Hello yes it is I the notoriously overdue chapter. Please be appeased with a lil fluff and a lil comedy and a sprinkling of Petey angst. I love you all and felt you deserved a (albeit late) holiday chapter.
oOoOo
Pietro lifts the lid of the pan and takes a deep sniff. "What is this?"
"Out," Laura orders, bustling over and waving her hands like the busy mother hen that she is. "No noses in pans." Her stomach, festooned in a turkey apron the size of the death star, stared at him cheekily from turkey eyes and feathers. In her hand, she holds a wooden spoon the color of red wine, dyed from the cranberries she's been stirring.
"But what is it?"
"Stuffing."
"Does not look like stuffing to me," he laughs, whisking out of her way to stand at the island.
"Pietro, dear, not in the kitchen," Laura sighs. "Today of all days, at least."
"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "Can I help with this stuffing? Or anything?"
She stares at him for a second, then laughs and runs her fingers through her brown hair streaked with odd strands of gray, leaving trails of flour. "No, just put on some Queen and keep me company."
Leave her alone, Wanda's voice rings through his mind, and he sends her an irritable glance. She sits at the other side of the living room next to Lila, tracing hands and colorful feathers for hand turkeys to decorate the house with. The poor woman is overloaded.
Pietro rolls his eyes and walks—whyyyy must he go so slowww, the world is so slowww—and pops in a CD. Soon enough, the first strains of Don't Stop Me Now, sung in Freddie Mercury's silky voice come wafting out from the speakers. Laura guffaws from the kitchen, and Lila giggles.
"It's Pietro's song!"
Even Wanda can't hold back a smile.
Pietro smirks as he strolls back to the island and takes a seat. He locates a knife and pepper Laura has set out on the counter and sets to chopping it, sticking through the flesh with the blade slowly. Laura hums along to the song as she stirs a different pan than the one he had been so interested in.
"So," Pietro ventures, stabbing a stray pepper seed, "what is Than…Thanksgiving?—Thanksgiving for?"
"Why don't you tell him, Lila," Laura says, not looking up from the stove. "What did you learn in school?"
Lila clears her throat dutifully. "Some Pilgrims went 'cross the ocean 'cause they wanted to pray and they went on a big 'ole flower ship and got sick after they landed on a rock but then they met some Indians who helped 'em stick some corn in holes and everyone got better so they ate turkey." She sticks her tongue out as she glues on a particularly stubborn turkey feather, clearly pleased with herself.
Pietro blinks and swings his gaze back to Laura, who smiles and shrugs. "That about sums it up."
"So, is like Turkey Christmas?" he asks, and Laura snorts, nearly upending the bag of flour she is tapping into the mixture on the stove.
"Minus the presents, you could say."
Digesting this, Pietro pauses before shrugging it off. "So, will you make pirozhki?"
"Make what?"
"Pirozhki."
"I don't know what that is, dear." Laura makes a face as she tests the spoon, then adds a trickle of salt. "Enlighten me."
"Is Sokovian food, like meat and such in pastry." Pietro swirls his knife around in the circle of vegetable clippings on his cutting board. "My mother makes at holidays, sometimes."
Laura pauses in her stirring and looks at him for a second. Suddenly, he can't find it within himself to look at her, because she houses him and feeds him inordinate amounts of food and maybe even loves him a bit, like mothers do, but all he can think about is his mother's hands preparing holiday food and hugging him tight. Against his will, he feels his throat constrict slightly—why is he such a baby? Wanda touches the edges of his mind, feeling his unrest.
She puts down the spoon and steps closer, placing a towel and dish on the counter. Reaching over to his bent head, she runs her fingers through his messy hair, untamed no matter how he tries. "Someday you'll have to teach me," she says gently, and he looks up at her and smiles, his momentary lapse of emotional wall gone.
"Wanda is better than I," he replies.
"I know that feeling," Laura chuckles, and picks up her spoon. "Time was, I could burn a salad."
"Sounds like Pietro," Wanda calls, and Pietro sticks his tongue out at her. They dissolve into banter and swapping stories of cooking escapades and learning about this strange holiday with this strange food, and Pietro finds himself looking forward to tonight.
oOoOo
Pietro skids into the kitchen (with Laura not around, he is free to sneak in as much running as he can) and stops still. In the momentary lull between waiting for that last bit of turkey to cook to perfection and eating, while Laura and Clint converse about food and speak to the aunt and uncle that have come over for dinner, Pietro had come looking to sneak a snack to curb his hunger (the result of his advanced metabolism).
True to form, he finds one—along with mounds of dishes in the sink.
Laura has managed to clean some counters, but the dishes are too much for any one person to handle at this point in time. They are heaped in the sink and surrounding counter, some filled with sticky goop and soaking in hot, soapy water. Pietro stares at them, absentmindedly sticking a carrot in his mouth.
Laura could probably use some help, he decides.
With a snap on the end of the carrot and a crunch, he rolls up the sleeves of his soft flannel and turns on the water, turning it to a comfortable hot before grabbing a plate. Swiping at it with the spongey-stick thing Laura uses, he scrubs it carefully before setting it into the dishwasher. Grab, swipe, set in washer. He sets into a comfortable rhythm, breathily humming a random song under his breath.
He gets through the mountain in the sink and about 30% of the counter next to him when he hears Laura bustle into the kitchen.
"Pietro, what are you doing?!" she exclaims upon seeing him.
"Huh? Just dishes," he says, shrugging with the sponge and accidentally sending a spray of soap across the floor.
"No, no, no, honey. I can do that," she rebuffs him, moving to take the sponge.
"Relax, I've got it," he laughs, keeping it out of her reach. Seeing as she's eight months pregnant and considerably shorter than he, it's not hard.
"I can do these! You go have fun," she argues with him, but she's smiling and obviously pleased that he would think to do this for her.
"No, they are your family here."
"Pietro Maximoff, give me the sponge."
"I can do it, mama," he laughs, and then she goes still—he doesn't realize what he said for a moment before because it felt so natural— and the room goes quiet.
He's not quite sure why he said it—it just kind of slipped out. Sure, he's already been here more than two months, but that doesn't mean she feels like his mother. So why did he say it? He's a little confused and a lot embarrassed, so he decides to just gloss it over.
"I can do it," he repeats in a murmur, and shoots her a smile. It's little, but it lets her know there's no tension connected to his momentary slip-up.
She lets go and mirrors his smile, but it's a little smaller and a little sadder. She rests her hand on his shoulder, then slides it to his back and gives him a hug. Pausing there for a second, he allows himself to press back towards her and feel the warmth of her embrace.
She pulls away and pats his shoulder blade, then exits the kitchen, and his shoulder still tingles where she placed her skin.
She's not his mother—but maybe she could be.
oOoOo
The entire family—and couple—gather around the table, surrounded on all sides by piles of heaped food and drink. Cooper's eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head, and Lila can barely contain herself, she's so excited. The Maximoffs are just trying to keep up with it all.
Clint clears his throat and rubs his hands. "So, I guess—"
Before he can continue, Lila pokes his hand. "Daddy?" she whispers.
Clint raises an eyebrow and looks down, pausing whatever speech he's prepared. Pietro could kiss her. "What is it, pumpkin?"
"Can we eat now?"
Clint laughs and ruffles her already crazy hair, leaving her with more of a bird nest on her head than usual. Cooper looks like he needs to ask the same thing, because if Clint doesn't start some kind of food soon then the kid is going to inhale every pie on the table through his eyes by willpower alone. "Somebody's hungry."
Somebodies, Pietro agrees, and Wanda titters in her mind. He loves making his sister laugh.
"Before we eat, why don't we go around the table and say something we're thankful for, huh?"
The assembled look around at each other before agreeing, and Clint goes first. Pietro agrees with this because it's his idea to do this thing, dammit.
"Uh, I guess I'm pretty thankful for such a great team of people to work with. And my wife." He shoots a goofy, overly lovestruck smile at Laura. "Always my wife." Thankfully, he doesn't mention the elephant in the room of being thankful that he's alive and breathing because Pietro ran in front of a spray of bullets for him. That would just make it awkward—plus Lila, and even Cooper, didn't know the extent to which Pietro nearly died.
"I'm thankful for cars," Cooper says. "And pie."
Succinct.
"I'm thankful for Pietro and Wanda and Lucky and butterflies and Mrs Anderson at school," states Lila very decidedly.
The couple say generic family or work related things, things Pietro is sure always come up at Thanksgiving, and he doesn't really pay attention, but then it's Wanda's turn.
"I am thankful…that we are here," she says simply, and her fingers grasp at his. "Just that we're here."
Pietro rubs her knuckles with his thumb and tries not to think about the feel of her dreams where her grief threatens to rip her apart limb from limb, and instead focuses on the warmth of her skin.
And then he realizes it's his turn.
"Ah…" he stammers. "I am…thankful for…" He tries to think of just one thing to say, because he has so much to be thankful for—his sister, and the Bartons, and the Avengers, and Doctor Cho, and so many people and so many things and just life in general—how can he pick one?
"I'm thankful for my family," he just says, and he doesn't mean just Wanda.
Clint smiles and Laura ducks her head and Wanda squeezes his hand and the guests nod and the kids really aren't paying attention because there's food, and there's so much more he wants to say.
But he doesn't know how.
And now it's Laura's turn, and all eyes turn to their last barrier between them and sweet relief of hunger. One hand on her swollen belly, one hand on Clint's lower back as he holds her tight, she beams at them all.
"I'm thankful for my children." Her gaze sweeps over the Maximoffs and stays with Pietro. "All of them."
He feels Wanda choke up in his mind, and as he eats he knows the warm, warm feeling in his stomach is not just from the mashed potatoes.
oOoOo
There it is, hope you like it. Drop me a review. Many kisses (Many Pietro kisses, hon hon hon).