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Now, there were a variety of rumors about the Doctor. Some were true, some were false. Some were half true. There was one particularly vile rumor about her that apparently she ‘could not cook.’ Which was obviously a lie! She had a degree in cheesemaking! Which was close to cooking if you really thought about it. She could cook! Those were vicious, vile, untrue rumors!
She stared at her fourth burnt pancake. Okay, so maybe it had a little bit of truth to it. She could cook… most things. And pancakes had seemed simple enough, but she guessed not. She couldn’t serve Missy burnt pancakes. That would make her a terrible wife. Not that she was even a particularly good one in the first place.
How does one burn a pancake? It’s just some batter in a pan. You can’t really mess up a pancake. Except she could somehow. Because she was a failure. It was a pancake, for Rassilon’s sake. A pancake. She absentmindedly flipped her fifth pancake over.
“Oh, just cook some pancakes, they can’t be that difficult,” she muttered to herself.
“They obviously appear to be that difficult,” came a voice. The Doctor jumped, throwing her spatula at the intruder. Missy moved out of the way, letting the spatula clatter to the floor. She raised an eyebrow at the other Time Lady. “Nice aim,” she said dryly.
“You startled me,” she said, grabbing a new spatula.
“I can see that,” she said, eyeing the spatula on the floor. “What did you think that was going to do?”
“I don’t know! You just scared me!”
“Yeah, yeah. Nice job on the pancakes.” She smirked.
The Doctor glared at her. “They’re for you.”
Missy looked at her. Missy looked at the pile of burnt pancakes, then at the pancake currently burning on the stove. “Try making one that’s not burnt first.”
“Shit,” she said, realising that her current pancake was burning. While she frantically tried to separate the pancake from the pan and make a new one, Missy elegantly sat down in a chair, crossing her legs.
“I see it’s going well.”
“Shut your mouth,” she said, pouring batter into the pan. Missy rolled her eyes.
“Whatever you say, chef.”
“Are you just going to sit there and make snarky comments the whole time!?” she said, resisting the urge to turn around. This pancake would not burn.
Missy looked thoughtful for a moment, as if she was truly considering her answer. “Yes,” she grinned. She could practically taste the scowl that she knew was on the Doctor’s face right now. “Talk to me when you actually make a pancake that isn’t burnt.”
“Fine.” They sat in silence for a few moments. The Doctor flipped her pancake. It was going well so far.
“I’m bored,” Missy complained.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to talk to me until I made a suitable pancake.”
“Yeah. But I’m bored. And it looks like you won’t burn the pancake this time.”
“You are impossible,” she sighed.
“And yet you are in love with me. Care to explain?”
“No,” she said, pulling up a chair next to Missy and presenting her with a single unburnt pancake. “Now eat your pancake.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t burn it again.”
“Shut up.”