L&C Thanksgiving fic
Yeah, I *did* intend to post this earlier. But shite happened.
This is locked up for now, because it's intended as my Lois & Clark Go to Smallville Challenge fic and I *think* it was okay to post it before I sent it in, but maybe not.
LMK if you see any glaring errors when you read through this, would you guys? I also have this weird feeling I've neglected some part of the New Lois Lane backstory, but I'm not sure what it is.
_Skipping Thanksgiving_
by natalex
I've never liked Thanksgiving. Maybe it meant something once, but now it pretty much seems like a holiday based around one big meal. As if Americans aren't fat enough already. But as it happens, I'm back in Smallville at that time of year, and when I tell Clark, gentle farmboy extraordinaire, that I don't *do* Thanksgiving, he gets this bug-eyed look of horror on his face and I find myself giving in and scooping him on the whole sob story of my wasted youth and tedious family gatherings.
And then he invites me for Thanksgiving dinner. Because he's an idiot. There's a certain kind of company that's probably okay on Thanksgiving, and I'm pretty much the opposite of it. I make conversation scary. Or so I'm told. It's just that, in my opinion, small talk around the dinner table is pretty much the least fun ever.
So I say no. But, of course, he doesn't take no for an answer. He pulls out the big guns and tells on me to his mother. Because Martha Kent is the coolest mom ever and there's no way I'm saying no to her if she really wants me over for dinner. I mean, if only I had a previous engagement in Metropolis, but I don't, and I know it, and I can't say no. If nothing else, this should be interesting.
Apparently the Kents have this tradition of spending Thanksgiving together, no matter what they're up to. By the time I arrive Thursday, they've been in and out of the fields--all three of them loaded up in the truck--trekking back and forth from the fence they're mending to basting the turkey. Clark explains the tradition means they all work together today, no matter how much longer it takes them, and Jonathan Kent has this line about Thanksgiving meaning "reaffirming our commitment to work, and reminding ourselves what we're working for" which is very down-homey.
Martha gets this look on her face when she realizes I happen to *know* what basting means, and puts me in charge. Figures. She knew I'd be responsible, with the weight of Thanksgiving dinner on my shoulders like this. So they take off back to the back pasture, or wherever, and I decide to find Clark's bedroom.
Not that I haven't been in it already, but who knows what changes might have occurred since I moved out. Maybe Clark's back with the--quote,unquote--boyfriend. Maybe there's dirty pictures. Not that I would necessarily have to say anything about it if I found something. It's just there's only so much Reddi Wip a girl can eat out of the can before she gets bored, after all. And okay, maybe I'm just dying to know if Clark keeps _Playboy_ under his mattress.
Chloe calls while I'm on my way up the stairs. "Hey, cousin. What are you doing that you shouldn't be doing?"
I pause briefly, and take the moment to examine the family portraits hanging on the wall. Clark, as suspected, was kind of awkward and gangly looking when he was around 12. "What are you, psychic?"
"Nooo," Chloe trills in my ear. "Where are you, anyway? The background is remarkably quiet for a conversation with Lois Lane."
"I'm in the Kents' house," I answer glibly, gently nudging open Clark's bedroom door. His room is messier than when I last saw it, and there's more on his walls. "Clark's room, actually."
Chloe's silent for just a moment long enough for me to blink and register Chloe's Clark-sized hang up. Real smooth. "Okay, you caught me, I'm snooping."
"You're *going through Clark's room*?" Chloe's voice becomes remarkably high pitched. "Lois! That's invasion of privacy! He hates that!"
"So? They left me alone in their house with a *turkey*; he was just asking for it. Anyway, it's not like I'm looking for dirty underwear or unsent love letters. Though unsent love letters would be hilarious."
"If you find any to Lana, I don't want to hear about it," Chloe mumbles.
"If I find any to Lana I'll burn them."
"I'm hanging up, Lois. I don't want anything to do with what you're doing."
"Relax," I murmur absently, carefully plucking at the edge of the mattress. I'm peering around for something telling, like a trash basket right by the bed or kleenex and lotion, but there's no concrete evidence. "I'm at peace with my voyeuristic impulses. They're perfectly natural and healthy..." I pause when I feels something under my fingertips. Ah ha.
"Hey, this is me you're talking to. I'm fine with you playing Letters to Penthouse with *any other person besides Clark*. Seriously, Lois. He'll freak."
"So he'll freak at me, not you." Wait a minute... "Geez, how much porn does a boy *need*?"
"You're not baiting me, Lois. I'm hanging up." And she does.
"Well merry Thanksgiving to you, too." I toss the cell phone on the bed and reached under the mattress with both hands. If Clark kept this much stuff under his mattress normally, he must have moved it before I slept there. I'm not quite the princess with the pea, but *this* I would have noticed.
Especially since it *isn't* porn, after all. I'm hesitant, just a little, to look at the photos when I first pull them out, but when I peek at the first one I realize they're just personal, not prurient. Clark was in all of them himself: Clark with his mom in the kitchen downstairs, Clark with his dad on the tractor, Clark with Lana and Chloe, Clark with Lex Luthor, and a little kid of maybe 6 that was way too cute to be anybody but Clark again. I turn the last idly in my hands, identifying the little boy's expression as confused. And maybe...not quite scared, but definitely vulnerable. Without knowing Clark's age of adoption, I get the feeling this was one of the earliest photographs taken of him after coming home with the Kents.
This time when the phone rings, I nearly jump to my feet before I catch myself. I flick the phone back open. "Good grief," I snap at her. "I thought you were mad at me."
"I wanted to make sure you remembered the turkey you're supposed to be babysitting," Chloe replies. "And I wanted to see if you were out of Clark's room yet. He has this habit of showing up just when you don't expect."
I stack the photos up on top of the bed and pull at the edge of the--yes, an actual magazine this time. Well, I've come this far, and I have to find out now. "I'm not forgetting the turkey," I assure Chloe. This is my tactful side.
Chloe groans. "Well, whatever. You'll be sorry when he's mad at you. But I gotta get back to my dad. I'm supposed to be spending time with him and I keep running off for phone conversations. He thinks I'm insane."
"Have fun, kiddo," I tell her, and set the phone back on the bed. Clark is one odd guy. He's got a _Vermont Country Store_ catalog where his centerfold's supposed to be. I flip it open to where it's marked and realize it's stuffed with cash. Low-tech bank, apparently. At the same time I'm checking the page and I see what's been circled in pen. And the price is highlighted. I sit back on my heels. "Great. Lois Lane," I say outloud. "Who's the freak now?" Even I can't deny that the kid's obviously saving money to buy a gift for his mother. Unbelieveable.
I lift the corner of the mattress so I can replace the catalog and the photos without bending any edges. Then I remember the turkey. And I realize, if I ruin the Kents' Thanksgiving, I'm going to have to kill myself. I go racing back downstairs into the kitchen. It should be fine, I just need to baste it before it gets much later. Hey, Mrs. Kent wouldn't leave it with me if it was too tricky.
Clark's standing there when I reach the kitchen, checking the turkey himself. "Where were you?" he asks.
"Bathroom break--don't touch that with those gloves. I can guess where they've been."
"Yes, mom," he says. I sniff derisively and take over my basting duties again. "Hey, I'm getting hungry," I realize aloud, when I get a whiff of the smell.
"Mom and Dad are on their way back." He reaches in the fridge and ducks back out, shaking the Reddi Wip with one hand. "Until then?"
I grin. I've been hitting the cannister pretty hard already today, but he doesn't need to know that. He tilts his head back and sprays until his mouth is almost too full. "I see you're a pro," I watch him lick his lips.
He wipes the errant glob from his chin. "You keep my secret, I'll keep yours." He hands it over and turns to go upstairs. "I'm gonna wash up," he calls over his shoulder. "Do I hear your phone?"
Oh *shit*. My head snaps down mid-spray and I nearly choke on the whipped cream.
"Lois?" Clark's footsteps have stopped. "Why is your phone on my bed?"
I pick up a napkin and slowly make my way to the bottom of the stairs. Got a problem, how bout a solution?
Clark is waiting patiently. "Were you in my room for a reason?"
Chloe was right, too. I *do* feel bad. "I was wondering...if I could contribute to your mother's present fund?" I whip out the vending machine money that I left in the back pocket of my jeans. "I like to give money away around Christmastime anyway, you know, making up for my sins and what-all, and I figure, it's for a good cause."
Clark looks at me dubiously. Or maybe he's offended. "I don't actually need your money, Lois."
"Yeah, I'm sure you don't, Clark," I respond in exasperation. "I'm just trying to buy my way out of the trouble I got myself in."
"Well, in that case." He snatches the folded bill out of my hand. "Don't go through my room again," he warns.
I cross my heart.
"Lois." He looks at me sternly, like he could tell I had my fingers crossed behind my back.
"Sorry. Habit." I grin sheepishly. "I won't go in your room ever again. Unless I'm invited." Okay, I didn't mean that to sound as suggestive as it did. I take my cell phone from him and back away. "I'll just be downstairs."
I check my voice mail. It was Chloe again, of course, wanting to make sure I really *had* left Clark's room, and *hadn't* ruined the turkey. My cousin's a far better person than me.
I hear a door on the truck slam outside and Mrs. Kent hurries into the kitchen. "Hi, Lois," she smiles genuinely. "Was the turkey too much trouble?"
"No, not at all..."
"House didn't burn down," Clark adds, crashing into my back as he thunders down the stairs. His dad raises his eyebrows at us.
"Lois, call me Martha. And who has been getting into this?" Clark's mom holds up the red canister of Reddi Wip and shakes it. "It feels almost empty!" She throws them an amused look. I step aside to accuse Clark, observing his finger aiming my way at the same time.
Jonathan chuckles. "What can I do to help, sweetheart?"
"Nothing, until you get washed up. It looks like everything's doing well here. Thank you so much, Lois."
"No problem."
Clark coughs loudly. I ignore him.
"Lois, you could go out to the barn with Clark if you like. I'm sure you've been in the kitchen enough today. Maybe you'd like to see what else we do around here." Martha smiles at us quickly as she's darting around the kitchen. "If you need a warmer jacket, you can borrow one from the closet in the hallway."
"Sure, Lois, I've got to throw some hay out for the cattle. Think you can help?"
I meet his eyes. "I can't resist a challenge."
He smiles sweetly. "Come on, then, we'll find you some gloves."
"Bring it on."
Half an hour later, I get why the pilgrims wanted to have a feast. Working this hard and *not* getting a feast would be cruel. "Not bad, for a city girl," Clark says, walking beside me back toward the house.
"Yeah, save your ego, farmboy."
"Look how clear it is tonight." He's looking at the sky. My eyes are on the nice, brightly-lit kitchen up ahead. Turkey, cranberry relish, sweet potatoes, pumpkin and cherry and apple pie. Yum.
"It's cold out here," I hiss at him in response.
"Just look," he insists. "I've been to Metropolis. I *know* you don't see a sky like that there."
I pause and dutifully look up. "I thought that was all hyperbole." But he's right, that is a crisp, full sky up there. "Guess not." I shiver. "Still cold, though." I lean into him. Hey, he's good for something.
He wraps one arm around my shoulders and turns me back on the path to the food. "Thanks for the help, Lois."
He *knows* there's no graciously witty comeback to that.
Inside, the table is already set. "It smells so good."
Jonathan Kent looks up at me and smiles knowingly. "That farm work really works up an appetite, doesn't it?"
"Sure does." I guess I better go do the "wash-up" thing.
The Kents gather around the table without ado, smiling genuinely at each other over the bounty. We hold hands while Jonathan Kent prays, and start passing dishes efficiently around the table, though Jonathan keeps mentioning the fence repairs they made earlier today. I'm trying about two bites of everything, because there's a lot, and the men in the family keep giving weirdly approving looks to my full plate.
"This is really good, Mom," Clark gushes, shoveling it in. I can't help grinning, but I don't bother teasing him. His mom makes, like, the best food ever.
"Well," Jonathan begins, raising his glass. Here comes the mushy part, I guess. "I'm very grateful for my family. You both make me strive to be extraordinary." His eyes look watery as he looked into his wife and son's faces.
I had a feeling the Kents would have another tradition like this. It's Clark's turn. "I'm thankful for all the same things as last year, plus for all the things I've learned to do this year and the chance to practice them."
Martha and Jonathan both reach out, Jonathan clasping Clark's shoulder and Martha touching his hand. It's sweet.
"I'm constantly glad for our home, and our family. But mostly for this town, despite all the oddness." I'm in on the little look that goes around after that comment. So true.
Clark looks at me. "Lois has gotten on on her share of Smallville oddness."
I nod in agreement. "I like to call it eccentricity." They laugh. "But seriously, I lived in France one year. This is nothing."
"France, really? Wow. You didn't like it?"
"They're...French, about sums it up. I guess I'm just not the right kind of girl to be a French girl. But we were only there for a few months, mostly just the holidays."
"I can't imagine being in a foreign country over Thanksgiving," Martha laughs lightly. "I honestly have to remind myself we're the only ones who celebrate it. I guess I've spent too much time in the heart of Kansas."
"Well..." Okay, this isn't a story I really like to tell. It usually comes out all defensive, or worse, whiny, and that annoys me. But I guess I'm telling it now. "My dad sometimes goes on a Thanksgiving kick, brings a bunch of people together--military people, since we're not exactly close to family--imports whatever his guests say traditional is, and just makes a bit production out of it. Course, half the rest of the time he forgets what time of year it is completely, just gets too busy or, well, jaded." I shrug dismissively. "The year we were in France was one of those years. I wound up home alone, because I wasn't sure if we were doing anything--and I was younger, so I still cared--anyway, the only food in the house was Camemert. Have you ever had it?" I glance at Martha, because I seriously doubt the Kent men have gotten around to exotic cheeses. "It's the best cheese. I don't know if you can get it anywhere but France, I've never really looked. It was probably just the circumstances, I don't know, but that cheese totally saved Thanksgiving that year." I grin. "Don't laugh," I tell Clark. "It was probably my best Thanksgiving." I pause. "Until this. I mean that."
"Oh, we're glad to have you, Lois," Martha says. "We hope you can join us again."
I smile. "I might just take you up on that, Martha."
She nods and starts to stand. "Anybody ready for pie?" She catches Clark's eye. "Besides Clark."
Jonathan pushes back from the table. "I'm going to need my traditional Thanksgiving Day nap before I can fit in dessert." He taps his belly with a satisfied smile. "I'm stuffed."
"Mm, that sounds good," Martha sighs, stacking dishes.
"Aw," Clark mock pouts. "I have to wait?"
"Put those dishes down, Martha. Clark and I can do this." I insist, standing. "And have our pie while you relax." Homemade pie! Who gets homemade pie anymore, really?
"Mom? Dad? Lois has an excellent idea." Clark hops up and takes the dishes from his mom. "You guys go take a nap."
I grin. "Yeah, we won't break anything."
"Well, if you insist...I can't turn an offer like that down." Martha looks as pleased as I could have wanted. She slips around the table and takes Jonathan's hand.
I watch them saunter into the living room hand in hand, and see Clark doing the same. He smiles my direction. "I pretty much think 'wow' every time, myself."
I nod. "So. You clear the table, I can start coffee?"
Clark and I start stacking up the dishes, intending to leave them until *after* dessert, but apparently neither of us can put them off. "I don't want the dishes to call to your mother in her sleep," I admit, standing by Clark at the sink.
"They would, too, you know," Clark agrees.
We sit down at the table with half a pie between us. "Silly humans," I say, and the pumpkin is amazing. I don't even *like* pumpkin. "Can't hold their pie." It's not dessert if you don't have it right after, I always say.
Clark's giving me a strange look. "What?" He's not too busy staring at me that he doesn't notice me hogging the pumpkin piece. Our forks clang together as he blocks my way. I like a man who can protect his pie.
"Nothing. I just didn't take you as a...scifi geek." He grins, and I can tell that he chose the term just to be obnoxious.
"Oh, please. If I was stuck in a room with nothing but _Star Trek_ reruns on, once or twice in my life, what does that really mean?"
"_Star Trek_?" Clark repeats, raising his eyebrows.
I smile briefly. "Dubbed in French. With subtitles."
"Ah," he nods, and pushes the last bite of pumpkin at me. I'm not turning *that* down.
"So about your little thankfulness spiel. That was suspiciously sweet and innocuous of you."
He laughs and shakes his head. "No, it was true. Come on, Lois, you remember high school. Wasn't it just last week?" He smirks.
"Ha, ha."
"I'm still figuring stuff out, and my parents are really supportive. I mean, you've seen me when I'm at my worst."
My head instantly flashes me a picture of Clark in all his, well, nakedness. Ah, good times. "Yeah, I've seen you," I answer blithely.
"My parents have dealt with all that and they haven't pushed me. There's a lot I'm still learning. So, yeah, I meant what I said."
I shake my head. "You must be the nicest farmer's son in the entire midwest."
He almost blushes. "I doubt that."
Well, I don't.
"Okay," I say, and drop my fork. "I'm going to have to stop now."
Clark slides his fork under another apple slice. "Can't keep up after all."
"I need to get on the road, actually."
"You're going back tonight?"
"You think I want to stick around Smallville all weekend?" I make a face. "No offense."
"None taken." He smiles at me.
Mrs. Kent, who probably was never really sleeping, catches me gathering up my things. Clark filches my keys and takes them outside to warm the truck for me while I thank Martha, honestly, for a really great Thanksgiving. She asks if I'm hurrying back to Metropolis for the after-Thanksgiving Day shopping. I try not to cringe at the very idea.
It's snowing. Clark is standing by the truck, hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets and his chin tilted toward the sky like a little kid. "Are you sure you should drive back tonight?" he asks. "You could stay."
"Really want me back in your bed, huh, Smallville?"
He rolls his eyes at me and doesn't bother replying. I smile to myself. Okay, so Clark Kent's annoying as hell, but sometimes he's okay to be around. "I'll be fine," I say. "I've got 4-wheel."
"Okay," he shrugs. "Be safe. Hey," his eyes widen. "We forgot your leftovers."
I snort. "Oh, mustn't forget the leftovers. Better go get them."
"I'll be right back."
I nod and turn toward the truck. The snow swirls in a gust of wind. I eye the sky again. It looks relatively clear, and it's not as cold as it could be. The snow is coming down too lightly to last.
"I guess you're right, the roads should be okay," Clark says, surprising me when he opens my door. The cold air hits me bracingly. I think I was about to fall asleep.
"Geez, did you have to go kill another turkey for me?"
Clark hands over a sack that I'm guessing holds enough to feed me for a week. "No," he replies patiently. "I remembered something else I could get you."
"Oh yeah? I hope it's coffee."
He grins and hands me, yes, a travel mug of coffee. "You'll make somebody an excellent wife someday," I tell him.
"Gee, thanks." He hands me a little package that's obviously not homemade.
"Mom usually tries to make our guest's most traditional Thanksgiving dish, but you said there wasn't anything that reminded you of the holidays." He smiles. "Except, I thought maybe...this." He pulls back. "Call when you get home, okay?"
"Yeah," I manage to respond. "Stay warm, Clark." He closes the door gently and moves back to the porch. He waves, so I wave back.
He gave me Camembert. I don't know where he got it, or why the heck he would, but it's like one of those made-for-TV Christmas movies--with the ludicrous heart-warming resolution and me sitting in my car holding French cheese at the end.
I don't bother waiting, even though Clark is still standing there. I bite into the cheese and it's amazing, soft and with a layered flavor. It tastes just like I remember it. But that must be a trick of circumstance, because like I said, one year it was the best thing about my Thanksgiving and this year I guess I'm supposed to remember my life's gotten better.
I can do that, I guess. Clark's okay in small doses, and I'm sure I'll find his porn stash later. The Kents let me in on their Thanksgiving and didn't even mind that I suck at the thankfulness stuff. I put the truck into gear and wave at Clark one last time as I turn a circle in the driveway. This year I'm thankful for cheese, I decide. And mostly, because I don't have to eat it while I'm trapped back in France.
_The End_
My prompt had to do with the Camembert, and I know Clark as it stands now on the show isn't going dashing over to Paris for cheese, not for nothin, but that's why I used Lois POV and fudged the details a little. *shrug* Hope it works.
Oh, I have an outtake! This is the cliche I *almost* put in. Heh. Because I love promoting the insane things that happen in Smallville.
*
I get to the kitchen just in time to see this guy, *holding* the turkey in his arms like a baby, taking off with it. I freak. There is *no* way a thief is getting away with dinner on my watch. "Hey!" I launch myself after him even as he starts trotting down the porch stairs. I'm a pretty good sprinter, and I take his feets out from under him before he hits the ground, sending him sprawling and the turkey launching into the air. The turkey thief grabs my ankle and I side-swipe his chin, probably doing some serious damage, but he doesn't let go. I watch with dread as the turkey makes its graceless leap through the air, and inevitably turns land-bound again. Clark appears out of nowhere and catches it.
I am so relieved. I never would have convinced them this actually happened. "Nice save, Smallville."
Clark looks at me, and raises his eyebrows like he caught me riffling through his room instead of saving his turkey.
"What?"
"Would you like to introduce me?"
I look down at the turkey thief. "You want to let go of my foot before I have to kick you again? Yeah, thanks."
Clark walks toward us and offers him a hand. I'm eying the turkey he's holding in the crook of one arm. If we can get it brushed off and back in the oven soon, it will be like it never happened. "Isn't that hot?"
"Gloves," Clark shrugs.
"Right. Probably not the most sanitary." That's the understatement of the year. I can guess where Clark's work gloves have been. "Maybe we shouldn't tell your mother about this."
Clark ducks his head a little bit and grins. "You don't think she'll notice?"
The turkey thief is brushing himself off from his fall and I turn on him. "How could you seriously steal somebody's Thanksgiving turkey?"
"Dude. It smelled good, okay? I was hungry. Geez, lady. You nearly killed me."
"Geez, *dude*, you nearly ruined dinner. What the hell."
"There was nobody in the kitchen, anyway." He sneers at me accusingly. "How did I know you would even miss it?"
"Are you *serious*?" I stare at him.
"Lois? And where were you?" Clark is not taking this very serious, either.
I squirm a little. "Bathroom break?"
"Uh huh." He turns his attention back to the thief. "Do you live on the far side of town, near the Wild Coyote? I think I've seen you before."
The skinny little turkey thief nods and puts his hands in his pockets. "I've got a poor mother and sisters who need food."
"Oh, give me a break." I can see the writing on the wall. I know where this is going.
"You can't have our turkey, but I'm sure we have some other food we can share."
"Sucker born every minute," I mumble under my breath, and turn to lead the way.
I feel much better once Clark's sent the turkey thief on his way and the turkey is safely back in the oven. We stand looking at it through the oven door. "At least he got one last flight," I say.
Clark snickers. "And you saved dinner. Guess you're not the Grinch after all."
"Right, because the Grinch is Christmas, farmboy." I turn away and smell the turkey in the air. "Now I'm hungry."
*
Later, Lois nearly (briefly) fesses up to Martha, but Clark covers, and it was supposed to sort of add up to the talk about Smallville vs. the crazy French, but meh. Then Martha was going to say something about missing rolls. It just seemed like a weird blip on the plot once I finished the fic.
Just so you know, if it comes down to the line on my Nano word count, I'm totally adding this into the tally.
Edited: Right, so, I said I was locking it and then I forgot. *rolls eyes* Fixed it.
This is locked up for now, because it's intended as my Lois & Clark Go to Smallville Challenge fic and I *think* it was okay to post it before I sent it in, but maybe not.
LMK if you see any glaring errors when you read through this, would you guys? I also have this weird feeling I've neglected some part of the New Lois Lane backstory, but I'm not sure what it is.
_Skipping Thanksgiving_
by natalex
I've never liked Thanksgiving. Maybe it meant something once, but now it pretty much seems like a holiday based around one big meal. As if Americans aren't fat enough already. But as it happens, I'm back in Smallville at that time of year, and when I tell Clark, gentle farmboy extraordinaire, that I don't *do* Thanksgiving, he gets this bug-eyed look of horror on his face and I find myself giving in and scooping him on the whole sob story of my wasted youth and tedious family gatherings.
And then he invites me for Thanksgiving dinner. Because he's an idiot. There's a certain kind of company that's probably okay on Thanksgiving, and I'm pretty much the opposite of it. I make conversation scary. Or so I'm told. It's just that, in my opinion, small talk around the dinner table is pretty much the least fun ever.
So I say no. But, of course, he doesn't take no for an answer. He pulls out the big guns and tells on me to his mother. Because Martha Kent is the coolest mom ever and there's no way I'm saying no to her if she really wants me over for dinner. I mean, if only I had a previous engagement in Metropolis, but I don't, and I know it, and I can't say no. If nothing else, this should be interesting.
Apparently the Kents have this tradition of spending Thanksgiving together, no matter what they're up to. By the time I arrive Thursday, they've been in and out of the fields--all three of them loaded up in the truck--trekking back and forth from the fence they're mending to basting the turkey. Clark explains the tradition means they all work together today, no matter how much longer it takes them, and Jonathan Kent has this line about Thanksgiving meaning "reaffirming our commitment to work, and reminding ourselves what we're working for" which is very down-homey.
Martha gets this look on her face when she realizes I happen to *know* what basting means, and puts me in charge. Figures. She knew I'd be responsible, with the weight of Thanksgiving dinner on my shoulders like this. So they take off back to the back pasture, or wherever, and I decide to find Clark's bedroom.
Not that I haven't been in it already, but who knows what changes might have occurred since I moved out. Maybe Clark's back with the--quote,unquote--boyfriend. Maybe there's dirty pictures. Not that I would necessarily have to say anything about it if I found something. It's just there's only so much Reddi Wip a girl can eat out of the can before she gets bored, after all. And okay, maybe I'm just dying to know if Clark keeps _Playboy_ under his mattress.
Chloe calls while I'm on my way up the stairs. "Hey, cousin. What are you doing that you shouldn't be doing?"
I pause briefly, and take the moment to examine the family portraits hanging on the wall. Clark, as suspected, was kind of awkward and gangly looking when he was around 12. "What are you, psychic?"
"Nooo," Chloe trills in my ear. "Where are you, anyway? The background is remarkably quiet for a conversation with Lois Lane."
"I'm in the Kents' house," I answer glibly, gently nudging open Clark's bedroom door. His room is messier than when I last saw it, and there's more on his walls. "Clark's room, actually."
Chloe's silent for just a moment long enough for me to blink and register Chloe's Clark-sized hang up. Real smooth. "Okay, you caught me, I'm snooping."
"You're *going through Clark's room*?" Chloe's voice becomes remarkably high pitched. "Lois! That's invasion of privacy! He hates that!"
"So? They left me alone in their house with a *turkey*; he was just asking for it. Anyway, it's not like I'm looking for dirty underwear or unsent love letters. Though unsent love letters would be hilarious."
"If you find any to Lana, I don't want to hear about it," Chloe mumbles.
"If I find any to Lana I'll burn them."
"I'm hanging up, Lois. I don't want anything to do with what you're doing."
"Relax," I murmur absently, carefully plucking at the edge of the mattress. I'm peering around for something telling, like a trash basket right by the bed or kleenex and lotion, but there's no concrete evidence. "I'm at peace with my voyeuristic impulses. They're perfectly natural and healthy..." I pause when I feels something under my fingertips. Ah ha.
"Hey, this is me you're talking to. I'm fine with you playing Letters to Penthouse with *any other person besides Clark*. Seriously, Lois. He'll freak."
"So he'll freak at me, not you." Wait a minute... "Geez, how much porn does a boy *need*?"
"You're not baiting me, Lois. I'm hanging up." And she does.
"Well merry Thanksgiving to you, too." I toss the cell phone on the bed and reached under the mattress with both hands. If Clark kept this much stuff under his mattress normally, he must have moved it before I slept there. I'm not quite the princess with the pea, but *this* I would have noticed.
Especially since it *isn't* porn, after all. I'm hesitant, just a little, to look at the photos when I first pull them out, but when I peek at the first one I realize they're just personal, not prurient. Clark was in all of them himself: Clark with his mom in the kitchen downstairs, Clark with his dad on the tractor, Clark with Lana and Chloe, Clark with Lex Luthor, and a little kid of maybe 6 that was way too cute to be anybody but Clark again. I turn the last idly in my hands, identifying the little boy's expression as confused. And maybe...not quite scared, but definitely vulnerable. Without knowing Clark's age of adoption, I get the feeling this was one of the earliest photographs taken of him after coming home with the Kents.
This time when the phone rings, I nearly jump to my feet before I catch myself. I flick the phone back open. "Good grief," I snap at her. "I thought you were mad at me."
"I wanted to make sure you remembered the turkey you're supposed to be babysitting," Chloe replies. "And I wanted to see if you were out of Clark's room yet. He has this habit of showing up just when you don't expect."
I stack the photos up on top of the bed and pull at the edge of the--yes, an actual magazine this time. Well, I've come this far, and I have to find out now. "I'm not forgetting the turkey," I assure Chloe. This is my tactful side.
Chloe groans. "Well, whatever. You'll be sorry when he's mad at you. But I gotta get back to my dad. I'm supposed to be spending time with him and I keep running off for phone conversations. He thinks I'm insane."
"Have fun, kiddo," I tell her, and set the phone back on the bed. Clark is one odd guy. He's got a _Vermont Country Store_ catalog where his centerfold's supposed to be. I flip it open to where it's marked and realize it's stuffed with cash. Low-tech bank, apparently. At the same time I'm checking the page and I see what's been circled in pen. And the price is highlighted. I sit back on my heels. "Great. Lois Lane," I say outloud. "Who's the freak now?" Even I can't deny that the kid's obviously saving money to buy a gift for his mother. Unbelieveable.
I lift the corner of the mattress so I can replace the catalog and the photos without bending any edges. Then I remember the turkey. And I realize, if I ruin the Kents' Thanksgiving, I'm going to have to kill myself. I go racing back downstairs into the kitchen. It should be fine, I just need to baste it before it gets much later. Hey, Mrs. Kent wouldn't leave it with me if it was too tricky.
Clark's standing there when I reach the kitchen, checking the turkey himself. "Where were you?" he asks.
"Bathroom break--don't touch that with those gloves. I can guess where they've been."
"Yes, mom," he says. I sniff derisively and take over my basting duties again. "Hey, I'm getting hungry," I realize aloud, when I get a whiff of the smell.
"Mom and Dad are on their way back." He reaches in the fridge and ducks back out, shaking the Reddi Wip with one hand. "Until then?"
I grin. I've been hitting the cannister pretty hard already today, but he doesn't need to know that. He tilts his head back and sprays until his mouth is almost too full. "I see you're a pro," I watch him lick his lips.
He wipes the errant glob from his chin. "You keep my secret, I'll keep yours." He hands it over and turns to go upstairs. "I'm gonna wash up," he calls over his shoulder. "Do I hear your phone?"
Oh *shit*. My head snaps down mid-spray and I nearly choke on the whipped cream.
"Lois?" Clark's footsteps have stopped. "Why is your phone on my bed?"
I pick up a napkin and slowly make my way to the bottom of the stairs. Got a problem, how bout a solution?
Clark is waiting patiently. "Were you in my room for a reason?"
Chloe was right, too. I *do* feel bad. "I was wondering...if I could contribute to your mother's present fund?" I whip out the vending machine money that I left in the back pocket of my jeans. "I like to give money away around Christmastime anyway, you know, making up for my sins and what-all, and I figure, it's for a good cause."
Clark looks at me dubiously. Or maybe he's offended. "I don't actually need your money, Lois."
"Yeah, I'm sure you don't, Clark," I respond in exasperation. "I'm just trying to buy my way out of the trouble I got myself in."
"Well, in that case." He snatches the folded bill out of my hand. "Don't go through my room again," he warns.
I cross my heart.
"Lois." He looks at me sternly, like he could tell I had my fingers crossed behind my back.
"Sorry. Habit." I grin sheepishly. "I won't go in your room ever again. Unless I'm invited." Okay, I didn't mean that to sound as suggestive as it did. I take my cell phone from him and back away. "I'll just be downstairs."
I check my voice mail. It was Chloe again, of course, wanting to make sure I really *had* left Clark's room, and *hadn't* ruined the turkey. My cousin's a far better person than me.
I hear a door on the truck slam outside and Mrs. Kent hurries into the kitchen. "Hi, Lois," she smiles genuinely. "Was the turkey too much trouble?"
"No, not at all..."
"House didn't burn down," Clark adds, crashing into my back as he thunders down the stairs. His dad raises his eyebrows at us.
"Lois, call me Martha. And who has been getting into this?" Clark's mom holds up the red canister of Reddi Wip and shakes it. "It feels almost empty!" She throws them an amused look. I step aside to accuse Clark, observing his finger aiming my way at the same time.
Jonathan chuckles. "What can I do to help, sweetheart?"
"Nothing, until you get washed up. It looks like everything's doing well here. Thank you so much, Lois."
"No problem."
Clark coughs loudly. I ignore him.
"Lois, you could go out to the barn with Clark if you like. I'm sure you've been in the kitchen enough today. Maybe you'd like to see what else we do around here." Martha smiles at us quickly as she's darting around the kitchen. "If you need a warmer jacket, you can borrow one from the closet in the hallway."
"Sure, Lois, I've got to throw some hay out for the cattle. Think you can help?"
I meet his eyes. "I can't resist a challenge."
He smiles sweetly. "Come on, then, we'll find you some gloves."
"Bring it on."
Half an hour later, I get why the pilgrims wanted to have a feast. Working this hard and *not* getting a feast would be cruel. "Not bad, for a city girl," Clark says, walking beside me back toward the house.
"Yeah, save your ego, farmboy."
"Look how clear it is tonight." He's looking at the sky. My eyes are on the nice, brightly-lit kitchen up ahead. Turkey, cranberry relish, sweet potatoes, pumpkin and cherry and apple pie. Yum.
"It's cold out here," I hiss at him in response.
"Just look," he insists. "I've been to Metropolis. I *know* you don't see a sky like that there."
I pause and dutifully look up. "I thought that was all hyperbole." But he's right, that is a crisp, full sky up there. "Guess not." I shiver. "Still cold, though." I lean into him. Hey, he's good for something.
He wraps one arm around my shoulders and turns me back on the path to the food. "Thanks for the help, Lois."
He *knows* there's no graciously witty comeback to that.
Inside, the table is already set. "It smells so good."
Jonathan Kent looks up at me and smiles knowingly. "That farm work really works up an appetite, doesn't it?"
"Sure does." I guess I better go do the "wash-up" thing.
The Kents gather around the table without ado, smiling genuinely at each other over the bounty. We hold hands while Jonathan Kent prays, and start passing dishes efficiently around the table, though Jonathan keeps mentioning the fence repairs they made earlier today. I'm trying about two bites of everything, because there's a lot, and the men in the family keep giving weirdly approving looks to my full plate.
"This is really good, Mom," Clark gushes, shoveling it in. I can't help grinning, but I don't bother teasing him. His mom makes, like, the best food ever.
"Well," Jonathan begins, raising his glass. Here comes the mushy part, I guess. "I'm very grateful for my family. You both make me strive to be extraordinary." His eyes look watery as he looked into his wife and son's faces.
I had a feeling the Kents would have another tradition like this. It's Clark's turn. "I'm thankful for all the same things as last year, plus for all the things I've learned to do this year and the chance to practice them."
Martha and Jonathan both reach out, Jonathan clasping Clark's shoulder and Martha touching his hand. It's sweet.
"I'm constantly glad for our home, and our family. But mostly for this town, despite all the oddness." I'm in on the little look that goes around after that comment. So true.
Clark looks at me. "Lois has gotten on on her share of Smallville oddness."
I nod in agreement. "I like to call it eccentricity." They laugh. "But seriously, I lived in France one year. This is nothing."
"France, really? Wow. You didn't like it?"
"They're...French, about sums it up. I guess I'm just not the right kind of girl to be a French girl. But we were only there for a few months, mostly just the holidays."
"I can't imagine being in a foreign country over Thanksgiving," Martha laughs lightly. "I honestly have to remind myself we're the only ones who celebrate it. I guess I've spent too much time in the heart of Kansas."
"Well..." Okay, this isn't a story I really like to tell. It usually comes out all defensive, or worse, whiny, and that annoys me. But I guess I'm telling it now. "My dad sometimes goes on a Thanksgiving kick, brings a bunch of people together--military people, since we're not exactly close to family--imports whatever his guests say traditional is, and just makes a bit production out of it. Course, half the rest of the time he forgets what time of year it is completely, just gets too busy or, well, jaded." I shrug dismissively. "The year we were in France was one of those years. I wound up home alone, because I wasn't sure if we were doing anything--and I was younger, so I still cared--anyway, the only food in the house was Camemert. Have you ever had it?" I glance at Martha, because I seriously doubt the Kent men have gotten around to exotic cheeses. "It's the best cheese. I don't know if you can get it anywhere but France, I've never really looked. It was probably just the circumstances, I don't know, but that cheese totally saved Thanksgiving that year." I grin. "Don't laugh," I tell Clark. "It was probably my best Thanksgiving." I pause. "Until this. I mean that."
"Oh, we're glad to have you, Lois," Martha says. "We hope you can join us again."
I smile. "I might just take you up on that, Martha."
She nods and starts to stand. "Anybody ready for pie?" She catches Clark's eye. "Besides Clark."
Jonathan pushes back from the table. "I'm going to need my traditional Thanksgiving Day nap before I can fit in dessert." He taps his belly with a satisfied smile. "I'm stuffed."
"Mm, that sounds good," Martha sighs, stacking dishes.
"Aw," Clark mock pouts. "I have to wait?"
"Put those dishes down, Martha. Clark and I can do this." I insist, standing. "And have our pie while you relax." Homemade pie! Who gets homemade pie anymore, really?
"Mom? Dad? Lois has an excellent idea." Clark hops up and takes the dishes from his mom. "You guys go take a nap."
I grin. "Yeah, we won't break anything."
"Well, if you insist...I can't turn an offer like that down." Martha looks as pleased as I could have wanted. She slips around the table and takes Jonathan's hand.
I watch them saunter into the living room hand in hand, and see Clark doing the same. He smiles my direction. "I pretty much think 'wow' every time, myself."
I nod. "So. You clear the table, I can start coffee?"
Clark and I start stacking up the dishes, intending to leave them until *after* dessert, but apparently neither of us can put them off. "I don't want the dishes to call to your mother in her sleep," I admit, standing by Clark at the sink.
"They would, too, you know," Clark agrees.
We sit down at the table with half a pie between us. "Silly humans," I say, and the pumpkin is amazing. I don't even *like* pumpkin. "Can't hold their pie." It's not dessert if you don't have it right after, I always say.
Clark's giving me a strange look. "What?" He's not too busy staring at me that he doesn't notice me hogging the pumpkin piece. Our forks clang together as he blocks my way. I like a man who can protect his pie.
"Nothing. I just didn't take you as a...scifi geek." He grins, and I can tell that he chose the term just to be obnoxious.
"Oh, please. If I was stuck in a room with nothing but _Star Trek_ reruns on, once or twice in my life, what does that really mean?"
"_Star Trek_?" Clark repeats, raising his eyebrows.
I smile briefly. "Dubbed in French. With subtitles."
"Ah," he nods, and pushes the last bite of pumpkin at me. I'm not turning *that* down.
"So about your little thankfulness spiel. That was suspiciously sweet and innocuous of you."
He laughs and shakes his head. "No, it was true. Come on, Lois, you remember high school. Wasn't it just last week?" He smirks.
"Ha, ha."
"I'm still figuring stuff out, and my parents are really supportive. I mean, you've seen me when I'm at my worst."
My head instantly flashes me a picture of Clark in all his, well, nakedness. Ah, good times. "Yeah, I've seen you," I answer blithely.
"My parents have dealt with all that and they haven't pushed me. There's a lot I'm still learning. So, yeah, I meant what I said."
I shake my head. "You must be the nicest farmer's son in the entire midwest."
He almost blushes. "I doubt that."
Well, I don't.
"Okay," I say, and drop my fork. "I'm going to have to stop now."
Clark slides his fork under another apple slice. "Can't keep up after all."
"I need to get on the road, actually."
"You're going back tonight?"
"You think I want to stick around Smallville all weekend?" I make a face. "No offense."
"None taken." He smiles at me.
Mrs. Kent, who probably was never really sleeping, catches me gathering up my things. Clark filches my keys and takes them outside to warm the truck for me while I thank Martha, honestly, for a really great Thanksgiving. She asks if I'm hurrying back to Metropolis for the after-Thanksgiving Day shopping. I try not to cringe at the very idea.
It's snowing. Clark is standing by the truck, hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets and his chin tilted toward the sky like a little kid. "Are you sure you should drive back tonight?" he asks. "You could stay."
"Really want me back in your bed, huh, Smallville?"
He rolls his eyes at me and doesn't bother replying. I smile to myself. Okay, so Clark Kent's annoying as hell, but sometimes he's okay to be around. "I'll be fine," I say. "I've got 4-wheel."
"Okay," he shrugs. "Be safe. Hey," his eyes widen. "We forgot your leftovers."
I snort. "Oh, mustn't forget the leftovers. Better go get them."
"I'll be right back."
I nod and turn toward the truck. The snow swirls in a gust of wind. I eye the sky again. It looks relatively clear, and it's not as cold as it could be. The snow is coming down too lightly to last.
"I guess you're right, the roads should be okay," Clark says, surprising me when he opens my door. The cold air hits me bracingly. I think I was about to fall asleep.
"Geez, did you have to go kill another turkey for me?"
Clark hands over a sack that I'm guessing holds enough to feed me for a week. "No," he replies patiently. "I remembered something else I could get you."
"Oh yeah? I hope it's coffee."
He grins and hands me, yes, a travel mug of coffee. "You'll make somebody an excellent wife someday," I tell him.
"Gee, thanks." He hands me a little package that's obviously not homemade.
"Mom usually tries to make our guest's most traditional Thanksgiving dish, but you said there wasn't anything that reminded you of the holidays." He smiles. "Except, I thought maybe...this." He pulls back. "Call when you get home, okay?"
"Yeah," I manage to respond. "Stay warm, Clark." He closes the door gently and moves back to the porch. He waves, so I wave back.
He gave me Camembert. I don't know where he got it, or why the heck he would, but it's like one of those made-for-TV Christmas movies--with the ludicrous heart-warming resolution and me sitting in my car holding French cheese at the end.
I don't bother waiting, even though Clark is still standing there. I bite into the cheese and it's amazing, soft and with a layered flavor. It tastes just like I remember it. But that must be a trick of circumstance, because like I said, one year it was the best thing about my Thanksgiving and this year I guess I'm supposed to remember my life's gotten better.
I can do that, I guess. Clark's okay in small doses, and I'm sure I'll find his porn stash later. The Kents let me in on their Thanksgiving and didn't even mind that I suck at the thankfulness stuff. I put the truck into gear and wave at Clark one last time as I turn a circle in the driveway. This year I'm thankful for cheese, I decide. And mostly, because I don't have to eat it while I'm trapped back in France.
_The End_
My prompt had to do with the Camembert, and I know Clark as it stands now on the show isn't going dashing over to Paris for cheese, not for nothin, but that's why I used Lois POV and fudged the details a little. *shrug* Hope it works.
Oh, I have an outtake! This is the cliche I *almost* put in. Heh. Because I love promoting the insane things that happen in Smallville.
*
I get to the kitchen just in time to see this guy, *holding* the turkey in his arms like a baby, taking off with it. I freak. There is *no* way a thief is getting away with dinner on my watch. "Hey!" I launch myself after him even as he starts trotting down the porch stairs. I'm a pretty good sprinter, and I take his feets out from under him before he hits the ground, sending him sprawling and the turkey launching into the air. The turkey thief grabs my ankle and I side-swipe his chin, probably doing some serious damage, but he doesn't let go. I watch with dread as the turkey makes its graceless leap through the air, and inevitably turns land-bound again. Clark appears out of nowhere and catches it.
I am so relieved. I never would have convinced them this actually happened. "Nice save, Smallville."
Clark looks at me, and raises his eyebrows like he caught me riffling through his room instead of saving his turkey.
"What?"
"Would you like to introduce me?"
I look down at the turkey thief. "You want to let go of my foot before I have to kick you again? Yeah, thanks."
Clark walks toward us and offers him a hand. I'm eying the turkey he's holding in the crook of one arm. If we can get it brushed off and back in the oven soon, it will be like it never happened. "Isn't that hot?"
"Gloves," Clark shrugs.
"Right. Probably not the most sanitary." That's the understatement of the year. I can guess where Clark's work gloves have been. "Maybe we shouldn't tell your mother about this."
Clark ducks his head a little bit and grins. "You don't think she'll notice?"
The turkey thief is brushing himself off from his fall and I turn on him. "How could you seriously steal somebody's Thanksgiving turkey?"
"Dude. It smelled good, okay? I was hungry. Geez, lady. You nearly killed me."
"Geez, *dude*, you nearly ruined dinner. What the hell."
"There was nobody in the kitchen, anyway." He sneers at me accusingly. "How did I know you would even miss it?"
"Are you *serious*?" I stare at him.
"Lois? And where were you?" Clark is not taking this very serious, either.
I squirm a little. "Bathroom break?"
"Uh huh." He turns his attention back to the thief. "Do you live on the far side of town, near the Wild Coyote? I think I've seen you before."
The skinny little turkey thief nods and puts his hands in his pockets. "I've got a poor mother and sisters who need food."
"Oh, give me a break." I can see the writing on the wall. I know where this is going.
"You can't have our turkey, but I'm sure we have some other food we can share."
"Sucker born every minute," I mumble under my breath, and turn to lead the way.
I feel much better once Clark's sent the turkey thief on his way and the turkey is safely back in the oven. We stand looking at it through the oven door. "At least he got one last flight," I say.
Clark snickers. "And you saved dinner. Guess you're not the Grinch after all."
"Right, because the Grinch is Christmas, farmboy." I turn away and smell the turkey in the air. "Now I'm hungry."
*
Later, Lois nearly (briefly) fesses up to Martha, but Clark covers, and it was supposed to sort of add up to the talk about Smallville vs. the crazy French, but meh. Then Martha was going to say something about missing rolls. It just seemed like a weird blip on the plot once I finished the fic.
Just so you know, if it comes down to the line on my Nano word count, I'm totally adding this into the tally.
Edited: Right, so, I said I was locking it and then I forgot. *rolls eyes* Fixed it.