Fanfic (White Collar): The First Rule of Bake Club
Title: The First Rule of Bake Club
Author: cookielaura
Beta: sherylyn
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, El Burke, gen
Wordcount: 1,555
Rating: G
Summary: Post-series, Peter enlists help when his cookie-baking mission doesn't go as planned
Notes: Written for runthecon for nywcgirl's prompt of "crystal clear". Thanks to sherylyn for the encouragement, and to halfshellvenus for a few-months-old suggestion on how to fill the "mercy killing" square on my h/c bingo card!
“You’re sure I can do this?” Peter asked hesitantly, following Elizabeth as she headed towards the front door. He wasn’t usually the nervous type; he’d faced down more than his share of armed criminals and life-threatening situations with barely a blink. Somehow though, the thought of having to bake the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies that his wife had promised to their son’s kindergarten class party the next day was terrifying. He’d actually offered to go and sort out El’s work emergency in her place so that she could bake them herself as planned, but she wasn’t impressed by that idea.
“You’ll be fine,” El soothed, slipping her feet into her shoes. “I’ve left step-by-step instructions in the kitchen. They’re crystal clear, I promise.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I have total faith in you, Peter Burke.”
Peter smiled down at her. “Okay, I’ll do my best. Just don’t blame me if the kitchen’s burned down by the time you get back.”
“I will absolutely blame you,” El protested. She opened the door, then glanced back at him. “I can’t wait to taste them, hon,” she said, as she left.
Peter grimaced as the door swung shut behind her. “I certainly can,” he muttered.
---
Peter read through El’s sheet of handwritten instructions for a second time. She was right, they really were clear, and it did sound like a simple recipe. Maybe he would manage to achieve a decent batch of cookies after all. He didn’t even have to look after little Neal as he baked, as he was spending his Sunday afternoon with Theo. Peter could give the cookies his full attention, and then maybe he’d have time to watch a bit of the game later.
Peter started whistling as he started to collect the ingredients from the kitchen cupboards. El was going to be proud of him.
---
Three hours and four batches of cookies later, Peter was sure that El was not going to be proud of him.
He had used up all the flour, sugar and eggs that they had in the house, and all he had to show for it were a tray of burned cookies, a tray of cookies that were pale, limp and flatter than pancakes, a tray of rock hard cookies that might well injure the kindergarteners, and a tray of browned dough that had spread so much it no longer resembled cookies and had instead formed one large, solid puddle.
Peter decided there had to be something wrong with the oven. Or maybe the ingredients had been out of date. Or maybe it was the instructions that were incorrect. After all, they didn’t say exactly how long to beat the sugar and butter for, or exactly how much to grease the baking tray, or exactly how to hold the wooden spoon. On second thoughts, they weren’t so clear after all.
He sighed. Whatever the problem was, he clearly wasn’t going to solve it on his own. He swallowed his pride, reached for his cell phone and dialed Neal to ask for help.
Neal was going to be insufferable.
---
“The cavalry has arrived,” Neal announced as he strode into the Burkes’ kitchen a half hour later, holding a bag filled with replacement ingredients. Peter rolled his eyes.
“The cavalry doesn’t look like it’s dressed for baking,” he said drily, taking in Neal’s designer shirt and perfect slacks.
Neal shrugged. “I came straight from lunch,” he said. “You got an apron?”
Peter handed him one of Elizabeth’s floral aprons and was surprised when Neal put it on without complaint.
“Wow,” Neal said, looking at the ruined batches of cookies still on the counter. “You’ve been busy. Good work.”
Peter scowled at him and handed him El’s instructions. “You’ve baked cookies before, right?” he asked, realizing that he hadn’t actually checked when he’d spoken to Neal on the phone. He’d just assumed Neal would know what to do.
“Actually, no,” Neal admitted. “I didn’t get too hands on at The Greatest Cake. But I can cook. Baking cookies must be child’s play compared to the Thai steamed mussels I made last week.”
Peter looked at him doubtfully, but Neal gave one of his brightest smiles. “Trust me, Peter. If I can forge a Matisse, I can definitely forge some of El’s white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.”
Peter couldn’t deny the logic in that.
---
Forty minutes later, Peter and Neal stood over the latest batch of cookies, cooling on a wire rack. They looked perfect. In fact, Peter would have sworn they were Elizabeth’s special cookies if he hadn’t seen Neal bake them himself. They were an exact replica.
“See?” Neal said proudly.
Peter reached out and took a cookie from the rack, then blew on it. “Better taste them, just to make sure,” he said. He took a bite of the fresh, warm cookie - and spit it out. “Ugh! That’s disgusting!”
“Very funny,” Neal said, but when Peter started to pour himself a glass of water to rid his mouth of the taste, Neal picked a cookie for himself and took a large bite.
Peter watched him with interest. He saw Neal’s face go from surprise, to a valid attempt at enjoyment, to resignation. Neal spit his cookie out too and grabbed the glass of water from Peter.
“What now?” Peter asked.
Neal held the cookie up to his eye level, trying to examine it. “I don’t know, I have no idea what went wrong,” he muttered. Just then, his cell phone rang. He set down the cookie and answered the phone.
“Oh, hey Moz… At Peter’s… We’re, uh, trying to bake cookies… Well, not that great now that you ask, but… Oh. Er - okay?”
Neal set the phone down on the counter. “Mozzie’s coming over to help.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Mozzie bakes cookies?”
Neal held up his hands. He’d never seen Moz bake in his life, and he really couldn’t imagine it. “I guess we’ll find out,” he said.
--
Mozzie turned up quickly enough to make Peter suspicious that he had actually been spending his Sunday spying on the Burkes to test out his latest Russian surveillance camera, but Peter decided it would rude to bring that up when Mozzie was offering his help.
“Suit,” Mozzie said to Peter by way of greeting as he entered the kitchen. He raised his eyebrows at Neal’s attire. “And your sidekick, Apron.”
“This is Armani,” Neal protested, indicating the shirt that the apron was protecting. Mozzie waved his hand dismissively.
“Show me your attempts,” he commanded, with great authority.
Peter lined the trays up on the kitchen island for Mozzie’s perusal.
Mozzie picked up a cookie from the burned batch. “Overbaked,” he pronounced.
“You don’t say,” Peter replied.
“Oven temperature slightly too high, and too much sugar,” Mozzie went on.
Then he moved onto the second batch: the pale and flat cookies. “Oven temperature too low. Needed more sugar. And…” He stopped, took a bite of one of the flat cookies, then set it down. “The dough was too warm before you baked it.”
Peter exchanged confused glances with Neal.
Mozzie prodded a cookie from the third batch, which were hard as rocks. “Too much flour, and you chilled the dough too long.”
He moved onto the tray where the cookie mixture had spread into one large blob. “Too much air in the cookie dough,” he said. “You beat it too much.”
Peter’s head had started to hurt. “You’re a baker?” he asked.
“I’m a scientist,” Mozzie corrected.
“So what’s wrong with these?” Neal asked, pushing the tray of cookies that he’d baked towards Mozzie.
Mozzie took a bite of one, and made a horrified face. “I have no idea what you did to those,” he said with disgust. He crossed over to the kitchen trashcan and tipped the tray of cookies into it.
“Hey!” protested Neal as his carefully baked cookies fell into the garbage.
“Trust me, they’re unsalvageable,” Mozzie told him. “It’s a mercy killing. In fact,” he continued, waving his hand at all the previous batches, “they should all go the same way.” He rolled up his sleeves. “Now. Where are Elizabeth’s instructions?”
---
By the time Elizabeth arrived home that evening, Peter, Neal and Mozzie were sitting around the kitchen island, happily eating their way through the extra batch of cookies that Mozzie had baked for their own enjoyment. Peter and Mozzie were still sprinkled in flour and dried cookie batter, but Neal had somehow managed to remain perfectly clean throughout.
Peter grinned at Elizabeth as she entered the room. “Hi, hon, how was work?”
“Great,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket. “It went perfectly.” She kissed Peter, then gave Neal and Mozzie a peck on the cheek. “Hi, boys. You been here long?”
Peter opened his mouth to tell her the truth, but Mozzie spoke first. “We just got here,” he said. “We heard about Peter’s cookie success and wanted a sample.”
El picked up one of the cookies, then made an approving face at Peter as she bit into it. “These are great,” she said. “I knew you could do it.”
Peter gave her a lopsided smile. “Well, it was all down to your instructions,” he said.
El swallowed the rest of the cookie. “What did I tell you?” she said. “Crystal clear.”
Author: cookielaura
Beta: sherylyn
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, El Burke, gen
Wordcount: 1,555
Rating: G
Summary: Post-series, Peter enlists help when his cookie-baking mission doesn't go as planned
Notes: Written for runthecon for nywcgirl's prompt of "crystal clear". Thanks to sherylyn for the encouragement, and to halfshellvenus for a few-months-old suggestion on how to fill the "mercy killing" square on my h/c bingo card!
“You’re sure I can do this?” Peter asked hesitantly, following Elizabeth as she headed towards the front door. He wasn’t usually the nervous type; he’d faced down more than his share of armed criminals and life-threatening situations with barely a blink. Somehow though, the thought of having to bake the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies that his wife had promised to their son’s kindergarten class party the next day was terrifying. He’d actually offered to go and sort out El’s work emergency in her place so that she could bake them herself as planned, but she wasn’t impressed by that idea.
“You’ll be fine,” El soothed, slipping her feet into her shoes. “I’ve left step-by-step instructions in the kitchen. They’re crystal clear, I promise.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I have total faith in you, Peter Burke.”
Peter smiled down at her. “Okay, I’ll do my best. Just don’t blame me if the kitchen’s burned down by the time you get back.”
“I will absolutely blame you,” El protested. She opened the door, then glanced back at him. “I can’t wait to taste them, hon,” she said, as she left.
Peter grimaced as the door swung shut behind her. “I certainly can,” he muttered.
---
Peter read through El’s sheet of handwritten instructions for a second time. She was right, they really were clear, and it did sound like a simple recipe. Maybe he would manage to achieve a decent batch of cookies after all. He didn’t even have to look after little Neal as he baked, as he was spending his Sunday afternoon with Theo. Peter could give the cookies his full attention, and then maybe he’d have time to watch a bit of the game later.
Peter started whistling as he started to collect the ingredients from the kitchen cupboards. El was going to be proud of him.
---
Three hours and four batches of cookies later, Peter was sure that El was not going to be proud of him.
He had used up all the flour, sugar and eggs that they had in the house, and all he had to show for it were a tray of burned cookies, a tray of cookies that were pale, limp and flatter than pancakes, a tray of rock hard cookies that might well injure the kindergarteners, and a tray of browned dough that had spread so much it no longer resembled cookies and had instead formed one large, solid puddle.
Peter decided there had to be something wrong with the oven. Or maybe the ingredients had been out of date. Or maybe it was the instructions that were incorrect. After all, they didn’t say exactly how long to beat the sugar and butter for, or exactly how much to grease the baking tray, or exactly how to hold the wooden spoon. On second thoughts, they weren’t so clear after all.
He sighed. Whatever the problem was, he clearly wasn’t going to solve it on his own. He swallowed his pride, reached for his cell phone and dialed Neal to ask for help.
Neal was going to be insufferable.
---
“The cavalry has arrived,” Neal announced as he strode into the Burkes’ kitchen a half hour later, holding a bag filled with replacement ingredients. Peter rolled his eyes.
“The cavalry doesn’t look like it’s dressed for baking,” he said drily, taking in Neal’s designer shirt and perfect slacks.
Neal shrugged. “I came straight from lunch,” he said. “You got an apron?”
Peter handed him one of Elizabeth’s floral aprons and was surprised when Neal put it on without complaint.
“Wow,” Neal said, looking at the ruined batches of cookies still on the counter. “You’ve been busy. Good work.”
Peter scowled at him and handed him El’s instructions. “You’ve baked cookies before, right?” he asked, realizing that he hadn’t actually checked when he’d spoken to Neal on the phone. He’d just assumed Neal would know what to do.
“Actually, no,” Neal admitted. “I didn’t get too hands on at The Greatest Cake. But I can cook. Baking cookies must be child’s play compared to the Thai steamed mussels I made last week.”
Peter looked at him doubtfully, but Neal gave one of his brightest smiles. “Trust me, Peter. If I can forge a Matisse, I can definitely forge some of El’s white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.”
Peter couldn’t deny the logic in that.
---
Forty minutes later, Peter and Neal stood over the latest batch of cookies, cooling on a wire rack. They looked perfect. In fact, Peter would have sworn they were Elizabeth’s special cookies if he hadn’t seen Neal bake them himself. They were an exact replica.
“See?” Neal said proudly.
Peter reached out and took a cookie from the rack, then blew on it. “Better taste them, just to make sure,” he said. He took a bite of the fresh, warm cookie - and spit it out. “Ugh! That’s disgusting!”
“Very funny,” Neal said, but when Peter started to pour himself a glass of water to rid his mouth of the taste, Neal picked a cookie for himself and took a large bite.
Peter watched him with interest. He saw Neal’s face go from surprise, to a valid attempt at enjoyment, to resignation. Neal spit his cookie out too and grabbed the glass of water from Peter.
“What now?” Peter asked.
Neal held the cookie up to his eye level, trying to examine it. “I don’t know, I have no idea what went wrong,” he muttered. Just then, his cell phone rang. He set down the cookie and answered the phone.
“Oh, hey Moz… At Peter’s… We’re, uh, trying to bake cookies… Well, not that great now that you ask, but… Oh. Er - okay?”
Neal set the phone down on the counter. “Mozzie’s coming over to help.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Mozzie bakes cookies?”
Neal held up his hands. He’d never seen Moz bake in his life, and he really couldn’t imagine it. “I guess we’ll find out,” he said.
--
Mozzie turned up quickly enough to make Peter suspicious that he had actually been spending his Sunday spying on the Burkes to test out his latest Russian surveillance camera, but Peter decided it would rude to bring that up when Mozzie was offering his help.
“Suit,” Mozzie said to Peter by way of greeting as he entered the kitchen. He raised his eyebrows at Neal’s attire. “And your sidekick, Apron.”
“This is Armani,” Neal protested, indicating the shirt that the apron was protecting. Mozzie waved his hand dismissively.
“Show me your attempts,” he commanded, with great authority.
Peter lined the trays up on the kitchen island for Mozzie’s perusal.
Mozzie picked up a cookie from the burned batch. “Overbaked,” he pronounced.
“You don’t say,” Peter replied.
“Oven temperature slightly too high, and too much sugar,” Mozzie went on.
Then he moved onto the second batch: the pale and flat cookies. “Oven temperature too low. Needed more sugar. And…” He stopped, took a bite of one of the flat cookies, then set it down. “The dough was too warm before you baked it.”
Peter exchanged confused glances with Neal.
Mozzie prodded a cookie from the third batch, which were hard as rocks. “Too much flour, and you chilled the dough too long.”
He moved onto the tray where the cookie mixture had spread into one large blob. “Too much air in the cookie dough,” he said. “You beat it too much.”
Peter’s head had started to hurt. “You’re a baker?” he asked.
“I’m a scientist,” Mozzie corrected.
“So what’s wrong with these?” Neal asked, pushing the tray of cookies that he’d baked towards Mozzie.
Mozzie took a bite of one, and made a horrified face. “I have no idea what you did to those,” he said with disgust. He crossed over to the kitchen trashcan and tipped the tray of cookies into it.
“Hey!” protested Neal as his carefully baked cookies fell into the garbage.
“Trust me, they’re unsalvageable,” Mozzie told him. “It’s a mercy killing. In fact,” he continued, waving his hand at all the previous batches, “they should all go the same way.” He rolled up his sleeves. “Now. Where are Elizabeth’s instructions?”
---
By the time Elizabeth arrived home that evening, Peter, Neal and Mozzie were sitting around the kitchen island, happily eating their way through the extra batch of cookies that Mozzie had baked for their own enjoyment. Peter and Mozzie were still sprinkled in flour and dried cookie batter, but Neal had somehow managed to remain perfectly clean throughout.
Peter grinned at Elizabeth as she entered the room. “Hi, hon, how was work?”
“Great,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket. “It went perfectly.” She kissed Peter, then gave Neal and Mozzie a peck on the cheek. “Hi, boys. You been here long?”
Peter opened his mouth to tell her the truth, but Mozzie spoke first. “We just got here,” he said. “We heard about Peter’s cookie success and wanted a sample.”
El picked up one of the cookies, then made an approving face at Peter as she bit into it. “These are great,” she said. “I knew you could do it.”
Peter gave her a lopsided smile. “Well, it was all down to your instructions,” he said.
El swallowed the rest of the cookie. “What did I tell you?” she said. “Crystal clear.”