worthallthis | IC Inbox: In the Night

Not much. I cook more.

[There's a difference between cooking and baking. They literally only know how to make an Australian survivalist bread and Aziraphale's cookies, baking-wise. There's no time like the present to branch out, though.]

But they're good. Wouldn't mind trying more.

I could get you the recipe now, if you wanted. [ It's not like Kal's got anywhere to be. One of the nicest things about being dead is not having to hear the whole world and all its suffering any more... even if that might be selfish to think. ]

I'm going to have to find paper, but the store should have plenty.

[ That's when he realises: ] Did you finish the whole box already?

Half of it.

[A pause, realizing that probably sounds kind of bad to people who don't know about their crazy eating habits.]

Gave one to Aziraphale.

[That does not really make it better, Soldat. That's still like five cupcakes in the hour since they got the box. Also, they happen to have paper on their person, and a pen too. The paper is folded tightly behind a gun holster in the small of their back, which they reach around to slip out, and offer to Kal. Then, just as wordlessly, they pull a half-sized pencil, obviously whittled down with a knife, from tucked into a knife sheath under a pocket at their thigh.

Soldat would make a great boy scout. Always prepared. (They got tightly rolled bandages and medical grade thread in a pocket somewhere, too.)]

[ Kal doesn't know who this Aziraphale is, and his head cocks as he asks a simple, ] Your friend?

[ But he digresses. ] I'm just glad you liked it, Soldat. [ He hadn't expected a visit, either, but he doesn't say that out loud. ]

Have you got an oven at your place?

[ He's taking the paper and pen graciously, and for Soldat's sake makes sure to write at what is presumably a normal human pace. Kal doesn't even stop to think, though; ingredients and measurements and subsequent instructions are written with the same ease as a computer producing printouts. ]

Housemate. Technician. Decent enough. He liked them, too.

[They step back, giving Kal space to write. The lack of super-speed is nice. The computer-like recitation is only weird in that nobody but the Winter Soldier ever did things like that, in their experience. Nobody else had their kind of memory or, you know, metal hand. Is this an alien thing? Or a training thing?

Watching closely, they answer,]

Yes, we have an oven. Aziraphale likes to make cookies. Badly, most of the time. And I made a roast once.

“Badly”? [ Kal doesn’t laugh at the thought, but his mouth does curve up a bit. ] Ah, I’m sure he just needs practise.

[ But he does adjust the recipe, in that case—Kal’s own flat does not yet, in fact, have an oven, and he’d had to bake using the precision of his heat vision. Fortunately, heat vision isn’t at all necessary for this recipe, and an oven’s a more than fine substitute. ]

Roast is pretty heavy-duty, though. How'd you manage that?

[It's not like everyone has heat vision, Kal. That wouldn't have been very helpful even if Soldat didn't have an oven.]

Not as well as Misty's. But it was my first try. Overcooked it a little. Still edible, but kinda chewy. The vegetables with it were still good, though.

[ Hey, you can bake using pots over stoves… ]

I feel like food of any kind that ends up shared is better by default. [ The recipe is finished, and when Kal hands it over the words are written neatly, uniformly. Each letter is the same height, each line is clean, and it looks very much like the handwriting of an architect who’s anal about precision. Got to make sure Soldat can read it accurately, after all. ]

I’ve never really baked for myself. We didn’t have that on Krypton.

But I like doing it for other people quite a bit.

[Jesus, mister scary alien, you're not supposed to be nice and say things like you like baking for people. You're supposed to be properly scary so they can actually avoid you. Soldat accepts the paper and pencil back from Kal, expression perfectly bland, because otherwise it might have gone sour at that thought.

They're tense, but pretty good at keeping that under wraps-- from standard humans, though, not magical aliens.]

So do I. Cooking for, anyway.

[There's just something satisfying in feeding people. (And themselves, of course.) Makes a nice change from killing them. They stare for a moment at the paper, then, without looking up, ask,]

Why the fuck did you even make me cupcakes. You don't know me, and I'm scared of you.

Right… I was wondering if it was in bad taste. [ What with the fear and all. It’s interesting, though, to hear anyone admit to their own fear so openly—Kal’s not dealt with that often. ]

You were truly helpful, back at that meeting around the bonfire. And the day of St. Valentine is when people on Earth show their appreciation to others, isn’t it? [ Again, it’s no tradition on Krypton, so Kal’s just sort of trying, here. ]

I didn’t want to let the day pass without saying ‘thank you’.

[Soldat is perhaps surprisingly open about a lot of things. All you really gotta do is ask them.]

It ain't even a big thing. I told you things everyone here should know. Most of the people here would've told you the same thing.

I asked you, though, didn't I? [ superman lowkey cannot believe the deal that is being made of this, wow ] And you answered kindly.

I'd like to think it's all right to receive thanks here and there.

But if it makes you uncomfortable [ and now both his hands come up in something like surrender, all I come in peace and other such pleasantries ] I won't do it again, I promise.

[Because, Kal, you're dealing with a murder machine not accustomed to being rewarded for giving a sitrep, let alone with tasty goodies, let alone with tasty goodies two whole weeks after the fact. Soldat is feeling unbalanced, suspicious, and obscurely guilty, like they got a reward they absolutely did not deserve.

Also, you remind them of Captain America, right down to the dumbass name. Doesn't help matters.

The look Kal gets is somewhere between incredulous and uncertain.]

I will never turn down food. Especially not cupcakes. C'mon, pal, I'm not crazy. Just nobody makes cupcakes for a sitrep.

IC Inbox: In the Night

nah it's cool lots of people do it, I don't mind

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