This was, no doubt, the longest two weeks of her life.

Mika wasn’t sure how she, an expat from a little town in Romania, had gotten chosen for The Great British Bake Off. Or Bake Off, as everyone called it. Apparently, being in the UK implied the Great British part. 

Thanks to the stupid plague running rampant around the world, the contestants were invited to actually live at the Bake Off this year - at least, until they were removed from the competition. She hadn’t actually got to meet any of the contestants yet, since they were stuck quarantining in their little flats. They’d tested her when she’d first gotten there of course - negative, thank God - and every couple days since. She’d seen a few people leave under the cover of night, a car taking them away from the Baking Bubble. She wondered how many people were in the building, and if one day they would come in and tell her that sorry, you’re still negative for coronavirus, but you actually placed thirteenth in the ranking so you need to leave now. 

But then, she got an email. A wonderful, glorious email. 

Congratulations, Mika! You are a final contestant on The Great British Bake Off!

She wasn’t quite sure what it said after that - something about logistics and contacts and services and what not - all she knew was that she had to get to work. Now.

The next few days were a flurry of flour and frantic phone calls and internet searches, and as slow as the quarantine period had been, those few days flew by fast. She began to see inklings of other people then; one man got up and went for a run about the time she was sipping on her first cup of coffee. The woman next door practiced yoga on the balcony. At one point, a distinct burning smell emanated from the floors below her. They were all here, and all ready to bake.

She chose her outfit carefully. She needed to feel confident, but also comfortable. So she slid on jeans and boots, and eventually decided on a printed top her sister had given her, hoping it would remind her to just have fun. After all, Nicoletta was the one who signed her up for this in the first place, and was also the inspiration for her first Signature Challenge. 

Interviews were first. It was chilly outside, and just a little breezy, so she slid on a leather jacket. Her mother would hate that she wore it, but it was her favorite, and made her feel much cooler and more hard core than she actually was. Down the lawn, Morning Jogger was also in his interview. He looked rather calm and collected, with his flannel and man bun and hand tucked into his pocket. Lucky duck. She turned her attention back in front of her. The interviewer asked a few introductory questions to get her acclimated to the camera in her face; it helped if she just talked to him, rather than to the lens. He assured her that was just fine. 

“So, how are you feeling about starting the Bake Off?” he asked, finally getting into the nitty-gritty.

“Terrified.” she said immediately, giggling nervously after that. God, she hoped she came across as endearing rather than annoying. That road was a dangerous one to go down, so she took a sharp left. “But I’m so excited to finally get in there and see if I’m any good, or if my friends and family have been lying this whole time.”

That would be the nugget they used for her introduction. As expected, her mother wouldn’t care for it. But her sister thought she was cute and that her hair looked extra glossy, which was always a plus. 

She finally got to go into the tent, glad she’d chosen to wear sturdy shoes instead of heels because her legs felt like they were made of jelly. And not even the good jelly like she made - the jelly her friend Elena made, which usually ended up being more of a soak for toast. Morning Jogger was also there, stationed at the back right bench, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the butcher block surface. 

His left arm, however, was suspiciously missing.

Mika caught herself staring, her eyes flicking up to his before dropping with her chagrin. Get a grip, girl. It’s not like he was the first amputee she’d ever seen! Just the first on the Bake Off. She kept her eyes down as she went to her bench, which of course was right next to his. Dammit.

“Back of the class kids, huh?” he said. When she gave him a hesitant smile, he added, “It’s okay, I know it’s a shock.” His voice was quiet, but somehow still confident. She instantly knew that he was way tougher than she would ever be. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” she said, looking at him again and owning up to her mistake. He shrugged.

“It happens.” he said. He didn’t sound sad, or angry. It was just matter-of-fact.

“I’m Mika,” she said, changing the topic. “What’s your name?”

“Technically, James Barnes.” he said, then added, “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Are we friends, James Bucky Barnes?” she asked with a perked eyebrow, amazed that she was able to flirt with someone at a time like this. Arm or no arm, he was very handsome. He smirked, apparently happy with her response.

“Perhaps not yet.” he said. “I guess we’re enemies for now.”

“Then are you ready to battle?” she said, trying to be extra dramatic in an effort to make his smile bigger. It worked. 

“I think I’m ready, but I feel like I’m forgetting something.” he said, glancing down at the place where he used to have another hand. She snorted in laughter once before covering her mouth with her hand.

“I feel like I’m not supposed to laugh at that.” she said, her voice muffled. 

“Please laugh, otherwise I’ll be too embarrassed to bake.” he said, his expression making her give in to the humor. Nerves also helped that, but she would never admit it. He gave her a conspiratory smile that she returned; now she understood how the contestants all seemed like allies. 

The other contestants trickled in, and Mika felt a weird sense of protectiveness every time people spotted his arm, or lack thereof. He took it all in stride; she wondered how many times a day he got looks like that. Of course, she didn’t have time to ask, because before she knew it, the judges and hosts stood in a line at the front of the tent, welcoming them all to the competition. She hadn’t realized that there would be a new host this year, and she was grateful that the hosts managed to break some of the tension in the room. Then, it was time for their first challenge.

Battenberg cakes.

Mika was not ashamed to admit that she had to Google what a Battenberg cake was. At first glance, it didn’t seem that difficult, but then she remembered that she was baking for two of the most respected chefs in the UK, and that she had literally no margin for error. That made it a little more difficult. 

They told her to bake, so she baked. She started whipping her butter and sugars, then added her eggs and flour and flavorings. She could see the judges and hosts making their way down the line, talking to the contestants and asking about their bakes. She tried to stay calm and collected, like Bucky next to her. His easy tone when talking to them helped to soothe her, especially when they brought up his obvious disability. There was no way their conversations would be the same, so she didn’t have to worry about comparisons.

“Hello there, Mika.” the female judge said with a grin. Mika gave the best smile she could manage, reminding herself to stay calm and somewhat focused. 

“Alo, how are you?” she said. Her accent was extra thick with her nerves. Dammit. 

“What have you got for us today?” the male judge asked after exchanging pleasantries. She took a deep breath, willing herself not to stumble over her words. She glanced over to Bucky, who gave her an encouraging smile. 

“Well, my sister has been my biggest champion, so this is for her.” she explained, dumping ground up freeze dried strawberries into half of her batter. “She loves strawberries and cream, so that’s what I’m making today.”

“Simple.” the male judge said, a little bit of surprise in his voice. Her stomach dropped to approximately her knees. It must have shown on her face, because the female judge patted her hand in a comforting manner. 

“As long as it’s done perfectly, it doesn’t matter how simple it is.” she said, winking behind her thick, bright blue glasses. Mika managed a hesitant smile.

“Right. Just perfection.” she said nervously, making them laugh. They bid her good luck and moved on to the next bench, the taller of the two hosts putting an arm around her shoulders and leaving an encouraging word before moving on. Okay, so all she had to achieve was perfection. That was fine. She shut out all the other distractions, barely hearing the time calls as they came. She focused on getting her cake in the oven, getting her marzipan nice and pink marbled, and making her filling. The cakes looked good when she pulled them out of the oven, and thank God they were done. Everything seemed to be going to according to plan.

“Twenty minutes left!” one of the hosts called. Shit! 

She quickly pulled her cakes from the tin; they were still warm, but they would have to do. She pulled her secret weapon - dental floss - out, and tried not to sweat as she cut the squares. She put them on the marzipan, put in her filling, and started the careful process of rolling it. When she managed to get the marzipan just right, she finally let out a sigh of relief. She glanced over at Bucky, curious as to how he was getting on. His movements were carefully coordinated and meticulous, and she noticed he used every square millimeter of his hand (and a little bit of his torso, which had a distinct line of flour and food coloring) to get things to move the way he wanted. Impressive. She turned back to her own work, whipping and piping some cream and artfully fanning out strawberries. With a minute to spare, she finished. 

Now for the judging. 

It was so stressful to watch the judges go from table to table, sampling the cakes and giving critique. Most of the contestants got glowing reviews, and only a couple had negative feedback. She held her breath when they got to her buddy in the back of the room, amazed that he could look so calm.

“Rosemary and lemon,” the male judge announced, nodding towards the cake. It was covered in a simple yellow marzipan, a few rosemary sprigs tied with a gold ribbon and placed on top. 

“An unusual flavor combination for a cake.” the female judge added, watching as the first judge cut a large square from the cake. The colors were a distinct white and yellow checkerboard, which was one of the requirements. Bucky shrugged.

“I wanted to try something different.” he said. 

“Bit simplistic on the decoration.” the female judge said, pushing the rosemary sprigs. Mika had thought it looked elegant, but she supposed that’s why she wasn’t one of the judges. 

“Decoration isn’t my strong suit.” he said, his grin widening at the vague look of discomfort they gave him. “I’m not particularly artistic. All left brain, I’m afraid.” That seemed to assuage their fears a bit, and they turned to the plates in front of them while Mika tried not to giggle at his jokes. They took a bite from the cake, both of their eyebrows raising as the flavors hit them.

“Wow. That is...surprising.” the female judge said. The male judge nodded. “The texture is just a touch tough, but for me the flavor makes it worth it.”

“Rosemary is very floral and usually does well with more savory applications, but it works really well with the lemon here. Well done.” the male judge added. They bid farewells, and Mika was so distracted by Bucky actually displaying an emotion (relief) that she forgot for a moment that they were coming for her. 

“Alright, Mika, your turn.” the female judge said. She had a very kind smile, despite her position.

“Remind us what we have here.” the male judge said. His gaze was very intense, and much more intimidating that when they spoke earlier. She cleared her throat, holding her hands together so they couldn’t see them shaking.

“Strawberries and cream, for my sister.” she said, keeping her answer short in case her English failed her. The female judge gestured to the bushels of strawberries and whipped cream all over the cake.

“This is a bit much.” she said. “I would have done the marbled marzipan or the strawberries, but to have both is a little...over the top.”

Mika’s stomach turned to stone. Now that she looked at it, it did seem a bit garish. She forced a smile and nodded. “Okay, yes, I see that now.”

“I like it. I enjoy extra snacks with my cake.” the host said, reaching out and pulling one of the strawberries off, making sure to take a large dollop of whipped cream with it before popping the whole thing - green and all - into his mouth. She was grateful for the humor, and for the bit of validation.

“Right. Let’s get to the cake then.” the male judge said, cutting a slice. Thank goodness the pink and white squares were perfect and distinct. First box ticked. She held her breath as they ate it, her vision starting to swim slightly when they finally looked at her.

“That is beautifully soft.” the female judge said, adding, “and the flavors aren’t overdone at all.”

“It’s very difficult to add freeze dried strawberries to a recipe and avoid a granulated texture in it.” the male judge said. “But you’ve managed to pull it off. I like this a lot.”

“I think I’ll have another bit before we go.” the female judge said, taking another forkful. Mika visibly sank in relief, her smile genuine this time.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” she said, slouching as soon as their backs turned. She glanced over at Bucky, who gave her a thumbs up. The gesture made her cheeks warm, and she returned the gesture before settling back on to the stool. Once everyone was judged, they were instructed to take a two hour break. Mika couldn’t help but hop over to the bench next to hers, a slice of cake on a plate.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” she said with a grin, making Bucky choke on a laugh. He cut her a slice as well, handing it over.

“I actually don’t really care for sweets. But I do want to hear what you think of this.” he said with a self deprecating smile. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t care for sweets? How did you make it then?” she asked, taking a large bite of his cake. Dammit, it was really good.

“I have a few reliable critics. What do you think of the cake?”

“It’s terrible. You should drop out.” she said, mouth full of another bite. “I’m definitely not terrified of you.”

He laughed again, and Mika thought that he had a very nice smile. She would have commented on it, but figured that would probably be weird after meeting just a couple hours before. So she just let herself be ushered out of the tent and into an open area, with lunch plates all waiting for them.

All of them were carefully spaced around an empty fire pit. Some of the other contestants had grouped up a little, but Bucky was sitting on his own, his plate carefully positioned on his lap and a book perched precariously on his knee. Mika chose the seat next to him, giving him a warm smile when he looked up before turning to her own lunch. She was sure the other contestants were nice, but she was drained after the morning, and the thought of having to smile and socialize was not particularly enticing. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through recent news and reading the articles that interested her. Bucky continued with his book, though she realized it had been a long moment since he’d turned a page. She glanced over to catch him looking at her, his eyes dropping quickly once she caught him. She couldn’t help but grin...and also make sure that there was nothing on her face.

All too soon, they returned to the tent for the technical challenge. This was what Mika was most excited about; she could follow vague directions (one of the few helpful skills her mother developed), and had decently good instincts. Usually. The judges and hosts lined up, and when she looked over at Bucky before they spoke, she made sure to throw another smile his way. He grinned back, which was a better confidence boost than the well wishes from the judges and hosts.

Pineapple upside down cake? She’d seen it once, on an episode long ago. She remember thinking it sounded delicious - and then promptly forgot everything about it. She could figure it out, right?...Right? She glanced to Bucky out of the corner of her eye, and the man was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Dammit, that was the look of someone who’d made this before. 

Whatever. She was smart! She had a degree! And she watched a lot of television! She could do this!

She started on the sponge, the easy part. It was the caramel she was worried about. The cameras stopped on her, the interviewer asking, “Are you familiar with this technical challenge?”

“I’ve heard of it, yes.” she said, giving them a nervous grin. It was still awkward to talk to the camera, so she instead focused on the man asking the question. “Have I made it? No. Have I eaten it? Also no. But it sounds good.” 

They gave her sympathetic smiles, moving on to talk to Bucky. She let out a breath of relief, knowing that now she could focus on the caramel. All she had to do was watch it. And pull it off at the right moment. And not let it crystalize.

Which is exactly what it did.

“Fuck a duck.” she muttered in Romanian, glad that she both hid in her native language and that the cameras were far away. 

“Watch your tongue.” Bucky said, also in perfect Romanian. She nearly dropped the pan of crystalized caramel, looking at him in shock. The cameramen noticed the movement, and carefully slid back to them.

“You speak Romanian?” she asked, shock evident in her face.

“Yes, I do.” he replied, and just hearing the language helped calm her in a weird way. The piece of home was exactly what she needed. He nodded toward her bench. “Fix your caramel.”

“Dammit!” Mika said, back in English now. She weighed out the sugar and water, putting it back on the stove. The cameras were still there, and the interviewer asked, 

“What was that about?” 

“He speaks Romanian! It’s very exciting.” she said, this time giving them a genuine smile. They quickly panned over to Bucky.

“How do you know Romanian?” they asked. He had a long knife in his hand, carefully resting the pineapple on the bench and managing to slowly, but expertly, cut it. 

“I’ve done a lot of traveling. I actually speak eight languages.” he replied casually. “Well, conversationally at least.” he added. He flipped the knife, laying it aside a safe distance away from them. The camera man gulped, and decided not to ask any more questions. Mika, realizing she should probably get back to her bake and not worry about Bucky’s life story, quickly turned to find, thank God, her caramel looked good. Pale, maybe, but good. It would darken in the oven for sure.

She carefully placed the pineapple and the cherry in the bottom of the greased tins, using a spoon to add in the still hot caramel. She had a fair bit left over, but she didn’t want to risk drowning the cake. So, she followed her gut and ladled in the sponge mix, putting them in the oven before she could think too much about it. Bucky, of course, was already pulling his out. Damn him. 

“Thirty minutes remain!” one of the hosts called, balancing a rolling pin on his head. She appreciated the humor, she really did, but she was very stressed right now and seeing a rolling pin in such a precarious position was not exactly helpful. She checked her oven; the cakes were probably halfway finished. There was no way they would be cool in time for her to put the cream...but she’d have to try. 

The last few minutes the cakes were in the oven, she whipped up the cream. If she was honest, she nearly overwhipped it into butter, but caught it just in time. As soon as the timer went off she got the tray from the oven, nearly sliding the tins off the edge. She gasped, nearly choking on her heart in her throat as she caught it just in time, placing the tray on the counter before putting her hand over her heart. 

“Slow down, Mika.” she said to herself, shaking her head for a second. Of course the cameras caught the moment - she could feel them pointed towards her - but she refused to look up at them. Her stress was through the roof, and if she was honest, she was trying very hard not to cry.

She started fanning the little tins, trying to get them to cool down enough to remove the cakes. “Fifteen minutes!” the host called, and she actually, verbally eeked and grabbed the closest cake. The cup was still ferociously hot, but she didn’t have time to think about burning off her fingerprints. Instead, she focused on getting the cakes out and onto the platter. The caramel didn’t darken like she hoped, but she didn’t have time to care. She was back to furiously fanning, trying to get it cool enough for the cream. She made the mistake of glancing over to Bucky - he was already putting little rosettes of cream on his, cool as a cucumber. Dammit!

“One minute left!” the host called. It was the moment of truth. She prayed her cream wouldn’t melt, swiftly piping it onto the little cakes. They smelled delicious for sure...would they be allowed to try one afterwards?

“Time’s up!” the call felt like a knife through her gut. They all had cream on them, but it was very hasty work, and definitely not her best. She let out a frustrated sigh, the little hairs that escaped her braid floating around her face. There was nothing she could do now, except wait to get judged. This time, the judges would not know who made which one...which could make their feedback all the more honest. 

“Well, well,” the male judge said, clapping his hands together. His eyes ran over the plates in front of him, his face already giving away his feelings. The female judge’s eyebrows rose over her thick glasses, as if she were surprised. Whether it was a good or bad surprise remained to be seen. “Right. Let’s get started.”

Mika watched in abject horror as they ripped apart every plate in front of them. The good ones were good, and the bad ones - luckily hers didn’t quite fit in there - were, well, bad. Bucky, of course, got glowing reviews. When they stopped at Mika’s, she held her breath.

“Caramel is too light.” the female judge said, poking at it with her fork. The male judge cut it in half, and even from a few feet away Mika could see that the cake was held together only by her dreams.

“It’s baked. Barely.” he said shortly, chuckling to himself. They took a bite, mulling it over for a moment until he added, “Not bad. If the caramel was a little more done on the stove and the cakes in the oven a couple more minutes, it would have been pretty good.”

Not bad. She could work with “not bad”. Hopefully. 

Out of the twelve bakers, she ended up placing seventh. Almost top half! Though she would have much preferred to place first (which was where Bucky placed), she really deserved to be much lower than her rank. At that point she seemed to be sitting in the middle of the pack, which was just as well with her. She just needed to get past the nerves of this first week. As long as she wasn’t the first one to go, she could do better. At least, she hoped so. Really, her goal was to make it to bread week. If she made it there, she would consider this adventure a success, and could go home happy.

The dismissal was such a relief that she forgot about the Showstopper challenge the following day. The bakers gathered their things, returning to the big house and heading for their apartments. Mika looked forward to a shower, some comfier pants, and one single stiff drink. She hanged back a little, waiting for Bucky to catch up to her. 

“Do you know where they keep the key to the liquor cabinet?” she asked, making him raise his brows.

“No, but I can pick a lock pretty well. And if that doesn’t work, I do have some whiskey in my rooms.” he said. He stepped back slightly, holding his hand out in a placating gesture. “Not that I - I mean, we can meet at a neutral place to share a glass, if you would like.”

Mika, not expecting him to get flustered that easily, busted out laughing. “You can relax. A drink would be nice, then maybe I can sleep a little before tomorrow.”

“I’ve got just the thing for that.” he said with a grin. He nodded towards the fire pit, where a groundskeeper was building a fire. “There, after supper?”

“Sounds good.” she said. A friend! She had an ally! She smiled, going to her rooms and rinsing off the day, cooking up a good enough microwave meal to keep her from dying and making sure any last minute preparations she needed for tomorrow were finished. Once she felt she’d waited an appropriate amount of time, she pulled on a jacket and went back downstairs. 

Bucky was already waiting at the fire pit, as were a couple other bakers. They were busy talking about the next day, and gave her a warm welcome when she arrived. Bucky looked up from his book, trying to hide his relief that she actually came to this little meet up. When she sat down in the chair next to him, he reached down and got a glass, handing it to her. He then retrieved his own glass and set it on the arm of the chair before getting the all important bottle of whiskey. She thought to offer to open it, but he wedged it between his legs and removed the cap with practiced ease. Clearly his injury was not new.

“Four years ago. War accident.” he said in Romanian, answering her unspoken question. Her eyebrows shot up and her cheeks warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the fire, but he didn’t seem to be bothered. He just reached out, filling the glass that she dumbly held out. 

“I’m sorry.” she said, not knowing what else to say. He shrugged, filling his own glass before recapping the drink and setting the bottle down.

“It’s fine. I’ve adapted.” he said, taking a sip. She did as well, if only to have something to do with her hands. “I’ve also learned over the years to just address it, rather than wait for people to be brave enough to ask.”

“Do a lot of people get brave enough to ask?” she said, genuinely surprised. Thanks to his easy going demeanor, she was able to relax into the conversation as well.

“Nope. But I do play this fun game with myself where I count how many times they glance at my shoulder during a conversation.” he said. With that admission, she had a strong desire to glance down at said shoulder, but stifled it. Luckily, the way his blue eyes danced in the firelight was distracting enough.

“Who’s the highest scorer?” 

“The guy at the local coffee place. Every time he looks up from the order it’s not at my face. It’s pretty impressive.” he said. “Kids are the best though. They notice and just screech about it.”

“Oh no!”

“Oh, yes. The parents are...” he paused, swishing his glass around and taking another sip for dramatic effect. “...so embarrassed.”

The whiskey, while not making her tipsy yet, certainly made her feel a little warmer inside, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m short a limb, I have to have fun with it otherwise I’ll lose my mind.” he said, smiling even though his statement was completely true.

“Well clearly you’ve got a handle on it, so I think you’ll be okay.” she said, gesturing to the tent. A second later, she realized that he might think her choice of words intentional, and her own hand flew to cover her mouth. “I didn’t - that wasn’t -”

Thank goodness Bucky thought her reaction was funny. “Don’t worry about it. It happens so much more often than you would think.” he said. He settled back into the chair, and decided to change the topic before they got too in depth about his lack of an arm. “So what made you apply for this?”

“My sister. She actually sent the preliminary stuff in for me - without telling me.” she replied. After a few years living in the UK, it was nice to talk to someone besides her mother in her native language. “You?”

“Best friend. He did the same thing.” he said. Mika scoffed appreciatively.

“They’re made for each other, the meddling assholes.” she said, making him laugh again. 

“You said it, not me.”

“I guess I shouldn’t assume your friend is an asshole.”

“Oh no, it’s completely fair to assume he’s an asshole.”

“Then what does that say about us?”

Bucky paused at her question, then shook his head. “Dammit. I guess we’re assholes too.”

His tone was so dry that Mika couldn’t help but bust out laughing. Of course, the whiskey also helped with that. She was a little over halfway through her glass - not enough to be tipsy, but still feeling it - and knew that she would have to stop after the one. Bucky was almost finished with his, but he held on to the last few drops, if only for an excuse to stay and talk with her. 

“But we’re assholes who can bake.” Mika said, toasting him with her glass. He tapped his near-empty glass against hers, taking just the smallest sip so he still had some left.

“Allegedly. We may find out tomorrow that we can’t.”

“You’ve already beaten me in both challenges. How in the hell did you make such good pineapple upside down cake?” she asked, putting just the right amount of incredulity in her tone so he would think she was kidding.

“I dated a girl from the South once, in America. You’d be surprised the crazy things they can cook up.” he said. Mika leaned onto the arm of her chair, resting her chin on her hand.

“Oh, that sounds like a story.” she probed. He shook his head.

“Nah, we had a good run and then it ended amicably. We were just in different places in life.” he said. “But way to pry about my love life on the first day.”

“It’s a gift, what can I say.” she replied, though she could feel her chagrin creeping up the back of her neck. 

“So how did your last relationship end?” he countered, noticing too late that he’d accidentally finished his drink. But that didn’t mean he had to leave. Mika let out a bark of a laugh, followed by taking a gulp of her drink.

“Terribly.” she admitted. His face dropped, and then it was his turn to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“Don’t apologize, it’s all good now.” she said, just a touch too easily. “Cheating bastard is off in...Greece I think now, after being dumped by the other woman. And I’m participating in the biggest baking competition in the world, so I think I’m winning the break up.”

“That you are.” Bucky agreed. He eyed his own empty glass, as well as Mika’s. Were this any other time, he would offer another one. As if Mika read his mind, she gave her empty glass back to him.

“Speaking of which, we should probably sleep well before said competition, right?” she said. She didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to stay out here and chat with her back row buddy. But they did technically have a competition to worry about.

“It’s not a bad idea.” he agreed, taking the glass from her. He made sure the cap was tight on the bottle before pressing it and his book under his arm, holding the two glasses in one hand. Mika thought she should offer to help, but again he did everything with such ease that she figured he would not see the offer as help, but pity. And perhaps, at this point, it was. 

“Not my worst by far.” she said, standing up with him. They bid goodnight to the other bakers still out there, then went back inside, splitting off to their separate rooms. Now that she was alone, all she could think about was the next day. She should have just stayed out there, she probably would have been better rested than the meager sleep she got that night.

The Showstopper challenge was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Art was not her strong suit, so creating a bust of her favorite celebrity hero was something of a nightmare. The preparation required many trials, many failures, and many crying FaceTime calls to her actual artist sister, asking for help. 

But now she was in the tent, with no access to her cell phone and halfway through a challenge that might be her undoing. She’d claimed that she was making the likeness of Lady Gaga, and she’d chosen her both for the wonderful message she sang and for the good she was trying to do in the world. And also because the woman loved to dress differently and abstractly, which would maybe give her a bit of artistic license. Maybe. Hopefully. 

The cake part was easy enough. It was her favorite chocolate mocha cake recipe, with mint buttercream frosting. It was something she’d made a hundred times before, and since it went smoothly, it lulled her into a false sense of security. But now it was the time to decorate, which was no doubt the very worst part of all of this. She didn’t know how anyone else in the tent was doing; at this point, she was doing her best not to break down and cry. 

“How’s it going?” one of the hosts said, coming over and putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, it could be worse,” she said, her voice wavering and her accent thick. “But it also could be a lot better.”

“Mix the optimism with the reality, I dig it.” he said. “So far, it does look like...a human.”

“That’s a good start.” she agreed, laughing slightly.

“Which human is it supposed to be?” he asked lightly.

“Lady Gaga?” 

“Ah yes, I totally see it.” 

“No you don’t.”

“Well it doesn’t matter if I see it.”

“But if you can’t see it, how will the judges see it?”

“Stop being smarter than me and work on your cake.” he said. They stared at each other for a second before she gave in and giggled, shaking her head.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s the spirit.” he said, giving her a brotherly punch on the shoulder before wandering off. Okay, maybe she could do this.

“Half an hour left!”

There was no way she could do this.

But she was sure as hell gonna try.

She tried to remember everything her sister told her, and while she could definitely see the difference between what she was making and what it looked like in her mind’s eye, it was kind of, almost, slightly reminiscent of the pop star. When they called the time, she wasn’t completely happy with her cake, but she had to admit it went better than she thought it would. Of course, all that optimism went right out the window when she was called to bring her cake up to the judges. The silence as they took it all in threatened to smother her, and she took a deep breath to try and hold herself together.

“Well, I can see the Lady Gaga.” the female judge said, though she didn’t quite sound like she believed the statement.

“Or someone like it.” the male judge had to say, taking what little was left of Mika’s confidence and throwing it right out the window.

“She’s very eclectic, so I tried to emulate that.” she said, gesturing with her hands until she realized they were shaking, then clasping them in front of her so they wouldn’t notice. They laughed appreciatively, admitting that she wasn’t wrong. “I promise it tastes infinitely better than it looks.”

“Infinitely, eh?” the male judge said, piercing her with her eyes before piercing her cake with a knife. “And this is mint chocolate mocha, correct?”

“Yes.” she said, taking in another sharp breath before she passed out. It seemed to take them a thousand years to eat it, both of them raising their eyebrows in surprise.

“I expected it to taste like coffee and toothpaste, but it’s very pleasant.” the female judge said, taking another bite for good measure. The male judge nodded in agreement.

“It’s not something I would normally expect in a cake, but you’ve managed to pull it off spectacularly. The cake is tender, and the buttercream isn’t overly flavored. Very well done.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” she said, honestly lightheaded after the whole thing. She collected her cake, going back to the back of the room. Only then did she look up at Bucky, who gave her an encouraging smile and nodded towards her cake. She sent back an exaggerated relieved face, though she still wasn’t sure if she would make it past the first week.

Bucky was next, and though she didn’t know the person he’d chosen, she had to admit that his artistry was much better than hers. She supposed she should feel bad that he had clearly beat her in that category, but after their moment of friendship the night before, she found herself rooting for him. 

“This is impressive.” the male judge said, with an unspoken even despite your disability. She was glad they left that bit off. 

“Thank you.” Bucky said softly. He still exuded his quiet confidence, but she could see his thumb picking at a thread on his shirt. 

“And this is fondant?” the female judge asked.

“Marshmallow fondant. It’s a little more forgiving.” he said with a wry grin. They seemed to appreciate the joke, but not for long before cutting into the cake. It was a spice cake, he said. With cream cheese frosting. Since he didn’t care for sweets, Mika wasn’t surprised that he went for something like that. She also really wanted to try it whenever they got finished.

“Hm. I’m getting too much of...something.” the male judge said.

“Allspice.” the female judge agreed. Bucky’s shoulders dropped the tiniest bit, though his face hid any emotions. 

“The texture though is spot on, and the icing goes very well with it. Decoration was great. Just watch your spices.” the male judge said. Bucky nodded, picking up his sculpture and bringing it to the back of the room. 

“You’re fine.” she whispered, waving him off like of course he was. Then again, they liked his signature and he won the technical, so he really was fine. He gave her a twitch of a smile, settling back onto his stool to watch the rest of the judgements. They thought they might chill out when the judges went off to deliberate, but everyone just seemed more tense.

“Relax.” Bucky muttered, watching Mika pace up and down the back of the tent.

“Relax? How can I relax?” she asked. “My cake was decent, but I can’t decorate for shit and my technical was terrible!”

“You’re fine.” Bucky reiterated. “I’m not losing my back of the room buddy. I paid them off to pass you through.”

“Asshole.” she said, making him laugh. She paused. “Did you really?”

“I can’t afford that, I’m sorry.” he said, making her groan.

“I’m gone. I know it.” she said. She wanted to think that she was the middle of the pack, that she could make it, but she was also deathly afraid that she missed something.

“Well, let’s find out.” he surprised her, drawing her attention to where the producers were lining up their stools. Mika gulped audibly, following Bucky on numb legs and sitting down. She crossed her legs, pressing her hands in between them to hold them still. Next to her, Bucky positioned his leg so his knee was gently touching her thigh - a bit of comfort as they awaited judgement.

In the end, she was neither Star Baker, nor sent home. Relief immediately washed over her, her shoulders sagging as exhaustion from the past two days piled onto her. “Holy fuck.” she muttered, covering her face with her hands. 

“And we’ve got to do it again next week.” Bucky said. She dropped her hands, looking him dead in the eye.