Worth the Risk (Cake or Death Challenge)
Title: Worth the Risk
Author:
kriadydragon
Rating: PG, Gen
Characters: Team
Summary: Rodney wants cake. Rodney will get cake. I initially wasn't going to take part in this challenge, but then got an idea that poked and prodded and smelled of vanilla. I'm not quite sure if it meets the challenge. There's cake, though, and a bit of risk involved. A very small risk. But I digress.
Worth the Risk
“So this is spite,” Sheppard said. “You left Miko's birthday party - Miko who worships the ground you walk on - because the cook went for lemon meringue.” As though to push the matter beyond its already frayed edges, John scraped the tongs of his plastic fork across the lemon filling of the pie, gathering beads of sunny yellow onto the tips that he then licked off in a savoring-every-bite fashion.
Rodney glared at him.
Sheppard shrugged helplessly. “What? Cpl. Billings makes one hell of a cake.”
“Pie, and Cpl. Billings is a spiteful little woman using a talent most of us would kill for against me.”
Sheppard gave him an odd stare from across the mess-hall table. Yes, a rather poor choice of retreat, all things considered. But Rodney had harbored a minuscule hope that Cpl. Billings had left cupcakes in the oven... or something. A very thread thin and pointless hope.
Sheppard sliced off a regular bite-sized piece that he stuck in his mouth with a throaty moan of ecstasy, which he quickly cut-off at Rodney's glare. “It's not spite,” he said around lemon and meringue.
“It is,” Rodney pressed.
“How?” Sheppard challenged.
Rodney held up a finger. “Number one: Miko didn't even pick lemon meringue, she left it up to Cpl. Billings to decide what to bake. Number two: Cpl. Billings is well aware of my issues with lemons...”
“Which is currently up for debate when you ate that citrusy pastry thing and broke out in a rash rather than respiratory distress.”
“Because it was not citrus, more like a distant cousin. Now stop interrupting. Number three: for my birthday, she did angel food cake when I specifically asked for chocolate.”
Sheppard licked his fork clean before pointing it at Rodney. “If I recall correctly, she was out of ingredients needed to make chocolate.”
“Did I not just tell you to stop interrupting? And she could have made spice cake. In fact, I gave that as an alternative but she gave me this look like I was trying to tell her how to do her job or something. I made a request, I didn't tell her what to put in the stupid thing. And I hate Angel food cake. Number four... lemon meringue is pie. Who the hell has pie on their birthday?”
“People who don't like cake?”
Rodney slumped and glowered. “You are utterly and completely useless, you know that?”
Sheppard scraped off the last of the lemon and fluffy white meringue from off the end of the pie crust, shoving it into his mouth but pulling the fork slowly to let the filling linger. He finished off the crust with less gusto.
“McKay,” he said while chewing, “stop being such a baby and just make you're own damn cake.”
“Can't. I've been banned from the kitchen when I ruined,” he crooked his fingers into air quotations, “their supposedly best,” he did it again, “pan when I made dinner for Katie. So the pan went a little less shiny. Big deal.”
“I saw that pan in the garbage. That thing was black, McKay.”
“Well how the hell was I supposed to know that squash-looking stuff could stain?”
“Shall I bring up what happened when you tried to use the oven?”
Rodney balked and jabbed a rigid finger in John's direction. “Don't you even!”
Sheppard chased the previously swallowed pie with the last of his punch, then slammed the cup down. “McKay, look at the kitchen. You see anyone there? No. That's because they're all at Miko's party.”
Rodney stiffened. “Oh no. No way am I risking any further wrath from Billings. She just might decide to poison every future cake I ever have with lemon extract.”
With narrowed eyes, Sheppard slapped the table loud enough to create an echo and stood. “Fine, then I'll make the cake.” With that said, he stormed off to the kitchen, leaving Rodney to gape.
Rodney snapped from momentary surprise to follow babbling after. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up. You can't... she'll know... blame me... can you even cook?”
Sheppard was already rummaging through metal cupboards, sticking his head in the medium cooling units lining the wall at the back of the kitchen. “I've done all right for myself.” He pulled out a basket of white-speckled blue eggs and set them on the counter, followed by a can of powdered milk.
Rodney folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, well, while I have no doubts your skills with a box of Sara Lee cake mix was quite the talk at the local Air Force barracks, Cpl. Billings happens to be one of those very anal individuals with a strong sense of doing things the old fashioned way. If you haven't already noticed, Colonel, she makes everything by scratch.”
Sheppard added a metal bowl next to the perishables. “Which means she probably has a recipe book around here.”
“Kept under lock and key guarded by two of your most finest and dangerous marines.”
“Probably. But, you see, Billings is just one cook with a very limited supply of ingredients that she only whips out on special occasions. The rest of the time, especially where mass production is concerned... ah-ha!” Sheppard pulled a box from yet another cupboard that he flashed at Rodney from over his shoulder.
Sara Lee: chocolate cake mix. Rodney just stared at it. “You've gotta be kidding me.”
John set the box on the counter with a triumphant smirk. “I kid you not.”
Rodney had to admit that Sheppard had skill enough when it came to the mixing part (including preventing any blue egg-shells from getting into the batter). The baking aspect of the process was another matter. The cake was barely in the oven for two minutes when it started smoking.
“Get it out, get it out!” Rodney shrieked. “You burn that pan, Sheppard, and I'm ratting you out, so help me...”
John slipped on a mit and yanked the glass pan out in time before the charring extended to the pan itself. Only the top had been blackened hard enough to probably withstand decay. “Relax, Rodney, the pan's been spared. There must be a hell of a lot of compensation with this thing. I'll try turning it down another degree.”
“Hello?”
Both men froze.
“Is something burning?” Teyla's voice. She entered the kitchen as though entering alien terrain, not that Rodney could blame her. Give him a microwave and TV dinner any day to starting a house fire by overcooking in an oven. Not that that was Teyla's problem, he knew, but he could understand the feeling of being overwhelmed by so much complicated cooking technology. She glanced around before settling her sights on the two men and their ruined dessert. “Is... everything all right in here?”
Rodney clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “Perfectly fine. Why do you ask?”
“I thought I heard shouting,” she said, fixated on the cake. “What type of food is that you are holding, colonel?”
“Oh, I wouldn't call it food,” Rodney said. “Although I suppose you could eat it if so inclined, but I doubt the risk would be worth it.”
Sheppard's mouth twisted in slight disgust. “I'd actually have to agree with McKay on that one.” He flipped the pan upside down over the nearest trash bin until the former cake flopped and oozed out, the top part flopping and the bottom part oozing. “McKay is having dessert issues so I thought I'd help out.”
“Is it so wrong to ask that effort be put into making a cake - or pie - that everyone can enjoy?”
A slender eyebrow arched high toward Teyla's hairline. “You are speaking of the dessert made for Miko's birthday. I found it quite pleasant, myself.”
Rodney responded to her treachery with a withering look. Teyla just gave him a helpless shrug much like the one Sheppard had graced him with. Sheppard, in the meantime, returned with another box of Sara Lee chocolate.
“Rodney, shall we?” he said. “Third times a charm but maybe the second time'll work good enough to avoid the third time.”
“I could make Deemsy cake,” Teyla said, already moving to the nearest cooling unit and glancing inside as though hunting for left-overs.
Rodney perked. Teyla had made that very cake for Jinto's birthday (which was the only part of the festivities Rodney cared to recall. He still had nightmares about the Athosian version of capture the flag) and though she had claimed to be only a beginner at it, Rodney honestly thought it the best dessert he'd ever had.
“Really, you'd do that?”
Teyla was already removing certain Athosian ingredients from the Ancient fridge - a clear liquid smelling like vanilla, another smelling like cinnamon, and something resembling a purple pear. “It is no trouble. Although I would prefer it if you did not make mention of this to Cpl. Billings. She has asked me for the recipe many times but it was one of Charrin's own and I do not feel right about handing it out so freely.” She paused in her search for ingredients wearing a pensive but also troubled expression. “She has not taken the refusal well, I think. She no longer greets me when I come to retrieve my meals.”
Rodney didn't even try to fight back a triumphant smirk, and rocked back and forth on his heels more earnestly. “Wouldn't dream of telling her anything.”
Teyla removed bottles and leather sacks of Athosian spices from the cupboards, setting them by the clean bowl that Sheppard had fetched. “You can help me by making the icing,” she said.
“Anyone here?”
All three froze, despite the fact that the voice calling had been both male and distinctly familiar. Ronon stepped into the kitchen, coming to a stuttering stop while looking from Rodney, Sheppard, Teyla and the ingredients. “What are you guys doing?”
Rodney snorted. “I would think it obvious.”
“We are baking,” Teyla said.
“Oh,” Ronon replied. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That cooking lady say you could?”
John shrugged. “No. Does it matter? Kitchen's free reign as long as you sign out what you use.” He then narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Ronon shrugged back. “Just heard these other cooks talking about her. They said she won't stop complaining about people not authorized to be in the kitchen being in the kitchen. They keep calling her a...” his brow furrowed forming deep lines, “kitchen Not-see?”
“You mean kitchen Nazi,” John said. He looked at Rodney and Rodney stared back with the same amount of trepidation.
“Yeah, something like that. Anyways, they also said there were some sandwiches left over from lunch. You guys seen any of them?”
Sheppard went to the third cooler and pulled out a wrapped ham and cheese that he tossed to Ronon. “Here. Oh, and, uh, while you eat think you could keep watch for us in case Billings decides to drop by?”
Ronon was already pulling off the cellophane from the sandwich. “Sure.” He took a massive bite as he headed out to stand guard by the mess-hall door.
Teyla turned to the two remaining men wearing a rather strained smile. “Perhaps we should hurry.”
The problem with hurrying, Rodney discovered (well, always known but never really acknowledged until now) was that it tended to make things worse. A lot of the measuring involved pinches of this and dashes of that which also involved accidentally spilling spices and liquids on transfer from containers to bowls. There was also peeling and chopping to be done, flicking and squirting violet juice all over the counter - violet juice that stained unless scoured for fifteen minutes, which became Rodney's task. Sheppard handled the icing, scooping spoonfuls of a fine white powder like powdered-sugar from the cloth bag to the bowl.
Finer than powdered-sugar, actually. So light that Sheppard ended up breathing most of it in. “Tastes good,” he choked between coughs. The rest either ended up in the bowl or on his shirt, blinding white against the black.
Teyla was having issues with the fruit that may have looked like a pear but was as soft as an over-ripe tomato. It was the first time Rodney had ever heard her cuss, or what he supposed was cussing spoken in Athosian or whatever language Teyla was speaking. Purple juice stained her hands up to her wrists which was both comical and rather gory. Teyla really let the expletives rip when juice spattered on her jacket. Standard issue so it wasn't the end of the world or one less item in her wardrobe, but still annoying as hell.
All in all, it was turning into a whole lot of unnecessary effort.
Rodney stopped scrubbing for a moment, wiping his brow. “You know, it's not like Sara Lee does crappy cakes.”
“I little late for that, McKay,” John said, whipping the icing into frothy white fluff with a whisk.
Teyla gave him a tired but sincere smile. “The practice is useful, Rodney. And I have been craving this very cake myself.”
“I know, but...”
“No buts,” John said. “We've gone this far so might as well see it out... this time with the oven set at a lower temperature. Way lower.”
Ronon walked in and they all froze, hands in mid stir, wipe, or cut.
“Just getting another sandwich,” he said. John rolled his eyes, Rodney scowled, and Teyla gave a long-suffering look. As soon as Ronon left with a second sandwich in hand, they resumed mixing, cutting, and wiping.
The batter was ready, smelling a little bit like coconut until it began baking, then smelled like macaroons. The temperature setting was at the lowest the Ancient oven had, and still required a constant check to ensure the cake didn't burn, which resulted in the center deflating a little.
“It should still be quite spongy,” Teyla assured. “It caved much more deeply the last time I made it.”
They went with the tried and true method of testing when the cake was done by inserting a toothpick in the center. Teyla kept vigil while John and Rodney did their best to remove all traces that they had even been there. Not that that would be absolutely possible, having to sign out for the ingredients and all, but it would at least buy them time.
Teyla was just removing the cake pan and John putting the last of the dishes away when Ronon burst in. “I heard Billings. She's headed this way.”
“Crap!” John snapped, tossing a dish towel into the sink then grabbing the bowl of frosting. “We need to get out of here.”
Teyla's head whipped back and forth from team member to team member, her expression pure panic. “But the cake has not cooled. The frosting can not be added yet.”
“We'll take it with us” John said. “Ronon, you stall billings.”
Ronon's head reared back. “She really that dangerous?”
Rodney grabbed a small stack of mini-paper plates. “She's a cook and a marine, mean with a whisk and probably just as vicious with a rifle. But why shoot your enemies when you can kill them with undercooked liver from some alien animal chalked full of alien diseases?”
Ronon nodded once before dashing back out of the mess. John jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Rodney, behind me. Teyla, left side and stay low.”
They moved as one in a kind of huddle; John in front, Rodney behind, Teyla to their left and everything hidden between them. They walked casually from the kitchen into the mess, then the mess into the hall where they could see Ronon in their peripheral leaning against the wall chatting it up with the short but stout brown-haired marine that was Cpl. Billings.
“So that stuff we had for lunch yesterday...” Ronon said
Billings leaned slightly to the side, far enough to spot the three moving away from the mess-hall doors. “Macaroni and cheese?”
“Yeah, how do you make that?”
She squinted in irate suspicion. “From a box.”
It took some careful shifting to maintain casual while keeping the cake, frosting and plates hidden. The moment they turned into the nearest corner, they broke into a power-walk toward the nearest transporter. The light flashed just as Cpl. Billings rounded the bend.
----------------------------------
Rodney could honestly say this was the best cake he'd ever had. The middle was a little flat, the frosting a little watery, and the fruit a little chunky, but it wasn't about looks or consistency - it was about flavor, flavor that was not too sweet but not too weak. He pried off a large bite trailing strings of fruit and stuck it in his mouth, moaning in gastronomic delight.
“Oh, oh yeah, this...” he pointed at the cake with his fork, “this is... oh man, this is...”
“Good?” John finished. He was happily ensconced in Rodney's desk chair with his feet propped up on the desk itself.
“It's... it's...”
“Worth the risk?” Ronon suggested from his seat on the floor, legs folded Indian style.
Rodney shoveled in another bite. “Definitely worth the risk.”
Teyla, next to Rodney sitting on the edge of the bed, smiled with a touch of red coloring her cheeks. “Thank you Rodney.”
“Mmm, no, thank you. You are so making this for my birthday. This is just...” A third bite, filling up his mouth until he couldn't speak.
“We should bake more often,” John said. “It was kind of fun. Excitement, danger, and no one even had to get hurt.”
“Only because Billings didn't catch us,” Ronon said before shoving in a mouthful of cake.
John shrugged, stabbing at his own piece of cake. “Eh, what she doesn't know for another twenty minutes won't hurt us.” His hand suddenly shot to his com. “Sheppard here... uh huh... Yeah.... sure... Yeah, be there in five.” He went back to his cake. “Make that five minutes.”
“Still worth it,” Rodney said, but made a mental note to have someone check his food for faint traces of lemon flavor.
Author:
kriadydragon
Rating: PG, Gen
Characters: Team
Summary: Rodney wants cake. Rodney will get cake. I initially wasn't going to take part in this challenge, but then got an idea that poked and prodded and smelled of vanilla. I'm not quite sure if it meets the challenge. There's cake, though, and a bit of risk involved. A very small risk. But I digress.
Worth the Risk
“So this is spite,” Sheppard said. “You left Miko's birthday party - Miko who worships the ground you walk on - because the cook went for lemon meringue.” As though to push the matter beyond its already frayed edges, John scraped the tongs of his plastic fork across the lemon filling of the pie, gathering beads of sunny yellow onto the tips that he then licked off in a savoring-every-bite fashion.
Rodney glared at him.
Sheppard shrugged helplessly. “What? Cpl. Billings makes one hell of a cake.”
“Pie, and Cpl. Billings is a spiteful little woman using a talent most of us would kill for against me.”
Sheppard gave him an odd stare from across the mess-hall table. Yes, a rather poor choice of retreat, all things considered. But Rodney had harbored a minuscule hope that Cpl. Billings had left cupcakes in the oven... or something. A very thread thin and pointless hope.
Sheppard sliced off a regular bite-sized piece that he stuck in his mouth with a throaty moan of ecstasy, which he quickly cut-off at Rodney's glare. “It's not spite,” he said around lemon and meringue.
“It is,” Rodney pressed.
“How?” Sheppard challenged.
Rodney held up a finger. “Number one: Miko didn't even pick lemon meringue, she left it up to Cpl. Billings to decide what to bake. Number two: Cpl. Billings is well aware of my issues with lemons...”
“Which is currently up for debate when you ate that citrusy pastry thing and broke out in a rash rather than respiratory distress.”
“Because it was not citrus, more like a distant cousin. Now stop interrupting. Number three: for my birthday, she did angel food cake when I specifically asked for chocolate.”
Sheppard licked his fork clean before pointing it at Rodney. “If I recall correctly, she was out of ingredients needed to make chocolate.”
“Did I not just tell you to stop interrupting? And she could have made spice cake. In fact, I gave that as an alternative but she gave me this look like I was trying to tell her how to do her job or something. I made a request, I didn't tell her what to put in the stupid thing. And I hate Angel food cake. Number four... lemon meringue is pie. Who the hell has pie on their birthday?”
“People who don't like cake?”
Rodney slumped and glowered. “You are utterly and completely useless, you know that?”
Sheppard scraped off the last of the lemon and fluffy white meringue from off the end of the pie crust, shoving it into his mouth but pulling the fork slowly to let the filling linger. He finished off the crust with less gusto.
“McKay,” he said while chewing, “stop being such a baby and just make you're own damn cake.”
“Can't. I've been banned from the kitchen when I ruined,” he crooked his fingers into air quotations, “their supposedly best,” he did it again, “pan when I made dinner for Katie. So the pan went a little less shiny. Big deal.”
“I saw that pan in the garbage. That thing was black, McKay.”
“Well how the hell was I supposed to know that squash-looking stuff could stain?”
“Shall I bring up what happened when you tried to use the oven?”
Rodney balked and jabbed a rigid finger in John's direction. “Don't you even!”
Sheppard chased the previously swallowed pie with the last of his punch, then slammed the cup down. “McKay, look at the kitchen. You see anyone there? No. That's because they're all at Miko's party.”
Rodney stiffened. “Oh no. No way am I risking any further wrath from Billings. She just might decide to poison every future cake I ever have with lemon extract.”
With narrowed eyes, Sheppard slapped the table loud enough to create an echo and stood. “Fine, then I'll make the cake.” With that said, he stormed off to the kitchen, leaving Rodney to gape.
Rodney snapped from momentary surprise to follow babbling after. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up. You can't... she'll know... blame me... can you even cook?”
Sheppard was already rummaging through metal cupboards, sticking his head in the medium cooling units lining the wall at the back of the kitchen. “I've done all right for myself.” He pulled out a basket of white-speckled blue eggs and set them on the counter, followed by a can of powdered milk.
Rodney folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, well, while I have no doubts your skills with a box of Sara Lee cake mix was quite the talk at the local Air Force barracks, Cpl. Billings happens to be one of those very anal individuals with a strong sense of doing things the old fashioned way. If you haven't already noticed, Colonel, she makes everything by scratch.”
Sheppard added a metal bowl next to the perishables. “Which means she probably has a recipe book around here.”
“Kept under lock and key guarded by two of your most finest and dangerous marines.”
“Probably. But, you see, Billings is just one cook with a very limited supply of ingredients that she only whips out on special occasions. The rest of the time, especially where mass production is concerned... ah-ha!” Sheppard pulled a box from yet another cupboard that he flashed at Rodney from over his shoulder.
Sara Lee: chocolate cake mix. Rodney just stared at it. “You've gotta be kidding me.”
John set the box on the counter with a triumphant smirk. “I kid you not.”
Rodney had to admit that Sheppard had skill enough when it came to the mixing part (including preventing any blue egg-shells from getting into the batter). The baking aspect of the process was another matter. The cake was barely in the oven for two minutes when it started smoking.
“Get it out, get it out!” Rodney shrieked. “You burn that pan, Sheppard, and I'm ratting you out, so help me...”
John slipped on a mit and yanked the glass pan out in time before the charring extended to the pan itself. Only the top had been blackened hard enough to probably withstand decay. “Relax, Rodney, the pan's been spared. There must be a hell of a lot of compensation with this thing. I'll try turning it down another degree.”
“Hello?”
Both men froze.
“Is something burning?” Teyla's voice. She entered the kitchen as though entering alien terrain, not that Rodney could blame her. Give him a microwave and TV dinner any day to starting a house fire by overcooking in an oven. Not that that was Teyla's problem, he knew, but he could understand the feeling of being overwhelmed by so much complicated cooking technology. She glanced around before settling her sights on the two men and their ruined dessert. “Is... everything all right in here?”
Rodney clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “Perfectly fine. Why do you ask?”
“I thought I heard shouting,” she said, fixated on the cake. “What type of food is that you are holding, colonel?”
“Oh, I wouldn't call it food,” Rodney said. “Although I suppose you could eat it if so inclined, but I doubt the risk would be worth it.”
Sheppard's mouth twisted in slight disgust. “I'd actually have to agree with McKay on that one.” He flipped the pan upside down over the nearest trash bin until the former cake flopped and oozed out, the top part flopping and the bottom part oozing. “McKay is having dessert issues so I thought I'd help out.”
“Is it so wrong to ask that effort be put into making a cake - or pie - that everyone can enjoy?”
A slender eyebrow arched high toward Teyla's hairline. “You are speaking of the dessert made for Miko's birthday. I found it quite pleasant, myself.”
Rodney responded to her treachery with a withering look. Teyla just gave him a helpless shrug much like the one Sheppard had graced him with. Sheppard, in the meantime, returned with another box of Sara Lee chocolate.
“Rodney, shall we?” he said. “Third times a charm but maybe the second time'll work good enough to avoid the third time.”
“I could make Deemsy cake,” Teyla said, already moving to the nearest cooling unit and glancing inside as though hunting for left-overs.
Rodney perked. Teyla had made that very cake for Jinto's birthday (which was the only part of the festivities Rodney cared to recall. He still had nightmares about the Athosian version of capture the flag) and though she had claimed to be only a beginner at it, Rodney honestly thought it the best dessert he'd ever had.
“Really, you'd do that?”
Teyla was already removing certain Athosian ingredients from the Ancient fridge - a clear liquid smelling like vanilla, another smelling like cinnamon, and something resembling a purple pear. “It is no trouble. Although I would prefer it if you did not make mention of this to Cpl. Billings. She has asked me for the recipe many times but it was one of Charrin's own and I do not feel right about handing it out so freely.” She paused in her search for ingredients wearing a pensive but also troubled expression. “She has not taken the refusal well, I think. She no longer greets me when I come to retrieve my meals.”
Rodney didn't even try to fight back a triumphant smirk, and rocked back and forth on his heels more earnestly. “Wouldn't dream of telling her anything.”
Teyla removed bottles and leather sacks of Athosian spices from the cupboards, setting them by the clean bowl that Sheppard had fetched. “You can help me by making the icing,” she said.
“Anyone here?”
All three froze, despite the fact that the voice calling had been both male and distinctly familiar. Ronon stepped into the kitchen, coming to a stuttering stop while looking from Rodney, Sheppard, Teyla and the ingredients. “What are you guys doing?”
Rodney snorted. “I would think it obvious.”
“We are baking,” Teyla said.
“Oh,” Ronon replied. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That cooking lady say you could?”
John shrugged. “No. Does it matter? Kitchen's free reign as long as you sign out what you use.” He then narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Ronon shrugged back. “Just heard these other cooks talking about her. They said she won't stop complaining about people not authorized to be in the kitchen being in the kitchen. They keep calling her a...” his brow furrowed forming deep lines, “kitchen Not-see?”
“You mean kitchen Nazi,” John said. He looked at Rodney and Rodney stared back with the same amount of trepidation.
“Yeah, something like that. Anyways, they also said there were some sandwiches left over from lunch. You guys seen any of them?”
Sheppard went to the third cooler and pulled out a wrapped ham and cheese that he tossed to Ronon. “Here. Oh, and, uh, while you eat think you could keep watch for us in case Billings decides to drop by?”
Ronon was already pulling off the cellophane from the sandwich. “Sure.” He took a massive bite as he headed out to stand guard by the mess-hall door.
Teyla turned to the two remaining men wearing a rather strained smile. “Perhaps we should hurry.”
The problem with hurrying, Rodney discovered (well, always known but never really acknowledged until now) was that it tended to make things worse. A lot of the measuring involved pinches of this and dashes of that which also involved accidentally spilling spices and liquids on transfer from containers to bowls. There was also peeling and chopping to be done, flicking and squirting violet juice all over the counter - violet juice that stained unless scoured for fifteen minutes, which became Rodney's task. Sheppard handled the icing, scooping spoonfuls of a fine white powder like powdered-sugar from the cloth bag to the bowl.
Finer than powdered-sugar, actually. So light that Sheppard ended up breathing most of it in. “Tastes good,” he choked between coughs. The rest either ended up in the bowl or on his shirt, blinding white against the black.
Teyla was having issues with the fruit that may have looked like a pear but was as soft as an over-ripe tomato. It was the first time Rodney had ever heard her cuss, or what he supposed was cussing spoken in Athosian or whatever language Teyla was speaking. Purple juice stained her hands up to her wrists which was both comical and rather gory. Teyla really let the expletives rip when juice spattered on her jacket. Standard issue so it wasn't the end of the world or one less item in her wardrobe, but still annoying as hell.
All in all, it was turning into a whole lot of unnecessary effort.
Rodney stopped scrubbing for a moment, wiping his brow. “You know, it's not like Sara Lee does crappy cakes.”
“I little late for that, McKay,” John said, whipping the icing into frothy white fluff with a whisk.
Teyla gave him a tired but sincere smile. “The practice is useful, Rodney. And I have been craving this very cake myself.”
“I know, but...”
“No buts,” John said. “We've gone this far so might as well see it out... this time with the oven set at a lower temperature. Way lower.”
Ronon walked in and they all froze, hands in mid stir, wipe, or cut.
“Just getting another sandwich,” he said. John rolled his eyes, Rodney scowled, and Teyla gave a long-suffering look. As soon as Ronon left with a second sandwich in hand, they resumed mixing, cutting, and wiping.
The batter was ready, smelling a little bit like coconut until it began baking, then smelled like macaroons. The temperature setting was at the lowest the Ancient oven had, and still required a constant check to ensure the cake didn't burn, which resulted in the center deflating a little.
“It should still be quite spongy,” Teyla assured. “It caved much more deeply the last time I made it.”
They went with the tried and true method of testing when the cake was done by inserting a toothpick in the center. Teyla kept vigil while John and Rodney did their best to remove all traces that they had even been there. Not that that would be absolutely possible, having to sign out for the ingredients and all, but it would at least buy them time.
Teyla was just removing the cake pan and John putting the last of the dishes away when Ronon burst in. “I heard Billings. She's headed this way.”
“Crap!” John snapped, tossing a dish towel into the sink then grabbing the bowl of frosting. “We need to get out of here.”
Teyla's head whipped back and forth from team member to team member, her expression pure panic. “But the cake has not cooled. The frosting can not be added yet.”
“We'll take it with us” John said. “Ronon, you stall billings.”
Ronon's head reared back. “She really that dangerous?”
Rodney grabbed a small stack of mini-paper plates. “She's a cook and a marine, mean with a whisk and probably just as vicious with a rifle. But why shoot your enemies when you can kill them with undercooked liver from some alien animal chalked full of alien diseases?”
Ronon nodded once before dashing back out of the mess. John jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Rodney, behind me. Teyla, left side and stay low.”
They moved as one in a kind of huddle; John in front, Rodney behind, Teyla to their left and everything hidden between them. They walked casually from the kitchen into the mess, then the mess into the hall where they could see Ronon in their peripheral leaning against the wall chatting it up with the short but stout brown-haired marine that was Cpl. Billings.
“So that stuff we had for lunch yesterday...” Ronon said
Billings leaned slightly to the side, far enough to spot the three moving away from the mess-hall doors. “Macaroni and cheese?”
“Yeah, how do you make that?”
She squinted in irate suspicion. “From a box.”
It took some careful shifting to maintain casual while keeping the cake, frosting and plates hidden. The moment they turned into the nearest corner, they broke into a power-walk toward the nearest transporter. The light flashed just as Cpl. Billings rounded the bend.
----------------------------------
Rodney could honestly say this was the best cake he'd ever had. The middle was a little flat, the frosting a little watery, and the fruit a little chunky, but it wasn't about looks or consistency - it was about flavor, flavor that was not too sweet but not too weak. He pried off a large bite trailing strings of fruit and stuck it in his mouth, moaning in gastronomic delight.
“Oh, oh yeah, this...” he pointed at the cake with his fork, “this is... oh man, this is...”
“Good?” John finished. He was happily ensconced in Rodney's desk chair with his feet propped up on the desk itself.
“It's... it's...”
“Worth the risk?” Ronon suggested from his seat on the floor, legs folded Indian style.
Rodney shoveled in another bite. “Definitely worth the risk.”
Teyla, next to Rodney sitting on the edge of the bed, smiled with a touch of red coloring her cheeks. “Thank you Rodney.”
“Mmm, no, thank you. You are so making this for my birthday. This is just...” A third bite, filling up his mouth until he couldn't speak.
“We should bake more often,” John said. “It was kind of fun. Excitement, danger, and no one even had to get hurt.”
“Only because Billings didn't catch us,” Ronon said before shoving in a mouthful of cake.
John shrugged, stabbing at his own piece of cake. “Eh, what she doesn't know for another twenty minutes won't hurt us.” His hand suddenly shot to his com. “Sheppard here... uh huh... Yeah.... sure... Yeah, be there in five.” He went back to his cake. “Make that five minutes.”
“Still worth it,” Rodney said, but made a mental note to have someone check his food for faint traces of lemon flavor.