Instead of writing a full-length multichapter fic, I'm going to try to maintain two drabble collections over the course of the summer. One is going to be TakumixAkira, naturally, and the other will center around Hihara Kazuki from La Corda d'Oro. As long as a plot bunny fits with either theme and isn't too depressing, I'm probably going to write it at some point. Canon timeline, future, AU, comedy, you name it. XD All ratings are cool with me too. If anybody has a request or a prompt, please tell me! I want to have fun with this!

I also am working on a doujinshi version of Draw. It will be rated M for sexual situations, but I don't intend to make it too graphic. Look forward to it! XD

Okay, that's enough shameless self-pimpage. On with the drabbles!

Title: Kunoichi in the Kitchen
Rating/warnings: T for language
Summary: Akira cannot cook.
Disclaimer: The plot is mine, but the characters are not.
Notes: They're happily married at last! Yay! At least in this quickie they are... I can see Takumi going to med school and becoming a pediatrician. Akira is totally not the housewife type, though.

Something was not right. Takumi quickly glanced around the apartment searching for anything out of the ordinary, but nothing caught his attention. He resumed flipping through the massive cookbook that his sister had given him and Akira for their wedding, although his feeling of uneasiness had not subsided in the slightest. His eyes drifted in and out of focus as he scanned the pages before him, until suddenly, the acrid smell of burning bacon filled his nostrils. Slamming the book shut, he rushed into the kitchen where a bemused Akira stood coughing and sputtering over the charred remains of their breakfast.

"Shit!" he yelled, his eyes burning from the smoke that billowed from the frying pan on the stove. He turned on the kitchen vent and silently prayed that the smoke would clear before it triggered the sprinkler system. How could a girl as amazing and talented as Akira fail so miserably at simple household chores? She was a ninja for crying out loud! Chewing his bottom lip, he tossed the smoldering bacon into the garbage and attempted to suppress the anger rising in his system. His doctors told him constantly that he should not get upset and put unnecessary stress on his heart, and since he was such a friendly and easygoing guy by nature, this was no problem for him. As abruptly as it had started, his temper receded and his pulse slowed. He looked over at Akira, who was glaring daggers at the trash can and brandishing a spatula in her right hand like a kunai. She looked absolutely ridiculous, and he had to smile. "I assure you that pig is quite dead and won't be attacking you anytime soon."

"I thought this would get it done faster," Akira muttered grumpily as she crossed her arms. "Don't mock me. I was right."

"But this cooked it too quickly. I told you to use medium heat," Takumi sighed, "but don't worry. It's not your fault that you would make a horrible housewife."

"Bastard!" the ninja snarled, smacking her husband across the backside with the greasy spatula. "Why should I be, when I've got you?"

Takumi grinned. "You're going to be hungry once I start my residency, especially on those long nights when I'm on call at the hospital. Who's going to take care of you?"

"You don't even know if you got into med school yet, idiot," the ninja scoffed.

"But you should still learn just in case!"

Akira took a deep breath, choosing not think about life without him at the moment. Right now, her growling stomach presented more of a problem. "Fine. Teach me how to cook, then. We'll start with breakfast," she announced, rolling up her sleeves.

Grabbing his frilly, pink apron off the hook on the door, Takumi opened the refrigerator. They were both still living off student budgets, so the shelves were emptier than he would have liked. During their stay in America, Takumi had developed a fondness for extravagant western breakfasts, but fortunately they had enough ingredients to make one recipe from the massive cookbook that had caught his eye. He hoped that his more traditional wife would not mind indulging this once. "Apple pancakes sound good to you, Akira?"

"Sure. What can I do?" The ninja asked, snatching the recipe book that Takumi had carelessly thrown to the side in his frenzy.

He paused, remembering all of the steps involved in making pancakes. "Um, you're good with knives, so you can slice the apples! I'll mix the ingredients."

Akira nodded, and scurried about the kitchen in search of a knife and a cutting board. Takumi began measuring amounts of the other ingredients while casually observing his wife's performance in the kitchen. She seemed to be adjusting well despite her earlier mishap, and her speed and precision with the knife was so captivating that he nearly poured the milk over his hand instead of into the measuring cup. Still, something did not seem right about the whole situation.

Then it hit him. Smirking, he untied the pink apron and said, "Want to put this on, Akira?"

"HELL NO!" She snarled, lobbing a piece of apple at her husbands' head. Her aim was flawless and the discarded fruit bounced off its target onto the tile floor. With a loud "hmph," she returned to her cutting board.

Massaging his left temple, Takumi decided that maybe everything was fine after all.