#orange all spice cookies that I gave little glasses to (i work in an eye clinic I HAD to)

[james-p-sullivan]

every year for christmas i bake cookie boxes for my coworkers and every year i try to outdo myself. this was 2022 and ive already begun planning for 2023

[if-found-return-to-gusu]

After Christmas With A-Yuan

I want to talk about New Years but when typing it up I realized I really wanted to talk about the day after Christmas too. So I split them up into two separate posts. So I’ll start with the 26th. I went to sleep holding 2 of my favorite people but woke up tragically alone. I could tell I’d been re-tucked into bed with care. I remember the feeling of someone shifting and A-Yuan mumbling and snuggling closer. The press of a kiss against my temple? But I may have been dreaming. All I know is that I woke up alone. 

Well not entirely. As he often does, Lan Zhan had placed Suibian on the bed with me. She’s the one that woke me actually. She was snuffling up by my nose, her own twitching against mine as her fur tickled my skin.

“Mmm good morning�� I mumbled at her, making her hop around quite excitedly once she realized that meant I was awake. I laughed and sat up carefully to make sure I wouldn’t squash her and beckoned her closer again.

“Do you know where my boys are?” I asked her once she was close enough to pick up. She twitched her nose at me and, of course, didn’t answer. So I told her we should go find them together. (Bunnies don’t usually like to be held from what I’ve experienced. They’ll tolerate it for a while but it makes them nervous. But Suibian never seems to mind so long as I’m the one holding her. Maybe it was because I kept picking her up as she was growing up ((Don’t wanna say when she was a baby because she still IS a baby.)) Oh… maybe she only tolerates it because she’s still so young? Oh I hope she doesn’t grow to fear it. D: I’ll have to make sure she feels extra secure because I love taking her around with me. Anyway. Tangent. You all know to expect it by now)

I swung my legs out of bed and padded out of the bedroom only to be hit by a wall of smells and the sound of kitchen stuff clinking together quietly. I closed the door as silently as I could when I heard A-Yuan giggling and what sounded like Lan Zhan  gently shushing him. I poked my head out of the hall to take a peek and found Lan Zhan was very carefully handing A-Yuan a tray of food that was clearly meant for me.  A-Yuan had almost taken it when he looked up and saw me. He yelped and shoved the tray back at Lan Zhan, who managed to keep 99% of it from spilling, and rushed at me. 

“No Xian-Gege! You’re supposed to be sleeping!!” he said, clearly frustrated that his plans had been ruined. I laughed as he started to physically turn me around and push me back to the bedroom. 

“Oh? But what if I’m not tired anymore?” I asked just to be difficult, resisting him just enough to make him put some effort. The boy went to a nearly 45 degree angle trying to shove me forward. I glanced back to smile at Lan Zhan who had set the tray to rights. He smiled back and I decided to stop teasing A-Yuan who had started to whine a little. 

“Alright! I’m going! I’m going!” I said. I heard A-Yuan telling Lan Zhan to wait a moment before he ushered me back into bed. I set Suibian down on the floor to hop where she wanted (the squirming and teasing was a bit too much excitement for even her, though she didn’t try to escape until she was a safe space from the floor. I trusted Lan Zhan would plop her back in with Bichen which he did so it worked out) and climbed into bed obediently. A-Yuan climbed on next to me so he could kiss my cheek and tuck me in before scurrying off with the order for me not to move. 

Another moment and Lan Zhan and A-Yuan were back in my line of sight, A-Yuan carefully carrying the rather over-laden tray over to me only for Lan Zhan to help place it as I sat up again.

“Good morning, Xian-Gege!” A-Yuan chirped as if he hadn’t just reprimanded me into diving back under the covers. I decided to play my role correctly, which wasn’t too hard because I was honestly feeling very warm by the exchange. 

“Oh! What’s this? Breakfast in bed??? For meeee????”

Okay the look on A-Yuan’s face told me I was over-selling it so I just grinned at him and laughed, opening my arms for a careful hug. I let him go and started to ask if the two of them were planning to join me only to find Lan Zhan had left and was now returning while holding two more trays of food. 

Not nice to flex on a 7 year old, Lan Zhan. Come on now. XD

It took a bit of maneuvering and there were a few very near calls but we managed to get all three of us in bed with the trays of steaming food over our laps. 

Blueberry pancakes and eggs and sausage (for me and A-Yuan anyway), toast and hashbrowns. Complete with orange juice and a glass of water. Entirely too much food that was absolutely completely consumed to the last crumb. 

It was… it was so domestic and.. Warm and… My chest aches with it even now. I want that. I want that forever. It felt like the three of us were a real family! And.. and after what A-Yuan said at his birthday party… Okay that’s for later. We’re doing this in order!

As we worked through the mountain of food I suddenly realized-- When had Lan Zhan gotten a third tray? It was possible that he’d had it but only ever pulled out 2 before but this one didn’t match the others. The tray that was given to A-Yuan was a bit smaller (which was good because we were PUSHIN it with the trays on the bed) and covered in little bunny prints. I tapped on A-Yuan’s tray and asked Lan Zhan when he’d bought it. He replied that he had picked it up this morning since he was out anyway. 

“You… went out already? And came back? And cooked breakfast???” I asked, somehow still surprised even though I KNOW very well by now that he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn. 

He just nodded and smiled at me. “I had to get a few things and I didn’t want to disturb you two.”

I flopped back on the bed with a whine, rambling about how they were spoiling me so rotten and how we should be pampering HIM instead because he’s already gotten so much done that morning and must be tired and blah blah blah. I don’t listen to myself most of the time so I can’t tell you all what I said but you get the jist. 

Lan Zhan smiled. I mean. I know he did even though my arm was dramatically over my eyes. I could feel it in his ‘mn.’ 

“Don’t laugh at meeeeee,” I whined which just made him more amused. A-Yuan patted my knee consolingly and told me I should finish eating before my pancakes got soggy. 

A brilliant lad. Top of his class. Couldn’t be prouder if he was my own son. 

Ahhh dreams. 

Gotta work on one dream at a time. Not gonna compound it right now. 

Once we had finished our feast, I insisted on carrying the trays back to the kitchen and cleaning up since they’d gone through all the work making and delivering breakfast. Lan Zhan got a… complicated look on his face at that and I know where his mind was going. I softened and gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. I hadn’t forgotten our talk from the other day. I wasn’t going to go overboard.  He seemed to understand because he relaxed and nodded at me. 

I only did a basic clean up for the time being, promising to take care of the rest of it later. I think that reassured him further. 

Not gonna lie, part of me really really wanted to reach for the bottle of cleaner again. My fingers twitched a bit but I resisted. I left a bit of mess and went to sit with my boys in the living room. 

Knowing and doing are two different things. And that was admittedly harder than it should have been. But the way Lan Zhan looked at me…. Suddenly it was the easiest thing in the world. 

The three of us digested while watching something ‘family oriented’ on TV which just gave me MORE feels to be shelved for now. It ended up with Lan Zhan shuffling closer to me while A-Yuan somehow draped himself across both our laps. I saw Lan Zhan stroking A-Yuan’s hair out of the corner of my eye and it just melted my heart further. 

After a couple episodes of… whatever we were watching (A-Yuan apparently had been watching this for a while and wanted to keep going so we indulged him. But I have NO idea what the hell it was)

The moment… it was honestly perfect. It had even started to snow outside. I could see the big fat flakes floating lazily down to earth from the large window. I don’t know what we were watching but it wasn’t too obnoxious. I felt Lan Zhan slide his arm around me as he kept petting A-Yuan. The two of them looked about as content as I was. Warm and close and comfortable. 

I.. I really want that moment to be my life. That forever. That is paradise. 

But then, as all good things are wont to do, the moment ended. But it wasn’t a sad ending. It was a new beginning. 

A-Yuan had shifted after his show had ended and looked up at Lan Zhan, asking if it was time yet. I had no idea what he was talking about but Lan Zhan seemed to consider. He looked at his watch, then nodded with a hum. Apparently this was the correct response because A-Yuan whooped and basically just RAN to the kitchen. 

I looked at Lan Zhan, completely confused, but instead of answering my silent question he just smiled and offered his hand to me. Never one to miss THAT opportunity, I took that offered hand and let him lead me to the kitchen where A-Yuan was pulling out… cookie cutters?

“We have to make the batter, first,” he reminded A-Yuan, making the boy pout a bit. “But you can mix the dough” was enough to get him back into his chipper spirits. 

“Batter…?? Are we making.. Christmas cookies? A bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“Never too late!!” A-Yuan protested. And who am I to argue against that?

“There was a rather good sale on the cutters when I was out so I thought perhaps A-Yuan would enjoy it.”

“You thought right!” A-Yuan chirped happily before asking what ingredients we needed. 

I helped gather the ingredients. Various white powders, eggs, butter, vanilla and so on. With my hands in the rather sorry state they were still in I let them handle putting everything together and mixing it up (safer that way anyway. Even with this, part of me wanted to add a bit of spice to the mix. Sweet and spicy go well together! And I think it’d make an interesting cookie! Maybe I’ll try that on my own some time) but I got to roll it out for cutting. 

And then I discovered that when Lan Zhan saw there was a sale on cookie cutters he had apparently decided to buy one of each. There were tons! Even some repeats because of buying some bulk packages of them as well. But that’s okay! Can never have too many snowmen!

Cutting out the shapes was so much fun! We let A-Yuan pick out most of them but even so. I stepped back and let Lan Zhan put them in the oven though. I’m.. getting better but hot stuff still makes me nervous sometimes. 

Actually it’s really frustrating! It wasn’t even the kitchen where the explosion happened! It was my bed area. They’d intended to get me in my sleep. It really really was only luck that my explosion went off after a delay. It was probably supposed to go off at the same time as the other one and if it had…

I think Lan Zhan noticed my thoughts starting to spiral again because suddenly he was in front of me. He brushed my cheek with his thumb, either wiping off some flour or putting some on. He gently guided me to look at him and smiled even more softly at me. “I’m here,” he said, his voice low and careful. I smiled back and covered his hand with mine. 

“Are you okay, Xian-Gege?” asked my suddenly acquired new ankle weight. I must have looked quite bad because apparently A-Yuan noticed too and latched himself to my leg. He doesn’t do that as much as he used to when he was little (though being with A-Ling seems to bring that out in him again). I reached down to pat his head and smile at him too. 

“I’m fine,” I promised to him, then again to Lan Zhan when I saw him still looking at me. “I promise.”

And I was. The moment had passed as quickly as it had come and suddenly I found I really was okay. I hugged them both and thanked them before asking what we wanted to do while the first batch cooked. 

Lan Zhan pointed out they would only be in the oven for a few minutes which surprised me. I always forget how fast they cook. Blame it on making them SO rarely. And that I don’t cook may be another factor. Hah. Ah well. 

We stood around and chatted while we waited and before I knew it the timer dinged and Lan Zhan was switching them out for the next batch.  I don’t know if A-Yuan or me was more impatient for those cookies to cool, but Lan Zhan said that the frosting would just melt off if we didn’t wait for them to be at least room temperature. 

I pointed out that maybe I wanted a melty snowman he didn’t know. But he gave me a look so I sat on the bar-stool I’d pulled up and pouted sulkily.  A-yuan climbed up onto his own stool and sulked with me.  Lan Zhan was pointedly NOT looking at us which made it really hard to  hold the pout for wanting to giggle instead. A-Yuan and I shared a look and we both almost broke, but I managed to just re-exaggerate my pout and he copied my expression. 

I had just started to implement an old, tried and true method of mine of making a quiet whine noise that very slowly increases in volume when Lan Zhan finally declared that we could decorate them now. With many whoops and hoorays A-Yuan and I set to our task (A-Yuan still on his stool so he could have easier access to the counter. He’s already 7 but still a bit small for his age if I’m honest.) 

The two of us decorated our little hearts out while Lan Zhan stayed in charge of swapping out the cookies in the oven. Eventually, though, he ran out of cookies to cook so I tried my luck at getting him to join us in the decorating. 

He seemed rather reluctant but I’m nothing if not persistent. “Come oooooon, please? I wanna eat a cookie that Lan Zhan made!!” 

I think that’s what finally convinced him. I’ve noticed, and I do TRY not to take advantage of this too often, but… well he never denies me anything. Like… ever. Not unless he has a really really good reason.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m really good at pouting or if he really just loves to spoil me that much? Maybe both? I mean…. Okay I’m… Since New Years especially I’ve been re-framing how I look at our relationship. And how he reacts to me and how we interact with each other.

I know I know. About time? Look, you can’t blame me for being careful. Okay? Just… ugh. Anyway….

Maybe it’s rose-tinted glasses. Maybe I’m reading way too far into things. Maybe I’m just wrong. But I hope… I hope I’m right. I hope that what I’m seeing is true. I hope…

But we’ll get into that later. 

Lan Zhan helped decorate the rest of the cookies and it went…. About as well as his decorating back at the corn maze had. Bless his talented heart but arts and crafts are definitely a weakness for him.  A weakness that is now snuggly coupled with his shit aim in my heart. The two ‘flaws’ that he has and they just endear him to me even more. How is that fair? Somehow him being bad at things just makes him even MORE perfect? That’s just not fair! 

A-Yuan and I laughed at a particularly hideous angel cookie, but when A-Yuan asked if that angel was supposed to be ME I think we both died a little. (Lan Zhan did not confirm nor deny the identity of the angel cookie but at a glance it did seem to share my morning bed-head hair. And he gave it clothes that were rather dark and tattered as is my preference. But that could just be chalked up to lack of finesse with the piping. The grey sprinkles for eyes did add a bit of suspicion though.)  I mentioned if it was supposed to be me they’d better snap off the wings which made Lan Zhan scowl at me and hold the cookie rather protectively.  I laughed and promised I wouldn’t destroy his hard work and he reluctantly relaxed and went back to his careful decorating. 

Sooner than I would have liked we ran out of cookies to decorate. Though I’m not sure where we’d put them if we had any more. They covered every flat surface in the kitchen while the frosting settled and dried. “Which ones do you want to take home?” Lan Zhan said after a while of gazing fondly at our kingdom of sugar soldiers. That… kinda made my heart sink. Right. Home. A-Yuan was gonna have to go back home. Which was not with us. Wen Ning was going to be picking him up soon.

Should I be concerned with how fast I got used to it? The three of us together in the play-acting of a little family? Probably. 

A-Yuan hopped around the kitchen and considered carefully, picking out some of his favorites to give to the rest of the Wens. He asked me to give a sparkling snowflake to A-Ling which just made me melt. 

Eventually we got all his selections all packed up in tupperware and ready to be taken away. But he came up to me with one last cookie in his hand. It was a christmas tree he’d spent so long carefully decorating. And honestly it was a masterpiece considering he’s all of 7 years old. He’d done his best to color in the star at the top with gold frosting and the branches with green. He’d placed strings of dot sprinkles in alternating colors as garland and shaped sprinkles for the ornaments. He’d even tried to put lines in the frosting at the bottom to make it look like tree bark, though that had melted together into a bit of an un-even lump. But still.  

“I made this one for you, Xian-Gege,” he said with the brightest smile. He said that he was scared when he found out I was hurt but he was so glad that I was okay. He was saying something else but I cut him off when I hugged him so tight, careful not to crumble that precious cookie. 

I still have it. I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. Eventually Lan Zhan and I sprayed it with stuff (per instructions seen on the internet) so that we could preserve it and keep it forever. I turned it into an ornament for a christmas tree. I wonder if we can have A-Yuan over next year. I wonder if he’d notice it. 

I was… a bit emotional up until Wen Ning finally showed up to collect his nephew. There was another round of hugs where I told A-Yuan how much I love him and how proud of him I was and then he was gone. 

And it was just me and Lan Zhan. 

I sniffled a little and Lan Zhan carefully took my hand to comfort me. I smiled a watery smile at him before we both went about cleaning up. We nibbled on some of the more unfortunate looking cookies  (which honestly weren’t ALL Lan Zhan’s since I had some failed experiments of my own to add to the ‘reject’ pile) and soon the kitchen was properly spotless. But it still smelled like the cookies, the scent of sugar and vanilla mixing with the sandalwood that usually dominated the home in a mix that was surprisingly pleasant. 

Once we’d finished cleaning up, Lan Zhan took my hand again and led me to the living room to sit down. “Wait here a moment,” he said. He went off to the other room to get something. I listened to the soft sound of his footsteps and the rustling of paper. He sat next to me again and asked me for my hands. I offered them to him with a questioning stare that he ignored in favor of undoing the wrappings I’d put on earlier to help protect them while we made the cookies. 

One at a time he slowly unwound the length of thin cloth until my poor raw knuckles were exposed. 

I asked him what he was doing, but he only responded by pulling out a bottle of something. It was apparently some sort of ointment or lotion. Something soothing. He poured some into his own palm, rubbing his hands together to warm it up before he gently, oh so gently started to rub it into the skin on my hands. I stung for a moment, though he soothed it quickly by blowing on my hands with care. But after the initial contact the sting faded. It smelled so nice. A bit medicinal but definitely sandalwood. 

Apparently that’s what he’d gone out for. That ointment/lotion/whatever it is. He’d seen how tender my hands were (of course he had) and wanted to give them extra care. He’d apparently had to go across town just to get it. The post-christmas shoppers were already out in full swing gobbling up sales and crowding the streets. 

I… he hates crowds. When we shop we specifically try to go out when there are less people when we can manage it. And dealing with post-holiday crowds. I know for a fact that he’s done his best to avoid that his whole life. And going all the way into town just to get me some hand cream. Just. 

My heart.

I can’t handle it.

Even after the cream had been rubbed in with so much care, he kept holding my hands. Rubbing and massaging the parts where the skin was intact and a little up my wrists. 

Eventually he stopped but I held his hands before he could pull them away so that I could place a kiss in thanks on his knuckles. When I looked up again he was staring at me. So close. So soft. So…. 

I pulled back with a cough that probably did nothing to hide my flaming cheeks and he let me. Was it wishful thinking that made me think I saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes? 

I thanked him for always taking such good care of me. He told me there was no need for thanks between us. 

I smiled at him again and he smiled back. He smiles so much easier now than he used to. At least when it’s just us.  

Does that mean that it’s because of me? Am I helping him smile? I hope so.

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

A Never-Ending Feast

Yes, it is me again. Really we all should have expected this, but when Jester pulled out Heroes' Feast in episode 105, my friend alixcat basically said, yeah, you are writing a fic about Jester using Heroes' Feast right? And I was like....yeah, you right. I'm back on my Labor of Love bullshit 24/7. This one's for you!

Jester often shows love through acts of service, OR 5 times that Jester summoned a feast for others and the 1 time she made a feast for herself.

Bon appetit!

Read on AO3

Preview:

The trudge to the inn was a terrible one. It was one of those summer days that clung to your skin and sowed misery with the humidity. It was almost a relief for it to start raining, but as soon as it did the wind howled and shook the trees with intensity, and the sky cracked open with lightning and thunder. Yasha looked unbothered by the storm, but Beau grumbled and trudged her way through the front door of the inn looking like she had been personally insulted. It didn’t help that when they ordered food, all they received was burnt chicken and wilted vegetables coated in oil. 

“I can’t believe we spent money on this shit,” Beauregard snapped, her temper hot and lashing like a whip. She cast a dirty look to the innkeeper, who plainly ignored it and continued on with their day.  

“I know what will make us all feel better,” Jester said, fluttering her fingers with her excitement. “I have that new spell that makes the food! Everyone, let’s go upstairs to our room and I’ll make us a feast!” 

“I’m down,” Fjord said, picking up a particularly sad looking green bean from his plate and watching it flop around in an extremely unappetizing manner, not that Jester ever believed that beans were good. They were one of those things that Mama swore were good for her, but if they were so good for her then maybe they ought to taste good too! Regardless of her feelings about green beans, the Mighty Nein all followed Jester up to their room, where she settled down on a blanket and pulled out her jewel encrusted goblet. For a moment she prayed, and then the Traveler’s energy pulsed through her. 

What kind of feast shall it be today? Jester heard the Traveler ask. 

I’m thinking...summer! The kind of things you would eat on a beautiful summer day, the kind of summer day that Beau would love, not whatever this shitty day is!

Magic overflowed from the goblet, and out from the ground plates patterned with flowers, and bowls of porcelain began to appear like they were sprouting flowers and tall grasses. Strawberry shortcakes with dollops of indulgent creams that were scented of vanilla and the zest of lemons, peach crumbles with layers of streusel flavored with the warming spices of ginger and cinnamon to give it just a punch of flavor. Scoops of coconut ice cream covered in toasted coconuts and topped with pineapple sauce and bright cherries. Bananas dipped in chocolate and covered in toasted nuts and strawberries, slices of banana cream pie and rhubarb pie. 

Veth picked up a glass bowl containing a trifle half the size of her body, layers of cake soaked in rum, blueberry sauce, custard, berries, and jelly that was arranged like a large fruit display. Caleb began cutting slices of a pavlova, sweet toasted meringue garnished with kiwis, passionfruit, strawberries and cream. Yasha and Fjord were busy sharing a pineapple upside down cake and coconut ice cream, as Beau worked on her own plate that she stacked high with pies baked into jars. 

“I’ve never had iced tea before,” Caduceus said, taking a long indulgent sip from a glass.“Would you like some?” 

“Oh yes!” Jester said as she took the glass. It was iced tea as her Mama made it, the signature Nicodranas brew layered with black-citrus tea with sweetened condensed milk and coconut milk. Jester sighed as the flavors mingled on her tongue. She took a mouthful of streusel next, sighing as the tender peach melted her in mouth with the brown sugar and coconut and made the flavor of summer. She dipped forkfuls of banana cream pie in pineapple sauce, cut chocolate covered bananas to add to her slice of pavlova. She took indulgent sips of different drinks to refresh her palate and add more flavor, watermelon tea or frosted lemonade or fizzing fruity floats with scoops of ice cream that melted into foam that lapped at the edge of goblets the size of bowls. 

By the time the hour was up and the feast vanished, Jester had truly eaten her fill. She sighed as she settled into bed that night. For a moment she swore she felt Beau’s eyes on her. 

“Thanks Jester,” Beau said, voice rough with feeling. “That did hit the spot.” 

“Of course,” Jester said with a smile that Beau couldn’t see. “Any time.” 

______________________________________

They sat camped outside the dungeon, in the bubble as Caleb meticulously casted. The villagers there had complained about something coming up from the depths of the old abandoned mine. Jester wondered idly if it could be gnolls again, but based on what Fjord and Beau had discovered while snooping about it seemed to be something far more...trickey. 

“We just don’t know what we are gonna be walking into,” Fjord said worriedly as he balanced the Star Razor across his knees. Yasha who had been minding the perimeter came back and settled down, looking a bit unnerved. Jester felt a quiet sense of concern for her. It really was awful how she kept getting mind-controlled all the time! Jester would need to talk to the Traveler about that some time to see if she could help. 

“If we hit it hard enough, it’ll fall,” Veth said, cocking her crossbow confidently. 

“It might not hurt to prepare ourselves though,” Caleb said as he sat himself down next to Veth. Caleb then caught Jester’s attention with an awkward wave.  “Jester, would you be, perhaps, capable of creating that feast again? To...ah...bolster our efforts?” 

“Yeah, yeah yeah yeah,” Jester said thinking about it. “I can do that today!”

“Can you include some meat?” Veth said, picking at her teeth. “Any at all?” 

“I have to give Caduceus something to eat!” Jester said, reminding Veth as she pulled out her bowl. 

“Aw, that’s nice,” Caduceus hummed as he fixed his sleeping bag. 

Jester settled it on the ground, and as she had done before she called the Traveler’s power to her. 

What kind of feast shall it be today? Jester heard the Traveler ask. 

I’m thinking...warm and filling! Something crisp like an apple on a brisk fall day, and the flavors of a Harvest Close Festival. 

And there on plates and bowls patterned with leaves in brilliant autumn colors was their feast. A whole roast duck glazed with orange sauce and served on a platter on a smear of plum applesauce with skin so crispy that it cracked when Caleb took his first bite. Bowls full of sunny pumpkin soup topped with crisped onion, that paired perfectly with loaves of bread that were stuffed with fennel-pork sausage that Beau downed so quickly that Jester was half sure it would be more effective to just raise the bowl to her lips. Rabbit in rosemary-wine sauce, served with sides of potatoes mixed together with a spicy savory mustard, and mushroom risotto with rice so tender it brought tears to the eyes. 

And then of course dessert, which Jester was mostly concerned about and wouldn’t dare to stint on the servings. Apple pie with cinnamon-sugar dusted on crumbling crusts. Baked apples covered luxuriously thick caramel sauce and covered in peanuts, and elephant ears swirled in cinnamon and drizzled with frosting. There were slices of smooth and glossy pumpkin pie and crunchy and delicately sweet pecan pies topped with dollops of whipped cream, and sweet potato cheesecake with gingersnap streusel crumbled on top. Goblets were full of apple cider, or hot chocolate with toasted marshmallows and drizzled with salted caramel, and coffee made buttery and rich with swirls of cream and brown sugar and even pumpkin. Butterscotch cookies pressed into the edges of large glasses of milk were what caught Jester's eyes first and foremost. 

"This is my favorite thing," Jester said as she dipped the warm cookie into the glass of milk that had a rim encrusted with chocolate dust and cinnamon sugar, sighing as the butter, crunchy edges of the cookie, and the sweetened warm milk melted together in perfect harmony. Veth pressed in close to her, finishing off her plate before grabbing a glass of milk and cookies. 

"This reminds me of when I was a girl," Veth laughed, her eyes misty. "But my mother wasn't nearly as good of a cook as your magic is." 

“Aw, thank you,” Jester chirped, trading her now empty glass for a new plate and taking bites from pecan pie and long sips from cream-pumpkin-coffee. She gave Veth a side hug that Veth gladly leaned in to. 

"It really is lovely," Caleb said, with a soft reflective look of his own as he stopped up soup with a piece of bread. His dark fingers sweeping around in a well practiced movement before popping the last piece of bread in his mouth. 

“Hey, save some for the rest of us,” Beauregard teased as she elbowed Caleb. 

“There’s plenty to share,” Veth argued with no heat. “I’ll make you a plate.” 

Jester said nothing, but cuddled more firmly against Veth's side as she enjoyed her cookies in milk, thinking of a time with her own mother and perhaps something like this. 

_______________________________

The ship rocked them back and forth as they gathered in the captain’s quarters. Jester had been full of energy ever since she learned that today was Fjord’s birthday. He had asked for nothing big or special, trying to argue that he couldn’t know his actual birthday and that he was getting too old for celebrations, but all of them had gotten him gifts regardless. Small little useful things, because Fjord would have surely refused anything more than that. Once the others had finish gifting things to Fjord, which he took with an increasingly tender and misty-eyed expression, Jester pulled out her jeweled goblet and set it upon the table. She casted the spell as she usually did, feeling her chest fill with the energy of her god.  

What kind of feast are we having today? The Traveler asked curiously. 

A celebration! Jester responded exuberantly.  A fancy dinner party!

Upon the table that Fjord had set up, the plates and bowls and trays appeared, bubbling up from the spell like little boats buoyed on the water. A sweet and creamy lobster bisque, besides a tray of mussels steamed in white wine garlic and lemon juice, and nestled between buckwheat galettes made of salmon, capers, and dill. Mashed potatoes that were made smooth and rich with exorbitant amounts of butter found a place next to plates of mushrooms and gnocchi in a tomato cream sauce, and spicy butternut squash soup. Crispy crab cakes with a rainbow of dipping sauces in bowls shaped like shells and baked oysters dusted with spices and cheese. There was even a whole braised octopus in the center of the table, arranged among slices of lemon. 

“I’ve never had anything like this,” Caleb admitted as he looked at the perfect slices of raw tuna in a loose approximation of a raw bar. “Is this supposed to be raw?” 

“It tastes pretty good,” Veth said, scooping up her own serving of the ceviche of raw tuna marinated in lime juice and tossed with onions, tomatoes, avocados, and cilantro. She slurped down mussels at an alarming rate and did her best to encourage Caleb to cry the crispy calamari with the garlic aioli and the steamer swimming in butter. 

"Look, our favorite!" Fjord said, sharing a knowing look with Beau and Yasha as he motioned to the plate full of fried fish and potatoes with tartar sauce. Beau and Yasha laughed as they loaded up their plates, pressing the flaky white fish into sandwiches made from the warm fresh white bread. 

“What’s for dessert?” Caduceus asked curiously. 

“Chocolate! You can’t really have a birthday without a chocolate cake,” Jester said excitedly as she moved to cut slices of a decadent chocolate cake, moist and sweet and filled with chocolate cream and raspberry sauce, settled besides saucers of chocolate mousse, and crisp cannolis filled with sweetened ricotta and chocolate chips. Chocolate covered strawberries were gathered in a luxurious array of white, milk, and dark and covered with nuts and candies. Stacks of salted caramel millionaire’s shortbread with crisp butter-cookie sandwiching layers of caramel and covered in chocolate, even bubbling pots of chocolate and caramel fondue with a wide array of fruits and snacks to dip into the heavenly smelling liquid. 

“Thank you, Jester,” Fjord said with a wide smile that had lantern-light glinting off his tusk. “Thank you all of you. This has really been the best birthday I have ever had.” 

“Don’t forget to blow out your candles!” Jester said, offering him a slice of his cake. Beauregard reached over to the goblet and pulled out a candle, passing it to Veth who planted it on his cake. Caleb reached out to punch the candle and it lit and began to glow. 

Fjord blew out his candle, and closed his eyes to make a wish. As she took a bite of her own slice of cake and then dipping a forkful in the chocolate fondue, she wondered if any wish could top this simple pleasure as she pressed it against the top of her mouth so it could just melt away bit by bit and she could savor it. She would try to savor it all, for as long as she could. 

____________________________

No one enjoyed trudging through a swamp, especially not Caduceus. Jester knew the Wildmother was a powerful god god, but it seemed to her that she could look out for Caduceus a little better. Jester found that the task often went to her, and of course she didn’t mind. Caduceus was steady as a rock, let Jester braid his hair, and listened intently whenever Jester rambled. The least Jester could do was yank Caduceus out of muck puddles whenever he fell in them, in return for being such a good friend. Jester could tell though that Caduceus was relieved when they stopped for the night, and Yasha who had fallen into a bush of prickers was just as excited to be bedding down. They would have a hard day ahead of them the next day, this Jester knew. So when Yasha quietly asked her if she could cast Heroes’ Feast to aid them, Jester already knew what was on the menu. 

What sort of feast tickles your fancy, my dear Jester? The Traveler asked her. 

Now seems as good a time as any to have an afternoon tea!

At night?

Of course, duh!

I do love the way you think. The Traveler chuckled as the goblet summoned for them their feast, spreading it about the dome.  

Their afternoon tea was spread out on three tier and four tier porcelain stands decorated in flowering vines, kettles appeared and whistled merrily as they did as did beautiful tea sets in a variety of flowering colors and painted with rabbits and ducklings. Nestled among the kettles and tea cups were pots of toppings, from sunshine yellow lemon curd to vibrant marmalade and a treasure trove of jams to clotted cream and thick yellow custard. There was a stand of finger sandwiches all cut in diagonals, like cucumber and herbal butter, watercress and fluffy egg salad, prosciutto and goat cheese, and smoked salmon and cream cheese.  One that Jester scooped up was a fluffernutter that made Jester smile. The next stand was a twisting array of scones filled with fruit or berries or nuts or spiced with cinnamon in turn, hearty spiced pumpkin muffins, blueberry muffins, lemon-poppy seed muffins, and danishes filled with jams or sweet cheeses and dusted with sugar or drizzled with vanilla frosting. And then of course, the cookies. Trays of cookies from madeleines with their shell-like filigree edges to smooth as button macarons to stacks of simple butter cookies and shortbread surrounded them like patches of wildflowers. 

“Oh Jester, this is wonderful,” Caduceus sighed into his cup of tea. “Let me pour you a cup?” 

Jester nodded enthusiastically as Caduceus poured her a cup of ruby-red tea. Jester took a sip and was immediately struck by the gorgeous strawberry almost malty note of it. Dipping in a shortbread cookie and eating it made her whimper with the sublime pleasure. The shortbread simply melted into her mouth like a dream, like it was meant to be together. 

“It’s too bad we can’t stop for an afternoon tea every day,” Jester sighed as she excitedly cut open a scone to layer it with clotted cream and blueberry jam and lemon curd. Caleb watched her do this and mirrored it, though adding far less then she did of all three toppings except the lemon curd. Jester didn’t understand why he was being so stingy, but not everyone could truly appreciate sweets as she did. 

“I can’t eat rich food too often,” Beauregard admitted as she cornered the market on tiny finger sandwiches. “It’s a nice once in a while thing, but otherwise it screws up my workout routine.”   

“This is magic food though,” Veth pointed out. “Does it really count?”

“Tastes the same, and feels the same in my stomach,” Beauregard said with a shrug. 

“What are these tiny orange things?” Yasha asked as she eyed a canape. 

“That would be salmon roe,” Fjord explained and when seeing Yasha’s befuddled reaction further explained, “fish eggs.” 

“Tasty,” Yasha said, offering no more explanation on that as she popped it in her mouth. 

“All we need now is a fancy place to sleep,” Jester said excitedly as she poured another cup of tea and tried that one. This tea was bright and citrus and with a strong floral note, that perfectly matched the lemon-poppy seed muffin and was smoothed by the lemon-vanilla frosting on top. “You guys have got to try this tea! I’ll get everyone a cup!” 

“It tastes like flowers,” Veth said, doing that thing where it sounded like she was complaining but she really wasn’t.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Caduceus asked, smile sweet on his face. Yasha smiled too, but didn’t say a word. 

_____________________________________________

In Jester’s nightmares, there was a different kind of feast. 

The room itself was familiar, and Jester could almost feel like she shouldn’t be there but couldn’t remember why in the haze of the dream. There was a single window above the door, casting the glow of a red and violet twilight across the room that was cluttered with bottles and jars and strange books and drying herbs. The only other light was fat candles of yellow-beeswax, choked by glass and made dim, and the dying embers of a hearth. The table was set for two, and yet as Jester looked around she was the only one in the cramped little home. Even the ceiling cages swung empty and creaking amongst the wooden slots. Jester took a seat, and just as she did she saw her goblet sat in the center of the empty table. 

Her goblet overflowed, and out of the spreading liquid came a menagerie of sweets. Jester set herself upon them all with a reckless abandon. A strange sludge in a crusty bowl ended up being blueberry soups with dollops of sweet cream, overturned cups ended up being creme brulee with glistening caramel crusted on the tops, casseroles full of bread pudding steaming with cinnamon and drizzled with butterscotch and topped with ice cream flecked with ice cream. There was a bouquet of flowers that filled the air with their sugary scent, that as Jester plucked a beautiful pink bloom melted into her mouth with the flavor of rosehip and fairy floss. Forks melted in between her fingers and she realized they were made of chocolate, and the placemats were now made of crunchy honeycomb. She bit into her glass only to realize it was made of shards of sugar flavored with mint and the liquid within like pressed and sweetened lemons and melons. She took more ravenous bites, filled her plate high and yet somehow treats continued to spring from that never-ending goblet-

The liquid from her goblet splashed and overflowed as it turned over under the weight and gushed out like a strange pulsing wound, dripping off the edges of the tables and onto Jester’s skirt and seeped in. She recoiled from the sensation, scurrying away as she swiped at it with her fingers. With her vision and the dim light she could see that the liquid was a oily black. The candles all flickered as if shuddered by a breeze, the smoke hazy and twisting as it tickled the low-hanging herbs that were drying from the ceiling. The liquid began to splatter onto the scratched and dusty floor, pitter-pattering at an ever-increasing rate.  

“Now, now my dear,” a familiar croaking voice said as a large hand settled upon her shoulder, fingernails slicing past layers of her cloak. Jester could hear the cracking of dusty-joints and the lumbering crunch of her footsteps. “You have prepared such a feast for me.” 

“I...uh…” Jester squeaked as she felt a too long finger mind her neck. She didn’t dare to move, afraid that such a movement would slit her own throat, but let Isharnai tip her chin up and back so Jester could see the witch hunched over her.  

“Such a precious giving girl,” Isharnai cooed, and her strange face came into focus, dull green eyes searching Jester for some truth that Jester desperately didn’t want to admit. “So full of misery. What a treat you are.” 

“I’m not,” Jester said, her heart pulsing quick and fast in her ears. Her fingers were slick with the black liquid now, it was up to her thighs now bunching and collecting her skirts and glueing them to her legs. But it was her fingers-suddenly she couldn’t move them, as if she had gone numb at the wrist. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe as suddenly the panic overtook her. Where were her friends? Where had everyone gone-? 

“We are friends. Friends don’t lie to each other,” Isharnai said, voice cruel with softness. “Now come, don’t you want your last cupcake?” 

-Jester looked up to the table again and saw wilted flowers and cracked bowls and something bleeding-it was a heart and it was still beating and the whole home contracted and pulsed like it was a thing alive and in the center of it all there was a single cupcake that glistened with gold and-

What a horrible dream! The Traveler’s voice swept across her mind like the wind on a winding path. For a moment she felt like she was falling and yet she didn’t fear as the wind carried the scent of autumn. No need for this, sleep now Jester and know I am with you. 

And so the color of her dreams changed, and she slipped into something safe. 

____________________________

The girl behind the counter was a teenager, fresh faced and with her hair in twin braids. She had a dusting of freckles across her thin nose and smiled happily when Jester walked through the door of the little bakery in the nowhere town that they had stopped in for the night. It was bright and early the next morning, and Jester had snuck out apart from her friends in hopes of finding something that answered her prayers. The Traveler truly was with her in this endeavour. 

"What can I get you this morning?" 

"What do you have?" 

"Would you like savory or sweet?" 

"Sweet, always sweet," Jester said seriously, because sweets were no laughing matter at all. 

"We have muffins, blueberry, cinnamon swirl, and cornbread. We also have cinnamon rolls, and we do have cupcakes." 

"What kind of cupcakes?" Jester asked excitedly. 

"We have a honey-apple cupcake, gingerbread cupcake, and a carrot cake cupcake. The carrot cake is our topseller." 

"Carrot cake," Jester grumbled, feeling her nose scrunch. She knew that it was a popular flavor, but she just couldn't wrap her mind around a vegetable in a cake. But she did know from Beau's grumbles that she enjoyed carrot cake even though, as Caleb had pointed out, it was rather nerdy and old-fashioned of her. Beau had given him a solid punch in the arm at the teasing and had disagreed in the way she did where she wasn't really disagreeing but more arguing for the sake of arguing. "Alright, I'll take a dozen, but like a mixed dozen. Four of each flavor?" 

"Absolutely, that'll be four silver." 

Jester slid the girl six silver and smiled. 

"You keep the change," Jester told her and watched as the girl's eyes widened and she nodded vigorously. The girl quickly packed up the cupcakes and tied the box with a string before handing it off to Jester. She smiled and thanked her again before heading off. Jester walked for a little bit, finding the apple tree just outside of the inn that they were saying. Carefully she set her box on the ground as she pulled out her own handkerchief and settled it amongst the roots. She carefully opened the box of cupcakes, careful not to jostle any of them. She lifted one out from the box, the honey-apple cupcake Jester assumed based off of the drizzle of honey that covered the swirl of vanilla buttercream. 

“I thought we might share this,” Jester said as she crossed her legs, feeling the morning dew and the sunshine dappling her face as the trees shifted with a breeze. She lifted the cupcake to her lips and took a bite. She sighed at the flavor of the sweet floral honey infusing the cake with its buttery undertones and mellow vanilla crumble, the sharp flavor of the apple-filling that was syrupy and made decadent with brown sugar and cinnamon and the tang of lemon, and of course the melting buttercream frosting that dissipated like a vanilla cloud. Jester felt a hand touch hers, and a shoulder bump against her own. 

“Thank you, Jester,” the Traveler said whispered and when Jester blinked there was a second bite taken out of her cupcake. 

Jester laughed, and went to take another bite. 

[emospritelet]

Woven Lace, 27

27: “Wow, I had no idea the Grinch was a real person”

[Part 1]

Festive ficlet prompt list

AO3 link

Lacey hurried back to her apartment, relieved that she actually had the means to bake her cookies and make her Christmas dinner.  Okay, so she would have to share it with someone for whom Christmas spirit appeared to be in short supply, but on the other hand she supposed Weaver could easily have told her to bugger off.  She’d make the miserable bastard enjoy himself if it killed him.

She dashed into the kitchen, gathering up everything she thought she’d need and packing it into a wooden crate, emptied of its cache of books.  She wasn’t sure what equipment Weaver would have in his kitchen, so she packed some pans and utensils of her own, along with wine and brandy, spices and oranges, eggs, milk, cream and sugar, and the vegetables she wanted to prepare.  Bowls of cookie dough and some cutters were balanced somewhat precariously on top, and Lacey struggled a little with the door as she tried to carry everything.

Weaver said nothing as he answered the door to her again, his only reaction a lifting of one brow, and Lacey barged into his apartment, huffing a little under the weight of the box.

“Kitchen’s that way,” he said, jerking his head, and she stomped off, hearing him lock the door behind her.

He didn’t follow her in, and she spent a moment or two looking around herself.  The kitchen was very clean, and she wasn’t sure if that meant he was just a tidy person, or that he never used it.  A quick look through his cupboards revealed that he certainly didn’t cook as much as she did, but she had everything she needed.  She rolled up her sleeves, tied her apron and set to work.

Her first task was to put on some music to work to, and so she found a Christmas compilation on her phone and set it on the kitchen worktop.  It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year began to play, and Lacey sang under her breath as she turned on the oven and prepared to bake the cookies.

It was less than a minute before Weaver entered the kitchen with a scowl on his face.

“What the bloody hell is this?” he demanded.

“Christmas music,” she said.  “Fun, right?”

“For who, exactly?”

“Oh, come on!” she protested.  “You can’t hate this one, it’s so positive you could punch yourself in the face!”

“That’s what I feel like doing right now.”

“Well, I have like a hundred songs just like it, so you might want to wear earplugs,” she said.

He gave her a very level look, eyes flashing a little.  Nice eyes, she decided, or they would be if they weren’t glaring at her.  He had high cheekbones, his hair greying at the temples.  She wondered what his story was, and how he had ended up half way around the world in Seattle, of all places.

“I thought I told you to do this quietly,” he snapped.

“No, you told me to keep the noise down,” she retorted.  “And I am, the volume’s low.  Do you mind if I use your pans?”

He blinked at her abrupt change of subject.

“What?”

“Pans,” she said patiently.  “I’m gonna make eggnog.  I’ll need a saucepan.”

He opened and closed his mouth, and then shrugged, as if he didn’t care what she did.

“In the cupboard,” he said.  “Wash up after yourself.”

He disappeared again, and she rolled her eyes, turning back to her work.

x

An hour and a half later, she washed her hands a final time and took off her apron, rolling her shoulders with a sigh.  The kitchen smelled wonderful, warm with spices and sharp with citrus.  Lacey had prepared the spiced red cabbage she wanted to serve with the meal the next day, and it was bubbling slowly on the stove top, sending up the scents of orange, cloves, star anise and cinnamon.  The cookies were cooling on wire racks, and the eggnog was chilling in the fridge.  She turned off the music, and as though the sudden silence was an invitation, the kitchen door opened.

“Finished, have you?” said Weaver grumpily.  “Took your bloody time.”

“I’ve mostly finished,” she confirmed.  “The cabbage needs time to cook down, but we can just leave it for a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you wanting to use the stove to cook yourself some actual food?” she asked sarcastically.  “Seems to me like whisky’s your main course and dessert.”

“My bad habits are none of your business.”

“Got that right,” she said.  “You want to kill yourself with zero nutrition and too much booze, be my guest.  Just wait until after Christmas, don’t be a buzzkill.”

Weaver stared at her, and barked a reluctant laugh that made her eyes widen in surprise.  The guy had a dark sense of humour, but then she supposed cops had to.  He must have seen a lot of shit in the years he’d been a detective.  She wondered if he slept okay, or if he carried the victims with him when he left work.  Did he drink to shut out the dark world he tried to make sense of, or was it something more personal?

“So I’m stuck with you for two hours, am I?” he growled.

“You’ll find I’m an excellent guest,” she announced, and tossed her apron on top of her box of ingredients, raising an eyebrow at him as she put her hands on her hips.  “Wanna taste the goods?”

He gazed at her for a moment, his expression cautious.

“Alright.”

“Go sit down then, and quit getting under my feet,” she ordered.

He muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, and stomped out again.  Lacey looked in the cupboards, finding glasses for the eggnog.  She poured two large measures, finishing with grated nutmeg, and put some cookies on a plate before setting everything on a battered old tray and carrying it through to the lounge.  Weaver was seated on the couch, nursing a glass of whisky, but he put it aside, sitting forward as she came through and set the tray down on the coffee table.

“What’s this?” he said suspiciously.

“Eggnog.”

“Never had it.”

“Well, then your life is about to become infinitely more enjoyable,” she said dryly.  “Tastes like Christmas, trust me.”

“Really?” he remarked.  “The subtle flavours of rampant commercialism, family feuds and disappointing holiday parties?”

Lacey put her hands on her hips.

“Wow, I had no idea the Grinch was a real person!”

“I’m only saying what most people think.”

“Yeah, well maybe you’ve been hanging out with the wrong people,” she said, and picked up one of the cookies, almost shoving it in his mouth.  “Eat that and stop being a miserable shit.”

Weaver glared at her, but took a bite of the cookie.  Lacey took one for herself, slumping onto the couch next to him and watching him out of the corner of her eye as he ate.  He didn’t say anything, but took another, larger bite.  She allowed herself a tiny smile as he sat forward and reached for one of the glasses of eggnog, taking a cautious sip, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

“That’s actually okay,” he said reluctantly.

“Shut up, it’s fucking delicious.”

She reached for her own glass, and Weaver took another drink, coughing a little.

“Fuck, it’s strong!” he said.  “Is that brandy?”

“Told you you’d like it,” she said smugly, and he looked amused.

“What’s in it?” he asked.

“Egg yolks, milk, cream, sugar and spice,” she said, taking a mouthful.  She swallowed, letting out a contented murmur.  “And a shit ton of brandy.”

“So it’s alcoholic custard, then?”

Lacey chuckled.

“I guess,” she allowed.  “You can use rum instead, but I had brandy, so…”

She shrugged, and took another sip.  There was silence for a moment, and Weaver reached for another cookie, this one studded with chocolate chips.

“Do you always make all this just for yourself?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” she said.  “Sometimes there’s someone around to help me eat and drink it all, but usually it’s just me.”

“Surprised you don’t make yourself sick.”

“My bad habits are none of your business,” she said, throwing his own words back at him.  “Besides, if you don’t enter the New Year feeling hungover, nauseous and filled with regret, you won’t want to make all those promises to yourself about how things are gonna change, right?”

Weaver grunted, although whether it was in recognition or disagreement she was unsure.  He glanced across at her, the tip of his tongue sweeping a creamy droplet from his lower lip.

“So what promises are you gonna make to yourself this time, then?”

Lacey took a sip of her drink, settling back against the cushions.

“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully.  “Maybe this year’ll be different.  Maybe I’ll decide to give myself a break.”

He looked weary then, his brows lifting in the middle, his forehead creasing as his eyes seemed to look far beyond the room itself.

“A philosophy I can support,” he said.  “Even if it’s one I won’t embrace.”

“Maybe it’s time you did.”

“Maybe it’s too late.”

“What did I say about being a buzzkill?”

He grinned at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Alright,” he acknowledged.  “I’ll promise to try my best not to kill your buzz, if you promise no more Christmas music.”

“I can’t agree to that.”

“Fine,” he said.  “One miserable bastard, coming up.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Shut up and drink your custard.”

[boomjob]

Lup and Taako notice one day that Barry will eat legit anything, so they decide to test it with the spiciest dish they’ve ever made.

Barry takes a bite and instead of registering the spicy taste, he only notices that holy shit does his mouth hurt, is he allergic to… what is this? Spicy??

The twins realize that Barry just has… no sense of smell, meaning he cant taste anything. He never told them because he was afraid they would be disappointed. He eats anything they give him to make sure they’re happy, even if he doesn’t really know what it is

partially inspired by @whyisbarrybannedfromthekitchen  and Barry’s horrible, horrible food choices.

Full story under cut!

“Taako, you ever notice how Barry will just eat, like, anything we give him?”

Taako is busy with his newly polished manicure Magnus gave him not ten minutes ago. Staring at his cuticles, he responds, “isn’t the whole uh, the whole goal of cooking to like, to have them eat everything? Cuz its good?” Lime green is a good color for him, he thinks.

“Dude Barry is different though. He’s like a trash compactor with the decency to take it’s time and thank the chef. He’s never turned anything of mine down, I think he’ll eat anything, really.”

“I’ve heard your bedroom at night, that man will eat anything.”

They both high five, Taako doing so carefully as not to smudge the fresh polish. Not really like they had a UV light on this tin can.

“But seriously, it makes me wonder-”

“-If he has a limit?” Taako grabs the second half of her sentence. “Lup I may be dense, but I can read your face like an open book cuz we got the same mug dawg. You’ve got an experiment churning in that noggin so spill.”

Lup spends the next ten minutes describing all the meals she’s made within the last week for Barry. One included chocolate pudding with cilantro and garlic in it, to which he ate and complimented its smoothness. Second was a light salad with maple syrup dressing, which was slightly difficult but he didn’t complain. The next was a pasta dish where she substituted marinara for hot ketchup, which he adored the consistency of. And lastly,

“No… No he DIDN’T…!” Taakos eyebrows are raised and he sits back a little, hand to his chest and mouth agape.

“Yep, he ate oreos with toothpaste instead of creme in the middle.”

“That sick bastard…!”

“Taako he didn’t even flinch! I was terrified of the man I love as he proceed to eat my three trick cookies from the sleeve I gave him, then continue to the others without a reaction! So that got me thinking. Is it like a switch? Has he just never learned whats right and wrong on the food spectrum? Is there an end to this?“

“You wanna figure out how much he can take?”

“But what could be worse than what I gave him? The ketchup and pasta one was the most heinous creation I’ve ever concocted.”

“What, uh. What about reactions to, to food that are like the extreme of the spectrum?”

“What, like give him something super sour? He eats lemons instead of an orange with his cereal.”

Taako gags but continues, “nah nah sour is hard to work with. What if we… turned up the heat a little bit, eh?” THAT gets her attention.

That night the twins cook the spiciest meal of their lives. Every chili pepper under the sun go into this curry they’ve made, skipping over caution labels of bottles and suggestions. When they’ve finished, they can’t even look at it without their eyes watering.

Lup calls for Barry in the lab that dinner is ready. She knows he’s been busy so he usually eats while working, but he always makes sure to try a few bites before leaving to show Lup how much he appreciated everything she does.

“Hi Lu, hey Taako, this looks lovely! You’ve both been kinda quiet and Taako doesn’t usually help with one person meals, is something up?”

“Nah honey bunches just some good family bonding. I know you’re busy, but make sure you eat it while it’s hot.”

Taako snickers, vaguely whispering about how it’ll take a lot more than a few minutes to have it not be hot. Lup gives him a swift elbow jab to the ribs and he stifles his laugh into a cough.

“Sure, thanks babe.” He smiles warmly at her and gives her a long kiss to the cheek, and for a moment doubt flashes in her mind. As he pulls away though, the fork is already to his mouth.

Taako leans across the counter to watch and Lup almost tells him to stop, but her curiosity overwhelms her as Barry makes no reaction to the spice.

“As always Lup you never fail to make a delicious- hey why does my mouth… my mouth, hurts?” He looks at them, talking with his tongue hanging out and gasping for air, “guys my mouth kinda huwts, it might be an allergic reaction? Is my epi pen anywhere close by?? Or something cold at least, it feels like I’ve been burned!”

“Barry have you never had spicy food before?” Taako asks wide eyed and unblinking, making no motion to help him. Lup has already rounded the counter towards the fridge for some water.

“W-what no, I l-love spicy food, haha that’s like my favorite stuff! Not sure what this is though, is this made of pop rocks?” His tongue still hangs out of his mouth now as he’s sweating.

“Barry, you’re EATING spicy food.”

There’s a pause as Barry looks down at his plate. Lup has stopped pouring him some water now as both twins look at him with concerned eyes.

“Babe,” Lup starts, “do you have a sense of taste?”

“I…I, yes? Technically, yes. Yeah, I’ve got a sense of taste, how else could I… love your cooking?” He’s breathing is a bit heavier now, “I…I wouldn’t be able to compliment or love it otherwise… see? Like this…” Barry goes to lift his fork again and Lup stops him, holding his hand down and looking into his eyes.

“You could have told me, babe why didn’t you say anything?” There’s no hurt in her eyes, only concern for the human.

Barry sighs and puts the fork down. Taking the glass of water he hands her, he finally says “because I CAN taste things, I just don’t have a sense of smell. This curry is the first thing I’ve actually tasted in a long time, but it was kinda overridden by… pain? I think it was just pain, not really a flavor… But Lup I loved it, really I-“

“Barry.” He shuts up. “You not being able to taste my cooking isn’t anything I care about. I cook because you look happy when you eat it. I just want you to be happy and that’s it, babe.”

Barry looks like he’s going to say something when he’s overwhelmed by the spiciness again and takes a sip of water, prompting them both to laugh again.

“So no WONDER he kept eating all that weird shit! He didn’t know it was weird!” The happy couple is reminded they’re not alone when Taako interjects, “oh thank god, now I don’t have to disown you for eating salad with maple syrup!”

“Wait, I ate what?” He looks up at Lup through the corners of his eyes.

“Uh.”

[amira-darkhall]

the bakery

I wrote a fic about Amira and a bakery that doesn’t exist. I’m tired so there aren’t any capital letters but it would make me happy if people read it because I think it’s pretty good (also Gay). I’m trying to write more, so if you think I should keep doing that let me know. I like feedback!

one.

the door pushed open and amira was greeted by the smell of flour and spices. she looked around with curiosity. the bakery was small, dotted with about ten small tables. the wall that looked out onto the street consisted of tall, square-paned windows, and display tables showed off racks of golden saffron buns and braids of sweet cardamom bread. an older couple that sat by the wall were drinking from mugs of hot chocolate, although the day was sunny and warm. light poured in, yellow and almost solid, melting in sheets over the worn floorboards and painting abstract patterns on the walls.

“can i help you?”

amira returned abruptly to the moment. someone was talking to her from behind the rounded glass display cases at the back of the room. she looked barely older than amira herself, but she wore an apron and her fingers were dusty-looking, as if she had just stepped out of the kitchen. she probably had, mused amira.

“i recommend the bullar. if you like cinnamon, that is.” the girl smiled. her hair was the color of honey and sunlight, thick and falling in a braid over her shoulder. a deep blue scarf was tied over the top of her head, but a wisp of hair had escaped it and brushed against her cheek.

“i like cinnamon.” how eloquent. amira wanted to hit herself.

“is that all you want?”

“that’s all, thanks. can i get it to go?”

the girl smiled and reached into the display case for the bullar, wrapping it in wax paper and placing it into a small paper bag. amira paid quickly and left, her heart beating a little off-kilter. her brain felt as if it were filled with clouds.

after she had walked for five minutes, she found a bench under a tree that bloomed with white flowers and tried the bullar. it tasted of cinnamon and almonds and cardamom, still warm and slightly sticky. she smiled to herself, her hands tacky from sugar and her mind in the tiny bakery, watching a girl with dusty fingers as she worked.

two.

“you’re back!” the scarf was still the same, but any strands of hair that might have threatened to escape were tucked securely beneath it. amira noticed a faint scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“your bullar was amazing. can i have a saffron bun? i’ll have it here this time.” amira did her best to smile, but realized how much of a grimace it was and stopped, tugging at her shirt self-consciously. the girl slid a plate across the counter, bright white against the yellow swirl of the saffron bun.

“next time you should try the hot chocolate. i make it myself.” there was a smudge of flour just above one eyebrow, and amira resisted the urge to reach out and brush it off. it was sickeningly endearing.

“i will.”

the saffron bun was just as good as the bullar, and the color reminded amira of the baker’s hair, shining like wheat under the sun.

three.

“one hot chocolate made with milk fresh from the harvest counties. anything else?”

“i think i’m all set. should i wait here, or…?”

“i’ll bring it over to you. go find a table.”

when the girl came over with a mug the size of a soup bowl, dusted with fragrant slivers of chocolate and smelling like vanilla, amira let a real smile dance across her lips for a moment, vanishing almost as soon as it appeared.

“thank you.”

“you haven’t lived until you’ve had one of my hot chocolates. i promise you won’t be disappointed.” she set down a long-handled spoon, turned, and walked back to the counter.

five minutes later, when amira caught her eye across the room, she mouthed, did you like it? and amira smiled for the second time, nodding vigorously in return.

four.

“what’s it going to be this time?”

“what’s your name?” amira said it a bit too quickly, rushing to say the words before she chickened out.

the girl pushed her scarf (a different one this time, patterned with cornflowers to match her eyes) back with one hand and said, “astrid.”

amira decided that she had made the exchange awkward and tried to move on. “can i have a cardamom braid? i might need a bag, too, because i don’t think i can finish a whole one on my own.”

“not until you tell me your name, too. this has to be a fair trade. i’m giving you food and my name and you’re giving me nothing.” astrid gave her a look, one hand resting lightly on her hip.

“hey, it’s not like i’m getting the cardamom braid for free. i’m amira.”

“that wasn’t too hard. one cardamom braid and a paper bag coming up, amira.” her name sounded different coming off of astrid’s tongue, more lilting and song-like.

when amira took the plate, she brushed fingers with astrid, and it felt like her stomach had dropped through the floor. she looked up a little, startled for some unfathomable reason, and astrid’s lip quirked. “what?”

amira shook her head. “nothing, sorry, i just thought i had forgotten something.”

i think i want to kiss you.

“enjoy the cardamom braid!” something beeped faintly from the kitchen, and astrid hurried through the door, disappearing from view.

five.

amira was buying oranges from a fruit stall in aideen’s plaza when she saw a familiar blue scarf and a twist of blonde hair.

she crossed the square to where astrid was sitting, looking through an old notebook bursting with scraps of paper and long, scribbled lists.

“hey! what are you doing out of the bakery?” astrid looked up at the sound of her voice.

“it’s sunday, we’re closed. i don’t suppose you want to help me sort through this notebook the old owner left me. i found it in a drawer in the kitchen and i think it’s got recipes and all kinds of things, but i can barely read the handwriting.” astrid pulled off her scarf and ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. “if you’re busy, don’t let me distract you. i’m just desperate to know what this says, for aideen’s sake. it’s practically a cipher.”

“i was just getting some oranges. i can stay for a bit.” amira sat down.

somehow, she spent several hours poring over the notebook with astrid. it was odd spending time with her outside of the bakery, but amira decided that she liked it. astrid was good company, and she cracked jokes and chattered while amira listened and watched her.

around five, amira checked the time and stood up abruptly. “i have to go! i was going to do some work at the stable this afternoon.”

the light was heavy and cast soft shadows in the concave shapes of astrid’s face. “tell the horses hi from me.”

an hour later, amira braided little blue flowers into her gelding’s mane, her thoughts drifting. he whickered at her, confused, and she patted his neck. “astrid says hi.”

six.

“you get some cookies for free this time, since you helped me with that notebook last week.” they were back in the bakery, astrid behind her counter and amira standing before her.

“i didn’t do that much. you don’t need to give me cookies.”

“i appreciated it anyway. you were very helpful. also, i made a few too many in the first place. that’s what comes of messing around with recipes. and my pepparkakor is delicious. you’d be a fool to pass up an offer like this.”

amira stopped fiddling with her hands and looked up. astrid’s hair was shot with gold, wisps of it catching the sun and outlining her features in a halo. her freckles were a little more visible now, spreading across her cheeks, and her eyes were bottomless blue. amira suddenly registered that there was no one else in the bakery.

“there’s, um. there’s some flour on your face.” she reached out, bravely, and brushed astrid’s cheek with her thumb. it was soft, barely there. flour hung in the air like a cloud of dust particles. amira let her thumb rest nervously on astrid’s cheekbone, feeling her heart pound painfully in her chest.

her hand dropped as astrid leaned forward, hands braced on the counter, until their noses nearly touched. their breath mingled in the space between them. amira shut her eyes and closed the gap.

astrid tasted like her bakery, all sugar and vanilla and the dusty scent of flour. her hair was soft as amira tangled her fingers in it, and her eyelashes fluttered on amira’s cheek.

they kissed for a long time, seconds flying by like hours. amira tried to catalogue every piece of astrid; the feel of her skin and the sigh of her breath and even the texture of her scarf. she felt weightless, ignoring the edge of the counter as it dug into her thigh. her other hand found astrid’s shoulder and hovered there, sliding along the fabric of her shirt.

when they finally pulled apart, they were both smiling. astrid adjusted her hair. “i’ll get you that pepparkakor.”

[neverending2012]

My Journey to You Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

SUMMARY: Rachel has a birthday party and connects with Finn. LaTonya and Cooper face issues in their relationship.

RATING: Mature. Sexual situations. Mild cursing.

NOTES: I hope you enjoy this chapter!

LUCKY

Sam pushed the shopping cart down the baking and spices aisle in the Super Fresh supermarket; while Jake cried as he sat in the flip-up child seat in the front of the cart because Sam wouldn't let him pull the jars of honey off the shelf. Jake's face turned red and he let out a helter-skelter scream at the injustice of being denied the right to grab jars of honey; he slammed his little fists against the shopping cart handle, shaking his head, while his straight black hair stuck up every which way; his red denim overalls were stained with apple juice due to a mishap during the car ride to the market. Needless to say, it wasn't a great start to their day.

"Jacob Blue Hummel, that's enough," Sam said glaring down at his son, whose brown eyes were exactly like his mother's from their doe shape to that special sparkle in them when he laughed or smiled. He was Mercedes' son all the way, except for his creamy pale skin and straight hair, which Sam figured came from him.

"No!" Jake said, still crying, "Honey!"

Sam sighed. People were starting to look at them. He remembered when he was single and childless, and how he would judge the parents whose kids as Aunt Josephine would say, "act a fool" in the grocery store and throw tantrums. He was the ringleader of the eye-roll and dirty look whenever a child went into brat mode in the middle of a store. Now, as they say, karma is a bitch, because all those disapproving looks and silent judgments he doled out in his single days were now royally biting him in the ass.

A brunette who looked to be in her late 50s with a frumpy figure, and wore a rhinestone studded denim jacket, shook her head at them in disgust as she picked up few boxes of baking soda; and another man, in a baseball cap, with a mountain man beard that reached his stomach, sucked his teeth and said "Shit, that kid's loud," under his breath.

Sam wasn't going to let their remarks take his focus away from his son.

"Jake, do you want a time out?"

Then someone touched his shoulder. It was an old Latina woman, she had a wooden cane, and her dark eyes shined from behind her glasses that were connected to a silver chain around her neck.

She spoke in Spanish to Sam, who had no idea what she was saying; but the sound of her voice was soothing, and Jake stopped crying and stared at her. She then patted Jake on the head, making sweet little sounds with her tongue and smiling; she reached into her purse and handed him a small red rubber ball that you got out of those cheap toy vending machines, and put it in Jake's chubby little hands. Patting him on the head once more, she walked away, waving good-bye. Then Sam called out after her:

"Gracias!"

That was the only Spanish he knew. Whatever the woman said to Jake worked because he calmed down, clutching the box of cookies. Sam took a pack of tissues out of his jacket pocket and wiped Jake's tear stained face. Soon, his son was smiling at him. Whatever storm they were in had passed. He kissed the top of Jake's head.

"We need to finish shopping, so we can meet your Mom and Rosy at the check out line."

Jake opened his arms, gazing up at his father.

"You want a hug?" Sam asked him.

Jake nodded.

Sam picked up his son and hugged him close, then spun around in the middle of the aisle, laughing, and Jake laughed with him.

"Love you!" Jake shouted.

Sam kissed his fat little cheeks.

"Love you, too."

He put him back in the child-seat and began getting the items on his list with new vigor. Jake would point to things, but no longer demanded them. When they were finished getting everything, they went to the check out line where Mercedes was waiting with Rosy. She was talking to their daughter and laughing, her hair was braided in one long braid and she wore sneakers and blue sweats; and Rosy daughter was smiling up at her, clapping her hands, and all Sam could think was: "Damn, I'm lucky."

They were both so beautiful to him. He wheeled up his cart next to hers and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him, he kissed her wonderfully plump lips that tasted like vanilla lip-gloss and a chai latte, and he could feel her standing on her tiptoes.

"Wow," she said, smiling at him, "What was that for?"

"I love you. I love our kids. I love our life. That's what that is for."

"I feel the same way," she said.

Rosy clapped her hands.

"Da!"

Sam picked her up and hugged and kissed her, smelling the coconut oil on her hair, and rubbing her soft cheek against his.

"Hey, Miss Pretty," he said.

After he put her back in the child seat, they began loading the groceries onto the conveyer belt. When they had checked out, they made their out to the parking lot, unloaded the groceries into the SUV and started their journey home.

During the drive home, Mercedes said to Sam:

"I hope tonight goes well."

"Me too," Sam said, as he changed lanes, "I hope Rachel enjoys it."

"She should. It was all her idea."

"Yeah."

Rachel had asked for a small birthday party even though her birthday wasn't for another six months; nobody questioned why because they knew why, instead they focused on the party. She didn't want any gifts, but everyone had to wear white. It was going to take place late that night because Rachel wanted to watch the Perseids meteor shower that was scheduled to begin at about 11:00 pm. And she made one other request: Nobody could cry. Sam wasn't sure if he could follow through with that, but he would give it his best shot, after all it was her party.

"How are you and Finn doing?" Mercedes asked him.

Sam took a deep breath while getting off the freeway to take the exit home.

"Much better. Finn's opening up to me again. We feel more like brothers."

"I'm glad."

"So am I. I missed him."

"I know, sweetie," she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

Sam felt a warmth spread through him at her touch.

"Schätzchen?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for being so great about all of this. I mean we just had Rosy and Jake, getting our new house, and all and then this happens and you've been so kind and so amazing through everything. Thank you. I appreciate everything you've done."

"Sam, I love them too. I can't imagine how any of them are feeling. They're not just your family. They're our family and I'm glad we can help them."

Sam picked up her hand and kissed it.

"God blessed me twice over when he sent you to me."

Mercedes got teary-eyed and she squeezed his hand once again.

TODAY I LIVED

Everyone sat around the outdoor fire pit in the back yard, the light from the orange flames, flickering on their faces. Stars sparkled in the black velvet sky. The breeze was cool, carrying the fragrance of the wild evening primroses, their scent reminiscent of springtime with earthy, spicy undertones. Crickets and cicadas chirped, adding to the night sound landscape; their distinct song echoing through the yard. When they bought the house, Mercedes was surprised that Sam wanted to have a fire pit built, but now she was glad that they had.

It was round and made of cathedral gray granite stones, and it was surrounded by a circular stone floor, which they placed their patio chairs around. Rachel was lying on the outdoor recliner, her feet elevated, her toes were painted rose red. She wore a long, white sundress, made of delicate woven lace, her wig was sleek and shiny; teardrop diamond earrings dangled from her ears, twinkling in the firelight; and red lipstick coated her lips. And per Rachel's request, everyone wore white, Mercedes thought that the request was odd, and even joked that she must think that she was Sean Combs throwing his annual Labor Day party, but Rachel never gave her reason; only that she thought it was peaceful and serene. Mercedes admitted that it was calming: seeing the bold white in the glowing firelight.

Everyone was enjoying a piece of the three-layer strawberry birthday cake that Sam had baked; it was fluffy and light, and had sweet strawberry filling between each layer, and frosted with strawberry buttercream frosting. They balanced the plates on their laps as they ate, talking and joking with one another.

Finn was beside Rachel, assisting her when needed, as she ate tiny bites of cake, her face more alive than usual. The neuropsychologist had given her memory exercises that helped a lot with her chemo brain, and she took herbal supplements that Sean found for her online. Both tactics improved her memory.

Matt, Lucy, and Abby sat on the other side of Finn. Matt was in a white button down shirt and shorts; while Lucy and Abby wore matching white sundresses and white satin headbands on their hair. Hiram and Sean sat beside Sam and Mercedes, sipping on club soda and taking small bites of cake; their faces solemn, their white linen suits reminded Mercedes of lawn parties where people played croquet and ate watercress sandwiches.

Finally, after everyone was finished eating, Rachel tapped her fork against her wine glass to get everyone's attention. When the chatter quieted down she said:

"Thank you for giving me my party. I have something for all of you. I wrote each of you a letter. I want you to read them in private."

Finn got up from his chair and handed everyone a white sealed envelope with everyone's name written in metallic gold ink across each one. After the letters were handed out, she unfolded a piece of notebook paper and said:

"I want to tell you about how good today was for me, so I wrote every thing down." Then she began to read aloud:

"I'm happy tonight. I ate a wonderful French meal that took me back to my Paris years with Aba and Pop, when I wore plaid skirts and patent leather shoes and each morning I could hear the cathedral bells ring.

This afternoon Lucy painted my toenails red and told me about a dream she had, she flew over mountaintops and I was holding her hand; this made us happy.

Then Matt lay his head on my lap while we watched a documentary about rocket ships and he asked me if he would ever be tall, and I told him to worry about the size of his heart instead; and he smiled up at me and he looked like the baby boy that I once held in my arms.

During nap time, Finn sang me a song when he thought I was asleep; I heard every word and I keep the lyrics in my heart the way I do the first time we kissed and it was raining and my sneakers got muddy and the thunder clapped, and his hands tangled in my hair.

Later on, Abby brought me a bouquet of wild violets and we looked at the petals under her magnifying glass. I saw clear glass dewdrops and thin lines running together on the surface and it was a whole world I've never seen. Abby said that's how she sees people, you just have to be close enough. I agree.

And when I was getting ready for the party, Mercedes combed out my wig; and I was sitting there with my bald head, oxygen tubes in my nostrils and she told me I had beautiful eyes, and then we talked about our kids, our husbands, our lives, and it was wonderful.

Afterwards, I watched Sam bake my birthday cake, he told me a story about how he liked to pick strawberries as a little boy in Tennessee; how the sun felt beating down on them in the strawberry fields, how sweet the berries smelled as they dropped them into the basket; he sang as he worked and then he let me lick the spoon, and wished me a Happy Birthday. I felt joy in that moment.

Then later, Aba and Pop said a beautiful prayer for me; taking me in their arms, they thanked God for giving them such a wonderful daughter to love. It was in the den and the sun was setting and purple light filled the room, and I thanked God for my fathers.

This may not be the day that I was born. But it was certainly a day that I lived.

I love you all."

It was hard for Mercedes not to cry or anyone else for that matter. Never before had she heard such remarkable words of gratitude. Everyone gave Rachel a hug, pretending that tears weren't forming in their eyes, and she received their embraces, telling them again that she loved them.

Then the Perseids meteor shower began, and the meteors resembled tiny points of light that flashed across the sky, leaving bright white streaks of light behind them.

Rachel looked up. Her face breaking into a huge smile.

"Beautiful," she said, pointing to the sky.

Mercedes gazed at the sky too, and Sam put his arm around her.

"It's like a sci-fi movie," he said, "Only better."

"I want to catch one," she said.

He leaned down and kissed her, holding her close. His green eyes shined by the light of the fire, just like emeralds, and Mercedes thought of his kiss in the supermarket; and the tender hug he gave her when she stepped out of the shower that morning, saying he felt like holding her as he wrapped her in a towel. Those were the moments that Rachel talked about, so tiny, but so wonderful that you kept them forever.

Everyone stayed outside a long time. Rachel held Finn's hand as they peered up at the sky together.

"They're like jewels," she said to him.

Matt, Lucy, and Abby tried to capture the event on their phones. Hiram and Sean were nearby with Hiram standing behind Sean, his arms wrapped around his husband's slender waist; and they sort of swayed together, stealing kisses now and then.

After it was over, and the fire died out, everyone went into the house to go to bed. Mercedes and Sam checked on the twins and then crept into their bedroom. As they stood side by side at the double sink in the bathroom, brushing their teeth, Mercedes dropped her toothbrush into the sink, and began crying. Sam stopped brushing his teeth and held her. There was nothing to be said. It was a beautiful night, but it couldn't stop the pain and grief that filled her heart and tore her to pieces.

MY SKIN

Rachel stood still as Finn unzipped her dress, gently pulling it down her thin, fragile body, the white lace pooling at her feet. He kissed her shoulders as she stepped out of the circle and he picked up the dress, hanging it up in their closet. She sat down on the bench in front of the vanity table, her back to the mirror, and Finn removed her lipstick with a tissue, Rachel's breathing was somewhat labored and she sat perfectly still.

Next her wig came off and Finn carefully placed it on the Styrofoam head sitting on the vanity table. Then he removed the beige wig cap, leaving her bare baldhead exposed, with sparse remains of her once long dark hair. She sat there in her bra and panties, looking up at him, staring into his eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He kneeled down before her, holding her face in his big hands.

"Remember what you said about our first kiss?"

"Yes."

He kissed her, pressing his lips against hers, treating her like crystal, careful, gentle, doing his best not to break her and Rachel accepted his kiss, her mind going back to all those years ago, before Matt and Lucy, and engagement rings, and disapproving parents, and betrayal and reconciliation, and cancer; she went back to the beginning, to that moment when she stood in the rain with Finn, and she pulled him closer.

Did he see her that way? Despite how she looked now? Was she still that girl to him? As if hearing her thoughts, he broke the kiss, and caressed her sunken cheeks.

"Your spirit is still there. That's what I see," he said.

"I know how I look."

"Baby, I don't care about that. When I'm holding you, I'm always with that girl, but honestly, you're better than her."

"How?"

"You've grown. And so have I."

They hugged and he kissed her neck.

"May I make love to you tonight?"

"Finn, I want to, but I'm scared."

"Dr. Rhoden said it was safe."

"I know. I don't know what it is. I just, it's been a while, ok? I haven't felt the urge for a long time, but I feel it tonight."

"Blame it on the meteors."

Rachel laughed, kissing his cheek.

"I love you, Finn."

"I love you too."

They kissed some more, and Finn cupped her small breasts covered by the white cotton bra, squeezing them gently. Rachel felt her arousal heighten.

"I'm willing to try," she whispered.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed, along with the oxygen tank too. Once he laid her on the bed, he undressed, and joined her. Finn had lost his pudgy stomach and thighs and was more lean and muscular.

"Turn off the lights," she said.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I want to see you. I love you. There's no reason for you to hide from me."

For the first time that night, Rachel let herself cry.

He held her as she cried, and she was glad that he didn't offer useless words of comfort, but stayed silent, and let the tears flow down her cheeks; she only wanted to release the agony inside her; and when she was done; she felt some relief and serenity in his arms, and she wanted to connect with him, and they began kissing and touching. He helped her take off her bra and panties, and when she was nude, he stroked every part of her body and she did the same with him. Her nipples grew hard like small pebbles, and when he touched her between her thighs, she gasped at the sensation.

"Was that too much?" he asked, pulling his hand away.

"No, it felt good."

"I'm turning on the ceiling fan."

"Why?"

"Remember, Dr. Rhoden said it was best not to get overheated."

"Thank you for remembering."

"You're welcome."

Once the fan was on, they began touching again. Finn grew hard as Rachel's delicate hands gripped his member, fondling it.

"I need you," he said.

He got behind her and they spooned.

"This is the safest position," he said.

Rachel looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

"I feel like we're making a how-to guide for how to have sex with chronically ill spouses."

Finn chuckled and kissed the back of her baldhead.

"You're the sexiest cancer patient I know."

"Finnegan Hudson, you can't be serious."

"Hey, I'm only telling the truth. Nobody works an oxygen tank quite like you."

"Oh, God," she said and laughed out loud.

Finn put his arm around her tiny waist and held her tight against him.

"I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time."

"I know."

"Baby, it was nice to hear."

"Thanks, it was nice to feel it."

They went slow, and when he entered her, Rachel forgot how much she loved the feeling of having Finn inside of her, filling her up; it was so sweet, he gyrated his hips with a cautious rhythm, and she enjoyed every pleasurable moment of it, his hands wandered to her breasts, squeezing them and she closed her eyes, touching her clitoris, and he kept pumping his hips, moving within her, giving her so much love and care that tears sprang from her eyes; she wasn't expecting fireworks, in fact that's not what she needed, what she needed was this intimacy with Finn, this vulnerability that let him see her cancer stricken body, and make love to her anyway, even though he had been her caretaker through her treatment, and had seen her naked plenty of times; this was different; this was seeing her illness and finding her beauty and spirit within; she bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out, but Finn said:

"I want to hear you."

"But what if – "

"Forget, what if."

She released a low-pitched cry as she came, her breathing was shallow, and she began to cough as she shook in his arms, feeling his come filling her up. Finn immediately stopped.

"Baby, are you ok? Look at me."

"I'm fine. Just winded. Could you get me some water?"

Finn hopped out of the bed and went into the bathroom, coming back moments later with a glass of water.

He rubbed her back as she drank the water.

"Take it slow, that's my girl," he said.

Her breathing returned to normal, but suddenly she was so tired that she could hardly move. Finn caressed her face.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, that was great."

Finn kissed her, his eyes were worried.

"I think we should call Dr. Rhoden."

"Finn, I'm fine. Thank you so much for that. It was wonderful. I felt beautiful and alive."

He leaned down and kissed her.

"It was wonderful for me too. I'm checking your tank."

He checked her tank and replaced it, and he got her pink silk scarf that hung on the side of the vanity mirror and tied it on her head, since her head grew cold as she slept. Mercedes taught him how to tie the scarf so it wouldn't fall off. He also turned off the lights and ceiling fan and finally got back into bed. Rachel yawned, snuggling up to him. Finn covered them up with the blanket and they both fell asleep.

MORALS AND CONSEQUENCES

Cooper stood beside the man's bed. The gun pointed to his head. As he was about to pull the trigger, the man woke up and turned around.

"Oh my God!" he said.

He was young. Not much older than 30. His baby girl slept in a crib in the next room. His wife was downstairs in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa because she couldn't sleep, completely unaware that her husband was about to be killed. Cooper remained silent. His face covered with a mask.

"You can have anything. Don't hurt my wife and baby."

Cooper saw the fear in the man's eyes. He probably dreamed one day of becoming somebody important like a fireman or policeman; he went to college, fell in love, got married had a child, but did his future also include child sex trafficking? Were there pictures of missing children amidst his Crayola drawings of a bright future?

Because that's exactly what business this man was in and on an international level.

He was Cooper's hit. And Cooper always followed through.

"Please don't kill me."

Cooper stared at him, saw the tears in his eyes; in the darkness, those tears shined, a car drove past outside, it's headlights shining into the bedroom.

"Please…"

He heard his wife coming up the stairs, walking slowly, each step creaking under her weight. The Grandfather clock in the hall chimed off the hour. It was 2:00 in the morning.

"I can give you anything just let me –"

Cooper pulled the trigger. Once. Then twice.

The gun had a silencer. Nothing could be heard.

The man fell back on the bed, blood spilling from his forehead onto the pristine white pillow. Cooper slipped out the window. His wife came into the bedroom. He heard her scream.

One down. Ten more to go.

ooo

Cooper shot the grandmother in the chest. She headed the operation. No one would ever suspect that a plump, white haired Australian woman who was known for making wonderful Pavlova for church gatherings could ever do something so heinous and profit from it.

It was in Sydney. It was early evening and a heavy rain fell from the sky; she wore a yellow slicker and she carried her famous desert as she walked through the dark parking lot on her way to St. George's Presbyterian Church for the evening service. Her hair was covered with one of those old lady plastic scarves and a big black purse was slung over her shoulder. She had six grandchildren and five children of her own.

He stood in front of her, blocking her path.

"G'day," she said smiling at him, there was a smudge of pink lipstick on her otherwise pearly white teeth.

He didn't give her a chance to say anything. He just shot her. And she stumbled and fell, the white meringue dessert hit the pavement splattering on the dark surface.

ooo

That night he drank vodka in his hotel room. He looked up her six grandchildren and five children and saw their happy, smiling faces on social media: sunny beaches, brick homes, picnics and flying kites.

And then he remembered the victims, and recalled the god- awful pictures he saw of them performing disgusting acts with government officials. Bought, traded, and sold.

It was enough to keep him going.

In Japan, a little boy cried over his father's body, poking him in the chest.

In Bangladesh, a man said a prayer, before he shot him in the back.

On a cold morning in Ireland, he talked to a priest in the park, told him fantastic lies about how he lived a moral life, and the priest listened, smiling, offering him some bread and cheese before leaving; and Cooper wanted to call him back and tell him the truth. That he was a worthless killer, that he believed in justice, that blood was shed, and it couldn't wash away; but he heard the children's voices and he kept going until he had nothing left.

But there were too many bodies, too many screams, and too much pain.

THE UNIVERSE COLLIDES

A bar of Cooper's bath soap was on his pillow, it had a rugged, spicy, herbal fragrance with notes of chamomile and lavender that LaTonya loved smelling on his skin. She kept the soap there whenever he was away; so that for a moment, when she woke up, she could smell his scent and pretend that he was in the room with her. Though it smelled stronger on his skin, the illusion was enough to soothe her.

It had been three months since she saw Cooper, but every day she felt him, and he surrounded her in that house; she heard echoes of his voice, deep and reassuring, telling her that everything would be fine; saw his reflection in the windows, when the sunlight hit the glass at certain angles, and for a brief second, Cooper flashed before her; his blue eyes pensive.

But it wasn't his physical form that she encountered the most, it was his spirit that was even stronger; his essence dwelled in that house. He was on a secret assignment; she believed he was working with government intelligence though she couldn't be certain; and he couldn't tell her anything. He gave her a special, untraceable phone that could pick up reception anywhere in the world from mountaintops to dense, lush forests, and arid deserts, and it also worked in any type of weather.

It was an expensive phone, costing thousands of dollars. He would only communicate with her by calling her on this special phone. She never knew when he would contact her so she kept it with her all the time, and jumped whenever the odd ringtone would play, it sounded like a teakettle's forlorn whistle. They never spoke longer than five minutes. He missed her. He loved her. She knew that. She also knew that she wanted him home. The worst part was that she had to lie to everyone and say he was in London for business. She hated lying. The only one who figured it out was Abby.

"Abby, he's still in London," LaTonya said, when the girl called a few weeks before. She was in the kitchen sorting through the mail, drinking tea, pretending to be normal. But what was normal about waiting for a strange phone to ring and hear Cooper's breathless voice saying he's ok, while gunshots were in the background.

"He isn't in London," Abby said.

LaTonya didn't confirm or deny it. Instead she said:

"Have you been using your magnifying glass?"

"Yes. That's how I know."

"Abby?"

"God will help him," Abby said.

LaTonya turned over and looked at the empty space beside her in bed. She picked up the soap and held it, her fingers gliding across the smooth yellow surface.

Suddenly, the bedroom lamp came on, and she heard Cooper's voice:

"That's a poor substitute, don't you think?"

LaTonya sat up, crying out in surprise, and Cooper stood before her, his hair cut so close you could see his red scalp beneath the sparse white-blonde hair, he was dressed all in black, the outline of his gun visible beneath his thin black sweater, he held a silver steel brief case which he sat on the floor.

"Why don't I ever hear you come in? She said gazing up at him, the soft lamplight, shining on him; he appeared unreal, as if he were just another mind trick that made her see him everywhere in quick flashes before disappearing into air.

"Because you've convinced yourself that I'm not coming back."

"That's not true."

He sat beside her on the bed and held her close. He smelled like smoke and death. She pictured him standing in ashes.

"I'm here," he said, rubbing her back.

She pulled away and touched his cheek, her thumb grazing over a tiny jagged scar he got in a schoolyard fight as a boy.

"I still think you're some sort of magician."

Cooper kissed her, his gun pressed against her stomach.

"I love you," he said.

"Were you in a fire?"

"I can't tell you that."

"What can you tell me?"

"That I'll be home for a while this time."

"How long is a while?"

"I don't know. A long time."

LaTonya wasn't sure why but she began crying and he held her in his arms.

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's ok," He said, whispering into her ear, rocking her gently.

She stayed in his arms until he said:

"Let's take a bath."

He pulled her long, lacy nightgown over her shoulders, leaving her nude as he hurriedly undressed, piling his clothes in a black heap on the floor, and putting his gun on the nightstand.

He picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. Her prosthesis wasn't attached; she felt like a child and woman all at once; she recalled how her father used to carry her around in the hospital, and sometimes he pretended that he was a plane and would make ridiculous motor sounds and she would laugh until the nurses were annoyed and told them to keep it down. She would be in so much pain but the laughter cut through it all.

Yet Cooper carrying her was a different story, it wasn't paternal, though it was protective, and he hummed a soft, sweet melody that settled into her chest; he knew how to soothe her, make her anxiety dissipate into fragments.

Her large bathroom had a safety shower with a a bench that was wide enough for two people; and it also had a separate rectangular walk-in bathtub with safety bars, and an U-shaped door that was made of tempered glass and stainless steel which opened to get inside the tub which had hyrdojets and built-in heated seats at each end.

He opened the bathtub door and sat her on one of seats and then he got in, closing it behind him. He turned on the faucet and the tub began to fill; he kneeled before her and rested his head on her lap, as the water flowed in around them, she stroked his head, and felt a few of his tears fall onto her bare thighs; it was his turn to cry.

She comforted him as he had done for her, whispering that she loved him so much and how brave he was; he cried into her lap, choked sobs escaped from deep within him; it was only in moments like this that he was a vulnerable little boy again, wanting his parents to love him, wanting the shadows and darkness to go away. As the water rose, he lifted his head and she hugged him to her heart.

When the tub was full, he turned the faucet off, and grabbed a washcloth hanging from one of the safety bars. He squirted blue bath gel that smelled like beaches and oceans onto the washcloth and began washing her body: arms, legs, breasts, shoulders, belly and then he leaned her forward, resting her against his chest, so he could wash her back. Each stroke of the washcloth was gentle and loving, sometimes he kissed her wet skin; his tear filled eyes gazing at her, but try as she might, no matter what she did; she couldn't save him.

The nightmares that left him trembling in the darkness, and made him reach for her in his sleep, and the blood that stained his clothes and the bullets that pierced his flesh… she couldn't stop any of it. And that haunted look in his eyes when he knew he she couldn't save him … it was awful but she faced it anyway; because some roads were walked alone. Even so, she could hold and love him, wait for his call, and listen to his screams, let his tears and blood mix with her own, and that's what she did. Because in the end, he could never tell his whole story.

When he was finished the ritual of washing her body, leaving her clean and warm and feeling loved and broken-hearted all at once, Cooper bathed himself, though she tried to reciprocate, he waved her away and began soaping up the other washcloth with his favorite soap. He carefully washed himself and she noticed the new scars on his body; his back had a healed gash, shiny and raised, like a red serpent living beneath his skin; on his shoulder it looked like someone had burned cigarettes into his flesh, and his torso had a round purple bruise that was beginning to heal; because it's color was faded. When he was done, he drained the tub, picked her up, opened the door and sat her on the closed toilet seat. He grabbed a big, fluffy towel from the shelf behind him, wrapped it around her shoulders and carried her to the bedroom where he gently lay her on the bed, and dried her off.

He rubbed lotion all over her skin, massaging her arms, legs, and the full globes of her buttocks, giving teasing squeezes to each cheek and then turning her over and pinching her plump, sensitive nipples, and ghosting his fingers over the surface of her vagina, but never plunging inside. She bit her lip and moaned and he kissed her before he pulled away and quickly dried his damp skin, returning to the bed, and gathering her in his arms, kissing her again; he was hard, his pale skin was flushed red, and his breathing was shallow.

She touched his face and nodded; he smiled as she opened her legs, and he didn't hesitate before pushing himself inside her, and she clenched her walls around him, as he stroked her. His hand glided over her residual limb, while she lay beneath him, accepting his thrusts; he grew urgent, each stroke became harder and faster until she couldn't hold back and neither could he, and they came within moments of each other, shaking as they held on to one another for support; his heart beat against hers; she wrapped her arms around him, feeling the new scar, trying not to cry, thinking about how it got there, and he kissed her face.

"I'm ok."

Her tears fell; she looked up at him.

"There's scar gel in the bathroom cabinet."

"Thank you," he said kissing her.

LaTonya said nothing; they lay tangled together, resting until they needed each other again, and they made love all night.

ooo

Cooper had to decompress. Sleeping was futile. So he wandered the house at night reliving what happened during his assignment.

He got a lot of money for it. So much in fact that he probably wouldn't have to work for the rest of his life; especially if he invested well. He and LaTonya could spend their time, just living their lives, raising a family, traveling… anything.

But then darkness came.

And it began.

He hated headlights flashing into the window from the street. Hated the sound of car alarms and dogs barking and thumping hip-hop music those stupid teenagers played across the street when their parents weren't home.

Everything was magnified and too close. He always felt someone was behind him, waiting. He looked over his shoulder as he walked down the hall to the living room or as he went up the stairs to the bedroom.

Shadows appeared on the walls, and he felt the breath of his captors on his skin, hot and menacing, taking him back to the sun-drenched desert with visible heat waves that left you feeling as if you were dreaming; and when he did dream; it was of LaTonya, her voice, her smile, her scent, all taking him back to their home in Tennessee with cement steps and a dilapidated gazebo in the backyard.

But now that he was back home, he was also someplace else, back in the secret world he couldn't talk about. He checked on LaTonya more times than he could count; and she would wake up and stare at him with those beautiful, dark eyes of hers, reminding him of black pearls shining in the moonlight, and she would beckon him, holding open her arms and he would go to her and she would hold him, kissing his cheek, whispering her love for him. But it wasn't enough.

Though he finished most of his assignment, one piece remained to be done, and it was tricky.

Now he sat in the kitchen. His untraceable phone by his side. A cup of steaming hot tea and a plate of warmed over Chinese take-out was in front of him but the food turned his stomach and the tea tasted funny. He drummed his fingers on the table and at 2:00 in the morning; he got the call from Paul Dill, his employee now working for him on some operations overseas.

"We got rid of all the bodies. It wasn't easy."

"Ok."

"Is LaTonya ok?"

"She's fine, why?"

"I know it's not my place but…"

"I can't stay on the phone. Be brief."

"She agreed to marry you."

"I'm aware of that."

"Did she agree to this lifestyle?"

"She knows what I do for a living."

"That's not my point. When she was your assistant she only knew about your legit cases. What we're doing now well, it isn't exactly."

"I understand the morally ambiguous nature of certain assignments."

"Cooper, I like LaTonya and she loves you. I don't want to see her life in danger and it could come to that with some of these cases we work on. Intelligence communities are getting stronger in other countries; they could strike back out of revenge and hurt those you love."

"I'm aware of that."

"And are you also aware that you're no spring chicken and can't escape death like you used to?"

"Since you brought all of this up, I need to tell you - "

Suddenly, LaTonya appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Cooper who are you talking to at this hour?"

She glanced at the phone.

"You're going away again, aren't you?"

Cooper wanted to take that hurt from her eyes. He gripped the phone.

"Paul, I'll have to call you back," he said and pressed the end button, placing the phone on the table.

"Sweetheart, come here."

"You've only been back a few days," she said, shaking her head, "I thought –"

Cooper stood up and walked over to her, kissing her forehead. He took her by the hand and sat down again, pulling her onto to his lap.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You're not?"

"No, in fact, I've made a decision."

"And what would that be?"

"That was my last assignment."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not doing that type of work any more; I'm retiring."

"Cooper, are you sleep deprived?"

"I am sleep deprived but my mind is fine. I've made enough money for us to live comfortably."

"But you love your work."

"I do. But I love you more."

"I can't ask you to give up what you love for me. I've seen that happen with other couples; and they end up breaking up."

"We're not other couples. I've thought about this a lot and while I love seeking justice, it's weighing down on me too. The death that I see is finally getting to me more than usual. When I come home, all I want to do is grieve; and it follows me. I don't want to live in two worlds any more; I only want one world with you."

LaTonya kissed him.

"I love you."

"I love you too," he said, caressing her cheek, grateful that he had her.

"You're not one to sit around, so what will you do?"

"I'll do some consulting. Remember that idea you had about running an online business that specializes in security clearances?"

"Yes."

"It's an excellent idea and I figure we can run the business together; I love working with you. Don't worry, we'll be financially sound."

"I'm not worried about that, but will that be enough for you? You like being challenged, what will challenge you now?

"I don't know," he smiled, "I suppose the challenge will be in finding a challenge."

"We'll figure it out together."

"I know we will."

"You know," she said, looping her arms around his neck, "I can defend myself while you're away. I'm a good marksman and I own – "

"You own a Smith and Wesson Shield 9mm, a Ruger LCR, and a Bersa Thunder."

"How did you know?"

"It's difficult to keep secrets from me."

"I wasn't keeping secrets."

"Why are you bringing up your shooting skills?"

"I love that you protect me and I know you worried about my safety while you were away, and I miss you something awful when you're gone, but if your decision is based solely on keeping me safe, then I need you to understand that I do know self defense and I can shoot."

"I know this. And even the most well-trained soldiers couldn't face the things I was up against; I'm not denying your abilities, but the forces I was reckoning with surpassed a lot of what most of us could handle. I don't want those forces hurting you. I love you."

"I understand. Come on, let's go to bed," she said getting up from his lap.

He yawned.

"I'm suddenly sleepy."

"Did Paul give you good news?"

"He gave me news."

LaTonya chuckled as they walked up the stairs with their arms around each other; and Cooper felt a peace that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

ooo

Two weeks later…

"Honey, I need to talk to you," LaTonya said as she walked into the kitchen early on a Sunday morning.

Cooper sat at the kitchen table; he was shirtless and only wore a pair of gray sweatpants that were snug on his muscular legs and sculpted buttocks. The bullet wound scars on his chest and torso did not detract from his masculine beauty. The table was cluttered with stacks of manila file folders containing old cases he worked on; and he was in the process of deciding which files would be scanned into their archival database. A small plate of fried bratwurst links and bröchten rolls with butter was next to his elbow.

He was staring at his laptop and smiling. He looked away from the screen.

"Abby sent me pictures from the Daddy Daughter Ball that she went to with Sam. They look so happy," he said, and turned the computer around so she could see.

The pictures showed Abby in her pretty green ball gown with Sam in a tuxedo in various candid shots: dancing together under a crystal chandelier; standing in front of the museum on a red carpet; sitting inside the limo holding glasses of soda… in all of the pictures, Abby looked radiant and Sam looked like the proudest father in the world, his protective arm was around her small shoulders, signaling to the world that this was his daughter, and that he kept her safe from harm.

"They're beautiful," LaTonya said sitting down beside him, "Sam is a good father. Now I need to tell you that - "

"Yes he is," Cooper said, looking down into his blue speckled coffee mug and frowning a little.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you think I will be a good father too?"

LaTonya placed her hand over his, her soft fingers, stroking his rough, ruddy knuckles.

"Of course."

Cooper sighed.

"I'm not like Blaine. I don't have this sixth sense with kids. He's great with Carrie."

"Thank God, you're not like him."

Cooper raised his white blond eyebrows, his blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm glad you're not like Blaine. I'm glad you're you. Everything different about you is what makes you so special. I fell in love with your quirks. Who cares if you're not like Blaine? You're an original and I wouldn't have you any other way. So no more brother comparisons, alright?"

He leaned over and hugged her, giving her a kiss.

"Alright."

"And you are good with kids. Look at what you have with Abby. You connected with her at her darkest time. I wish you could see how wonderful you are," LaTonya said, as he held her in a strong embrace, "You're fine, Cooper, just as you are."

As loving as her words were, he still had his doubts, considering how he handled justice, but he didn't want to bring it up, so he said:

"I love you so much," he said, kissing her again.

LaTonya kissed his cheek.

"I love you too. And don't think I can't hear your thoughts. I know your job has you doing things I could never comprehend. But I don't care. I love the man that you are. And if you want to know what kind of father you'll be, you'll find out in nine months."

He leaned back to look at her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said you'll find out in nine months."

"Are you saying that you're – "

"Yes, sweetie, I'm pregnant."

Tears formed in Cooper's eyes.

"LaTonya, are you serious… when… when did this happen?"

"My period is late and I just took a pregnancy test . It was positive," she said reaching into the pocket of her robe and taking out the stick.

Cooper looked down at the stick that proudly said pregnant on the LCD display.

"I can't believe this," he whispered.

"Neither can I."

"I'm so happy," he said and pushed his hand under her faded blue t-shirt, rubbing her bare stomach, "I can't wait to see your belly grow."

"That's not the only thing that will grow," LaTonya said.

"What do you mean?"

She pointed to her chest and hips.

"They will take on a life of their own," She said, smiling at him, "So be prepared."

"I think it's beautiful. Your body transforming for the baby. Besides, what's wrong with a fuller bosom and hips? You're gorgeous, LaTonya, nothing changes that for me."

He patted his lap.

"Come here."

She sat on his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Let's get married weekend," she said.

"Ok, we can arrange something. I don't want to put it off any longer either. Even if you weren't pregnant. I'm sure Blaine will be shocked," he said, rubbing her belly again.

She ran her hand over his closely cropped hair.

"Is this going to be a thing with you now?"

"A thing?"

"Yes."

"What are you referring to?"

"Rubbing my belly like I'm Buddha."

Cooper laughed nuzzling her soft neck.

"Yes, I suppose it will be a thing. It's suddenly become my favorite part of you."

She kissed him.

"Mine too."

END NOTES: Thank you for reading and reviewing my story!

[glittership]

Episode #71 — "Barbara in the Frame" by Emmalia Harrington

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Episode 71 is part of the Summer 2018 issue!

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  Barbara in the Frame

by Emmalia Harrington

    Bab’s stomach growled for the third time in five minutes. “You were right,” she said, pushing away from her desk, “It’s time for a break.”

Summer classes meant papers and tests smashed close together. There was hardly time to get enough sleep, let alone shop on a regular basis. The only food in her dorm room was an orange. Bab picked it up and walked to her dresser, where the portrait of Barbara, her grandfather’s great-aunt, sat.

  Full story after the cut.

  Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip Episode 71 for April 15, 2019! This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing this story with you. Our story for today is “Barbara in the Frame” by Emmalia Harrington read by

Before we get started, a reminder that there’s still a Tiptree Honor Book sale going on for the GlitterShip Year One and Year Two anthologies on gumroad! Just go to gumroad.com/keffy and use the coupon code “tiptree,” that’s t-i-p-t-r-e-e to get the ebooks for $5 each.

Emmalia Harrington is a nonfiction writer, librarian and student with a deep love of speculative fiction. She hopes to have many more publications under her belt. In the meantime she continues to plug away at her novel and short stories. Her work has previously appeared in Cast of Wonders, FIYAH and is upcoming in other venues. She is a member of Broad Universe and volunteers with the Speculative Literature Foundation.

Khaalidah Muhammad-Ali is a writer, editor and narrator.

Her publications include Apex Magazine, Strange Horizons, Fiyah Magazine and others. Her fiction has been featured in The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year: Volume 12 edited by Jonathan Strahan and The Best Science Fiction of the Year: Volume Three edited by Neil Clarke.

You can hear her narrations at any of the four Escape Artists podcasts, Far Fetched Fables, and Strange Horizons.

She can be found online at http://khaalidah.com.

  Barbara in the Frame

by Emmalia Harrington

    Bab’s stomach growled for the third time in five minutes. “You were right,” she said, pushing away from her desk, “It’s time for a break.”

Summer classes meant papers and tests smashed close together. There was hardly time to get enough sleep, let alone shop on a regular basis. The only food in her dorm room was an orange. Bab picked it up and walked to her dresser, where the portrait of Barbara, her grandfather’s great-aunt, sat.

She put a segment in her mouth and gagged. “Sorry,” she said, spitting the fruit into her hand. Bab forced it down on the fifth attempt.

Aunt Barbara’s portrait frowned and glanced at the bookcase. The clothbound spine of Auntie’s handwritten cookbook stood out among the glossy college texts.

“You know it’s too early for the kitchen,” Bab kept her eyes on the shelves and away from her aunt. “Those girls will be there.”

Even looking away, Auntie’s disappointment made her wilt. Bab retreated to her desk to choke down the rest of her fruit. “I’m safer here,” she said as she wiped her hands. “It’s just you, me and a locked door.” She closed her eyes, imagining what diet could sustain her until the cafeteria opened for the autumn. Carrots lasted days without refrigeration, and if she soaked oatmeal overnight, it would be soft enough for breakfast.

Auntie’s book said food was more potent when shared. It had nothing like the recipes the other girls loved to make for their Soul Food Sundays. Placing succotash next to their cheese grits and fried okra was little better than exposing her whole self.

“Remember when I came home from the hospital?” Bab asked, turning back to her aunt. “I was so skinny Dad and Papa wouldn’t let me see you.” She gave a thin smile. “They thought seeing me would crack your frame.”

Her throat shrank at the memories. The bureaucracy at her old college insisted on using the name and gender on her birth certificate and stuck her in the boys’ dorms. Her roommates alternated between hitting on her and punching inches from her head when she rebuffed them. One loved spiking her food with hot sauce and worse. After a few weeks she couldn’t sip water without panicking; a full meal was impossible.

“None of that will happen here.” Bab cracked her knuckles and tried to type as memories of the last year washed over her. This women’s college’s administration accepted Bab for who she was, name and all. She still felt safer keeping to herself.

That midnight, she entered the kitchen with cookies on her mind. She pulled out her baking sheet and spices before she came to her senses. Food never worked right in an unconsecrated space.

After several deep breaths, she was scrubbing the counter and attempting to meditate. Incense was not allowed on campus, but would have done wonders to erase the pork and garlic scent left over from the soul food dinner. Even when her dormmates weren’t there, they were reminding her how she wasn’t. Curvy figures to her still-underweight frame. Cornrows and other cute hairstyles while hers couldn’t grow longer than peach fuzz without breaking combs.

Bab bit her tongue. A clear mind was the best way to perform a ritual.

A pristine table and stovetop later, she was assembling Auntie’s happiness cookies. Rice flour provided security and cloves purified the mind and heart. Cinnamon brought comfort and strengthened the power of the other ingredients. Mix with water to create a dough, pop them in the oven for fifteen minutes and suffer from anticipation. Tidying right away added power to the food and gave them time to cool, even if the aroma of fresh cookies filled her mouth with drool.

Back in her room, there were things she needed to do before eating. She paid homage to Aunt Barbara, placing the nicest smelling piece by her picture frame. Next was covering her desk in a clean towel in lieu of a tablecloth and folding a pretty bandanna into a napkin. A duct tape flower decorated the space. After a prayer of thanks, she took her first bite.

At first, it tasted like a cracker in need of dip. As she chewed, spices spread through her mouth and into her nose. Tension fell from her shoulders and neck. The more she ate, the more her cookie took on an extra flavor she couldn’t describe. The closest she could get was “a hug from the whole family.”

When she checked on her aunt, Barbara’s cookie was gone, crumbs and all.

College was a never-ending battle between sleeping in and being on time for class. Bab had just enough time to pull on jeans and run to the Humanities Building, cursing herself with every step. Life was hard enough as is, she shouldn’t make it worse by writing papers after 2am.

By pinching the back of her hand, she stayed awake all through the lesson. The effect faded as she headed to the bathroom, where she fought not to drift off on the toilet.

She was washing up when a familiar voice went “I said ‘Hey!’” It was Jen, dormmate and Political Science/Africana Studies major, standing between her and the exit.

Bab stretched her lips into a smile. “Not working today?”

Jen laughed and shook her head. The beads tipping her braids tinkled as she moved. Bab wished she had a scarf to hide her own hair. “My internship with the Congresswoman is this afternoon. I’m between classes now.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you,” Bab hoped the other girl didn’t notice the wobble in her voice.

“There’s time yet.” Jen headed for the water closets and paused. “You’re the reason the kitchen smelled so good this morning?”

Bab forgot how to breathe. Nodding had to do.

“Will you come next Sunday? The three of us can’t make dessert to save ourselves.” Without waiting for an answer, Jen entered a stall. The sliding lock sounded like a guillotine blade.

It was all Bab could do to run to her next seminar. Terror percolated inside her, tightening her throat until she couldn’t get a lungful. The Number Systems for School Teachers lecture passed in a haze of greying vision. At her next course, the professor took one look at her and ordered her to rest.

Back in her room, Bab spent an endless time curled on her bed, fighting for air. Clattering from the dresser pulled Bab out of herself enough to check the noise’s source. Auntie’s picture had fallen.

“Thanks,” she returned to the bed, hugging the portrait like a teddy bear. Her heart bumping against the frame’s glass made a double beat, Auntie’s pulse moving in time with hers. Bab’s airway relaxed, and her head cleared enough to grab last night’s cookies.

“What should I do?” she said after filling Auntie in on the bathroom encounter. “Dad and Papa couldn’t teach me black girl stuff. Jen and her friends have way more practice than me.” She took a bite. “If I change my mind, they’ll know something’s up, but if they get to know me, they’ll be just like my boy roommates and…” Aunt Barbara was pursing her lips.

“You haven’t heard Jen, Maria and Tanya speak. Their majors are going to help them ‘change the world.’” Bab stuck her chest out, superhero style.

Auntie raised her eyebrows.

“I know becoming a teacher’s important,” she sighed. “But tell that to people outside my department. Anyway, that’s not the main reason they’ll hate me.” She glanced at Auntie’s cookbook. “On Sundays the kitchen smells like those TV shows with sassy mothers who teach girls how to cook the ‘real way.’” She made finger quotes. “Nothing like what we eat at home. They’ll take one look at my food and treat me like my old roommates.” Her stomach twisted. “I don’t want to go to the hospital again.”

Finishing the cookie kept the worst throat swelling away. She still felt like barricading herself until graduation.

Light glinted from the portrait. When Bab took a closer look, Auntie met her eyes. Aunt Barbara resembled a professor, stern but caring. If photos could speak, Bab would be getting a speech on conquering fear.

The eye lecture finished with Auntie glancing in the direction of her book. Bab crossed the room, picked it up, and flipped through the dessert section. She doubted grapenut pudding would go over well. Apple-cheddar pie might work, but she wasn’t masochistic enough to make crust from scratch. Hermits seemed easy enough, but the next recipe stopped her cold.

Froggers. Above the recipe, Aunt Barbara had written a few notes about Lucretia Brown, the inventor. Bab read and reread the page before saying “They might like it.”

Summer lessons meant more homework and less time. Bab spent her free days camped in the library, reading hundreds of pages worth of assignments before trudging back to her room to bang out papers.

She peeked from her window before going outside. Maria, a Soul Food Sunday girl, wasn’t out running laps. Bab headed to the library, wiping sweat off her palms every couple of steps. If the Pre-Law/Economics student wasn’t marathoning, she was on work-study. Bab needed to find a secluded corner to avoid detection.

Maria was nowhere near the front desk when Bab checked out her classes’ reserve texts. She walked the opposite way from the book return cart, in case the girl was shelving. Bab spent the next two hours in the clear until it came time to make copies. The other girl was bent over loading paper into the machine, looking more voluptuous than Bab could hope to be.

Bab closed her eyes, praying to avoid a repeat of yesterday. “Hey.” Maybe starting the conversation would help.

The other girl yelped, whirling around and overbalancing. Bab rushed to steady her, half-wondering if she landed in a romantic comedy.

Maria’s face flushed redder than her shirt. “I didn’t see you.”

It was Bab’s turn to freeze. She studied the wall behind the other girl’s head as she tried to form words.

“Oh! You’re coming Sunday,” Maria sounded relieved. “We can talk then.” She stepped away from Bab and hurried to the front desk.

Two hours and five textbooks later, Bab emerged from the library, dazed. Motor memory led her to the campus coffee shop, where she ordered a red eye. She needed the caffeine to unfry her brain and conduct decent extracurricular research.

Maria was nowhere to be found when Bab walked to the reference librarian’s desk. There wasn’t too much on Lucretia Brown, but what existed came from places like the Smithsonian. The state historical society had a series of frogger recipes as well as official documents on Brown’s business. Bab’s coffee went cold as she pored over the papers.

“What do you think, Auntie?” Bab asked that night. “Those three might hate them because they have ‘frog’ in the name.”

Aunt Barbara didn’t react. Bab twisted her hands and continued. “I found a zillion ways to make froggers. Some I don’t have to buy a ton of new ingredients for. One is similar to your happiness cookies and isn’t very sweet. They’ll think I was lying about making dessert. Another’s fried, not baked. Those three…” She drifted off as Auntie wrinkled her nose.

“What do you think I should do?” Bab said, hoping Auntie wouldn’t give the obvious answer. She gave Bab a hard stare. “I can’t do that,” Bab said, backing away. “I’m safer not making friends.” She bumped into her bed.

Auntie looked miserable. Bab stroked the picture frame before returning to fretting. Silently this time.

Every recipe called for allspice, which promoted luck, success and health. It was also quite masculine. Bab wasn’t keen on infusing virility in herself or the others. Liquor united the feminine elements of water and earth, but she was too young to buy the rum froggers required. Bab prayed rum extract with its high alcohol content was an acceptable substitute. Auntie’s book had nothing to say about the power of molasses. Maybe it took after its sister sugar in terms of protection and enhancement. It could also be a soul food ingredient, though Bab was too afraid to check.

Spices were never cheap. Bab spent the next few days outside of class in the city. Ethnic enclaves had spices at better cost than supermarkets, and she was going to find the best prices. She always went on foot to channel bus fare into grocery cash. Her feet swelled until she could barely pull her shoes off at night, but she got all the seasonings she needed, plus extra rice flour.

By Saturday afternoon, Bab recovered enough to limp to the market nearest to the dorms. Butter was easy enough to find, but molasses and extract remained elusive, no matter how many times she wandered Aisle 5. Between her focus on the shelves and her still complaining legs, she didn’t notice company until she bumped into them.

Bab’s heart froze when she realized who she crashed into. Tanya was Jen and Maria’s buddy, a Business/Chemistry major and heir to a cosmetics firm that made products for black women. She might have been in jeans and ponytail, but her skin glowed and her hair smelled of jasmine and coconut oil.

“I’m sorry!” Bab couldn’t apologize fast enough. “I should have seen you-”

Tanya waved her hand. “I ran into you. Let me make up for it.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of papers. “Have a coupon.”

Bab reached for the offering, doing her best not to brush Tanya’s fingers. She didn’t want to piss the girl off by mistake. There were discounts on powdered soup, meal replacement shakes, frozen dinners…

“Mind if I have this one?” Bab held up a voucher for oranges.

Tanya shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll get scurvy.”

Bab’s grin felt foreign on her mouth. “They’re also great for clearing the mind and cheering you up.”

The other girl raised an eyebrow, something Bab had yet to master. “Isn’t that what chocolate’s for?”

Bab’s cheeks burned, but before she could answer, Tanya said, “Maybe I’ll get some chocolate peanut butter this week. They taste good with strawberry Caffeine Bombs.” She waved goodbye. Bab couldn’t decide whether to stare at her, or her basket of white bread and neon drinks.

She resumed her search for the remaining ingredients, trying to imagine what Auntie would think of Tanya’s cuisine. There could be rage, terror, or horrific rage.

“Victory!” Bab announced later in her room. “Now I have everything for froggers.”

She picked up the portrait. “Will it be all right?” Auntie beamed. “Of course you think that, we’re family. I don’t have that advantage for tomorrow.”

Aunt Barbara looked Bab up and down before raising her chin.

Bab crossed her arms over her bust. “They’re prettier than I am, and I don’t think a padded bra would help.” Auntie’s eye narrowed.

“What’s worth knowing about me?” Her voice wobbled. Auntie glanced at the mirror. Bab stood in front of it for ages, trying to see what Aunt Barbara did. It never appeared. Whenever she turned away, Auntie nodded for Bab to return. Her throat ached from not shrieking her frustration.

Her reflection continued to show someone who did not have the looks, goals or background as the other black girls in the dorm. She had bits and pieces of other kin in her appearance, like Papa’s forehead, Grandfather’s nose, and Auntie’s love of frilly blouses. Bab straightened her back and assumed the formal pose of Auntie’s portrait. She still couldn’t find what Auntie saw, but her urge to scream faded. Maybe one of these years she’d be as awesome as Auntie believed.

If Bab was going to bake undisturbed, she was better off starting at midnight. The cookies wouldn’t be the freshest, but she half-remembered one recipe saying froggers grew tastier with time. Or she could scrub the kitchen for so long, Monday would roll by before she finished.

Giving the counter, sink and other surfaces the once-over wasn’t going to be enough if she wanted to win the trio’s favor. Bab scoured until her arms ached, shook them out, and started again. She filled her head with prayers for the cookies’ success and her continued safety. Whenever her mind wandered, she bit hard on her tongue.

Now that she thought about it, froggers might taste better if she rewashed the baking sheet. As she worried it with a sponge, she caught a glimpse of herself on the aluminum. She was nothing more than a blobby outline, but it was enough to remember the afternoon. Auntie thought she was worth something and Bab needed to act the part. She preheated the oven and pulled out the measuring cup.

Auntie’s recipe didn’t specify rice flour, but she could do with its protection. The spices that went into happiness cookies went into the mixing bowl, along with lucky nutmeg and ginger’s love. Macho allspice went in after all, to impart success.

Wet ingredients went into another bowl, before she combined everything to make a sticky dough. Nothing a bit of flour couldn’t fix. She rolled everything out with the side of an empty glass, used the mouth of the same cup to cut out froggers and stuck them in the oven.

Baking and cooling times stretched until every second felt like forever. Despite her best efforts, no amount of tidying would speed things. Sweat oozed from her face and armpits.

As soon as she could move the cookies without burning herself, Bab fled to her room. “I did it!” She hitched her shoulders in lieu of a fist pump. Dropping the froggers now would mean baking them later in front of an audience. Once they were safely on her desk, she fell to her knees.

“I thought of you as much as I could and how you want me to be.” On the floor, she couldn’t meet Auntie’s face. “I’m still not there, sorry.” Even through her jeans, the tiled floor felt so cool, but passing out here would mean a stiff back in the morning. “Just a minute.”

It took a few tries to lurch off the floor and back on her feet. Bab placed a frogger by Auntie’s picture. “What do you think?”

Between one blink and the next, the cookie vanished. Auntie’s smile threatened to push her cheeks off.

It was ten when Bab woke up, and eleven before she rolled out of bed. She only had a few hours, and laundry wouldn’t do itself. Typical for Sunday, all the machines were full, but one just had a few minutes left to run. She buried herself in a textbook, wondering if she could drop out of dinner, saying she had a test tomorrow. Auntie would be disappointed in her.

The afternoon vanished in a flurry of chores, grooming and actual homework reading. Bab shaved, brushed her hair until her arm ached, and smoothed out the wrinkles in one of her nicer shirts. Whenever her throat threatened to swell, she turned back to studying.

An hour before the event, Bab’s heart thrummed in her ears. She had one last thing to do before she was ready, but it meant going to the kitchen, possibly in front of everyone.

The room was filled with cell phone music and off-key singing. Tanya and Maria’s backs were to Bab as they chopped away. Jen hadn’t arrived. Bab was free to cover the table with a freshly washed sheet, though she ached to clap her hands over her ears. The file quality, song genre and the girls’ lack of skill made it Vogon poetry in human mouths. She placed her duct tape flower in the center of the table before retreating to gather the froggers.

When she returned, the pair was belting out what might have been “Baby Come to Me.” Bab prayed “4:33” was next on the playlist as she arranged cookies on her largest plate. She couldn’t do anything more artful than a pyramid of concentric circles, but it looked good enough for a magazine.

A shriek stole the last of her hearing. “Bab, when did you get here?”

Bab turned to Tanya, rubbing her ears. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Tanya laughed. “It’s either sing or put up with Maria’s preaching.”

“Soul food _isn’t_ vegan,” the third girl hissed.

“Aren’t you making peas and carrots?” Tanya said.

“Doesn’t count, I use butter,” Maria said.

“See what I mean?” Tanya said to Bab with a hammy sigh.

Bab’s smile shook around the edges. “Why not vegan?”

“Thank you!” Tanya abandoned her cutting board to crush Bab in a hug. “You understand.”

“Does that mean no cookies tonight?” Bab winced at her lack of subtlety. “They have dairy.”

“Of course cookies,” Tanya stepped back, giving her a hard look. “Cookies need butter, chicken need salt, and collard greens are better with orange juice instead of pork.”

“Blasphemy,” called a new voice from the doorway. Jen walked in, arms full of cans and equipment. “Smoked pork is food of the gods.”

As the trio rambled amongst themselves, tension fell from Bab’s shoulders. She set the table, making sure everything was picture perfect while the others worked by the stove and countertops. Aside from the odd comment thrown in her direction, they left her alone until their food was ready.

“What did you do?” Jen breathed as she took in Bab’s handiwork. “It looks like a real Sunday dinner now.”

“Ahem,” Tanya said, looking in the direction of the garbage bin. An empty tube of biscuit dough and gravy can sat on top of the trash.

“I was busy–” Jen started, but Maria cut her off.

“I forgot salt, gravy will help the peas and carrots.” She plopped her dish next to the duct tape flower. “Let’s start?”

No one commented on Bab sitting in the spot closest to the door. They were too busy saying things that threatened to stop her heart.

“How’s the food? Maria used fresh carrots this time.” Tanya wiggled her eyebrows. Maria, Bab’s bench partner, turned the color of rust.

The taste was on par with cafeteria food. Bab liked safety too much to say it aloud. “You’re right, it does go well with gravy.”

Maria stared at her plate as more blood rushed to her face.

“You know what would be great? Bacon.” Jen said. “Everything it touches turns to magic.”

Bab opened her mouth, closed it and lowered her head so no one could see her face. Auntie’s cookbook never limited power to a single ingredient. The other girls were too busy arguing which brand of cured meat was best to notice Bab.

It wasn’t long before the serving plates emptied. With competition out of the way, the froggers perfumed the table and made full stomachs grumble.

“Are these the cookies you made last week?” Jen asked.

Bab shook her head. “It’s a diff–” the trio snatched froggers for themselves and went to work reducing them to crumbs.

Jen’s first bite took out a third of her cookie. Her eyes widened. Tanya chewed slowly, lost in thought. Maria closed her eyes and clasped her hands like a church lady. “What did you say these were?”

“They’re molasses cookies.” Bab coughed, but her throat kept tingling. “Froggers.”

“Made with real frogs?” Tanya said, her mouth wry.

Bab took a deep breath and wished her lungs were bigger. “A woman named Lucretia Brown invented them.” All eyes were on her, none of them hateful. She looked at Tanya. “Lucretia was a black woman who ran an inn and made perfume and other things to sell.” To Jen and Maria she added “She was born in 1772 Massachusetts and owned property.”

No one spoke. They were too busy considering their froggers. Bab took one for herself and bit in deep. Spices spread through her mouth and seeped into her being. Her throat relaxed enough to ask “Maria, mind if I jog with you tomorrow?” before she realized it. A second mouthful of cookie kept panic at bay.

Maria’s ears darkened, but she said “I’d like that. Front door at eight A.M.? Wear good shoes.”

Bab took a second frogger, but when she reached for a third, all she found was an empty plate. Hearing the trio tease each other as they helped with cleanup almost made up for it. The lack of singing certainly did.

With four people helping, dishes and everything else were done in no time. Bab trailed the other girls out of the kitchen, itching to tell Aunt Barbara about tonight. It was too soon to tell how they’d take knowing Bab’s whole self, but for now they added warmth she couldn’t get with cookies alone.

END

    “Barbara in the Frame” was originally published in FIYAH and is copyright Emmalia Harrington, 2017.

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Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a new issue and a GlitterShip original, “Raders” by Nelson Stanley.

Episode #71 — “Barbara in the Frame” by Emmalia Harrington was originally published on GlitterShip

[bruciewayne]

tell me about the stars [5/20]

masterpost

[ao3]

Wednesday 19th December

Steve stress-baked, it was a habit he’d picked up from his Ma, who’d taught him how, the night before his first day of middle school when he couldn’t sleep, the night before his first day of school, the night before his SAT, and all the other nights he couldn’t sleep. Now, baking was always slightly bittersweet, it made him miss her, but she wouldn’t want him to mope and never make anything she taught him. So he stress-baked.

So Bucky was used to finding warm cookies and fruit filled muffins whenever he knew Steve was stressed or couldn’t sleep.

And that was how he’d found Steve, at three am, getting out the ingredients and spices for gingerbread, in sweats and shirt two sizes too big, no doubt pirated from Bucky.

“Oh, hey Buck, did I wake you up?” he asked, turning around to face him and fuck, how could he look good at three am? No one looks good at three am. Except this pretty fucker apparently. He was cradling jars of spices in one arm and a wooden spoon and a bowl in another.

“Nah,” Bucky said, through a yawn, “I was just gonna get some water,” he moved to help Steve with his stuff, taking the jars and putting them next to the flour and sugar.

“You want help? Or company” He asked, after draining half a glass of water. Do Not stare at his neck Rogers, no, nope, stop thinking about licking him, Jesus.

Steve swallowed, “Uh, if you want, I’m making gingerbread,” and he bent down to get the milk out of the fridge. Stop staring at his ass, oh my god.

Bucky thought for a second, glancing up at the clock, and, oh, fuck it, “Yeah, I’ll stick around, what do you need me to do?” Steve got back up and looked at Bucky, staring into his eyes, he seemed to zone out for a second, but then he came out of it as fast as he’d gotten in. “Uh, mixing,” he said, finally. How does someone look so, so earnest and… fuck. Fuck.

Steve pressed a wooden spoon into Bucky’s hand, trying to ignore the way his heart sped up when his fingers brushed his. That Should Not Be A Thing, Rogers, c’mon.

“Mix as I put things in the bowl, can you handle that?” Steve teased, it was well established in their household that Bucky could not cook, they have the burn marks and a most definitely lost deposit to prove it.

Bucky smiled a little, “I think I can handle it.”

Steve blinked up at him and snorted in disbelief, this adorable dork “Oh my god, Buck, you’re a hundred I swear,”

“Yeah, well,” he replied, smile growing wider, and fuck, if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’s seen all day, “you still laughed.”

Steve huffed and, unable to think of a proper insult, leaned his whole body against him to shove him. “Anyway,” he said, changing the subject, “hold the bowl down as well or everything’ll go everywhere.”

Bucky gave him a mock salute with his spoon, “Aye aye, captain.”

He held the bowl with his left hand and twirled the spoon in it with his right, watching Steve dumping various ingredients in it, he’d learned, over the years of living with him, that he never stuck with any rules or recipes, he pretty much eyeballed it all the base stuff and at the end put in spices and flavours he liked, Bucky thought it shouldn't work, whenever anyone else he knew cooked, they all pretty much stuck to the recipes, he knew his sister made sure everything was measured to the exact gram, but with Steve, he was pretty sure he didn't even own measuring cups, but it worked. It worked.

They were quiet for most of it, a hush settling over them, less of a shroud and more of a soft, warm blanket, safety, something to do with the time, he supposed and the practised familiarity of it, bumping elbows and standing maybe too close.

But neither of them made to move away, enjoying the closeness and the inherent intimacy of baking gingerbread at something past three, something to four am on a December morning, where the city outside their window was illuminated by a sliver of the moon peeking out of the clouds, yellow streetlights and white headlights and red taillights of taxi-cabs and cars, and their apartment, their home, was lit with soft, orange-tinged light, bouncing off the kitchen tiles and silver tools. It was cold outside, it was December in New York, if they were on the streets, they would be able to see their breaths, but in the warmth of their kitchen, made slightly warmer by the humming oven set to pre-heat, their breaths mingled, their heads millimeters, micrometers from touching, brown, tangled hair brushing against a blonde, disheveled fringe.

They rolled out the dough and cut it up using cookie cutters they found in the very back of their cupboards, nestled between an oddly small pan and a lemon juicer, and put them in the oven.

Steve shut the oven door, turning to smile tiredly at him, “You ok?” Bucky asked him, taking in the dark circles around his eyes, his slumped posture and his generally exhausted demeanour, “Yeah, just, tired, I might be coming down with something though” Steve replied, leaning against the counter.

Bucky immediately went to their medicine drawer and rummaged around until he found a mostly full bottle of NyQuil, and he took out a spoon. He poured out the medicine into the spoon, “Open up,” testament to just how tired he was, Steve uncharacteristically didn't try to argue. Instead, he followed his instructions and dropped his jaw, letting Bucky tip the contents of the spoon onto his tongue. “Remember to swallow,” Bucky murmured softly, turning to put the spoon in the dishwasher and the NyQuil back in the drawer.

When he turned back to face Steve, he wrapped him up in a hug, staying like that until Steve said something about the cookies, reluctantly moving from Bucky’s warm, soft embrace to grab a towel and take the gingerbread out of the oven and put the tray on top of a wooden chopping board on the counter.

They both flopped down onto the bar stools waiting in a comfortable silence until the gingerbread had cooled down a little.

Steve picked up a star-shaped piece and broke it in half, steam curling up towards the ceiling, he passed a half to Bucky.

They tapped the pieces together, “To Christmas,” Bucky said, quietly, not wanting to disturb their atmosphere, “To Christmas,” Steve echoed, taking a bite out of his half of the gingerbread star, Bucky copying him, a second slower.

And even though they both had Important Adult Things to do in the morning, or well, later in the morning, they couldn't think of anything better to do, or anyone else they'd rather be with.