Overcooked Spaghetti, an Austin & Ally oneshot

Disclaimer: I do not own Austin & Ally or Rugrats. This one is in response to Pottergirl1 requesting Rugrats and Christmas Cake (Buche de Noel). As always, requests and reviews are always appreciated!

That's the fun of it Chuckie. You never know what you're going to get until you get it. -Tommy Pickles

There's always that moment, right before it happens. That one moment where you start to second guess yourself and think you've gone terribly wrong. He clenches his fist.

They're in the practice room, which is covered in balloons. The balloons are scattered across the floor. He sidesteps one on his way over to her.

"Happy birthday Ally." She's sitting at the piano bench. He's the last to go. He'd like to think that it's because they saved the best for last, but he knows it's because he's been sitting in the background. Sitting, worried that she won't like his gift. "Close your eyes."

"Um, okay." She does as she is told.

"Now hold out your hand," he orders. He doesn't mean for his voice to shake, but she hears the nerves.

It makes her think twice. "Austin, what are you doing?"

"Do you trust me?" She nods her head. "Then hold out your hand."

She tentatively sticks it out. The chain is cold against her palm. Her eyes open.

There sits a guitar pick necklace, adorned with a fat letter A. A for Austin. As in, Austin claims this girl to be his own, forever and always.

"A for Ally?" she asks, holding the necklace up to the light. He takes it from her.

Stepping behind her, he unclasps it. She can't see his face, but Dez and Trish can.

And on it is the biggest look of disappointment they've ever seen.

He strings it around her neck.

"How do I look?" she asks.


Absolutely perfect.

Angel, when you don't share, well, it...it won't look good on the application for Harvard. -Charlotte Pickles

Dez had a problem.

It'd been a month since Hostess closed, and he'd blown through his stash of Ho Hos.

He was hungry. He really wanted a Ho Ho. He really really wanted a Ho Ho.

So when he was picking up some groceries for his mother and he passed what looked like a giant Ho Ho, he neglected all responsibility and bought it.

Now he's in Sonic Boom. He bumps into Austin, whose stomach is rumbling as he waits for Ally to go on break.

"Are you going to eat that entire Yule Log by yourself?" There's only a slice or two left, the majority already eaten.

"It's not a log, it's a giant Ho Ho." He says through a mouthful of cake.

Ally grimaces. "Actually Dez, it's a Buche de Noel. Not a Ho Ho. Hostess closed last month."

She had been so disappointed. Ever since kindergarten she packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Wonder bread for lunch. Now she had to break tradition.

And stepping out of her comfort zone was not her specialty.

Even if it was just bread.

Austin has a fork now, and the two of them are barely taking time to breathe between bites. Her stomach rumbles.

"Can I have a bite?" She has another fifteen minutes until her dad comes in to relieve her, but no customers are around. Surely she has time for one bite.

Austin swallows. "Sorry Ally. There's none left."

Dez is licking the plate. She cannot believe they ate all of it and didn't share.

Well, not all of it.

She stands on the tips of her toes. Reaching up, she swipes the last crumb from Austin's lip. She pops it in her mouth.


Austin chokes on his cake. That last bite, the one the crumb had escaped from, catches in his throat. He coughs, and his face turns red.

Whether it be from the pain or him blushing is yet to be determined.

He's blaming it on the cake.

She's in the shower. She says she has to wash away the stench of failure. -Angelica Pickles

She should not have said yes. She should not have said yes, gone shopping for a new outfit with Trish and showed up at his doorstop that afternoon.

She had been waiting for it forever. And when it finally happened, all she realized was how much of forever she had wasted.

For being such a cute guy, Dallas sure was boring.

She had arrived at his house for lunch. At first, she had been pretty nervous. Her words were mixing up in ways they shouldn't. But soon she found that she could relax.

Having her mouth full of overcooked spaghetti helped keep her quiet.

He had made it himself, and when he had asked how it was, not wanting to hurt his feelings she hummed in reply, mouth full of food.

And then when he had asked if she was enjoying herself, she hummed again. Truth be told, she was writing lyrics in her head. Here she was on the date she had waited forever for. Writing lyrics. For her platonic best friend. While sitting across from her non-platonic crush, eating his overcooked spaghetti.

She was starting to think it might be the opposite.

She faked a phone call. She told him Trish had called, saying it was an emergency. He told her he understood.

How could he understand? She had lied right to his face and he didn't even notice.

Austin can always tell when she lies.

She's in the shower when she hears a knock at the door.

"Trish, I said you didn't have to come over. I'm perfectly fine," she says, scrubbing the shampoo deeper into her scalp.

"That's funny. Because Trish called me, saying how you were definitely not fine and how you were going to take a shower to, how'd she put it? Oh yeah, 'rid yourself of the failure oozing off of you.'" Austin leans against the bathroom door, sliding down to the ground.

She gasps. Here he is, outside her door. And she's in the shower.

Thank goodness he knocked.

"Hold on." She rinses her hair. Shutting the faucet off, she wraps herself in a towel.

He waits patiently as she gets dressed and brushes her hair. She raps her knuckles on her side of the door. Austin moves as the door opens. She slips through the crack, taking a seat next to him.

He wraps his arms around her. Her hair is sopping wet, dripping on him.

He finds he couldn't care less.

"Austin, I'm getting you all wet."

"You're upset." He smooths her hair down.

She concedes and sticks her head in his chest. "I had thought he was the one. The one I'd end up with. But he's just the boring one that looks cute and overcooks spaghetti."

Austin chuckles and she can feel the vibrations under her head.

"You can do so much better than him Ally. You deserve someone who loves you, and makes you laugh, and makes you properly cooked spaghetti." She looks up at him. The look on his face is so serious, and despite the wisecrack about spaghetti, it's one of the sweetest things she's ever heard.

They stay on the floor until he has to leave. He doesn't want to, but his parents call, and they say he needs to get home to finish his math homework.

He does this, and then pulls a pot out of the cupboard.

Austin Moon is learning to cook spaghetti.

This place gives me the juice bumps. -Chuckie Finster

It's a chilly day. They're talking in the hallway, and Austin can't help but notice Ally shivering. She's wearing a tank top. The weather man said it was going to be warm today.

The weather man lied.

He sets his books on the bench beside him. He unzips his sweatshirt, taking it off.

"I booked Austin for the Valentine's dance," Trish comments. She expects him to jump for joy. He's normally excited to learn about gigs.

Instead, he's draping his sweatshirt over her shoulders, pulling the hood over her head. "You looked cold."

"Come on Dez. We don't want to be late for lunch. It's Taco Tuesday," she entices him. Anything to get him to finally make a move.

"Taco Tuesday? I love Taco Tuesday!" He runs off, and Trish follows, shaking her head.

Austin looks back to Ally. He takes her books and sets them on the bench with his. He holds out the sleeve.

Her arm slides in. "Thanks."

He slides the other arm in and zips her up.

"Well, you looked cold."

"You already said that."

"Oops." He flips the hood back up, noticing she had taken it down. He kisses the tip of her nose. He flips it back down.

She smiles at him. "We should get to lunch."

He grabs her hand. It's hard to find under the long sleeves.

"In a minute."

He waits until the hall clears out. He knows he's jeopardizing his chance at tacos, but some things are more important. They push aside their books and sit on the bench.

"Ally, would you like to come over for spaghetti tonight?"

'You deserve someone who loves you, and makes you laugh, and makes you properly cooked spaghetti.' His words echo in her head.

"I'd love to."

I thought you'd like to hear from your fans. -Betty Deville

When Jimmy asks Austin if he'd like to participate in a private concert for charity, it sounds like a good idea.

It's when he's playing for a dozen teenage girls that he starts to second guess himself. He's used to fans.

These girls take it to the next level.

He blew his nose in a tissue, and they fought over it.

The tissue. Not his nose. Though it wouldn't have surprised him if they fought over that too.

Two marriage proposals and one pair of scissors aimed at his hair. These girls were absolutely insane.

He's glad when it's over. All he wants to do is grab Ally and curl up with her and a stack of pancakes. But he promised Miami Beat he'd do an interview after the concert and he has to wait.

They ask him the usual questions. He tells them about how he's recording for his next album.

It gets down to the final question.

"So Austin, what do you think makes the perfect girl?" The reporter poises her pencil over her notepad.

He leans forward in his chair. "You see that girl over there, in the knit vest and red dress?"

The reporter turns to see Ally standing by the doorway. She waves. The reporter waves back.

"What about her?"

"She's the perfect girl."

The reporter scribbles something down. "Have you told her?"

He grins. "Every day. Doesn't mean she'll believe me."

The reporter looks back at her again.

"What's her name?"

"You can call her Ally. I'll just call her mine."

'Cause girls are good and boys are bad, naughty babies. -Lil Deville

There is nothing more boring than first period study hall. All his homework is already done, as his parents wont let him go out before finishing it, and he has to be quiet. Not one peep.

He fishes around in his folder for a piece of paper. He takes out an old math worksheet. He flips it over, writing a note on the back.

Ally's reading a book when the paper football slides onto her desk.

Austin motions her to open it. She does.

'Hi Ally. I love you.'

She looks up at the teacher. He's grading papers, so she writes him back.

'Hi. I love you too.'

She knows she shouldn't pick her book back up. This has been happening since they started their senior year. He's going to write her again, and she won't get to read her book.

It's been sixteen study halls since she started this book, and she's on page five.

'I hear they've made spaghetti for lunch today.'

Still on page five.

She dogears her page.

When they're leaving study hall, she drops the note into her bag. She'll put it with the others when she gets home. They're all together, little triangles, folded and numbered in a shoebox in her room.

"You almost got caught today."

"Psh. The teacher likes me."

They reach his locker. "You're such a bad boy."

"You love it." He has to go right, and her left, so he pulls her in for a quick kiss.

"I know." She slaps his butt and walks away.

Ally Dawson can be a bad girl too.

It's nice to make new friends, even if you knew them for seventy six years. -Grandpa Lou

She comes into the room to find him sitting cross-legged atop the piano. His eyes are closed.

Nobody else is in the practice room, but he's speaking. It's unclear as to whom. She starts to back out of the room.

"I want to grow old with you. Even if I lose my hair, and my mind, and I have to fall in love with you all over again. I want to make music. I want to disagree and argue until my throat goes sore. I promise that I will always love you, even if I won't always like you."

Ally creeps in again, being careful not to make any noise. She sits on the piano bench.

It's at that point she sees the box in his hand. He's still talking, but she's too busy studying the box. It's small. It's velvet.

"Ally Dawson, will you marry me?"

It's hers.


His eyes shoot open. There she is, sitting right under him as he practices his proposal.

"You weren't supposed to hear that!" He rubs the back of his neck. "At least, not yet anyway."

The box gets set down. She stands, and he hops off the piano.

"Sorry. Do you want me to go away and come back later when you're ready?" She takes a step closer to him, showing how she'd rather it play out.

He follows her example. "You already said yes."

She kisses him.

A fishbowl? There's no fish in that thing Lillian.- Phil Deville

They're making breakfast in their kitchen when she leans over the trash can and hurls. He runs from the stove to hold her hair.

"Ally, are you okay?" She stands. He hands her a napkin to wipe her face. They'd only been home a week since the tour ended, and she was sick. He hoped she hadn't caught anything while on the road.

"I'm fine. Just morning sickness." The eggs are burning. Grabbing the spatula, she turns them.

He takes two plates from the cupboard. "Morning sickness. I thought only pregnant-" His words cut off.

"Only pregnant what?" She piles eggs onto his plate, trying to hide her smile. She fails miserably.

He lifts her in the air and spins her around.

"Congratulations. You're going to be a daddy," she says from her point in the air. He sets her down. "I was going to tell you sooner, but I didn't want to distract you while you were on tour."

He runs his hand along her stomach. It's so exciting. There's a baby in her, and it belongs to him. Well, them.

Then reality hits him.

"Ally, I couldn't even take care of Nemo." He points to the empty fishbowl by the sink.

"Trust me Austin. If the baby gets hungry, it will scream. You will not forget to feed it." She takes a seat at the table.

The toaster pops, and he butters the toast. "I guess you're right."

He places the toast in front of her. She takes a piece and pushes the other away.

"You're going to be a great dad. I promise." She reaches her arms up and wraps them around him.

He's pretty sure she'll make a great parent too.

It's 4:00 in the morning. Why on earth are you making chocolate pudding? -Didi Pickles

He's fast asleep, an arm slung across her growing belly.

Or he was, until she pokes him in the side and wakes him up.

"Ally?" he sleepily asks, tugging her closer. "What's wrong?"

"I'm hungry." If any, that was one thing being pregnant had done. With her belly, her appetite had grown, rivaling her husband's.

He releases her and flops on his back. "For?"

He's accustomed to her cravings by now. He's got it down to a science. The cupboard is stocked with jars of pickles. The freezer is full of Fruity Mint Swirl.

"Chocolate pudding." She sits up and pushes the covers away.

"No, you stay here. I'll go get it." He climbs out of bed.

Once in the kitchen, he comes the terrible conclusion that there is no chocolate pudding in the house. There is vanilla, however, and he tracks down half a Hershey bar.

"Maybe if I melt the chocolate, I can just mix it in," he reasons. It's too early for the grocery store to be open. He's going to have to make do.

He sticks the chocolate bar a microwave cup.

Two minutes later, the smell of burnt chocolate wafts down the hallway.

"Austin?" She waddles into the kitchen.

"I can explain." He sets the cup in the sink, filling it with water. She spies the pudding cup and peels back the lid.

She licks it. "There was no chocolate pudding in the house?"

He scrubs at the burnt chocolate. It doesn't budge.

"How'd you know?" She takes the sponge from his hand.

"Call it a hunch."

He hands her a spoon.

He cannot wait for these cravings to end.

Deed, she's so beautiful. She's...she's a boy? -Stu Pickles

He's painting the rocking chair in the backyard. He's making the back slats like a piano. The baby's room is almost finished. Music notes painted along the walls, a crib set it the window opposite the changing table, and Dougie the dolphin waiting for his new play friend.

She's sitting on the back step. Her knitting needles are finishing the pink blanket she's making for her daughter.

A needle clanks on the ground.

"Austin?" she cries.


"It's time."

He drops his brush and rushes over. "But you're not due for another week."

She leans forward and grabs him by the shirt collar. She yanks him toward her.

"It's time," she repeats.

He springs up, running to the house door.

"I'll go get the keys." He takes out his phone to call Trish.

Three minutes later they're pulling out of the driveway.

Thirteen minutes later he pulls into the parking lot.

Thirty minutes later Trish and Dez show up.

Thirty more minutes later she's telling him how much she hates him.

He knows it's not true.

Because when she delivers the baby, she gleams at him and tells him how much she loves him and their newborn child.

"What are you going to name him?" she's asked.

"Him?" She had been told she was having a girl.

She shares a look with Austin.

"Looks like I'll need to knit another blanket."

Kids are supposed to smell. It's the way of the world. -Grandpa Boris

Having a kid isn't easy.

It's tiring, and stinky, and time consuming.

But it's days at the beach, and coming home from recording sessions to the two most beautiful faces on the planet.

He's changed the baby, and they've put him to bed, covering him and Dougie with the blue blanket.

She's snuggled into his side. They're comfortable, if not exhausted.

That's when he hears the cry.

"He has some powerful lungs," he jokes, unwinding himself.

"He takes after his dad." She kisses his cheek and gets up.

They go to his room. He picks the baby out of the crib and rocks him back and forth, singing a lullaby.

She watches. "Told you you'd be a great dad."

There was that moment. That one moment where he thought there was no way she'd like him. That moment where he took the chance anyway, and asked her over for spaghetti. That moment where she said yes, and tugged on the strings of the hoodie she was wearing. His hoodie.

He looks at the bundle of joy in his arms.

How could he have second guessed this, thought it was wrong?

There wasn't anything more right in the world.