Who: Justice and Gus What: Gus has an apology to make. Where: The Cellar When: Evening. Rating: PG-13. Status: Complete
After turning over his long talk with Lou, Gus knew he had to follow through with some kind of apology. He’d put her on the ropes and he’d had no right to do that. Not to a friend. And he would’ve done it sooner if he hadn’t been assfucked by the completely unsolvable case involving a burnt out car The Experience parking lot. Dealing with the furious little owner of the place was not something he cared to repeat - he could’ve sworn she’d been a step away from from pulling out a piece and icing him - and even worse? The case was cold. There was just no goddamn evidence, and if there had been? It had burned up. Lab guys had been invited in, of course, since Babylon didn’t have those resources, and surprise, surprise, they hadn’t been able to turn shit up either.
The only weird thing was the salt, but was it really that weird that a parking lot had been salted in the dead of winter? Gus sure didn’t think so, but boy was he tired of being confused by salt. He was writing it off, at all rate, and his department was going to take a hit for having an unsolved case, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
Justice, however, was someone he could do something about. The real challenge was finding the right balance. Something completely friendly without being too friendly. Boundaries were important. He wanted to keep them in place from now on.
So, taking a page from Lucy’s playbook, he’d made a cake. He’d made three cakes, but only the third one was anywhere approaching edible. And it had store-bought frosting on it because Lucy hadn’t taught him that one. Really, it wasn’t a terribly attractive cake at all, but he had it in a box, and he’d written ‘SORRY I’M A JERK’ on it in candy letters. Because honestly, he had been a jerk. Not on purpose, and she’d insisted he’d done nothing wrong, but... he had. He’d expected more out of her than he should have for what was supposed to be a platonic friendship, and he’d put her on the spot and left things in an awkward place, and Justice deserved better than that.
He glanced around the bar when he entered, relieved that it wasn’t crowded, and approached the bar, pretty pink cake box in hand.
Monday evenings weren’t exactly the Cellar’s cash-crop, in fact the reason why Justice wasn’t behind the bar had been the only other recent occupant in the place had been the Budweiser guy - who was now driving his truck out of the strip-mall parking lot with a $20 tip because lugging five kegs into the back with one arm just wasn’t a good idea.
“Be there in a sec!” her voice called out when she heard the door buzz in the back. She had her ass wedged up against the stove to get some leverage, and shoved the kegs into storage with the bottom of her boot. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d work until the pills kicked in.
“Sorry--bad timin’” Justice said to nothing in particular as she backed through the swing door, then paused when she spotted who was waiting for her. Surprise written all over her face, but it didn’t last long. “Oh, hey...” Justice smiled. It wasn’t a fake smile. “Nice box...?”
Gus smiled back and then looked down at the cake box like he was surprised to see it. Right, he probably ought to say something.
“I was out of line the other night,” he said, figuring he’d just get it out there, “And I know we talked about it, but I’m still sorry. I was pushing way too hard and I shouldn’t have. And I won’t do it again.”
He set the box on the bar between them and lightly drummed his fingers on the top, taking a deep breath, holding it, and releasing it.
“So I made you a cake,” he said. Wow, that seemed really nonsequitur. Which was sort of perfect, he supposed, since it was meant to be a friend gesture and nothing more.
Justice was about half-way between the back door and where Gus was leaning when her pace started to slow as a way to compensate for the string of surprises that was coming out of his mouth. She didn’t even think to school her expression, which was somewhere between confused and taken back. Beneath all that, though, was the fact that her chest had gotten tight.
And when he mentioned a cake? A cake that he made... There was no holding back the smile that split her cheeks. It came with a small, uncertain breed of laugh.
“You. Made me a cake?” Justice finally made it over, leaning her belly against the bar across from him. The look of absolute honesty and hope on his face knocked her back to the real point of the conversation, and though her smile faded a little, it did get warmer. Warm enough to aim it down at the damn cake, too raw for him to see.
“Gus, I-- You weren’t over any lines,” she said quietly, both appalled and loving the amount of emotion in her voice. She ran her fingers under the box-flaps to open it. “This is really ni--”
Then, she saw the candy letters and what they spelled. Justice broke her own train of thought with a laugh, which she tried to cover with - of course - the wrong freaking arm. The jolt was a good reminder, and made her eyes sharp, but at least it curbed her reaction a bit. “Wow... you really went all out.”
He liked her reaction, and while he wasn’t impressed that she was hurt again, he wasn’t going to bring it up when the moment was about the cake. And apologizing. He’d worked really hard on that damned cake, though, so it was part of it.
“I was,” he insisted, “And you’re my friend, Coop. It’s the least I could do for putting you out like that. I didn’t have any right to, and definitely didn’t have any right to mope my ass out of here afterwards either.”
Well, Gus felt better. So long as the cake was good, he’d chalk it up as a success.
“Sorry it wasn’t sooner, but I had to learn to make cakes first,” he said. And there was the case that had eaten up his time, but this wasn’t really a good moment to be mumbling excuses, “It’s a white cake, so don’t let the chocolate frosting fool you.”
She wanted to tell him to stop apologizing, that he was taking way too much of all that awkwardness out on himself when she knew for a fact it was her own damn fault. But she stayed quiet, whether it was for the better or not, she didn’t know. But it felt good to laugh with him, even if it was amid strange-natured apologies.
“Well, it smells good.” Justice plucked the candy ‘J’ from the cake and popped it in her mouth. Tasted like sugar and cocoa frosting with a hint of that store-bought staleness that came with those kind of cake decorations. Perfect, as far as she was concerned. She finally felt confident enough to look back up at him. “You got time to dig in?”
“Goddamn right I am,” Gus said, taking a seat on a barstool, “I uh, hope you’ve got stuff to cut a cake up. I’ll do the honors if you’ve got a knife - don’t want you messing up your good arm.”
He raised his eyebrows at her a little. After picking her up at the edge of town all beat to hell, Gus wasn’t even sure he wanted to ask. No, that wasn’t true. He did want to ask, but he would let her offer the information instead. And if she declined the opportunity, they had a (hopefully) delicious cake to eat.
“Well look who made detective,” she teased him mildly to cover up her own twinge of nerves. Dammit, Gus. So observant in some things, completely oblivious in others. She stuck a candy letter on the back of his hand as a distraction, ad sucked the frosting off her thumb in the meantime.
“Did a little bull ridin’ on my day off,” she quipped while digging out the plastic forks under the bar, plus two bottles of beer, because beer went with cake.
Gus laughed and obligingly sucked the candy letter off the back of his hand like a pro, not missing a beat. He was definitely a fan of all things sugary-sweet, so he wasn’t going to be bothered. Not by that, anyway. So, he wasn’t supposed to ask about the arm. Fair enough, even if it still got to him a little. If she wanted to handle her own problems, that was her prerogative - and maybe she’d just pulled a muscle at the gym. Not that he’d ever seen her there but hey. They had different schedules.
“Make sure you give this apology cake a sincere review,” he said, accepting his fork and beer, but letting Justice have the first taste. She ought to the do the honors, after all, “I’ve got to report to Lucy how I did, since she’s the one who taught me to do it.”
“Really?” She sent him that ‘don’t toy with me’ look that was entirely light hearted and meant for the cake, which promptly had her attention. “Well it should be good, then, but you fluffed my expectations, y’know...”
But, as soon as she took a bite (no plates, who the hell needed plates when they had a box) all those expectations were met. Though the situation that brought her the cake in the first place might’ve been a minor factor. She wrapped her lips around the fork and almost forgot it was there. Justice’s eyes rolled closed, a clear sound of approval hummed in the back of her throat.
Gus laughed and took a bite for himself, and he was honestly surprised that he’d made such an edible cake without using a box. It was actually pretty good! Not Lucy-levels of confectionary genius, but good!
“Man, I’m pretty good at this,” he said, obviously joking, “Maybe I’m in the wrong profession, what do you think?”
He plucked another candy letter off the cake and dug out another bite as well. Gus imagined that the cake wouldn’t see sunrise.
“Definitely,” she replied with her mouth full, more honesty in that statement than originally intended. But hey, it still worked, and she decided to run with it. “We’d have to find a frilly apron that fits you, but I could see it.”
Funny (and almost sickeningly adorable) as the image planted in her head was, Justice indulged in the thought, however ludicrous. Gus was a big target, being in the profession he was. Gus was a big target in general, but in her thirty-six years, she’d never heard of a nest of demons collaborating against the local bakery. She dug in for another bite, sticking mostly to the icing, for which she had a small weakness, and let the strange fantasy go.
“I’ll have you know,” he said loftily, gesturing with his fork, “That once upon a time I did have a frilly apron. Here’s a tip: don’t take your six year old daughter with you shopping for barbecue stuff, and then let her pick out your apron for you.”
He couldn’t say no to his little fire engine, after all, not when she gave him the big, hopeful eyes, the ones that so sincerely thought that the pink one would be the best. Kimberly was more important than his pride, and when she’d been old enough to be embarrassed by her father wearing a pink apron when he was grilling, she’d gotten him a new one.
“I may have pictures to prove it,” he said, “But I’d have to dig them up, and I’m too busy enjoying this masterpiece of a cake.”
“Oh--” she started, covering the by-now predictable flare of emotion connected to Gus’s talks of his daughter by concentrating on actually seeing him in a frilly apron. Justice even stopped mid-chew, cake crammed in the side of her cheek, imploring him with her gaze. “I have to see the pictures. Not optional.”
She swallowed and washed the sweetness down with the beer, which tasted pretty bitter in comparison, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Plus, it was cold, and alcoholic - went great with Vicodin.
“Shit, I put myself in a corner on that one,” Gus laughed, “Fine, fine. I’ll dig some up and bring them by.”
Eventually. If she kept bugging him. His first instinct was to just have her come by, but he was thinking it would be better to put some distance on that one.
“The things you do for your kids,” he chuckled, shaking his head and looking vaguely embarrassed, “The apron doesn’t have anything on the time she painted my nails. That went over big at the station. No pictures of that.”
Though Justice smiled - and it was genuine, amused at the image of him wandering around in a black cop’s uniform and pink nails - the constant barrage of nostalgic memories was starting to do more than prick. She didn’t blame him, not even in the slightest, but she was finding it a bit difficult to justify going on with that part of the conversation.
On the other hand, it was light, and she missed this.
“Maybe you can give manicures and bake cakes,” she finally came back with, shooting him her usual crooked grin and stuffing more cake in her mouth.
“Now there’s a million dollar idea,” Gus laughed, “Hell, I’d pay to see me baking cakes and doing manicures.”
It was very good to be back to their usual banter, and he was going to strive pretty hard to keep it that way from now on.
“Maybe throw a gym in there,” he mused, quirking an eyebrow, “Pretty sure this damn cake is going straight to my ass. You should see all the butter that went into this thing. I can just hear my Doctor sighing.”
“Don’t worry,” Justice went on, leaning on her good elbow while she peeled off another piece of cake with the plastic fork. “We’ll get you a nice A-line that’ll hide the problem areas.”
She took down about half her beer with the next swig, trying to decide where to aim her concentration; one side of her wanted to steer the conversation down a more personal road; share a bit more, like he did the other night - because though she’d given him the hard schpeil for the sole purpose of pushing him away from the horrid truth, saying it had done something. On the other hand, this was definitely not the time.
Other options included his work, which had it’s own dangerous areas, and his personal life - even more tender zones. Nothing seemed like a win/win. Except for the cake. The cake was all win. And he’d made it for her.
“Thank you for this,” she said after a moment, then glanced up, smiling a little warmer than she meant to. “I really needed it.”
“Everyone needs a little cake now and than,” Gus said, waving her off, “You’re more than welcome, Coop.”
It was a pity more problems couldn’t be solved with cake, really. And he probably ought to stop eating so much of a cake he’d made for Justice, but she hadn’t protested yet. He didn’t think she would, either, and it would be a shame to let the cake go to waste.