Fic: ‘Tis the Season: ‘Bakery to the rescue!’
Title: ‘Tis the Season: Bakery to the rescue!
Fandom: Doctor Who.
Rating: (G)
Time Period: Amy and Rory’s first Christmas.
Summary: She doesn’t have the right sugar.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
Out of three ideas, this one won!
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of the BBC & Steven Moffat; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
Amy surveys the array of ingredients, lined for battle. She looks at the handwritten recipe in her hand.
Flour. Sugar. Butter. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Ginger.
She puts the recipe on the counter before she picks up the packet of sugar. She looks from it to the recipe several times.
“RORY!”
Rory’s head pops around the door. “Yes?”
“Who said I could do this?”
“You did,” he replies; his gaze quickly flicks to her shoes.
She can kick them off. Damn.
“We’ve got the wrong sugar!”
He, discreetly, moves the door further between them. “Want me to get the right one?”
“Would you?” She puts the sugar and the recipe on the counter. “I’m a ...”
“You’re a ...?” Rory gently prompts.
“Is the bakery open?”
“I think so.”
Amy grins, brilliantly. “Run down there and buy all the gingerbread you can.”
“Isn’t that ... cheating?”
Amy narrows her eyes.
“All right! All right! I’m going!” Rory vanishes and it’s only when she hears the front door bang shut that she sighs in relief.
Then the smoke alarm yells for attention. With wide eyes, she turns towards the oven and pulls it open.
Smoke billows forth.
“Would pizza,” she muses aloud, “work as Christmas dinner?”
Fandom: Doctor Who.
Rating: (G)
Time Period: Amy and Rory’s first Christmas.
Summary: She doesn’t have the right sugar.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
Out of three ideas, this one won!
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of the BBC & Steven Moffat; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
Amy surveys the array of ingredients, lined for battle. She looks at the handwritten recipe in her hand.
Flour. Sugar. Butter. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Ginger.
She puts the recipe on the counter before she picks up the packet of sugar. She looks from it to the recipe several times.
“RORY!”
Rory’s head pops around the door. “Yes?”
“Who said I could do this?”
“You did,” he replies; his gaze quickly flicks to her shoes.
She can kick them off. Damn.
“We’ve got the wrong sugar!”
He, discreetly, moves the door further between them. “Want me to get the right one?”
“Would you?” She puts the sugar and the recipe on the counter. “I’m a ...”
“You’re a ...?” Rory gently prompts.
“Is the bakery open?”
“I think so.”
Amy grins, brilliantly. “Run down there and buy all the gingerbread you can.”
“Isn’t that ... cheating?”
Amy narrows her eyes.
“All right! All right! I’m going!” Rory vanishes and it’s only when she hears the front door bang shut that she sighs in relief.
Then the smoke alarm yells for attention. With wide eyes, she turns towards the oven and pulls it open.
Smoke billows forth.
“Would pizza,” she muses aloud, “work as Christmas dinner?”