#Cuts up pieces of my brownie and sends it to y'all

[shima-draws]

Please share the brownie with us

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

It’s actually more like a fudge batter thing but yes. Take some. There’s SO much and it’s so rich

[rileywrites]

Love ur Clay & Violet series & since prompts r open was hoping you'd consider this request: Nile plane goes missing in unfamiliar territory while on a mission & Bookers Not taking the news too well as he & the family search for her. Then after a few months Copley sends them a location he mysteriously got send & they go guns drawn on high alert & like the bamf Nile is she's like "One would think ur Not happy to see me?" & they have a happy reunion!

Thank you for your prompt! You can read the answer on Ao3 here: “The Search”

...

"Booker, you need to sleep. You've been staring at that satellite feed for hours."

Booker shrugs Joe's hand off of his shoulder.

"This is a new source. I have more water to cover," Booker says, marking a potential point of interest. "I can't stop now."

"Book," Andy says quietly. "You're no good to her if you're so tired you can't see."

"I can't stop." Booker looks up at Andy with itchy, tired eyes. "Please, don't make me stop."

It's hard to see the pity and exhaustion in Andy's face. It's even harder to see the understanding and resignation.

"Okay. Okay, Book." Andy sighs. "Try and rest at some point."

Nile's plane went down three weeks ago. He can't stop looking now.

Hours later, Booker is so tired he can't keep his head up, his eyes burning from how long he's been staring at a computer. He ends up asleep on the laptop, pen pressing into his cheek.

...

Copley turns up on the doorstep of the Oslo house unannounced, two months after Nile's plane goes down.

"You bring news, I assume?" Andy asks, sitting up from her stretch on the living room floor.

"They found pieces of the plane," Copley says bluntly.

"Why do you not sound more pleased?" Nicky asks.

Booker doesn't have to ask.

"They only found evidence of the pilot and co-pilot in the wreckage," Copley says, pulling up the report. "No sign of Nile."

"Send me the coordinates. I can narrow my search further, pull more detailed data from a smaller field." Booker pulls up his map of the projected flight path and narrows the range. "If she isn't in the wreckage, she isn't trapped. She must have gotten to land."

No one else is saying anything. Booker can't stop talking, can't stop searching, can't stop to think about what happens next if Nile is trapped on the floor of the Pacific Ocean.

He has to keep looking, or he's going to fall apart.

"Thank you, Copley," Joe says finally. "We appreciate the update."

"I will keep looking through my channels. I know Booker will keep looking as well." Copley's smile is tight. "Maybe we will be able to put boots on the ground at some point."

"You are welcome to the spa- to Nile's room," Nicky suggests.

If Booker grinds his teeth any harder, he'll have to grow new ones.

It's not a fucking spare room. Nile is somewhere in the goddamn Pacific right now, but it's still her space.

"You know he doesn't mean anything by it," Andy says later. "Force of habit. We're searching too, you know. We miss her too."

"I know."

...

Booker doesn't know why he keeps paying for Nile's last burner phone. Doesn't know why he pings it daily like the phone isn't waterlogged on the bottom of the ocean. Doesn't know why he keeps fucking calling.

"You know what to do at the beep."

Booker hangs up. Dials again.

"You know what to do at the beep."

Again.

"You know what to do at the beep."

It's short, cheesy. It's one of the few audio clips they have of her. The downside of living in the shadows is lack of proof you exist.

Booker has a few Polaroids from their last family trip to the beach. Andy is covered in Zinc, and Quyhn's cover up is around both of them. Joe and Nicky look obnoxiously Eurotrash in their speedos. Nile looks so goddamn happy in her gigantic sunhat.

"You know what to do at the beep."

Booker cracks. To be honest, he's amazed that he made it three months without drinking himself into a coma.

He wakes to Joe gently wiping his face with a washcloth.

"Shh, habibi, you're okay."

"What if she’s gone, Joe? What if she’s gone and I never told her?"

It’s Quyhn who answers him, “She loves you. I know you two haven’t talked about it, but she loves you. Don’t you dare give up on her.”

"I won't," Booker promises. "I'll find her. Whatever it takes."

"Besides," Andy says from the doorway, voice rough. "She's too new. She's out there, somewhere."

“We don’t know how any of this works, not really,” he can’t look any of them in the eye, makes no attempt to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Joe dabs at his face, and Nicky brings him water.

"Some things you just feel," Andy says firmly. "She's out there. I know it."

...

Booker has been staring at satellite footage of tiny islands in the Pacific for what feels like years when Copley comes bursting in.

They both set up shop on Java when the search for Nile entered its seventh week.

"I think I found her," Copley spits out, waving a piece of paper. "That, or someone else in trouble. Either way, time to pack and call Andy."

Booker takes the paper. Scribbled on it are a set of coordinates and a mess of Morse code.

"SOS 1812? That's really what came in?"

"The signal is bad, and it was brief, but they sent it three or four times before the signal cut out. It sounded like a makeshift device." James takes the paper and tosses Booker his go-bag. "Get in the goddamn car."

When they get to the closest airport to the microscopic island the signal came from, the rest of the team is waiting near the helicopter.

"I told you," Quyhn says with a smug smile.

Booker can't find it in himself to begrudge her the gloating, not when they have their best lead in three months in front of them.

Not when Nile might be less than an hour away.

...

They exit the helicopter on high alert, guns drawn in case the uninhabited island is actually more settled than they realized.

Booker has stared at the few images he could find for hours now. This little crescent-moon slip of land is in a fucking satellite blind spot.

The remnants of what might have been a driftwood SOS are the first sign that someone is here. It also shows that there's been a storm recently.

"There's a small crater lake that probably has fresh water," Booker says, scanning the beach. "If someone is here, they would find it."

"We'll head there first, then." Andy takes one look at him and steps back. "Lead the way."

The hike is tense, guns pointed in every possible direction with every step.

There's some sort of perimeter around the clearing, purposefully placed branches driven into the earth.

All Booker can think is "Please be Nile, please be Nile, please."

There's a shelter against the rock face, a campfire burning in a circle of stones.

"Show yourself," Booker orders, heart in his throat.

"It's about fucking time you got here."

Booker almost passes out when Nile emerges from a cave beyond the lean-to. She's thin, the kind of emaciation that comes with starving to death.

"What? Y'all don't look happy to see me."

A sob rips out of Booker's throat, and his brain shuts down. When he blinks, he has his arms around a too-frail Nile, holding her so tight she might break.

Nile crumples into his embrace. She cries until she can't cry anymore.

"I'm sorry," Booker says over and over again. "I'm sorry we took so long. I'm sorry I couldn't find you faster. I'm so fucking sorry, Nile."

"Shut up and hold me," Nile orders.

Booker can do that.

...

Booker can't relax, not until Nile looks less like death.

All the hours he put into looking for her are now spent taking care of her.

Even for an immortal, repeatedly drowning, dying of dehydration, and starving will lead to complications.

Nile wakes screaming more often than not, so Booker takes up vigil outside her door.

Nile has food trauma, so Booker helps her regulate her intake. He also brings back brownies from the bakery she likes whenever he goes out.

When Nicky gives her the all-clear, Booker is the one who helps her train.

"Stop pulling your fucking punches, Book." Nile runs a hand over her buzzed head. "Try and fucking hit me like you mean it."

Booker can't help it. He's trying not to baby her, but he can't bring himself to fight full-out.

"Just fucking fight me!" Nile shoves his shoulders, and Booker barely manages to not fall on his ass. "I'm fine, Booker. I'm fucking fine, just fucking spar with me!

Booker holds his ground until Nile sweeps his ankle out from under him and drops him to the mat. She pins him with her knee between his thighs and her hands on his wrists.

Booker stops breathing.

"Why won't you hit me?" Nile squeezes his wrists.

"I love you too much to hurt you," Booker says before he registers the thought.

Nile's fond exasperation is replaced with even fonder affection.

"You're an idiot." She kisses him, and Booker has never been happier. "I love you, too."

Booker tests her hold on him, shivering when he can't comfortably move.

"I thought I lost you without telling you," Booker admits. "I thought -"

"I'm right here, Book." Nile kisses him again. "I'm not going anywhere  anytime soon."

"No more solo missions." Booker leans up as much as he can for another kiss.

"Agreed."

[asouthernsamwell]

Through the Stomach to the Heart

A big thank you to @dumouwin for being a wonderful beta, and also super supportive about me posting my first ever fic! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Eric Richard Bittle is convinced that his new captain hates him, and his baking, since Jack Zimmermann won't touch a single thing that Bitty bakes. Jack, on the other hand, discovers that he has a problem even more vexing than not being able to eat gluten.

Eric Richard Bittle knew two things. One, introducing oneself with food was a sure way to make friends; and two, that rule went double for student athletes (even if they couldn't be counted on to still be friendly in three week's time, it never hurt to get off to a good start). Besides, things were supposed to be different at Samwell, and Eric was optimistic.

The two pies he brought to practice on the first day were mauled, and everyone seemed friendly, so he considered his first day a success. The captain of the team, Jack Zimmermann, seemed indifferent to the pies, but Eric figured he didn't want to show favoritism, or was just really strict about his personal diet plan.

However, after a few months of Jack not even sampling his baking once, Bitty (as he had been christened by his new teammates) finally worked up the nerve to ask about it.

“Does he hate me?” Bitty whispered, as Jack once again bypassed a pie fresh from the oven in favor of a protein shake.

“Who, Jack?” Ransom asked around a mouthful of pie.

“Nah bro, don't worry about Jack, he's just like that,” Holster responded, before practically unhinging his jaw to shovel more pie into his mouth.

“But I've never met anyone who wouldn't even taste my pies! Even stuck up Eliza Mae tried my county fair blue ribbon pie! I get that he takes hockey seriously, and adores his diet plan, but would it kill him to try just one bite of something someone else made? I mean, y'all devour my pies, and he won't even come near them! Oh gosh, what if he hates me for feeding his entire team pie? I can't just not bake for people!”

“Brah, chill. Take a breath, it's okay. Jack just does his own thing, I'm sure he doesn't hate you.” Ransom served himself another piece of pie, “After all, he'd have a mutiny on his hands if he tried to keep you from baking!”

“Dude! C'mon!”

“Serves you right. Get your own seconds, stop trying to steal mine!”

Holster pouted and rubbed his hand where Ransom had slapped him.

“Ransom is right though, Jack almost certainly doesn't hate you. He's just a pretty tightly-wound dude.”

“Almost certainly doesn't hate me. Thanks Holster, that's so reassuring.” Bitty let his head fall forward to the table and mumbled into his arms, “He probably just thinks my baking is a waste of time that distracts from hockey and he probably wants me off the team. That's all.”

“No way dude-”

“C'mon Bits, you know that's-”

“I'm gonna make him a pie.”

It was a fool-proof plan. Bitty would make Jack a pie (“What type of pie do you think he likes?” “I don't know, but he's Canadian, so maybe something with maple syrup in it? Do pies like that exist?” “Holster, you do know that not all Canadians have a maple syrup IV connected to them at all time, right? Bitty, maybe a healthy-ish fruit pie? Like apple?”), and Jack would simultaneously realize that Bitty wasn't a horrible person, they could actually get along, and he wasn't going to keel over if he ate a few grams of sugar.

When Bitty was sure that his new creation (an apple pie with maple sugar in the crust) was perfect, he brought it to the Haus and warmed it in the oven for a minute before cutting it up, plating it, and bringing it out for the boys studying in the living room.

“Hey y'all, I tried out a new recipe today, who wants to test it for me?”

Ransom, Holster, and Shitty all immediately grabbed for the plates in his hands, but Jack just gave him a quick glance before going back to the essay he was typing.

“Jack, do you want some? It's maple apple, and I thought you might like it because I tried to make it healthier while also kind of thinking about Canada? I mean, sorry, that sounds weird, I just thought that you and Ransom might appreciate something more home-y by this point in the semester, ya know? Erm...”

Jack interrupted his rambling with a short, “No thank you, Bittle,” before turning back to his essay and typing as if he had never been interrupted.

The plates clanked on the coffee table as Bitty set them down with a little too much force before stalking about of the room. Jack hated him, fine. Just fine.

  For the next few months, Bitty kept up a war of attrition. He baked pies, brought them to the Haus, and always took care to offer Jack a piece when he was around. And every time his offers were turned down, he would just smile sweetly and say, “Alright!” If Jack was going to hate him, Bitty was going to make sure that it was the most unfounded, ridiculous decision Jack Zimmermann would ever hold himself to.

Finally, one morning after Jack had started up their checking clinics again following summer break, Bitty snapped. It came after months of Pinterest suggestions, every type of fruity and healthy pie imaginable, and nightly stomach aches worrying over how much the captain of his team hated him. He'd had an entire summer to try and win Jack's favor in some small way, and he was done.

Bitty came down to the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, just in time to see Jack wrapping a brownie in a napkin. Bitty's confusion was quickly replaced by anger when Jack Zimmermann proceeded to eat said brownie on the way to Faber.

“Wow, so the illustrious Jack Zimmermann actually does have a sweet tooth. Someone should alert The Swallow.”

Jack seemed taken aback. “Um... Shitty made them for me?” He clearly didn't understand that he had just capped off an entire year of rudeness with the worst snub possible. Bitty didn't even dignify his statement with a response.

The entire time they laced up their skates and got ready, Jack's waves of confusion were only met with further stony silence from Bitty. Maybe he should have been impressed that Jack was reading the situation as well as he was, given his oblivious rudeness over the last year, but Eric was far too furious to be that gracious.

Once on the ice, Bitty took his place by the boards, and as Jack started skating towards him he finally lost it. Right as Jack skated into him, Bitty pushed back, catching Jack off-guard, and actually succeeded in checking Jack, sending him a few feet across the ice in his shock.

“Bittle, you just, you checked me. That's great!”

“Why do you hate me?!” Bitty wasn't even aware that he had flung his gloves to the ice until Jack glanced down at them warily.

“What? I don't hate you. I don't hate you – why would you think that?”

“Yes you do! You won't eat anything I make, even when I make things especially for you, and I know that you hate that I bake, but I don't think it distracts me from hockey! I'm a good player, and I was doing well on the team! I don't know why my baking upsets you so much or why you hate me, but I'm not going to stop making pies!”

“Bittle-”

“And don't think that you can tell me that I'm not keeping diet, because I pretty much am, and it's not affecting me!”

“Bittle, I-”

“And you know that you can't control what the team does all the time, because you never seem to get mad at them for eating pie or cookies or anything, but you still hate me and I don't understand why and it's just not fair! I'm just as much a member of this team as anyone else and if you don't agree with that then you're just going to have to-”

“Bittle! I'm celiac.”

“That's no- wait, what?”

“I'm celiac. I can't eat gluten. I'm allergic to pretty much everything you've made for the past year.”

“Why didn't you say anything??”

“I didn't know I needed to.”

“But, I, it's just – ugh! Jack! Here I've been thinking that you didn't like me for the better part of a year, when really I should have just been baking things that you can eat!”

“Why did you think I didn't like you?”

“You completely ignored my baking!”

Jack started to laugh. “Bittle, I just didn't want you to have to try and make gluten free things, I had no idea you would be so offended over me ignoring your baking. Besides, is helping you get over your mental block surrounding checking really the actions of someone who hates you?”

“I mean... this has definitely seemed sadistic at some points so...” Jack gave him a gentle hip check in response to his quip. “I just thought that since you didn't even want to try to like my pies that you didn't like me.” He cut Jack off before he could protest. “I'm silly, I know. Now, what type of pie would you like?”

“Bittle, you don't have to do that.”

“Nonsene. I'm not backing down from a new baking challenge! Besides, how long has it been since you last ate a piece of pie?”

“I don't really eat sweets, it's fine, you don't have to...”

“Mr. Zimmermann. I am from Georgia, and in the South, we express our emotions through food and feeding others. So please, let me make you a pie that you can eat and one that won't make you sick!”

“Thank you. But euh, Bittle, have you ever tried a gluten free dessert? They're not very good.”

“What about that brownie you were eating an hour ago? Are you trying to say it was bad? Because you sure seemed happy to be eating it, and as much as I love Shitty, I find it hard to believe that he could out-bake me, especially for a palate such as yours, Mr. Chicken-Strips-and-Protein-Shakes.”

The corner of Jack's mouth started to turn up in a grin. “Chirp, chirp, chirp Bittle, you're pretty bold this morning. Checking me, dropping your gloves, and now these chirps – are you going to ejected from our next game for fighting?”

“One Gordie Howe hat trick coming up, just you wait an' see!”

They were still laughing as they left Faber, Bitty trying to catch Jack by surprise with periodic hip checks the whole way back to the Haus.

  The knock on his door startled Jack out of his senior thesis brain-fog.

“Come in?”

Bitty was holding his wallet and reading something off of his phone as he opened the door. “Do you want to come to the store with me? I was gonna go to Murder Stop-And-Shop for some stuff.”

Jack glanced at his computer screen where his thesis sat, no longer holding his interest like it had a few moments before. “Sure, just let me save this.”

The whole way there Eric babbled on about a new baking blog he had found, praising the author's interesting ingredient combinations, as well as her passion for locally-sourced foods. “...and the best part is, she sets up her recipes for other variations, and even makes suggestions for how other people could modify them based on their personal preferences, which is so cool. I should really make a conscious effort to do that more on my vlog, now that I think of it...”

What Jack didn't learn until they reached the baking aisle of the store was that the blog Bittle had suddenly become so enthused about was one he had sought out specifically following their conversation that morning. Bitty made a beeline past his normal baking staples, instead stopping in front of the rather meager section labeled “gluten free”. A few bags of pretzels, two types of macaroni and cheese, a pancake mix, two box cake mixes, and three types of flour blends looked back at Jack as he quickly caught on to Bittle's plan.

“Bittle, you really don't have to make me anything special, it's fine, I promise.”

“You hush Mister Zimmermann, you're going to try at least one of my pies before you graduate, just you wait.”

“Alright, alright, fine! I suppose I can try some of your pie, but if this turns into an addiction the way it seems to have for the rest of the team I'll be sending my future dietician to you!” Jack's small smirk seemed to be what Bitty was really searching for, so he continued, “So, what are we looking for?”

“Well, we need the same basic ingredients as any normal pie, just ones that won't kill you. I think the only problem is flour, at least it was the only thing the blog specified as being gluten-free, so I thought that we would start there, and then try what will essentially be a mash-up of my Moomaw's famous apple pie and this special crust. Although,” he cast a disappointed glance at the shelves in front of them, “we really don't have much to work with here. The blog talked about making your own flour blend, with different flours and starches and binding agents, but I guess I never realized how few options there would be. No wonder you eat like you do! Uhh, let's try this one.”

He held up a bag proclaiming its ability to be substituted one-for-one in any recipe with normal flour for Jack's approval. Receiving a quick shrug and an “I trust your judgment,” Bittle put the flour in the cart.

  When they got back to the Haus, Eric made Jack read the labels on every ingredient they already owned with him, so that he could be sure he wouldn't put anything containing gluten in the pie, and then scrubbed down every inch of the kitchen, including washing the dishes and utensils he intended to use.

“I was reading about cooking for people with Celiac Disease, and I don't know how we haven't all managed to kill you by accident yet! My goodness Jack, do you get -” a pause of indecision, “-sick? poisoned? Gluten-ed? often because of us?” Bitty's worry was clearly expressing itself via frantic scrubbing with the new sponges he had just bought.

“Haha, no, it's okay. I mean, I do get sick sometimes, but it's not your fault. I just have to take extra care to wipe the counters and stuff before I prepare my own food. Besides, I shouldn't make the rest of you adapt to my weird eating habits. And the response is proportional to how much gluten I consume, so usually I just have a little pain and some, er, unpleasantness I guess.” Jack shrugged, indifferent, but Bitty was horrified.

“Oh my gosh, Jack, that's not okay! That sounds so horrible! And you could get sick – really sick! I read that you can get cancer, or not be able to absorb nutrients any more, and that must really hurt, and-”

“It's okay Bittle, I promise. That's why I'm careful, and it hardly ever happens. Besides, the dining hall has done far more to poison me than anyone in this Haus ever could.”

“Does the school know about that??” Jack was dismayed that his attempt at calming Bittle down had failed, but something in the back of his mind warmed to the fact that Bittle was scrubbing the kitchen, making special food, and now ready to fight the administration all on his behalf.

“They have a special section for student with allergies, but they tell everyone who eats there that they can't guarantee anything will be 100% safe. There's too much risk of cross-contamination in a kitchen that big to make that sort of promise.”

Bitty's face twisted into a small scowl, his mouth scrunched up and his eyes indicating that he was clearly trying to think of a way to solve all of Jack's dietary problems instantaneously.

“That's not fair! You should get to have meals you can enjoy fully too! It shouldn't be dangerous for you to eat dinner! Why are you smiling?”

“I think you're more upset about this than I am. It's kind of nice.”

“Well of course I'm upset! For gosh sakes Jack, it's food! They're not feeding you properly! That's a- that's just- I mean, it's- it's not right! I'm from the South, that's practically a crime! No, wait, there are actual cases where that is a very real crime. How can they just do this to you??”

As Bitty spluttered indignantly, he reminded Jack of a little kitten – specifically, the small orange cat from the Aristocats – puffing himself up and ready to take on the world, regardless of what the outcome would be. It wasn't that Jack didn't have people on his side who were willing to fight for him, he saw time and time again after his overdose that his support network was bigger than he could have imagined, but still... this was Bittle, someone who had apparently thought that Jack hated him as of twelve hours ago, and now he was whipped up into a frenzy doing his best to improve Jack's life. It was really nice.

Bittle's first pie came out of the oven to mixed reviews. It was a buttermilk pie in a homemade crust, and Jack thought it was incredible, tangy and sweet at the same time, with a buttery crust that barely crumbled apart at all, and a texture that wasn't grainy in the least. Everyone who sampled it agreed with Jack – it was good, if a little bit different than what they were used to, but still incredible. Bitty, however, was the lone voice of dissent.

“Jack, honey, how on earth can you call that good? I am so sorry, the next one will be much better, I promise! I was looking up some customizable flour blends, so hopefully the crust will cooperate a little bit more, and I can probably get it even thinner without it breaking. And if I add a little bit of xanthan gum to the filling it'll hopefully come out firm the whole way through, although that might have just been Betsy having a bad day, or maybe-”

“Bittle. I liked it. Truly.” Bitty was still casting half worried, half murderous glances at the almost empty pie plate. “It was the best thing I've eaten in a long time, I forgot that gluten free food could taste like that. It was perfect.”

After a heavy sign and a long moment of consideration, Bittle looked up at him.

“Alright, I'll believe you, but I'm still going to mess with the recipes and the flour blend until I'm satisfied. Will you be my taste-tester? You have a whole year's worth of pie eating to make up for!”

Jack just laughed. “All right Bittle, but save some time for studying too, okay? And remember, if you feed me too much pie I'll need to burn it off, so I hope you're also willing to sign yourself up as my early morning running partner.”

Jack hip checked him as Bitty screeched, “Mister Zimmermann, you wouldn't dare!” and he sauntered out of the kitchen.

  The next few months flew by in a flurry of pies and other assorted baked goods. Jack watched as Bittle tried out every flavor of pie at least once, and he also expanded his gluten free experimentation into pancakes, crepes, brownies, cake, cinnamon rolls, waffles, pizza, and some very memorable soft pretzels. Eric seemed to be getting closer to being content with his creations, although he still wouldn't totally believe Jack when he spouted praise for the confections.

One day, Jack's focus was ripped sharply away from his thesis as Shitty bounced into his room.

“Jackabelle! My favorite Quebec beaut!”

“You're still wearing clothes, Shits. Are you alright?”

As if just noticing that for once he had made it past the front door fully clothed, Shitty glanced down at himself before kicking off his shoes and sprawling on Jack's bed. “It's too beautiful of a day to worry about overturning societal expectations! Well, no, actually, there's never an excuse for complacency in a society that dictates how we should express ourselves and that censors nature, but today I'm just too distracted and light of heart to actively participate in protest.”

Jack just raised an eyebrow and waited.

“Jacques, I'm in love!”

With a small smile, Jack simply responded, “I know Shits. Have you finally talked to Lardo about it?”

“No, Jack, I just realized! I mean, I've liked her for ages, who wouldn't? She's one of the coolest people ever, and she can do almost anything, but I just realized that I love her. And I never said anything to her before, because I didn't want her to feel manipulated by me in any way because of the traditional archetype of men – and fuck gender stereotypes, by the way – and I know that she's more than capable of fending for herself, but I also didn't want to ruin our friendship or make her feel awkward if she doesn't feel the same way, ya know?”

“Shits, I think anyone who knows Lardo and has seen you two interact can tell you that you have nothing to worry about. At all. And even if she suddenly decided she doesn't feel the same way, it's Lardo. She's cool, and she's one of your best friends, and that's not going to change. Go talk to her, okay?”

Shitty ran his thumb over a small sharpie-d triangle on the side of his wrist and smiled as shyly as Jack had ever seen him. “Yeah, okay.” He got up to walk out, then paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You know, I feel so stupid. There she is, absolutely freaking incredible, and I talk to her every day and I never even realized. But then, today, we're just sitting there studying, not saying anything, and she just draws this freaking shape on my arm. And then I spent twenty minutes sitting there thinking about how I would get this stupid little triangle tattooed on my wrist, just because it was something she drew, but I'd much rather just have her there to draw it on me every day, and it just hit me then.” He shook his head, looking a little dazed. “I love her, man!”

At that moment, as Shitty rubbed his thumb reverently across the small black triangle on his wrist, Jack's eye caught on the plate sitting on his desk. Bittle had brought him a piece of pie and hour ago, asking for Jack's feedback on his newest gluten-free crust, and even after finishing the pie Jack had been idly tracing the edge of the plate with a small smile on his face, still amazed that someone like Bittle, who was pretty much a ray of sunshine come to life, would take the time to bake special pies for him, and would chirp him relentlessly, and could somehow still be his friend after how Jack had treated him last year, and how Jack didn't know what he was going to do without him next year except for probably signing with Providence just to stay close to Bitty and... when had Bittle become Bitty? Oh. Oh.

“Oh.” Jack abruptly looked up and interrupted Shitty. “Go talk to Lardo.” He all but shoved him out of the door before dashing into the bathroom to make sure his hair wasn't too disorderly. He ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, before sliding a little into the kitchen in his socked feet.

“Bitty. I- what are you eating?”

Bitty looked up, startled, from where he was licking a spatula over the sink.

“Jack! Are you okay? What's wrong?”

“What are you eating?” Please don't be gluten, please don't be gluten, please don't be gluten[, I can't kiss you if it's gluten]...

“I just made brownies, Chowder had said that he wanted some and... are you alright?”

Jack visibly deflated. He almost blurted out, “I just realized that I like you and now I can't kiss you,” but he caught himself just in time.

“I'm fine. Did you want to get dinner tonight? I, uh, need a break from my homework.”

Bitty blinked at him slowly, head cocked slightly to the side as if trying to ascertain Jack's level of mental stability. (It was low, he hoped Bitty couldn't tell.) “Sure, these brownies'll be out of the oven in 15 minutes, so we can go then.”

Jack nodded fervently, then wondered if maybe that was too much before saying, “Great, I'll see you in a bit,” and leaving a confused Bittle standing in the kitchen behind him. He ran up to his room, threw himself on his bed, and cursed his gluten allergy.

Fifteen minutes later, Bitty kept up the conversation on the way to dinner, occasionally casting worried glances at Jack, who just gave him a small smile in return. I like you and I may even love you, and while I'm sometimes a masochistic moron, I don't hate myself enough to tell you that I like you when there's a chance that you like me too and I can't kiss you right away. I can be patient.

When Jack was first diagnosed with Celiac Disease, he spent a very long month being cranky about all the foods he could no longer eat, and looking on longingly every time someone else ate a food he used to love. But then, he got used to his new diet, lost all of his baby fat, and became a better, healthier hockey player who no longer missed gluten. Now, however, all he could notice was how many things Bitty ate that contained gluten. A dinner roll, croutons on his salad, fried chicken, cream of mushroom soup that he discarded after two spoonfuls, oreos on his ice cream, and even the school's mashed potatoes which also had flour added to them for some ungodly reason. Jack had spent eleven years indifferent to his special diet, and now he wanted to cry in frustration.

He had quickly resolved not to tell Bitty how he felt until a time when Bitty hadn't recently been eating gluten, but now that seemed like a long shot. Jack reasoned that if Bitty did return his feelings, there was no reason to wait before kissing him (Jack always had been 110% about everything), and if Bitty had recently eaten something that would make Jack sick he didn't want Bitty to feel bad. But now it seemed like the only opportunity Jack would get was first thing in the morning, before they went to team breakfast, which was less than ideal, seeing as they were usually surrounded by the other members of the team in the Haus.

In the dining hall, as Bitty loaded his plate with food that would have Jack curling into a ball of pain in an instant, Jack kept up the stream of silent curses against allergens. When Bitty smiled at him in the middle of a monologue on Beyonce's next tour, Jack felt his heart beat harder in his chest. And when Bitty got up to grab dessert for himself and came back with some prewrapped bread and rolls he had swiped from the gluten free station, Jack realized he was in much deeper than he thought.

  As the week went on, Jack decided that he would have the most luck talking to, and then hopefully kissing, Bitty first thing in the morning or right before bed. If he had just brushed his teeth, it would probably be pretty safe. So, Jack carefully kept track of Bitty's food consumption and oral hygiene.

On Wednesday night, Lardo followed Shitty upstairs at ten o'clock, and Jack and Bitty both resigned themselves to staying on the first floor for at least another half an hour, just to be safe. Bitty seemed to be studying, but by eleven he declared that he had at least three hours' worth of work left to do, and so Jack eventually had to leave Bitty sitting at the kitchen table with a half-finished piece of (gluten) pie in front of him.

The next morning, Jack was woken up by mysterious noises coming from Shitty's room, and so he listened for any sounds indicating that Bitty had begun his morning routine, but by the time Jack left for class Bitty still hadn't stirred. Thursday night also proved to be a bit of a late night for Bitty, and so on Friday morning Jack saw him stumble out of his room just as Jack was walking out the door for his 8 AM class. By the time he saw Bitty in their 9 AM, Bitty was happily munching on a bagel from the campus coffeeshop closest to their academic building.

As unfortunate as Jack's luck had been thus far, he was a little bit heartened when Professor Atley announced the final project at the end of class.

“You'll choose a partner or work alone, whichever you prefer, and you will prepare a recipe from one of the major areas that we covered in class. You will be turning in your final project, although a majority of your grade will not come from taste, but rather from the essay you will write on both the preparation and the history of the recipe you choose. You and your partner will submit separate essays, but I am expecting a certain amount of overlap in the themes covered – plagiarism is prohibited, but it shouldn't shock me to see evidence of your collaboration. Have fun!”

Bitty beamed, and Jack could see the confidence in his face. This was a final he was ready for. “Hey Bittle, need a partner?” Jack's small smile was reflected back at him with ten times the intensity, and the response of, “Sure, if you'll let us do a gluten free project,” forced a full smile out of Jack without a second thought.

“That sounds good.”

  It turned out that food allergens and diet trends, while not a new phenomena by any means, had not focused much on gluten during any of the eras they could base their project in. Jack was ready to make a normal, full-gluten project, but Bitty insisted that Jack should be able to have at least one thing he could sample on final project day. Finally, on Sunday night, as Jack was leaning against the counter waiting for his chicken strips to heat up in the microwave, he heard footsteps come thundering down the steps, and then saw Bitty's blond head appear in the kitchen door.

“Jack! I had an idea!”

“Yeah?” Jack prompted, “What's up?”

Bitty was beaming. “Did you know that gluten only started appearing in problematic quantities in the last hundred years? I mean, there's always been a type of gluten somewhere in wheat and stuff, at least, I think there was, there was a lot of science stuff that I skimmed over, but! I found out that if you went back in time a few hundred years you could probably eat whatever you wanted without fear of getting gluten-ed!” After a brief pause, Bitty added with a smirk, “You history nerd, of course you would be able to eat better in the past.”

“That's awesome! It's too bad we can't get any of those grains any more. Do you want to do a really old recipe with modern flour and talk about the changes in the plants in our essays?” Jack was impressed with the amount of research that Bitty had apparently been doing. There was a part of him that even rejoiced over how Bitty clearly prioritized Jack over anything even remotely academic, but the logical side of his brain chastised him with a reminder that Bitty loved procrastinating, and he shouldn't look for opportunities to derail studying when it did happen. Better to just encourage it, especially when the subject of Bitty's research made something simultaneously hot and cold flutter in Jack's ribcage.

“No, that's the really cool thing! I looked it up, and you can still get those grains! I mean, maybe not all of them, but it's possible to get wheat flour that's been mostly removed from the genetic variations that modern wheat has! It's called heirloom flour, or grains, or whatever, but I started looking around at different forums and stuff, and it seems like people with gluten allergies can eat it just fine! I mean, it's pretty expensive, and has to be ordered specially, because you have to grow it in special places where it can't accidentally mix with modern stuff and produce gluten-y offspring, so it's not a viable option for every day, but we could definitely get some for the project!”

Jack had thought that Bittle was beaming before, but now he was glowing and practically vibrating.

“That sounds great! Wow, looks like you're pretty good at this studying thing when you want to be, eh?” Jack couldn't resist the chirp. But then, to soften it a bit, and because he was ridiculously head-over-heels for Bittle at this point and was only a nanosecond away from throwing caution to the wind and taking his chances with the soy sauce Bitty had put on his dinner earlier, Jack hip checked him and then leaned in to ruffle his hair, saying, “Thanks Bittle. But let me pay, okay? One of us will be pulling in a six-digit salary this time next year, and it only seems right for you to save your money for more baking procrastination.”

“You're an absolute menace, Mister Zimmermann! But alright, I'll send you some links.”

Bitty wandered out of the kitchen with slightly flushed cheeks, and Jack watched him go, content to lean against the counter wearing a small smile until the beep of the microwave startled him back to awareness of the world around him.

After a week filled with studying for upcoming finals, research for their shared history class, and (on Jack's part) unsuccessful attempts to encounter Bitty alone when he hadn't recently eaten gluten, Jack's luck finally started to change.

Bitty knocked on his door on a Thursday night, and when Jack told him to come in, Bitty poked his head around the doorframe, biting his lip.

“What's up, Bittle?”

Bittle gestured with his phone as he talked. “I just got a message from my group for my math project, and they want to move our meeting time to Friday afternoon. Would you be okay with baking the pie for class on Sunday morning instead?”

“Sure,” Jack responded easily. “That'll probably work even better actually, since we'll be out of Rans' and Holster's way as they set up for the kegster, and then we can bake while everyone is still asleep on Sunday morning and avoid any interruptions there.”

As he always did when he was pleased, Bitty immediately seemed to straighten up, adding at least an inch to his own height, and showed off a radiant smile.

“Thanks Jack! Now if only I could enjoy my math project as much as I'll enjoy making this pie...”

  For all of his planning and brainstorming, Jack made it to Sunday morning without realizing the perfect scenario he was walking in to. The kegster the night before had been almost enjoyable for Jack, even though he had gone to bed by eleven. Until then, however, he had entertained Bitty with tales of chasing off interlopers with a fire extinguisher, trying to subtly brag about his heroism. Bitty had listened with wide eyes, taking periodic sips from his red solo cup. He was far from being wasted, but certainly had enough alcohol in him to be a little more emotional than usual; he'd offered Jack a sip of his tub juice, and then snatched the cup away at the last moment, a look of horror on his face.

“Oh my gosh, no! I ate gluten today, I don't want to poison you! I am so, so, so, so, so sorry Jack!” Bittle had covered the mouth of the cup, as if the idea of a gluten particle in his drink could float out and attack Jack.

Jack, who was experiencing a swell of warmth throughout his body because of the concern Bittle had for him.

Jack, who was trying very hard not to grin like a lunatic, or even worse, to kiss Bittle on the spot for being so considerate.

Jack, who had simply settled for reaching out and patting Bittle on the shoulder in what he hoped was a bro-y gesture of affection and thanks.

“It's fine Bits, don't worry about it. I'm good with my soft drink.” He'd made a mock-cheers gesture with his own red solo cup before taking another sip. “Besides, I want to be ready for tomorrow's baking extravaganza.”

Bitty had just rolled his eyes.

  As he brushed his teeth on Sunday morning, Jack could hear Bitty's alarm going off, playing a song he could now confidently identify as one of Beyonce's. He could hear the sound of Bitty smacking his nightstand before locating his phone to silence the alarm, and then the sound of feet hitting the floor and scuffy tired walking sounds from across the hall. The rest of the Haus still seemed to be passed out from the previous night's kegster, and so all of the little sounds that came with each of their morning routines seemed amplified in the calm silence.

Jack made it downstairs to the kitchen first, and switched on the coffee maker to help Bittle wake up – Jack wasn't much of a morning person, but Bitty really wasn't a morning person. He also wiped down the counters and the table; the boys had done a pretty good job keeping the kitchen clean last night, but there were still a few sticky spots of the counter that needed to be taken care of.

When Bitty entered the kitchen ten minutes later, hair damp and tousled from his shower and yawning out a 'good morning', he headed straight for the mug of coffee Jack had just finished pouring him, and proceeded to dump in a truly terrifying amount of sugar. He fished around in the fridge for the creamer, and after ensuring that his coffee was closer to flavored milk than coffee he took a sip and straightened up.

“All ready to begin your new career as a baker, Mister Zimmermann?”

Jack smirked a little, and answered indulgently, “Sure Bittle, whatever you say.”

  The actual process of preparing the pie wasn't difficult – they had already found a recipe and translated the instructions and measurements into a more modern form, so it was simply a matter of measuring things and doing what Bitty said. The hardest part should have been working with the crust, but thanks to Bitty's semester of gluten-free experimentation they were left with an extremely malleable crust, and Bitty took pity on Jack and didn't make him transfer the lattice to the finished pie on his own. Instead, the hardest part of the morning for Jack was staying focused on the task at hand after his early morning realization – Bitty hadn't eaten anything with gluten in it yet! Jack had been on the verge of kissing him the moment he realized that, but then his anxiety reminded him of the million ways that plan could go wrong. Most of them were easy to discredit, but Jack reasoned that if Bitty didn't return his affections then things might be awkward for a few days, and it would be better for that period of awkwardness to start after they had put the pie in the oven and could go to their separate rooms if need be.

So, Jack waited until he was almost done with the dishes, the smell of pie baking filling the air, before he tried to start the conversation he had been preparing for the last few weeks. Bitty had just paused in his evaluation of the food-based classes offered at Samwell, when Jack interjected, “What have you had to eat today?”

He almost immediately cringed. That... wasn't the smoothest way to start.

“Just the coffee and the bit of the filling that we sampled. Did you want to go get breakfast once the pie's done?” Thank goodness Bitty was accustomed to his occasional brashness and could pick up the threads of conversation when Jack couldn't.

“Yeah, euh, that would be great. But, euh,” Jack took a deep breath, and stared straight out the window in front of him, not focusing on anything other than avoiding Bitty's gaze in case it turned dismissive or, even worse, pitying. “I kind of had something else I wanted to ask? Er, to tell you?”

“Okay, what is it?” Bitty sounded a little tentative, but Jack could only drop his gaze to his hands before staring out the window again.

“I think, euh, no, I know,” Jack finally turned a little to find big brown eyes staring directly into his, a slight wrinkle of worry creasing Bitty's brow. “I realized a few weeks ago that I really like you, and I know that this is really sudden but if there's a chance you might like me too I was hoping that we could...”

Jack's trailing off into panic was cut off by Bitty's exhale.

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh thank goodness! Jack, I like you a lot too, but I didn't really think that you'd ever like me back in the same way, so I just didn't say anything, but yes I like you, and I would love to go out with you!” At some point during his response, Bitty's excited hands had found Jack's nervously wringing ones, and the soft touch along with the reassuring words made Jack's face break out into a smile.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please.”

Jack smirked just slightly at Bitty's eager response, before moving one of his hands to cradle Bitty's face and gently pressing their lips together. Bitty tasted just a little bit sweet, like the sugar he had dumped into his coffee, and after pulling back for just a moment Jack leaned down again.

When they finally separated, Bitty smiled slowly and opened his eyes. Then, cocking his head to the side a little, he asked, “If you've known for a few weeks that you liked me, why didn't you say anything sooner?”

“I, um,” Jack could feel his face reddening,”I wanted to kiss you right away if that was an option, and, um, well, you eat a lot of gluten.”

Bitty looked shocked for a moment, before smiling again and shaking his head. “You silly man, I would have run upstairs and brushed my teeth, gargled with mouthwash, whatever you needed me to do if you had told me you wanted to kiss me! And trust me, I will definitely be eating a lot less gluten in the future!”

Jack figured that the last fifteen seconds had been long enough to wait, and so he ducked down to kiss Bitty again, only pulling back to say, “I really like you,” a few more times. They took a brief break to extract the pie from the oven and write a note warning the other Haus residents not to touch it, but it wasn't until they heard the sounds of Ransom and Holster thundering down the attic stairs that Jack stepped back, ran a hand through his hair, and said, “So, about that breakfast... How does Annie's sound?”

“Perfect! I think I'll have to try one of those gluten-free pumpkin muffins they're serving...” Also on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632469