[Log] Toushirou, Rangiku

[davyn]

Title: Cake or Pie
Characters: Toushirou (davyn), Rangiku (kellenanne)
Rating: PG
Timeline December 20th
Summary Its Toushirou's birthday and Ran thinks cooking is a good idea!



Rangiku still had his key. She doubted he even remembered he'd given her the key, once upon a time. It had certainly come in handy, but she wasn't one to flaunt her possession of it; he'd remember she had it and demand it back. She only had so many copies stashed away...

Toushirou would be home from work soon. Rangiku had called his boss, just to make sure he wasn't going to get any weird or random calls. He had plans; he just didn't know about them yet, and his co-workers were just "evil" enough to make sure he showed up at his own party.

Well... party... Not exactly one by her standards, but he'd kill her if she invited anybody but herself over for now. (Might even kill her for inviting herself into his place.) If this went well, maybe she could talk him into a small get-together at the bar, with some of his associates and a few friends of her own. Might loosen him up a little.

He'd hate her. Really. Ah, well... such was the price of friendship, sometimes.

She let herself in, juggling her purse and grocery bags, and pulling the door closed with her foot. Cakes were too hard to transport, so she'd bought all the ingredients and a cookbook. (The cookbook was the most important part here. That, or the sugar. She wasn't sure.) She checked the time as she deposited the bags on the counter. About half an hour until he came in through that door and she fully intended to have things well in hand by then. (She had been trying to get there earlier, but... well, cute men on subways just didn't always happen...)

With a grin and whistling "Happy Birthday to You" to herself, she set to destroying his kitchen. She tapped her lip for a second; bowl. She needed a bowl, right? Made sense. Cake batter had to go in something! She dug out a bowl and set it on the counter next to her bags.

All right... She had a bowl. She had ingredients. She needed... What did she need?

Oh! Right... the cookbook. Maybe she should at least look at a recipe.

...maybe she should have bought mix, but birthdays were special! He shouldn't be treated to cake from a box.

This was going to be fun. So much fun.

He was tired. Tired enough that he was contemplating skipping dinner all together and simply crawling into his shower and then straight to his bed, then maybe he could convince himself to get up on time and make it work and finish the paperwork that he had skipped in order to make it out of the office before any more banners, cupcakes from the vending machine or happy birthdays were whistled in his presence.

He hated his birthday.

He fumbled with his keys, cursing softly when he dropped them twice before managing to get the key into the lock. Knowing his luck there would be a bright pink banner above his desk tomorrow and he would spend the whole day twitching. If he was lucky the little old lady who lived next to him wouldn’t show up later and remind him that this was a family friendly environment.

The door finally clicked open and he sighed. He hadn’t been this happy to be home since the last time he had been shot and finally escaped the hospital. That had been good, his own bed, a hot shower - exactly what he was prescribing for himself tonight. He shut the door behind him, dropped his brief case, slung his uniform jacket over onto the coat hanger and took the two steps necessary to see his kitchen.

Saw his kitchen and froze, eyes widening in surprise before narrowing. What was she doing to his kitchen?

“What are you doing here?” Really, what had he done to deserve this? Her? Here now? Who had he pissed off and what offerings did he have to make to fix it? “Give me back my key.” Why did she still have his key? He was pretty sure he had taken that key and informed the apartment complex that no matter what a tall blond woman said or did they were not to give her his key. What did she do? A striptease? Wear one of those ridiculous shirts of hers? He didn’t want to know how she kept getting his key just as long as it stopped.

This was just borderline ridiculous.

Rangiku rolled her eyes and pouted. She had known from the moment he'd come stomping through the door, sighing like the world was out to get him, that he was going to be difficult.

Not that that was anything new. If he was anything but difficult, she might take him straight to the ER. Even the thought of him being pleasant made Rangiku shudder a bit; that was so... wrong.

She pushed that thought aside - best not to dwell on what could go wrong - and held up his key, already on its own little ring. She twirled it around her fingers and slid it across the counter toward him. No yelling about the key now. (And it wasn't as if she didn't have duplicates; the apartment manager here was also quite nice. Or, if not exactly nice, at least susceptible to boobs. Little old lewd man.)

"I'm making a cake," she answered, pulling a bag of flour toward her then wrinkling her nose and blowing off a fine layer of it from the cookbook. It helped to be able to read the recipe. "You didn't honestly think I'd not celebrate your birthday, did you?"

Silly little man. She never forgot his birthday, not after all the trouble she'd went through to find out when it was.

He blinked at her and then he blinked at his kitchen. His kitchen or it had been his kitchen when he left for work that morning, completely organized, clean, everything put up nicely. He just… stared.

“What did you do to my kitchen?” She was making a cake? More like she was trying to create a bomb made out of flour and… and did vinegar even go in cake? No. He had never made a cake, much less from scratch like she seemed to be attempting, but he was sure that vinegar didn’t go in cake.

“That doesn’t go in cake,” he moved forward and removed the vinegar from the counter top then took another step back. Shouldn’t get to close, she might attack him with flour or something.

Rangiku blinked at him as he moved in, snagged the vinegar, and moved away all in the span of about two seconds. She gestured around her. What did she do to his kitchen? "I'm using it," she answered. She'd thought that fairly obvious.

She eyed the vinegar, blinking in consternation. "I know that. It was just there, you know."

Couldn't deny it might have accidentally ended up in the cake... but she hadn't planned it, that's certain.

He blinked at her. All right, she was in his kitchen and she was using it that almost made sense. She stole his key, walked up here, and used his kitchen to make his birthday cake? Why?

“Why?” He couldn’t help but ask. She had always been somewhat strange but this just took the cake on the whole thing, he just stood there, staring blankly at her. He blinked again at her next comment.

Just there?”

“Vinegar goes in the top shelf above the sink by the oil,” he stated blandly, “it did not just appear on its own.” She had to have grabbed it… which meant she was going to put it in his cake.

He shuddered. Poor not yet made cake. He paused. Had to be getting tired, he actually just mentally allowed her to finish her baking in his kitchen which she would probably blow up.

“Leave.”

That was nice and simple. He could do nice and simple, even his tired brain could handle simple. She would leave, he would shower and then go to bed and clean up whatever mess she had managed to create tomorrow.

Rangiku eyed the vinegar for a second before replying. Toushirou was a strange one; it was just part of his... allure. "Well, if that's where it goes, you shouldn't just leave it sitting out." She shrugged and raised her eyebrows. "Can you even reach the top shelf?"

She regarded her bowl of ingredients for a moment, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. Now what? Eggs, maybe? Eggs sounded good. Maybe some milk, too. "It's your birthday," she said, squeezing past him to get to his refrigerator. Answered both things there: why was she doing it and, no, she wasn't leaving.

Unless she managed to get him to go out to dinner with her. She gave him a considering look; well, as tired as he looked, she might get take-out out of him.

Either way, it would be good.

"You are not letting your birthday get by me without some sort of celebration."

He blinked at her.

“It’s my kitchen isn’t it?” Of course he could reach the cabinets, did she think he would rent a place that had cabinets that were too tall for him to reach? More blinking.

Why wasn’t his brain wrapping around this like it should?

“Bake the cake out there,” he pointed at his door, other hand firmly gripping the vinegar. The last thing he needed to do was drop it. Then his apartment would smell and that was not acceptable.

At this rate he was going to just have to ignore her which was practically counter productive, she took it as acceptance instead of being ignored like she was supposed to. He eyed her. Outside was best really.

Rangiku blinked into the interior of the refrigerator and slowly stood up, one hand holding eggs, the other milk, and ended up just looking at Toushirou. Her gaze went to the door - where he was pointing - and then back to him and she promptly snorted. With a roll of her eyes, she reached past him to put the eggs and milk down and snatched the vinegar from his grasp.

She would not be blamed for him dropped the vinegar when he inevitably decided to start gesturing at her with it. She set it aside - well away from the cake ingredients, just in case - pushed the fridge door closed, and turned back to him.

"I know it’s your kitchen," she told him carefully. "That's why I'm in here baking. I mean... unless you've installed an oven in your hallway, I don't see much choice."

He blinked at her again. This was becoming something of a bad habit, this breaking into his apartment, using his kitchen for one thing or another. She probably marked this day on his calendar and giggled to herself for an hour or so over her brilliance.

Then she probably flashed his manager, got a key, and came up here to poison him with vinegar and cake. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, wincing when his hands got caught on the tangles and nastiness from the day.

Shower, he wanted a shower. Later he would decide if moving was worth it or not.

“I am showering,” he muttered, turning on his foot and heading to his room. “If you follow I am shooting.” He had a lock, could probably move something in front of the door to. The woman was insane, who knew what she might do. “You can leave at any time.” He paused. “Preferably before I get out of the shower.”

Rangiku watched him leave, eggs in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, and blinked at his back. "Why would I follow when I have a cake to make?" Or was that bake? She never really understood the difference.

"I'll admit it's hard," she called. "You're so damned cute!" She paused, poking at the mixing bowl. "And I'm not leaving the kitchen, either." Might as well lay it all out for him. "Not until you actually eat some cake." Probably not leaving for awhile after that either.

She turned her attention back to the bowl. How long did it take to make (or bake) a cake? It wouldn't be near done when he got out of the shower, would he? Thought, knowing him, he'd take his time, as grumpy as he was...

She shrugged. Whatever; she was making a cake and he was going to enjoy it.

Even if she had to forcefeed him.

Showers were good things, especially when you had plenty of hot water to spare. He had to admit that it was more than a little nice living on his own when he didn’t have to battle anyone for the hot water. Which he would admit freely, was damn nice.

He leaned against the shower wall and rubbed at his head. He wasn’t particularly in the mood to deal with shampoo, though he would in a few minutes once he was convinced he had enough energy.

The longer this took this better. Maybe she would give up if he spent more than seven minutes under his hot water.

Cooking was hard. Incredibly, absolutely difficult. Rangiku never once had imagined it would entail such... such... thinking. The batter had gotten a little runny, so she'd added some flour. Enough flour she had had to give up on stirring with a spoon and then added water...

She wrinkled her nose and sniffed at the batter. She eyed the bedroom door for a second; Toushirou had better take a long shower. This could take awhile.

And she did not want him walking in on her floundering around in his kitchen. Rangiku straightened, poking at the batter with her spoon. Good enough, she supposed. Why wasn't there anything in the recipe about what consistency the batter should be? That would be damned helpful, really. She frowned, shrugged, and poured the batter into a cake pan.

At least she'd remembered to pre-heat the oven. She shoved it in, closed the door, and rubbed her hands together.

Time for the frosting.

He rubbed his towel through his damn hair and then followed that with his hand. His hair was going to do what it was going to do; there wasn’t much that he could do about that. He sighed and turned his attention to his bedroom door. If he walked out there he was going to end up beating his head against something, he knew it.

Birthday cake? The last time she had fixed something that resembled decent his stomach had practically melted. There was simply no way he was going to eat anything she made, ever. But then she would give him that sad expression and pout.

His eyes narrowed. It was his birthday; if he wasn’t sure she would walk in here and pull him out of his bed he would just crawl under the covers in protest. Instead? Instead he was going to have to go out there and get rid of her so he could sleep first.

Damn.

He opened the door and strode out, pointedly ignoring the mess she had made of his kitchen.

“Aren’t you supposed to be gone?” He had a badge! Was a chief of the police! He was supposed to be listened to.

She watched him stride oh-so purposefully into the room and her lips twitched; so in-control. Just had to be in control of everything. She shrugged. "When was the last time I listened to you?" He should know better by now than to think she would actually do something he suggested. Or even outright ordered.

She turned away and peered into the oven. Was it done yet? She blinked, straightening... Wait... Frosting. She was making frosting.

Rangiku turned away abruptly and started digging for another bowl. She needed... uh... a bowl. And powdered sugar. Maybe milk?

She shrugged; she'd figure it out.

He blinked at her. Save a persons life and this was the respect that you got for it. He glanced at his kitchen, his tea kettle, and back to the woman pretending that she knew what she was doing.

Not even tea was worth stepping foot in there.

“Do you even have a recipe?” He blinked. “Do you even know what a recipe is?”

Rangiku eyed the milk for a second before pouring it over the mound of powdered sugar she'd heaped into the bowl. She should add food coloring, too. Or chocolate. Just... milk and powdered sugar seemed so... blah.

She looked up and set the milk down before shoving the cookbook toward him. "Recipe," she said simply. She wasn't completely dim.

Of course, having a recipe didn't always mean she was following the recipe, but... that hadn't been what he asked.

He leaned forward carefully, both feet firmly anchored to the ground and blinked up at her.

“Are you following the recipe?” Just because she pointed at what was a cake and frosting recipe didn’t mean she was following it and that when cooking was the key, paying attention to the directions which she wasn’t very good at following, directions that was. He blinked. She had him confusing himself now.

Best just turn the blinking into a stare. Harder to argue with a stare than it was confused blinking.

She stared back at him, face falling into a very un-amused expression. Stupid man; he just had to ask after following the recipe, didn't he? He should know better. He'd get less answers he didn't like if he'd just stop asking questions.

"I went through the trouble of getting the book out didn't I?" That should be enough of an answer. It was, for everyone else. Stubborn little man. She was putting extra sugar in the frosting just for that.

He blinked at her. Couldn’t have just gone down the local store and bought a pie? He liked pie. Pie was also hard to mess up, you popped it into the oven, let it heat or cook depending on what sort of pie you bought, then you ate it. Instead he got a messy kitchen (the he would have to clean up later, he knew) and a cake that would probably not even be edible.

He sighed and shook his head.

“You’re eating the first piece,” he informed her. He was pretty sure that she would force him to eat some of this and he didn’t want to end up with food poisoning on his birthday. If she went into spasms of horror and disgust then he was not touching it. Screw the cake, all he really wanted was pie.

Rangiku stirred the concoction in the bowl, happy grin on her face. It actually looked like frosting. She hadn't really expected that, but she was even thinking of letting Toushirou know that.

She paused, spoon held loosely before starting to stir again. "But it's your birthday. I'm not taking your first piece."

That was nowhere near what she called right.

He blinked. That wouldn’t be right? It was his birthday; surely he could decide what was right and what wasn’t right? That was part of it being his birthday wasn’t it?

“I insist,” he assured her. He did, he would, more than once even. That was fine with him, as it was he was hoping it came out some sort of blob so that she would see the futility on this one… then again she might decide it was good anyway.

Couldn’t he just have pie?

Rangiku drew back, both eyebrows rising - she couldn't raise just one; that was uniquely Toushirou, but she could express herself via eyebrows if the need arose. "I was just asking." Just because it was his birthday didn't mean he had leave to be a bastard.

"Besides," she said, gesturing and pointing at him with the spoon, frosting flying. "You... oh..." She trailed off, blinking at the glob of frosting that had landed square in his forehead.

Whatever she'd been trying to say was gone. Her eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth, trying desperately not to laugh too loudly at him.

But the frosting... She gigged behind her hand.

She just… that was… there was no way… but she did. She threw frosting at him on his birthday. What kind of sick and twisted woman was she. He reached up, the feel of her creation sliding down his nose was not welcome, and stared at the substance on his hands, eyes narrowing.

He was accosted by frosting on his birthday. He looked up and glared at her. She was giggling behind that hand like he didn’t know what she was doing. Her shoulders were shaking, her eyes were suspiciously bright and she was making noises.

He scowled, glanced at the generous dollop of frosting and his eyes narrowed just a bit in calculation.

Then he threw it right back at her. It was his birthday; he could do whatever the hell he pleased.

Her giggles stopped abruptly and she stared down, eyes wide, at the blob of frosting currently resting square in her ample cleavage. She blinked, looked back up at Toushirou, then down at the frosting again.

Damn, but he had good aim.

She glanced at him, eyes narrowing. So did she. She didn't bother with the spoon this time; she just dipped her hand right into the bowl of frosting, grabbed a handful and let it fly.

He ducked, because she was throwing frosting at him which was completely not acceptable. He peeked over the counter and scowled.

“You are going to be cleaning that up,” he snapped. “If you so much as think about throwing another handful.”

He didn’t care how she cleaned it up as long as she did, could even do it with her damn hair. He didn’t care. No frosting on the carpets.

That was the absolute cutest thing Rangiku had ever seen. He peeked up over the counter and she just... melted a little inside.

He was so cute and he'd kill her if she ever said it. So, she was going to say it.

She promptly leaned over the counter, and, with a grin to rival the Cheshire cat's, upended the bowl and stuck it on his head. Then, with a hand covered in frosting, she ran a finger down his nose and tapped the end of it.

"You are so adorable."

He stared at her, just… stared at her. Toushirou was very aware of the frosting running down his neck, down his hair, down his face… and the stuff she put on his nose.

Cute? Cute? He was so not cute!

He snarled and reached up, pulling the bowl off his head and scowling at it and then scowling at her. He reached up, grabbing a handful of frosting off his head, there was plenty - he could spare some.

Then he smashed it directly into that to smug face.

She couldn't help it, but a strangled, indignant noise escaped her throat. He... He just... She wiped at the frosting on her face, staring blankly at his smug little face.

Bastard. He was a bastard. "You... little..."

She reached out and ruffled his hair, making sure that the frosting was spread around nicely, coating as much of his hair as she could manage. She leaned down to his level, scraping frosting off her face and then wiping it off on his cheek.

"You're lucky you don't have food coloring." She grinned. Just wait. All he had to do was wait. He'd wake up with pink hair yet. Maybe blue. Or green. Or all of the above.

He pushed the white stuff into her hair as well and grabbed her wrists, fingers curling around the bones tightly and glaring at her.

“Birthday,” he reminded her acidly. Surely he could get someone to be nice to him on his birthday? Just once?
Oh screw it, he was re-washing his hair and then he was going and getting pie. None of this… fake cake stuff.

"Yes," she said, "I know. It's why I'm here." Honestly, was he suffering from short-term memory loss? She'd told him that. She twisted her wrist a little bit before giving up. The man, despite his size, had a grip like a vise. He wasn't hurting her, but no way was she getting free of that grip without a fight. So, she just stared at him. Like his glares scared her. She huffed at him.

The oven buzzed behind her and she shook her wrist again. "Cake's done. Gonna let me get it?"

She could just leave it in there and let it burn down his apartment. It might serve him right.

He glanced at her and then at the cake and then back at her and dropped her wrist. She would burn down his apartment, he knew she would. He reached up and ran his fingers through his sticky hair and grimaced. He had just showered.

“I am taking another shower,” he informed her, eyes narrowing. “Clean this up.”

He turned on his heel and went back to the bathroom. He wanted pie… he wasn’t eating that and he wasn’t going out with confection crap in his hair.

"Yeah, yeah," she said to his back as he walked away. Rangiku rolled her eyes, then her neck, and pulled the cake out of the oven. She set it on the stovetop, blinking at it.

Why didn't it quite look like a cake? She poked it, half expecting it to poke her back.

Maybe cake wasn't such a good idea. Rangiku looked down the hallway, then peered at the cake and at the mess of frosting all over the counter.

She sighed and picked up a towel. She could offer to pay for dinner and slice of pie. (He never had dinner without pie, the crazy little man.) She dabbed at the frosting, making a token effort to keep it up.

Had to leave some for him to take care of it. It wasn't all her fault.

Showing this time was much easier than it had been the last time, though no shorter of a shower. Sticky, nasty, stuff took more than washing to get out of his and then he had to scrub his skin because he could feel the sugar trying to stick to various places.

Damn woman.

He shut off the water and dried off with a towel, pulling on another set of clothing at this rate he was going to have to do laundry early. Another reason to be grumpy with her, making him contemplate laundry on his birthday - what kind of torture was this? He walked back into the living and frowned at her and grabbed his shoes.

Pie. He wanted pie and he was going to go get pie.

Rangiku hesitated for a few moments, watching him grab his shoes and get ready to go. She cleared her throat and stopped wiping half-heartedly at the counters.

"Buy you dinner?" she asked. "No frosting. Promise."

He glanced at her suspiciously, dinner. She was offering to buy him dinner was she? He contemplated that and nodded.

“Pie.” He informed her, crossing his arms and pretending like he hadn’t just reinforced the whole pie weakness thing. It was his birthday, he wanted pie, it worked. He paused. “And dinner.”

Rangiku smiled, amused at his insistence on pie. The man only thought he was covering up the fact he liked - loved - the dessert, but anyone who paid half a second's attention to him knew right away.

With a happy sigh, she dropped the towel on the counter. She'd take just about anyone out to eat right now just to get out of cleaning the counter. Frosting was hard to clean up. She pouted at it for just a moment before deciding to just forget it. After all, he was giving her the perfect out.

"Pie and dinner," she confirmed.

After she made sure there was no frosting on her face. She scuttled away, down the hall, and ducked into the bathroom. "Two minutes!" she called.

She paused, then leaned back out into the hallway. "Happy birthday!" At that, she set to work removing the frosting.

This time, it wasn't so half-hearted; Rangiku was not about to go out with frosting on her face. Not even for his birthday.

He snorted as she practically ran to the bathroom. Heaven forbid someone actually see her with frosting on her face, he rolled his eyes safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t see it and thus there would be no loss of dignity.

He was pretending the frosting incident had never happened. Two minutes, he snorted and grabbed his keys before leaning against the wall to wait. Two minutes and then he was leaving without her.

No one got waited on when pie was on the line.