ᴇʀɪᴋ (metalize) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-09-06 15:51:00 |
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This kitchen was a mess and that was an understatement. But in prep for Rosh Hashanah, Erik fully expected such things - it was a time for introspection, a time for good deeds, a time for reflecting on any past mistakes and making amends for them, if at all possible. Mostly, however, he thought of Peter - that’s where the focus of Erik’s reflections were, good and bad. He was someone who loved deeply, in many different ways - his love for his children, it was difficult to classify or quantify. A snug quilt on a freezing cold Monday morning - or perhaps it was just simply home. Perhaps it was enough, wherever he was - whether they were in the same universe or far apart; he could only hope that Peter was alright and that their world wasn’t too unkind. Vallo could also be unkind but in a different way - a way that had felt like shards of glass in the skin. He couldn’t be too distracted with it all, however - he concentrated on weaving together something meaningful for the Jewish New Year, something for the family and something he’d have shared with Peter if he were still here. There were standard dishes he made, of course - kugel and simmering on the stove was a giant pot of chicken noodle soup, which gave off the aroma of lunchtime on Sundays and was perfectly comforting; he also had an apple cake cooling on the counter but the biggest part of this whole adventure was the pierogi dough. So much of it, and so much filling - cream cheese, salt, onion, pepper, and all those mashed potatoes. Two bowls, one with dough and one with the filling, plus a large section of space that was lightly floured for rolling things out - there were biscuit cutters and another pot of boiling water, so essentially the only thing left to do was assemble these delights. “Alright - “ He placed his hands on his hips, apron on, shirt sleeves rolled up and ready to make some sense of the chaos. “Which do you want to do?” he asked Tommy, the official Helper (what were grandchildren for, if not kitchen duty?). “Cut the dough and stuff the pierogi, or sauté them once they’re done boiling?” Holidays were weird. At least, Tommy thought so. Growing up they hadn't been much of anything. Holidays were left to people who had good and homely families to celebrate with. And Tommy was lucky if he didn't argue and slam doors with Mary and Frank. That was his threshold for successful holidays. But then the Kaplans came along, and Tommy found out that there was a way to have a good time and eat a shitton more food. He could power through the religious stuff more or less. But he had remembered more of the holidays than he liked to admit, and when he heard his granddad from another universe was hosting, Tommy was undoubtedly going to say yes. There were very few people who actually understood what Tommy meant when he said he ate a lot, and Erik was definitely one on a very short list. Except Tommy should have known better. He had to help make the food he was going to eat. He stared down at the ingredients and the boiling pot of water, and tried to reason out what would do the least damage. Sauteing risked ruining the food, so—"I'm gonna cut and stuff. They don't have to look presentable, right? We're not secretly on some Gordon Ramsey chef show where people are gonna judge on plating, because I'm telling you right now, I have zero cooking skill. You should see the latkes I had to help with during Hanukkah one year." Okay, maybe not. He had unintentionally made some of them look inappropriately shaped and only Billy and Teddy caught on after half of them had been eaten. It did not surprise Erik in the slightest that Tommy didn’t exactly produce artistic latkes - the deep, rich brown color and the kind that held together and didn’t break apart. By now, Erik was an expert at them but they did take practice. He chuckled fondly, grabbing some oil to use for the sauté pan - it was big enough to hold a lot of pierogi, but he would still be here to remind Tommy that they didn’t need to go at the speed of light with the assembly. Otherwise the kitchen would be overrun with boiled dough and while maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, it would likely just end up in some kind of comedy routine. “I’ll definitely be putting you in charge of latkes for Hanukkah, then,” he quipped, turning on the griddle. “But no, nothing fancy is required for pierogi. Here, I’ll show you - “ He rolled out dough, cut a piece, and stuffed it with filling - the edges were then sealed with the press of a fork, and he dropped the perfectly shaped wonder into the boiling water. “I’ll take them out when they’re done and go from there.” So it did require some finesse - just nothing on Gordon Ramsey level. With a slotted spoon, he scooped out the pierogi he’d made in demonstration. In a few moments they’d have an assembly line going, or at least, that was the goal. “You’ve been doing alright?” he asked then, glancing at Tommy. “I was worried about you and Billy before.” For once in his entire life, Tommy slowed down long enough to pay attention. He watched how Erik stuffed and rolled the pierogi like a goddamn pro, and Tommy tried not to look shocked. But he went from suspiciously eying the boiling water to crowding a bit into the cooking space to watch. He could do this. Maybe. Possibly. He determinedly grabbed for the dough, rolled out a piece—a little too oddly shaped and not quite even—but it was his first one, sheesh. But doing it at normal speed felt like it would take five hundred years before he'd get to eat any. Tommy overstuffed the dough and continued. His next one would be better. "You were?" Tommy asked, sounding surprised. Not because Erik wouldn't have been worried, Tommy just wasn't used to people giving a shit about him in general. Billy was forced to because they were related. Even having Wanda around was strange—it was his mom, but not his mom. Family was so weird, feelings were even weirder. "I mean, of course you were, you old timers freak out about everything." Tommy paused, mid-stuffing of a pierogi, and slowly turned his head to squint over at his grandad. "Are you alright?" It wouldn’t be a setup bonding experience if Tommy didn’t remind him how old he was - Erik smirked, poking pierogi in the pan. That sizzle and snap, pop of oil was comforting for some reason - and maybe it also had a lot to do with the sweet moment of having a grandkid in the kitchen with him; yes, he believed Tommy was sweet in his own way. And he was funny - Erik had to admit it. “Of course I was worried. What would I do without you?” he asked rhetorically. And he hoped that he would never have to find out, not anytime soon. “I’m alright though. I kept busy with Anna - we helped where a lot of the magical wards failed, and then we were there during the very last battle. Neither of us were injured badly.” Actually, neither of them had been injured at all - he may have stubbed a toe or jammed a finger, but nothing like what others experienced. Just a few bumps and bruises, a cut here and there. He’d certainly had worse. “You’ll have to catch me up on your life too, I hope you know. That’s part of the reason I wanted you to help me with this.” Ah, yes, ulterior motives - the cat was out of the bag now. Tommy was going to sneak a pierogi, he could be there and back within a blink, already swallowing it down before Erik even knew he had done it. But the question what would I do without you? stopped him short. Like someone pressed a pause button on Tommy. "I don't know? No one really asked me that before? I mean Billy does when he's pissed at me that I make fun of his cosplays and tell him he's a nerd but like, not real-real questions." Tommy folded and stuffed another passable pierogi. Maybe by the time they were done cooking, no one would know he was in charge of the filling. He had to just refrain from sticking his fingers into the food and eating it before it was cooked. "You'd manage okay? You've been through like so much shit—stuff, shit. I'm saying shit, you can withstand everything. Everyone in this family is a stone cold badass helping with wards and battles and everything, except Billy, but every family has a black sheep." He didn't want to sound like he needed anyone, but it was obvious through these last couple of months that Tommy had needed everyone he interacted with. Everyone who was part of his family and not. Alternate universes notwithstanding. He was almost excited to hear that Erik wanted to know about his personal life, like a parent would. Grandparent, in this case. "See, I'm on to you, grandpa," Tommy said, passing over a pierogi, this one almost falling apart but it had the right shape. "I'll catch you up. But you can't, like, pinch my cheeks or be like ooooh that's so cute." “I can’t?” Erik pretended to be disappointed by this, taking the questionably-stuffed pierogi (well, it...had character, he would say that much). There were a few more in the boiling water, ones that Tommy had diligently jammed filling into, and they floated to the top like fluffy white clouds. Those were then placed into the pan for a good sauté as well - he now had a few complete pierogi resting on paper towels for draining so he’d just keep going. They were making good progress. And like how Tommy resisted the urge to scarf a done pierogi, Erik resisted the urge to pinch his grandson’s cheeks. Though he likely wouldn’t do that anyway - even Anka Irene was not apt to appreciate such things. “Alright, I’ll do my best - go on and tell me, then. Every little detail. Does it involve going on dates?” Was love in the air for his favorite grandchild? Well. Billy was his favorite too. Erik supposed it was about equal (considering they were the only ones in existence that he knew of). Tommy held up a finger and took a step back. "You can't, I'm warning you. If you get anywhere near my cheeks I'm gonna—something, I'm gonna something that I haven't figured out yet. And you won't like it." Tommy sounded mostly threatening, but then he also realized he was pretty much threatening Magneto, and he could already hear Billy in the back of his head telling him to be nice or he'll squash you. Tommy just had to figure out how far he could push this family thing. He rolled a few more pierogies as his face scrunched up, sourly. Did Tommy have much of a love life to discuss? Did he even have one here? It was all weird and nebulous, and he hadn't thought much about it outside of other people's relationships. His mom was dating the Sorcerer Supreme and Billy, future Sorcerer Supreme in his world, was dating an alien space royalty. Clearly you had to have magic or be a master sautér of food and omega mutant to land someone. Tommy had neither and was neither. "Of course you want to know about details and dates. Everyone does. There's not really details or dates. I don't know, it's not like a priority or anything? I'm not really great at the dating stuff anyway." He thought of Kate, then of David. What a mess. "I need someone that can keep up or, like, not worry about my weird family." Tommy paused, glanced at Erik then back to the dough. "You know what I mean. We're all freaking weirdos, and Billy is like another level." Yes, he knew what you meant, Tommy. No offense taken - there had been worse terms used to describe Erik, and he was sure that he deserved at least some of them. “It doesn’t have to be a priority,” he said simply - and that was true. “I’m sure you’re better at it than you think. Perhaps I’m biased, but you have a lot to offer some lucky person.” It was also probably easier to date in a world like this - to some degree, anyway? Granted, the whole ‘this could all be gone in the blink of an eye’ aspect was a daunting hurdle to cross - and Erik himself had waffled about it for some time, especially since he knew Rogue had lost versions of him before - but it wasn’t insurmountable. Once you decided to grasp tightly to what you could have, to take a risk that felt like the descent of a heart-stopping rollercoaster ride, then all you had to do was hold on. He admired the people who truly went for it - but if someone didn’t want to, that was fine too. “What else then? If not dating?” he wanted to know, taking one of the completed pierogi and offering that one to Tommy to taste test. Quality control, right? They had to make sure these weren’t poisoned. (He would never, but that wasn’t the point). Tommy eagerly stuffed the offered pierogi into his mouth. He wasn't actually starving but he sure acted like it. And if it was a little hot and burning his mouth—but holy shit, so good—he wasn't going to admit that he should have blown on it first. He chewed through the delicious pain. This may have caused him to stuff and roll the dough a little faster. "Uh, I run mail for people? Package delivery? Food delivery? People really like their pizza and their crab rangoon. I bet you could make a literal killing doing pierogi delivery. But I kind of like it just being a us thing. Then I can brag to everyone that we had pierogies and no one else in the city can compare, obviously." When he put it all down there like that, Tommy realized he wasn't doing much of anything. Being a superhero in New York and then in space was his full time job. Filling his days now in Vallo was more difficult. Oh god, he might even consider going back to school. To learn things. No no, nope. His eyes went wide and then he started working with far more precision than his earlier attempts. "What have you been doing? You know, like I tell you something, you tell me something, and that's how this works," Tommy said, then went quietly for a moment, listening to the sizzle of the pan before adding, "I'm sorry about Uncle Pete, by the way. I know you guys were close and he'd probably be making food here too. You'd have the fastest kitchen ever." Erik smiled a bit, something calm like the moon itself - it was something relatively new for him since he’d gone through such a long period of turmoil and now with a son and a grandson who vibrated with energy most everyday, it was amazing Erik had ever learned to stop and smell the figurative roses. “Thank you,” he said, wiping his hands off on a dish towel to start with the next batch of pierogi. “I’ll miss him - is that silly? That I haven’t really been doing much besides wallowing? Not too badly, of course. I still have both jobs and it’s not as if I can check out, for Anka Irene’s sake - but I haven’t really been able to figure out that he’s not here anymore.” He still found himself wishing he could text Peter, or call him, or go to one of his Fight Club matches - not to mention he’d been so close to finally deciding on something worthwhile to do in terms of work, and he would have made a wonderful music teacher. He was so good with Anka Irene too. Then - vanished. Just like that. “Pierogi helps though,” Erik added. “We can definitely keep it between us. You’re doing an A+ job with the stuffing.” "Nah, it's not silly," Tommy answered easily. There were plenty of people that came and went in his life. There were days that he missed some more than others. And given where he was from, some people didn't always stay dead and gone. Some people were just part of histories that got altered, or lived in a time stream. He'd see them again someday. Tommy was trying to figure out the best way to explain that to Erik, but he wasn't an ideas guy, he was just the doing guy. So what he said instead was, "Shit works out for a reason. I know people are like blah blah blah, that's crap, and like dude, I know it is. But there's also some truth to it, so that's why people say it. So you can wallow, be sad and shit, he's your kid. You're allowed to miss him and you'll see him again. Remember we're a family of weirdos and badasses. Ultimate combo." He paused his little rant and shrugged. Like it was no big deal. He never tried to console an adult before, but he wanted to try with Erik. It made the most sense. "Or I don't know, don't listen to me? Just keep telling me how good my stuffing skills are," Tommy said, smiling his own little shithead grin as he rolled another A+ pierogi." A family of weirdos and badassess - that made Erik smile too, but it was less sad. Something that showed all of his teeth, one of those rare diamond smiles, because he hadn’t been expecting that. “Well, I can’t argue with your sound logic,” he agreed easily enough. “And I know that the me back home - and the him back home - will eventually cross paths anyway.” Peter had tried to tell him that they were related, that Erik was his father, but it never seemed to work out - however, he had to believe that they’d have the time and opportunity soon. Just a chance to breathe, before their lives became wrought with complications again. He promised he wouldn’t pinch Tommy’s cheeks but he didn’t promise to hold back on the hugs - or just one hug; he ought to be able to get away with that. So he dusted flour off his hands, leaning in to wrap his arms around the whippersnapper. A really deep bear hug, the kind you could just fall into, with him nosing at Tommy’s hair - and when Erik pulled back, he affectionately cupped Tommy’s face in his hands for a second (thus leaving a little bit of flour behind, on his cheeks, so all of it hadn’t been dusted off). “For enduring that I’ll cut into the apple cake and let you try it, if you want.” "Yeah, see? You'll see each other again. But I'm going to need you to record yourself saying that you can't argue with my sound logic because Billy is never going to believe—" Oh shit, a hug. Tommy should have expected this. All the adults were hugging him lately. And normally Tommy would squirm away, do that whole ew, ew, ew feelings dance, tell people he didn't do hugs. But if he was being honest with himself, which was often hard to do, he didn't mind the simple affection. It was actually kind of nice. Not from strangers or anything—but from his brother, his mom, his grandpa? It wasn't so bad. And this was a good hug. None of those weird, barely touching, quick things that made Tommy feel like he had to engage in small talk. But this was a proper one, one that family gave each other. So Tommy did what any self respecting family member would do: he hugged back, tight. He guessed that hugs could be a form of reassurance too, and so he poured that into the embrace before pulling away. "That was almost a cheek pinch, grandpa," Tommy said, holding up a hand to wipe the bit of flour off his cheek. "But you drive a hard bargain and I accept your apple cake offering, because holy shit you have apple cake. How do I sign up to always help make food for the holidays? This is the best deal." It was almost a cheek pinch - Erik chuckled, a gleam of mischievousness in those blue eyes of his. He’d avoid saying that he couldn’t help it, that Tommy was just so adorable - because he had a feeling Other Best Grandson wouldn’t really appreciate the sentiment, even if it was true. So he’d stick with apple cake offerings instead. The recipe was from his own Bubbe’s recipe collection - hopefully Billy would approve too, since Erik was attempting to fill the role of grandmother and grandfather, apparently. If anyone could do it, it was definitely him. “Plenty of apple cake,” he agreed, the metal cake cutter zipping to his hand after he gave a reach for it. “And we’ll consider you already signed up to help with Hanukkah food. First on the list.” That would be a veritable feast as well so they’d have their work cut out for them - but he was sure they could handle it. Because no matter what happened and no matter how many potential stomachaches loomed on the horizon, this weird-yet-badass family always stuck together. |