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Anya pours the last cup of flour into the bowl, along with a little bit of baking soda and salt. Even years later, she still hadn't forgotten the sushki recipe she'd made countless times.
Though in fairness, it wasn't as if she had lived through those 25 years the way everyone else had. She didn't even know how things like the foods in the kitchen here had been produced anymore.
Watcher 443 stands silently in the doorway, witness to previous sleepless nights of cinnamon rolls and whatever other recipes had been practically engraved in Anya's mind. That had been, surprisingly enough, helpful to reducing her unease around less human-looking androids.
At least it wasn’t close to midnight yet, unlike before.
She empties out half of the can of condensed milk into a new bowl, storing the remainder in the fridge, before adding the rest of the wet ingredients.
When she glances up, Watcher 443 is gone. She tries to focus on her task, but it feels unusual to be truly alone here. The batter is about halfway done, without any sign of...
"Well," Delta starts to say, eyes bright green in the dim light, "this is certainly-"
Flour spills onto the floor as Anya's grip on the bowl falters.
"пизде́ц!" She swears reflexively.
The metal bowl clatters onto the countertop. She gathers up what little flour had spilled on the counter instead of the floor.
"...Watcher 443 came to notify me that you were here."
Anya glances up at him. "Right." She mutters. "Take a seat, then. I won't be done for some time."
The silence hangs in the room like a coat that hasn't been worn in years.
By the time Anya is forming the first sushka, it's become comfortable once again. "These were my mother's favorite." She finds herself saying, pinching the ends of the dough stick together to form a second ring.
Delta looks up from tracking the movements of her hands.
"It was..." Anya rolls out another stick of dough. "It was one of the few things she was able to stomach after she got sick. I...haven't made these since she passed."
"Were you the only one who knew how to make them?"
Anya stares at the counter.
Stainless steel – unlike the wooden counters of her home. She still sets the container of poppy seeds aside, as if to block the ghost of her sister from view.
"...No. I wasn't."
Delta raises a brow as Anya completes the tenth ring. "It seems like a lot of effort to have been making all of these."
"The recipe's been halved." Anya murmurs, a smile tugging at her mouth.
He studies her face intently. "You do a lot for those you care for, do you not?"
She looks down. "...You make it sound so noble. I was just a scared child who couldn't do anything about her mother dying except bake."
"I've not met many humans who respond to fear that way." ‘And it isn't as insignificant as you try to make it seem’, his expression says.
Anya sighs. "Delta. If you're going to make conversation, then at least help me finish."
To her surprise, he doesn't refuse.
Delta pinches together dough to form a ring. She studies his face as he starts to make another. Strands of dark hair fall into his eyes.
"...Why did you do it, Anya?"
"What do you mean?" She answers, pulling a small bit of dough from the mixing bowl.
"The wraiths."
"Hm." She turns the mixing bowl in her hands. "It's what I said before. I was scared."
"Scared." Delta echoes. His brow furrows. "I warned you. Reviving may not have been possible, with those weapons."
"Saying that is not going to make me regret it, you know."
Before he can respond, Anya wraps her fingers around his forearm, gently lifting his hand. "...You've rolled it too thin, Delta."
"Ah."
Anya remakes the sushka. "You can think what you'd like. That I did it because, like you said, we were...civil. Or because I was stupid, even. All I know was that I was scared of what those weapons could do, and I...just couldn't stand there and watch."
For once, Delta seems to be at a loss for words, because Anya is able to finish making the sushki in silence. Now all that’s left is the egg wash and baking process.
She glances at the container of poppy seeds.
"...You haven't let go." Delta finally murmurs, lifting his arm – Anya's fingers now intertwined with his.
"No." She answers, glancing away as she lets go, fingers curling into her palm. "I haven’t."
He watches her mix an egg with a tablespoon of milk and start brushing the mixture over the sushki.
“If you want to keep helping, you can sprinkle some poppy seeds after I put the egg wash on.”
The sound of the container opening breaks the silence.
It’s easier, somehow, to admit this now. “Actually, it was my mother who taught me that fear isn’t always so bad.”
“How so?”
“The dead don’t fear.” Anya says. “Only the living. That might’ve been her way of trying to hold on. As long as she was afraid, she wasn’t dead yet. She was right, you know. In the end, she wasn’t really afraid anymore.”
“You weren’t afraid, either.”
“….” She grabs the tray of sushki in both hands. “...If you mean overall, then you’re wrong. But in that moment, no, I wasn’t afraid of dying.” Anya places the baking tray in the oven, then sits down, letting her head rest against the drawers. “That was...the only death so far that I’ve chosen. The rest, they’re just...those caused by a malfunction, two murders, and an accident.”
“...Were you truly afraid for me?”
"I think you already know the answer to that question, Delta." Anya murmurs, the smell of sweet bread filling the air.
The timer goes off just as Delta opens his mouth to speak. 50 golden-brown sushki come out of the oven.
“It’s done, then.” He mutters.
“Not yet.” Anya responds. “Sushki are best with either tea or coffee. I don’t know what you prefer.”
“...I can wait for tea.”