#Crosshair just wants to finish his damn lunch for once he doesn’t care what it is

[heyclickadee]

So, today on silly headcanons that don’t matter and would probably never apply to the batch’s situation but I like them anyway: Random thoughts on what would happen if each of the batchers had to make a cake (and had unlimited access to all of the ingredients that they’d need):

Omega: Woo!! Cake!! *makes a bunch of space chocolate (there’s space chocolate, right?) cupcakes with a few different colors of icing so that she can put them together and make it look like Ruby. Wrecker keeps walking by to help out and even sneaks her some ruby chocolate chips so it can be a ruby chocolate Ruby cupcake cake. The end result is very cute, even if Omega does have to end up having to use mantell mix to make the face (someone kept eating her cupcakes and she ran out by the time she got to the face). The kitchen, though—it’s a complete disaster by the end, and Omega had the best time making that mess*

Hunter: So…my batter’s cured solid in the mixer. Is that supposed to happen? *Okay, so, his cake looks gorgeous. He’s managed to paint a sunset on Pabu onto what looks like a three tiered cake with buttercream, and it’s got this amazing texture and impressionistic look. Unfortunately, when you cut into it, it’s just three tiers of ground up ration bars fused into a kind of concrete using burnt caramel. It tastes like sand and death.*

Echo: It’ll be perfect as long as I follow the recipe. *He looks at the recipe, sees at least five ingredients he can’t eat, and decides to make a smoothie that he can eat instead. He’s not a big fan of cake, and that’s okay. It’s a really good smoothie.*

Tech: Baking is just chemistry. What could go wrong? *Lots of things. Lots of things can go wrong. Turns out that chemistry (outside of biochem) is a bit of a blind spot for Tech, and our guy can’t just follow directions without experimenting a little. Or a lot. In the end, he does end up with something. It’s not cake, but it’s definitely something. Some might call it clam chowder in a bread bowl. Really good clam chowder in a bread bowl. Just—it’s definitely not cake.*

Crosshair: Hhmm. *Crosshair can’t be too bothered to make a cake, so he buys three boxes of space funfetti cake mix, follows the directions on the box exactly, stacks the three funfetti cakes with funfetti icing in between, and then decorates the whole thing with the icing leftover from both Hunter’s and Omega’s cakes. That said, his piping is amazing. Everyone’s afraid to eat his cake because it looks so pretty. He also ate about five of Omega’s cupcakes, but it’s okay—she kept putting them on his side of the table so that he would.*

Wrecker: YEAH! CAKE TIME, BABY!! *disappears for three days and re-emerges with this gravity defying illusion cake that looks like the Maurader flying over a rocky moon full of B-1s. The B-1s are made of tempered chocolate and full of salted caramel, he’s using at least four different flavors of cake and three different kinds of cream filling, there’s a ganache river on the moon surface, the marauder cake is actually levitating (because Star Wars), it has jets of sugar glass that actually light up coming out of the engine, AND it fires choux pastry proton bombs that actually explode with jogan fruit mousse when they hit the ground. There’s even a whole section especially made for Echo so that he can eat it. And it all tastes perfect. He ends up the designated cake guy on the rare occasions they need a cake, and he couldn’t be more delighted.*

[brideofedoras]

The Loft: Redemption

Disclaimer: the usual...  I only own my OC.  Photo found on google.

Word count: 2300+

Warnings: Allusion to past abuse and being triggered

Link to Chapter 2 (with Ch. 1 link)

Monday morning rolled around faster than Sam would've liked.  She felt her stomach churn at the prospect of not having Linda there to talk to. 

She headed to the office early with a quick stop at the bakery along the way.  Armed with fresh donut holes (plain glazed, cookie dough stuffed, cinammon sugar sprinkled, and maple glazed) and a toasted white hot chocolate, she halted in her tracks when she reached the door to the office suite. 

"What the...  When the hell did he have this done?"

Her grey eyes began to burn as she studied the frosted glass of the door. 

VMS Architecture, LLC. Vincent M. Stevens, NCARB Samantha Monroe, Administrative Assistant

She stared at her name, beautifully scripted in gold lettering on the glass. 

Linda hadn't even had that honor.

Her hand trembled as she unlocked the door and stepped into the office.  My office.

As she flipped on the light and started toward her desk she paused again, startled to find her name beautifully engraved onto a walnut name plate settled on the corner of the desk, next to a matching business card holder complete with a stack of cards with her name, extension and email. 

A ceramic flower pot sat next to the computer monitor at the opposite corner of the desk with an artfully planted variety of small cactus plants.  She let out a watery laugh at the wording on the pot: Free Hugs.  She knew the cacti were from Linda, an inside joke between the two of them based on something Linda had told her earlier in the week.  Vincent will come off as prickly for a while, but he will eventually warm up to you, Dear.  Give him time, give him space, occasionally make sure he eats and drinks if he has a very busy day.  One day he will surprise you.

A gift bag and a card were placed on the center of the desk.  Sam shook her head as she set her cup and the donut holes down, busying herself with putting her purse away and hanging her jacket on the coat rack next to the door.

She had just finished starting the coffee and setting the box of breakfast goodies on the refreshment table when she heard the door open.  She turned around and offered a warm smile when Vincent shut the door behind him.  "Good morning, Mr. Stevens," she greeted him.  "Thank you for..." she gestured to the desk set.

"Don't mention it," he frowned at the desk.  "Ready to start your first official week?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded.  "The coffee should be ready in five minutes, and I picked up an assortment of donut holes," she made her way to the window and the cords for the wooden blinds.  "I wasn't sure what you would like so I picked four different kinds."

"I know Linda told you I have a sweet tooth," his tone was wry as he made his way to his office.  "I'm sure whatever you got is fine."

Sam made her way back to the desk.  As she waited for the computer to start she picked up the card propped up against the small gift.

Sam-- Our Vincent struck gold when he hired you to take over the office.  You will do just fine as his new assistant.  Don't let his prickly demeanor get to you, it's become his default setting ever since that happened.  And don't forget, you can decorate your office however it suits you, you can bring stuff in to keep in the bathroom, you can listen to your music, and you can dress however you feel most comfortable as long as you still look professional.  And if Vincent ever treats you wrong, don't be afraid to call me.  I might be moving out of state, but I can always make a trip back to knock some sense into that thick skull of his.  You can also call me anytime you want, keep me up-to-date on the gossip.  I'll miss everyone there, and even though I'd only known you a short time, I've come to view you as another daughter.  You take good care of our Vincent, spoil him with breakfast sweets and good coffee.  Make sure he eats, make sure he goes home to get some rest when the project consumes him (and it will, I've come in many a morning to find him sound asleep at the drawing board or on that damn couch.  He's a real bastard when he doesn't get enough rest, but don't let that scare you off).  Keep in touch.-- Love, Linda. P.S.- Don't forget, I left you a set of "How To Care For Your Architect" instructions tucked away in the second drawer to your left.  It includes a list of everything I know he likes, hotels and airlines he prefers, restaurants he uses for business dinners.  His favorite color is steel grey, he's a sucker for Hershey Hugs, and if he misplaces his pen, you'll find it on your desk.

Sam dashed away the tear that had slipped down her cheek as she set the card aside.  She had grown to love Linda as a second mom and already missed her.  She smiled as she reached for the gift bag and nearly cried when she pulled out a black resin cat paper weight.

She set it next to the phone on the left side of the desk before turning to the computer to log in.

 Sam settled into a routine.  Up at five, out the door by six-thirty, stop by the bakery for breakfast and for that yummy hot chocolate, arrive at the office by seven-thirty, have coffee ready by seven-forty-five, lunch anywhere between eleven and one-thirty (depending on Vincent's schedule), out the door whenever Vincent finished up for the day, home within half an hour, in her pajamas and eating a quick supper, in bed by ten-thirty.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  By her third day Vincent tried telling her she could leave at four-thirty if she wished, there was no need to stay passed office hours.  She declined.  "I was hired as your administrative assistant, Mr. Stevens.  I leave when you leave."

She found an old-fashioned candy bowl at a flea market one weekend and brought it in to place on her desk with Hershey Hugs.  She had also found a few other things she wanted to bring in, but hesitated on personalizing the office.  She worried Vincent would not appreciate finding a framed blueprint of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701 or a replica of the Death Star plans data chip.

She feared they would clash with that hideous knock-off Jackson Pollock painting that hung on the wall behind her desk, above the shelves.  She hated that painting.  Why it hung in an architect's office she had no idea.  It was the only thing out of place in the office suite.  Vincent's office proudly displayed his degrees, certificates and licenses, a few framed blueprints and a framed crudely-drawn blueprint of the Castle Grayskull.  "I grew up on Masters of the Universe, had all the action figures and the castle.  I was home sick for a week with chicken pox, miserable as hell, bored out of my mind and missing my friends.  Dad came home early from work one afternoon with a bag full of crayons, coloring books and a sketchpad, gave Mom some cash and told her to go shopping, go eat, get out of the house and enjoy herself for a while.  I sat down on the floor after Dad cleared off the coffee table and we colored for a while.  Then I started drawing.  I'd always been fascinated by the design of Castle Grayskull and wanted to build one of my own.  I was seven years old when I drew that.  That's when I knew I wanted to design and build things."

She had been shocked that he had so willingly shared that childhood memory with her.  And his smile.  She'd seen ghosts of smiles before, but a full-blown smile displaying dimples had left her weak in the knees.  He looked ten years younger with that smile, and she couldn't help but smile back.

But ever since that rare moment of camaraderie he'd thrown up a wall once again, bringing their working relationship back to strictly professional, and borderline cold.  She knew he could be an easy-going man to work for, she'd witnessed the banter between him and Linda multiple times during her trial week.  She just wished he wasn't so cold toward her.

 Vincent had a meeting across town and would likely be gone all afternoon.  As he set his briefcase and suit jacket on one of her guest chairs and tossed his steel grey tie around his neck, he leveled his patented stern look on her.  The Look (TM) was supposed to be intimidating, and it used to scare the hell out of her the first few times she'd seen it (usually directed at someone else, but she'd been caught in the crosshairs a couple of times).  Unfortunately she (for some weird reason she couldn't explain) had begun to find that frowny glare to be sexy as hell.  "Ms. Monroe, if I'm not back by four-thirty, lock up shop for the day and go home," he turned toward the bathroom.  "You don't need to be pulling ten hour days because of me."

She smiled despite the blush staining her cheeks from The Look (TM).  "As I've said before, Mr. Stevens, I'm your administrative assistant, and it is my job to be here for you should you need me."

"I don't recall contracting you to work ten hours a day, Monroe," he turned away from the mirror as he finished his impeccable Windsor knot.

"Technically I'm only working nine," she pointed out as she leaned back in her chair.

"You eat at your desk half the time, Monroe," he walked out of the bathroom.  "I've seen you working through lunch."

"Only when I have a deadline to meet for your meetings," she shrugged.  "I need to finish putting together the portfolios for Thursday's meeting."

"Today's Tuesday, you have all day tomorrow."

"I'll be setting up the conference room and inventorying supplies so I know what you need."

He snorted.  "Remind me again why I hired such a stubborn assistant?"  He grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it.

She scooped a small handful of Hugs from the candy bowl and held them out when Vincent approached her desk.  "At first I thought you were very impressed with my resume, then I suspected for my looks... but now I honestly believe Linda probably threatened you into hiring me."

"Your resume certainly clinched it, Monroe.  And Linda did hound me."  His face darkened a little as he carefully took the offered chocolate from her hand.  "You're going to spoil my lunch, Monroe."

"No, I'm not," she denied, watching him slip the Hugs into the pocket of his jacket.  "I know you would have snuck a handful on your way out, to go along with the handful that's likely already stashed in your briefcase."

His head snapped up.

"I had to refill the bowl, Mr. Stevens," she leaned back in her chair.  "I'll definitely need to work longer hours to afford the chocolates and the breakfast sweets."

"Use the company card, I'll figure it into the expenses," he narrowed his eyes at her.  "Refreshments for clientele."

She nodded.  She didn't mind buying the chocolate or the morning sweets, but she knew better than to argue with him on it.  Arguing had always gotten her into serious trouble when she was a teenager.  Do not go there, Sam.

"All right, I will," she agreed softly. 

"If you still have receipts, bring 'em in, I'll make sure to cut you a check to reimburse you."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Stevens," she shook her head. 

He shot her a glare.  "Yes, it is.  I can't keep allowing you to pay out of pocket for pastries and candy that my clients and associates are eating." 

I can't keep allowing you...  Sam stiffened at his words.  She quickly tore her eyes from his.  "I...  I didn't think it was that big of a deal, I'm...  I will find those receipts and bring them in," she flinched when Vincent moved toward the door.

That flinch was not lost on the architect.  He turned to look at her.  "Monroe, are you all right?"

Sam drew in a breath before nodding.  "I'm fine," she kept her eyes glued to the cat paper weight in front of her.

"Monroe, look at me."

The sudden and uncharacteristic softness in her boss' tone drew her eyes to him.  The look on his face told her he didn't believe her.  He took a step toward her and it was all she could do to not flinch away.

His frown morphed into one of worry.  "Monroe, don't worry about it," he took a step back.  "I just don't want you spending your money on things benefiting the company's clientele and associates."  He turned toward the door.  "Why don't you take your lunch, lock up the office and get some fresh air somewhere.  You don't have to stay in here when I'm out, let the calls go to voicemail.  They can wait."

She nodded.  "Okay."

"I mean it, Monroe.  Leave the office for an hour."

With that, he was gone.

Sam's eyes slid shut and she drew in a slow, shaky breath.  She exhaled heavily, shaking off the fear that had gripped her for a moment.  He won't hurt me.  He's not a predator.  He's not Terrance.   

But those words echoed in her head, words her stepfather had used quite often when she had disobeyed him.  Words he had whispered so smoothly, so silkily, as he forced her to her knees or forced her over his desk.

"Don't go there, Sam," she ground out.  "He won't hurt you anymore."

She shifted in her seat, angling her chair to face her computer more comfortably, saving the proposal she was drafting for Vincent before closing out open programs and putting the device to sleep.  She reached for her phone and dialed her cousin's desk extension.  "Hey, I'm getting ready to head to lunch, wanna join me?"