Okay everyone. This is just a one-shot about Chloe and Derek's Thanksgiving together. Hope you like it. Feedback is good. I'm a little disappointed in this one. It wasn't like I planned it out to be. Just a little info – Derek and Simon are 20, and Chloe and Tori are 19.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Darkest Powers

This is the day I had been looking forward to for months. The day when we could all get together and just be…well, together. It was hard getting everyone in the same room now. Simon is in Chicago working for a local artist in hopes that he will get one of his comics on the market. Tori is in Miami, working at a computer programming company. Derek and I stayed in New York. I'm working for a local director, picking up tips on how to get into the business once I finish college. Derek is working at a researching lab as an intern while he finishes getting him doctorate in genetics. Every year, everyone gets together at Kit's and have Thanksgiving together. But not this year. This year Tori is swamped with work and can't make it. Simon is spending the day with his girlfriend's family. And Kit, like Tori, can't get out of work. So now it's just me and Derek, not that it's a bad thing, but now I'm stuck with all the cooking. I learned early on the cooking is not my specialty, but I'm determined to make this work.

Derek had to go to work for a few hours, so now it's just me alone in the kitchen. Looking around, I took a deep breath as I looked at everything around me. Food was scattered everywhere waiting to be prepared. The turkey was in the oven, so now I had all the little things to make – the stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberries, etc. I, like pretty much everybody, don't see the appeal of cranberries, but Derek actually likes them, so…why not. First, though, I needed to make the dinner rolls so that they would be done when it came time to eat. First I added the dry goods – yeast, salt, sugar. I left the flour for last. Opening the cupboard, I looked up at the top shelf. There on the top shelf, the flour sat mocking me for my shortness. Looking around for something to stand on, I came up short. Sighing, I looked back up. Grabbing the bottom shelf, I lifted myself up onto the counter. Standing up, I grabbed the flour. As I reached to fix the lid, which wasn't on all the way, a voice behind me said, "What are you doing?"

Yelping, I turned towards the voice. As I turned, my foot slipped and I started to fall, the flour flying from my hand. Before I hit the floor, strong arms closed around me, catching me. At the same time, the flour came back down and exploded over me and my savior. Looking up, I started babbling apologies. Above me stood Derek, completely covered in the white flour. He opened his eyes. Looking down at me, he raised his eyebrows in a familiar look which said, "Really?"

"I am so sorry," I said, wiping some of the flour off his face.

"What were you doing?" he asked, ignoring my apology – his way of forgiving me.

"Getting the flour," I said, meekly.

He shook his head, sending flour all over me. "I think you're gonna need more."

Looking around, I started laughing. "Maybe."

Instead of setting me down, he carried me up the stairs to our room. Setting me down on the bed, he removed his flour-filled shirt and shook out the rest of the flour from his hair. Turning around, he walked up to me and reached out his hand, expectant. Grabbing the bottom of my shirt, I hoisted it over my head and handed it to him. He tossed the shirts in the hamper and went to the closet, grabbing two new shirts. Handing me one, he pulled the second over his head. Once I had mine on, he asked, "Do you want help cooking?"

"No," I responded, "I want to do this on my own."

Nodding, he reached out his hand and pulled me to my feet. "I'll be in the office, working."

"Okay," I said.

At the bottom of the stairs, we went our separate ways. When I got into the kitchen, I looked at my flour mess. Walking over to the flour container, I looked in. There was enough. Looking at the flour, I decided to wait until the end, so I could clean everything at once. I finished the bread and put in the oven so it would rise faster.

Continuing on, I make the rest of the food, letting it cook. Looking down at the flour, I decided to start cleanup. I went to the closet and when I grabbed for the broom, the phone rang. Forgetting cleanup, I went to answer it. It was the director I was working for. He wanted to discuss the latest movie that we were working on. Going upstairs, I grabbed the script and sat down on the bed. After a while talking to the director, I lost track of time. When he finally stopped talking, I looked at the clock – 6:45. Gasping, I ran out of the bedroom, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Coughing from the smoke, I ran to the stove and shut of the burners and the oven. Opening the oven door, smoke billowed out, surrounding me. I lifted the lids of the food on the stove, only to be met by burnt sludge. Groaning, I stepped back and covered my face in my hands.

From behind, strong arms encircled me. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he said softly into my ear, "I have an idea."

Half an hour later, I was curled up in Derek's arms on the couch. On the coffee table in front of us lay the empty Chinese food cartons. On the TV was A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Sighing, I leaned back and nestled farther into Derek's arms.

"Well," he said, "What did you think of our first Thanksgiving alone?"

Smiling, I turned my face up to him and said, "Can we do it again next year?"