RP for rattle_thecages - A moment of peace
Alfred has gathered an assortment of ingredients in the rather small kitchen...though, honestly, any kitchen seems quite small to Alfred in comparison to the one he has been accustomed to. Rachel Dawes will be down shortly and Alfred is pleased to be spending time with her. There has been much sorrow of late. Now seems an appropriate time to
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Alfred would like to teach her a thing or two in the kitchen. Last time he was brave in his attempt, he was not very successful. However, Rachel likes pleasing Alfred.
Rachel will not be well pleased if she burns anything this time. She's prosecuted mobsters for a living. She can bake something without burning it, for crying out loud.
Her face is set into a determined frown as she makes her way over to him. "All right. Let's do this."
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He does realize, of course, that Rachel has had...difficulties in the kitchen, before. He is certain, however, that they can produce something entirely edible.
If not, there is a fire extinguisher beneath the kitchen sink. The expiration date has been checked and double-checked.
"Shall we begin?"
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No, Rachel does not like the fact there is something in this world she does not excel at. Overachiever? What on earth would make you believe such a thing?
She rolls the sleeves of her crisp white shirt up to her elbows, giving him a firm little nod. "Ready when you are."
A beat. "We aren't going to make a lemon pie again, are we? The lemon pie and I did not get along very well."
She has no idea there is a fire extinguisher beneath the kitchen sink. While she appreciates precautions, it is best she does not know this.
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"We shall be creating an apple pie." Alfred Pennyworth has never seen an apple pie be ruined with him in the kitchen. Today is not a day to break the record...he hopes.
There is a bowl of beautiful green apples on the counter and Alfred moves them down toward Rachel. "We shall create a lovely pie crust and then peel these apples and mix them, and it will be wonderful." The boost of confidence is, perhaps, intended for himself as much as Rachel.
This fire extinguisher will remain a secret.
Hoping to distract her from what she seems to feel is imminent disaster, he asks, "How is your Robin doing, my dear?" Flour is placed in front of her almost as an afterthought.
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Meeting him halfway at the center of the kitchen, she pokes the flour tentatively with a finger. It all seems so simple. Create the crust, peel the apples, mix it all together and voilà!
It isn't science.
It isn't law school.
Rachel laughs quietly at the your Robin. "My Robin is doing very well," she answers Alfred honestly, face lighting up in a way that hadn't been there earlier. "I know you believe no thank you is needed, but whatever you said to him, it made all the difference in the world. I hope you know that."
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The recipe is written in his neat handwriting, and he places it on the counter beside the bowl. Salt and sugar amounts are clearly written. Clearly.
"I am very happy he is doing so well," Alfred says, genuine happiness making his smile widen. He waves a hand slightly, however, at her comment. "I understand, Rachel, but I meant what I said before. He has made the difference for himself. He is a wonderful young man." Alfred feels that Rachel has done a great deal for Robin, herself. He hopes she realizes that, as he is quite sure Robin does.
Alfred is very happy Rachel has found a wonderful young man. He cannot lie to himself...there will always be a part of his heart that remembers hopeful visions of tiny 'grandchildren' with Rachel's lovely smile and Master Bruce's bright eyes. He is a realistic man, however, and what is isThis is the here and now and Rachel is ( ... )
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Biting down on her lip in utter concentration, she reads the recipe over once, twice, until she's nearly memorized the amounts of each ingredient.
There will be no disaster in this kitchen.
No, sir. "He is wonderful. And so are you. I am very blessed," she tells him with a quiet smile. Loved ones are the biggest reason tragedy can strike, again and again, and still allow you to remain standing. Allow you to pick yourself up when you don't.
Perhaps, when we are done, we can bring your young man some of this pie.
She wrinkles her nose when pinches of flour find their way to her nose and dust around the tip of it. "... I believe that all depends on the finished product."
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Alfred mentally chides himself. All former memories of kitchen mishaps are thrown aside in favor of a positive outlook.
There is a great deal of flour in the air, however.
Ah well. Alfred carefully cuts generous cubes of chilled butter and places them into the flour mixture. He then hands Rachel two butter knives and motions for her to cut the butter into the flour.
"It seems a great while has passed since I first took notice of your young man," Alfred says casually. One who knows him well would see a touch of amusement in his eyes. "His writings on that day reminded me very much of a young girl I once knew, and her own poetry."
He did, indeed, go there.
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Rachel Dawes never backs down from a challenge, even when the challenge is what others would find simply making an apple pie.
Slicing the butter into cubes and mixing them in the flour, Rachel nearly chokes on the very air she's breathing when Alfred recalls that. She'd almost forgotten that little debacle entirely. She isn't sure how she could forget when it caused her and Robin such mortification.
She is not prone to blushing at all, though her cheeks are suspiciously pink. "That...was due to a muse high, I believe. And yes it does seem like a while ago. It isn't--my letter to you it is worth noting was to ask for you hand in marriage, wasn't it? My goodness, I was shameless. Time is a very peculiar thing."
Clearing her throat after she becomes aware she is rambling a bit, she asks, "More butter?"
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"A muse high," Alfred repeats. He wonders, for a moment, if a drug of sorts was involved, then shakes such a thought away. Most certainly, a...magic of some sorts was involved in the situation. He cannot imagine what else would...ahh, but young love. Alfred looks very content right now.
"I did cherish that letter," Alfred confesses with a smile. He had thought it was very sweet. It perished, most unfortunately, in the great fire at Wayne Manor. He had kept it, however, and would have it still.
Alfred looks closely at the butter/flour mixture and declares it perfect. He then slides over the wet ingredients to be added. It is likely he should have added that they should be mixed together prior to adding them to the flour.
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