Someone requested a little more fluff n' stuff and here it is. Thanks for the read.
Their first Thanksgiving as a married couple and Lois was a little…nervous. Nervous was definitely the word he used to describe her frantic borderline psychotic behavior to Perry. Instead of them flying out to Smallville this year his mother insisted on visiting the big city. Most likely to make sure he and Lois weren't still living out of boxes and eating off paper plates. It didn't matter to him. Battling as hard as he had for Lois, he'd eat out of his bare hand as long as she picked him every time.
Landing on their balcony Clark could only think about using those hands to hold his wife of two months. With the way today had gone a tiny bit of solace would help tremendously. Opening the door to the apartment Clark caught a billow of smoke face first. Less than a heartbeat later, he was standing behind Lois watching her attempt to maneuver a ham out of the oven all the while grease-laden juices spilled into heated area rewarding her with tiny fires for her effort.
Clark grabbed the hot pan from her hands. For the most illogical reason she'd decided to bake the thing in a much too small cookie sheet, pushing in the sides of the ham to force it to fit the tiny pan.
Sitting the rather pitiful looking entrée on the stove, Clark just had to ask, "Umm Lois what are you doing?"
"Practicing for Thanksgiving," she stated evenly as if it were obvious.
Uneasiness with her response made him rock back on his heels and push his glasses back into place even though he wasn't wearing them, "With six turkeys?"
Taking up every inch of available space several turkeys littered the counters in various stages of torture. One burnt to a crisp surrounded by equally crisp vegetables. Two others looked decent from the outside but a little enhanced vision told him quickly that despite the golden brown exterior they were for all intents and purposes a solid block of turkey flavored ice. She'd attempted to splice two halves from two separate birds into a whole but both halves were still raw in the middle and no one would enjoy eating the raw potatoes around it. The last one, the next victim, Lois tried to make a stuffing for because she'd used up all the vegetables on the five previous failed attempts but Clark was certain she'd added an entire carton of eggs to the mixture because yolk oozed from the interior.
"Yes, I'm trying to decide which recipe I'm going to use. Why don't you change out of your uniform and I'll make you a plate."
"Sure," he responded slowly leaving Lois to her own devices in the kitchen.
Clark took his time changing. Perhaps the extra minutes would make Lois realize that nothing she had in the kitchen was edible. Martha warned him this was coming, some sort of new wife rite of passage or something. He was supposed to eat it, all of it, and tell her how much he appreciated the meal no matter how bad. Lois, his Lois? The one whose answer to "Will you marry me?" was "I'm not domestic Kent. If you're expecting a Smallville kind of wife, I'm sorry."
He'd laughed outright at the new wife warning label but Martha gave him her "mark my words" look, which he should have taken as a foretelling of the end of days. Today was the day. Clark slipped his shirt over his head and looked at himself in the mirror. Why did he feel like he needed to psych himself up for this?
Before he'd fully taken seat, a plate of food was on the table in front of him. A collective offering of everything she'd cooked in the last few hours, a couple of slices of semi raw turkey, a few of the uncooked potatoes, and seared (burnt) green beans. A glob of the dressing she'd hurriedly scooped out of the turkey and tried to nuke in the microwave sat on the side. A bowl of reddish soup made a sudden appearance from the refrigerator and she poured it over the turkey. Cranberry sauce? He couldn't be sure.
Clark waited until she brought her own plate to the table before contemplating taking a bite. Her eyes were hopefully. Regardless of what it tasted like he was determined to find something positive to say. Hesitantly he ate a forkful of the dressing. Suppressing the grimace that nearly followed was harder than fighting all the forces of Apokolips.
"How is it?"
"It is…fine," he replied without actually swallowing the bite.
"Are you sure Kent? Because you're looking a little green," her eyebrows knitted at the hue.
Now he had to swallow it. If he were a lesser man, his eyes might have watered a bit. "Yeah I had a run in with some Kryptonite earlier today, must still be working it out of my system."
That wasn't entirely false. S.T.A.R. Labs needed to run some tests on him, which required using a very small dose of Kryptonite, easily fixed with ten minutes of sun. If he had to finish this entire plate, bumping that number up to thirty wouldn't be a stretch.
"Hmm," she didn't seem to believe him and decided to take a bite of the food for herself. Lois' immediate reaction was to dispel the concoction into her napkin.
"It's fine huh?" she asked wiping her tongue free of the flavor. A tiny smile graced his face before he shook his head no. "What do you really think?"
He stilled for a moment. Lois thought he was going to use some distant trouble as an excuse to fly away and avoid this cooking fiasco completely. Instead, he brought his palms to his eyes shaking his head repeatedly with a groan.
"Lois, it is so bad. I don't think starving people would eat this."
She slapped his arm, "Then why did you let me take bite?"
"I was trying to be supportive," again his finger moved to the bridge of his nose to readjust the non-existent glasses but he stopped short. This was possibly the most anxious he'd ever been around Lois simply because he didn't know how she would react. Martha had given him explicit instructions, which he'd thrown out the window less than ten seconds into the meal and now Lois would make him pay for it.
Lois had an excellent poker face and she enjoyed using every bit of her bluffing power to make Clark shift in his chair uncomfortably but she couldn't help laughing at the sadness of the situation, "We're going to end up having pizzas for Thanksgiving aren't we? What committee got together and decided that a wife should be able to cook for her husband."
"I never asked you to cook for me Lois," he replied grabbing her hand across the table.
"I would like to be able to cook something. Just one thing, that's all I ask one thing."
"Well let's start small," Clark threw a side-glance at the turkey massacre on the counter, "Let's not start with Thanksgiving."
Resting her face in her palms Lois thought about it for several seconds before an idea brightened her face, "I can make you a sandwich. Although, I think we only have peanut butter and jelly."
Clark chuckled at her decision, "And I will eat it."
That answer propelled her from the table faster than he'd ever seen her move. Determined to salvage this most epic of failures. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before shattering glass sounded behind him followed by a barrage of swears.
"Ok so…peanut butter sandwich?"