Fic (G) Today I Brew, Tomorrow I Bake
Fandom: DCU
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Dick Grayson, Lois Lane
Words: 634
Canon/Continuity: This story takes place on an Earth where Red K still has unpredictable affects on Superman, Lois and Clark are married, and Lois knows the Bat-Clan’s identities.
Summary: When Lois finds her culinary skills the subject of an unfairly-placed wager, Dick comes to the rescue.
Today I Brew, Tomorrow I Bake
Dick paused in the kitchen doorway, surveying the scene. "If I said `Holy Rumplestiltskin', would you chuck that at my head?" he grinned.
Lois turned around, a cast-iron skillet in one hand. "Probably, so don't," she snapped. "This is all Bruce's fault."
Dick blinked. "From what I heard, it was Clark who bet that you could whip up a seven-course meal without ruining it, not Bruce."
Lois slammed the skillet down with nearly enough force to dent the counter. "Oh, please! As if he didn't realize that Red Kryptonite had temporarily turned my husband into a compulsive gambler. He took total advantage!"
"He didn't state the bet. Clark did. He also told Bruce that if you can't pull it off, then for the next six months, he, Clark, will disguise himself as Bruce and fill in at all WE board meetings. I mean, yeah, Bruce still shouldn't have agreed, but damn it, he's human!"
Lois felt her lips start to curve upwards. "You're making a compelling case for my not sneaking up on him with this," she gestured toward the skillet. She sighed. "You're right about Rumplestiltskin, though. I've got about as much chance of turning groceries into dinner as I do of spinning straw into gold." She moaned. "Did they have to make that bet in front of the entire JLA?"
"Wasn't Aquaman was off in Atlantis at the time?" Dick asked innocently. Lois reached for the skillet. Dick raised his hands. "Okay, okay, sheesh! I'm sorry."
"Why are you here, Dick?"
"To see if you can use a hand. I'm no Alfred, but I can manage a few things: ramen noodles, mac and cheese, scrambled eggs…"
Lois slumped. "Great."
"Does the bet specify what those seven courses have to be?"
She blinked. "Why no, Mr. Grayson," she said slowly, a real smile forming. "I don't believe it does. Wait. Why would you want to work at cross-purposes with Bruce?"
Dick sighed. "Like I said, he's human. He also has a conscience. But he wants to win the bet. But he has a conscience. But he really wants Clark to sub for him for those six months. But he has a conscience."
"And I have a skillet, `Wing, so talk turkey."
"Isn't it obvious?" Dick grinned. "He told me to help you. Now, he still doesn't want to lose the bet-if he did, he'd have sent Alfred. But," he coughed, "let's just say that Bruce isn't totally unsympathetic to people who… who… for whom a kitchen represents territory so foreign that they practically need a passport to enter one. I'm here to level the playing field, a little. Give you a fair shot. Bruce is currently prevailing on Diana, Arthur, and Booster to act as impartial judges."
"He's what?"
"Hey. Diana's as unbiased as he's likely to get, Arthur wasn't there, and wild horses won't be able to keep Booster away. Seriously, they won't."
"Point. So?"
"So we whip up a few basic items for an unconventional feast that technically satisfies the terms of the wager, but gets the judges arguing about whether it actually qualifies as a win. Whatever the outcome…"
"Bruce doesn't come off looking quite as much like a total jerk." She smiled. "Okay, Circus. Roll up your shirtsleeves and step up to the chopping board."
Dick tossed her a mock-salute and obeyed. "So, Bruce told me what he gets if Clark loses this little bet. What happens if he wins? Just out of curiosity."
Lois smiled. "Alfred comes to us for Thanksgiving."
Dick blinked. "And you want to win this?"
"It's that or see Clark flying in with care packages from Gotham every other day. Bruce has his conscience, I have my pride. Now what do you think of cheese and crackers as a first course?"
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Dick Grayson, Lois Lane
Words: 634
Canon/Continuity: This story takes place on an Earth where Red K still has unpredictable affects on Superman, Lois and Clark are married, and Lois knows the Bat-Clan’s identities.
Summary: When Lois finds her culinary skills the subject of an unfairly-placed wager, Dick comes to the rescue.
Today I Brew, Tomorrow I Bake
Dick paused in the kitchen doorway, surveying the scene. "If I said `Holy Rumplestiltskin', would you chuck that at my head?" he grinned.
Lois turned around, a cast-iron skillet in one hand. "Probably, so don't," she snapped. "This is all Bruce's fault."
Dick blinked. "From what I heard, it was Clark who bet that you could whip up a seven-course meal without ruining it, not Bruce."
Lois slammed the skillet down with nearly enough force to dent the counter. "Oh, please! As if he didn't realize that Red Kryptonite had temporarily turned my husband into a compulsive gambler. He took total advantage!"
"He didn't state the bet. Clark did. He also told Bruce that if you can't pull it off, then for the next six months, he, Clark, will disguise himself as Bruce and fill in at all WE board meetings. I mean, yeah, Bruce still shouldn't have agreed, but damn it, he's human!"
Lois felt her lips start to curve upwards. "You're making a compelling case for my not sneaking up on him with this," she gestured toward the skillet. She sighed. "You're right about Rumplestiltskin, though. I've got about as much chance of turning groceries into dinner as I do of spinning straw into gold." She moaned. "Did they have to make that bet in front of the entire JLA?"
"Wasn't Aquaman was off in Atlantis at the time?" Dick asked innocently. Lois reached for the skillet. Dick raised his hands. "Okay, okay, sheesh! I'm sorry."
"Why are you here, Dick?"
"To see if you can use a hand. I'm no Alfred, but I can manage a few things: ramen noodles, mac and cheese, scrambled eggs…"
Lois slumped. "Great."
"Does the bet specify what those seven courses have to be?"
She blinked. "Why no, Mr. Grayson," she said slowly, a real smile forming. "I don't believe it does. Wait. Why would you want to work at cross-purposes with Bruce?"
Dick sighed. "Like I said, he's human. He also has a conscience. But he wants to win the bet. But he has a conscience. But he really wants Clark to sub for him for those six months. But he has a conscience."
"And I have a skillet, `Wing, so talk turkey."
"Isn't it obvious?" Dick grinned. "He told me to help you. Now, he still doesn't want to lose the bet-if he did, he'd have sent Alfred. But," he coughed, "let's just say that Bruce isn't totally unsympathetic to people who… who… for whom a kitchen represents territory so foreign that they practically need a passport to enter one. I'm here to level the playing field, a little. Give you a fair shot. Bruce is currently prevailing on Diana, Arthur, and Booster to act as impartial judges."
"He's what?"
"Hey. Diana's as unbiased as he's likely to get, Arthur wasn't there, and wild horses won't be able to keep Booster away. Seriously, they won't."
"Point. So?"
"So we whip up a few basic items for an unconventional feast that technically satisfies the terms of the wager, but gets the judges arguing about whether it actually qualifies as a win. Whatever the outcome…"
"Bruce doesn't come off looking quite as much like a total jerk." She smiled. "Okay, Circus. Roll up your shirtsleeves and step up to the chopping board."
Dick tossed her a mock-salute and obeyed. "So, Bruce told me what he gets if Clark loses this little bet. What happens if he wins? Just out of curiosity."
Lois smiled. "Alfred comes to us for Thanksgiving."
Dick blinked. "And you want to win this?"
"It's that or see Clark flying in with care packages from Gotham every other day. Bruce has his conscience, I have my pride. Now what do you think of cheese and crackers as a first course?"