"Well, apparently you're supposed to roll it up, so I think eating with our hands will work nice even if we stuff it full of jam," he answers, opening the jar of jam. Even having snacked a little, the pancake is looking really appetizing right now.
"Thank you," he says, accepting it and then hands her the ladle. "Here, you keep making them in the meantime." That way they can have a constant supple of pancakes while eating. He spreads jam over the pancake (hopefully not so much that it will drip terribly), then rolls it up, and cuts it in half in the middle just using the spoon.
When Joan has a moment in between ladling and cooking, he offers her up her half. "Here you go, sweetie."
She makes another one in the time he takes to prepare the roll-up, sliding it on the plate as he offers her half, and calls her sweetie. She blinks, taken aback for a split second, then smiles. It's actually really nice.
"Thanks, honey," she says, trying that on for size as she accepts the roll-up.
The cute nickname had been almost instinctual, not something he put a lot of thought into, but when she reciprocates, it makes him feel real good. He actually glows a little.
"Alright, ready?" he asks, holding up his half up almost as a toast, before taking a big yummy bite of it, and immediately making a delighted sound of approval. "Hoo, that's good!" he says excitedly. "What am I doing making stuff from scratch when they come so yummy right out of the box?"
He's glowing, and she feels it, right in the center of her being. What an amazing thing, being able to make this positive, optimistic, happy man even happier.
She smiles and holds up her half to toast him back, then takes a bite. "Mmm!" she hums as she chews. "It is good. I like yours better, though."
"Well, you're morally obligated to say that," he answers with a warm chuckle. "Though I bet I could tweak this mix to really bring it to the next level."
Turns out these thin pancakes go down real quick, so it takes no time to finish, as he licks jam off his fingers.
"Doesn't mean it's not true," she says with a smile, licking her fingers as well. She does sincerely prefer Ted's cooking, but this stuff is pretty good. She can see how he could add to the mix and make it incredible. "Mmm. How many of these should we make?"
"I think I could gobble down two or three more of these, easy, so keep 'em coming," he answers, spreading jam on the second one. "Or I could take over, if you like."
"I've got it," she says, pouring another ladle of the batter into the pan. "You can sit down if you like." It would probably be good to get him off that cast, and she'd like to take care of him a little.
"Thanks," he says gratefully, giving her a one-armed hug and a kiss on the top of the head. Then he carefully limps back over to the bed, sitting down on top of the covers with a tired grunt, before digging into the second pancake.
She leans into that hug, smiling at the kiss. Then she continues cooking the pancakes. Since the pancakes are thin they cook up quickly, so it's not long before she comes over with two plates with three pancakes each. She hands one to Ted and sits with the other.
"Dinner in bed, what a luxury," he comments with a smile, accepting the plate and stacking it on top of his other now empty plate. "Oh, do we have something to drink? Sorry, should've asked before you sat down."
"It's okay," she says, leaning in to kiss his cheek before getting up, carrying her plate with her. "I think we have milk and some cans of juice. Do you have a preference?"
She laughs a little at that cute, folksy way to convey that bit of information. "Canned orange juice it is," she says, grabbing a couple and returning to the bed. "No apple juice, unfortunately," she says, handing him a can.
He considers making a 'orange yous glad' joke, but decides against it.
"Don't think I've had either in a can before," he answers, opening it and taking a sip. Tastes the same but the experience is a little different. He sets it down then starts digging into the pancakes.
"You know, this place ain't so bad, but it could really benefit from some sort of home entertainment," he comments, looking around the boring mostly empty room.
"It could," she agrees after taking a sip of her orange juice. "I think the argument was that it was important to use as little electricity as possible. This room doesn't exist in any official capacity, and the electricity is being taken from nearby sources. The fridge and the stove are necessities, but a TV is not."
"Alright, but, you know, analog options. Board games. Deck of cards. Maybe some books or something," he suggests. They're sort of limited to 'spin the bottle' or 'never have I ever'. And he assumes there's no alcohol, so those wouldn't even be that fun.
"I'll pass on the suggestion to Sherlock," she says with a smile. "You're right, though, there should be something. This particular safehouse is usually used for short term stays." She bumps his shoulder gently with hers. "I think we can keep ourselves occupied. We could tell each other stories. Or play 'two truths and a lie.'"
"Ooh, yes, 'two truths and a lie' is great," Ted answers excitedly, as he shifts around to face her, crossing his legs. "You got one ready, wanna go first?"
Joan hums as she chews her mouthful of pancake, thinking. "Okay," she says after swallowing. "When I was a kid I was obsessed with the mafia. I helped my dad write a book based on Sherlock and me. And I dated Sherlock's brother."
Ted gets increasingly intrigued throughout the statements. "Hoo boy, okay," he says, frowning thoughtfully. "You did say your father is a writer, so I'm gonna assume that one is true, unless it's a misdirection."
He clicks his tongue thoughtfully. "The first one is hard, because little girls are mysterious and powerful, and you absolutely could have, but I think it's a misdirection, since this is your third career. But the last one sounds like a 'crazy but true' situation. So I'm gonna go with the first one."
Joan smiles. "The mafia was like a soap opera when I was a kid. I had friends who swore they had relatives in the mob. This was before the big crackdown in the late 80s. It actually helped me with a case later on when we had to identify a body that turned out to be the son of one of the dons." She tilts her head. "Want to try again?"
"Oh, woow," Ted answers, delighted. He doesn't mind getting it wrong as long as he gets fun stories like that! "Alright, in that case, I'm gonna go with the last one."
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When Joan has a moment in between ladling and cooking, he offers her up her half. "Here you go, sweetie."
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"Thanks, honey," she says, trying that on for size as she accepts the roll-up.
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"Alright, ready?" he asks, holding up his half up almost as a toast, before taking a big yummy bite of it, and immediately making a delighted sound of approval. "Hoo, that's good!" he says excitedly. "What am I doing making stuff from scratch when they come so yummy right out of the box?"
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She smiles and holds up her half to toast him back, then takes a bite. "Mmm!" she hums as she chews. "It is good. I like yours better, though."
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Turns out these thin pancakes go down real quick, so it takes no time to finish, as he licks jam off his fingers.
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"Don't think I've had either in a can before," he answers, opening it and taking a sip. Tastes the same but the experience is a little different. He sets it down then starts digging into the pancakes.
"You know, this place ain't so bad, but it could really benefit from some sort of home entertainment," he comments, looking around the boring mostly empty room.
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He clicks his tongue thoughtfully. "The first one is hard, because little girls are mysterious and powerful, and you absolutely could have, but I think it's a misdirection, since this is your third career. But the last one sounds like a 'crazy but true' situation. So I'm gonna go with the first one."
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