THE JOY OF BAKING
INTRODUCTION: Back after real life intervened, forcing me away from the site. But, in the meantime, the muse wasn't completely idle. This fic could be summed up with the phrase "Three times Dominika baked something and one time someone else did it for her". Story in four parts, three set during season 7, canon-compliant and the last one is post-canon and AU. I wish you an enjoyable reading.
1)"Come on, girls, work a bit faster! Customers want their sweet breakfast!", Carnell said, waiting for the girls in the kitchen to finish their task. "Good work requires time", Dominika shot back. "Gotta come back in some minutes", the man responded, leaving the room.
"You two, quicker!", Dominika chided her co-workers, who had resumed their gossiping as soon as Carnell had left. "What are you talking about?", she asked. "That guy with the cane who rented the big suite", said Olga, a Czech girl with jet black hair and green eyes. "Dozens of cheap women come in and out of his room", added Julia, a blonde from Poland.
"We aren't here to talk about them, we are here to do our job", Dominika cut them short. "I see you are done. Go fetch Carnell. I will take care of those cinnamon rolls", she gave instructions to the other young women.
All three were immigrants, hired because they were cheaper for the hotel than locals. And, especially Eastern Europe girls were paid less than most immigrants. Sometimes, Dominika just hated that the part of the planet she came from was so discriminated against. Virtually every stranger she had encountered in the road had tried to gain sexual favours from her.
It was sheer luck that she managed to get that job. It didn't pay very well, but, at least, she had a place to stay and didn't have to worry about where the next meal would come from. If I don't find some fool to agree to a sham marriage, I see myself having to worry about both of these, however, she told herself.
Carnell coming back to take the sweets for delivering to the customers' rooms snapped her out of her thoughts. "Wait, here are the cinnamon rolls I almost forgot about!", she shouted, handing him the plate. "Phew, at least I am not gonna get scolded by my boss", the African-American said, relief obvious in his features.
"You know who's eating the rolls you made?", Olga asked Dominika. "No idea", she answered honestly. "The grumpy customer with the cane, the one servicing all kinds of call girls? That's the one", the other woman remarked. "Who is he, really? He's got weird name... Home? Or, wait... House?", Dominika asked, finally managing to remember the surname.
"Yes, House", Julia interjected. "Famous doctor, the girls in the laundry say. Moved here after a breakup with his girlfriend she added, succeeding to arouse Dominika's interest. "Tell me more", she replied and, casting a glance at the clock on the wall, she added "we've got some free minutes". "Well, he was in a relationship with his boss, but she got angry with him and kicked him out", Julia said.
"Did he cheat on her?", Dominika asked. "From what I've heard, not at all. It's strange, but I don't think he did something wrong. I think she overreacted over something or misjudged his intentions", her coworker responded. "Did she ever get out of bed when he was her boyfriend? Judging from his prowess now, it seems...", Olga started to say, but the other two women shouted together, "Oh, shut up!", which she promptly did.
"So, he got dumped", Dominika formed her conclusion. "More or less", Julia concurred. "Anyway, enough about him. Have you seen the tie Mr. Hayward wore at dinner yesterday? I haven't seen anything more ridiculous on a man!", Olga inserted herself in the conversation, stirring it away from House, Dominika's interest rapidly evaporating in the process.
She didn't think of him again until much later, in the evening, when Carnell told her that he had enjoyed the cinnamon rolls to the utmost and would like to know who was the talented cook who'd prepared them. "He said talented cook?", she asked him. "Can't describe how enthralled he was", the other man responded. "By the way, he would have more of them tomorrow. And, he'd be interested to get to know the talented cook better", he added.
"Gotta deliver those rolls to him in person tomorrow", she mused. "Ah, that'd be a great idea", Carnell started to say, but was interrupted by a great hubbub. A lot of people had gathered in front of the hotel pool. "What's going on?", Dominika asked. "Let's go and see, follow me", Carnell answered. When they mingled with the crowd, they saw what was happening: a man was standing on the bars of his balcony, looking as if he were about to jump.
"See, that's House, guy to whom you'll give the rolls to. If he's alive by next morning, though", Carnell informed her. They, and a huge crowd, were looking at House with bated breath. A man yelled something like "House, no!", but, on the next moment, as Dominika's heart pounded at her chest, House shouted "Cannonball!", splashing into the pool.
"That was unexpected", she said, unable to suppress a slight chuckle. Definitely, she was greatly interested in meeting Dr. House in person. Gotta be as sweet as cinnamon rolls I'll be delivering, she told herself as she walked back in the hotel building.
2)Dominika stood out of the office door, waiting for House to call her in. She still had trouble registering all the events of the day into her mind. Too much had happened those last few days, too much.
Her first meeting with Gregory House being the catalyst, the seismic shock that was about to lead her into paths hitherto unknown. She had schemed all along, to find a man gullible enough to enter into a sham marriage. For all her distrust of the male sex in general, she was mentally prepared to give the man she would marry a measure of what he would-most likely- want. Yet now she wasn't so certain.
For starters, Gregory House wasn't all men, for good or for bad. Her mind raced back to their first meeting, when she delivered the rolls to him, with the recipe. House had been "entertaining" one of the numerous call girls he had slept with the last days. Immediately as she had entered the room, House had bidden the other girl get dressed and leave. She had been deadly afraid he would pounce on her and have his way with her. On the contrary, he wanted her company, not her charms.
He had enquired about her name, her background and why she was working there. Her instinct told her to just lie to him and get out of the room the soonest possible, but one short gaze at his deep blue eyes and she was captivated. When his cobalt blue eyes met her own dark brown, she was spellbound, no matter how hard her brain wrestled with her heart over this. And, it was not only his eyes, but everything about him that had an allure, a special aura.
He'd poured her a glass of vodka, but she politely declined, since she had to work. He'd looked straight at her and said, "Come on, don't be such a killjoy", draining his own glass and getting up, intending to pour her the drink, one way or another. But, he then had grimaced, rubbing his thigh. "Your leg hurts?", she had said, earning a nod. "Let me help", she had blurted out, unable to tell where this sudden pang of altruistic interest came from.
"What are you, a masseuse?", he'd replied in a curt and almost angry tone, but she had proceeded to calmly reply, "I'm licensed aesthetician and massage therapist", catching him by surprise. "Go ahead, but don't dare remove my pants", he'd barked, settling in his chair and letting her rub his sore thigh a few times, before telling her to stop and that she'd helped him a lot.
Looking back at it now, she couldn't explain her extreme willingness to help him, nor the fact that she felt extremely pleased when he had told her that he felt better because of her. She hadn't expected that, but she was practically beaming upon hearing those words from him.
Shortly afterwards, Carnell returned and informed her she had to leave him and go back to work. But, when she told him that, he looked at her like a puppy deprived of a favourite bone. "If I tip you extra, can you find a fib to tell her boss and leave her here for some more time"?, House had enquired. "I'm sorry, but, no", the bellboy had responded, in all honesty. "I can come after I'm done", she offered, and he nodded.
Indeed, that evening she'd climbed the stairs up to his suite, finding a set table for two and House offering her a seat. "Employees don't eat with customers", she had said, half in jest, but he had brushed those words off, saying "You ain't my employee", kindly gesturing for her to sit down. It was during that occasion that she decided to risk it all and tell him whatever was to be told about her urgent need for a green card.
House had heard her from the beginning to the end and answered with a question, "Will you marry me?", his eyes meeting hers, and Dominika could feel herself melt in the sea that his gaze was. Yet, the rational mind cautioned, she shouldn't show any sentiment, shouldn't make him suspect she felt anything for him. Better pretend it's just about a mutually convenient deal, her brain urged her, for all the heart's ache.
She still couldn't decide whether it was cold calculation or a latent feeling that had urged her do what she had done, namely, agree to his proposal and later sign that prenup. Not wishing to ponder this again, Dominika focused on the sounds of conversation emanating from the room.
It was obvious that there was some kind of disagreement between House and Cuddy. House and Cuddy, her husband-to-be and his former girlfriend, whose rejection had hurt House so much, he had rented that suite and wallowed into alcohol and fast women for days.
She instantly wondered how did the Dean of Medicine receive the news of the upcoming wedding. Everybody else had looked stunned, stupefied. She remembered their faces when House had told them the news. Truth be told, she had found them amusing enough. And the way House had made the announcement, that had made her laugh.
She focused on the room again. From what she could discern, House was leaning over Cuddy's desk, saying something. She couldn't get a good look at the woman behind the desk. Dominika was curious enough to see what kind of woman the Dean of Medicine was, externally and internally. At the next instance, House turned around and spoke to her in Russian, "Voydi moya malishka", inviting her in the office.
She strode inside, standing beside her husband-to-be, the tin with the almond kulich she'd prepared for the occasion in her hand. The kulich was supposed to be a treat for Cuddy, to help convince her sign the paper. She now had the chance of looking directly at the Dean of Medicine.
Older than Dominika, she was still beautiful, making even younger women green with envy. Her long black hair fell in curls, unlike Dominika's straight brown hair. But, there was something in those eyes, which, ironically, had the same colour as House's. House's eyes enthralled her, she could just get lost in his gaze forever. Cuddy's eyes had... a coldness, a calculating and unsentimental aura.
Was it because of her recent breakup? Was it because of envy for Dominika personally, due to her upcoming wedding? She couldn't tell, being forced out of her thoughts. House instructed her to repeat the motto about America and then to hand over the treat to Cuddy. She promptly obeyed, adding that she had baked the kulich with her own hands. She took a step back and eagerly watched the Dean of Medicine, wondering if she would sign the insurance paper.
For a moment, the gazes of the two women met. Cuddy's glare was difficult for Dominika to interpret. On first thought, it could be that the woman was feeling jealous, but, then again, it could also be an expression of antipathy towards her. Judging from what she said to House, she had a hard time accepting that the wedding would occur, sham or not. Jealousy or possessiveness? Was she still feeling something for him or not?
Her mind told Dominika she just shouldn't give a damn about it, but, for all her hesitancy of admitting it, she harboured feelings for the stranger who was going to be her husband. Cuddy looked at both of them again. Dominika was tempted to let her eyes look at the floor, but forced herself to meet the other woman's glare with a determined gaze of her own.
The Dean of Medicine practically spat out her next phrase, "Fine. It's your life", before handing the folder to Dominika herself. "I wish you both the best with it", Cuddy added, in a voice devoid of any emotion. Dominika thanked her, trying to be sweet like cinnamon rolls, as she had been instructed. She climbed on House's Segway and they left the room speedily.
3)The food truck was in its customary place for one more day, loaded with delicious food items of Ukrainian provenance. Dominika had every reason to be proud of herself. Within two weeks, her business had thrived, virtually eliminating much competition. Every lucky gambler in Atlantic City would drop by for some knish, not missing the chance to brag about their good luck and the amounts of money they had won.
Some of her most regular customers were women, but the majority were men. Sometimes drunk, rarely sober, almost always stinking of sweat and clearly desiring more than mere company from a woman, they came to fill their hunger and feed their ego.
Although she liked her success, deep down she hated that business. True, she wished to have her own food business, but her own idea had been of a neat restaurant, in a clean and reputable area, with customers from all strata of society and not only the lewd and rude gamblers.
Partly, she blamed the attitude prevailing concerning women from Eastern Europe as cheap and wanton. Every day, she wondered more and more whether she did the right thing when she lied to House about that fictitious boyfriend in Atlantic City. She had done this because of her own insecurity, afraid of her own developing feelings for the stranger who was her official husband. On the same time, his own rejection of her advances, back then when they'd briefly kissed during that wedding night didn't help. Dominika felt a sudden pang of guilt for leaving that hastily scribbled note, with her wedding ring on top.
She couldn't help but ask herself whether House ever thought of her. Her rational part still put pressure on her to completely cease thinking about him and focus only on her business. Her heart, however, was a different case. She tried to suppress it every time, but the latent feeling always found a way to reassert its presence. She shook her head, unwilling to spend another moment thinking of him.
The usual line of customers had begun to form. If anyone wanted a justification for not setting up this kind of business, a look at those flustered, sweaty faces would suffice. Maintaining her smile, she started receiving their orders. Just like every other day, knish sold like hot cakes. Serving her customers accurately and quickly, Dominika ignored the occasional lecherous glance or rude comment. What they said never mattered to her after all.
Time passed quickly, with her being absorbed in her work. At last, her work for the day was over. She wiped some sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. There was one customer still waiting to be served. "Just a moment, please", she said, to which he simply nodded.
True to her word, in some seconds his order had been fixed. He searched his pockets, looking for his wallet. "Damn, I have left my wallet in my backpack", he said, opening it. Still looking for the wallet, the guy said, "By the way, did you read the headlines today? A mad doc in Princeton crushed his car into the home of his boss, who also happened to be his ex. Ah, here it is!", and handed her the money.
Dominika couldn't comprehend what she had just heard. It couldn't be, there was no way Gregory House would do anything like that. No matter how much he loved playing pranks, this was totally out of character for him.
She just thanked her last customer for the day and, a few minutes later, bought the latest newspaper. The journalist had given the story handsome coverage, spicing it up to make it seem more dramatic.
Naturally, he had taken care to describe House's actions as irrational, morally and legally abhorrent, while portraying Lisa Cuddy as the poor and helpless victim. "Guy is trying to make her appear good, but I don't think she'll appreciate being described as victim", Dominika told herself.
From the little she had seen of Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine always seemed to crave being in control, having and exercising power. After that incident, however, no one would look at her and see a powerful person. For most people, she would be an unfortunate victim of domestic violence, unable to control what was happening to her.
Yet, this wasn't what interested Dominika. As she finished reading, she focused on the author's suggestion that House is forbidden to practice medicine again. If she had that journalist in front of her, she would surely deliver such a punch at his face, that he would be reeling. Monsters, she thought, they had transformed House into nothing short of a terrorist.
Why should YOU care?, her brain was scolding her. You left him when he needed someone to care for him, her heart was whispering. The two contradictory thoughts tormented her all the way to her small apartment. She quickly hurried in, too tired to do anything else but lie down.
She caught herself thinking what would be different had she stayed with him. Could she have prevented him from this unquestionably shocking act? Could she have helped him let out whatever made him feel so unhappy? Could she be able to help him move on and find some happiness in his life?
Unlikely, she thought bitterly, remembering how blatantly he had rejected her advances on their wedding night. She had told him up front she liked him, and he had quipped he doesn't sleep with married women. How could she help someone who didn't want to receive help?
Her head was spinning as she lay down on the small bed, still thinking of House. Squeezing her eyes shut, she repeated mentally the phrase "I won't think of it again" several times. Opening them briefly for a moment, she shifted position on the bed and closed her eyes again. Sleep overtook her in an instant, offering a temporary relief from conflicting thoughts.
4)The sun was setting, its last rays illuminating the last moments of the day, one of the last days of late spring. A car stopped for a moment and the passenger door opened, Dominika stepping out of the vehicle.
"Thank you for the great afternoon, Dr. Adams", she said, to receive the reply, "My pleasure. Expect a second invitation for shopping soon enough!". Although she had enjoyed going to the shops with Adams, she didn't like returning home that late.
Every day those last two months, since she and House became a real couple, she would be there when her husband returned from his work. She would hear him enter, they would greet each other, she would ask him about his day and so forth. It was now a ritual of some sorts, which she appreciated to the fullest.
Some minutes before, she had texted House that she would arrive at home soon, but he hadn't replied. She navigated her way to the apartment door, producing her keys and unlocking it. She announced her presence, being greeted with the complete absence of an acknowledgement and with total silence and all the lights off. Closing the door behind her, she sought after her husband, about to go into panic mode.
But, then, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and she could feel a hot breath against her ear. "Happy birthday to my old ball and Ukraine", House said, pulling her in for a deep kiss.
"You... you remembered?", she asked quizzically, obviously moved. "I also instructed Adams to keep you away from home for some hours, so I could prepare this cake for you", he quipped, turning the lights on and leading her to the dining room, where a glorious chocolate cake was placed on the table. "Th-thank you! It looks magnificent", was all she could say.
"I baked it myself. I think it's really tasty", he remarked and fed her a portion with a spoon. She closed her eyes and savoured the taste, complimenting him after she swallowed, "It's best thing I've ever tasted".
"Cool. Now, we gotta get the party started", he replied and produced two cone party hats, placing one on Dominika's head while donning the other himself.
"You're man of surprises", she remarked. He turned the stereo on, stating, "Now, we have the musical accompaniment. Could I have the next dance?". "As if you needed to ask", she replied. "Only don't expect that much of a rhythm from me", he added, as the first lyrics of "They're Playing our Song" filled the apartment.
For all his leg issues, he was still a more than adequate dancer, as Dominika discovered to her positive surprise. As he held her, she whispered another "Thank You for everything" to his ear. "No, it's me who must give all those thanks, for you being here, being with me", he earnestly stated. She clung tight to him as they swayed to the music, happily oblivious to everything else on the world.