29 Oct 2000
Here's chapter 1 of the next fic in our On The Town series. This one
introduces Wufei! ^_~
Enjoy -
kumi
DISCLAIMER: All Gundam Wing characters are property of Sunrise, Bandai Visuals, Sotsu Agency, and Asahi TV. This work is not written for profit, but for entertainment purposes only.
PAIRINGS: 6x13
WARNING: heavy shounen-ai, implied yaoi, and a great number of dessert references
*From Treize's column, On The Town:*
Time management, in this world, is something they say is key.
But who is this mysterious 'They', and how do they know how to twist time?! I demand to be taught this most insidious art, so I can use it to my advantage and spend more time with *my* loved one than in work. that's time management the way it should be. Not this 'block of time' theory that never works because things can actually go wrong.
Take me for instance. My editor suggested I block out a certain amount of time to write this, however, it didn't take into account two bathroom breaks, a quick shag, a cup of coffee, and The Blue Screen of Death (courtesy of Windows).
Maybe a Mac would let me manage my time better.
"Chef? You okay?"
Micah Harris eyed his employer, Miriald Peacecraft, with great wariness and waited for a response. There was none, so he followed the blond man's gaze the interior of the large, commercial refrigerator in front of which they were standing. It appeared normal enough to Micah, a new sous-chef in Miriald's restaurant, Silks. It was stocked with eggs, butter, vegetables, fruit, freshly made salad dressings and cooling broth, all the normal components of restaurant cooking. Micah looked back at "da boss", as he referred to his employer, and tried again. "*Chef*??"
Miriald, a tall man in striped chef pants, a classic button front shirt and a small handerchief around his neck, simply frowned and a small sigh escaped him. He continued to stare into the refrigerator and Micah, with a puzzled frown of his own now, peered again into its chilly depths.
Just at that moment, two long arms were draped around the men's shoulders as Will Kline, the tall, easy going executive sous-chef at Silks, joined them. It was his turn then to look first at Miriald, then at Micah, then finally at the fridge. "That's the trouble with these things." he said earnestly, "You have to watch them every minute.*"
Two heads, one blond, one brown turned in his direction with unappreciative looks. Then Miriald shook his head, as if to clear it and shut the refrigerator door. His long blond hair, tied back in a neat pony tail, swayed around his waist."What are you two doing?" he asked his employees.
Micah rolled expressive brown eyes. "What are *we* doin'?" he asked, the remnants of his Jamaican accent coloring his speech. "Chef, you been standin' there fifteen minutes, starin' at the thing but it don't change none!" He shook his head and went back to the large counter he'd been working at, talking more to himself now than anyone else. "It's not talkin' to you boss and it can't be walkin' away. And you ask *me* what *I'm* doin'..."
Miriald put his hands on his hips and took a step towards Will, their faces only inches apart. "Desserts," he said emphatically.
The sous-chef looked thoughtful for a moment, then brightened. "What is the name of the last course of an evening meal?" he replied hopefully.
Miriald only blinked. "We don't have any desserts."
"Oh, go on," Will said with a grin. "Of course we have desserts. We're a restaurant. Restaurants *always* have desserts. You must have missed them in there."
"The man was standin' there freezin' his balls off for 15 minutes!" Micah said, waving his vegetable knife in the general direction of the fridge. "There's nothin' in there he coulda missed."
Will shot his employer a look that said, "Watch this," and opened the fridge door. Several moments went by as Miriald crossed his arms and waited for Will's judgment. After a moment, Will shut the door and looked back at the tall blond. "Well, hell," he said mildly. "We don't have any desserts."
"Mind like a steel trap, that one," Micah muttered, shaking his head and continuing to chop vegetables.
Arms still folded, a frown on his face, Miriald stared at Will. "Why don't we have any desserts?"
"I'm doing the sole and the salmon tonight," Will said in his own defense.
Miriald's gaze turned to Micah, who held up a bowl of portabello mushrooms. "Dis look like cookie dough, boss?"
The blond man blinked furiously for a moment and put his hands on his hips. "Who was responsible for desserts tonight?" he asked, seeming to address the kitchen in general.
Will scurried to the work schedule that hung on the door to the tiny test kitchen. "Uh, that would be Sidney," he said. "I forgot to tell you - she phoned."
"Of course she did," Miriald replied, forcing an icy calm onto himself. "What was it this time? Last minute ballet tickets? Locked her keys in her car at the cinema? Kidnapped by her girlfriends for a little jaunt to Nantucket?"
"Martha's Vineyard, boss," Micah put in, helpfully. "Last time it was Martha's Vineyard."
"I stand corrected," Zechs murmured and then raised his eyebrows at Will. "Well? Go on - I can't wait to hear this one."
"Oh, I'm sure you could, chef..." Will said uneasily. Zechs's stare, however, gave him no choice. "Her... her boyfriend is sick - a bad cold -and... she, well she said she has to take care of him." He looked away and quickly tried to find something else to do, nearly leaping on the sole fillets that Liz Froud, another sous-chef, had just brought in.
"So," Zechs said, taking stock of the situation. "We have no desserts on a Thursday evening at -" he checked the kitchen clock - "at 5:45pm because a grown man has a cold. Micah - you'll have to do sauces tonight. Do me a favor Will, the next time Sidney calls, tell her that I've decided that her life is far too busy for employment. I'm going to have a think." He walked across the kitchen and into the test kitchen beyond, closing the door firmly behind him.
Treize was there, waiting for him.
"Oh, *damn*!" the blond said in pure frustration. "I completely forgot you were coming for dinner. I'm sorry. I may not be able to join you - the evening hasn't even begun and it's already looking black." He sat down across the small countertop/table from his lover. "You know that ad for the pastry chef position that I just put into the paper? Well we need one *now* - Sidney's gone walkabout on us again. No desserts, no sauces, we open in 15 minutes..."
He was interrupted by Bailey Hawk, One of the four people who worked the front of the restaurant. "Chef? I just got word that we were featured on The Underground Gourmet - on Boston This Afternoon. The phone's been ringing off the hook. We're completely full for tonight. Isn't that great?"
A weak sound that was meant to be a laugh escaped Zechs. "Oh, yes - that's great. Perfect night for it, actually."
Bailey threw him a puzzled look and left quietly.
The blond looked up Treize. "Say something reassuring about why I didn't go into insurance."
"Because you wanted to keep your soul, love," Treize murmured wryly, grasping Zechs' hand and pulling it to his lips. A tender kiss brushed the back, and he looked up with a smile. "At least I can watch you tonight, neh?"
"And what a delightful scene it will be," Zechs replied, trying not to purr at the touch of Treize mouth on his skin. He leaned over and cupped the back of Treize's head in his hand and took a long, gentle kiss. "You know," he murmured when they'd broken off and were forehead-to-forehead, "there are times, and this is definitely one of them, when *you* are the only thing between me and insanity."
Leaning just a bit, Treize rubbed his nose against Zechs'. A chuckle burbled out of him as he finished the gesture, fingers stroking the back of Zechs' hand. "I know, and it's perfectly delightful, to know that I'm the thread holding up your sanity."
The door to the kitchen suddenly opened and Micah looked in. "Oooops -sorry, boss. But Bailey say we got people waiting outside for us to open up and Liz spilled olive oil on the floor by the sinks and Will -"
"*Coming*, Micah, *coming*..." Zechs gave Treize a long-suffering look and rose, heading through the door.
Micah watched him go past. "Sorry, boss," he murmured apologetically, "I don' mean to break up your time with da man..." He looked over at Treize and gave him a little wave before following Zechs into the kitchen and closing the door.
Not 30 seconds later, a knock sounded on the other door in the room - the one to the parking lot in back of the restaurant.
Treize knew the place as well as he knew his home, and was completely at ease in there; so it didn't bother him to get up and answer that door, unlocking the three locks in easy succession before opening it.
"Hello, may I be of service...?" Certainly not one of Zechs' *normal* employees!
A diminutive asian man, looking to be all of 20, stood outside the door, clutching a newspaper in one hand and a large plastic box with a handle in the other. The look on his face was one of grim determination.
"I am Wufei Chang," he said, looking rather fiercely at Treize, "and you are no doubt Miriald Peacecraft. *You* need a pastry chef and *I* am the best man for the job. Give me twenty minutes of your time and I will convince you beyond all doubt that no one is better than I am." Having said his piece, he stood, waiting for a response and continuing to stare grimly up at Treize.
The man he looked at so grimly chuckled, a rich, warm noise. "No, no -- *I* am not Miriald Peacecraft. But *I* will show *you* into the test kitchen, hmn?" Yes, Treize was definitely mocking his pronoun stresses, in that firm British accent. "I'm Treize Khushrenada. You can wait with me in here until he can find a spare moment to meet you. You bake desserts?"
The young man stepped into the kitchen. He wore baggy, striped chef pants and a black tank top and his shoulder length, blue-black hair was pulled back in a severe pigtail. He blinked at Treize. "Where is Milliard Peacecraft?" he asked firmly. "The ad says he is the one I am to speak with." When Treize did not appear to be making moves to fetch the man whom he sought, Wufei frowned slightly. "Well? Are you going to get him?"
"Sit down, boy," Treize uttered, closing the back door and then gesturing to a seat across from where he'd been sitting at the table. "He's busy at the moment -- opening up for the evening. You'll have to simply *wait*." /Are you just stiff, or are you truly so rude, Chang...?/
"Hn." Wufei sat down the stool that Zechs had recently abandoned and looked around the kitchen, then over at Treize. "Are you applying for the position as well?" he asked suspiciously.
"Oh, absolutely *not*," Treize smi~irked as he sat down. "I can lick Miriald's icing anytime I want, without having to get him to *hire* me. Rather ludicrous though, that idea, since I can't cook at *all* in comparison to him."
The Chinese man looked as though he wasn't quite certain if he should be shocked or not by Treize's comments. His face reddened a bit and then he said, "Ah - so you are the maitre d'."
At that moment Zechs came through the kitchen door with a large plate of appetizers and a bottle of nicely drinkable red wine. He stopped short when he saw pig-tailed man. "Treize? Is there something you have to tell me?" he said in mock hurt.
"I was in the alley looking for a cheap whore, and lo and behold, I found you a pastry chef!" Treize chuckled, rising from his seat to take the wine from Zechs, and to brush a kiss across Zechs' cheek and the side of his mouth. "Unfortunately, I've just been accused of being a Maitre'd!"
He turned to look back at Wufei, body lightly brushing the tall blonde man's, as Treize murmured, "Chang Wufei, meet Miriald Peacecraft."
"You found a whore who can bake?" Zechs asked, looking at Treize in disbelief before putting the tray down on the table and reaching out a hand to Wufei. "Hello, nice to meet you. Um... why are you here?" In the rush of opening the restaurant for the evening, the ad he'd placed in the paper had completely slipped the tall chef's mind.
Affronted by being called a *whore* by both of them, and trying to figure out just what the hell Treize was doing there, Wufei looked a little lost and confused. "Your ad in the paper," he murmured, gesturing with it, the newspaper held in his left hand.
"Oh! Oh, of course!" Zechs said sheepishly. "Uh... yes, well..." He looked around the room, back at the door to the kitchen, once at Treize, and then down at his watch. "It's just not a very good time..."
Wufei's eyebrows furrowed a bit. Here was another man, who no doubt thought, just from *looking* at him, that he wasn't a worthy pastry chef! His full lips firmed into a pissy-looking line, before he grated out, "Let me show you how good a pastry chef I am; then you'll be begging to hire me."
Zechs was about to answer when Liz poked her head through the door. "Chef?" she said in a nervous voice, "my beef medallions are coming out square... um... could you help. *Please?*"
Zechs gave her a rather alarmed look. "*Don't* cut anything else until I get there, all right?" She nodded and disappeared back into the main kitchen.
Turning to Wufei once more, Zechs gave him a harried smile. "I'm sure you're a *very* good pastry chef. It's just... right *now* -" There was a clatter from the kitchen that made them all jump. The blond man twitched and glared at the kitchen door, then smiled again. "Will you excuse me *just* a moment," he said to Wufei. Then pushed Treize forward a bit and added, "Here - talk to Treize," and then was gone.
Wufei stared hard at the kitchen door and then turned the same look on Treize. "Is he this way all the time?"
"What way?" Treize asked with a wink. "It depends. One of his chefs skipped out on him tonight, and there's a near literal *ton* of customers."
A frown wrinkled the smooth skin of Wufei's brow. "Why would someone do that? To *him*? *I* certainly wouldn't! *I* would work *very* hard!" He looked around at the small but fully-equipped kitchen and then turned back to Treize. "I will *show* him that I am worthy of this position!" he said rubbing his hands together briskly. "I will bake something for him! And *you* will be able to tell him how I did with *skill* and *confidence.* You have some influence with him, yes?"
"I rather hope I have influence on him," Treize smirked as he sat down again. "But, tell me, why would you think I have influence over him?" The bottle of wine before him was very tempting...
The pastry chef reddened and turned to the refrigerator, hiding his blush behind the door. "You... you kissed him..." he mumbled.
"That wasn't a kiss -- that was a nuzzle," Treize smirked lightly, fingers toying with the label of the wine bottle. "If I'd *kissed* him, we'd have ended up under the table going at it like crazed weasels."
The small amount of Wufei's head that could be seen above the refrigerator door retreated with lightning speed. There was a small "thunk" of something being dropped and a harsh breath and then Wufei emerged, carrying butter, eggs, cream and oranges. His face was completely scarlet, but he was struggling for control. "Since you... *know* him so well..." The scarlet shade deepened. Than you can tell me what he likes to eat." Watchful black eyes flickered up to Treize's face. "And what you like as well. I will make you *both* a dessert."
Treize smiled. /Ah. To toy with the boy, or...?/ "Rich Chocolate, Chang Wufei -- contrasted with bitter-sweet sauces, will catch Zechs' attention best. It's hard to get *just* right, too."
Here Wufei was in his element. "*Hard*? Not for me!" He searched through the cupboards and pulled out a bowl, then began to crack eggs vigorously into it. "*I* have mastered the art of chocolate. And sauces hold no fear for *me.* You *and* Chef, your boyfriend, will see how good chocolate and orange glaze can be, or my name isn't Chang Wufei!"
"Boyfriend?" Treize snickered softly at that. "How utterly silly. Boyfriend indeed. That only works, Wufei, when one of those involved is a *boy*, instead of a man. Mirialdo is quite the *man*; and I could rather bet, Wufei, that he doesn't take too well to being called 'Chef' by someone he hasn't even hired yet, hmn?"
The Chinese man's face had just returned to a normal color but at Treize's words he turned pink again. Turning his attention to the creme de chocolat he was making, Wufei's face took on a slightly affronted look. "He *will* hire me," he muttered. "I will show him."
"Just what makes you so confident about that?" Treize asked with a light smirk. "You don't know him, do you? Not at all, chap."
Wufei scowled at him and pulled a saucepan down from where it hung above the stove. "He's one of the best of the younger chef's in the city. He appreciates quality. I have only to show him that I am worthy of working in his kitchen." He ended that with a curt nod to himself and opened the box he'd brought with him, pulling out a large bar of baking chocolate and breaking several pieces of it into the small saucepan.
The kitchen door opened and Zechs walked in, collapsing onto the stool next to Treize and sighing heavily. He looked over at Wufei, busy melting the chocolate, and whispered to his lover, "Why is he still here?"
"He's making something to prove that he's good," Treize smiled as he rested a hand atop zechs' thigh. "You look *exhausted*, love. And you've only been open.... fifteen minutes at most?"
"Murphy's Law meets fine dining," Zechs growled. "All of a sudden the three people I hired for their ability to produce excellent food smoothly and efficiently have all become butterfingered. I *think* we've got all the oil off the floor now..." As his hand snaked along Treize's waist, the tall blond looked over at Wufei again. "Really... Wufei, was it? You don't need to do this. Why don't we just make an appointment and you can come back when things are calmer?"
"I will prove to you that I am the best at this," Wufei uttered, looking back for only a moment, long enough to see the grasp Zechs had on the strange ginger-haired man, before returning to his cooking, face flushed dark red. "Otherwise, I am not worthy of this job."
"As long as you don't drop anything," Treize smirked, sliding a hand to cup Zechs' bottom firmly.
The blond gave a soft growl in Treize's ear. "*You*, sir, are not helping me get back into that kitchen. Not in the *least*!" He gave his lover's ear lobe a small nip and picked the wine bottle. "Why haven't you opened this? I was expecting you to be tipsy by now so I could have my way with you. Sex is so *good* for relieving stress..."
The Chinese man had blushed scarlet to the tips of his ears. He scowled to counteract it. "Why are you two always doing these things? You like each other so much you don't care where you are? This is a *kitchen.* Important work is done here. Like my mousse!" He thrust two spoons belligerently in their faces. "The puff pastry shells are baking and when I put *this* into those shells and top them with whipped cream, which I am starting now, *you* will understand that I *am* worthy of this position. Now *eat.*"
Chuckling, Treize took both spoons, holding one out towards Zechs, intent on feeding it to him. "Well, you heard the as yet un-hired pastry chef, Miriald!" he chuckled warmly, "So, eat!"
Yes, well - I don't think refusing at this point would be very good for my health." Casting a wary eye at Wufei, and then a suggestive one at Treize, Zechs leaned forward and licked the thick, cocoa colored cream off the spoon, his eyes not leaving Treize's as he did so. Slowly, he let the spoon slip from his mouth. For a brief moment the seductive look remained and then his eyes went wide.
"*Damn!* This is *good!*"
Will peeked through the door. "Chef? Micah says we're out of Portables and we have five orders of Boeuf Champignon to fill..."
"*Damn*, *that's* bad!" the blond muttered. He gave Treize a kiss on the cheek, winked at Wufei and called, "Back in a moment!" as he disappeared yet again through the kitchen door.
The kiss, however, had been very *sticky*, and Treize only chuckled as he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, watching his lover go. Now it was his turn, taking the mousse off of his spoon. Sweet and creamy, without falling into the pitfall of having it *gooey* sweet.
"Damn good."
The creator of the mousse was still trying to lose the blush he'd gotten back when Zechs winked at him. Now her turned to the other man. "What? Oh -of *course* it's good! I wouldn't give it to you to eat unless I *knew* that it was *excellent*! So - that is going to be *his* dessert." He waved the wire whisk he held in the general direction of the kitchen door. "As for *you*..." Dark eyes narrowed in the serious face. "*You* are more difficult. Tell me what you like for after dinner."
"Sex," was his serious answer, a little smile twitching the edges of his lips. "No, ah, food? I'm rather partial to marzipan." /How much of a pain in the ass can you be today, Khushrenada...?/ "Or something *cold*. I don't know what it is with Americans and having to eat all their cakes and things piping hot."
"Marzipan? You ask for marzipan?" He reached into his box and pulled out a bowl sealed tightly with a plastic lid. Waving it in Treize's face, he scowled again. "I was the top student in cake decorating and I did most of my work in *marzipan.* Do you like it on cake or do you like it by itself?"
"All by itself," Treize replied, *trying* his damnedest ot not smirk. Good marzipan was wonderful, and bad was... well, bad Marzipan to him was ranch dressing to Zechs.
Wufei leaned closer, determined to change the smirk into a look of awe. "Chocolate-dipped or plain and shaped?"
"Chocolate dipped," Treize replied without batting an eye. No awe until he'd *tasted* it.
"Ah hah!" Wufei said, emphatically. Keeping his eyes on Treize he pulled down another saucepan and got out a different kind of baking chocolate. "The best chocolate coating is a mixture of dark chocolate and unsweetened chocolate. It's a simple recipe that is very hard to master. The *marzipan* on the other hand," and here he opened the bowl and briefly showed Treize three thick bars of pale gold paste, "is the truly critical part. I do not make "pretend" marzipan."
His face was solemn as he turned one of the bars out onto the marble pastry board that was built into the center of the countertop. "*My* marzipan candy is *90%* marzipan paste and 10% sugar. Anything else would be not be worthy of my time and expertise, nor of my customers' palattes. *You* will see." He pointed a long knife at the ginger-haired man and then brought it down on the bar of paste with a loud *whack.* He looked up again. "The candies will be square, I think."
End of Chapter One
(:./kumiko/town3)
