The aromas drifting from the kitchen were driving nearly everyone crazy. Kitty, Skeeter and Rogue were assigned to monitor the doorways and keep anyone else from wandering in and getting in the way as Helena directed the traffic inside.
She and Bobby were cheerfully pulling turkeys out of the ovens and setting them out to cool a bit as Taymor, Michi and Lauralee each worked at a side dish station and Oliver put the last touches on the relish trays. The scents of roast turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, peas, gravy and pie mingled in the air and everyone seemed to be chattering cheerfully.
"We need more celery," Oliver announced.
Michi finished dabbing butter on the baby peas and came to help him. Bobby checked on the tray of extra drumsticks and gave a thumbs up to Helena, who was whisking cornstarch into the vat of gravy. "They're just about ready . . . how many should we set out?"
"Eight," Helena murmured. "Those with the six off the turkeys should be enough for anyone who wants one. Taymor, how are the potatoes?"
"Really hot," the boy groused, waving burned fingers. "All three of the bowls are full though."
"Good, go wash your hands, sweetie and let our door people start pouring drinks at the table. And thank you," Helena added with a smile. "I know your potatoes are going to be fantastic."
Bobby quickly laid out the drumsticks in an artistic circle on one of the china platters, adding a few bits of parsley for garnish, and then grinned at Helena. "I know, I know--nobody will ever eat the green stuff, but it looks nice."
"Presentation," Helena smirked. "Good to go in the next ten minutes?" She gave the gravy a last, quick stir.
"We're good," Bobby assured her.
The dining room of the school had been cleaned and set up with the long table in the center. The formal linen tablecloth and bone china were heirlooms from the Xavier family, but the crystal candleholders came from Storm, and Helena had made the centerpiece of Indian corn, small pumpkins and dried leaves. Now that the doors were open, people were wandering in and finding their seats as Rogue and Kitty filled glasses with water, milk, or sparkling cider.
Charles rolled in and took his place at the head of the table, breathing in deeply. "I think we have much to be thankful for today," he announced, and people around him nodded or made soft sounds of agreement as they began to sit down. Lucy came in, quiet and uncertain; Oliver guided her by hand to a seat along the middle of the table and helped her sit.
"I made the olives and pickles plates," he told her earnestly. "Are you going to have some?"
"Yes," she assured Oliver with a nod. "I will."
Gradually everyone came to the table, filling it as the first of the food began the relay from the kitchen. By the time Helena and Bobby made it out, flushed and smiling, everyone was seated.
Even Logan, who had managed to find a clean flannel shirt.
Storm sat at the foot of the table, and when everyone fell silent, Charles murmured a soft blessing, his strong voice carrying the words through the room.
"Brethren, we who are gathered here today are grateful for the many blessings we share among us, and hope to use this bounty of food and friendship to nourish our hopes, dreams and destinies. Amen."
There was a soft murmur, and then Logan raised his glass, face somber. Everyone looked at him; he sighed. "To the absent."
Wordlessly everyone picked up their glasses as well, raising them in a silent and acknowledging toast.
After that, the eating began in earnest, and all around the table came the happy chatter of requests and compliments and general sounds of gustatory approval. Dishes were passed around, along with baskets of rolls and various condiments. Lucy helped herself to what appealed and ate heartily, going pink whenever she looked across the table and caught Hank's warm gaze on her.
Afterwards, she helped with the dishes, and then made her way out to the garden, sighing contentedly. Most of the students were napping, gaming or watching football on television; the atmosphere of the entire school was replete with sense of satisfaction.
It was colder now, as the sun slipped down behind the tall trees, and Lucy could see her breath in a pale, frosty plume. She knew she should go in, but the air felt good, and she lingered a while longer, smiling to herself.
Lucy had woken alone that morning to find three origami cranes on the pillow beside her, and unfolded them to find Hank had written her love poems inside each one. Such sweetness was hard to resist, although the two of them had agreed to be discreet about their new relationship. They'd made it a point to stand apart, sit apart, talk to other people all through dinner, and now she was resenting it a little.
It didn't seem fair to be happy and have to keep it secret, she pouted to herself, and then laughed softly, thinking that particular complaint summed up a lot of things. She turned and began to stand when a familiar scent reached her, making her smile.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Hank requested formally, his voice deep.
Lucy shot him a sidelong look. "Are your intentions pure?"
"Absolutely not," Hank assured her, moving to stand a little behind her as they both looked out over the garden. Helena had tilled most of it over, but there were a few late squash and carrots still visible among the dead leaves and vines. Lucy leaned back against him, feeling warm radiate from Hank through his jacket.
"I thought you were a gentleman."
"Oftimes I am, but there are given situations when social convention can go take a flying leap," Hank replied, lightly stroking her arms. "I suspect that shift correlates directly to our physical proximity."
"Mmmm. Well I suppose this means I'll have to reconsider the offer I was going to make," Lucy replied softly. "Since I wouldn't want to be accused of encouraging unbecoming conduct among the faculty here."
"Ah, but free speech is a right, and even a duty, my dear," Hank murmured in his most coaxing tone. "You have the freedom to speak your mind and make whatever proposition you wish; believe me, I'm all yours."
"Peach pie. In bed."
Hank gave a low groan, and his hands gripped Lucy's shoulders. "That's an excellent suggestion, and I will go so far as to expound it with the preposition 'off of your nummy-num chest' as well. Ohhhhmy. I think I've just set a personal best in erectional responses with that one."
"I'll say," Lucy snorted, starting forward a tiny bit. "I've just been goosed by a redwood."
"Flattery as well—you are batting a thousand tonight, Doctor San Marcos," Hank purred, the sound morphing into a deep laugh. Lucy leaned back again, slipping a hand behind her for some surreptitious groping. It seemed to go over well, given the heavy throbbing against her palm.
"I thought that as an athlete, you'd want to abstain from anything . . . strenuous the night before a major game," Lucy mused, finally turning to face Hank.
He gave her a glance of dry amusement. "Do you seriously believe that I believe in that old wives' tale? Psychologically, it's more advantageous for an athlete to be . . . relaxed . . . before competition."
"Far be it for me to hold you back from your best game," Lucy replied. "Although I suspect it's just an excuse for pie and cuddling."
"You're new to the staff; I feel personally responsible for your well-being and motivation," Hank assured her. "Further, by engaging in activities that promote pleasure and relaxation, it insures the positive attitude of two fellow players for the price of one, and strengthens deeper relations between them."
"Debate team?" Lucy asked, looping her arm through his and walking with Hank back into the building.
"Captain," he confirmed. "I earned the reputation of being irrefutable all through my academic years."
"I'm starting to see that."
*** *** ***
The day was overcast, and the distant smell of snow hung in the air. Helena whipped up batches of homemade waffles, setting out syrup, powdered sugar, butter and various chunky jams out to feed the competitors.
By eleven, the two teams had converged on the field of battle, more commonly known as the long green lawn on the west side of the mansion. The student team had opted to wear various shades of red, ranging from Oliver's brick knit sweater through Bobby's scarlet hoodie, while the faculty had gone with blue.
Charles settled for his usual black turtleneck to avoid any favoritism, and off on the sidelines, Helena was wrapped up in her long, plaid cape, pacing anxiously. She tried not to worry; nobody was going to get injured . . . she hoped. It was difficult to stay still though, and she looked at her fellow audience, which consisted of the stitched-up Rogue in a lawn chair, and several interested squirrels peeping through the hedges.
"Eight against four; doesn't seem fair, does it?" Rogue murmured, trying not to grin. "The kids are gonna get creamed."
"Probably," Helena agreed, looking out where Logan and Storm were talking quietly. Storm wore an aqua track suit; Logan had settled for jeans and a sleeveless dark blue undershirt despite the chill.
"Think the doc will be any good?" Rogue asked. "Because even if she was allowed to use it, scent power isn't gonna help a whole lot out on the field."
Helena shrugged. "She looks pretty fit, and willing to try, so I guess we'll see. I just don't want anyone to get hurt."
"Amen to that," Rogue agreed, touching her head lightly.
Charles laid out the ground rules in his best elocution, keeping it short. "Students are permitted to use both their enabled abilities and physical skills to move the ball towards their end zone and to prevent the opposing team from scoring. Faculty are permitted to use their physical skills only to move the ball towards their end zone."
"Stacking the deck," Logan grumbled, mostly for show. He flexed his shoulders against the chill and stared hard at the students.
"We'll see," Bobby shot back, shifting his weight from one hip to the other. "How long?"
"Four quarters," Charles told everyone. "Just as in a typical game for football. Team captains . . . ."
Hank and Bobby came forward, locking gazes in the mock-ferocity of adversaries playing up their competition for an amused audience.
"You are going down Blue," Bobby tried to sound menacing.
"I assure you, Robert, you will have ample time to rue that fallacy while your team helps you collect all your molars and incisors from this lawn," Hank growled back, baring his fangs.
Bobby had trouble keeping a straight face, but he raised his hands in a clear taunt, daring Hank to bring it on. Charles held out a coin, seemingly unperturbed by the trash talk in front of him.
"Heads," Bobby called, and Charles flipped it.
It landed tails, and Hank gave a smile promising no good to his opponent. "Fortune favors the bold."
"Yeah, yeah; we'll see if Virgil applies," Bobby snorted, and walked back to his team while Hank returned the coin to Charles before loping off to his side of the field.
The staff grabbed an early lead; Hank and Logan took turns quarterbacking, and Storm proved herself lithe and agile as a wide receiver, weaving through the student defensive line time and time again. She had trouble with Desmond's stretching ability, but since he was still under a hundred pounds, breaking his grabs didn't take much.
Lucy did well as a pass receiver too, managing both quick runs and a talent at avoiding tackles. She had her hair in braids, and her pale blue sweatshirt had a logo for a brand of cough syrup on it; clearly a gift from some pharmacy rep.
By halftime the score was fifty-six to twenty-one, in favor of the faculty.
It was only in the third quarter that the students began to strategize their abilities and things took a slightly more comical turn. Bobby had been conventionally quarterbacking, and was using both Lauralee and Kitty for his receivers primarily, but managed a good quarterback sneak by slipping the ball to Oliver, who went invisible and simply walked to the end zone, leaving a huge and confused pile-up of players behind him.
Later, when the staff had possession of the ball again, Michi tripped up Wolverine with her earthmoving powers, creating man-sized potholes. She stripped him of the ball for a turnover and dashed to the end zone with it.
"I've heard of kicking up the turf, but this is nuts," he complained loudly as he made a show of pulling himself out of the pit and glaring the girl's way.
Michi merely grinned at him, her braces glittering in the light. "I'm sorry you are an old person and cannot jump, Mr. Logan."
He gnashed his teeth as Storm unsuccessfully tried to hide a snicker, and Hank cleared his throat.
"Old person?" Logan growled.
"At least she didn't refer to you as a senior citizen . . . which chronologically, you are," Storm murmured as they took their stances to receive the ball. "Extremely."
Logan's glare shifted to his team mate. "Yeah, I'm old enough to get you downfield pronto, weather witch. Let's go—"
Storm snagged the kick and Logan snagged her, spinning to launch her over the heads of the startled students. She sailed skyward, biting her lip as the arc of his throw brought her down again, the grass looming quickly, however she stopped inches from the ground and dropped a second later, the momentum considerably cushioned.
"Penalty!" Bobby insisted. "She used her powers to buffer herself!"
"She did not," Charles assured them. "I invoked the imminent harm clause and stopped her myself. The goal stands."
"You did know Charles would do that, right?" Lucy asked Logan. He arched an eyebrow and said nothing, but his smirk towards Storm, who was trotting back was slightly gleeful.
"Nice flight," he told her, "youngster."
Storm shot him a dry look. "Never EVER do that again."
Logan shrugged, teeth glinting white. "Sure. Not until we're tied, anyway."
Lucy stood downfield, ready to kick the ball away. She held it out, but Taymor flew at her in a quick, fierce dart, and Lucy gave a little yell of surprise, buckling to the ground.
Instantly a roar echoed over the field, vibrating in the air as Hank bounded over, hurdling above the heads of his team mates and opponents, the sound of his reaction so potent that Oliver nearly wet his pants, while Michi and Lauralee clutched each other in alarm. Taymor cried out, rolling himself into a ball, clutching his head protectively against the rush of blue furry fury headed his way.
"DON'TKILLMEMR.'COY!!" he yelled, his voice squeaky.
Hank scooped him up and gave a massive, sorrowful sigh. Carefully he reached an arm down to help Lucy to her feet, then cleared his throat in embarrassment.
Since the field had gone completely silent, everyone heard his chagrined words. "I . . . apologize sincerely, Taymor. That was very much an overreaction on my part and I did not intend to strike so much . . . terror . . . in you. But we must be careful with Doctor San Marcos—she has a weak ankle, and it would not do to injure it further."
"Yessir!" Taymor blurted. "Gotcha!"
Hank set him down gently. "Lucy, are you all right?" he asked, his voice lower.
She gave Hank a curt nod, and then turned to Taymor. "My ankle's fine. Doctor McCoy is a great big mother HEN and he needs to remember it's just a game."
Suitably chastised, Hank sighed again, his ears drooping a bit.
Bobby came up and cuffed his shoulder, grinning. "You get points for best Game Face ever. Okay, shall we get back to playing?"
The match continued, and after several more creative touchdowns from the students, it ended in their victory, sixty-three to fifty-nine. Afterwards, everyone shook hands, and Taymor made it a point to hug Hank, who accepted it gratefully.
Helena ordered everyone to clean up immediately before the turkey enchilada brunch, buffet style in the recreation room. She headed in to make sure everything was set up, grateful that the game had ended so successfully and with no bloodshed—
This time.