Blue Pancakes and Homemade Coffee
Disclaimer: Cable and Domino aren't mine. Not making money. Blame this fic on Cosmic, who gave me the idea (evil girl). Thanks to Lyss for the beta. As always, archive with permission. This is in no way, shape or form connected with my other stories.
The first thing that registered on his groggy mind was that was cold. After a few seconds, he managed to connect this fact with the observation that the blankets on the bed were wrapped around the figure lying next to him, and worked out that this was probably the reason he was cold. He was just awake enough to recognize the familiar mop of dark hair cascading over the pillow. Funny, he was pretty sure he’d been alone when he’d gone to bed. Any other attempt he might have made at sorting out the enigma was immediately over ridden by his brain’s insistence that he make coffee before he forced it to work any more. He got up, searched briefly for the t-shirt he was sure he’d tossed over the back of the chair, then gave up and wandered out into the kitchen.
The tile on the floor was cold. A glance at the thermometer mounted outside the window over the sink told him it was below freezing outside. Frost sparkled on the grass. Why the hell hadn’t the furnace kicked on? He’d have to take a look at it later. But first, coffee.
Once the first couple of cups kicked in, he felt better. It was still cold as hell, but at least he could think clearly now. Clear enough to remember half-waking up in the middle of the night as a very cold body slid into bed next to him muttering, “Your damned furnace is broken, Summers.”
He supposed he could have made some remark about such a warm hello after she’d been gone for two weeks doing who knew what, but she’d fallen asleep immediately and wouldn’t have heard him anyway.
She was still sound asleep when he went back to the bedroom to get dressed. Still curled up on her half of the bed in a little ball, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. If the normal pattern held true, she’d stay that way for a few more hours at least... long enough for him to get the parts he was going to need to fix the furnace. And maybe make a stop at the supermarket while he was at it. He was feeling adventurous for some reason, and while he certainly wasn’t the best cook in the world, he thought he could probably manage to make breakfast. Besides, Dom was bound to be hungry when she woke up, and if he made breakfast for her, he wouldn’t have to listen to her bitch about it.
He went back to the kitchen and dug around in a drawer until he found an ancient copy of the Betty Crocker cookbook... where it had come from, he had no idea. He hadn’t bought it and Domino... how had she put it? Things tended to ‘spontaneously combust’ when she tried cooking anything. Somehow, her luck just didn’t extend into the culinary world. He flipped through the pages, trying to come up with something he could manage that she’d like... pancakes? She liked blueberry pancakes. He made a note of the things he’d need and headed out of the house.
There was still no sign of life in the bedroom when he came back, so he put the groceries away and headed down to fix the furnace. It didn’t take long, and he suspected that even if she did wake up, Dom wouldn’t emerge from the cocoon she’d wrapped herself in until the house was good and warm. Which gave him time to make the pancakes.
He glanced at the directions in the cookbook, gathered up his ingredients, and started hunting around for the appropriate equipment. He didn’t have *everything* he needed, but he figured he could approximate and still make due.
The thing he hadn’t counted on was it being so messy. No matter what he did, the flour ended up dusting the entire counter and a good portion of himself as well. Still, he got the batter mixed up and added the blueberries without too much trouble.
Until he noticed the batter was turning rather blue as well. Blue pancakes. Dom was undoubtedly going to mock him for this. Right, like she wouldn’t mock the mess he’d made of the kitchen already, or the fact that he was going to the trouble of making her breakfast at all.
He got out the frying pan, started up the first couple of pancakes cooking, then got the Kona Gold he’d also picked up, ground it and set it brewing. He pulled plates and utensils from the cupboard, cleared the weaponry off the table, and set up two places. Then he went back to the stove, quickly make some scrambled eggs, put everything on the plates and poured the coffee. He set mug on the table, and took the other one into the bedroom.
The lump on the bed that was Domino hardly stirred as he came in, though it was close enough to noon that he knew she was probably conscious.
“Time to get up.”
He pried a corner of the blanket from her grasp and peered at her. “No.” She tried to wrest the covers back from him, but he held on tight. “I fixed the furnace.”
“I also made breakfast.”
She cracked one eye open cautiously. “Breakfast?”
She was sitting up now, and he handed her the coffee cup. “You made pancakes.”
He shrugged. “They’re in the kitchen, and they’re going to be cold if you don’t get up.”
She took another swallow of the coffee. “Okay.” She detangled herself from the blankets, revealing the location of his lost t-shirt. “It’s still cold as hell in here,” she commented, wrapping the comforter from the bed around her shoulders and dragging it with her. She flopped down at the table and surveyed the meal. Her mouth twitched up in a smile. “You added them too early.”
“What?” He asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
“The blueberries,” she said after she’d finished her bite of pancake. “If you add them too early, they turn the batter blue.”
“And you know this... how?”
“Martha Stewart,” she replied, not looking up.
“Stewart. She has this show on TV...”
“I know who she is. Why were you watching Martha Stewart?”
“There was nothing else on TV,” she mumbled under her breath, attacking the scrambled eggs on her plate. “Stop laughing.”
“I’m not,” He replied.
“You are too. And there’s flour on your cheek... other side.”
“Thanks... what are you grinning at?”
“Oh, nothing,” she replied, stabbing some pancake on her fork.
“I know that grin. That is not a ‘nothing’ grin, Dom.”
She raised one eyebrow gracefully as she continued eating, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “You’re just very cute with flour all over you,” she said finally. “Very domestic.”
“I let you steal my covers, make you breakfast, and you sit here and make fun of me? I’m hurt, Dom.”
“I was planning on making it worth you while,” she commented casually, sipping her coffee.
“Mmmm. I was wrong, y’know.”
“About what?” He wrapped an arm tighter around her shoulders and she rested her head on his chest.
“Your furnace works just fine.”
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