Holiday Cheer

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (TM), Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… according to the powers that be, you should be getting something Friday. Wheeeeee… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: Yay for you! J Morgan: *poke * *with stalk * Readers/Reviewers: Happy Festivus, lol…

“It looks dense,” Kitty muttered, her brows drawing together worriedly. “Is it supposed to be dense?”

“Ja,” Kurt nodded. “Like stollen.”[1] He poked at the brown pudding gently, nodding when it did not wobble. “It looks very good…”

“It smells like alcohol,” she said, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Is it supposed to?” She gingerly reached out and dipped the tip of her finger into the bowl of sauce Mark had abandoned in order to answer the phone. “Whoa,” she coughed. “Lots of alcohol!”

“It’s meant to be set afire,” Kurt informed her with a tiny shred of smugness, proud of knowing something Kitty did not if only because it meant he did not feel silly in her presence, as he often did these days. “When it’s served, he’ll light it up.” He nudged Kitty’s hand gently away from the bowl of sauce and smirked at her as she licked her fingertip guiltily. Her pink tongue darting out to clean the traces of the sauce from her skin made him think some very wicked things, things he doubted would be appropriate to inform her of or act upon in the kitchen. Especially when Mark was whistling his way back from the phone room.

“Ah, there you are!” he smiled at the two teenagers, glancing quickly at the plum pudding in a covert attempt to make sure it was still in one relative piece. This was his first Christmas with the Institute and god help him, he thought, he wanted to do something nice. Making the traditional pudding was a sort of personal triumph for him, a proof that his talents extended beyond arcane cataloging systems and awkward semi-romantic entanglements. “Kitty, I’ve heard you have some interesting culinary skills.”

She blushed furiously. “One time,” she sighed. “One time I set water on fire. I can cook some things quite well, thank you!” She met Mark’s eyes with a glare. “Just because I can’t make mac and cheese or stuff with dead animal in it…”

Mark readjusted his glasses and raised a brow at her. “I wasn’t implying you were a bad cook,” he informed her gently. “I was just relaying some information. I was told by Kurt here that you had some interesting abilities in the kitchen. He praised your latkes no end. And be glad I know what those are, otherwise I would’ve made him wash his mouth out with soap.” He was rewarded with a giggle from Kitty and an eye roll from Kurt. “Kurt, you’re wanted in the main hall. Seems that the tree topper took a header and no one can get up there to fix it.”

“Ah, at last… my superpowers can be used for good rather than evil!” Kurt sighed dramatically, vanishing in a blink.

“Kitty, I was hoping you could help me finish preparing the meal,” Mark said before the teenager could slink out of the room to follow Kurt. “I need some help with the sauce while I complete the salad.”

“Sure,” Kitty shrugged with one longing glance, quickly hidden, in the direction of the front hall. “What do you need me to do?”

“Stir it and make sure it doesn’t separate,” he said, giving her the easiest task he could think of. He waited until Kitty had started her duty before busying himself with the salad, falling into a rhythm tearing the spinach and sectioning the tangerines.

Kitty stirred the sauce methodically, staring at the swirling pattern the spatula made in the thick substance. “Won’t this be hard to pour?” she asked. “Does it need more liquid in it?”

“Oh, no… it’s meant to be sort of hard,” he replied, glancing once at her work. “But not crunchy. Hard to explain, it seems, but it’s fine how it is now.”

Kitty nodded and kept stirring. With a heavy sigh, she let her mind go blank, resigned to the monotonous task but not wanting to seem unfriendly towards Mark in the process. He hummed some carol or other and went about his work, not noticing as her attention was attracted by something gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight coming through the bay window. A liquor bottle, amber in color and refracting beautifully in the kitchen, sat on the butcher block table, sending a delicate pattern across Kitty’s workspace. _You know, it really is too thick, _ she thought, eyeing the bottle. _And it’s supposed to be flammable anyway… _ She stirred patiently, waiting until Mark was distracted by the oven timer a few minutes later. _He’ll thank me at dinner. _

A/N Next, how the Hell did Lance get involved with the fruitcake?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] http://recipesbycindy.homestead.com/Stollen.html