Author's Note: This was supposed to be a oneshot but then it got longer and more dramatic so I'm chopping it into two chapters. :3
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan characters.
Honey & Spice: Chapter One
"It's a little small, but for one person it should be alright."
Petra Ral slid the key into the lock and with a light smile, swung open the door to the tiny apartment above the bakery she ran in downtown Karanese. With a welcoming arm, she gestured inside and allowed the man beside her to enter first.
"It might be a bit dusty," she admitted, "I haven't been in here much since the renovation."
He didn't respond, taking in the modest space with a detached sort of observation.
"Of course if you don't like the wall colours I could have someone come in and change them."
"It's fine," he said simply, "I'll take it."
Petra let out a breath of relief that she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. With a nervous sort of polite laughter, she handed him the keys she'd used to let them in.
"Welcome home then, Mr. Ackerman," she said with a bright grin. She expected him to return the expression; he had just secured himself a fashionable abode in one of the more pricey districts of the city after all. Instead, he blinked and muttered a simple 'thank you.'
Unsure of where to go from there, she took a few steps back in order to give him a bit more privacy.
"Ah, I live just there," she told him, pointing through the open doorway to the apartment directly across from his. "in the event you ever need anything. This level used to be a single living space but after my father passed away I thought it might be better to convert it to two. That's why the layout is a bit strange. This is an old building so there was some difficulty with regards to wiring and plumbing and—" she halted, realizing he was staring at her with a look that told her the flat could have been conjured by magicians and he would not have cared so long as there was a door to shut out the annoyances of the outside world.
At the moment, she was one such annoyance.
"I'll let you be," she said with a half smile, "but might I ask what you do for work? I only ask because I've never had a tenant before and I suppose I would like to know something about my new neighbor."
For the first time since he'd entered the building, Levi Ackerman focused his attention to her. Up until now he had only been half-listening, exhausted from work, from travel, and from the bullshit politics that made his job a lot more complicated than it needed to be. He was in a new city now, able to fabricate a new life if only just for a short while, but God damn it all he just needed to sleep.
"My job is not up for discussion," he stated curtly, "you'll get your money on time."
Petra blinked, then her brow furrowed with insult. "I wasn't implying otherwise," she told him, standing her ground.
Ah, shit. He'd offended her. He didn't have time for this.
"I won't talk about my job with you," he repeated, this time in a softer tone, one of a man who was accustomed to weaving his way through a woman's emotions (even though he wasn't), "but I promise I won't make trouble for you."
This seemed to appease her, as she relaxed and smiled at him again. Did she know how to do anything else besides smile? What was she so happy about?
"Be sure that you don't then," she warned, though her words were light and almost playful.
She turned then, presumedly to return downstairs and provide the city's inhabitants with sweets and baked goods, and though Levi truly wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the couch to his right or the bed he'd been told the bedroom was furnished with, there were more important matters at hand.
"Miss Ral?"
Just crossing the threshold, Petra paused, glancing back at him with curious eyes of a rather enticing amber. "Yes?"
He cleared his throat. "Might I borrow your cleaning supplies? I haven't had the chance to secure my own just yet."
xxxx
When Petra left her apartment at quarter to four the next morning, she was surprised to see her cleaning things neatly arranged beside her door mat. Even the cleaning cloths had been washed and folded.
By five o'clock she had her breads in the ovens, and just after that she began mixing up her batches of muffins for the breakfast rush. Rush was a loose term. Though the bakery wasn't floundering, she couldn't say it was particularly prosperous either. She had her regulars, and more than a few walk-ins each day but compared to the newer, trendier eateries, many people wondered why she was wasting her time.
It wasn't a waste to Petra. Her mother had opened the bakery before she'd married, running with her passion for cakes and pies. Then it had been popular. Her mother had a gift for sweets, charm with the clientele and a distinct sense of aesthetics. When she married, her husband brought breads and savory treats to the menu and their success soared.
An accident stole her life from her; an old drunk who no longer valued his life had swerved his vehicle onto oncoming traffic, a quick suicide.
Heartbroken, the widower shut himself away for six months. Petra was six.
When he decided to re-open, he did so with a newly light heart. The business had been his wife's pride, her passion, and her unadulterated joy. Who was he to let that dream wither, even in her death? But he was not as skilled as his wife had been. His cakes were heavy, his pies a little too bland. His mousse never quite reached the consistency it was supposed to and any cookie crumbled like sand in the eater's mouth.
Unable to sustain the bakery on bread alone he watched his customers disappear one by one. The decor became dated and his spirit waned.
During this time, despite her father's failures, Petra became determined to save her family's establishment. She had no inherent talent as far as baking went, but she was certain that with enough experimentation, she'd find the key to the flavors her mother had presented before her. Though she lacked creativity and the thrill of risk taking in the kitchen, her technical skills were masterful and her passion was undeniable.
By the time she'd graduated high school, she decided to forego university. Her father lamented over this, but when she pointed out they'd just began to come ahead of their bills and her desires were to run the bakery when he was no longer able to do so, he found it difficult to argue with her. There was always time to pursue education, he supposed.
Her wish to take over the business came true far sooner than she had ever wanted. A heart attack robbed her of her father the following year, the result of too much stress they said. She buried him, she wept, and then she went to the kitchen.
She wouldn't let that become of her. She'd stand tall and complete the tasks both of her parents had begun. She wasn't alone, she knew that. She could hear her mother's sweet laughter in the sugar that she poured out, and she could feel her father's comforting embrace whenever she pulled the loaves from the ovens. They were here with her and she would make them proud.
She'd done well. A simple budget friendly makeover to the interior had invited new guests and the sweet charisma she had inherited from her mother kept them coming back, sometimes with friends. On the six month marker of her father's death she decided to convert the large home above her shop into two smaller units with hopes of renting one for extra income. Perhaps she'd even make a friend.
Now, nearly eighteen months after she'd lost him, she could say she was doing alright for herself. She smiled as she pulled a full sheet of cookies from the oven. She'd finally managed to acquire a tenant so perhaps she'd be able to afford those new proof boxes she'd been eyeing in the supply catalogue.
As she turned to set the tray down on a metal table, a figure in the doorway caused her to jump, her grip on the cookies tightening significantly.
It was him. Her tenant.
"Did you need something?" she wondered. She hadn't expected him to come down here so early; it was only five-thirty. The staircase to both apartments was just outside the door to the kitchen so passing by her on his way in or out was inevitable, but he was lingering.
Levi flicked his gaze towards the dining area of the shop, just outside a set of white saloon doors. "I'd like to purchase something to eat."
After cleaning, he'd passed out, fully intending to sleep until the next evening, but his internal clock had protested, waking him up at this ungodly hour.
"Oh," she said, setting the cookies down, "well I don't actually open until six." She reached for a corn muffin, still warm. "but if you want—"
Levi turned and left.
"Hey!" she called out, hurrying after him, muffin in hand. "You don't have to—" she heard the door to his apartment close and her shoulders dropped. "…go."
At ten past six the bell chimed, signaling the arrival of her first customer. She didn't even need to look up from the case she was filling; she knew who it was. She already had a coffee waiting for him. Snatching a small piece of wax paper, she reached in for a blueberry scone, dropping it into a bag and setting it on the counter along with the coffee.
"Good morning Erd," she chirped, flashing the tall blonde man a smile. Erd Gin had been a regular for five or so years, when he had interned at an office building a few blocks down. He had a particular affinity for spinach pies, but when Petra had begun to take up baking alongside her father, he had been enthusiastic in trying all of her concoctions whether failures or successes.
"You know," he said, staring into the glass cases, "I think I'll take a dozen of those sugar cookies too."
She gave him a genuine look of surprise as she reached for a box. "Cookies?"
"Yeah," he said, "a gift for the Mrs."
Sneaking an extra into the box, she smiled. He'd married four months ago and from what he told her, they were already trying for a baby. She looked forward to pictures of the little cherub.
He left with the flash of a peace sign, calling out that he'd be back for lunch and just as he was backing out the door, he nearly tripped over a short, suited man.
"Sorry dude," he mumbled, moving out of Levi's path.
"Mr. Ackerman!" Petra's voice rang out through the empty room and she smiled nearly as bright as the morning sun that was steadily creeping over the horizon.
Levi regarded her with a short stare before turning his attention to her selection and making his choices with a few quick jabs of his fingers.
"And tea," he added when she set his breakfast down on the counter.
When she handed him his change, she opened her mouth to ask how he'd enjoyed his first night, but a group of chatty teenagers spilled in, all fighting for a view of the breakfast items fresh baked. Like Erd, these kids were regulars, snagging breakfast and coffee before school and thought most of them were loud, they were (mostly) polite, and some of the most loyal customers she had.
Levi did not wait for them to leave. He disappeared through the crowd and for the rest of the day, Petra neither heard nor saw any sign of him.
As she flipped her OPEN sign to CLOSED, she hummed a little tune, retreating to the kitchen to sort out her 'day-old' discount basket for tomorrow. There wasn't much of it; it had been a good day. Her hand hovered over the muffins she had baked that morning and a thought came to her.
She pulled a smaller basket from a shelf, lining it with a towel and arranged muffins, mini pies, and two small loaves of bread, folding the towel over the top of it and setting it aside. Once the shop was cleaned for the night, she grabbed the basket, shut the light, and headed upstairs where she'd have dinner, shower, catch up on some reading, then go to bed.
Before retreating to her own sanctuary, she stopped at the door across from hers, taking a deep breath and giving the door a series of solid knocks.
This Levi Ackerman was a strange and mysterious sort of man who intrigued her but it would be a lie to say she was expecting him to answer the door for her. Yet he did.
He stood before her in the same suit he'd worn the day before, but she was certain he hadn't left the house. Did he not have any other clothes? Or perhaps he hadn't retrieved them from his last place yet.
"Ah, I thought you might like these," she said, holding the basket out to him. "It doesn't seem like you've had the chance to go grocery shopping yet."
Levi took it, lifting the towel and peeking in. The scent alone sent his stomach rumbling. He'd been too busy today to think about food after he'd bought breakfast.
"Thank you," he said simply, without a smile.
"That is of course assuming you think my baking is any good," she replied with a nervous laugh, "I'm not as good as my mother was, I assure you."
She had a habit of talking about things that were none of his business, he noted. While normally he would make a point of silencing pointless chatter, he couldn't help but find this young woman remarkably endearing. He felt familiar with her when she spoke to him. Perhaps it was because she herself was so comfortable around him. His bitter expression and short words did not deter her and even when he'd implied the sort of work he did was less than honorable (a mistake on his part; he should have lied), she was easily assured by a simple promise not to cause a ruckus.
There was, of course, the chance that she was just stupid. No one in their right mind would trust someone like him, but then again, he supposed she didn't know what sort of man he was and had no reason to think he might be good, bad, or otherwise. Additionally, he doubted a woman of low intelligence would be able to singlehandedly wield a business in the food industry the way she did. Especially at her age.
Which, he realized, he was wondering just what it was.
She bade him a good night and when he closed the door, he set the basket of pastries on the kitchen table and opened the sliding door that led to his balcony. Resting his arms on the bannister, he looked out into the night.
It was growing cold; autumn was steadily approaching. His cell phone rang from its place on his bed and he sighed. He'd be working tonight then.
Returning inside, he slid his thumb across the touchscreen, listened to the voicemail, then deleted it. Simple enough.
He reached inside his jacket where two pistols lay against his chest, resting in their holster. Checking each one for ammunition, he readied himself. His cute landlady being a baker was an advantage for him in this city. She rose and retired early. By eight-thirty her lights were off and at nine, Levi slipped from the building and into the shadows of the city.
The next morning was quite like the one before it. Erd bought his scone and coffee (no baby yet), the teens came in their clan ("you should make sausage and bacon muffins, Miss Ral!") but this time Levi waited for them to dissipate before he entered.
Like the previous day, he made his selections and muttered for a tea. At first Petra thought perhaps he hadn't liked what she had brought for him, but when he specifically ordered another corn muffin, she smiled. So he liked them.
For a moment he considered speaking to her, but remembering that he wasn't good with women, he kept his mouth shut and went upstairs. He'd be shopping today. He might be in this city a while.
One particularly cold morning, Petra woke earlier than usual, headed into the bakery to have a go at something new. Her mother didn't have a recipe for it so she was relying on her memories from nearly fifteen years ago.
Ninety minutes later, the smell of apples and cinnamon filled the kitchen and with an excited sort of hop, she pulled the treat from the oven. It smelled perfect. She placed it on the table, not waiting for it to cool, snatched a white plate from her left, and scooped out a spoonful. She blew on it for a bit, then stuck a bite into her mouth, biting down.
It was terrible.
Disappointed, she tossed the plate onto the steel table, wincing as the clatter resonated through the silence. The fork slid off the plate and tumbled to the cement floor but she didn't care. With crossed arms she chewed furiously, steaming in her failure. It'd been so long since she'd botched something, she wasn't sure how to handle the situation,
The next day, she tried again.
The flavor was a little better, but only just. While the previous dish had been far too tart, today's was much too sweet.
The third day was only slightly more enjoyable. Her sugar ratio was improving, but even after an hour, the apples were still sour and crunchy, far too crunchy. Additionally, no matter how much she switched up her topping mix, it crumbled in all the wrong ways.
The fourth attempt was made on a Tuesday when her shop was closed. First she bought a new variety of apples. Having never cooked with the fruit before (they weren't particularly popular in her region), she knew very little about it. After talking to a fruit vendor who pointed her in the right direction, Petra felt much more confident in her endeavor.
Sure enough, the apples cooked down to a perfect texture, had a sensational blend of flavors, and were also available in her produce vendor's stock for a moderate price. The topping, however, left much to be desired.
Wednesday would be the day, she decided. She would perfect this dish today.
She chopped up her apples, tossed them with sugar, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, just a wee bit of lemon juice and a dash of salt. Cubing some butter, she put a low flame on the stove, then placed the chunks in a small saucepan, giving them the chance to melt. With a deep inhale, she grabbed a mixing bowl. Brown sugar. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Sugar. Oats.
"What the Hell are you failing at?"
The sharp, demanding words cut through her serenity and she froze, lifting her eyes up to the door. It was only a little bit past four in the morning, but Levi stood before her in black boot cut jeans and a grey dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, looking at her with his disapproving eyebrows furrowed over his eyes.
After the initial shock wore off, offense sank in.
"Excuse me?"
"I want to know what you suck at," he clarified, "there's something here that you can't cook worth shit."
Petra stood up a bit straighter, taking hold of the knife at her right and pointing it at him. It wasn't a threat, but it felt good.
"What makes you think I'm having trouble?" she demanded, giving the blade a small flourish, "you don't even come out of your house unless it's to eat."
An amused glint flickered through Levi's eyes. She was truly adorable. Covered head to toe in sugar and spices she was a marvel to him. Her honey coloured hair peeked out from beneath her white baker's cap, tickling the nape of her neck. The knife in her hands was a small one, a six inch chef's knife, perfect for her tiny hands. His own body was similar in size, though when he found it in himself to cook, he preferred a seven inch knife.
"I've been smelling apples for days," he told her, "but nothing in your cases have apples in them. Something's not coming out right."
She couldn't deny it. Her face must have given her away because he sighed and pushed off the doorframe, making his way into the kitchen. Petra tensed, her hold on the knife never loosening. She didn't think he intended to hurt her over a bit of pastry, but she still wasn't certain what to make of him.
"What are you making?" he asked, peering into the bowls.
"A-an apple crisp," she replied, setting down the utensil and pushing the bowl of apples away, "I can't get the topping right."
Levi blinked at the ingredients, then turned, searching through the large wheeled canisters beneath her work table. Finding the one he was looking for, he pushed back his sleeve a bit, jabbed the scoop in, and then dumped the contents into her bowl. Petra waved away the cloud that puffed upwards and Levi tossed the metal scoop back into the plastic bin.
"Flour?"
He didn't say anything, simply starting at her and daring her to doubt him. With a slightly hesitant expression, she mixed the dry ingredients, added her butter, and poured the crumble over the apples once she'd arranged them in the pan. Setting a timer on the oven, she lifted her shoulders.
"We'll see, I guess."
"It's what you needed," he said factually, gathering up the various measuring instruments and bowls that she had dirtied thus far, setting them in one of the bays of a large sink. He turned on both the hot water and the soap dispenser, grabbed a dishcloth from the shelf and with not a word to her, set himself to washing her dishes.
"You don't have to do that, Mr. Ackerman," she said, jogging over and reaching to snatch the cloth from him, "I am more than capable of doing things myself."
With an expert sort of finesse, he moved both the cloth and the dish he was soaping up out from her reach, continuing his movements.
"I can't sleep," he told her simply. When she hesitated to respond, he added, "not because of you. You aren't a bother to me."
She hovered by him for a moment, partially beside him, yet slightly at his back, watching as he dutifully cleaned her messes. It was then that she came to see how handsome he was. He was a serious sort of man, that much she had gathered, but despite his rough attitude, she didn't think he was a bad person.
His hair, parted slightly on the side, fell over his eyes, moving gently with the rhythm of his scrubbing. His eyes were narrow but concentrated, and he breathed heavily, as if he were trying to wash away a thousand memories.
"Don't you have work to do?"
Lost in her appraisal of him, Petra took a step back, wiping her hands on her apron. "Ah, yes. I do."
"Best get to it then," he said, moving a bowl to the rinse bay and giving it a little swirl with his fingers, "I'll stay here for a while."
By the time the crisp was pulled from the oven, all of the day's breads were baking, the muffins portioned out, and several cookie batters mixed. She hadn't realized how much time washing her own dishes took.
"Well let's see how it tastes!" she said, giving a little clap as Levi set two small plates before them.
When she handed him his plate and fork she looked at him, her eyes bright with anticipation and he raised a brow. "I'm not going to be your guinea pig," he told her, "if it's shit I don't want to eat it."
"Well fine then," she huffed, stuffing a bite into her own mouth without a second thought. She grimaced at first, not having waited for it to cool, but then her cheeks became tinged with pink and she rubbed her elbows in the air, cooing.
"Ahhhh!" she cried, "it's perfect!" With a tiny squeal of joy, she leapt forward, throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank you!"
And just like that, Levi felt his entire world shift.
"Try it try it!" she insisted, motioning for him to eat, "oh, oh, oh! I'm going to pack some for Erd. He'd love this!"
She scampered about the kitchen, looking for the perfect packaging for her new masterpiece and in silence, Levi enjoyed what he'd helped her to create.
xxxx
Author's Notes: Yaaaaay Bakery AU!