Won't You Be My Neighbor? (Jane/casual)

[JANE EYRE]

“He’ll only eat you if you turn into a pork chop, and then you have to be dripping in barbeque sauce.”

Jane laughed joyfully at that, nodding. "Luckily for me I'm not made of pork and my condiment of choice it just hand cream." Jane giggled a little at the image of a pork chop wearing her clothes but it passed just as quickly as it appeared.

“You know, minus the paint and add a frilly apron, you could pass for one of those fifties women in those perfect house magazines."

Jane shook her head, grinning. "Oh absolutely not. I'm the furthest thing from a picture perfect housewife." Jane raised her left hand and wiggled it around. "Need to be a housewife first." She glanced down at her hand, remembering when there had been a ring on it. It had been such a long time since then, it felt like. Two years ago seemed almost like an eternity. Shrugging it off, she went back to stirring the batter until it was perfectly smooth.

“Heck, little lady. I’m about as country as they come. I grew up out in Montana. I raised horses until I was sixteen and then I moved out here to live with my uncle. The place kind of adopted me.”

Jane giggled and gave a little jump. She simply adored accents and she said so, brightly. They were so amusing, so full of character. "That's so cute." She practically cooed. "Why on earth would you hide such a charming accent." Peter was just like a cowboy, how exciting! Jane made a mental note to try and get Peter to talk like that as often as she could. The southern accent was so wonderful, Jane couldn't get enough of it.

“How about you? You sound a bit too cultured for Brooklyn."

At this Jane let a sharp laugh. Her, cultured? That was laughable on every level. "Not cultured, just English. I moved here two years ago and I still have the accent." No story, no need to share it.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Jane had a great laugh. Peter thought it was rather inviting. He felt like laughing along with her.

"Luckily for me I'm not made of pork and my condiment of choice it just hand cream."

“I think you’ll be safe, unless they ever come up with barbeque scented hand cream,” Peter offered, thinking it was a silly idea, but a lot of silly ideas seemed to make it to the market these days.

Speaking of on the market, Jane made a point of pointing out that she was currently unattached. "Oh absolutely not. I'm the furthest thing from a picture perfect housewife. Need to be a housewife first." She looked almost wistful for a moment, but Peter didn’t pay it much mind. He’d never been close enough to anyone to marry them, so he wasn’t one to judge. The one person he had considered ever being that close to had shown him early on what loyalty was worth.

“We’ll have to start a singles club,” Peter joked, holding a hand over the griddle to see if it was heating up at all. With how long it was in the cabinet, it was possible that it had died in all that time. “Griddle’s almost hot.”

He really wished he hadn’t let his accent slip when Jane seemed so overjoyed to hear it. “cute” was not something a guy wanted to hear.

"Why on earth would you hide such a charming accent."

“Because people don’t take it seriously,” he replied, accentless speech back in place. “Can you imagine that accent stopping a perp? They’d wet themselves laughing.”

Peter nodded when Jane said she was English. That made sense. The ”I moved here two years ago and I still have the accent" was clearly all she was going to say, but he could tell he wasn’t the only one keeping a few things to himself. He could respect that.

“Alright, if that’s all smooth, we can start ladling out the pancakes.”

[JANE EYRE]

“I think you’ll be safe, unless they ever come up with barbeque scented hand cream,”

"And even if they did, I probably won't buy that." Jane shook her head a bit, wrinkling her nose. That sounded horrible. Jane wasn't a particularly big fan of barbeque. "Now, if it were to be pizza scented, that's an entirely different situation." Jane loved pizza. It was versatile; there was a pizza for every occasion and for every mood. Jane hadn't had pizza before moving to New York and it was safe to say that she was absolutely hooked.

“We’ll have to start a singles club,”

"We should. Get matching jackets, work up a secret handshake..." Jane nodded and hummed thoughtfully. "We'd be a very large club, I suppose, since there are so many single people out there. Not that it's a bad thing. It's much better being alone with someone."

“Because people don’t take it seriously. Can you imagine that accent stopping a perp? They’d wet themselves laughing.”

"Well, I like it. I think it's fantastic." Jane smiled brightly at him, checking the batter by lifting the whisk out of it. Giving it a couple more stirs, she sat it on the counter.

“Alright, if that’s all smooth, we can start ladling out the pancakes.”

"It's ready to go. Do you have a stool or something I can sit on?" Her knees were feeling a tad shaky and Jane would rather not fall over near a hot stove. That was a recipe for disaster.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"And even if they did, I probably won't buy that. Now, if it were to be pizza scented, that's an entirely different situation."

Peter looked at Jane with a new appreciation. A girl who would want to smell like pizza would be amazing. Pizza was the best food that was ever invented. It had millions of topping combinations, tasted good hot or cold, and it had an amazing shelf-life.

"We should. Get matching jackets, work up a secret handshake...We'd be a very large club, I suppose, since there are so many single people out there. Not that it's a bad thing. It's much better being alone with someone."

“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship – pizza, jackets, handshakes, and membership cards included.” He smiled, thinking she had a point – it was better to be alone with someone, than alone on his own.

He didn’t comment on how she thought his accent was fantastic, merely watching as she gave the batter a couple more stirs before setting it down on the counter top. He had to admit, he was really looking forward to eating these pancakes.

"It's ready to go. Do you have a stool or something I can sit on?"

“Yeah, I should have one somewhere,” Peter replied. “The ladle is right there, if you want to get started while I look?”

He smiled at her, darting out of the room. He was sure he still had that barstool in his bedroom. What it was under was the question. Baze lifted his head off the bed indignantly when Peter banged the door open and started tossing things off surfaces.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve got company and she wants...” he grunted, toppling his long unused university textbooks onto the floor, revealing the barstool he had for some random reason. “This stool.”

Baze laid his head back down and Peter shook his head, walking the stool back to the kitchen. He set it down beside where the griddle was set up and dusted the stool off theatrically.

“Have a seat,” he offered, glancing over at the bowl and rubbing his hands together. “Now let’s cook up these bad boys.”

[JANE EYRE]

“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship – pizza, jackets, handshakes, and membership cards included.”

"I agree completely." Jane beamed at him.

“Yeah, I should have one somewhere. The ladle is right there, if you want to get started while I look?”

Jane picked up the ladle with a nod, leaning against the counter while beginning to spoon the batter into little discs on the griddle. She rooted around for a spatula as well, doubting that she would have to flip them before Peter got back. Just in case though.

She heard him talking to the dog and a small crash and Jane smiled to herself. Baze was his kid, just like Paul was her's. It really was nice to find someone that friendship came so easily to.

“Have a seat. Now let’s cook up these bad boys.”

"Thank you." Jane slid on the stool and wiggled her toes, trying to get the weak, shaky feeling to go away. She presented the spatula proudly. "The first batch is just about ready to flip, I think. Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?"

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"The first batch is just about ready to flip, I think. Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?"

Peter looked at where the pancakes were still raw on top and knew this was a disaster waiting to happen in his hands. He’d never flipped pancakes in his life. It was probably best that he let her do the flipping.

“You seem to have everything well in hand. Go right ahead,” Peter urged, watching closely.

To be honest, he had never seen someone cook like this before. His mother had always shooed him out of the kitchen, his father refused to even get himself a sandwich from there, and Don was a hand waver. The short of it was that he had never had the chance to observe like this and he was quite fascinated. He really needed to get cooking lessons from a professional who was not afraid to have him in the kitchen...

“So, do you do a lot of cooking?” he asked, thinking she looked comfortable in front of the stove like that. He kinda wished he had more than one stool. Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed across his chest.

He could smell the pancakes starting to smell like food and his stomach grumbled at the smell. He offered Jane a shrug and bashful smile, hoping she wasn’t offended.

“Sorry, its been a long time since something actually cooked in this apartment. My stomach is applauding.”

[JANE EYRE]

“You seem to have everything well in hand. Go right ahead,”

Jane shrugged a shoulder and started to work the spatula under one pancake, lifting it just a bit to peek at the underside. Thinking that the shade of brown it had turned was good enough, Jane gave the spatula a little shimmy and worked it under the pancake all the way. After a pause she lifted it up and gave an awkward twist of the wrist, more or less throwing it at the griddle with the raw side down. Batter splashed out in a streak.

Jane laughed at it, working on flipping another. "You're going to have disfigured pancakes."

“So, do you do a lot of cooking?”

Shrugging, Jane worked at flipping the others. "I try to. It's just me so I try to be as self-sufficient as I can be. It doesn't mean I'm any good at it though." She did try to cook as often as she could, but it didn't always end well. In fact, Jane would say that about 60% of the time, the cooking ended poorly, either burnt or horribly damaged in some other way.

“Sorry, its been a long time since something actually cooked in this apartment. My stomach is applauding.”

Jane grinned at him when his stomach rumbled. "Oh, it's fine, no need to apologize. It's nice to have a captive audience for once." Jane gave a teasing wink.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Jane shrugged and flipped the pancake, making the batter splash. She didn't seem to mind, even giggling a little. Peter grinned a little himself, thinking she had done fine. He would have botched it up much worse than a little splatter.

"You're going to have disfigured pancakes."

"Jane, it all looks the same when it gets into your stomach," he replied, thinking his father had told him that time after time when he was small and refused to eat something. "As long as it tastes good and doesn't give me food poisoning, I'm usually pretty happy to ignore what it looks like."

He honestly was. So what if they weren't perfect? Everything in life didn't have to be. There would be no uniqueness that way.

Jane continued to flip the food, answering his questions as she went.

"I try to. It's just me so I try to be as self-sufficient as I can be. It doesn't mean I'm any good at it though."

"It sounds like you give it a good try, anyway," Peter replied. "I generally avoid cooking unless I can toss something in the oven."

That was the only way he seemed to get anything to cook right. He didn't mind, seeing as how he wasn't usually in a hurry to eat a home cooked meal. He hoped some day he'd settle down with someone who could cook, though. It would be nice to have the house smell like warm, fluffy pancakes more often.

And when his stomach growled, she was even nice about that.
"Oh, it's fine, no need to apologize. It's nice to have a captive audience for once."

"I am most definitely captive," Peter laughed, thinking he really had nothing else to do. "I should...get some plates and forks and things you put on pancakes."

He leaned up so he was on his tip toes and pulled down a couple clean plates from the cabinet. Most of his plates were in the dishwasher currently, but they were pretty banged up from being used constantly. These ones were up high enough that he didn't often run out of the lower dishes to use them. So they still looked pretty new. Bright blue with some artistic swirl Angelique thought was pretty when she bought them for him.

Come to think of it, he owned very little in the kitchen that his sister hadn't picked out and shipped across the country for him. He supposed it helped that she married a man who owned the local housewares store...

"What do you eat on your pancakes?" Peter asked, dishes clutched to his chest as he pulled open the door on the fridge.

[JANE EYRE]

"Jane, it all looks the same when it gets into your stomach. As long as it tastes good and doesn't give me food poisoning, I'm usually pretty happy to ignore what it looks like."

"Fair point." Jane checked the pancakes again and started to pull the first batch off the griddle. She ladled on more batter and picked up one of the more deformed pancakes and took a bite out of it. "It tastes good so you have nothing to worry about.

"It sounds like you give it a good try, anyway. I generally avoid cooking unless I can toss something in the oven."

Jane shook her head, grinning. "Ovens and I do not mix. I have a tendency to forget I put something in there and it burns to a crisp." She thought back to her attempt to bake a Sheppard's pie and it burnt so badly that the edges actually caught fire. the only time Jane was ever able to use an oven without completely massacring something was when she used it to dry paint. Even then, it was rather precarious.

"I am most definitely captive. I should...get some plates and forks and things you put on pancakes. What do you eat on your pancakes?"

"A bit of jam or fruit preserves, please." Jane wasn't particularly fond of anything overly sweet. She did love fruit on breakfast foods though, it was delicious and light. The second batch was finished and Jane spooned the rest of the batter onto the griddle. The second batch was much better looking than the first one had been.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Fair point. It tastes good so you have nothing to worry about.”

Peter smiled, watching as Jane chewed on a bite of pancake. She genuinely looked like she was enjoying it. It had to be good.

"Ovens and I do not mix. I have a tendency to forget I put something in there and it burns to a crisp."

“Ah,” Peter chuckled a little. “You need to get a Baze of your own. Whenever anything smells done, he barks until you take it out of the oven.”

It had saved his meals a lot. Often, he forgot, just like Jane. He would get busy watching the game or puzzling over a case and then the dog would bark and there was a hot meal waiting. It was almost like magic. Regular folks called it cooking.

"A bit of jam or fruit preserves, please."

Peter nodded, digging butter and syrup out of the fridge, then looking for the jam he had stashed away. “Raspberry jam alright? I don’t keep breakfast foods on hand, and I have no idea what a fruit preserve is.”

He offered her a grin and a small shrug, hoping that the jam would be alright. He was terrible at entertaining people in his apartment. He often had to go shopping for the odd occasion that Perry or Don came over, and from time to time, even the kids cleared out what he had stashed that resembled food. Though potato chips and protein bars really were a poor excuse for food.

“If you prefer something from your own fridge, I can go and grab that for you, too.”

He honestly wouldn’t mind, either. It was clear that her legs needed a rest, which sparked his curiosity, but he knew better than to ask right then. There were things you left for later in friendships, after all.

He smiled a little. He hadn’t had a friend who was a girl in a long time. Especially one willing to help him cook! He glanced over at where the second batch of pancakes looked nice and round in shape and grinned, getting excited about eating for once.

"Well now," he dipped into his accent again, figuring it couldn't hurt if she liked it so much. "You shore are gettin' the hang'a that!"

[JANE EYRE]

“Ah. You need to get a Baze of your own. Whenever anything smells done, he barks until you take it out of the oven.”

Jane laughed lightly and nodded her head, tucking her hair behind her ear with her free hand. "I have Paul who's about as useful as a throw pillow. The most he's done is think about taking on a moth but gave up before he got started." Jane doubted that Paul would ever do anything helpful, like Baze.

“Raspberry jam alright? I don’t keep breakfast foods on hand, and I have no idea what a fruit preserve is.”

"Raspberry jam is just fine." Jane thought it was a bit odd that Peter didn't know what preserves were. Then again, she hadn't found many Americans who believed in marmalade or curds. They had their jellies and jams and that was about it from what she's seen.

“If you prefer something from your own fridge, I can go and grab that for you, too.”

"Actually, that would be lovely. I have a little jar of lemon marmalade in my ice box door." Jane fumbled with her free hand to hand him his keys. "Feel free to bring over anything you want too. I have a feeling we'll be connected through our refrigerators," She teased.

"Well now, you shore are gettin' the hang'a that!"

Jane couldn't help but let out a loud, amused giggle. Oh how she loved accents. "A bit of practice, that's all it takes."

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter watched Jane laugh and tuck the hair behind her ear. He had to admit, she was the best looking neighbor he had.

"I have Paul who's about as useful as a throw pillow. The most he's done is think about taking on a moth but gave up before he got started."

Peter did chuckle at that, imagining he was a very lazy cat. He’d never met a lazy cat before, seeing as how they all got eaten out at the ranch if they weren’t hyper vigilant. It must have been a city thing.

From the small amount of time that he had spent with her, Peter wasn’t surprised when Jane was agreeable to what he had on hand, but he honestly didn’t mind going across the hall for her and was kind of pleased that she changed her mind. He liked it better when people were themselves.

"Actually, that would be lovely. I have a little jar of lemon marmalade in my ice box door. Feel free to bring over anything you want too. I have a feeling we'll be connected through our refrigerators.”

Peter caught her keys easily, grinning at that last comment. “Oh, now that wouldn’t surprise me at all. You keep practicing, and I’ll be back in a second.”

He made his way back out of the apartment, feeling a little déjà vu as he stood in front of Jane’s door, easily picking the right key out. They had similar looking keys, seeing as how the building managers had all the locks changed by the same company about four years ago after someone had been breaking into the units in the building. He’d moved in after that incident, but he had heard about it from some of the tenants.

Once he was inside, it only took a moment to get to the fridge. He managed to find Jane’s marmalade easily enough, but he took a minute to lean on the door and just look at what Jane had in the fridge. It wasn’t like his fridge, seeing as how it wasn’t loaded with takeout boxes, Louise’s Tupperware, and bottles of odd condiments from the shops over by Canal Street. He didn’t see anything in her fridge he wanted on pancakes, but he was sure he would be going through her fridge often, especially since she’d stated that they would probably end up living out of each other’s fridges anyway.

He made sure to lock up before making his way back to his apartment. What a novelty – locking up. He honestly never did that.

“Alright, found the marmalade,” he said, walking into the kitchen and making his way over to the small table he’d managed to get in against the far wall under the window. Of course it was covered with mail and magazines and such, but it only took a moment to clear it all off onto the closest counter. He put the marmalade down in the center, setting down the plates on either side of it. It looked like a cozy little set up.

He made his way back over to where Jane was sitting, gazing hungrily at the plate with the cooked pancakes on it. “Wow. Those look amazing, Jane. Thanks for doing the cooking.”

[JANE EYRE]

“Alright, found the marmalade,”

Jane finished plating everything up and started to move the things to the small table Peter had cleaned off. "Thank you." She set the table easily and sat down, laying her napkin in her lap.

“Wow. Those look amazing, Jane. Thanks for doing the cooking.”

"Of course. You're doing the cleaning so it's totally fair." Jane winked and picked up a pancake, spreading marmalade across it. She set it down and placed another pancake on top, making a pancake and marmalade sandwich. She had a peculiar but neat way of eating which was solely her's.

"Besides, I've gotten a free meal out of this which is always good."

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter joined Jane at the table, feeling really unprepared for company, but at least he had been able to dig out the table. Otherwise, they would have been on the couch, which wasn’t easy to eat on when you added forks, knives, and hot food to the equation. He watched as Jane arranged herself and made an effort not to slouch too much as he complimented her.

"Of course. You're doing the cleaning so it's totally fair." She winked at him and Peter smiled.

“I don’t mind cleaning up,” he assured her. “It is my apartment, after all. I have to make sure everything is polished back to it's pristine condition.”

It was his turn to wink playfully. Anyone with a set of eyes could tell he didn't care too much. Nothing in his life was pristine. Pristine was boring.

Taking his cue from Jane, Peter reached for a couple pancakes, piling them on his plate and reaching for the butter and syrup. He lathered his food in both, not able to remember the last time he had a hot breakfast in the apartment. His dinner looked messy in comparison to Jane’s neat sandwich of pancakes. He shook his head slightly, digging in, nearly moaning at the taste of pancake on his tongue.

"Besides, I've gotten a free meal out of this which is always good."

Peter nodded, chewing what was in his mouth and swallowing before he spoke. “It was free for both of us, and your milk saved me a trip to the store. So I can’t complain.”

He dug back into his meal, really enjoying it. He was going to have to thank Louise.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a pancake. I think I was still in high school,” he commented, vaguely remembering Don making breakfasts before Peter had to sprint off to school. “It’s a little thing I didn’t think I missed until now. How's yours with the marmalade?”

[JANE EYRE]

“I don’t mind cleaning up. It is my apartment, after all. I have to make sure everything is polished back to it's pristine condition.”

Jane smiled at the joke and laughed accordingly. "Yes, we must restore it to it's original, spotless state." She nodded seriously and hid a grin by ducking her head and taking another bite.

“It was free for both of us, and your milk saved me a trip to the store. So I can’t complain.”

Jane nodded again and wiped her mouth with her napkin before going in for another bite. She was rather hungry. Jane figured it had to do with the fact that she hadn't really eaten all day. She had woken up and went right to work with art. Sometimes she did that, forget to eat. But never for longer than a day at a go. Jane wasn't that careless, after all.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a pancake. I think I was still in high school. It’s a little thing I didn’t think I missed until now. How's yours with the marmalade?”

"It's good, thank you." Jane finished half of her meal and sat the rest down, pushing it away from herself as she always did. No matter how hungry she was, she couldn't eat a full meal in one sitting. She had a small stomach so she got full quicker than most people did.