"You know, I've never actually tried your cooking," Huang says to Hei one day. They are in the dingy basement which serves as their safehouse; post-mission de-briefing is over but they are reluctant to leave just yet, partially due to the rainstorm outside. Yin is sitting on the beaten-up couch with Mao curled in her lap, while Huang is at the kitchen counter, watching Hei as he goes about preparing a meal that could feed at least a dozen people.

"Is that so?" Hei murmurs in reply without looking up or slowing down on his relentless chopping up of some greens. Huang notes with some amusement that he is still wearing his combat gear.

Huang does not know why he said what he did in the first place. He has never been particularly curious about the matter, not being one to pry unless it concerns work. Maybe it is the peculiarly domestic setting that brought out his mellowness, which has been showing itself disturbingly often these days. Huang blames it on his advancing age.

Nevertheless, the aromas wafting from the various bubbling pots are making his mouth water.

"I have," Mao announces suddenly. "And it is most exemplary, I must say."

Huang stares at Mao, then at Hei. "You cook for a cat?" he says incredulously. There is a slightly accusatory tone to his voice, he realizes in dismay, and hopes fervently that nobody catches on. Hei is engrossed with his cooking and does not deign to answer, so Mao does it for him with a certain degree of smugness. "That he does, on occasion."

Huang frowns. "Whatever happened to cat food?"

"Have you ever tasted cat food? That stuff is vile." Mao scrunches up his kitty-face. "And despite how my current form looks, I am still very much human, so no thank you."

Huang opens his mouth to retort but Hei chooses that moment to drop some ingredients into a heated wok. There is a loud roar and a billow of steam, distracting both Huang and Mao from their conversation and they watch, mesmerized, as Hei shakes and tosses the contents of the wok expertly. Only Yin continues to stare vacantly at some indeterminable spot ahead of her.

Soon, the culinary show is over and the counter is laden with a hearty fare of steaming Chinese dishes, all smelling and looking immensely inviting. Huang is reluctantly admiring his teammate's handiwork when a plate of fried rice is set in front of him. Huang blinks at it.

"Eh? Thanks..."

Hei nods in return, then sets another plate beside Huang and another, smaller dish on the floor. "Yin, Mao."

The girl walks over, the cat in her arms. She puts him down on the floor before seating herself at the counter, and with a quiet "itadakimasu" begins feeding herself somberly while Mao dives into this meal with gusto. Hei has pulled up a chair for himself and is shoveling food into his mouth even before the others have started.

Huang spends a moment marveling at this scene, then shaking his head, he picks up his spoon and begins eating too. He is surprised to discover that it is quite possibly the best fried rice he has ever had in his entire life.

"This is good," he says sincerely. It would be even better if he has beer to go with it, but he is not about to complain.

"And you're gonna get fat when you hit thirty, if you keep eating like that," he is compelled to add after a fashion.

Hei looks up from his third helping of chow mein and smiles at him a little sheepishly. It was one of his rare, genuine smiles, though which he is showing more frequently as of late, and Huang wonders if that has to do with growing mellow with age.

It feels a little funny, to be dining together with his team like this. They are an odd bunch of characters, the other three; and though he is not quite sure what to think of them some times, Huang decides that no, it is not a bad feeling.

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A/N: This is what I'd like to think could happen had [spoilers never occurred, hence the slight OOCness. I'm not usually a writer... well, actually not a writer at all. Please be gentle?

Mao would totally use the word "exemplary".