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daredevilkink2015-08-14 07:00 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2015-08-14 07:00 pm
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Prompt Post #6
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FILL: (3/?) (Matt the Baker/Superhero Magnet)
(Anonymous) 2015-09-04 08:50 pm (UTC)(link)=====
When Matt returned on Monday, still a little shaky on his pins, he nearly tripped over a crack in the pavement that hadn’t been there before. The smell of concrete dust and shattered brick still lay heavy in the air and he sneezed as he let himself into his bakery. How many people had been involved in this fight? He could make out the odd ozone smell that heralded Thor, the rot-and-gun-oil which characterized Deadpool... even the chemical traces of Spider-man’s webbing combined with chocolate and butter and coffee. Apparently Peter had tried to make his chocolate espresso brownies before getting involved in the fight.
Matt didn’t bother to flick on the lights as he stood in the doorway and assessed his surroundings. The floor wasn’t as neatly swept as usual and from what he could discern, not all of the baking sheets had been put away, but the chairs were on the tables and nothing seemed broken, so all in all he counted himself fortunate that Jack’s had mostly escaped the chaos. Peter had even started the bread proofing.
“Good morning.”
One minute there was nobody behind him. The next -- a crackle of something Matt defined as magic, then a smooth if strangely abashed voice, a male presence in leather and armor. Matt refused to jump, instead turning around carefully to face the newcomer.
“Good morning. We unfortunately don’t open until eight.” As this particular customer knew full well.
“I am not interested in purchasing your wares at this moment.” There was a surprise. Matt couldn’t help but raise his brows expectantly, and Loki stiffened but forged on. “I wish to -- apologize, for the trouble I caused you and your establishment two days ago,” he said, clearly uncomfortable being in this position. “My behavior was unbecoming of a prince of Asgard.”
“I think you’re better off tendering your apologies to the owners of the shops your altercation affected more than mine,” Matt pointed out. He felt Loki draw himself up, affronted, dangerous, and added, “But thank you for your consideration. Will you want your usual later?”
There was a brief hesitation, then disturbed air currents indicating Loki had nodded, slow and uncertain. “I’ll have that ready for you if you care to come back in a few hours.” The Aesir had settled on an apple turnover and a walnut blondie as his order of choice some time ago.
Loki drew himself up again, a shift of leather and cloth and armor, obviously preparing to leave. Matt couldn’t help but say, “It’s not all on you anyway. From what I heard, half of New York’s resident superpowered entities joined in.”
“Your establishment is quite popular,” Loki remarked, and now his voice was dry with an amusement that suited him much better than the uneasy wariness. He tilted his head, studying him, then said slowly, “As are you. For a mortal, you are quite intriguing, Matthew Michael Murdock.”
Matt wasn’t sure how to take that. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Yes. I’m sure you shall.”
Loki wasn’t the only person to show up with an apology that day, or to just check up on him. Though there were fewer mundanes -- no doubt cautious after the goings-on a few days ago -- the numbers were made up by a steady flow of superheroes (and Deadpool) trooping in and out of Jack’s Breadline up to closing time. Thor clapped him on the shoulder, nearly sending him to the floor, and declared that he had been much missed. Jessica Jones brought him an actual care package, with tea and crackers and a tiny bottle of bubble bath. Pepper Potts sent him a thoughtful get-well card, inscription printed in Braille; there was also a scribbled note in the corner from Stark offering to pay for any damages incurred as well as insisting upon enlarging the kitchen and eating space and installing a state of the art combination coffee roaster, grinder, and espresso machine. Another note from Ms. Potts said he didn’t have to accept that offer.
While at first Matt appreciated the sentiment, he found himself growing annoyed -- and fatigued -- as the day dragged on. The next person to jokingly propose to him was getting their cupcake privileges revoked for life. Eventually he ducked into the kitchen and refused to come out, even though it left Karen to field all the well-wishers on her lonesome when Peter joined him, looking cowed. “I feel like I’m one bad cookie away from being lynched,” he said, slumping against the back wall.
“You don’t make bad cookies,” Matt told him as he brought together a chocolate-swirled pound cake batter. “I just make really good ones.”
Peter groaned. “Thanks, boss. Nice to know all of Hell’s Kitchen plus the entire New York superhero community think I’m woefully inadequate cookie-baker compared to you. My psyche may never recover.” He paused, considering. “That’s your superpower, right? Baking goods that would make grandma cry?”
Matt chuckled. “Some would say it’s my ability to run on truly inadequate amounts of sleep.”
“Oh my god, I am never complaining about having to get up early for school again,” Peter said, throwing a hand over his eyes. “Oh my god. Four in the morning. How do you not pass out into the oven every day?”
“I’m used to it.” He tipped the plain half of the batter into a series of prepared loaf pans, following it with the chocolate half and running a spoon through the pans to create the swirls. “Like I said: truly inadequate amounts of sleep.” Matt usually ended up taking a nap between closing down the bakery and going out on patrol or meditating when he couldn’t.
“Ugh.” Peter shook his head before straightening up from his slouch. “I’d better get back out there. Your adoring-public-slash-my-lynch-mob awaits.”
“I’d rather they make reparations to those whose livelihoods they did trash,” Matt muttered as he slid the loaf pans into the oven. Hell’s Kitchen had enough problems without superpowered fights flattening it for ludicrous reasons, even though the reason might be his chocolate sheet cake. Peter stopped at the entrance of the kitchen as if surprised, before exiting without comment.
Matt only emerged from the kitchen near closing when Karen poked her head in and told him Foggy was there. “Hey, Matt!” Foggy greeted him cheerfully. “Good to see you, buddy.”
“Hey,” Matt said, feeling better than he had in hours. Where she was collecting dishes safely across the room, Karen hummed knowingly. Matt decided to ignore that, instead saying, “Can I get you anything or is this a social visit?”
“Column A, Column B. I thought we could talk over a little something.”
There wasn’t much left in the display case after the predations of New York’s superheroic finest. Before Foggy could make a choice from amongst the sadly denuded remains, Matt said, “I think I have some tea cake in the back. It’s ready for the day-old basket but if you want it, it’s yours. Pineapple with berry tea and topped with coconut sugar.”
“You are so bad for my waistline,” Foggy groaned. “Sold. Sold sold sold.”
“Be right back.” Matt fetched the last remaining slices of the tea cake he’d prepared on Friday afternoon and determined them to be in good-enough condition to feed Foggy with a careful sniff before plating them and bringing them out. “Here you go. Let me make sure my pinwheels aren’t burning and I’ll be right with you.”
Foggy was stifling moans of pleasure when Matt slid into the seat across from him at the back table, cinnamon-walnut pinwheels secured. “How’d I miss this?” he wondered through sugar-sticky lips. “You said this was consigned to the day-old basket?”
Matt chuckled. “Most of it sold out really fast Friday but then the last few slices just sat there. And then I was out Saturday and Peter was too busy to push them.”
“Understatement.” Foggy shamelessly licked his fingers before reaching belatedly for a napkin. “I mean, he held out pretty well from what I saw, but people noticed a difference. Your young Padawan needs further training, O Master.”
“I wonder if I should feel gratified or annoyed,” Matt said. “Recipes are recipes. You follow the directions and get a result. Peter’s been working with me long enough that he knows what to do without me. He makes things all the time without my help.”
“It was probably confirmation bias,” Foggy pointed out. “You weren’t there, so people automatically expected the food to be worse and took it out on him.”
“Point. I need to tell Peter that. He’s only half-joking when he says he still fears for his life.”
“Baking. Serious business.” Foggy shook his head and started in on his second slice of tea cake. “Who’d have thought?”
“You’d be surprised,” Matt said dryly. “Ever heard a yuppie denied his cinnamon roll? It’s not pretty.” Foggy snorted, and he continued, “I guess for the sake of my innocent little assistant and my register attendant, I can’t get sick for the foreseeable future.
“How bad was it?” Foggy wanted to know. His voice softened a hair -- unconsciously, Matt thought, but the concern still warmed him. He shrugged, however, playing it off.
“A low grade fever, some other issues. Nothing serious, just enough to keep me bedridden. To the disappointment of my faithful customers.”
Foggy winced. “Yeah, about that. Holy shit. I thought being popular with Captain America and all the others was pretty cool until Saturday happened.”
“You weren’t caught in the crossfire, were you?” Matt asked with a flash of concern. Foggy didn’t seem injured, he couldn’t hear anything--
“Nah, man, I grabbed a brownie and hightailed it out of there before the fireworks really started.”
“Good.” Though from all reports, the safest place in Hell’s Kitchen on Saturday had been inside Jack’s. “Nobody should have to risk their life for a brownie.”
“I don’t know, Matt,” Foggy said complacently. “Yours are to die for. I mean it.”
In spite of his unease at the thought that such a thing could have actually happened, a small smile touched his lips. “Thanks.”
Out of all the Avengers likely to drop by Jack’s, Tony Stark was actually nearer the bottom of the list. Which Matt figured was a good thing because while his presence was good for business, Matt always found his visits a little wearying, mostly because of the circus that inevitably developed around the man. Which he encouraged, of course, soaking in the attention like sunshine.
This, then, was not your usual Tony Stark visit. Matt drew to a stop when he realized there was someone slumped against the front door of Jack’s. The scent of expensive patent leather shoes and the wool of a nice suit warred with the fog of alcohol, telling him that this wasn’t just a wino taking shelter on his front stoop from the elements. The weakened lung capacity and constant low-key hum from the man’s chest confirmed who he was.
“We don’t open until eight,” Matt said quietly, and Tony Stark sputtered into, if not full consciousness, at least an increased awareness of his surroundings. How he hadn’t been rolled already by an opportunistic passer-by Matt didn’t know.
“I know, I know, but I really wanted one of your custard tarts,” Stark said blearily, trying to straighten up. He ended up deciding he preferred leaning against the doorframe instead. “Maybe a zeppole if you’ve got ‘em.”
He didn’t, but that could be remedied. Deep-frying was not one of Matt’s favorite things to do but he could manage. “Sure. Want some coffee in the meantime?”
“Please,” Stark said. “I will buy all the coffee on the premises if you will make me a cup.”
Matt roasted and ground and brewed a cup of the Blue Mountain he had stashed away for emergencies. Stark nearly fell nose-first into it in his eagerness to inhale the steam and Matt left him to it, switching the display case light on as an afterthought, while he fetched the necessary ingredients for zeppole. Today would be a doughnut day, he decided. It’d been awhile since he’d served up his lavender-berry rings.
By the time he slid a plate of piping-hot zeppole tossed with cinnamon-sugar in front of Stark, the man had recovered enough for decent human interaction and was peering around the darkened interior of the bakery. “I’m seeing cake display,” he said. “Cannolis. Enough cookies to put the Girl Scouts out of business.” The shifts in air current indicated that Stark was gesturing with his coffee cup. “You could do catering.”
“I’m fine with how things are,” Matt said. Stark picked up one of the zeppole and yelped when it proved to be too hot to handle. “Careful, those are fresh.”
“Some things are worth burning your tongue off for.”
Was that a proposition? Matt thought he could hear a pseudo-leer in his voice before Stark proceeded to just that, alternating sucked-in breaths to cool his mouth and noises of appreciation. Then again it could be a habitual behavior. Certainly the press over Stark’s bedroom exploits had died down once he’d made the nature of his relationship with Ms. Potts clear.
Whatever, it didn’t bother or concern him. Matt retreated to the office, where he updated the Twitter account Peter insisted he’d needed:
@jacksbreadline Jack’s Breadline, Hell’s Kitchen NY
Doughnut day! Come for a French Toast doughnut or a lavender-berry ring, stay for the zeppole and beignets!
At least doughnuts cooked quickly, but that also meant he needed to pay constant attention to them instead of working on preparing something else. He’d started the cinnamon roll dough rising before moving onto the frying portion for the zeppole, so that was taken care of, and making the base for the cut bars was second nature by now. He liked to prepare the fillings for his bars the night before to let the flavors mingle, so it was only a matter of spreading them on and popping the pans into the oven. The triple-chip cookie dough had spent its requisite time in the fridge, and all that needed was to be scooped out and baked. That could be done later.
About an hour had passed before Matt thought to check on his early-morning guest again, only to find him gone and the plate placed by the register. It was atop a stack of bills, far more than the zeppole were worth even if they were all ones. Somehow Matt doubted they were all ones. With a sigh, he set them in the lower register drawer for Karen to sort later.
Given how his life was going nowadays, it wasn’t much to Matt’s surprise that this first pre-opening encounter began a series of early morning visits with Stark at varying levels of sobriety. Most of the time Matt poured him into a seat and brought him something from the day-old basket and a cup of black coffee. Sometimes, however, Stark rolled up his sleeves and insisted on something to do. “I’m avoiding Pepper, let me help you set up shop,” he’d say. “I work for coffee and cookies. And tiramisu, if you have any.”
At first Matt wasn’t sure how to deal with Stark’s presence in his space. It’d been difficult enough to adjust to Peter, and he’d hired him only on Karen’s insistence. But Stark seemed to respect another man’s working area, though occasionally there were worrying mutters about improving things. Matt usually had him washing dishes as the option least likely to end with his walk-in turned into a homicidal piece of A.I.
Occasionally he wondered if he should, maybe, report this to Pepper Potts or someone at Stark Industries whose official job it was to wrangle the company namesake. But Stark was harmless enough -- comparatively -- and he usually left before the morning crowds hit except for the one time when he ran into Steve Rogers on his way out the door and they had a bit of a thing on the front stoop that involved a lot of disappointed looks and snippy remarks and drew most of Matt’s patrons into being their audience and also attracted a news crew. Karen, with more courage than he’d given her credit for, eventually shooed them away, possibly with an actual broom. Matt wasn’t sure.
Re: FILL: (3/?) (Matt the Baker/Superhero Magnet)
(Anonymous) 2015-09-04 09:14 pm (UTC)(link)- Prompter Anon
Re: FILL: (3/?) (Matt the Baker/Superhero Magnet)
(Anonymous) 2015-09-05 12:21 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: (3/?) (Matt the Baker/Superhero Magnet)
(Anonymous) 2015-09-04 11:41 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: (3/?) (Matt the Baker/Superhero Magnet)
(Anonymous) 2015-09-05 07:49 pm (UTC)(link)