A/N: Written for the slashthedrabble community prompt #376: Chef/Cook.

Disclaimer: All characters property of NBC/Dick Wolf. This story is purely written for fun and not for profit.

"What's for dinner, man? I'm starving."

"Tuscan Chicken. I think."

"You think?"

John shrugged. "It's in the oven. We'll know in thirty minutes or so if it's edible."

Fin walked over to John to give him a kiss hello, his stomach growling even as the bloody mess on the kitchen counter gave him pause. "Damn. Looks like a crime scene in here."

"Had to butcher a whole bird. You can't trust those pre-packaged parts; chances are they're not even from a real chicken. Did you know that?"

"No, John, I didn't." Fin sighed, grabbed a beer from the fridge and went to collapse on the sofa. "But I'm sure you're gonna tell me all about it."

"Genetically manipulated organisms, Fin. First developed by KFC and now embraced by factory farms—more like laboratories—throughout this country. The spoiled American consumer doesn't want anything but over-sized breasts, wings, and drumsticks today. So they've created these mutant chickens that are little more than lumps of pumped-up flesh devoid of beaks and feet and feathers, kept alive by feeding tubes until ready to be harvested."

"You mean my chicken nuggets for lunch today came from some kind of science experiment?"

"Open your eyes to the truth! Why do you think they call themselves 'KFC' these days, not Kentucky Fried Chicken? Because they're not serving real chicken!"

Fin rolled his eyes and reached for the tv remote. He was starting to regret encouraging John to develop some new interests and hobbies, now that he was retired and had the spare time. John had fixated on cooking after Fin had bitched about the ever-increasing costs of them eating out virtually every night.

But with John that didn't mean simply investing in some cookbooks, pots and pans. No, not John Munch, the man who saw conspiracies everywhere. He had since spent far too many hours researching and reading about genetically modified foods and was convinced it was yet another way the government was trying to control, poison and subjugate the ignorant masses. So instead of saving money on dining in instead of eating out, they were now spending a fortune every week at Whole Foods.

And half the time they still ended up ordering out when John's attempts in the kitchen proved inedible.

Over the voice of the ESPN sportscaster reading the day's scores, Fin heard John cursing and the sounds of pots clanging together unceremoniously. "How about pizza tonight?" Fin offered. "It's double-meat night at Geno's. Love their bacon and sausage pie."

"I'm trying to prepare a healthy and nutritious meal here, and you want to stuff your face with sodium nitrites and carcinogens? You wound me."

"And last week you gave me food poisoning." Why he willingly subjected himself to living with this on a daily basis was something he questioned frequently. "John, you know I love you, but maybe you should look into another hobby. How about stamp collecting?"

"You mean supporting the government's system for tracking our personal correspondence?"

Fin gave up.