Thanksgiving Fiasco
By Doctor Wolfe
"Remind me why you're doing this again?" The Master groaned balefully, crossing his arms.
The Doctor looked at him. "Does one need an answer?" he asked, smiling. "I just do things because I can." He turned his back to the other Time Lord, addressing the TARDIS's other occupants. "Besides, it'll be fun! Right, Rory? Amy?" They both nodded enthusiastically. If possible, his grin grew even wider. "Thanksgiving on the TARDIS… I've always wanted to do that!"
The Master was not impressed. "Oh the mighty dimwit Doctor, a tool to the winds of fancy," The Time Lord rolled his eyes. "I'll be in my room, bashing my head repeatedly against the wall if anyone needs me," He muttered, making to leave the room.
Unfortunately for him, the Doctor wasn't going to give up his holiday that easily. The Master found his path blocked by the tweed-coated idiot. A low growl built in his throat. "Move," He snarled dangerously.
The Doctor, of course, did not seem to notice how close to an untimely death he was. "Not until you say yes."
"No!" The Master snapped, shoving past him angrily. He slipped out the door and disappeared into the corridors.
"Spoil sport!" The Doctor called after the other Time Lord.
The muffled syllables of what sounded like several alien curse words floated back along the hall to him.
The Doctor stuck out his tongue, even though its intended target was nowhere in sight.
Amy looked at Rory, rolling her eyes. "Awe, come on, Doctor. Who needs old Misery Mouth anyways?"
The Doctor whirled around, giving her a nod. "Right you are, Amy." The grin again lit his face. "Come on Ponds! To the Kitchen!"
Thirty minutes later Amy began to question if this had been such a good idea in the first place. It was apparent no one knew what they were doing when the Doctor had come up to her with the question, "So, em, Amy… What does a turkey look like again?"
She had stared at him, speechless.
"Amy?" he watched her, growing concern framing his face. "What is it?
"You want to cook Thanksgiving dinner, and you don't know what… a turkey… looks like?" She managed after a full minute of silence.
The Doctor fidgeted, looking away. "Erm, yes, well, it has been a few centuries, Amy." He mumbled defensively. "How am I supposed to remember everything?"
Across the kitchen, Rory listened to their conversation with growing interest, a bemused look on his face as he watched Amy attempt to demonstrate the Thanksgiving bird.
"A turkey is a bird about this big," She gestured, "With, em, tall tail feathers that fan out like a peacock's, but not as pretty. And it has a big, red…thing hanging from the bottom of its beak. And…it gobbles!" Here she made the most absurd noise the Time Lord had ever heard. "Like that."
The Doctor eyed her as if she had grown two heads. "Amy…"
"You wanted to know, space-boy," She cut him off, cheeks flushing slightly.
Rory sniggered.
"Well, Amy," The Doctor said, "Did I mention that I was looking for a frozen turkey in the freezer?"
"What?" She nearly shouted.
"But I'm sure, with your description, it won't be hard to miss," The Doctor continued, quailing slightly. "I'll just go and"—
"No, Doctor," Amy grit out slowly. "How 'bout someone else takes care of the turkey, and you help with the…" She scanned the spacious kitchen for something to occupy her friend. Her eyes lit up when she spotted them in a corner of the room. "Potatoes. You can boil the potatoes." She gave him an encouraging grin that was more for her benefit than his. "And Rory can do the stuffing… and I'll do the pies. Americans do pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving."
Relieved to have that mess sorted, the travelers headed to their new tasks: Rory to the dicing board, Amy to the pantry for canned pumpkin (no way was she going to carve a pumpkin and seed it by hand), and the Doctor to the potatoes, a concentrated look on his face as he tried to remember if he had ever done something like this before.
Rory ran a hand across his brow, a paring knife loosely clutched in his other hand. He had never realized how much work chopping vegetables was. The people on the cooking shows had always made it seem easy. But he wasn't about to complain to Amy. He had seen the way the ginger-haired companion had dealt with the Doctor when the hapless Time Lord had tried to dip his finger in the pumpkin pie filling. No matter how much he loved his wife, Rory would always be slightly afraid of her.
A flicker of movement in the corner of his vision drew the companion's eyes to the doorway. To his surprise, he saw the Master, half-hidden in the shadows of the entryway. Even in the dimness, Rory could make out the Time Lord's customary scowl.
The Doctor noticed the eavesdropper seconds later. "Ah, Master, Finally decided to join us, have you?" He said, and Rory could have sworn he saw a flash of smugness flicker across the Time Lord's face.
The look of death the Master gave him could have killed an army of Daleks. "No, you prawn. I'm only here because your godforsaken ship thinks it's funny to let me walk in circles while she hides all the rooms," He said sullenly.
"Oi! No disrespecting my ship!" The Doctor admonished, smirking.
The Master stiffened, eyes narrowing. His hands tightened into fists at his sides. Anyone could tell he was seconds from violence. "You…"
But before he could continue, Amy appeared in front of him, holding a large bowl. "Here," she said, shoving it at him.
Taken by surprise, the Master felt his hands wrap around the bowl. He stared at its contents, which looked to be a rather unappetizing mix of cornbread and vegetables. "What's this for?" He asked her, wrinkling his nose.
"Stuffing. You take it and spoon it into the turkey," Amy supplied.
"So?" The Master shrugged. "What's that got to do with me?"
The Scottish time traveler gave him a world-weary look. "Take the spoon here," She said slowly, as if to a child, "and use it to move the stuffing from the bowl to the turkey. And after you're done, you can chop onions for the casserole."
The Master stared at her. "But I"—he began, only to be cut off.
"Just do it, Master," Amy said, obviously not intimidated by the blonde alien.
The Master found he really didn't like it when the ginger human used his name. The Time Lord glared at her. "Don't tell me what to do!" He snapped—but for some reason he found himself moving to do what she asked.
And so activity resumed in the kitchen…
The Master held his knife in a death grip, his knuckles turning white from the force. Squinting his eyes nearly shut, he tried to see the reason for his discomfort—a large, partially sliced white onion. He wiped his eyes with one arm, stabbing his weapon viciously into the cursed thing. "Die, you blasted creature," He muttered, remembering the good old days of his evil reign.
Rory, who had been working alongside the mastermind, shot him an alarmed look. The look quickly turned from one of alarm to amusement when he saw the Time Lord's face. But he didn't dare laugh—after all, the Master was holding a knife, and really didn't bode well with jokes at his expense.
But the Master's expression was almost comical. His face was red and his eyes squeezed almost shut, tears dripping down his cheeks. And all the while he tried to uphold a menacing glare on… an onion.
"Master? Having a bit of a problem?" The Doctor said as he passed, smirking.
"Shut up!" The Time Lord answered, rubbing his face furiously. "It's not funny!"
"I'm sorry. Please don't cry," The Doctor chortled.
"Argh!" The Master screamed. "I'm not crying you twit! Just shut up!"
Amy giggled behind her hand.
The Master shot her a glare. "Why don't you chop the bloody onions!" He shouted, dropping the knife, "'Cos I bloody won't!" He stumbled over to the kitchen table, flinging himself into one of the chairs.
Thankfully no one said anything else about it after that, and the Master gradually felt his vision returning. And his sense of smell. The Master wrinkled his nose as the acrid smell of something burning hit his senses. Gagging slightly, the Time Lord surreptitiously searched for the source of the fumes. A groan rose in his throat when he spotted the Doctor's pot of potatoes, smoke spilling out from under the lid.
The Master rolled his eyes. Idiot.
Briefly he wondered if he should say something about the oncoming disaster, but after a moment, he decided against it. Besides, he was still mad at the others. It would serve the Doctor right to lose his precious potatoes.
The Master leaned against the table, waiting for the show…
Amy coughed, becoming aware of the fact that the air seemed thick and smoggish. "Doctor," She asked, "Do you smell something burning?"
The Doctor shook his head. "No, not particularly. I"—He stopped, his eyes widening in realization. "My potatoes!" He exclaimed, leaping towards the smoking pot. "Noooooo!"
After switching off the stove, and accidentally setting off the smoke detector, the Doctor took in the remains of his Thanksgiving mash. "It's ruined," He stated dejectedly.
"Oh, don't worry, Doctor," Amy said, attempting to lighten the mood, "I'm sure if we pick off the bad bits the rest will be alright."
"Yeah," The Master snorted, "Except after you pick off the bad bits there won't be anything left."
"Ever the optimist, are we, Master?" Amy said sarcastically.
The Master quirked his head to the side as if contemplating her words. "Nah," He answered after a moment, "I like to think of myself as an honest man."
Everyone snorted at this statement.
"Um, guys?" Rory said suddenly, "Don't mean to interrupt, but I can't help but notice that we neglected to put the turkey in the oven." He nodded to the uncooked fowl that had sat unmoving through all the action.
"Ah." The Doctor began. "Well, I guess I'll go and"—
"No!" Three voices shouted at him in unison.
"We mean, Doctor, why doesn't someone else do it for a change, eh?" Amy suggested sweetly. "You've already helped so much, and"—
"She means ruined so much," The Master supplied, only to be silenced by a withering look from the red-haired scot. He looked at her sullenly. "It's true."
"I could do it," Rory suggested.
"No, I'll do it," The Master spoke up, surprising them all. Including himself, he realized. He wracked his mind for the reason why he'd said anything, but found nothing at all.
"Oh, really?" Amy asked suspiciously. "You'll do it, just like that?"
"Yeah," The Master shot back, "I think I will. Now why don't you and your boyfriend go set the table or something, and let the real professional do his work." He waved them away with his hands.
Amy sighed, not entirely convinced, but left the Time Lord alone.
As an afterthought, the Master added, "And maybe you should take the Doctor. Among the three of you, you might figure out your left from right!"
Once they had gone the Master turned to the work at hand. Tentatively he reached out a hand and poked a pale wing-tip with his finger, curling his lip in disgust. He backed up, giving it a cursory glance. Several minutes passed, until the Master allowed himself to realize the truth.
He had no idea on earth (or anywhere else, for that matter) how to cook a turkey.
Turning to the bag for his much needed answers, The Master read the cooking instructions. "350 degrees Fahrenheit for… six hours! That's rubbish! Who would wait six hours for a stupid earth bird?"
Disgustedly, he threw the plastic away. It would obviously be of no use to him.
The Master reached into his hoodie pocket. He was going to cook the turkey the Master way…
They were in the TARDIS dining room, looking at the assortment of dishes the group had prepared. There was Amy's pumpkin pie on one side, along with the casserole and the Doctor's messed potatoes. Rory had even seen to it that they a bowl of cranberry sauce. Everything was in place, with the exception of two very important items: The Master… and the turkey. It had been almost five minutes since the bad tempered Time Lord had shouted to them that their main course was ready, and now the Doctor was beginning to wonder if something was seriously wrong.
Well, technically, he was always worrying if something was wrong when the Master was around. When one knew an evil mastermind, it was better to be safe than sorry.
The Doctor's train of thought was interrupted by the sound of doors being flung open, accompanied by the softer sound of footsteps.
In slunk the Master. A small silver plate balanced on his upturned palm. With a careless air, the Time Lord dropped the platter in the centre of the table, before pulling out an empty chair and slouching into it.
Amy was the first to break the silence. "What the heck is that?" She said, gesturing with her finger.
"The turkey, stupid," The Master muttered, not looking up.
In a way he was right. It was quite possible that the thing sitting on the table before them had once been a turkey. But now it was mutilated beyond recognition. The skin was cracked and burnt, an odd grayish tint running throughout the meat. Little wrinkles had appeared all over the body, but it was the size that was the most disgruntling. The turkey had shrunk to one fourth its original size. It now sat comfortably on a small dinner plate, the very picture of a Thanksgiving horror story.
A small smile touched the Doctor's lips as he realized what had happened. This spread into a full out grin when he began to laugh.
Amy and Rory stared at him in bewilderment, not quite sure what was so funny.
"Stop it, you idiot!" The Master snapped.
But the Doctor found he really couldn't. "You… you decided to cook the turkey with your screwdriver?" he chuckled.
"Yeah, well it wasn't like I was going to sit around and wait six hours," The Master protested. "Besides, I was bored," He sniffed, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
The Doctor's laugh was contagious, and at this last statement, the other were swept up by his amusement. Even the Master seemed less sour, a genuine smile crossing his face.
The Doctor grinned, looking at his friends. It didn't matter if most of the food had gone wrong. It was being together that was important to him, and even if it meant that the potatoes were black, and the turkey shriveled, he wouldn't change anything for the world.
Happy Thanksgiving!