Title: Death by Rum Cake
Author: Kimmie
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights, title, characters and storylines belong to Kane, Shuster & Siegel, Gough & Millar, Peterson & Souders, Goyer & C&J Nolan, DC Comics and WB. Absolutely not for profit.
Cast: Lois Lane, Bruce Wayne & Alfred Pennyworth
Author's Note: It's Alfred's birthday and Lois has decided to gift Alfred (and Bruce) with her world famous rum cake. Well we all know what happens when Lois gets in the vicinity of a kitchen.
~*~*~*~
KABOOM!!!!!
The loud explosion rocked the two story penthouse of Gotham's heir apparent and infamous bachelor, Bruce Wayne. The walls and support beams behind them creaked and groaned. The ceiling to floor windows spanning the 360 degrees of the penthouse shook in their steel casements.
The three occupants of the penthouse came running in from three separate directions and were converging on the kitchen when another explosion went off. It was slightly smaller than the first but it was just as loud and just as incendiary.
With a mixture of shock, bemusement and dismay, the three watched a flaming object shoot out of the oven. It flew across the penthouse crashing through one of the plate glass windows. The object then sailed over the side of the building quickly disappearing from sight.
Two pairs of eyes, one a piercing hazel and the other a gentle soft blue, turned to the lone female of the group. Lois Lane still wearing her cake batter-covered apron flashed the older gentleman with the kind blue eyes, her good friend, her sometimes confidante, a surrogate grandfather and namely Bruce's gentleman's gentleman Alfred Pennyworth, a reluctant but sheepish smile but she hesitated in looking at the other pair of eyes.
Lois shifted her shoulders as she felt those hazel eyes boring into her. She knew she could not ignore him so she did the only thing she did best; she turned, lifted her chin in defiance and faced Bruce with a direct stare of her own.
Lois glanced over Bruce's shoulder at the broken window and creased her brow in consideration. After a moment she finally said with her typical bravado, "I think you need to consider getting a refund because clearly that is not bullet-proof glass. I mean if it can't hold up to a pan hitting it, how on earth is it going to hold up to a bullet?"
Before Bruce could respond to Lois' absurd observation, the distant sounds of screeching tires, blaring horns, screaming sirens drifted up through the gaping hole in window. Lois and Bruce darted over to the broken window and peered out. They saw five cars stopped in the middle of the street positioned at odd angles while a flurry of emergency vehicles and a large crowd of curious onlookers descend on the scene.
Lois was the first to back away from the window. She turned and looked at what was left of the kitchen and namely the oven. By now the flames had gone out and all that was left were clouds of black smoke billowing out of the charred remains.
Lois frowned as the she stared at the smoldering ruins. Huh, she thought as she chewed on her bottom lip, maybe I shouldn't have set the oven at 475.
Lois felt Bruce come up behind her. She peered at him out of the corner of her eye. He just stood there quietly contemplating the smoking oven. Lois waited impatiently for him to say something but Bruce remained silent. Not able to stand the uncomfortable silence any longer, she finally muttered, "I'm used to a toaster oven."
"Or it could have been the whole bottle of rum you poured into the cake," Bruce wryly commented.
Lois shot him a withering look. "It's called a rum cake, Bruce."
"Shouldn't it be more cake than rum?"
Lois did not fire back a scathing retort. She simply crossed her arms over her breasts as her lips compressed into a thin line and she narrowed her eyes in irritation.
Bruce met Lois' heated glare with a straight face but he could feel the corners of his mouth twitch. He wanted to smile but knew that if he did, the true wrath of Lois Lane would come down on him. Oh but he did enjoy getting Lois' hackles up.
However Bruce was quickly distracted when two things occurred simultaneously - the phone ringing and a flurry of movement on the small video screen that sat discreetly in one corner of the kitchen counter.
While Alfred moved to answer the phone, Bruce walked over to the video monitor for a closer look. The video monitor that was linked to a security camera situated at the entrance of the building and provided a direct feed up to the penthouse displayed the activity occurring on the street far down below.
Bruce watched uniformed police officers talk to small groups of people. Slowly, he noted, one by one the Gothamites looked upwards and they all started pointing towards his penthouse. His lips compressed into a thin line as he watched three officers briefly converse and then two of them break away and head towards the front entrance. Great. Visitors, he thought.
"Master Wayne," Alfred said as came up next to Bruce, "That was building security. They wanted to make sure everything was okay since their smoke sensors went off. They also indicated that two officers are headed up. They have some questions regarding the explosion." Alfred paused, discreetly clearing his throat before adding, "And the debris."
Bruce assessed the situation of his penthouse - a smoking oven, a broken window, a pile of dirty mixing bowls, flour-covered kitchen countertops and floor, nearly empty bottle of rum, a bemused Lois, an unruffled Alfred. There was only one thing to do he concluded as he heard the sound the elevator being summoned to the lobby. Bruce flicked off the security monitor and turned to Alfred.
"Give me your apron."
"Sir?"
"I need your apron," Bruce said as he gestured to the white chef's apron that hung around Alfred's neck. "Then I need you to become scarce."
Alfred did not say anything as he handed his apron to Bruce. He only raised his eyebrow in inquiry.
As Bruce slipped the apron over his head and secured the ties around his waist, he looked at Lois. "Lois I need you --"
"I know, I know," she said cutting him off knowing what he was about to say since no one in Gotham knew that they were together. "I need to make myself like one of your bouncy bubbly bunnies' dresses. Non-existent." Lois hooked her arm through Alfred's and pulled him away. "Come along Alfred."
Just as they exited the room, Bruce heard Lois say, "Let's leave the deceiving and fabricating of the truth to the professional."
As soon as Lois and Alfred disappeared, Bruce sprung into action. He rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt revealing his muscular forearms. Bruce threw a dusting of flour over the front of the apron and then he grabbed one of the cake batter-covered spatulas lying forgotten on the kitchen counter and smeared it across the apron and he even gave a swipe on his wool pants.
As he heard the elevator begin its ascent, Bruce grabbed a bottle of 85 year old single malt scotch. He uncorked the bottle and poured some of the dark amber into a crystal glass but he did wince when he splashed a little into the palm of his hands and began to lightly pat the liquid to his neck and the area behind his ears. He knew that the maker of this scotch would be rolling over in his grave if he knew that it was being used as aftershave but he would do pretty much anything for Lois. Even let her bake a cake.
A few hours earlier, Lois had walked into the penthouse, her arms laden with grocery bags, announcing that for Alfred's birthday she was going to make her world famous rum cake. He had immediately come out to the kitchen to see what Lois meant by her announcement. As he walked up to the counter he watched Lois unpack the makings of the cake and then proceed to pull out every possible bowl, spoon, spatula, baking implement that Alfred possessed.
Just as she was starting to unceremoniously dump a bag of flour into a large mixing bowl, Alfred walked in from the back of the penthouse and came to a dead stop when he saw the condition of his kitchen. Bruce cast a furtive glance Alfred's way and observed his gentleman's gentleman and surrogate father cringe as egg slopped onto the hardwood floor when Lois threw eggshells into the sink.
When Lois turned on the mixer and the beaters touched the contents of the mixing bowl producing a cloud of flour to puff out, Alfred quickly stepped in. "Miss Lois, might I give you a hand," he shouted to be heard over the mixer.
Lois waved him off. "Nope," she responded not looking his way. She was focused on the task at hand. Her brow furrowed in deep concentration. "I've got everything under control," she said as she lifted the beaters out of the bowl. However, the beaters had not come to a complete stop so some of the runny cake batter splattered onto the countertops, the floor and Lois.
Alfred cast a dubious look at the disarray of his kitchen.
"Now go and leave everything to me."
"Very well Miss Lois," Alfred said bowing slightly at the waist. Bruce watched bemused as Alfred stole a parting worried glance over his shoulder at Lois and his kitchen before he finally disappeared.
Bruce had just turned back when he saw Lois practically pour a whole bottle of rum into the mixing bowl. When she placed the bottle onto the counter, he noted there was only about an eighth of the liquid remaining at the bottom of the bottle. He gulped.
"Lois, doesn't baking require exact measurements," he asked, not able to hold his tongue.
"I've made this cake enough times to know how much goes in," she said with casual dismissal but then she looked over at him scowling. "And tell me Mr. Wayne, since when have you become an expert at baking? You're now a pastry chef by day, crimefighter by night," she retorted as she fired up the mixer once again. "When you put on an apron and do something more than boil water then you can dole out advice but until then," she shouted over the mixer's motor, "Leave the baking to the experts." She then treated him to a classic Lois Lane smirk.
After that Bruce had opted to remain silent and he left Lois to her baking but now as he stood in the midst of the end result - a destroyed oven, broken window and two policemen coming up for a visit – he realized the error in his thinking.
A long ago comment that Clark Kent, a good friend of both he and Lois, had made in passing popped into his head – A bit of advice Bruce. Lois and ovens don't mix. So try to keep them separated or you, and in particular your stomach, will regret it. He really needed to start listening to the Boy Scout.
Bruce grabbed the glass of scotch and came around the counter to stand in the middle of the main room. He was placing the crystal to his lips when the brushed steel elevator doors slid open and the two uniformed police officers walked off.
"Mr. Wayne, sorry to disturb you but we needed to ask you a few questions."
Bruce lowered the glass as the police officers drew closer. "Of course Officer . . ." Bruce squinted, wavering slightly as he took a closer look at the name tag of the officer who spoke, "Richards." Bruce looked at the officer and flashed him the infamous Public Bruce Wayne lazy smile. "How may I help?"
"Mr. Wayne I'm not sure if you're aware but a traffic accident involving five cars occurred just outside this building and all the witnesses and . . ." The officer's gaze took in the smoking oven and broken glass window and then settled back on what appeared to be an inebriated Bruce Wayne, ". . . evidence indicate that the cause of the accident, a cake pan, originated from your penthouse."
"So that's what broke the glass," Bruce slurred. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Fortunately no one was seriously injured. Mr. Wayne, may I ask what happened?"
Bruce had raised the glass to his lips once again but paused at the officer's question. He shot the cop a confused look.
The officer directed his gaze at the smoking oven. Bruce turned in the direction of where the cop was looking. He gave a casual dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "I was cooking," he answered as he turned back to the officer.
The one officer who had been silent the whole entire time snickered while Officer Richards cleared his throat. "That's obvious Mr. Wayne but why did your oven explode?"
Bruce once again shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure. Actually this was the first time I've ever used an oven."
"First time? You mean you've never used an oven before," Officer Richards asked, his tone incredulous.
"No. I thought I'd see what it was all about."
Officer Richards shot his partner a dumbfounded look, silently asking him if this guy was for real. Burning down his family home, crashing his Lamborghini while running a red light although he did end up saving Commissioner Gordon with that stunt and now blowing up his kitchen and causing a five car accident all because he decided to try the oven on a whim. Realizing he was not going to get anything worthwhile from this interview, Officer Richards decided to wrap things up. "Thank you for your time." He turned to leave but not before imparting some advice to the wayward playboy. "Mr. Wayne, the next time you get an urge to try something new, don't."
"Just have Mayor Garcia send me the bill for the damages," Bruce smoothly replied as he watched the two officers board the elevator. As the doors slid closed, Bruce grinned smugly at them while raising the scotch in a salute.
The arrogant grin remained firmly intact well after the doors sealed and the elevator started its descent. It was not until he heard the two sets of footsteps approaching that it transformed into small but amused smile.
"Wooow," Lois drawled, wonder evident in her voice. "Bruce Wayne in action is truly a sight to behold." He watched as Lois walked towards him. A soft smile graced her lips. Her eyes held a look of admiration and affection. His smile widened as she drew closer. Her warmth breath whispering across his lips as her lips moved towards his for a kiss but their lips never touched. She swept right by him, never stopping. Only leaving him hanging.
Bruce looked at her as she moved away. She was peering back over her shoulder at him - a saucy grin gracing those impertinent lips, her eyes twinkling with mischief. He raised an eyebrow as he walked back into the kitchen placed the untouched scotch on the end of the black granite breakfast bar.
She continued to grin mischievously as she gathered up the dirty dishes.
Bruce took another look at the destroyed oven and the mess on the counter. "I guess we'll miss out on your world famous rum cake since I am now down an oven," he said with a heavy sigh. "Or maybe you should call it . . ." He paused dramatically then added, "Death by Rum Cake because it may very well be the death of you."
Bruce did not wait for the expected withering glare from Lois. As he removed the apron, he turned to Alfred who by this point had come up beside him. "Alfred, once things quiet down we'l--" Bruce stopped mid-sentence when he got hit on the side of the head and it was quickly followed up by him being hit in the ear and the shoulder.
He blinked then blinked again before he finally turned to Lois. She was standing there looking all smug and pleased with herself. Her eyes were narrowed in self-proclaimed victory. Bruce looked down to the floor to see what she threw at him - three walnut shells.
"Don't worry about the mess Alfred," Lois said brightly, ignoring Bruce. "I'll clean it up. Fortunately or unfortunately," she admitted with a roll of her eyes, "I have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. I --" Lois stopped when she got hit in the face with flour. She blinked a few times to dislodge the flour from her eyes and then she let out a huge puff of air to blow the fine powder out of her mouth. She looked over at Bruce.
His facial features were perfectly schooled. His eyes did not give any indication that he was the responsible. All innocence and virtue. Hah! Like he honestly believes that I would even think Alfred was the culprit, she thought. And besides, she only needed to take one look at Alfred who was staring at her with eyes the size of saucers to know that Bruce was the guilty party.
She took a deep breath. "Alright," she said with a calm, cool voice while placing the dish towel that she had been holding in her hand onto the countertop. "I was going to be nice since it was Alfred's birthday and stop at the nuts but you've crossed the line Rich Boy. It's war." With that Lois picked up a spoon from one of the bowls where wet sloppy batter ran off in streams and with a quick flick of the wrist she whipped it at Bruce and hit him right in the middle of his chest. The batter hit with a squishy splat and then proceeded to drip down the front of Bruce's $300 dress shirt.
Before he was able to react, Lois managed to fire off three more shots. Her aim was true and accurate, hitting him in the shoulder, the ear and the fly of his pants.
Bruce for a long moment stared as the batter run off the fine cloth of his shirt and pants. A low growl starting deep in his chest rumbled forth and ended with "Lois."
"All's fair. You started it," she said with a smirk, not the least bit intimidated by Bruce's growl.
He looked up pinning her with his direct gaze. "And I'll finish it," he quietly declared.
Lois narrowed her eyes in suspicion as she met his direct stare. "I do believe that was a threat."
"You can see it whatever way you want," he said quietly as he started to advance, blocking her only means of escape.
"Well you're going to have to catch me first and unless you've all of sudden acquired the power of superspeed, I can still out run you," she taunted.
Just as Bruce lunged for her, Lois scrambled up and over the countertop and then leapt down onto the other side of the breakfast bar. However just as she made a mad dash for the deep bowels of the penthouse to escape Bruce, she was tripped up by slipping on spilt batter. Those few seconds were costly.
By that point Bruce had come around the counter and taking full advantage of Lois' slip, he swooped in and picked her up throwing her over his shoulder. He started to walk towards the stairs.
From her upside down position, Lois noticed the direction Bruce was headed and immediately protested. "If you think you're going to get anything out of me after what you've said, you're delusional."
Bruce did not respond to her jab. He just proceeded to carry her up the modern spiraling staircase.
"Bruce, put me down . . . Put me down . . . BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE," she shouted.
Her protests fell on deaf ears. Lois opted to do the only thing she could while in this humiliating, awkward position, she grabbed hold of his belt and yanked upwards. Bruce grunted. It was the only sign that he felt the wedgie but he still did not break his stride.
"You are going to pay for this," she growled.
Those were the last words Alfred heard.
Alfred stared for a long moment at the now empty stairs but then gave a small shake of his head. From behind he heard the oven pop and it was then followed up by a loud creaking groan. Alfred knew that it was his oven's dying breath. He turned just in time to see one final cloud of black smoke billow out of the oven.
With a heavy sigh, he surveyed the damage of the penthouse. From now on he had to keep Miss Lois and the kitchen separated. Never the twain shall meet. Alfred took a step towards the kitchen to start the clean up when he heard a very rare sound. He stopped, straining his ears to see if he had heard properly.
A ghost of a smile slowly appeared. There it was. A deep chuckle drifted down from above. It was a sound he had not heard in . . . well he was not rightly sure how long but it was gladly welcomed.
Alfred smiled at the reason or more like the woman who was responsible for that rare sound. He was willing to have a hundred exploding ovens, flaming cakes, broken windows if Miss Lois' presence in Master Bruce's life meant more of that. Alfred looked over his shoulder up to the top of the stairs one final time and gave a tiny nod of approval.
The End