Title: Waffles.
Author: soraoathkeeper
Type: A Teen Titans drabble.
Pairings: Platonic BB/R.
Author's Note: Something that popped into my head. Probably took me less than fifteen minutes, and might be a little cliche, but it's been so long since I've written and finished anything that I can't keep a grin from appearing on my face as I post this. Reviews are sorely appreciated, as are nitpicks.


Flour. It is all over everything. It coats the counter with a thick cover of white. The ceiling looks like it has received a new layer of paint. Even the couch (how did he get it there?) has not escaped the fine powder.

Raven knows she should be fighting to hold onto her temper right about now. She knows the routine she should go through: disbelief, confusion, anger, followed by punishment of some sort, and a final retreat of shame. It is nothing new to her, and almost certainly nothing new to him.

But for some strange reason, she feels nothing of that sort. Just a type of calm acceptance as she stares at his guilty face. Her eyes travel down to the pathetic pile of waffles he holds. Strange, they don't look like the normal soggy white tofu type - though the white is debatable, considering the flour that is spread over everything.

He catches her look. "They're real," he tells her uncomfortably.

She blinks, eyes straying to the messy kitchen. Eggshells are scattered over the counter, and a milk carton is lying face down in a pool of liquid. Looking at the waffles closer, she realizes that he has spread butter over them. Suddenly, she is willing to bet it is unsalted too, the only type she likes.

"They're for you," he offers unnecessarily.

Before she has a chance to respond, the rest of the team strolls in, talking and laughing loudly. The sudden silence afterwards is disturbing, and she sees him wince instinctively, a preemptive reaction to what he knows is coming.

They go through the normal motions of disbelief, ("Okay, I admit I was dreamin' of a white Christmas this year, but this isn't exactly how I pictured it.") confusion, ("I did not know that Earth weather is able to manifest inside buildings.") and anger, ("Beast Boy, I thought that I had made it clear this Thanksgiving that you can't cook anything that can get on the walls!") but before they can follow through with some type of punishment, she speaks.

"I did it."

Total silence. Every single head cranes towards her, and she is suddenly assaulted by eight pairs of eyes. She doesn't notice. She can only see two dark green ones, ones that are boring into hers with the same type of disbelief and confusion the others showed earlier, something that quickly changes into relief and gratitude.

"I...lost control of my powers for a moment. The bags of flour exploded."

Their teammates look to the counter.

"And the eggs?"

"Were out already. Broke them."

"The milk?"

"Was going to put it into my tea. It spilled."

"The waffles Beast Boy is holding?"

"Found them in the refrigerator. He was warming them up for me."

Suspicion weighs down the air between them, but they reluctantly accept this, choosing not to note the still warm waffle maker next to the stove, nor ask her why she does not have a speck of flour on her. Instead, they hastily leave the area, their noise level increasing the further they get from the kitchen. The doors slide shut, and it is quiet once again.

He looks at her. They both know that he doesn't really need to say it, but he goes ahead anyways. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. I'm not cleaning the mess up."

Out of habit more than anything else, he whines a little as he gets out the sponge and paper towels. He clears out a place at the counter, and sets the still steaming waffles down for her. He lets himself grin at her in pride, and then quickly busies him with cleaning the kitchen.

Hmm, she thinks as she takes a bite, listening to him chatter away as he throws himself into making the kitchen spotless. Not bad. Not bad at all.