River helped with a lot of lines. Lynx came up with the title that makes sense. Marvel characters. Dedicated to Pietje. I don't know why. I'm sure she's so proud. *snorts*

As for the title we were going to use, which was Booty Call:

<_river> My Heart Will Go On? Oh my GOD, that actually fits.
* Lise- finds it incredibly scary that you're finding Celine Dion and Shania Twain songs that fit my Bobby and Jubie fic.
<_river> How bout the fact that I find Shania Twain and Celine Dion songs in my CD rack?
<Lise-> That's the Way it Is.
<Lise-> Let's just leave it without a damned title.
<_river> To The Moon And Back...
<Lise-> Think Twice? Because You Loved Me?
<_river> Viva Forever!
<Lise-> Party up in here!
<_river> I like Booty Call as a title...
<Lise-> Booty Call. "Why did you call this that? It's totally inappropriate." "Oh, well. It was that or My Heart Will Go On."
* Lise- is putting this little bit of log at the beginning. ;)
* _river giggles madly and waves at the viewers. Buy Sony!

As We Give Thanks
by Lise

"So. Popcorn. Do you think-- is more butter, better, or just... because it's not better for you in the long run, but. It tastes better. For the now."

This is a serious movie-watching crowd. They know all about the kinds of popcorn, and the margarine versus butter debate. They know where their remotes are. Channel surfing has given way to a quiet TV set and a black and white movie.

It's more comforting, someone who hasn't been around all those months. Jubilee scores on both accounts; she knows how long to put the bag in the microwave, and she wasn't there when he died.

"Ev likes buttered popcorn. But M. She's-- pretty. You know."

"Um. Should we have stuffing and gravy or something? This is Thanksgiving, after all..."

The holiday time has never been easy for most people, but this year is a little more strained than normal. Hence, the popcorn, and hence the quiet company.

"And we're watching 'It's a Wonderful Life'."

The older man pauses, then, softly, "I've never had a thanksgiving without Dad."

Without missing a beat: "I'll make the Stovetop."

She goes into the kitchen, and busies herself in front of the microwave again. Stuffing. For Thanksgiving.

When she comes back with the pan, he is still watching that black and white flicker. "The funeral was-- nice, though."

She answers softly, because it's true, "Remy would have hated it."

"Yeah. He would have." He breathes, suddenly just -- not ready for this. The stuffing is enough. "Jubes, can we watch a different movie?"

"How about a Muppet Christmas Carol?"

One of them snorts. "For Thanksgiving?"

"Or -- Volcano?"

The mansion really needs to get a better selection of videos, but it's a little late to think of that while the rest of the team is off on a mission and it's just Bobby and Jubilee, sitting in the TV room, and eating popcorn and stuffing.

Bobby remembers some things. He gets pulled down, and in a place he can't -- quite -- forget, remembers late-night TV.

"Let's just watch some infomercials."

"No way. Slim told me you'd been watching the juicer ads until four in the morning."

There is something in the air that wasn't there before. He shuffles around, faces her. She has certain allowances that the rest of them don't, the rest of them can't seem to see. He would let them--

But they don't. And she will. So.

But still.

"He shouldn't have said--"

She's not like the rest, in their treatment of the widower. "Yes he should."

And so, there's a different answer than a snipe. "...Yeah. He should."

"So why, Bobbo? You stopped eating the popcorn."

"I couldn't handle it anymore."

"Too much butter?"

"...too much salt."

See, this is good. This is talking.

She scoots over, puts a friendly arm around him, and he lets her. "Just to be on the safe side, we're still talking in metaphors, right?"

He chuckles, waves the remote in the air to break up the tension. "Yeah. For what, I don't know."

"I do."

"Yeah, you would."

She shrugs, shovels disgusting, dry Stovetop stuffing in her mouth. "Anyway. Monet says I cook lousy."

He smiles. There is something more here than a random conversation, but both of them are too far behind those protective shields, seeing past the other's, to need to explain the crypticness of it all.

"Oh, she's telling you all about sucky cooking? Must be love."


"No, it's okay."

She looks away. She can't seem to think before opening her mouth, but it's the same as before -- she hasn't changed at all. Or, not much.

"I didn't meant to bring it up. Well, like, I did. But not because."

And it helps him to remember how he hasn't, in the ways that matter.

"You're ... not a grown-up."

Softly, now. "Right now, you're not either."

"See. I keep telling people that's how I like my popcorn. But they don't listen."

There are so many moments that pass without sound, that this one shouldn't carry the weight it does. But, he thinks, it does. And that's that.

She says, "So. Which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Volcano, or Muppets in Space?"

He has an honestly thoughtful expression, much more than for just a simple movie.

But, these are serious movie-watchers.

"...the Muppets. I can watch Volcano with anyone who lives here." Another infinite moment. "You're the only one that's interested, when you're talking about animatronics."

She says, "Or funerals."

Somehow, the words sink beneath her, into her. She puts a hand on his shoulder, and he knows that she wasn't there when Remy died. This is -- different.

And not quite the same.

There's a ding, in the kitchen, and Jubilee hops up. "That's the second batch of Stovetop."

He grins. "Cool."

And it is.

Well. Maybe ... healing is a cliche, right? That's kinda hard to get around. So many mourning tales, so many lights-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel. Cliche in ways.

Popcorn is a cliche too.

"More stuffing, Bobby?"

He takes some. Fast-forwards through the credits, to the meat of the Muppets. Eats some gross food to try and remind him of the holidays.

They watch the movie, and keep the sound down so low that the hall clock, when it chimes low, can be heard over the television set.

And that's okay, too.

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