A/N: I am British and therefore have no idea what the American equivalent of Top of the Pops is - I went with MTV? As always, very happy to receive comments, and hope you enjoy!
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"Do you celebrate thanksgiving?" Paul is writing a shopping list at the table as Emma watches TV nearby. It's been over a year since she's been here and they'd passed thanksgiving the first time around with no celebration, but its coming back around and he's feeling festive.
"Celebrate the erasure of another culture and the colonisation of a community that wasn't ours to take?" Emma says without taking her eyes off the screen.
Paul pauses, not sure how to answer that.
"I'm kidding, Paul." She laughs. "Well, it is kinda messed up, but that isn't on you."
He blushes. "You sure?" He raises his eyebrows. "You don't know what I'd be up to if I wasn't here. Maybe I'm secretly the next Christopher Columbus."
"Apologies, sir." Emma puts on a terrible British accent. "What foreign land are we to conquer next?"
Paul tries but he can't keep a straight face. "Hmm, what about Clivesdale? Not too far to go, the journey would be brief!"
"F**k Clivesdale!" Emma laughs in her normal voice.
"F**k 'em." Paul grins back. He picks his pencil back up, twirls it between his fingers. "Still, though..."
"We can have a turkey day." Emma throws him a bone. "If that's what you're asking."
"It is." He smiles, and it makes her spirit lift. He has a beautiful smile, and she spends more and more of her time these days trying to get him to show it.
"We could ask for a turkey? Is that too much?"
"If we don't ask for eggs this week..."
"Done. The turkey'll last the whole week anyway, probably. So it's worth the trade."
"Think we can get sugar again? You can make cookies."
"I can? Thanks for your contribution, Miss Perkins."
"Please, those pancakes that you made last month were better than anything I've ever produced."
"I've had a lot of practice."
"Baking?"
"Baking with minimal resources in a confined space."
She's glad he can joke about it - she's not sure she's there yet. They finish their list for the week and are extra quiet when Nick comes that night, handing him the list as though it's nothing out of the ordinary and thanking him as they always do.
They wait and wait and then the next evening, he returns with a paper bag of groceries. He pulls out bread, carrots, sugar, eggs and-
Emma has to look away to hide her smile. She catches Paul beaming out of the corner of her eye; a thanksgiving turkey sits on the table, small but enough. Something good - those things are few and far between these days.
"Thank you." Emma squeaks. They still have butter and potatoes from last week, and she thinks they can figure out some sort of caramelised carrots with the sugar; they can have a proper thanksgiving meal!
"You're welcome." Nick grunts. "You guys celebrating?"
Paul senses the tone of his voice, sees a spark of suspicion in his narrowed eyes. "Just wanted to try something new." He shrugs. "Maybe one day I could cook for you." He feels his stomach churning at the thought; if he had his way he'd never even be in the same room as this man. But he knows that this is what he has to say, for him and Emma to pull this off, and it works. Nick plants a clumsy kiss on his cheek, and smirks.
"That sounds wonderful. But I'd rather not eat in here." He says pointedly, as if it's their fault the place is cramped and dirty. Then he collects up the empty packaging from the shopping, anything he deems had better not be left in with them, before leaving them to their night.
...
They put MTV on and dance to cheesy pop music as they work, chopping vegetables and laying the table. Paul tears a sheet of paper out of their notepad and makes little labels with their names on, places them opposite one another as if a seating plan is necessary and its not just the two of them with two chairs. Emma draws a turkey on another sheet and scrawls a message on the other side: Happy Thanksgiving, Paul! I know we don't have a lot to be thankful for, but I for one am thankful for you.
When he's finished cooking she hands it to him bashfully, turns the TV down as they take their seats. She isn't sure what to do with herself as he reads, and she's even more bewildered when he looks up at her with shining eyes.
"I'm grateful for you too, Em." He gazes at her and she stares back, watching the colour in his eyes shimmer. He shakes his head a little and the moment slips away. "Well, we'd better not let the food get cold. Enjoy!"
They dig in and it's fantastic - he really is a good cook. They talk all night and start to act a little tipsy, despite both having been sober for months, and when it becomes too dark for the bedside lamp light to reach them at the table, they move to the bed and sit there instead. Paul reaches out for her hand at some point, painfully slowly and tense, and she takes it in her own, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. They don't mention it, but neither of them pull away either. It really wouldn't hurt if they lay together for a while, Emma thinks to herself giddily, happier than she has been in over a year, and they fall asleep that way.
...