New Fic: Panckakes (Angel)
Sep. 18th, 2009 09:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grav_ityAN: For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
inlovewithnight. This tried to be Fred/Gunn and ended up more like Fred/Food.
Spoilers: vague season three
Rating: Kid friendly
Disclaimer: No part of the Angel universe belongs to me.
Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
++++++
Pancakes
Breakfast, she was informed by a number of personal health fliers and an overly abrupt school nurse, was the most important meal of the day. Fred took this information to heart, and decided that anything that was important was worth doing thoroughly.
When she was a slave on Pylea, this sometimes meant skipping dinner. She would hold her dinner ration in her hands, hiding it against her body when she slept so that no one would steal it. That way, if the breakfast ration was withheld for some reason, she would have something to eat. After her escape, she learned how to hide food from the native Pylean fauna, and was able to make sure that even though her breakfast might consist of trees, she would still be able to eat it.
When she was rescued and found her way to a room with white walls a magic marker, she didn’t have to worry finding food anymore. For many days, she did nothing but eat and sleep and figure out complicated theorems on the walls. Since breakfast was the most important meal, she usually ate it twice.
The kitchen at the Hyperion was old and grungy. The stove not really designed to cook for one person, and all of the frying pans were enormous. But Fred was very good at making do with what was available. Gunn found her shortly after she got started, and was immediately very alarmed. This was, she decided, only fair. Most of them thought she was crazy, and here she was playing with the flame of a very large gas stove.
“Uh, Fred?” he’d said. “What are you doing?”
“Making pancakes.” she’d replied absently.
“Out of what?”
The question was a very good one. Ingredients were hard to come by at Angel Investigations. Particularly if one wanted to eat the results. Fred had raided cupboards all over the building and assembled varied materials for her culinary experiments, but nothing was really pancake worthy.
“Why don’t you come with me to the diner and we’ll get you some pancakes?” he’d offered.
“Pancakes only count if you make them yourself,” she knew some truths to be immutable.
“Well then, tell me what you need and I’ll go get it.”
She laughed at how easy it was, and made him a list. He was out and back before long, and she had found measuring cups in the meantime, so she didn’t need to guess at proportions. She bustled around the stove, applying chemistry as best she knew how and experimenting with fluid laws to make creative shapes out of the batter as it cooked. Soon, a stack of pancakes stood on the table, and the kitchen smelled less like the Eisenhower Administration and more like a morning should.
Gunn had set the table while she’d been cooking. She hadn’t planned to share her breakfast this morning, but she was glad he was here. Making pancakes was well enough, but sharing them was even better. Now they would both be set for the day.
As the syrup drizzled from the bottle to her plate and she amused herself by writing mathematical symbols in maple, Fred smiled.
++++++
finis
AN: Now I’m hungry!
Gravity_Not_Included, September 18, 2009
inlovewithnight. This tried to be Fred/Gunn and ended up more like Fred/Food. Spoilers: vague season three
Rating: Kid friendly
Disclaimer: No part of the Angel universe belongs to me.
Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
++++++
Pancakes
Breakfast, she was informed by a number of personal health fliers and an overly abrupt school nurse, was the most important meal of the day. Fred took this information to heart, and decided that anything that was important was worth doing thoroughly.
When she was a slave on Pylea, this sometimes meant skipping dinner. She would hold her dinner ration in her hands, hiding it against her body when she slept so that no one would steal it. That way, if the breakfast ration was withheld for some reason, she would have something to eat. After her escape, she learned how to hide food from the native Pylean fauna, and was able to make sure that even though her breakfast might consist of trees, she would still be able to eat it.
When she was rescued and found her way to a room with white walls a magic marker, she didn’t have to worry finding food anymore. For many days, she did nothing but eat and sleep and figure out complicated theorems on the walls. Since breakfast was the most important meal, she usually ate it twice.
The kitchen at the Hyperion was old and grungy. The stove not really designed to cook for one person, and all of the frying pans were enormous. But Fred was very good at making do with what was available. Gunn found her shortly after she got started, and was immediately very alarmed. This was, she decided, only fair. Most of them thought she was crazy, and here she was playing with the flame of a very large gas stove.
“Uh, Fred?” he’d said. “What are you doing?”
“Making pancakes.” she’d replied absently.
“Out of what?”
The question was a very good one. Ingredients were hard to come by at Angel Investigations. Particularly if one wanted to eat the results. Fred had raided cupboards all over the building and assembled varied materials for her culinary experiments, but nothing was really pancake worthy.
“Why don’t you come with me to the diner and we’ll get you some pancakes?” he’d offered.
“Pancakes only count if you make them yourself,” she knew some truths to be immutable.
“Well then, tell me what you need and I’ll go get it.”
She laughed at how easy it was, and made him a list. He was out and back before long, and she had found measuring cups in the meantime, so she didn’t need to guess at proportions. She bustled around the stove, applying chemistry as best she knew how and experimenting with fluid laws to make creative shapes out of the batter as it cooked. Soon, a stack of pancakes stood on the table, and the kitchen smelled less like the Eisenhower Administration and more like a morning should.
Gunn had set the table while she’d been cooking. She hadn’t planned to share her breakfast this morning, but she was glad he was here. Making pancakes was well enough, but sharing them was even better. Now they would both be set for the day.
As the syrup drizzled from the bottle to her plate and she amused herself by writing mathematical symbols in maple, Fred smiled.
++++++
finis
AN: Now I’m hungry!
Gravity_Not_Included, September 18, 2009
