The Lancer Fanfiction Archive

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BarbA

 

 

Spice Of Life
Lancer Crack!fic

Breakfast was finished in the Lancer household, not a minute after six o'clock, right on time. When the blue willow plates and coffee cups—mind the one on the left, it had a chip in the rim—were moved from the table to the sideboard, it meant that Murdoch could sit back and relax for an hour or so until the noon time rush. Maria was quite demanding, some would say fastidious, in the kitchen, and Murdoch wouldn't have it any other way. Everyday she led her troops in cutting, dicing, braising and baking all for the good of the people at Lancer. That's why he was surprised when they appeared. It had been perfectly fine until then. Why just the thought of them on the same shelf, made him shake a little.

Tried and true, he was a staple the kitchen couldn't do without. How many times did Maria reach for his tall, hand-crafted mahogany cellar? Too many to count, that's how many. He'd been with the hacienda since the day it was built, way before all the rest. He had a hand in everything from pork roasts to beef tenderloins, from apple pie to green beans. He was a necessity. Not like them. Well, except for little vanilla. He had to admit a soft spot for her. Looked out for her, showed her around the kitchen, kept dangerous foxglove away.

Vanilla was so tiny, with such a sweet disposition. Some thought she was plain or boring, but he knew better. Nothing artificial about her, she was pure and delicate, yet had a hint of spice. It sent his heart into palpitations just thinking about foxglove being next to her.    

But now he had a whole new set of worries. Two more spices had shown up: cinnamon and chili.

Cinnamon was a real looker, long and lean, enrobed in a rich brown. He kept his sticks together in a glass jar with a fancy red ribbon tied around it. Truth be told, it seemed a little ostentatious. It just wasn't the way they dressed out here. Cinnamon seemed pleasant enough, and vanilla said he smelled nice, but there was a hint of piquant to him. Cinnamon had depths, and Murdoch didn't care for it—not one bit. 

Then there was exotic-looking chili. A blend, for heaven's sake.  In blazing red glory, chili sat by himself on the edge of the shelf, sneering at the rest of the spices, confident. That one's fiery temper matched his peppery taste. If Murdoch wasn't mistaken, the room temperature had even risen by a few degrees since chili's arrival. He shook his head sadly, wondered how he would ever get that hot-head to toe the line. This was a kitchen after all, they had to work together.  

Maria bustled in, a full two hours early for lunch. She was humming and that meant only one thing—a new recipe. Murdoch inched over to peer down. Indeed, there it was on the tile countertop. As he it read it over, his innate instincts growled that the recipe was flawed.  

He thought about it, gazing out the wide kitchen window to the grass and cattle beyond. Perhaps, just perhaps, with a loving hand…. He looked over at vanilla; she would be fine, always a steady addition. He looked with less favor on cinnamon and chili. They had moved together to the back of the shelf, already cozying up to lavender and lemon verbena, every now and then lavender giggled.

His gut said it would never work. But maybe it was the thing that would bring them all together. He shook a few grains of salt off the handle of his cellar and marched back to tell them the news. 

 



~end~
5/26/2012



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