DISCLAIMER: SKIP BEAT! and its associated characters are the creations of Yoshiki Nakamura. This author claims no ownership of Skip Beat or any of its characters. All other rights reserved.

Word prompt: Quality

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

It was late spring, but there was still a coolness to the air that night.

She was glad she'd taken the bike today. She sighed, dismounted, and then took out her lock. She was looking forward to a hot shower and some rest—the "practice" sessions with the Route gang were going well. Moko and the others were trying their best to improve their English skills, but it was slow going. She hadn't seen Tsuruga-san today—she knew she couldn't see him every day, of course. But there was a part of her that was constantly aware of him when he was on-set. And she had to admit to herself that she had found his absence today…disappointing. Did she…miss him?

She shook off those thoughts. Tsuruga-san had goals and so did she. They had both chosen not to let their personal feelings distract them. And besides, tomorrow she would be back on-set with the Route crew. Perhaps she would see him then.

She was about to open the door when she saw him—a tall figure, seated on the back stoop. He was sitting there quietly, gazing at her with that intense look he had when he wanted to say something important. She was startled. Perhaps she was seeing things—she'd wanted to see him, and now here he was.

"Tsuruga-san?" she ventured. Instantly, she was worried. What was he doing here? And so late?

"Mogami-san," he answered. "I'm afraid I've come to ask you for a favor."

A favor, she thought. "Of course, Tsuruga-san," she said. "What can I do for you?" She thought of all the times she'd asked him for favors. Teaching her how to be a model, for one. Giving her advice on acting, for another.

She finished locking up her bike."You could have texted, you know," she said. "Or perhaps waited with Takatsuki-san inside. No need for you to wait out here."

Ren looked up at her with a bemused grin. He hadn't wanted to wait inside because he hadn't wanted to face the Taisho's quiet disapproval. Worse, he didn't want to eat. "It was a nice night," he said. "I just wanted to wait outside for a bit."

Kyoko looked around her—the Darumaya's back door opened up into a narrow alley lined with dumpsters and detritus. It was as neat and as clean as a back alley could be, but it was still an alley. It was perhaps…not the best-smelling place in the world. "Or perhaps waited in your car?" she asked. She motioned him into the kitchen.

He shook his head and followed her. How could he tell her? He didn't want to miss her arrival. He wanted to watch as she came back home, unaware and unsuspecting. She was particularly lovely when she didn't think anyone was watching. "Do you remember the night we made eggs benedict?" he asked.

"Of…of course," she said. A blush overtook her face. That night had been…well. She didn't quite know what precisely it had been, but it had certainly been unexpected.

"Well," he said sheepishly, "Apparently the viewers loved the segment so much they've asked me to cook an entire meal."

"A meal?" Kyoko asked. She looked at him, eyes narrowed, thinking of the disaster his Maui omurice had been—thinking of the disaster his eggs benedict certainly would have been if she hadn't been there to teach him. Still, he was eminently teachable. Ren Tsuruga worked tirelessly to perfect his craft. He might be a disaster with a kitchen knife, but he was a very astute, very observant disaster. One who learned very quickly indeed when his actor's credentials were on the line.

"Don't look so horrified," he laughed. "It's why I'm here, you know? I need your help, Mogami-san."

She looked up at him. There was a yearning in his gaze that belied the innocence of the request. The strange limbo state in which they existed persisted—he'd say terribly romantic things to her—things like "My heart will forever belong to you" or "I just wanted to spend more time with Mogami-san"—and yet nothing had really changed between them. He was still her senpai. Perhaps he was a friend. But nothing more. "Of course I'll help you, Tsuruga-san," she said. "It would ruin your gorgeous star image if you weren't able to cook a dinner!" Neither one of them mentioned the fact that she hadn't gone over that night to help him cook an eggs benedict at all.

"Thank you," he said simply. "It will need to be an elegant, romantic dinner, I'm afraid. The theme is 'A dinner for your loved one.'" Was it just her, or did his eyes take on a strange light? "Something that husbands can cook for their wives," he added. "Three courses—including a dessert."

Kyoko blushed again. Embarrassment piled in after embarrassment. The eggs benedict had been fine—that had been all about protecting his elegant image. Something to be eaten with a knife and fork indeed! "So…Western food?" she asked.

He nodded.

Kyoko pursed her lips. American food? No. Italian food? Hmm. "French food?" she asked.

He shrugged, his American gesture underlining his famous indifference to food. "So long as it's elegant, romantic, and simple enough for the average Japanese man to cook for his wife," he said. "Those were the instructions I was given."

"Hmm," Kyoko said. "When will you need to shoot the segment?" she asked.

"Next Wednesday," he said. "Yashiro tried to push it back a little further, but they didn't have a time that worked with the Route practice sessions."

"So we have a week," Kyoko said. Though it was truly less than that. They had seven days to work with, but Kyoko knew how busy he was. Even with Route still in practice, he still had an endless round of shows, commercials, appearances, and photoshoots to round out his calendar. "We'll have to work at night, Tsuruga-san."

"Unfortunately, yes," he said. "I hope you don't mind, Mogami-san. I am, of course, extremely grateful."

He looked solemn but Kyoko could feel a certain insouciance in his gaze.

"A menu, then," she said. Instantly her mind went through several permutations. A simple and yet luxurious meal. Something romantic and yet easy enough for the average, unskilled man to make. First, the appetizer—what to choose? Something fried would require him to make a batter, set up a battering station, and then ensure there was enough oil at the correct temperature…a soup perhaps? No—he couldn't very well admit to using a canned stock, and she didn't think he would want to explain how to make stock in a studio kitchen. And as for the main dish—the idea of braised dishes were thrown out the window. Nothing that would constitute too much prep-work. And as for the dessert—there were a number of simple things she was sure she could teach him.

"Very well, then, Tsuruga-san," she said. He looked up, surprised at the determined gleam in her eyes.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with conviction. "I have a menu for you."

=.=.=

The menu, it turned out, sounded wildly luxurious to him. "Start with raw oysters," she said, "They're generally thought of as aphrodisiacs—but more importantly, they're raw. All you'll need to do is make sure they're clean and open them." He nodded, taking notes. He figured he'd need them to sort out the plethora of sauces and accompaniments that went with the oysters. "And then we'll continue with a filet mignon—there are many that consider it quite a boring cut of meat, but it is quite luxurious—" she mused. "And as for your dessert…" she tapped her fingers on the table they were seated at. "I suppose you could make a beautiful bowl of fruit and edible flowers," she said. "But perhaps that might be seen as too easy…" She paused, and then her eyes lit up. "Pots de Crème!" she exclaimed.

"Poh de krem?" he echoed.

"Pots. De. Crème," she responded. "French. Chocolate. Easy—you'll like them." She gave him a sidelong glance. "Well. Most people will like them," she corrected. "You—I suppose you might prefer the bowl of fruit."

"I'm sure I'll like it if you make it," he said. She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. "Just saying," he added.

She rolled her eyes, but began to work. She hummed enthusiastically, getting up and reaching for a piece of paper. She gave him a list of things; he gave the list to Yashiro to acquire. They began the next evening with the shucking of oysters—he only managed to almost kill himself just once. She was an extremely efficient teacher, as it turned out. The training she'd received had gone further than the Kyoto cuisine his father had loved so well. The next evening, she sat him down and explained the basics of pan-searing meat—and his eyes almost glazed over as she explained basting techniques, seasoning and—most importantly—how to tell whether or not the steak was cooked.

He'd looked at her, entirely amused as she'd taken his hand without hesitation, demonstrating on his palm how to tell the difference between a steak that was raw and a steak that was well done. If she realized she was holding his hand, she never let on. "Just be sure to keep your hand relaxed first," she told him, "and work from there. It'll take some practice, and unfortunately we don't have that time. But keep an eye on the clock and watch it carefully and you should be fine with these basics." He'd asked her to show him twice—and it wasn't until the second time that she realized he was, perhaps, just trying to keep her hand in his.

"It's all very basic stuff," Kyoko said. "Most people should already know this—well, most people that cook, anyway."

Basic? It didn't seem basic at all to him. She'd gone on immediately after that lecture to talk about the French mother sauces. It was a continuation of the lecture she'd given him on hollandaise, but this time, she'd emptied out half a bottle of good dry Bordeaux—the wine he'd asked Yashiro to procure—into the pan for a reduction. "And this is how you make a bordelaise!" she explained excitedly. Pommes purée had followed. "Because you can't just serve steak alone," she added. The week passed quickly. Both of them were enjoying the lessons more than they were willing to admit to themselves or to each other.

On the last night before the show, they'd made pots de crème. "You see?" she said. "It's surprisingly easy, isn't it?"

He nodded, licking chocolate off of his spoon. He'd been eating more food than he was used to, but then—he'd been eating the food with her. He couldn't complain.

"Are you ready?" she asked him. "I think you might be ready." She was satisfied with the quality of his output.

"I'm ready," he told her, and flashed a grin.

She froze and looked away.

It only made his smile wider.

=.=.=

The segment came off beautifully. Kyoko watched it all on the Darumaya's TV, happy that it had aired on a Sunday morning otherwise unencumbered with tasks. Tsuruga-san looked extremely elegant, came off as extremely skilled—she couldn't have been more pleased at how gracefully he deglazed the pan!—and sounded extremely knowledgeable. He may have quoted her verbatim on the virtues of a good Bordeaux; she'd already decided not to hold it against him.

She smiled as the segment came to a close and turned off the TV. She had a number of scripts to look over, after all—with Lotus on hiatus until winter, Box R in between seasons, and Dark Moon receding into memory, she was between projects.

She'd just settled down when she heard her phone ring. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw who it was.

"Tsuruga-san!" she answered. "I just saw—you were great!"

The voice on the other end sounded calm, but Kyoko could tell there was some anxiety in the way he clipped his words. "That's…the problem, Mogami-san," he said. "I'm afraid they want me to do a whole series now…"

Oh.

Oh.

Kyoko sighed and took up a piece of paper to take notes.

No good deed ever went unpunished.