Preston had to catch a later bus home that he'd planned. It was already dark when he arrived. Antoine, as usual, had gotten home first.

Antoine was in the kitchen, a cookbook in one hand, a perplexed expression on his face. His blue hair was tied back in a neat ponytail. An assortment of various vegetables and a bowl of chickpeas sat on the counter. Preston set his messenger bag and heavy wooden box on the kitchen table. "What are you making?" Preston asked, pulling out a chair.

"It was going to be a falafel with roasted veggies. But now, I think it's going to turn into a stir fry with way too many chickpeas." He shrugged casually and set the book down. Antoine leaned his elbows on the counter. "So? How was your day?"

Preston offered a weak smile. "It was… different. How was yours?"

Antoine shrugged. "I fixed a few things, cleaned some other things. Made a few phonecalls. I think I made a difference. But enough about me. C'mon, what made today different?" Antoine swaggered around the counter and pulled a tall chair up at their breakfast bar. He leaned back, eyes dropping briefly to the wooden box on the table. "Talk to me."

Preston shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Antoine shrugged. "Try me."

Preston held up his hands. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." He took a deep breath, and rapidly launched into a brief description he'd been preparing on the ride home. "Rhonda called me into her office and basically told me that she has no confidence in my ability as a leader. I have a new personal assistant I didn't hire who will be starting Monday. Oh, and Mister Dimas' wife showed up to give me a pair of two-hundred year old pistols. There. The end. That was my day, Antoine."

"You're right. I don't believe you."

Antoine slid off the chair and wandered over to the wooden box and started fiddling with the latches. "What's in here?" he asked.

Preston knew better than to even answer. Antoine was like a curious puppy when it came to packages. Antoine would find out soon enough. Preston waited for it.

On cue, Antoine's voice cut through his thoughts. "Whoa… you weren't kidding? What are these?" He lifted one of the pistols out and waved it around like a dagger. "They look piratey."

"Cutlass pistols. They belonged to Evita's great-great-something grandfather. She gave them to me."

Antoine continued to slice the air. "That's awesome, but why?"

Preston stood up. "To be honest, I don't really want to go into that right now. It's been a long day. I have a lot on my mind."

Antoine's face fell. "Oh. Right then." He put the pistol back in the box and shut the lid. "You just go relax. I'm going to figure out something to do with all those," he gestured to the veggies. "And find a use for a pound of chickpeas."

Preston picked up a can and read the label. "Bamboo shoots."

Antoine nodded. "The canned stuff is okay, but I can't wait till spring. Then I can get fresh shoots down at Mercutio's. You'll have to come sometime. She has really good stuff. Foods you can't find anywhere else." Antoine hauled a wok out of the cupboard and put it on the stove. "So… chickpea stir fry it is. You want it spicy or sweet?"

Preston thought carefully. He'd learned a long a time ago Antoine's taste for spicy could border between "insane" and "suicidal."

"Can you make it mildly spicy, but mostly sweet?" Preston asked optimistically.

"Sure!" replied Antoine with a nod. "I can do that. I'll letcha taste it too, before I put too many chilies in."

Preston watched Antoine bounce between the counter and stove, cutting the veggies and adding oils to the rapidly heating wok.

"Thanks, Antoine. I'm going to take a quick shower."

"Right," Antoine replied, not looking up. "You do that. I'll be here."

So thinking, Preston walked down the hall to his room. He hung his suit and pants on their respective hangers, and draped his tie over the rack. He placed the wooden stretchers in his dress shoes. Everything had to be neatly organized in Preston's world. He took a pair of sweat pants and tee-shirt from a drawer, changed, then headed across the hall to the bathroom.

Antoine's house had two full bathrooms, and a half-bath in the basement. Though he slept in Antoine's room most nights, Preston generally used the so-called 'guest bath' next to the room he'd moved his belongings into.

Occasionally, those rare times he was home and Antoine was not, he'd use Antoine's shower. It wasn't just a shower, it was an experience.

Preston's housemate made interesting choices on where to spend his money.

Antoine bought his furniture from thrift stores, and most of his clothes from Walmart. But he had an elaborate home theatre he'd set up in the basement. His laptop and car were ancient, to the point where the fact either still worked amazed Preston. Yet Antoine had torn out a walk-in closet, and installed a deluxe spa shower in the master bath.

Antoine's huge shower had multiple jets, a rain head, and several different computer controlled spray programs. Antoine had explained there was also a designated two-hundred gallon heated recirculating tank in the basement.

Isn't recirculating water unsanitary? Preston had asked, making a face.

Nah, Antoine replied. You use this head for the cleaning of one's grimy self, he gestured to a normal looking shower head at one end. Then, once one is sufficiently de-grimed, the recirculation system can be switched on here. Two separate drainage systems. Totally up to code. Guilt-free hour-long showers. Feels amazing.

Preston had rolled his eyes at the idea initially, but as he stepped into the shower-bathtub combo of the guest bath, he had to admit after using Antoine's shower nothing else could compare anymore. He showered quickly, washing away the day's stress as best he could. That stir-fry wouldn't take long, and he wanted to stop Antoine before he went overboard with the peppers.

Preston had never envisioned himself being the sort to wear baggy sweat pants and tee-shirts. Even loungewear in his household had been rather formal attire. Antoine had converted him on that. A pair of navy sweats, a plain white tee; towel-dried but uncombed hair? He hardly looked the lean-faced executive who wore expensive suits during the day. He wasn't even sure anyone from the plant would recognize him like this.

Preston had discovered he liked the casual look. It was oddly comforting, being able to dress down without fear. Sometimes it was nice to not be pretentious for a change, Preston thought as he sat down at the counter. Tentatively he tried a bite of the stir-fry Antoine offered.

"That's perfect," Preston remarked, nodding.

Antoine grinned and turned off the burner. "Hey, I pay attention to you. I'm figuring out what you like and what you don't." He spooned two heaping portions over rice and set a plate down for each of them. Antoine ruffled Preston's damp hair affectionately. "Someone's gotta look out for you, right?"

Preston smiled. "I suppose so. At least for now."

Antoine chuckled. "Or for as long as I can, Prep. For as long as I can." Antoine dug into his plate with his usual gusto, and all chance for further discussion was over.