A/N: Written for Eowyn1 for a drabble post on my journal. This is complete and will not be updated (ever), as it is meant to be this short.

Prompt: Sesshoumaru/Rin, 'kitchen.'

Enjoy:D

-Eia

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Fix'erupper

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"This is my home," he said quietly, half-lost to recollection and harldy even seeing her.

Around him, the delicate ancient walls echoed mockingly with memories long departed. The feelings they had once witnessed were faded, but still imprinted in their grains.

This was home, and he had not forgotten.

To Rin, however, it was entirely new and untainted, and so she was a bundle of smiles and joy and gleeful laughter at being allowed such a personal glimpse into the past that had made him what he was now. She was really this easy to please-- one glimpse into his self, his nature, his past, and she catapulted herself into an incomprehensible state of bliss.

She made very little sense to him most of the time.

Catching her by the hand, he steered her patiently onwards. "This is the audience hall."

"It's so big," she whispered, pressing closer to his side, her eyes wide with awe. "How did you hear anyone?"

"My hearing is very good," he answered dryly, and led her onwards.

"And this is the kitchen. A pity, it looks as though--"

Rin attacked his arm, staring up at him earnestly with those pleading eyes he had such a hard time resisting. "Let me have this room," she begged. "I can cook, honest. It's wrecked, but I can fix it up. Let me have it! I'll cook you tasty dinners every night!"

Looking down at her madly hopeful eyes, Sesshoumaru knew there was little point to resisting her. She would not disappear, she would never leave him, and having someone look after the food was actually a very appealing idea. "Very well," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Do with it what you will. Make a list of what needs replacing and what you will need in the way of ingredients."

"Yessir, Sesshoumaru-sama!" she yelled joyfully, saluting. Then she tackled his waist, squeezing tightly enough for him to actually really feel it, and beamed up at him.

She was fifteen. It was a good age on her, he decided, and resolved not to smile no matter what. He wondered if she really could cook, then kicked himself for thinking it. Rin never lied. She had no reason to. If she said she could cook, it was because she could, and that was that.

"Thank you, Rin," he said, and meant it.

Her smile then was worth every trouble she'd ever put him through.

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