"Easy, my foot," Jim mumbled as he cleaned up the newest mess in a series of messes he'd been making all morning. "Damned recipe says it's "Easy Thanksgiving Turkey". Talk about your misnomer." He chuckled. "Misnomer." He murmured to himself, "Been hanging out with Sandburg too long. Stupid big words."
Jim had been struggling with a traditional Thanksgiving dinner all morning long. He had a handle on the mashed potatoes, and even the stuffing was manageable. But, yams? 'How the hell do you make yams?' He had asked himself, and, after three sticky pans of burnt offerings had been dumped into the trash, he thought, 'Who the hell would WANT to make yams.' He tried one more time, but figured that Sandburg would just have to do without yams this year.
Hours later, he loaded up a 'golden brown' turkey, (which, if he was honest with himself, was really closer to a cocoa color), mashed potatoes that could have doubled as wallpaper paste, and stuffing balls that could be considered deadly weapons if they were thrown at anyone. There was no gravy because Jim couldn't coax it out of the skillet it had congealed in. There were no yams (and Jim made a mental note that he had to buy new baking pans), and there was no green bean casserole, though there was a mushy mess in the trashcan that had once professed to be such.
Simon picked Jim up and helped him load up the truck and they set off to the hospital.
"Hey Chief," Jim smiled as entered Blair's hospital room. "Since you couldn't make Thanksgiving dinner this year, we thought we'd bring it to you."
"Though if you actually eat any of it, you'll probably lengthen your hospital stay," Simon warned.
Blair smiled from the bed. "You made Thanksgiving dinner, Jim?"
"That largely depends on your definition," Simon muttered again.
"Simon, if I didn't still have my hands full of all this stuff…" Jim started.
"Why do you think I'm saying it NOW?" Simon smiled.
Jim rolled his eyes, "Where do you want all this, Chief?"
Blair gestured with the arm that wasn't in a cast. "Maybe the bed tray over there?"
Simon cleared off the pitcher and magazine that currently rested on the table, and then pulled it over to the bed. He then emptied the box Jim was holding and set the offerings on the tray table.
As Blair got his first real look at "Thanksgiving Dinner", his smile got even wider. "I can tell you made this yourself, Jim. No already cooked dinner for you." Blair inclined his bed a little more, taking care of his broken ribs.
"Well, I'm leaving the clean-up for you to help with when you get home." Jim chuckled.
"I'll help you out there, Sandburg," Simon smiled. "I'll call the Red Cross. They're used to dealing with disaster areas."
"Har har." Jim deadpanned.
"Really, Jim," Blair beamed, "This is really great. I really appreciate it. This is the best Thanksgiving meal I can remember."
"Boy, Sandburg," Simon grinned, "You sure are easy to please."
Blair just beamed even broader, while Jim attempted to the carve the turkey and Simon wondered aloud at just how hard he'd have to throw the stuffing balls to bring down a perp as he stuffed one in his pocket.