A Time for Baking
Title: A Time for Baking
Fandom: Fringe
Characters: Olivia, Peter, Walter, Astrid (hints of Peter/Olivia).
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Fringe related.
Word count: 1,500 words.
Summary: Peter persuades Olivia to help him bake croissants for Walter. Stuff happens.
A/N: This was supposed to be a Christmas present for dotfic, in answer to her prompt: "Peter attempts to bake something for Walter--for some reason, it has to be done in the lab, things go terribly wrong and wacky." This is terribly late, but since it was also her birthday a lot more recently, it can also serve as a birthday present! Merry Christmas! Happy birthday! And thank you, dotfic, for the beta reading on this fic (because yeah, I suck and I make people beta their own present.)
“Peter? What are you doing?”
Peter has his back to Olivia, and he doesn’t turn around to greet her though the line of his shoulders tenses when she speaks. He’s wearing a blue t-shirt and his arms are covered almost up to his elbows with something white and goey-looking. Olivia takes a few more steps forward.
“Are you… baking?”
Peter takes his hands out of the big bowl they were plunged into, sighs loudly and turns enough that Olivia can see the way he scowls at the bowl, so she knows the exasperation isn’t aimed at her.
“Yeah,” he says, sounding weary. “It’s not working so well though.”
“What is it?” Olivia asks, coming closer to peer curiously at the mixture in the bowl.
“I’m supposed to be making croissants for Walter, but,” he gestures at a trash bag heaped in a lump at his feet, “this is my third attempt.”
“But why in the lab? Wouldn’t a kitchen be more appropriate?”
Peter sighs again, goes to pass a hand in his hair but stops in time, leaving only a smear of the mixture on his forehead.
“Walter is occupying our kitchen. Hasn’t left it since last evening; he’s apparently trying to recreate some obscure flavor of ice cream… Well, you know how he gets.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s my mother’s birthday, you know.”
“Oh.” Olivia is silent for a moment. Her own mother’s birthday is in spring, when the colors are brighter and flowers bloom, and everyone cheers up after the long winter, except for Olivia. “Did your mother like croissant?”
“She and Walter had their honeymoon in France. I thought it would remind him of better times.”
“Not to discourage you but maybe you should just buy them from a bakery. Also, Walter could object to you using his lab to experiment with baking.”
“We’re talking about a guy who uses a Bunsen burner to make hot chocolate. Besides, Walter won’t eat French pastry made in an American bakery. He claims it doesn’t taste the same. I thought something homemade - or, well, labmade - would suit him better. Hey,” Peter’s expression brightens suddenly and he turns to Olivia with a slightly crooked smile. “Would you help me?”
Olivia raises both eyebrows, her lips pressed together to stifle an incredulous chuckle. “Who, me? Uh, Peter, I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m not much of a baker in the best circumstances and I’m pretty sure that French pastry is way out of my abilities.”
“Oh, Olivia.” Peter nudges her with his elbow. “Don’t sell yourself short. And you would only be my assistant. I’m already learning from my mistakes; if the both of us work together, I’m sure we can manage something decent.”
“Decent enough for Walter?”
“I have faith. Come on, Olivia. Help me out.”
“I’m supposed to be working, you know,” Olivia says, her last line of defense. “You know, that important job where we solve strange and sometimes murderous cases. I was actually coming to see Walter.”
“Walter isn’t here, as you can see. Honestly, I don’t think you’ll get much out of Walter today. Has anyone died?”
Olivia lets out a sigh. No one has died, as a matter of fact, no one has even been injured; only a few bewildered people left wondering at the world’s strangeness.
“Alright,” she says, and starts unbuttoning her jacket. “Let’s do this.”
It takes a little more time than Olivia anticipated. First, she had no idea of how infuriatingly long it takes to make croissant.
“So we have to let it rest for how much time?”
“About two hours. Then you have to unwrap, sprinkle with flour, deflate. You roll the dough to a rectangle and you fold it again. Then you let it chill for two more hours.”
She tries to remain composed, but some of her unhappiness must have shown because Peter adds, “The good news is, the actual baking part is only 12 to 15 minutes.”
“Thank God for that,” she says dryly.
And when everything is going well and Olivia thinks she’s maybe enjoying this a bit, they’re treated with a power outage. One moment Olivia is focused on carefully folding rectangle of dough, feeling like she’s back in kindergarten playing with clay, and the next everything is dark and Gene is mooing desperately, startled out of her usual complacency.
“Damn it,” Peter curses, before he goes to fiddle with electric fuses.
The hardest part isn’t to get electricity back. This, Peter makes it happen after working on it for only ten minutes and minimal annoyance. No, the really challenging part is to get Gene to calm down.
“What is wrong with that cow?” Peter says, his brow furrowed with irritation. “The light is back and she won’t shut up!”
“I don’t know.”
Gene is usually so peaceful that Olivia sometimes forgets she’s here at all. Now Peter and Olivia are both standing at reasonable distance from the cow, not daring to make a move. Gene has her big head raised to the ceiling, like a wolf howling to the moon, and her cries resound in the lab like a fire alarm. Not having much experience with cows, Olivia has no idea if this behavior is normal.
“I’ve seen Walter massage her,” Olivia says. “It seemed to relax her.”
Peter looks at her.
“Oh, no.” Olivia waves her hand in denial. “I wasn’t suggesting I’d do it.”
“I need to finish the croissants,” Peter says. “It’s almost night.”
“But, I…”
“Would you rather do the croissants?”
Olivia glances at the pale lumps of dough on their worktable. There is no way she won’t mess it up if she’s left to her own device.
“This is the last thing you’re talking me into today,” she says, and he smiles widely. Really, she needs to learn how to shield herself against that smile.
She moves cautiously toward Gene, jumps when the cow’s head jerks in her direction.
“It’s okay, Gene,” Olivia says, using the voice she perfected for traumatized victims. Gene moos forlornly, but not as loud as before. Olivia rests a light hand on her side, and is surprised that the coarse hair feels softer than she thought it would, before she remembers that Walter has taken to brushing her.
At first Olivia only strokes her as she would pet a cat, but as Gene doesn’t manifest any violent intent, she starts using both hands and knead the flesh, like Peter kneaded the dough earlier. Gene eventually gets quiet, her tail flapping right and left in a regular rhythm. It’s strange how soothing Olivia finds the task once she gets the hang of it; she puts her whole body into the movement, leaning over Gene before straightening up, then leaning again, like waves on the shore.
“You two sure look cozy.”
Olivia turns round and unsurprisingly, Peter’s smirking at her.
“She’s quiet now,” Olivia says.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account. You looked like you were both enjoying it.”
Olivia gives him a stern look. “Don’t make me use my gun.”
Peter chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling the way they do when he’s genuinely amused, and Olivia can’t remain disapproving for very long.
In the end, they don’t have to bring the croissants to Walter, because he barges into the lab a little after nine, Astrid on his heels. Olivia and Peter are just getting the pastries out of the oven.
“Peter!” Walter exclaims. “There you are!”
He has the slightly wild look in his eyes that speaks of a bad day and Olivia sees Peter shift into caretaker mode.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he says, in the low, soothing voice he reserves for Walter. “You were looking for me, Walter?”
Walter is looking at Peter like he can’t believe he’s really standing in front of him.
“Oh. Well, I suppose I was wondering where you were.” He sniffs the air. “What is this smell?”
“Olivia and I baked some croissant for you. Do you want to try one now?”
Walter casts a suspicious look at the pastries. They don’t look the way they do in a bakery; they’re not even-sized, some are too flat and some too puffy, but Olivia can’t help but feel some sense of accomplishment. Walter takes one, and carefully bites into it.
“It’s hot,” he mumbles.
“It’s just gotten out of the oven,” Peter retorts with some bite. “Is it good?”
Walter takes another bite.
“You know, when your mother was pregnant with you, she started craving the strangest things. Once I spend a day looking everywhere for…”
Walter keeps rambling, and eating, which Olivia takes as a good sign even though Walter doesn’t offer any judgment. Peter watches his father with a fond smile and Olivia feels a little like she’s intruding. She takes a croissant; it burns her fingers and she bites into it.
“Can I have one?” Astrid asks.
“Oh,” Olivia takes a moment to swallow her mouthful, “yes, of course. Please help yourself.”
Astrid smiles and carefully picks up a croissant between her thumb and forefinger, blows on it before she takes a bite.
“It’s good,” she says.
Olivia smiles, feeling warm with pride. Walter’s talking, Peter still smiling, and Olivia finishes her croissant. Her fingers are greasy but she's already craving for more.
Fandom: Fringe
Characters: Olivia, Peter, Walter, Astrid (hints of Peter/Olivia).
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Fringe related.
Word count: 1,500 words.
Summary: Peter persuades Olivia to help him bake croissants for Walter. Stuff happens.
A/N: This was supposed to be a Christmas present for dotfic, in answer to her prompt: "Peter attempts to bake something for Walter--for some reason, it has to be done in the lab, things go terribly wrong and wacky." This is terribly late, but since it was also her birthday a lot more recently, it can also serve as a birthday present! Merry Christmas! Happy birthday! And thank you, dotfic, for the beta reading on this fic (because yeah, I suck and I make people beta their own present.)
“Peter? What are you doing?”
Peter has his back to Olivia, and he doesn’t turn around to greet her though the line of his shoulders tenses when she speaks. He’s wearing a blue t-shirt and his arms are covered almost up to his elbows with something white and goey-looking. Olivia takes a few more steps forward.
“Are you… baking?”
Peter takes his hands out of the big bowl they were plunged into, sighs loudly and turns enough that Olivia can see the way he scowls at the bowl, so she knows the exasperation isn’t aimed at her.
“Yeah,” he says, sounding weary. “It’s not working so well though.”
“What is it?” Olivia asks, coming closer to peer curiously at the mixture in the bowl.
“I’m supposed to be making croissants for Walter, but,” he gestures at a trash bag heaped in a lump at his feet, “this is my third attempt.”
“But why in the lab? Wouldn’t a kitchen be more appropriate?”
Peter sighs again, goes to pass a hand in his hair but stops in time, leaving only a smear of the mixture on his forehead.
“Walter is occupying our kitchen. Hasn’t left it since last evening; he’s apparently trying to recreate some obscure flavor of ice cream… Well, you know how he gets.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s my mother’s birthday, you know.”
“Oh.” Olivia is silent for a moment. Her own mother’s birthday is in spring, when the colors are brighter and flowers bloom, and everyone cheers up after the long winter, except for Olivia. “Did your mother like croissant?”
“She and Walter had their honeymoon in France. I thought it would remind him of better times.”
“Not to discourage you but maybe you should just buy them from a bakery. Also, Walter could object to you using his lab to experiment with baking.”
“We’re talking about a guy who uses a Bunsen burner to make hot chocolate. Besides, Walter won’t eat French pastry made in an American bakery. He claims it doesn’t taste the same. I thought something homemade - or, well, labmade - would suit him better. Hey,” Peter’s expression brightens suddenly and he turns to Olivia with a slightly crooked smile. “Would you help me?”
Olivia raises both eyebrows, her lips pressed together to stifle an incredulous chuckle. “Who, me? Uh, Peter, I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m not much of a baker in the best circumstances and I’m pretty sure that French pastry is way out of my abilities.”
“Oh, Olivia.” Peter nudges her with his elbow. “Don’t sell yourself short. And you would only be my assistant. I’m already learning from my mistakes; if the both of us work together, I’m sure we can manage something decent.”
“Decent enough for Walter?”
“I have faith. Come on, Olivia. Help me out.”
“I’m supposed to be working, you know,” Olivia says, her last line of defense. “You know, that important job where we solve strange and sometimes murderous cases. I was actually coming to see Walter.”
“Walter isn’t here, as you can see. Honestly, I don’t think you’ll get much out of Walter today. Has anyone died?”
Olivia lets out a sigh. No one has died, as a matter of fact, no one has even been injured; only a few bewildered people left wondering at the world’s strangeness.
“Alright,” she says, and starts unbuttoning her jacket. “Let’s do this.”
It takes a little more time than Olivia anticipated. First, she had no idea of how infuriatingly long it takes to make croissant.
“So we have to let it rest for how much time?”
“About two hours. Then you have to unwrap, sprinkle with flour, deflate. You roll the dough to a rectangle and you fold it again. Then you let it chill for two more hours.”
She tries to remain composed, but some of her unhappiness must have shown because Peter adds, “The good news is, the actual baking part is only 12 to 15 minutes.”
“Thank God for that,” she says dryly.
And when everything is going well and Olivia thinks she’s maybe enjoying this a bit, they’re treated with a power outage. One moment Olivia is focused on carefully folding rectangle of dough, feeling like she’s back in kindergarten playing with clay, and the next everything is dark and Gene is mooing desperately, startled out of her usual complacency.
“Damn it,” Peter curses, before he goes to fiddle with electric fuses.
The hardest part isn’t to get electricity back. This, Peter makes it happen after working on it for only ten minutes and minimal annoyance. No, the really challenging part is to get Gene to calm down.
“What is wrong with that cow?” Peter says, his brow furrowed with irritation. “The light is back and she won’t shut up!”
“I don’t know.”
Gene is usually so peaceful that Olivia sometimes forgets she’s here at all. Now Peter and Olivia are both standing at reasonable distance from the cow, not daring to make a move. Gene has her big head raised to the ceiling, like a wolf howling to the moon, and her cries resound in the lab like a fire alarm. Not having much experience with cows, Olivia has no idea if this behavior is normal.
“I’ve seen Walter massage her,” Olivia says. “It seemed to relax her.”
Peter looks at her.
“Oh, no.” Olivia waves her hand in denial. “I wasn’t suggesting I’d do it.”
“I need to finish the croissants,” Peter says. “It’s almost night.”
“But, I…”
“Would you rather do the croissants?”
Olivia glances at the pale lumps of dough on their worktable. There is no way she won’t mess it up if she’s left to her own device.
“This is the last thing you’re talking me into today,” she says, and he smiles widely. Really, she needs to learn how to shield herself against that smile.
She moves cautiously toward Gene, jumps when the cow’s head jerks in her direction.
“It’s okay, Gene,” Olivia says, using the voice she perfected for traumatized victims. Gene moos forlornly, but not as loud as before. Olivia rests a light hand on her side, and is surprised that the coarse hair feels softer than she thought it would, before she remembers that Walter has taken to brushing her.
At first Olivia only strokes her as she would pet a cat, but as Gene doesn’t manifest any violent intent, she starts using both hands and knead the flesh, like Peter kneaded the dough earlier. Gene eventually gets quiet, her tail flapping right and left in a regular rhythm. It’s strange how soothing Olivia finds the task once she gets the hang of it; she puts her whole body into the movement, leaning over Gene before straightening up, then leaning again, like waves on the shore.
“You two sure look cozy.”
Olivia turns round and unsurprisingly, Peter’s smirking at her.
“She’s quiet now,” Olivia says.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account. You looked like you were both enjoying it.”
Olivia gives him a stern look. “Don’t make me use my gun.”
Peter chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling the way they do when he’s genuinely amused, and Olivia can’t remain disapproving for very long.
In the end, they don’t have to bring the croissants to Walter, because he barges into the lab a little after nine, Astrid on his heels. Olivia and Peter are just getting the pastries out of the oven.
“Peter!” Walter exclaims. “There you are!”
He has the slightly wild look in his eyes that speaks of a bad day and Olivia sees Peter shift into caretaker mode.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he says, in the low, soothing voice he reserves for Walter. “You were looking for me, Walter?”
Walter is looking at Peter like he can’t believe he’s really standing in front of him.
“Oh. Well, I suppose I was wondering where you were.” He sniffs the air. “What is this smell?”
“Olivia and I baked some croissant for you. Do you want to try one now?”
Walter casts a suspicious look at the pastries. They don’t look the way they do in a bakery; they’re not even-sized, some are too flat and some too puffy, but Olivia can’t help but feel some sense of accomplishment. Walter takes one, and carefully bites into it.
“It’s hot,” he mumbles.
“It’s just gotten out of the oven,” Peter retorts with some bite. “Is it good?”
Walter takes another bite.
“You know, when your mother was pregnant with you, she started craving the strangest things. Once I spend a day looking everywhere for…”
Walter keeps rambling, and eating, which Olivia takes as a good sign even though Walter doesn’t offer any judgment. Peter watches his father with a fond smile and Olivia feels a little like she’s intruding. She takes a croissant; it burns her fingers and she bites into it.
“Can I have one?” Astrid asks.
“Oh,” Olivia takes a moment to swallow her mouthful, “yes, of course. Please help yourself.”
Astrid smiles and carefully picks up a croissant between her thumb and forefinger, blows on it before she takes a bite.
“It’s good,” she says.
Olivia smiles, feeling warm with pride. Walter’s talking, Peter still smiling, and Olivia finishes her croissant. Her fingers are greasy but she's already craving for more.