Title: Never Again
Word Count: 2,067
Summary: Barry decides he wants to surprise Riza with something special in order to make her love him back. Of course, anything Barry ever tries to do eventually turns into chaos.
A large suit of armor stood by the second story window, looking out. If he was able to have an expression on his face, it would have been a perplexed and thoughtful one. He stood with his large hands on the window sill, slowly shifting from one foot to the other.
“Hey Chief,” Barry finally said, breaking the silence that filled the room, “what do you give to someone to show that you care?”
Farman, who had been sitting on the couch, crossing his legs, book in hand, raised his head in curiosity and marked the page in his book before closing it and setting it down beside him.
“Well, a traditional gift is a bouquet of flowers,” Farman said without much thought. However, after a few moments, he added, “Or chocolates.” His tone of voice had an air of confusion to it, and his forehead wrinkled as he furrowed his brows. After a few more second of silent, Farman asked the question that had him puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
Barry turned from his original position, in order to face the older man. “Well,” he began, “I know that Missy is coming to visit again soon, and I sorta wanted to give her a give. You know…so she’ll love me back.”
Farman laughed to himself; Barry never ceased to amuse him, especially when using the nickname that he had given Lieutenant Hawkeye. “Except, I didn’t know what to get her,” continued to voice that emerged from the depths of the large suit of armor, “So that’s why I asked you, Chief.”
“I guess I could pick up some flowers for you at the market tomorrow,” Farman replied.
“No!” Barry said enthusiastically, not quite shouting yet almost whining, “I can’t give Missy flowers that you bought! The gift has to be from me.”
“Then why don’t you make her something?” Farman suggested, “I’m sure she’d like that.”
“That’s a good idea, Chief!” Barry said excitedly, starting to fidget in his happy mood, only to come to a stop. “But…what could I make her?”
“Hmm…well you could ma---” Farman was cut off by Barry, whose was eagerly shouting his ideas.
“Ooh, ooh, I know, I know! I’ll bake Missy a cake!! She’ll love that, right!? Won’t she!?! Everybody loves cake, right!?!” At this point, Barry was practically jumping up and down in excited.
“Why not,” Farman said as calmly as Barry was hyper, “I’m sure she’d like that. I’ll pick up some ingredients at the market tomorrow before she comes over.”
Barry continued to voice his elation, unable to wait for tomorrow. He knew that his idea to bake Missy a cake would make her love him back. He just knew it.
The door to Farman’s apartment opened as the gray man walked in, carrying two bags filled to the brim with cake ingredients. “Barry!” he called as he walked into the kitchen set the bags down on the counter. Immediately after hearing his name, Barry came rushing into the kitchen.
“Chief!! Did you get all the ingredients!? Did you!?” Barry questioned with a child like glee.
“Yep,” Farman responded, “Now let’s unpack the bags and get out the cook book.” Farman began to relieve the first paper bag of its burdens when Barry grabbed the first item from his hand.
“Chief, no,” Barry said, stretching out the words into a whiny tone, “I have to do this by myself, or else Missy won’t like it as much.” Farman sighed, and walked over to the sink, beside which laid the cook book. He picked it up and gave it to Barry.
“Here,” he said, “Open this up and find a recipe for cake. And I won’t help you, but I am going to stay in the kitchen and watch you, just in case.” Farman looked around at all the knives in the kitchen. He had known Barry for a good while now, but he was still uneasy leaving the once-serial killer in a room full of his weapon of choice.
As the Warrant Officer walked over to the corner of the room, Barry opened the book and began to flip through the pages. He turned then madly, page after page, until it was just a blur of pages being turned. Finally, Barry let out a short yell of frustration. Without saying anything, Farman walked over, turned to the right page in the book, and walked back to his lurking position.
Barry turned to face his roommate, unable to glare, but trying anyways. He had told Chief that he wanted to do this by himself, so why couldn’t he understand that? He had better not try to help again, Barry thought, Or else my gift for Missy will be ruined. Motivated to do the best job he could, Barry looked at the recipe that the book was opened to. The first ingredient he needed was flour. Barry searched though the paper bags for the flour, not bothering to remove the other items in his way. When he did find it, he pulled it out from the bottom, spilling all the other items onto the floor. In the corner, Farman covered his face with one hand; this was going to be a long day.
Barry put the two pound sack of flour on the counter and attempted to open it. After his first try, it would not open. He tried once more, this time tugging harder. Once again, he was unsuccessful. Farman moved from his spot and went to grab a knife, but by the time he reached where they were kept, flour fell all over the room. He looked over to where Barry was, seeing the suit of armor happily pouring what flour was left in the bag into a bowl. At times like this, Farman hated Barry’s enthusiasm; it would have been so much easier to cut the sack open, but no, Barry had to tug so hard that when he finally did open, there was an eruption of flour.
Barry looked at the book in front of him; the next item he needed was eggs. Barry bent down and picked up the carton of eggs from the floor. Upon opening the carton, he discovered that most of the eggs had broken after the fall. Shrugging, he grabbed what few eggs were left, not bothering to check how many the recipe called for, and one by one held them over the bowl, and smashed them between his hands, and then dropped them, shell and all, into the mixture. He took a spoon and began to mix the eggs into the flour, shattered pieces of shell sticking out of the batter.
Barry looked at the book once more and memorized the next three items; butter, sugar, and milk. He picked the three ingredients up from the floor and randomly chose the sugar first. This sack was much easier to open, so he didn’t lose any and was able to pour the whole thing into the bowl. He stirred the mixture once more, the sugar overtaking the other ingredients. He then poured the half gallon bottle of milk into the bowl, which was now filled to the top. He stirred this in too, splashing milk everywhere in the process. Finally, he opened the butter and through the whole thing into the bowl, not bothering to break it up or mix it in.
Finally, Barry put in the final two ingredients, baking powder and vanilla. They could barely fit in the bowl. He rapidly stirred the mixture, losing a lot of it as it poured over the sides, but Barry didn’t notice; he was too distracted by his glee to notice such trivial things. Barry now went over to the cabinet, almost skipping, to retrieve a cake pan. Barry searched furiously trying to find something that could serve as a cake pan. He grabbed pots and threw them out of his way and Farman covered his ears and closed his eyes even tighter than they normally were. After all the clamor, Barry still couldn’t find what he sought, so he sifted through the mess on the kitchen floor and eventually chose a pot. He skipped back over to the counter, set down his make-shift cake pan, and poured the batter into the pot, the extra batter flowing down the sides.
The large suit of armor picked up the pot and happily walked over to the oven, spilling even more batter in the process. He opened the oven door and placed the only half full pot in it. He quickly set the oven to a random temperature, and then rubbed his hands together in a satisfied manner. “Okay, Chief. I’m gonna go clean up before Missy gets here,” Barry said in a cheerful tone to the Warrant Officer. Farman did not respond. He stood still in the corner of the room, arms crossed, covered in flour, water, and cake batter. When he was given no reply, Barry shrugged and skipped off in the direction of the bathroom.
Farman looked at the kitchen; it was a complete mess. There was flour, water, milk, cake batter, even pots and pans everywhere; almost every inch of that kitchen was covered in something. Farman wanted to scream, to fall over right where he was, and just lie there, to never move from that spot again. But before he could, Barry, that same suit of armor who just couldn’t let him have one peaceful moment, came rushing back into the kitchen, now clean and completely stain free.
Barry looked at Farman and tilted his head. “Is something wrong, Chief?”
Farman looked at Barry in amazement. Could Barry really not know what bothered Farman? He sighed. “No Barry, there is nothing wrong,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Good!” Barry exclaimed, beginning to bounce where he stood, “Hey…Do you think the cake is done?”
“I don’t know,” Farman responded in a stolid tone.
Barry shrugged, “I bet its fine. Besides, I have to frost it before Missy gets here!”
Barry moved from where he stood and bounced over to the oven. He opened the oven door, took out the pot, and twirled as he held his cake up. Farman’s eyes widened and he held on the nearest surface in an attempt to keep from falling over. Barry brought the pot over to the counter and then walked back to the cabinets to get a plate, and next taking the frosting from the floor. When he had everything he needed, Barry walked back to the counter. He set the plate down on the counter and picked up the pot by its handle. Holding it over the plate, he tipped it over, emptying its contents onto the plate. The cake was very misshapen; it was lop-sided and mushy, and eggshells stuck out of the sides. Barry however, looked proudly at his creation. He decided that if he still had the ability to eat and if this cake wasn’t for Missy, this cake would be the best one he had ever eaten. Eagerly, he opened the frosting, and began to squeeze it out onto the cake. He did not pay attention to evenly coating the cake; he put frosting wherever he thought needed, which resulting in some spots being bare, and others having a good two inches of chocolate frosting.
Satisfied, Barry set down the empty tube of frosting right as the doorbell rang. “MISSY!!!” he yelled as he ran with his cake to the door. He swung the door open and began to bounce up and down, the somewhat scared lieutenant standing in front of him. “Missy, Missy, I baked you a cake!” Barry said, still bouncing, “Do you like it, do you, do yo---“ As Barry bounced as he talked, the unstable cake that he held slid off the plat and landed right on Riza’s head.
Back in the kitchen, Farman slid to the ground where he once stood. He couldn’t bear to look at the mess in the kitchen, and he definitely couldn’t look at the mess that was now on Lieutenant Hawkeye’s head. Why had he encouraged Barry to make this cake? Why had he bought him the ingredients? Why, why, why!? Farman couldn’t move from his spot. He heard Barry apologizing over and over again and Hawkeye telling his that it was okay, in her always-serious tone. Never again, he told himself. Never again.
Cross-posted...a lot XD