Baking: A creative Interpretation

By: Thought

Disclaimer: Not my characters

Notes: Written for the crackfic contest on brb-gallifrey over on livejournal.

XXX

"What are you doing?"

The Doctor looked up. "You always struck me as a very intelligent woman, Anji. I'd think it would be obvious."

Anji, who also liked to think of herself as a very intelligent woman, reconsidered her question and for the second time that minute, found it a very appropriate one to ask. This was, however, The Doctor. She thought about it for a minute more and tried again. "You're making another cake? Really, Doctor, we can find you a good therapist. If you keep baking every time you're upset we'll all be so overweight that we'll be gunned down by the first aliens that Fitz gets angry at us."

"They're brownies, actually." He finished with the eggs and set aside the dish, then looked up at her with an overly-wide grin. "I'm not upset. Why would you think I'm upset?"

Anji, who had spent long enough with The Doctor to know when he was trying to get out of a conversation, refused to be diverted. "What," she pointed very deliberately at the bright green powder that The Doctor was in the process of pouring into the mixing bole, "Is that?"

"Oh!" The Doctor smiled brightly. Anji took a small step back. "It's part of the next recipe in the book." He produced a battered paperback with a flourish, as if she needed a visual aid to process the concept of "book". A cloud of flour came with it. Anji wondered, not for the first time, who did the man's washing - it wasn't like the velvet of that coat would be the easiest thing to clean. "I haven't just been making the same thing over and over, you know."

She was going to regret this conversation. "Yes, but what... *is* it?"

He blinked, then said something that the TARDIS apparently couldn't or wouldn't translate. Anji frowned. ...she *really* was going to regret this conversation. "And what's that when it's at home?"

He patted the mixture in the bole and started stirring it. she considered pointing out to him that he was using a whisk, but decided that if he broke it or ruined his brownies it would be karmically necessary. Somehow. "It's a... relaxant. It originated on Earth, actually." He paused. "Well, for a given definition of originated." He frowned, whisk slowing in the bole. "Or is it the other way around?"

Anji did not question how one might redefine originated because she was too busy decrypting Doctorspeak. "Is it legal?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh yes. Well, on Earth, at least. I assume you were asking about Earth."

Anji blew out a breath between her teeth. "Doctor. By 'relaxant', you mean drug, don't you?" She knew it was badly phrased even as the words left her lips.

His smile returned. "I suppose, if one were to apply the definition of 'drug' that you're probably using, then yes. But really, Anji," (and he set aside the whisk at that point so that he could more fully look soulfully into her eyes) "There's nothing wrong with mind-altering substances as long as one is capable of moderating and controlling one's use."

She stared at him. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

"I could repeat it, if you like.

Anji, predictably, was regretting the conversation. "Do you have a lot of experience with mind-altering substances?" It wouldn't actually surprise me, it really wouldn't. The Doctor shrugged. "I certainly wouldn't say I make a habit of it, but a little opium now and then never hurt anyone."

Anji considered disputing this, but if he didn't win the argument (if he won it would just put the icing on the proverbial browny of a conversation) he'd lose it, realize he'd been abusing his body for recreation and get horribly melancholy about it. And then he'd bake. Part of her thought she should consider the cyclical nature of this prediction rather sad. A larger part of her was jumping up and down screaming "karma!" at the top of its lungs. "Where did you find that recipe book?" she asked instead.

"In the back of a cupboard. I was cleaning in here and found it wedged in behind the coriander and the dried Partoli beetles. Why do you ask?"

"Because," she snapped. "You're baking the space equivalent to marijuana brownies, and seeing as you're neither a college student nor a hippy, I'm struggling to figure how this is striking you as a good idea."

He went back to whisking his dough. "I like chocolate. And it's not like" (again the TARDIS declined to translate) "will hurt any of us. At least, it shouldn't. And it's... fun. It's a mild hallucinigenic, as well, but really, that's no different than normal for us, is it? Sometimes I think our entire lives are some form of hallucination. Do you ever wonder that?"

"No. But it would explain *so* much."

He shrugged. Again. "It would certainly make things easier. I think I'm going to go with that explanation from now on. Perhaps you're simply a figment of my mind. Could you try growing a tail?"

"Excuse me?"

"Just... to test it out. If you are part of my mind then it follows that I should be able to manipulate reality to my own specifications. Just try. It doesn't have to be a big one. Or wings. I've always wanted to be able to fly, haven't you?"

She could feel her shoulders slumping, both literally and metaphorically. "Would you like to give the conversation about how not upset you are another go?"

"I'm sensing some hostility," he said. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Anji walked out. It was the only reasonable response, as far as she was concerned.

A rather alarming thought arrived in her brain, late and out of breath. she held up a hand, looking up at the ceiling and only feeling a bit silly (after all, she'd caught Fitz talking to the TARDIS and he would know best out of any of them). "If I have to deal with him when he's high I will *not* be responsible for my actions."