Compy: This was a request from my friend Yami Roojii. She asked for a Matt-centric humor fic. When asked what else she wanted, she said overcooked turkey.

Couldn't deliver on the turkey, love, but I hope this makes up for it.

Enjoy guys.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You heard me. Mello's in our room, sulking and swearing like a sailor because you scored higher than him on that intelligence analysis thing. Normally I wouldn't care, except the jerk's locked the door. That means there is a door and a lock separating me from my video games. My babies, Near."

"I still don't--"

"My plan is simple and genius!" declared Matt, pointing dramatically at Near. "If Mello cannot defend his own honor, then I must do it for him! There I, Matt of Wammy's and Wiis, hereby challenge you, Near of Wammy's and Jammies, to a cook off!"


"Do you accept?"

"Why a cook off?"

"Uuuuuh…" Matt lowered his arm, bringing it back up to rub the back of his head, jostling the strap of his ever present goggles. "It was the first thing that came to my head?"

Near sighed, twirling a lock of his hair while Matt messed up his. "Matt, if you truly wished to beat me, you should have done something more in your area of expertise. Video games, for example."

"Oh right! Okay then, I, Matt of Wam--"

"Too late." Near rose from his seat on the floor, clutching two Power Rangers dolls to his chest. He walked to the door, pausing when Matt didn't follow. He turned his head and Matt swore the little punk was smirking at him. Which was odd, because Near didn't do smirks, his face had all the facial expressions of one of his dolls. "I accept your challenge, Matt. To the kitchen."

"…Right." Matt brushed past Near, and as they walked down to the kitchen, Matt forced himself to think of his video games and kicking Mello's ass once he got back into the room, because a tiny detail was now making itself known in Matt's mind.

He couldn't cook. Period.

Five Minutes Later

The two of them stood in the back of the House's kitchen, out of the way of the cooking staff, who were cleaning the dishes from lunch and immediately preparing for dinner. Matt was staring at the cooking tools littering the counter like they were going to attack him, while Near just looked bored.

"Okay, soooo…I guess we'll make--"

"In a proper duel, the one who is challenged picks the weapons."

"Duel?" Matt's eyes zeroed in on the drawer that held the knives. "Crap Near, you're not saying we're--"

"Of course not. I mean that since you challenged me, I should decide what we're cooking."

"Oh. Well…good." Matt sighed in relief and Near almost rolled his eyes. "Alright then, pick your…weapon."


"…Bless you?"

"It's a type of cookie, Matt."

"Oh! Right…I knew that." Inwardly, Matt cursed himself for having a best friend whose mindset was Not Chocolate, Not Edible. "Alright, cookies it is then." Near was already rummaging through the cabinets, finally coming out with a large baking book. He thumbed through it, and propped the book open once he found the recipe for Snickerdoodles.

"Whoever's cookie is the softest and chewiest, or at least the most edible, will be the winner. Poison is not allowed," he added, completely serious (which severely worried Matt) as he moved to gather his ingredients.

Once Matt got over the image of Near actually doing something domestic, he started to read the recipe.

1/2 cup butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar

Cream of what?

1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour

They have different purposes?

4 Tablespoons granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon

…I have to do WHAT to the sugar?!

Matt jumped as Near set his bowl on the counter next to him with a clack, cloaked in a full length pink apron, and long gloves on his hands and sleeves. Matt blinked.

"Just because we're cooking does not mean I have to get dirty."

"O…kay." Matt turned back to the recipe. Preheat the oven. Okay, he could do that. He turned, only to find that Near had already done it. He twitched. Stealing all the easy parts, are ya?

Determined to win Mello's honor (which he couldn't care less about) and his games (the poor, abandoned darlings), Matt grabbed a bowl.

In a mixing bowl, beat the butter on medium speed for 30 seconds.

"…Near? Did you choose this just because I said duel?"

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Near, you bastard, that egg's bigger! You're cheating!"

"Matt, I have always been bigger than you. This is only fair."


"You realize I meant my test scores."


"Matt, please stop smiling like that while you beat the mix. You're starting to scare me."


"Near, what do think the purpose of flour is?"

"Last time I checked, to cook."

"Last time I checked, it was to color sheep. And you."


"Near? Dude, I was just kid--step away from the knife drawer!"

"Matt, mummies are wrapped in bandages, not plastic wrap. Now put your dough in the fridge."


"'Bake for 10 or 11 minutes or until the edges are beautifully golden.' There's an ugly golden?"

"It's called, 'The Color of Mello's Hair'."

"Heh heh…owned."

Inside Matt's bedroom, Mello had finally calmed himself down. He had accepted that Near had won this battle, but the war was still on. He would beat that big-headed little twit, and if anyone had asked what that scary laughter had been about a while ago, he would have denied it until he was blue in the face.

A knock at the door jolted Mello from his musings, and he remembered that he had locked the door when he had stormed into the room. Sighing, Mello got off the bed, walking over to the door.

"Sorry Matt," he muttered, unlocking the door. "I needed to cool my--ARRGHMMMF!"


Mello choked as cookie after cookie was shoved in his mouth, barely registering the words coming out of Matt's mouth. Then Mello was bodily thrown from the room, skidding on the floor to slam into the opposite wall, ears ringing too much to notice the door slamming and locking. A lone cry of, "Daddy's hoooome!" pierced the air, and then, silence.

Mello lay in the hallway, mouth full of beautifully golden cookies and completely dazed, and he wondered if this was some messed up stage of withdrawal that only Matt could achieve.

"I told you not to use poison, Matt."

Compy: There, done. Hope you liked it, Roojii-chan! Now Compy's going to bed because it's 5:30 in the morning, and this is her second one-shot in a row and she needs to physically stop herself before this becomes an all night writing frenzy.

I hope the rest of you liked this! Tell me if your thoughts in a review! (It'll wake me up tomorrow, XP)