do exactly what I've always done and be just fine."

"Why didn't you just tell him the truth? I fucked it up... if he was going to fire someone..."

"You need this job. And I've been needing to rid my life of Zachariah for a while. It was perfect timing."

"You're lying." Sam said softly, "You're lying."

"Maybe. But it's rude to say so. So don't say it."

Sam lowered his head, brushing his lips clumsily against Gabriel's jaw. Gabriel jerked back, looking him over with hard eyes. Sam felt his face burn. He didn't think it was possible for him to humiliate himself more today than he already did.

Gabriel's hand cupped around the back of Sam's neck, pulling him down, then Gabriel's mouth was against him again, kissing like he meant it. And Sam kissed him back, taking in the warmth of it all; his body, his mouth his hand on his neck like it would sear there, his bad hand held awkwardly to the side so that he could move closer to Gabriel, press them together from stomach to knees. Maybe Sam had lost his mind, still shaking from that memory of that night, just as fresh, maybe even worse without the blanket of shock to hide under.

Maybe he needed to feel a connection to a real person, a living person and a physical one was better than none at all.

Or maybe Sam felt sorry for the older man, and the kiss was a way to justify the sacrifice that Gabriel made.

Gabriel's tongue was in his mouth, suddenly, and Sam's good hand came up to pull him closer, squeezing the small of his back so that the importance of the kiss skyrocketed. Gabriel moaned, a real, erotic, porn-esque moan and Sam swallowed the sound, suddenly feeling hot all over. He shifted his hips and made his arousal evident.

Gabriel finally broke away, his cheeks and nose pink from the cold, but his lips were shiny and red. His breathing labored, Gabriel quirked an eyebrow and experimentally reached forward, stroking his palm over Sam's hard-on. Sam's eyes fell to the back of his head, his hips, on instinct, rolling up to the pressure.

Gabriel pulled his hand away, looking at Sam and then running his hand through his hair.

"Fuck, kid. The fuck are we doing?"

Sam didn't have an answer.

There were voices in the kitchen, Meg and Ruby.

"-Zachairah's been a real pill all night. Wonder what Gabriel said to get him all wound up like that." Meg's voice carried, unaware of who would hear there conversation.

"Where is that little asshole anyway? Joshua loved that pesto plate he gave him. Wanted me to compliment the chef."

"Not here. Maybe taking Anna to her car?"

"Hmm."

"What exactly do you mean by that 'hmm'?" Meg purred coyly.

"I mean-" and then there was silence. Next to him, Gabriel rolled his eyes. Sam was momentarily confused before there was a wet sound, then the soft smack of lips being pulled apart.

"Zachariah would flip if he saw us making out in the kitchen." Ruby said, but not like she was really concerned.

"Again."

"Your place or mine?"

"You've still got the-?"

"Yeah, I've still got the..."

"Yours it is then."

"Wanted to say something to Gabriel," Ruby sighed again, but it turned breathy as Meg convinced her.

"He'll be here tomorrow. And the next day and the next. He'll outlive all of us and still be here, making quiche for our great grandchildren."

"Poor bastard, your kids will be the spawn of Hell." Ruby teased.

"Damn right." Meg purred, and then, after an eternity, they left, the door creaking loudly behind them.

Gabriel reached forward, letting him and Sam out of the walk-in fridge and into the harsh light of the kitchen. He walked away from Sam, throwing the bandage wrapper and the, now lukewarm, compress into the trashcan. He didn't look up at Sam, but Sam couldn't seem to look at anything besides him.

"So," he said, "Meg and Ruby are.."

"Gay for each other, yeah." Gabriel said, fidgeting with the shelves over the kitchen counter. Sam realized suddenly that Gabriel was unsure.

"I'm not gay." Sam blurted. Deciding to just start yelling and pointing at the elephant in the room.

"Oh." Gabriel said flatly, looking up at him. "I am."

"Oh."

They stood for a moment before Gabriel handed Sam the mop again, then headed outside, patting his pockets for his pack of cigarettes.

The repetitive task in the unforgiving florescent lights, wiping over cracked kitchen linoleum over and over again did nothing to soothe Sam's nerves. For some reason, all the light, sharpening his senses, started bringing memories of the dark to the forefront of his mind. The smell of iron. The slippery feel of a steering wheel under his hand. Squinting into a rearview mirror. Wrapping his hands in warm hair, pulling a smaller, but like body against his own.

Gabriel was still in the alley, halfway through a cigarette while three butts littered the concrete around him. Sam dumped the mop water and turned to Gabriel. Gabriel watched him for a moment, hawk eyes lighting up as he took a drag, flicking the half smoked cigarette away, reaching up, just as Sam stepped forward, and dragging Sam's face down to his, licking the seam and forcing his way in.

Sam braced himself against the hard wall, trapping Gabriel between his arms, kissing for all he was worth, like he'd never want to breathe fresh air again.

Gabriel's hands were at his pants and Sam didn't stop him.

He only murmured, "Please, don't stop." when Gabriel's hand fisted around him and tugged with easy, practiced strokes.