Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Chapter 5
Summary:
When Simon first interviewed for The Great British Baking Show, he hadnât expected anything to come of it. He certainly didnât expect to win. Despite the chaos it brought to his life, he couldnât really complain. It landed him the best job he could ask for and a close circle of friends who actually seemed to enjoy his company. It also led him to his biggest fan, one John MacTavish, whoâs determined to win him over one baked good at a time. â Or, The baking AU that no one asked for
â Chapter 4 ă ⊿ Chapter 5 ⊿ ă Chapter 6 â
â Read on AO3
ă Chapter Specific Warnings: The R slur is used in a purposefully offensive way to describe Simon. There is also vague description of disassociation and a panic attack, though not in any heavy detail. ă Notes: Split this one in two, please don't kill me. :' ) Thank you all for your kudos and comments; I didn't expect my return to writing to be this well received and it really means a lot to me.
Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Masterlist ⊿ CoD Library ⊿ Hayden Isaacs Library
đ°Â Chapter 5
Cafe 141 was in pure chaos, and considering that most of the staff had survived active war zones, that was saying quite a lot.
While Rudy and Alejandro had enjoyed the long weekend Simon had given them, both had gotten a nasty case of food poisoning that had them incapacitated. It was a shame because they had been celebrating their anniversary, but the remaining staff of the cafe found it hard to sympathize as they struggled to handle the current rush. With Rudy and Alejandro taking the day off to recover on such short notice, only Gaz, Price, and Simon had been available to keep the Cafe up and running.
It was hectic, but the trio had dealt with worse situations. While they had never all served together in the same unit at one time, they had grown familiar enough with one another outside of their military careers to work like a well-oiled machine.
Gaz, charismatic but efficient, manned the register. His cap secured to his head in "focus" mode, he smoothly went from taking orders, to bagging up pastries, to making strategic recommendations (he did not, in fact, order enough coffee the week before. It's not his fault he got distracted by watching Soap and Ghost's flirting through the kitchen window), all with a friendly smile.
Price, the resident beverage expert, made the orders. It was a miracle that his bucket hat didn't fly off of his head with the way he rushed between the machines and juggled multiple mugs, glasses, and containers. And if he turned on his old-fashioned charm to soothe any ruffled feathers when calling out the completed orders and handing them off to customers? Well, that was just good customer service.
That left Simon to bounce between the two, filling the gaps and rushing back to the kitchen when he could. While he refused to man the second register, he helped Gaz retrieve and deliver pastries and worked on the tea orders when Price was catching up on the coffee ones. In the moments he managed to sneak away during the not-so-frequent lulls, he made whatever quick and easy things he could in the kitchen to replenish their display cases as the baked goods continued to fly off of the shelves.
The slammed staff of Cafe 141 hadn't had a free moment to breathe, let alone check the clock, and Simon knew that he wasn't the only one who had to be feeling the exhaustion pile up.
All of that slipped out of his mind when Johnny pushed through the door. The Scot looked surprised by just how busy the cafe was, but he still shouted a cheerful greeting to Gaz, Price, and Simon himself before squeezing his way to the back of the line. Hidden behind the safety of his medical mask, Simon smiled, pleased to see him.
His eyes drifted over to their display case as he hurried to fill the next order.
Simon wasn't sure if it was just luck or if Gaz had given his Scottish best friend a head's up, but he actually had made the mille feuille Johnny had requested. It was definitely lucky that he had gotten up early to make them â there was no way he would have been able to during the day with the constant stream of customers. Easily the most complicated pastry in the case, the delicate layers of flaky puff pastry separated soft pillows of whipped ricotta and rich lemon cream. An elegant drizzle of blueberry sauce curled across the top and if it resembled a cursive "J" at first glance? Well, that was just coincidence.
Johnny's name on them, indeed.
The mille feuille were quite popular, but Simon had made an extra small batch hidden in the kitchen just in case. He handed off the current customer's cup of tea before immediately starting on the next while trying not to worry about whether Johnny would like them.
With he, Gaz, and Price moving at full throttle, the line was steadily moving and Johnny became close enough to take a look into the case. His blue eyes moved quickly over the different options before he did a double take, eyes widening and a huge grin lifting his cheeks when he spotted the mille feuille. Simon almost let out a breath of relief, smiling behind his own mask at Johnny's apparent happiness.
Still smiling to himself, he crouched down and grabbed a small wax sheet to reach into the case with for the current order. Simon was, admittedly, zoning out a bit, so when a harsh slapping sound rattled the glass of the display, he jerked to attention. The sudden movement had him bashing his elbow into the case's door, but before he could even register the pain radiating up his bad arm, he was being scolded by a fuming woman.
Leaning up against the glass, the short woman held a mug of coffee in one hand and was clearly seething. "Finally," She snarled as Simon rose from his bent position, "I've been trying to get your fucking attention for ten minutes now! What, you folks too good to actually talk to the rest of us?"
Simon was completely at a loss, having no idea what the woman's problem was. The sudden whiplash from being hopeful about Johnny's opinion to being screamed at had him off kilter and he struggled to figure out how to respond. This wasn't the kind of yelling one heard in the midst of battle or during training, this was different, was viciously personal in a way that reminded Simon of his childhood. His shoulders curled inward involuntarily as he fell back into years-old placating habits.
"I-" Simon had to clear his throat, his mouth suddenly dry and pulse thumping in his ears, "I a-apologize, ma'am, I was â I was just getting another customer's order and didn't hear-"
The woman's pink painted lips curled into a sneer, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she glared at Simon. The other customers around her shifted uncomfortably, moving away from her as she gestured wildly with her free hand. "No wonder my order is wrong if they have some stuttering idiot working behind the counter," She spat, "I said I wanted toffee nut syrup in my drink, not whatever bullshit this is! What are you? Some kind of fucking retard that doesn't understand simple instructions?"
Simon froze, his entire body stiffening up as if someone had doused him in ice water. The woman continued to yell obscenities, but he couldn't hear them over the high pitched ringing sound in his ears. He could vaguely see both Price and Gaz moving his way from the dark edges of his vision, but he struggled to fully register what was going on and tried his best to diffuse the situation.
"I'm sorry," he said, moving closer to the counter to reach for the woman's mug, "I didn't make your order, but if you tell me what it was, I can have it remade for you."
"Haven't you been fucking listening?" The woman screamed, her cheeks a vivid red as a vein pulsed on her forehead. "If this is how you do things over here, I don't want your disgusting coffee! Take this shit back and give me a goddamn refund!"
Simon barely registered what happened next, only feeling a burning pain splash across his chest and extended arm. And in that moment, he completely shut down.
Price reached Simon a moment too late and frantically wiped at the burning hot coffee that the woman had thrown at him with his own apron. The older man reached for Simon's shoulders, urging the unresponsive man to look at him, but his eyes were dazed and unseeing, trapped in his own mind.
Gaz was talking sternly to the woman, his rich voice dripping with venom, and the rest of the cafe was in chaos as other customers tore into her for her behavior. They were nothing compared to Soap, who shouldered past an older teenager who had pulled his phone out at the first sign of conflict and was silently filming the whole thing. The Scottish man was quaking in rage and stormed right up into the woman's face. His accent made his words nearly indecipherable, but the meaning behind them was quite clear.
"Whit th' actual feckin' hell is yer kinch? Ye think ye kin juist come ower 'ere 'n' treat fowk lik' garbage? This isnae th' states, ye godless cunt!"
Unwilling to back down, even cornered as she was, the woman screeched right back at Soap, jabbing a pointed nail into his chest with every word. To emphasize her point, she threw her empty mug with a huff, stomping her foot in a full-blown tantrum. The mug clipped Price on the shoulder while he was still turned around to try and help Simon, causing the glass to bounce up and smash into Simon's face with a solid thunk. The large man flinched, snapping out of whatever flashback had been holding him hostage, cringing even further when the mug hit the ground with a resounding shatter.
Cafe 141 was suddenly quiet.
Price turned to Gaz, his expression cold but furious. "Call the police."
The barista immediately pulled out his cell phone, quickly and succinctly relaying information to the dispatcher. Behind him, the enraged woman was shoving at the other patrons, storming towards the door. It seemed that with the threat of the authorities looming over her, the woman had decided to finally leave. Unfortunately for her, the faithful customers of the cafe were less than accommodating, outright blocking her path and helping corral her to the far corner of the room.
Things were fuzzy for Simon after that. He registered that things were happening around him, but they were muted and distant as if he was watching them through someone else's eyes.
Gaz had greeted the police at the door, relaying all of the information he had given the dispatcher and directing them towards the still shouting woman in the corner. Her attention was focused on Soap, who was going toe to toe with her, but her eyes quickly widened when she spotted the two policemen stalking her way.
Price stuck by Simon, doing his best to keep the larger man present while doing what he could to tend to his injuries. Gaz was soon by their side, fawning like a mother hen over Simon's busted cheekbone and cut nose as he stared blankly on.
Simon was familiar enough with the feeling of disassociating, but he couldn't seem to break himself out of it. Soon there were more police in the cafe, a pair dragging the still protesting woman out in handcuffs while another took his statement. When the policeman turned his attention to Price to question him as the owner of the cafe, Simon's attention drifted.
Cafe 141 was in chaos. While a bunch of customers had left, the ones that stayed were enthralled with the spectacle, either talking amongst each other or filming what was going on. They were loud, but not loud enough to drown out the abuse that the vile woman was still screaming about him even as she was forced into the back of a cop's car. Price was visibly frustratd, his bucket hat askew and mustache turned down severly as he spoke to the officer in a low, stern voice. Gaz was running around, doing his best to gain some sort of order in the cafe, while sending worried glances Simon's way. He couldn't see Johnny, didn't know if he had left already or if he was outside talking to another officer or if he was just lost in the crowd. Porcelain shards were strewn across the floor. Sticky coffee dripped sluggishly from the counter. Simon watched as a drop broke from the rest, falling in slow motion to splash into the puddle on the floor.
Everything seemed to snap back into focus at once and he suddenly felt clammy and cold, his breath getting caught in his throat. He needed to get out. It was too much.
Simon bolted, disappearing through the hallway door and rushing into the bathroom. He threw himself at the toilet, the stall door slamming shut behind him and locking automatically as the sounds of his dry heaving echoed around the empty room.
He fell back against the wall with a wheezing gasp, shakily ripping off his mask and throwing it somewhere. He couldn't breathe. He pulled at his hair, mind racing as he struggled to remember his calming exercises.
A bitter, self-deprecating laugh twisted itself from his throat. The fearsome Simon "Ghost" Riley. Curled up like a greenie after being yelled at by a Karen. Fighting off a panic attack on the bathroom floor thanks to repressed trauma and PTSD.
His next laugh was more akin to a sob.
So caught up in his spiraling thoughts, Simon almost missed the creak of the bathroom door opening. He immediately froze and went silent, tracking the shadow of a person as they approached the stall door. He stared at the well worn boots he could see from under the door, holding his breath as he waited for the other person to do... something.
There was a hesitant knock to the door, the faint rustling of cloth as the person shifted behind it.
"Hey Simon, it's Soap."
Oh.
Oh, God.
Johnny had been there. Of course, Simon had seen him, had known he was in the cafe, but he hadn't fully realized what that meant. Johnny had seen him get screamed at by a customer. Johnny had seen him shut down. Had seen him panic, run away, sequester himself in the bathroom like some child.
Johnny had seen.
Simon couldn't fight the wave of embarrassment and shame that washed over him or the burn of self-loathing in his gut that put his coffee-scalded hands to shame.
"I saw ye come back here 'nd just wanted tae make sure ye were okay. Well, I ken you're not okay, not after tha', but if there was anything I could do tae help. Maybe help ye clean up? Patch up your injuries?" Johnny's voice was low and calm, his accent lighter than it was previously, but still present enough to give his words a soothing lilt.
Simon's immediate response was to turn him away. He had tended to worst wounds than this while out on missions and the last thing he wanted was for Johnny to see just how... pitiful he was right now. He wanted to lick his wounds in peace, find his footing, and not feel raw and exposed.
On the other hand, he was just so tired. It had been a long and hectic day without Rudy and Alejandro. His bad arm ached. His chest and arm were on fire. His cheek was sore and the cut on his nose stung as sweat teased its raw edges. He was exhausted and overstimulated and just done.
The Scot was quiet outside of the stall as Simon thought it over, not pressuring him, just silently offering his support.
Johnny had already seen him at his lowest point in a while. What was a bit more vulnerability in the grand scheme of things?
Simon grabbed his dirty, crumpled mask, looping the bands around his ears before reaching up with a shaky hand to unlock the door.
