Work Text:
Kotetsu frowned down at the tray of cookies. Rearranged the cookies. Rearranged them again. And frowned some more.
It wasn’t like he was totally incompetent in the kitchen. Just because he cooked fried rice all the time, it wasn’t that he couldn’t make anything else, it was because he liked it. He’d made their meals quite a lot when Tomoe was still…here, had cooked a lot of healthy things, in fact. Because she’d needed healthy things.
And he’d baked cookies before, too. He remembered helping his mother make batches and batches when he was a kid, first throwing things in, and later when he got older being the one to do all the work of stirring while his mother added the ingredients. And he’d baked cookies for Tomoe, too, because no one should live on healthy things alone, and she deserved the treat. She’d always loved them. Even when she was…unwell, and didn’t really have an appetite, they never failed to make her smile.
But okay, it had been a long time. And Kotetsu was a little out of practice. And he’d forgotten the oven tended to have hot spots. So some of the cookies had gotten kind of dark. Really dark. Then he’d had to finally break down and race to the store to buy the packaged kind, where it was balls of dough already made, so all a person had to do was lay them on baking sheets and put them in the oven. But even the ones that weren’t, well, overdone, some of them just…looked weird. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t taste okay! And anyway, wasn’t the whole point that was the thought that counted?
Okay, maybe that was when something was a gift. But when it was an apology?
He grimaced, thinking of the paperwork listing damages from their most recent encounter with a criminal NEXT on his desk. Kotetsu honestly tried not to cause destruction, truly he tried. But sometimes things just happened. Sometimes, a hero had to make a choice about what was more important, saving people or saving a building. So he was used to having to apologize and promise to recoup the losses for his sponsors, he could deal with that.
But this time…. Honestly it wasn’t his fault, not entirely. He’d hooked his wire to that roof, and then Barnaby had run into him. And then they’d gotten tangled, like that time when they’d first had to work as partners. Well, they’d gotten tangled—and so had the NEXT Barnaby had just captured. The explosive NEXT. Combining that with the trajectory of the wire’s swing and that sparkling new skyscraper made almost entirely out of windows…?
Come on now, who made a building that was completely windows? In a city full of hero battles??
In the end, their bosses weren’t just blaming Kotetsu for the damages; because both he and Barnaby had crashed into the building, they were blaming both of them. And demanded Kotetsu inform his partner.
And thus, cookies. Kind of…crappy looking cookies. Kotetsu rearranged the cookies on the tray a little bit more, then sighed. Well, he tried. He’d done his best, and…he was out of time.
Barnaby strode into the office, pausing as he came through the door and saw Kotetsu. Saw the tray of cookies. Saw Kotetsu’s panicked expression. Suddenly, he looked very unamused. “What.”
Snatching up the tray, Kotetsu spun and presented it with a grand flourish. “Li’l Bunny,” he warbled. “Here’s some cookies…”
“Oh no.”
With his other hand, Kotetsu held out the (multipage) expense report. “…and—eh heh heh,” he winced, “some very bad news.”
There was a soft sound, then silence, and when Kotetsu looked up, Barnaby had his hand covering his face. A blond eyebrow twitched. Then, in a flurry of movement, he seized the tray of cookies from Kotetsu and stalked over to his desk, saying only two words:
“Keep. Baking.”
-
Things Kotetsu learned: chocolate chip—yes. Chocolate chips with nuts—ehh, so so. Oatmeal raisin—absolutely not. Sugar cookies—very yes. Sugar cookies with sprinkles—very, very yes. Teasing Barnaby about how much he liked the carrot cake cookies, considering Kotetsu’s nickname for him—bad idea, worst idea, results in getting smacked in the face with damages paperwork, do not attempt again.
In short? Someone had a sweet tooth. And, at the moment, a short temper. And paper cuts on your face sting.