Clara lifted the ladle from the bowl, letting the batter drop from the bottom, before moving it to the preheated, greased pan. 'Are they ready yet?' Peter leant over her shoulder. 

She flinched, a small slash of the mix falling from the ladle. 'Peter! I haven't even-,' she sighed. 'Why don't you wait over...' She looked back at the room, trying to choose whether they should eat at the table or on the couch. Giving up, she returned her attention to the pan. 'Not here?' 

'Fine,' he groaned, giving the pan a lingering look before finally turning to head over to the couch. After no more than a few seconds, he spoke again. 'Are they ready yet?'

Clara ignored him, looking at the thin, lacey crêpes. She could see edges browning and, using her palette knife, she lifted on side away from the metal. Gently lifting it, careful not to tear the delicate pancake, she felt the heat of the food against her fingertips, a soft purple glow protecting her skin from the direct contact of it.

She flipped it over, hearing the soft sizzle as the uncooked side hid the hot metal. Clara could feel Peter's eyes on her still, and she glanced over her shoulder to see he was practically drooling at the smell. 'Stop staring, it's not gonna make it cook any faster.'

Peter moped, folding his arms as he turned away. 'I'm hungry!'

'Then you should have eaten before I got back,' Clara jibed, sliding the first crêpe onto a plate, and tipping the next portion of batter onto the flat pan. 'Great,' she mumbled, immediately realising she had forgotten to butter the pan again. 

She slid the palette knife under the batter. Seeing it sticking, she winced as it tore a little. She sighed, setting the knife down and pursing her lips. One more problem she needed to solve. Maybe this one wasn't quite as bad as the others, although it felt just as frustrating. 

Clara closed her eyes, at first just to calm herself, but then an idea sparking in her mind, and she focused on the heat moving in the fine gap between the batter and the pan. 

She could feel the atoms moving, all at different speeds as the temperature fluctuated in hardly noticeably amounts. She could feel the weight of the crêpe atop them, and she could feel the energy expelled as they moved around the parts of the batter that just wouldn't budge. 

She lifted her hands, palms down, Clara sensed the flow of every energy bend around her will. She turned her hands over, feeling a shift, feeling the energy between the pan and the batter begin to move more freely. Her fingers twitched, rising half an inch each time she felt a part of the crêpe that needed loosening. 

Clara continued until each and every atom found there was no path blocked to them. She smiled, lifting the batter higher as she opened her eyes. 'That's cheating.' She flinched at the boy leaning over her shoulder once again, the pancake dropping heavily onto the metal. 'Sorry,' he smiled sheepishly. 

'It's not cheating,' Clara glared. 'It's learning.'

'And burnt,' Peter pointed out. 'It's also burnt.' 

'Oh, that one can be yours, then,' she smiled sweetly as he blanched. 

'What? That's not-' 

Clara held a hand up to stop him. 'Don't argue with me, Peter, you know you won't win.' 

He huffed, pouting a little as he watched Clara toss the burnt-bottom crêpe in the bin. 'You're going to make me eat out of the trash too?' Clara snorted, giving him a glance to make sure he was joking. 'Thank God.'

'Now, please, Peter, go sit down so I can make some food so I can finally eat,' she pleaded, remembering to pick up the stick of butter before anything else. Peter trudged across the room, and Clara continued to make the crêpe one at a time, not picking up the palette knife again. Instead, she shifted the energy around each, lifting them, then turning them carefully. 

Once she served them up for herself and Peter, they worked their way through the stack flavoured with lemon and sugar, only interrupted by Aunt May coming home a taking a crêpe for herself. 

Now, late into the evening, they were sitting in front of the TV, with Peter's choice of film playing. May sat on one side of the sofa, looking bored out of her mind at the film she had likely watched with her nephew a hundred times over, and on the other end sat Peter and Clara. 

Clara was in the middle of the two, tucked against Peter, with her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes fell closed every few minutes and she had to force them to stay open. The room was dark, the flickering glare of the television being the only light keeping them from the black of night. 

'Clara? Your phone,' Peter nudged her, hearing a soft buzz across the room. Clara sat up, looking around and hearing nothing. 'In the kitchen,' he told her, seeing she couldn't remember where she had put it. 

She rose from the couch and dragged her feet to the kitchen, seeing the light of the phone screen illuminating the space above it. Clara frowned, reading the contact and instantly feeling more awake. 'Sam?' She asked, thinking the only reason for him calling this late must mean they had found Karli. 

Peter and May both turned round on the sofa to look in on the conversation - Aunt May simply looking for anything more entertaining than the film, and Peter just being nosey. 'Hey, Clara. Any chance I can ask for a favour?' 

'A favour?' She asked, not entirely sure she had heard him correctly. 'It's, like, one AM.'

'Yeah, didn't want to leave it till last minute,' Sam said. 'You busy tomorrow?'

'Am I busy tomorrow?' She repeated, looking to Aunt May and Peter who both shrugged in answer to the question. 'Err, no, I guess not. Why?' 

'I'm gonna try getting some people together to help get our boat back up and running,' Sam told her, Clara's frown deepening. 

'I don't know anything about boats,' she said, a little baffled as to why he'd ask a favour from her of all people. 

'Well, no, I just meant it's also a community kind of thing, thought you might want to come by,' he corrected himself. 'I've invited Bucky, too, but whether he show's up or not...' 

'Right, err, I guess I can find a way down there.' Peter raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side and questioning what she was planning. 'Am I gonna need a place to stay overnight, or...?'

She could hear Sam chuckle lightly. 'Tell you what, you get here for lunch and I'll talk my sister into letting you sleep on her couch.' 

'Sounds like a good enough deal to me,' Clara agreed, knowing she'd be able to get a flight at nine, and be in Louisiana by twelve at the latest. 'I'll see you tomorrow, then.'

'Thanks, Clara. See you tomorrow.'

'What was that about?' 

'Sam wants me to help fix a boat,' Clara shrugged, walking back to the sofa. 

'But you don't know anything about boats,' Peter pointed out. 

'Yeah, that's what I told him,' she shrugged again, trying to hold in a yawn. 'Wanna call it a night?' 

May looked over hopefully as Peter considered the question, and looking relieved as he nodded. 'Yeah, it's getting late and if you're leaving me for your new friends in the morning...' he trailed off, feigning a sad look into the distance. 

Clara walked away, shaking her head with a sigh. She heard Peter rush after her, looping round to block his bedroom door. 'What?' She asked, exasperated. He winced slightly. 'You didn't clean your room, did you?' 

He shook his head. 'I didn't realise you'd get back so soon!' 

'I told you I'd be back an hour earlier than I actually was...'

'Yeah, but I didn't know you were flying back on a jet - I thought your flight would get delayed!' 

Clara narrowed her eyes at him. 'You have five minutes and then I'm going to sleep.' 

He breathed a sigh of relief, turning to squeeze through the smallest gap in the door to make sure Clara couldn't see anything lying on the floor. After a few minutes of clattering, the door swung open. 

They both climbed into bed, snuggling close under the duvet. Clara fell asleep almost instantly, Peter falling asleep once he heard her breathing slow and become steady. Both slept through the night, only waking as the alarm rang some hours later. 

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