Who: Regan and Lane What: Lane tries to make Christmas dinner Where: Their apartment When: December 25th Warnings: Excessive cute? And Lane fails at domestication.
Lane might have had an easier time of it if he’d thought to ask when Regan would be getting home from work, but he was going to do his best to put together some sort of Christmas feast for the two of them anyway. Of course, it would also have helped if he had any familiarity with the kitchen, as well. A holiday meal was likely not the best time to start trying to learn to cook, but since he’d already gotten started it was much too late to back out.
For starters, he’d not been entirely sure what you were supposed to make for holidays. He knew it was supposed to be fancier than the normal fare, but to be fair, there wasn’t much that wasn’t fancier than what they’d grown up with. He’d figured that he couldn’t go wrong with turkey (well, except for trying to cook it on his own, that had probably been a bad choice, but at least he’d only gotten a breast since there was no way he and Regan could eat a whole turkey), roast potatoes, and some brussels sprouts, and then cranberry sauce from a can. The sprouts he’d bought frozen, and so the only things he really had to cook were the potatoes and the turkey breast - that couldn’t be too hard, could it?
It was about time for Regan to get back from work, and Lane was staring at the turkey, sitting in its pan on the rack he’d pulled part way out of the oven. The potatoes he’d managed to salvage, he thought, after several attempts. As for the meat... well, he probably should have figured out how to tell if it was done before he got started, because he had absolutely no idea. The bag of brussels sprouts was sitting, melting in a growing puddle on the counter where he’d forgotten it when the first batch of potatoes went up in flames.
At least he couldn’t mess up the cranberry sauce. While some people looked to the holidays as a chance for time off, for the girls at the Red Rat that wasn’t the case. Business was only a little smaller then usual. People still came in, eager for a distraction from their lives whether it be in drinks or someone’s arms. The bar was decorated in enough of a holiday manner to cue some semblance of cheer - the music in the corner consisted mainly of jazzy Christmas tunes while most at least accentuated in red. By the time the evening was over, Regan was glad to shed her costume - more so then usual. She pulled on her sweatsuit, zipped it up to her chin and pulled the hood down low before heading down and out. There were a few tired replies to her well-wishes, as weary as hers were before the door shut behind her and Roger shouted out to keep safe. She wasn’t naive enough to think that the holiday’s meant a mugger would be kind and she tugged her coat about herself tightly.
The few streets were walked in silence - barely a murmured thought passed between Lucy and Regan. The holiday didn’t mean much beyond a cardboard box stuffed into her closet. It wasn’t often that a gift could be procured for Lane and Ting-Yu, but this counted as usefulness. Maybe later that week, if they felt less exhausted and work was slow, they could visit a museum. That was their usual interpretation of a ‘treat’ anyhow.
She made it through the doors with only a hint of trouble - main door froze often and the wind bit at her fingers when digging out her key. The stairs were taken two at a time to keep warm, ignoring the scent of burnt food in the hall - it was constant in this place. Despite the faded wallpaper and stained carpets, Regan still was proud of the place. She all but owned her apartment after all. Blowing on her fingers to get them to cooperate, she tried the key in the door, calling in. “Lane?” The door was open a second later and she slipped in, shutting it behind her. She shook off her hood before looking towards the kitchen - and the disaster therein.
It took her only a moment to realize the smell of burnt food was theirs before she laughed. She tossed her coat onto the couch and wisely decided to keep her boots on before venturing into the kitchen. “Need a little help?” She wasn’t much better when it came to cooking, but she couldn’t not. Lane had wanted to do it himself, ignoring even Ting-yu’s attempts to help, but... he sighed. “I think so. Do you know how to tell if it’s cooked all the way?” Once upon a time, that wouldn’t have mattered so much, but since they could be picky about things like that, he was going to. After all, there wasn’t much worse than getting sick and wasting all the food you’d just eaten.
Then, of course, he remembered that he had in fact left the brussels sprouts out on the counter, and smacked himself in the forehead as he dashed off to fix that. Since even the directions on the bag wouldn’t account for them having been left to sit out for a couple of hours, he just dumped them in a bowl and shoved them into the microwave instead of going through the trouble of reading them. They’d get done eventually, he’d just have to keep checking them to make sure.
That done, he turned to Regan once more and smiled sheepishly. “I probably should have just listened to Ting-yu. She said I should wait for you.” Of course, that had just made him even more determined to do it himself. Regan’s smile hovered between secretive and fondness, refusing to cross over into mockery. She leaned past him at the turkey, sliding to the side as he took care of the frozen package on the counter. Did she know when it was done? “No,” she said, carefully. It looked fairly pink – which on chicken was supposed to be a sign it wasn’t cooked enough. They’d learned that at least. Lucy was little help in this case either. If I’d made it to America… The wistfulness didn’t escape Regan – Lucy often trailed off about that topic and she knew better than to press it. She reached for a pair of tongs lying about from an earlier endeavor, poking at the meat. “It looks at least cooked partially?”
She slid it back into the oven, shutting the door before putting the tongs down. An eyebrow arched at Lane’s sheepishness before she shook her head. “But this way I got a surprise.” One to clean up at the least. It didn’t make her appreciate the attempt at any less. She leaned against a cabinet and crossed her arms, watching the brussel sprouts spin around for a moment. “You too alright?” Lane smiled at her, then went back to staring at the microwave. “We’re fine. Well, mostly fine. It took me a while to figure out how to peel potatoes.” He held up a bandaged thumb to show her, strangely proud of it. Sure, he’d hurt himself, but at least he had figured it out without actually cutting his thumb off. Not the greatest victory in the world, but not bad for a first time.
Asking about work was not a possibility, and Lane really wanted to distract her from his cooking adventures quickly. Obviously the solution was a distraction. “There were Christmas movies on the telly earlier, want me to turn it on while I finish up? You can sit down and I bet it won’t take me much longer.” Maybe. He wasn’t sure exactly how close to being done the turkey was. The Christmas movies weren’t a lie, though; they were the reason he’d gotten distracted and the first attempt at potatoes had gone up in smoke. He’d turned it off after that, because there were only so many times he could stand to hear the smoke detector go off in one day.
Thinking about it, he should probably try to get her out of the kitchen before she noticed he’d taken it down. Waving for her to follow him, he didn’t quite flee the room... but it was close. A part of her, prompted by Lucy more then anything wanted her to reach out and take his hand. He’d gotten injured and round-aboutly, that was her fault but...Regan shook her head, quite literally a moment later. He was proud of it and must be fine. She had enough faith in Lane that if he’d cut off his finger, he’d have called work. Perhaps not a hospital, but work at least so they could find someone to take care of it. Her eyes looked to the sole phone on the wall, which had come with the apartment before offering a smile back. “I’m glad you succeeded.”
There was a slight nose-wrinkle at the television - torn between amusement and wariness about the window to the rest of the world. Regan had never much liked fiction. Too different from the reality she wasn’t able to escape. Still, with that face, she wasn’t going to take a hint. “I can set the table? You did great but I’m starting to feel useless here.” Tone was teasing though and she followed, missing the machinery that wasn’t over-head. Setting the table would also keep her far enough away not to notice, Lane thought, so he nodded eagerly - he didn’t particularly want her out, just didn’t want to worry her. “That’d be great, I did some dishes while you were out, too.” Dishes he could handle. They were easy. “So everything’s clean, we can use the good dishes.” Those being the ones without chips in them, the ones they’d gotten from a real store instead of a thrift store. It seemed pretty fancy to him.
That taken care of, he looked around for a place to hide the offending smoke detector. He’d tucked it securely back on the counter, so it wasn’t immediately noticeable, but if he perhaps shoved it into the pantry instead... he’d have to be sneaky with it. “Hey, do you think if I turn the oven up higher, the turkey will get done sooner? You know, instead of just burning...” He’d learned the hard way that hotter didn’t always mean done faster, having set off the smoke detector their first day in the apartment while trying to use the stove. Cutlery and dishes were kept in a plastic box in the corner, dusted off more regularly then the baseboards. Regan dutifully switched the television on - trying to ignore the black and white screen where people kept pleading for George Bailey - before setting the plastic table in the corner. She’d not seen the film, but the sudden arrival of the voice of God sparked a laugh from the corner of her mind. ‘Unlikely,’ Regan thought back dryly, before edging towards the kitchen again.
A good question. Regan thought about it for a long while, before shrugging. “Can’t see why not, if you hover.” She peered over. “I don’t mind the wait though.” It usually took more time for her to be hungry after an evening. Sure that couldn’t be said the same for Lane - who likely waited longer and was often on a different schedule - but she was trying to comfort the kid here. That did not change the fact that Lane kind of wanted the turkey immediately (Ting-yu’s giggle in his head had him making a face, though at least Regan would know exactly why), but he sighed and resigned himself to waiting a little longer. “It would probably burst into flames if I tried.” Just his luck when it came to food. If he wanted to impress Regan with how mature and good at taking care of himself he was, it was probably a good idea to pretend to be okay with the wait - and, of course, to not catch the kitchen on fire.
Then, because pretending could only go so far, he suggested, “We could start eating the rest before it goes cold.” Logical, right? Nothing to do with how he was starving to death as they spoke.
Being able to joke about it, even in his own head and to Ting-yu’s sigh of Boys, showed how far he was from the streets where that had been a real concern. He smiled, knowing that Regan would need no explanation of that, either. Lucy, not Regan, wanted to tousle his hair for that. He beats himself up too much. Regan tucked her hands into her pockets - ignoring the snort from her headmate - and merely let a slight smile cross her face. ‘Don’t I know it. Never listens either.’ “You’ll get the hang of it one day,” she said out loud.
She pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning on, nodding. “Works for me. I’ll grab the brussels sprouts and cranberry sauce, you take the potatoes?” She walked in, thinking little of it - grabbing the two before turning about. Just as she debated grabbing something to put it down on - sure they only had some rags, but wasn’t that what you were supposed to do? - her eyes caught on a few loose wires in a corner. Regan frowned, putting the brussels sprouts down for a moment to reach for it. It didn’t look like anything she or Lane had about recently...until she lifted it completely.
“Lane?” The question was delicate - not angry, but definitely at a loss. The encouragement was just as good as a pat on the head, as far as Lane was concerned, and he responded by perking up and lifting his chin a little, some of his confidence restored just by that. She was right, he really hadn’t been cooking that lo-
Oh. Lane fidgeted nervously, dropping his gaze down to his toes. “There might have been a little problem. I took care of it, I swear. Nothing really got damaged or hurt or...” She was never going to trust him again. Maybe if the food was good enough. Regan wasn’t displeased. This wasn’t that feeling. And all in all, she’d like to believe she was level-headed. The cranberry sauce went down and she inspected the smoke detector. It gave her a chance to keep her face still and sort out what to do. Times like these made her wish she had some sort of guide. What would a real mother do in this situation? And was she supposed to be a mother or a sister? If anything at all? She grimaced, ever so slightly, before glancing up at the ceiling - seeing what she’d missed before at the empty spot.
“What kind of little problem?” she asked gently. She let a nail tap against the plastic, before taking a deep breath. Giving Lane a long look, she said, “I believe you, but it was up for a reason. I’d rather have a burnt dinner then a burnt Lane. You know?” She knew how he got when he looked like that. There was no creeping around happening this evening. An immediate fix was necessary. A hand went on her hip. “And...as I have no idea how to put it back, I’m leaving it to you.” She glanced at the oven. Adding a before the turkey’s done, just in case did seem to go too far and she pressed her lips together to keep it back. There was no way Lane could look her in the eye. Instead he looked down and a little to the right, inspecting his fingernails much more closely than he really cared to. “I was going to put it back when I was done cooking.” Really, he was. He just wanted to wait until there was no more chance of it going off, that was all.
Shooting a glare at the potatoes - though this particular batch had done nothing to offend him - Lane told her, “I just burned the potatoes and it took too long for the smoke to clear and it wouldn’t stop going off. That’s all. I didn’t catch on fire or anything.” He was a little smarter than that. Maybe. Just a little.
Fine, maybe she was right. “I’ll put it back now.” Even though nothing had really occurred, it didn’t stop the folded feeling in Regan’s chest. She couldn’t ask him to look at her - she didn’t have the will for that kind of authority, nor any good reason beyond she hated seeing him like that. “I believe you,” she said, softly. “But it should have been up before.”
She took the answer for what it was, putting the smoke detector on the counter before returning to her earlier task. Dishes were gathered and carried over, set up before returning back - assuming Lane would be at work on the smoke detector. He could have left the alarm on the counter. Lane didn’t think she’d ask him about it again - he’d said that he would put it back up, and she trusted that he’d do it. He could easily just leave it for later, when he got around to it...
But she trusted that he’d do it. Sighing, he grabbed a chair and climbed up, smoke detector in hand. Maybe the turkey would be done by the time he finished connecting all the wires back.