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Stuffing the Bird	By : nancyb Category: DC Verse Cartoons > Justice League Views: 8133 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Justice League. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Stuffing the Bird
- 1
Stuffing the Bird
by Nancy Brown (nancyelizabrown@aol.com)
Copyright 2005
NC-17

Disclaimer: DC and Warner Brothers would be very mad at me if they knew about this.
Note: Set between "Wild Cards" and "Comfort and Joy," with the perhaps incorrect assumption they were meant to air consecutively. Please forgive the title; I have a very primitive sense of humor sometimes.
Happy birthday, XFfan!
&&&
It was a short meeting, just a quick wrap-up of the day's events before everyone but Diana returned to the planet. J'onn would relieve her in the morning. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving in the U.S., and although not everyone celebrated, they were all still looking forward to a quiet day.
For certain definitions of "quiet," anyway.
John glanced over at Shayera, trying not to look like he was glancing over, but she was arguing with Batman over a few word choices in his last report, and ignored John completely. Since he didn't really care about the differences between "thrashed," "pounded," "pummeled," and/or "punched," John tuned out the conversation and instead focused (again, trying not to appear like he was focusing) on the way her hands and arms moved.
"So, GL," Flash said, startling him. "Are you doin' a bird at your place?"
"What?" John nearly gave himself whiplash twisting his head around. Bird. Turkey. Thanksgiving. Right. "No. Wait, yes. Small one."
"Sounds good. I'll bring the stuffing." Flash grinned hugely.
"I've got a recipe, thanks," said John, realizing that Flash had just invited himself over. Again.
"Then pie it is. I'll bring three just to be safe."
Something bumped his ankle. Shayera hadn't stopped talking with Batman, but John suspected it was her boot. They'd been planning on spending the day together; with luck, they wouldn't get out of bed before afternoon except to turn on the oven.
"Flash ... "
Flash ignored him. "Supes, you coming?"
"Family," said Superman. "They'd kill me if I didn't go home."
"Princess?"
Say 'no,' John thought.
"That would be lovely."
"Cool! You bring a salad, okay? And make sure it's got a lot of Bacos."
J'onn said, "Perhaps it would be best if ... "
Flash turned to him. "J'onn, you gotta come, too."
"I have watch," J'onn said.
Batman took a long look at him and then said, "J'onn, I'll trade you."
"That will not be necessary," said J'onn, looking at John.
"Great!" said Flash. "J'onn, you bring the cranberries. Hawkgirl?"
Shayera sighed, but John thought he was the only one who heard. "Wouldn't miss it," she said.
Under the table, she kicked him again.
&&&
So far, making excuses to leave together had been a piece of cake. John's ring and the Javelin- 7 were their primary means of transport. All they had to do when John transported everyone was to drop the others off first. In the Javelin, it was a touch harder. Shayera had very few legitimate reasons to want to be dropped off in Detroit rather than Midway.
As the ship touched down in Metropolis, she was wracking her brain for a reason, when John said, "Hold on. I'll just fly the rest of the way from here," and took off his safety harness.
"You sure?" asked Flash, who was piloting.
"Yeah."
Shayera unbuckled herself quickly, glad of the excuse. "GL, drop me off, too?"
"Sure. Come on."
"See you tomorrow," Flash said. "Hey, what time?"
"Ah," John stalled. "Three?"
"Works for me."
Before he could say or ask anything else, John formed a bubble around the two of them, and they flew off towards his place.
Once they were safely away from the others and out of earshot, Shayera glared at him. "It's a day off. Why is everyone spending it at your place?"
He shrugged. "It's Thanksgiving. It's what people do."
"I thought it was a harvest celebration." She'd studied the origins of the various holidays celebrated on Earth, but she was still mystified that these urban societies clung so deeply to rural and solar festivals.
"That too. If you don't want to stay ... "
"I want to stay," she said, and because no one could see, and took his free arm and squeezed it. He smiled at her, and there was that warm feeling, the one she loved, deep in her belly.
Back at his apartment, she went into the tiny bathroom first to scrub her face and hands, while he puttered around in the kitchen getting plates and drinks for both of them. Since he was cooking tomorrow, they'd picked up some burgers from a local chain. Shayera wasn't much for hamburgers but John seemed to enjoy them and she didn't feel like fighting, so she ordered hers extra rare and dropped the subject.
She caught her reflection in the mirror, as the water dripped from her chin. She'd removed her mask when they'd come inside — it was becoming habit, another one she'd developed in the short time they'd been together — and although her earrings weren't covered by it anyway, they seemed to hang on her ears hugely tonight.
Her hand went to the earring on her right, touching it. For a moment, she wanted to remove them, pull them from her ears and toss them away. Not in the trash, not out the window, just away from her.
Instead she dropped her hand and turned from the mirror, placing a smile on her face before she went to join John in the kitchen.
"I thought you were getting dinner ready," she said, seeing a large, pale, plucked and beheaded fowl in a pan on the counter. John, in his regular clothes rather than his uniform, was sprinkling things into a little bowl beside it.
"I am," he said. "Just not tonight's. Food's on the couch. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Shayera located the bag on the couch, pulled out her own sandwich, and started eating. These things were worse cold. Same with the french fries. She devoured her food quickly and considered taking some of his, while he continued to do whatever it was he was doing in the kitchen.
"Can I ... help?" she finally asked, rejoining him
"Almost done," he said, hands covered in unidentifiable spices, which he was working in and around and all over the turkey, rubbing with his strong, deft hands.
"I thought you were cooking this tomorrow."
"I am. If I season it now and let it sit overnight in the fridge, the spices will flavor it all the way through." As she watched, he sprinkled something else overtop it. "Done."
He covered the pan with foil, then placed it in the refrigerator.
"You humans do odd things to your food."
"Yep. We start by cooking it."
She stuck out her tongue at him. It hadn't been an invitation, but he leaned in and kissed her anyway. Mmmm ... She continued to kiss him back, right up to the point where he reached around to run his fingers through her hair.
"Watch it! Your hands are all messy." She backed away.
"I'll give you a bath later," he said, smiling and leaning in for more kisses.
That was a mental image she lingered over as she pressed her mouth against his: the two of them, quite delightfully naked, hot water and soap bubbles splashing everywhere as they fumbled for position in the snug tub.
"Sounds like a plan," she said, and pushed him up against the counter as his messy hands caressed her shoulders and down into that lovely, sensitive spot between her wings. He kneaded and pressed her spine just right, just like ...
She backed away again.
"Too hard?"
"Too weird. I just watched you do that to the turkey."
John laughed. She liked it when he laughed, but not just now.
"You think it's funny? Stewart, I swear if you start making turkey jokes, I'm going to teach you what a capon is." She'd looked it up, researching this and other fowl-based meals.
"I think I already know. Sorry. I was actually laughing because I remembered where my hands were on that thing before you walked in."
She thought about that a minute. "Ew."
"Wait until you taste the stuffing tomorrow. You'll see." She frowned. He asked her, "Um, do you eat turkey?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"No reason."
"If this is another 'bird' joke ... "
"I was just asking. You have weird eating habits."
"Says the man who stuck his hands up the turkey's ass."
"Technically, it's the chest cavity."
"Can we stop talking about the stupid turkey?"
Humans were so infuriating sometimes. They went on and on about pointless things. On Thanagar, it's simple. You want something to eat? You kill it and you eat it. You want something to fuck, you go up to the other party and ask. None of this playing around.
"Just another tradition," John said with that irritating smile.
"I get that."
"I mean, fighting over dinner. Had to happen sooner or later. Are we done now?"
"No. Yes. Okay, so it's your tradition. I'm interested in your traditions." And there was no way she was going to explain to him why, not now. "Tell me more."
"There were Pilgrims and Indians. Sorry, Native Americans."
"I know that. I've read history books." Her earrings pinched her, but it had to be her imagination. "Tell me about your traditions. What are you doing? Why are you making this food? And why is Flash coming over?"
He leaned back against the counter. "My traditions? Food at Grandma's, watching the game with Granddad and my uncles. It's a family thing. Flash doesn't have any family left and neither does J'onn, and Diana's mom kicked her out, so ... "
"We're their family."
"I like you being in my family," he said, taking her hand.
Shayera smiled and brought his knuckles to her lips, kissing each one.
"And the turkey?" she asked.
"Everybody does turkey. It's traditional."
"Everybody?"
"Okay, everybody in America. Who aren't vegetarians or against Thanksgiving as a sign of oppression."
"And 'everybody' puts all this stuff," she scraped a talon down his finger and into his palm, scooping up bits of spices, "all over their turkeys?"
"People have their own recipes," John said, his breathing a little ragged. He took his hands back and went over to his sink, turning the water on hot and high.
"Thought we were going to take a bath," she said, slipping up behind him. John pulled her hands around himself, then to her surprise, washed them too.
"We are. But I just remembered how much bacteria I probably picked up from the turkey while I was prepping it. And," he said, turning off the water and drying his hand on a dish towel, "I don't want to spread the bacteria."
"Since when have you been worried about ... "
His hands clean, John's fingers slid down to and under her waistband. He began kissing her ear as his fingers continued inching their way under her clothes. "Like I said, I didn't want to spread something bad somewhere you'd kill me for later."
"Good call," Shayera agreed, getting to work on the buttons on his shirt. "You couldn't have changed into something a little less complicated, could you?"
"Could've," he said, and then neither of them could speak as their mouths were occupied.
This was never going to stop being crazy, she thought as she managed to get the last of the buttons undone and began to work on the button to his jeans. Every relationship started like this: the hot, almost uncontrollable need for each other. They'd been dating just over a week and she was still breathless and giddy every time he brushed his palms over her bare shoulders. Give them a month, maybe two, and they'd surely be reading in bed and arguing about the covers, but now, she couldn't stay away from him nor he from her.
The beginnings were always the best. The endings ...
Hro would come for her and she would go home and that would be an ending, and she really didn't want to be thinking about that when John was releasing the fastenings on her bodice.
This wouldn't be the first time they hadn't made it back to his bed, but it would be their first time in the kitchen. The fact that this was turning her on even more did not suck.
And speaking of sucking ...
His mouth was hot and hungry at her breast. "You ... you can keep doing that," she gasped. He was bent over too far for her to reach his waist, so instead she focused on his broad shoulders, rubbing them, scratching down his back, while John tugged off his pants. He bumped slightly as he pulled them free, raking her nipple with his teeth and sending a shock through her.
John pulled away from her nipple and slid his hands up her body as he kissed her throat and back to her mouth. He was always taller than she, but she noticed most when they stood like this, toe to toe and naked as sin. She loved the arc of his neck as he bent over her, loved the feel of the curve in his spine as he bent to lift her.
He held her against him with one strong arm, slid one, then two fingers into her with his other hand, pushing roughly in and around. Because of the species difference, or maybe just because he was John, he always checked to ensure she was ready. She was, and even though the crook of his fingers inside of her drove her wild, she grabbed his hand and pulled it away, wanting more.
"Table," she growled.
"Counter," he said, and planted her butt on the small countertop. There was just enough room for her wings in front of the cabinets, and the edge of the counter dug into her thighs uncomfortably, and none of this mattered as she spread her legs and guided him deep inside.
The counter? Definitely a good idea. Even with the edge driving deeper with every thrust, he could stand upright and that was the kind of angle she just ...
And he was deep and he was stretching her, and ...
He groaned in her ear, and pounded into her faster, and he was rubbing right there ...
She swore in her own language as the waves of pleasure moved through her. So close, she was just on the edge and John leaned over and bit her neck and that was exactly what she needed.
Shayera shouted as she came, letting everything flow over her at once, then gasping as John continued to move inside of her, close to his own climax. She grabbed his shoulders, wrenching her weight onto him, then impaling herself down hard as he grabbed her ass and helped her, thrusting up into her.
It only took moments. She swallowed John's curse in her mouth as he came inside of her, wrapping her legs around him and balancing back just enough so that they would lean against the counter again rather than fall.
When his quivers had finally stilled, Shayera stretched down one foot and then the other, onto her tiptoes, letting him disengage. Carefully, she kissed him again, before they both flopped down to the floor.
She got her breath back first, and then realized she had nothing to say to him, nothing she couldn't say with kisses placed across his cheeks and up over his brows. He stroked her face as she kissed him, hands limp and tired, but oh so gentle.
It was love, or something close. Shayera wasn't the kind to dwell, on the past or on her heart. She knew she felt for him, knew she ached for him too, and that was enough.
"You should eat something," she said, and he managed a grin. "I meant your hamburger. You need to keep up your strength." They helped each other to their feet, and she patted him on the butt as he bent to retrieve their clothes.
"I'll get those," she said, taking the clothing from him. "I need to hang mine up anyway so it'll be all right for tomorrow. You know, when Flash and Diana and J'onn come over."
"This isn't my fault," he said. "He invited himself over."
"Uh huh," she said, but she smiled so he would know she was kidding. Kind of. She tossed his clothes into his hamper and hung hers in the bathroom to air out. She was starting to keep spare clothes here, but she'd worn the last clean outfit home already.
She wasn't moving in. Not yet. Not ever. No.
Back out in the living room, John was sitting on his couch eating his cold burger and fries. He'd turned on the television and was flipping channels. Shayera sat beside him, ignoring how chilly the couch was on her backside.
Maybe this was where the end began, with the drone of the tv as it flickered past late night sitcoms and talk shows and paused on the local news, with the crumple of the paper bag as John went to the trash to dispose of it. They'd sit here, and maybe they'd cuddle and maybe they wouldn't, and they'd go to bed and wake up and they'd hide away from the others and this was the little slice of life they'd spend together.
"I'll be in bed," she said, kissing his head as she went and hoping he'd follow her.
"I'll be in soon."
Shayera sighed and went back to his bedroom. She was still adjusting to the recovery time human males seemed to need between matings. Or, perhaps it was simply the need of this human male. She could always try to bring the subject up with her friends, but of the other humans on the team, Flash was probably not a good statistical sample, and she couldn't imagine asking Batman.
Anyway, it wasn't as if she was going to add this particular detail to her next report.
She went back to the living room. "I changed my mind. Shower. Join me?"
"Not now," he said, focusing on the news.
Ignoring the cold feeling in her stomach, she went to the bathroom, ran the water until it was hot, and then washed off the mess from her shoulders and between her thighs, mindful of keeping her hair out of the spray.
When she stepped out, she paused before opening the door, then carefully, she removed her earrings and set them on the side of the sink.
Just for tonight.
Back in his room, she slipped in between the sheets on his neatly-made bed. A few minutes later, before she fell asleep, she felt John slide in beside her, but her back was to him and her wings kept him from curling up behind her although she could feel him trying. Finally, he gave up, rolled away from her, and muttered a quiet, "Good night."
She lay there awake for a while, waiting for the deepening of his breath that would lead into snores. It didn't come.
"John?"
"Mm?"
"What are you thinking about?"
"What?"
"You heard me."
She felt the bed move as he rolled onto his back. "I should stop watching the news."
She'd thought the same thing, but she suspected it was for different reasons. "Why?"
"When we're up there on the Watchtower, or even on Earth, we're saving people, protecting the planet, that sort of thing. But when I'm there, I'm not here. Batman manages to work with the League and still protect Gotham. When I go to help some aliens on Alpha Ceti, or stop runaway trains in Bali, people get hurt right here. People die here, and I'm not around to protect them because I'm off protecting someone else somewhere else."
He didn't say, When we're together, when we spend time like this, people die, but she heard it in the catch of his voice. She knew her own adopted city was without its guardian every single night she'd spent with John, but she saw the whole Earth as her territory, so she could still sleep at night, knowing her work, both with the League and her real work, were helping protect this little world and its people from an evil they'd never encountered.
This isn't forever, she thought. This isn't permanent.
She asked him, "Do you want to go on patrol?"
"Yes. Maybe. It's been weeks since I've been out there."
Weeks he'd spent hanging around the Watchtower, around her.
"Then go. Help your conscience. I'm staying here, because I'm tired." Anyway, she'd left the biggest pricks to her own conscience sitting by the sink.
He leaned over her, pushing past her wings to kiss her cheek. "I'll only be a little while. It's late and there won't be much activity."
"Wake me when you get back," she said, and curled deeper under the blankets. She sensed rather than saw the green flash as he donned a new uniform, and she was asleep before he'd closed the window.
Time passed, and she had strange dreams she didn't remember later. She woke suddenly to the feel of a cold hand on her shoulder, and for a moment, she thought it was Hro, come back for her and angry, and then she knew it was John, home from patrol and chilled from the late November air.
"Hey," she said sleepily.
"Hey. You said to wake you up."
"Mm hm."
He'd already ringed his uniform away, was a cold, solid form sliding in beside her, sucking away the heat she'd gathered under the covers.
"Cold you," she said, still sleepy. "Feel better?"
"Yeah. I need to do that more often."
"Don't let me stop you." She'd meant it as a tease, but maybe it came out accusatory because he wrapped his arms around her.
"I love you," he whispered into her wing.
Instead of replying, she rolled over to face him, seizing his face in her hands and kissing him deeply.
As she moved against him, she felt him aroused against her bent leg, and she smiled into his mouth. They really couldn't keep their hands off each other.
Where the earlier sex had been frenzied, as it often was between them, this was far more tender. He spent what could have been a hour kissing her mouth and throat, rubbing his fingers down her sides and over her hips. She sprawled over him, nibbling every inch of skin she could find, from the broad expanse of his chest and arms to the ticklish spots on his toes and the delicate skin at his groin.
He broke a kiss to slip his fingers in her mouth, then draw a wet pattern down her chest and between her leg. She stiffened just a hair before he slid them into her. Always this pattern, always this same thing: check to make sure she was prepared, and then replace his fingers with something else.
Instead of withdrawing, he twisted his fingers around until he was brushing the ridge of sensitive flesh inside. Without intending to, she bucked against him as he rubbed and flicked and played. In the dim light coming through the blinds, she saw a lazy smile spread over his face while just two fingers made her moan and twitch and gasp.
She felt him hard against her stomach. She reached down, grasped him loosely, and began to stroke. His rhythm inside of her faltered as his free hand wrapped around her own hand, guiding the slide and the friction.
No one has to know, she thought. No one has to know but us about these things we do in the dark.
She tried to kiss him, but they were both too intent on their work to manage more than a sloppy press of lips. John hissed and then his hand was holding hers hard and pumping fast and she felt his climax shudder through him and through her hand. She kept stroking him, even as his hand fell away, drawing out the last of his pleasure, while his fingers weakly continued to slide wetly in and out of her.
"Sorry," he said. "Too soon."
"It's all right," she replied and, slick with his semen, slid her own fingers in with his, stretching herself and brushing right up where she needed it most.
She was close, but she'd lost that vital moment when he'd stopped moving his hand, and she had to retake it quickly.
Fingers, thrusting into her. John's hard and tired mouth, tasting the edges of her lips, tongue mimicking the actions of his hands. The smells of sex and sweat and soap and every other chemical John used to clean his body or his sheets, swirling around her like their own presence.
A movement, half-seen in a corner and her mind told her it was Hro, watching her, watching them, and she screamed her pleasure into John's chest.
Her head reasserted itself moments later, recognized the movement as just the passage of light and shadows from car going by outside, and her heart gradually regained its normal beat.
He doesn't know. He doesn't need to know. No one needs to know.
They held each other. They kissed. They slept.
&&&
John woke first, and even though she'd had the full night's rest, he let Shayera sleep as he pulled on sweatpants. He padded out to the kitchen to check the time and start warming the oven. Nine am, plenty of time to get everything ready before the others got here. If they asked, and they wouldn't, Shayera had come early to make the mashed potatoes.
He paused in mid-click on the preheat. Yes. She should be able to do the potatoes all right. Peeling, boiling, draining, mashing. And he'd be there beside her keeping an eye out and he'd make the gravy. It'd be fine.
John washed his hands, then pulled out the loaf of bread he'd been meaning to eat more of and starting tearing it into tiny chunks in a big bowl. He stopped after a few pieces, then remembered Flash was coming and added the whole loaf. Some melted butter, a nice mix of onion salt and pepper and rosemary, and a carefully- measured allotment of the Egg Beaters stuff he'd bought to get Shayera off his back, all mixed together and poured into the bread while he tossed the cubes lightly with his fingers.
Grandma had told him that he could brush on spices with a brush and mix dough with a spoon, and he could also read his funnybooks using chopsticks. Grandma had opinions about food, and about the proper way to fix things, and John had learned his lessons well.
The turkey looked pale and sad under its coating. He brushed oil lightly over everything then started scooping the stuffing inside. What stuffing didn't fit went into a small pan to be placed in the oven with everything else.
He heard Shayera open the bedroom door, nodded a good morning to her as she came up behind him.
"I still say that looks awfully uncomfortable," she said, gesturing to the stuffing pouring out of the turkey.
"Maybe, but it's going to taste delicious." The oven pinged that it was ready, and John placed the turkey and stuffing pans inside. He set the timer to remind himself to cover the breast with foil after it browned.
"If you say so."
"And if you don't like it, I think the Chinese place is open today and they deliver."
She grinned. God, she was pretty when she smiled, especially undressed and with he hair mussed just right.
Okay, so yes. He'd been feeling guilty about the time they were spending together, and one patrol wasn't going to make up for that, but he did feel better this morning anyway. Maybe, once they got these first few weeks past them, got it out of their systems, they could patrol together, in his city and hers. Two heroes for the price of one, once his head was back in the game.
Shayera picked up the bottle of oil. "What's this for?"
"It helps cook. Makes the skin crispy so the juices bake into the breast instead of drying out. Hey, watch it!" She'd opened the cap and was tilting the bottle back and forth, watching the oil roll from side to side.
"Weird stuff," she said, sniffing it.
"Well, you don't fry much," he said, taking the bottle from her, "so really not your thing."
"I like being able to taste my food."
"Depends on the food. Some things are only edible fried."
She rolled her eyes at him. The food thing wasn't causing a real problem, not yet. At some point in the future, it probably would, and they'd just have to make separate meals.
John liked thinking about a future with Shayera, even if it included twice the dishes to wash.
He glanced at the bottle of cooking oil. They had lots of time before the others got there, and anyway, hadn't they planned on spending most of today in bed?
He poured out about a tablespoonful into his left palm, then capped the bottle and set it down. "Let me show you what else I can do with this stuff," he said, rubbing his fingertips into the oil.
He smiled at her. She looked at his slick fingers and then at his face, and a lopsided smile formed on her face too, as she leaned in against him. He began massaging the oil over the curve of one breast.
"Just remember, Stewart: you try putting me in the oven, and things will go very badly for you." She dipped one finger into the pool of oil in his hand, spread it in a line across his collarbone as he chuckled.
Bath. Later. Right.
This time, they used the table.
&&&
Wally could smell the food from the hallway. He balanced the pies on one hand — he'd brought four after all because hello, pumpkin and apple obviously, and then he couldn't decide between cherry and a pumpkin cheesecake so he'd gotten both — while he knocked.
"Happy turkey day!" he yelled through the door.
The great thing about GL's place is that everybody in his building knew his secret identity, which made it not a secret, so even if Wally did have to eat in his costume, he could still come over.
Hawkgirl opened the door. "Hi, Flash," she said, and she was smiling, which was always nice.
"Got here early?" he asked, a touch crestfallen because he liked hanging out with just John, but not really that sad because hey, girl. Who'd stopped making death threats at him, even. It was like progress. At some point, he was going to ask her out and she was going to say "Yes," he just knew it, and then he'd see what was under that mask of hers.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm making mashed potatoes."
"Come on in," John said from the kitchen.
Wally put the pies in the fridge, then pulled up a chair. GL was busying sucking drippings from the turkey pan with a big turkey baster, and putting them into a little pot on the stove. Gravy. Oh man, I haven't had good turkey gravy in ages!
"Anything I can do to help?" he asked.
"Stay out the way," said John, measuring out some flour.
"Can do." He rested his elbows on the table. "Hey, you spilled something here." He zipped up, grabbed a paper towel, and wiped up the little bit of grease. "Got it."
"Thanks," John said, not looking at him.
Hawkgirl drained the boiling pot of potatoes into a strainer in the sink, then stared at them.
John said, "Back into the pot." She nodded and poured them back in. Then John got out some butter, plopped a little into the gravy and more into the potatoes, and added some milk. He pulled out a mixer from a drawer and handed it to Hawkgirl, who held it like a gun.
"Like this," Wally said, springing up. He took the mixer, put the beaters into the potatoes and turned it on High.
"Oh," she said. "I could do that."
"I've got this," Wally said, just as there was a knock on the door. Hawkgirl went to let in Diana and J'onn.
Too bad Supes and Bats aren't here. Wally had watch later and decided he'd take a plate of turkey and stuff with him for Bats. He'd talked Superman into stopping by after his family thing was done; since his family was probably just Supergirl, maybe he'd bring her along.
Diana's salad was huge when she set it on the table. Wally loved it when she brought salad to the Watchtower, because she filled the bowl not just with lettuce and tomatoes, but olives and oranges and grapes and cheese and all sorts of good things. J'onn had found actual cranberries instead of sauce, but he'd also brought some fresh bread, Martian-style. Wally wasn't sure about Martian bread, but he also knew that butter could make up for a lot.
When the gravy was ready and the turkey carved, they took seats around John's kitchen table. Wally felt they should say something, or pray, or whatever, but he didn't know how to bring it up.
Instead, Diana took his hand and he took Hawkgirl's and she took GL's and after a moment, John took J'onn's, and it was nice.
Then someone coughed and someone else laughed, and the moment was broken. Hawkgirl let go of his hand, but she forgot to let go of John's until the dishes started to go by; Wally tried not to laugh, because while Hawkgirl was pretty good at human customs, she got irritable when she screwed one up accidentally.
And then he forgot about it entirely because there was Martian bread to pass around, and what could have been Thanagarian potatoes but were really just mashed, and salad and stuffing and turkey and one good thing about being the Flash was that Wally didn't have to worry about leaving room for pie because he'd be hungry and he knew it.
As he spread a generous amount of butter on the bread, Wally thought this was totally the best Thanksgiving he'd had in years.
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Stuffing the Bird