What do you have to be thankful for?
The whole apartment smells of turkey and pumpkin and it's driving Amy insane. She thinks about taking a walk to get away from it, but the last time she tried Katrina sent her to the store to pick up more cranberry sauce. So she sits at the dining table and switches on her laptop. Katrina's still bustling around the kitchen, stirring things in pots and checking the oven every ten minutes.
Amy's never cooked anything in her life, except maybe brownies, and she gets the feeling that this isn't ordinary for Kat either, given their history of ordering take-out almost every night. But it seems like the thing to do. It's the first Thanksgiving Amy's celebrated since being a rat, and she's pretty sure it's Katrina's first since being dead, so cooking is a natural and un-agreed-upon conclusion.
The laptop hums to life and Amy logs on to her e-mail. No jobs, thank the Gods. Apparently some people have the good sense to forgive and forget on a holiday. There's a message from Michael, wishing her a happy Thanksgiving and asking when she's going to come visit. She knows she's just delaying some mass explosion of angst, but she sends him a "happy Turkey day" and a "soon" anyway.
She reads the latest message from Dad, then deletes it without replying. Still not ready for that. The e-mail from Tucker is short and hostile and filled with such “omgihateyou” sexual tension that she has to laugh and send a snarky note of her own. As she clicks the send button, she glances up at the kitchen. Kat's hair is falling out of a sloppy ponytail, and her face is smudged with flour. She senses the attention and turns a blistering glare on Amy.
"Were you planning on helping sometime this century?"
Amy hides a grin behind her computer and shrugs. "In a minute."
She feels more than sees Katrina roll her eyes. She picks an ordinary Thanksgiving e-card and mass e-mails it to everyone on her list, excluding Dad and Willow, of course. Those are drama-fests better left to Christmas. Then she shuts the computer down and saunters lazily into the kitchen. Wraps her arms around Katrina from behind and kisses the tip of her ear.
"You know," She whispers. "I could just..." Wiggles her fingers in the direction of the pumpkin pie and has them slapped by an annoyed Katrina.
"Nuh-uh. We're doing this the old-fashioned way." Katrina frowns at the slightly blackened pie crust. "Even if it kills us."
Amy shrugs and steps back. She leans against the counter, popping a marshmallow in her mouth. "There's still time you know. You don't have to stay."
Katrina visibly bristles, but her voice is calm. "My family's out of town, and I'd rather be here." She turns and looks at Amy with a perfectly evil smirk. "I don't see you rushing off to be with your father."
"Point taken." Amy smiles and busies herself mashing the potatoes.
When the meal is cooked and eaten, and the important people have been called and wished a happy holiday, Katrina brings two mugs of Egg Nog to the living room, where Amy has turned on the electric fireplace and the Bond marathon. They sit comfortably wrapped up in each other and argue about which Bond was better. Amy thinks that Warren is rubbing off on them both and stops herself before she asks why Katrina isn't actively hating him anymore. It's not as if she can talk, since she hasn't been that angry with Willow lately either.
The nog is done and the stars are coming out. Katrina's falling asleep in Amy's arms and Amy's contemplating another piece of pie when it hits her. It's scary and complicated and she'll spend another three years in a cage before she admits it, but Amy's starting to feel at home here. It's not the apartment, or all the money, or the fact that she's on her own for the first time ever. It's having burnt pie and people to e-mail and Katrina in her arms. It's knowing that childhood friends aren't dead or evil, even if they weren't that way a year ago. It's having friends who used to be supervillains and pretending that she doesn't envy their accomplishments. And it's knowing that Dad and Michael and Willow are still out there, if she ever wants to stop being full of herself and pick up the phone.
Katrina murmurs in her sleep, cuddling closer. Amy kisses her forehead and thinks that this must be what normal feels like. No magic or Slayers or imminent apocalypses. Just a girl, her lover, and a warm place to spend the holidays.
Amy rests her head against Katrina and closes her eyes, savoring the moment. The pie can wait.
Amy's never cooked anything in her life, except maybe brownies, and she gets the feeling that this isn't ordinary for Kat either, given their history of ordering take-out almost every night. But it seems like the thing to do. It's the first Thanksgiving Amy's celebrated since being a rat, and she's pretty sure it's Katrina's first since being dead, so cooking is a natural and un-agreed-upon conclusion.
The laptop hums to life and Amy logs on to her e-mail. No jobs, thank the Gods. Apparently some people have the good sense to forgive and forget on a holiday. There's a message from Michael, wishing her a happy Thanksgiving and asking when she's going to come visit. She knows she's just delaying some mass explosion of angst, but she sends him a "happy Turkey day" and a "soon" anyway.
She reads the latest message from Dad, then deletes it without replying. Still not ready for that. The e-mail from Tucker is short and hostile and filled with such “omgihateyou” sexual tension that she has to laugh and send a snarky note of her own. As she clicks the send button, she glances up at the kitchen. Kat's hair is falling out of a sloppy ponytail, and her face is smudged with flour. She senses the attention and turns a blistering glare on Amy.
"Were you planning on helping sometime this century?"
Amy hides a grin behind her computer and shrugs. "In a minute."
She feels more than sees Katrina roll her eyes. She picks an ordinary Thanksgiving e-card and mass e-mails it to everyone on her list, excluding Dad and Willow, of course. Those are drama-fests better left to Christmas. Then she shuts the computer down and saunters lazily into the kitchen. Wraps her arms around Katrina from behind and kisses the tip of her ear.
"You know," She whispers. "I could just..." Wiggles her fingers in the direction of the pumpkin pie and has them slapped by an annoyed Katrina.
"Nuh-uh. We're doing this the old-fashioned way." Katrina frowns at the slightly blackened pie crust. "Even if it kills us."
Amy shrugs and steps back. She leans against the counter, popping a marshmallow in her mouth. "There's still time you know. You don't have to stay."
Katrina visibly bristles, but her voice is calm. "My family's out of town, and I'd rather be here." She turns and looks at Amy with a perfectly evil smirk. "I don't see you rushing off to be with your father."
"Point taken." Amy smiles and busies herself mashing the potatoes.
When the meal is cooked and eaten, and the important people have been called and wished a happy holiday, Katrina brings two mugs of Egg Nog to the living room, where Amy has turned on the electric fireplace and the Bond marathon. They sit comfortably wrapped up in each other and argue about which Bond was better. Amy thinks that Warren is rubbing off on them both and stops herself before she asks why Katrina isn't actively hating him anymore. It's not as if she can talk, since she hasn't been that angry with Willow lately either.
The nog is done and the stars are coming out. Katrina's falling asleep in Amy's arms and Amy's contemplating another piece of pie when it hits her. It's scary and complicated and she'll spend another three years in a cage before she admits it, but Amy's starting to feel at home here. It's not the apartment, or all the money, or the fact that she's on her own for the first time ever. It's having burnt pie and people to e-mail and Katrina in her arms. It's knowing that childhood friends aren't dead or evil, even if they weren't that way a year ago. It's having friends who used to be supervillains and pretending that she doesn't envy their accomplishments. And it's knowing that Dad and Michael and Willow are still out there, if she ever wants to stop being full of herself and pick up the phone.
Katrina murmurs in her sleep, cuddling closer. Amy kisses her forehead and thinks that this must be what normal feels like. No magic or Slayers or imminent apocalypses. Just a girl, her lover, and a warm place to spend the holidays.
Amy rests her head against Katrina and closes her eyes, savoring the moment. The pie can wait.