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As far as family gatherings go, Sarah is more accustomed to the ones where they band together to try and fight off a malevolent force trying to steal her son from her very arms. As far as Thanksgiving goes, Sarah only has fond memories of the holiday as a little girl, and not very good ones, at that. Her father had always been fighting wars -- whether a real one or one in his mind -- and it didn't make for good conversation over a turkey.

As it stands, she's aware that this sad little event isn't much, but with so many tumultuous changes in her life in the last year, she feels compelled to try. She's put away the most offensive of all her weapons and made her small two-room hut into something amenable and safe. She's put a fowl on the table -- roasted and basted, as best as you can a bird you don't understand -- and added potatoes, vegetables, and a pie on top of that.

Inviting people had been harder. With the constant need for a wig, now, Sarah feels as though she's more inclined to duck away and hide until the world falls away, but in order to actually host a Thanksgiving, she needs to bring people to her door. She does so as she trades in shifts at the Winchester for wine, telling those she loves (and some she tolerates) the most about the event and she makes sure to have enough food, just in case.

Maybe she doesn't have that much to give thanks about, but she's alive and she has friends. It's better than she expected -- given that the sky was supposed to be on fire, by now. It's enough to throw a get-together and be thankful about.

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Once the food's on the table, Sarah takes a minute to compose herself. She takes deep breaths and fights off whatever lingering nausea she's still battling (most of which is in her mind, she thinks, at this point). She takes a quick look in the window's reflection to adjust her wig and the plain black dress she's wearing. It's an event, but she still looks like she's on her way to a funeral.

She really can't help the fact that she always tends to look like that.

Clamping the stem of the flower in his teeth, Hank rapped his knuckles on the front door. He wasn't even fashionably late; just fashionably dressed, even if he did think so himself.

Making an effort wasn't exactly common with Hank but he could try when he wanted to.

She's not sure she should've invited him, if she's honest. The thing that pushed her over the edge was the way he'd been good to her when she could barely force herself to eat. It's enough to earn him a seat at the table, at the least. She pulls open the door and gives him a brief onceover, arching a brow slowly. "You're going to choke," she informs him mildly.

"You'd best save me then," Hank replied, holding the flower out to her and leaning in intrusively through the doorway. "Holy Noses! I smell food. Real food." A far cry from what he and Lew usually fed themselves on for sure.

Sarah takes the flower tentatively, as though it might explode in her face at any moment. She steps back at his enthusiasm, gesturing inside to the table. "There are some delicious dishes and some that you should entirely avoid." She grimaces as she sets the flower down on the table next to a bowl of potatoes. "Mine are the latter."

As Hank moved behind her to inspect the table, a sly move meant he'd planted a kiss on her cheek before she'd finished speaking. In the next moment, he was snagging a carrot from a dish and popping it into his mouth with visibly bad manners.

"I'm not convinced we should avoid anything."

Sarah's rendered both annoyed and speechless by his little move, glaring at him as if expecting an instant apology. "Sometimes, I wonder if you remember how hard I punched you or if you need a refresher," she informs him, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to tamp down the bemused smile (though part of that comes at the idea that she might get to hit something tonight and not just at the forward move).

Hank's tongue pushed the carrot into his cheek so that a bulge protruded, well aware of how it could be perceived. Considering most of the time he bordered on sexual harrassment towards his nearest and dearest, a little carrot fellatio was nothing.

"If the only love you're going to give me is a love tap--" He held open his arms in a welcoming gesture. "--then I graciously accept."

"We have company," she says flatly, because as much as she might want to take her frustrations out on Hank, she's hardly about to do it in front of people she holds dear to her -- especially not Cal and Cook, who might do something stupid like decide to join in. "Sit down and eat your dinner. Try not to look like a lascivious maniac doing it?"

It's kind of an impulse as I step in behind her. I can't remember the last time that I had a proper Thanksgiving; when your parents are paranoid shut-ins, holidays kind of go by the by. Who's going to do the cooking? So I step in behind Sarah and then I lean in and kiss her cheek.

For me, it's almost...you know...kind of smooth.

"Happy Thanksgiving."

She turns her head slightly, just enough so that his lips brush her cheek and the warmth lingers in a fashion that reminds her so much of John. She reaches to give Columbus' shoulder a gentle squeeze, happy for his presence. "I hope you aren't counting on a delicious turkey. The best I could do was some kind of local bird and I'm not a top chef, beyond that."

"My last thanksgiving in Columbus, we had pizza," I tell her, sneaking my arm around her shoulder to give her a quick squeeze. "So whatever you've made it, I bet it will be totally, totally great."

"I don't know that I've ever celebrated." Birthdays and Christmas had been hard enough to come by and she supposes that when she was with Charley, they did this on a regular basis, but that seems like a lifetime ago. "Don't speak too soon," she points out wryly. "You may be wishing for pizza after you taste my cooking. I'd stick with anything Sookie's brought."

"My parents aren't that good at celebrating. I started pretending that I didn't have a birthday when I was about seven."

I shrug. "It all looks nice, Sarah. I'm ust glad we're here."

"I'm glad you're here, too," she says quietly, trying not to indulge too deeply in the maudlin reasons why she wants to have this day, but feels like she has to be honest with Columbus. "I don't know how many of these are left. I had to have at least one good Thanksgiving, didn't I?"

"Yeah, absolutely," I say, and I find myself really unwilling to let go of her. I just don't want to move away. I...you kind of stop letting yourself get attached to things when you're on the edge of the end of the world.

Sometimes, I realise how hard it is to come back.

Sarah holds on as tightly as she can, brushing a distracted kiss past his temple before smoothing the hair back -- an unconscious gesture she used to do when John was younger, that now she does because she misses him and she misses the small things that go hand-in-hand with caring for him. "Is there anything I can make specifically? There's still some time before we sit down."

"You don't need to make me anything," I tell her, because I don't need her to make me anything. I just need her close. "Really. I'm just...glad I'm here."

"Well," she says, pressing her lips together as she tries to think about whether Columbus is being genuine or if she ought to read deeper into this. "Promise?" she finally forces herself to ask.

Communication out loud -- it's like she's finally learning something about human interaction.

"Promise."

And I mean it. I really do. I'm done hiding from people. Maybe it was enough for my parents - but it's never going to be enough for me.

She's not up for a big celebration this Thanksgiving. Not up for the large tables, for the loud relatives, for the friends buzzing around and doing their own thing. Not up for cooking endless dishes. There's an idea of Thanksgiving that's planted deep in Sookie's mind, and nothing that happens on the island will ever compare to the thought of her by her gran's side, watching as the perfect pie crust is shaped, or as the turkey starts browning in the oven. There's this idea of Thanksgiving, and nothing the island's capable of can meet that, so Sookie doesn't want the fanfare. Just a few close friends.

It's those people she's started to grow closer to, anyway. The few who know when to bolster her in a time of need. So she's here, at Sarah's gathering, not all of the faces entirely familiar, but with one being the only face she needs to feel that all of this is worthwhile, and the best decision she's made this month.

Grinning, she's made a few dishes to help out. Apple crumble, green beans with onions. Nothing to take away from Sarah's own cooking as she shyly looks around, not wanting to take too much of Sarah's time, but also not sure just who else to approach.

"You're a godsend, Sookie," Sarah breathes out her relief as soon as she uncovers some of the dishes and takes a deep inhalation of them. They smell incredible. They smell better than anything she would be able to cobble together and she's crossing the room quickly to wrap her arms around Sookie as tightly as she can, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Thank you so much for coming. I need all the help I can get. I've never...well, done this before."

"And you're doin' a whole lot better than you might think, believe me," Sookie laughs, turning her head to press a kiss to Sarah's cheek in turn, before the other woman pulls back and gives Sookie room to take a more thorough look around the place. For Sarah, it's no small effort. Pulling together all the people she loves in the first place, that's no small effort, and Sookie looks around with wide eyes, taking in every face. (Some more familiar than others.) "Believe me, I never even really gave Thanksgiving a whack of my own. Gran always took care of everything, and then when I came here, everything was already set at the Winchester. It's like I'll never actually have to hold the reins for this."

She grins, full of pride and gratitude. "Come on, let's see what you've got. I'm lookin' forward to a nice bird."

"I've never done any of this," she admits, a stark confession that sounds like she's terrible at this -- and she is. "The most I ever did was tell John to move the leftovers so he could find turkey for sandwiches," she says, taking in a deep breath as she touches on the wig one more time. "I don't know how many of these I have left. I need to appreciate all the ones I can before they're over."

"Sarah, hey— Sarah, listen to me." Setting the dishes further aside and wrapping both hands around Sarah's jaw, Sookie presses her lips together resolutely, shakes her head and tries to coax away the hand that keeps on trying to reposition the wig. "It's not cooking that makes a Thanksgiving great, alright? I mean, sure, the decorations say that the turkey's a big thing, but really... I've had Thanksgivings before where the food was perfect, yet it still sucked. It sucked, because the people who were there just weren't the right folks to have around. Thanksgiving's about family, and you have brought together so many wonderful people. So stop gettin' down on yourself, and stop putting on a countdown, okay? Having it our way, there'll be many more of these to come."

Sarah settles, a rueful smile on her face as she looks around the motley crew that she's assembled to celebrate with them. "You know," she says offhand, in a casual way that belies her actual nerves. "It's not so much the cooking that I'm worried about as much as the guest list." When she'd realized the people she was bringing together, she'd begun to worry that she was asking for trouble. "Are you okay with this?" she asks, voice pitched low.

"Who, Cal?" Sookie asks, staring over at Cal with what she hopes is an incredulous look, spurred by apathy. (In truth, though, the fact that Cal's so close and her own arm isn't tugging around a beau does leave Sookie feeling a bit tense, but she's sure that it isn't anything that she can't overcome with the right amount of willpower.) "Believe me, Sarah, you don't have to worry about Cal and me at the same table. It's been years since anything really happened between the two of us, and if we can't be adults enough to hold that to ourselves during Thanksgiving, then we are officially the two stuffiest, whiniest, and downright most unreasonable people around."

She takes a breath. "Fortunately, we aren't. It'll be fine."

"Cal, possibly someone else? While I'm good at looking deep into people's histories, I think my current circumstances are a good lesson that occasionally I have to leave well enough alone," she admits wryly, offering the faintest hint of a smile. "How are you doing? I see Mitchell isn't your plus-one tonight, which says something."

"Believe me, Sarah, as someone who's got family that really shouldn't all be allowed in the same room, I know how it is to have a sensitive set of dinner guests. And I also know that you have nothing to worry about when it comes to me and Cal being on fine enough terms to have a lovely evening tonight," Sookie reassures with a shake of her head. The last thing that she wants to do is somehow ruin Sarah's night, and if that means that she just needs to play sweet with Cal, that's something that she can manage. Admirably, she tells herself. She'll make it her goal that no one at all will be able to tell that there's any unfinished business between the two of them.

She does, however, give Sarah a baleful look at the next remark.

"He hasn't been my plus-one since we broke up, remember? We haven't even seen each other since then, so... don't hold your breath waiting to ever see him again. Within fifty feet of me, anyway."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad," Sarah says. She knows all-too-well what it's like to have to cut ties with someone that's loved, but problematic in your life. She knows how much it hurts and she knows how strong you have to be in order to do it. She knows that Sookie is that strong and she's glad that it's been kept up. "He hasn't tried to contact you?"

For all that Sookie tries to smile with the same amount of gratitude and happiness over the past month's events, it comes out strained nonetheless. On some level, she knows that she's done the right thing. Hopes that she's done the right thing. She's built herself up tall enough to forget, at certain hours of the day. She's found pleasant enough company to pull her thoughts away and fill her hours up with conversations revolving around just about anything. It's not a lack of blessings that's her problem.

Yet, for all that she has, there's still a gaping, bleeding mess left in the wake of it. One that festers each time she reminds herself of how she only has her own two feet to stand on, now.

"Nope," she confirms with a shake of her head. "Not once."

"Well, I'm glad that he seems to know what's best," she says, serving herself food as she avoids looking straight at Sookie. There's a sort of crazed and fierce determination that Sarah can get when it comes to accomplishing what she thinks needs to be done and this is one of those things -- protect her family. She doesn't need Sookie to start doubting Sarah's sanity. "What about other men? Did you reel any in?"

Trying her best to keep a straight face over the matter, and not to berate herself for the millionth time over feeling a lurch in her chest at the mere thought of him, Sookie smiles, thin-lipped and forced. Grabbing her own plate after Sarah and picking up a bit of each dish, a greater helping of Sarah's own to make sure that she knew how much the effort was appreciated, Sookie tilted her head in consideration. "I... well, I've had my fun," she admits with a touch of a grin. "There were a couple of guys. One of them's, I don't know. I'd been going to the Winchester just expecting a bunch of flings, but then there was this guy, so sweet. The kind of guy you're not really supposed to just let go, you know? But I don't know if I'm ready for something like that. Maybe I could be. I just don't wanna rush."

"I remember sweet men," Sarah says with a touch of nostalgia, not bothering to mention that she could never keep sweet guys around her for too long. They always ended up dead or in trouble -- Billy and Charley were just two in a pile of people who got hurt. "You realize I want names, right? Or am I going to have to sit at the Winchester during my off hours and see which lost puppy comes trailing after your feet?"

"Oh, he's not a lost puppy," Sookie protests immediately, shaking her head with a lightly dismayed laugh. After all, Mathias has been anything but to her lately, a man so kind and sweet instead that he comes off as more of an anchor. A harbor to pull into, a soft smile that makes itself known as safe, trustworthy. With a faint blush rising to her cheeks at the thought of all they'd gotten up to that night, Sookie sighs helplessly. "His name's... his name's Mathias. Friend of Neil's, actually, and apparently used to date a friend of mine, which I guess causes a bit of a tangle. But he's just, just so sweet. I don't even know how to explain it. Not that I'm totally heads over heels, but he's the kind of guy you'd just feel safe around."

Edited 2011-12-16 18:45 (UTC)

Sarah knows that she ought to encourage Sookie to make this choice instead of entertaining any thoughts of Mitchell, but she also knows that she's in no position to do anything like that. "And what's so wrong about a guy who makes you feel safe?" she asks, when she already knows the answer.

Sobering, Sookie's smile fades away as she tries to calm the hammering in her chest, a flutter of nervousness twisting there, not at all calmed by a careful breath or two. It's the only thing that stands still in the way of pursuing what's there at full force, and she shakes her head to rid herself of the reservation. Nothing's happening. Mathias is nowhere in sight. She's just having a talk with a close friend. That's all. It doesn't have to be anything more than that, anything more than the idle speculation that friends so often share amongst themselves.

"Nothing. Nothing, I just... don't wanna rush into it, you know? I mean, I kind of did," she admits with a tilt of her head, cheeks flushed. "But I mean more on the relationship level."

"Well, if ever you do decide to pursue it," Sarah says, serious because she wants Sookie to know that she's not going to throw this aside (but with enough warmth that it's not too severe), please, Sookie, please know I will always be here to be a shoulder to lean on. I promise you that."

This may have been the most surreal experience of my entire life, and that's really saying something. I didn't know why I was there—Sarah invited me, there was free food, it was a no-brainer—but I didn't know how I was there, sitting at a table surrounded by cheerful people celebrating European imperalism. (What? I read. Sometimes. When Niko makes me.)

I had never celebrated Thanksgiving in any way in my life, unless you count the one year I happened to have a turkey sandwich on the day of. I appreciate a good meal as much as anyone, but I never felt I was lacking because I didn't get to sit down and carve into a bird with the fam. This gathering wasn't doing much to change my mind about that.

Because nothing makes a guy more thankful than sitting down to eat a meal with not just one but two of the women he's wanted to fuck but couldn't.

Edited 2011-11-24 21:01 (UTC)

Sarah's slightly dishevelled by the time she gets to Cal to say hello, but it's a quick repositioning of her wig and shoulders of the dress and she's good to go. "I would stick with what Sookie made," she advises, taking the seat next to him and eyeing her self-cooked bird with a heavy amount of wariness. "I tried, I really did, but I'm not a very good cook." Something which John can attest to.

The wigs freaked me out in a way I was completely unprepared to address, so anytime I interacted with Sarah while she was wearing them, I tended to find reasons to look somewhere else and pretend she wasn't wearing one. I'm not saying it was supportive or fair, it's just how it was.

"I've told you a hundred times, I will eat anything," I replied, and reached very pointedly to carve off some of Sarah's fake turkey. "Calm down already, you look exhausted."

Sarah isn't sure how close she should be with Cal. There's company and they're a tumultuous pair on the best of days, but she leans in and hovers for a moment before committing and pressing a kiss to his cheek, staying on the edge of her chair when she eases back. "You say that, but you've never experienced a morning brunch in my house," she warns, picking at vegetables for her own plate. "John used to say I could burn anything."

"And Niko's always said I could eat anything," I immediately answered. The kiss was afforded a short, uncertain glance, but I didn't otherwise remark on it. The way it made my stomach twist had nothing to do with how maternal the gesture was and everything to do with how much it felt like Sarah was trying to make up for lost time.

"Niko's a smart man," Sarah concurs with a small smirk, poking around at her plate and looking at the assembled group of people, unsure as to how the rest of this night is going to go. "I'm sorry he can't be here, tonight. I know that you must miss him." She misses her own family by the hour and she can't imagine it's any different for Cal.

Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of being objective about things. I just tend to choose otherwise. So, I could see that Sarah was well-intentioned, I knew in the back of my brain that she was trying to reach out and comfort me. The louder part of my head was insisting she should know better, though, and my jaw flexed as my teeth ground together in mute frustration.

The last fucking thing I wanted to talk about was my brother, and how I might never see him again.

"The food tastes fine," I grit out, and shoveled some more in my face.

She moves further away because this is what she knows -- she knows the awkward issue of saying the wrong thing, knows how it feels to be stranded without a clue what to do next. She doesn't know Cal as well as she likes, but she knows that's how he wants it, but she's smart enough to hear his tone and his reaction and knows that right now, she should let him be. "Eat as much as you want, but I'd stick to what Sookie made if you want to take home leftovers," she says as she rises to her feet to start on the dishes. "I'm glad you're here, Cal," she says, distractedly as she pushes her chair back into the table. "And you can go when you want," she adds, aware that this isn't really his scene.

It's never been hers, either. Maybe it's time to change that, though. Maybe she's allowed to be normal, now.

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