Dawning Delights 02: Baking Cookies
Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other. Main Post
Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc
Updated every Tuesday/Friday & both holiday eve and days for Christmas and New Years.
-/
Marc, in typical Marc fashion, revises a midday brunch to a family-style dinner not long after making their arrangement. Apparently he’d got Amanda’s very enthusiastic RSVP and decided she should be treated to a home-cooked meal and be able to provide input on their Dawning Celebration. After all, accepting Zavala into their unorthodox family meant Amanda came along with it.
"Oh, this isn't going to end well." Suraya rolls her eyes as Amanda hollers, "He doesn't know the difference between salt and sugar!"
The Clan Stewardess pulls a beer from the fridge and hands it to the Shipwright. "Take this, and go back to watching your sparrow racing, would you?" When Amanda goes, she lays a hand on his forearm. "You're doing fine."
Zavala sighs. "I don't have to help with these-"
"Yes, you do. You’re psyching yourself out. Stop doubting yourself. Cooking and baking are two totally different things."
"And yet you excel at both."
"Both my fathers taught me what they knew. Besides, I don't think anyone was baking cookies in the dark ages," She reminds him. The exaggeration earns her a subdued half-smile. "Blend in the butter. Slow, fold it in on itself." She watches the consistency change, sticking her fingers into the mixture to test it. "Perfect," She tells him, voice even, not indulgent. Tension bleeds from his shoulders. "I'll roll it out. Amanda picked the cut-outs, right?"
He turns, finding them on the counter near the refrigerator and brings them to her. "Here."
"You can do this too, it's easy." She hands him back one that looks suspiciously like a jumpship. They exchange a glance at the rest - also jumpships and sparrows - and Hawthorne grabs a few more that look like stars and bells, even a little Ghost-shaped one.
He presses the cookie cutter into the flat roll of dough carefully.
"You can't hurt it, Zavala, push all the way through."
He does, and when he pulls back the cookie cutter, the dough comes with it. Halfway through transferring it to the cookie sheet nearby, it flops out of the plastic. He catches it in a fist, effectively ruining the shape.
Hawthorne laughs, opening his fist and plucking out the dough. "Put your hand under it next time." She rolls the misshapen cut-out back into a ball and pops it back in the bowl with the other half of the dough. "You really can't hurt these. I promise."
"You've seen me try to cook," He reminds her, pressing into the dough again.
Her hips nudge his. "You've got this, Commander. Besides, Marc will be more obsessed with us baking together than he will about the quality. He can't bake to save his life. Ask him about the time we tried to make Dev a birthday cake. He'll love it."
Amanda shouts something in the background, kicking her feet against the bottom of the couch. No doubt she has glimmer riding on the results of the race. Meanwhile, Suraya works with precision and experience, rolling out more dough on the counter beside him to speed things up.
"Did Marc try often?" Zavala knows by now that her childhood isn't a secret, but she grows embarrassed easily and won't share much without pointed questions. As it happens, Zavala is curious, wanting to know as much about her as he can.
He'll get the story from her first, and still ask her adoptive parent later. By then, Suraya will be loose enough to point out any inconsistencies, and add her own commentary.
"No. He looked up ‘easy to bake recipes for kids’ exactly one time," She admits, sheepish still. "Dev was on assignment and due back on his birthday. We did some accidental chemistry." She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, spearing a dab of flower on it. He spares it a fond blink and meets her eyes once more. "Some cakes use vinegar, and baking soda. It helps them rise. It's also the same thing used in children's experiments, science fair volcanoes, that sort of thing." She shrugs.
"My Dad - I mean, you've seen him, he cooks by heart. The recipes are just guidelines." Zavala hums in agreement. "So he dumps the vinegar in right after the baking soda, and he's got the mixer on, right?" She claps her hands. "Just, bam! Everywhere. Chocolatey ruin, all over the kitchen." She laughs and he can't help but smile. "I must have been eight or nine, I can't remember. I laughed about it for a week. He spent an hour washing chocolatey goo out of my hair, and three more trying to clean the kitchen."
"What did you do?"
"He all but sprinted to the bakery. We made it home with maybe ten minutes to spare? Dev probably wouldn't have known," She grins, "But I ratted Marc out immediately."
Zavala laughs.
"He was so stressed, and Dev was so confused, and," Suraya giggles, "I didn't know what to do." She snorts, having to stop what she's doing, she's laughing so hard. "Marc started raving. 'The damn thing said it was for kids,' he kept saying. He's sworn off baking to this day, and I'm not kidding, he hasn't made a single dessert." Finally, she composes herself, wiping tears from her eyes. "I am so making him tell you the story. He'll lose his mind."
"Are you sure you want to antagonize him?"
She is. "He's a primadonna. He loves it. He'll start with the hand motions-" She flops a hand towards him, dusting his sweater with flour, lips snacking as she tries to belay her laughter once more. "Oops."
Blue eyes look down and narrow. "Suraya," He warns in a tone that says he’s already determined his next move and it’s not in her favor.
She grins, sheepishly. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."
Dark shapely eyebrows rise and fall in a silent insinuation.
The next time Amanda comes into the kitchen, there may or may not be hand prints on Suraya's back, and flour in her hair. Zavala isn't faring any better, she sees what she'd guess is a Suraya-sized palm smeared across the seat of his jeans. She takes one look at them and makes an about-face, leaving her empty on counter, sneaking into the fridge for another, unwilling to join in the chaos. They're too busy carrying on to notice her, and she's not about to spoil their fun.
She will, however, bring it up to Marc later, because she knows he'll want to hear all about it.
-/
It's well after dinner when the girls are laying on the couch watching some old holiday feature that Zavala pulls Marc aside. He waits until Suraya is nodding off onto Amanda's shoulder - Amanda is too enthralled to mind, she loves these reruns - to slip back into the kitchen unnoticed.
"Plans in plans?" Marc queries smartly, unprovoked. His hair is starting to turn more pewter than black-brown these days, but he still doesn’t look a day past forty (he’s thankful to his skin-routine and hairdresser for that). He gestures to the large kitchen island, and the stools beside it.
“Well,” Zavala doesn’t look nervous. Perhaps that’s why it radiates off him so obviously. Marc doesn’t believe in auras, but projection and a little context do wonders. “I do need to ask you something.”
Marc shakes his head, patting Zavala’s folded hands. “When and how? Is there a plan and can I help?”
“You don’t even know-”
His hazel eyes shine in fond amusement. “She sees right through you, doesn’t she?” He muses aloud, to which Zavala shifts uncomfortably, exposed. “That’s not a Devrim trait, you know.” He tips his head down, trying and failing to conceal his grin before swinging his gaze back up to ethereal blue. “She gets that from me."
"Still-"
"I am absolutely certain my husband gave you the curt, gentleman's heart-to-heart and relished every awkward second of it." He crosses one leg over the other, and smiles. Devrim had called him immediately after this particular conversation, resources and satellites, encrypted comm protocols be damned. After all, it wasn't often that the Vanguard Commander snuck into the wilds unannounced to ask your blessing to marry your child. "You don't need to convince me. I'm here for this. And you.” His eyebrows dip in an insinuation. “So spill."
Zavala leans in, voice dropping to barely a whisper, and Marc scoots closer, visibly vibrating with excitement.
-/
The Guardians waste no time presenting their Vanguard with presents. For Ikora, flaky pastries replace last year's overabundance of donut holes. Zavala finds himself inundated with Gjallardoodles again, within hours of the Tower's festivities officially beginning. Eva, laughing from her place between Tess, Kadi, and Rahool, only encourages it.
Hawthorne watches from afar. She doesn't have the heart to tell them that Louis doesn't eat birdseed when they bring it by the bag. Instead, she sets it aside for Colonel, who is still roosting comfortably in the Hangar and will - unlike what Cayde insisted previously - eat anything.
At some point, she sees Zavala approach Ikora for some sort of exchange. Pastries for cookies, conversation between them unrushed and pleasant. She can see it in their body language. They may not be close, but it warms Suraya to see Ikora smile, for her to be getting along with Zavala and them to be working as a team once more.
The year prior had been rough for everyone. Hawthorne and Zavala were still working to well and truly define what was between them when Cayde was murdered. Sure, there were feelings and Suraya's relatively certain they both knew what those feelings were at the time (they just wanted to be careful), but losing Cayde changed things.
The Vanguard was forever changed. At one point, Suraya had been pulled into a meeting with the Hidden - which was something - and been asked about Zavala's stability (they really did know everything, which was alarming) and her opinions on the Vanguard being necessary at all. It had been a time. Of course, she understood why those questions begged asking. Zavala threw up walls like she did, closing himself off to everyone.
But, Suraya knows better than anyone how to slip in the cracks. She did not push or prod. Did not beg his attention or time or push him to cheer up. She simply existed, constant and quiet, at the edges of the room, the other side of his bed. Waiting. It didn't take nearly as long as she had expected.
Now, she knows, she has Eva to thank for that. There was a reason she'd made sure Suraya only received edibles for her feathered companion (misguided though it was). The old woman had given him a reason to be concerned, a reason to share his overabundance of holiday treats with her, and it paid off.
It took far longer for the Vanguard to make peace and try to move on, for Ikora and Zavala to set aside their collective pride and grief and foster a relationship once more.
Here they are, though. She can hear Zavala's low laugh from here, see the way Ikora reaches out to test one of the better looking cookies in the tin he's holding. They're better together, the both of them.
Louis squawks something agreeable, and she doesn't think on it much when she turns to feed him a little nibble of the treats he'd been given that he does enjoy. Some of the Hunters who know a thing or two about hawking have brought him presents, as well. He hasn't gone hunting yet, and 'tis the season. He's a little underweight as it is. He chitters on like the spoiled brat he is, keeping her attention. She smooths his feathers and grins at him. He looks at her, head tilted, beak parted. Asking for the rest.
"No more," She says, and his cries grow a little more urgent. "You want food, you have to hunt. You're not a chicken."
He beats his wings petulantly before crying once more. Suraya laughs and sends him on his way.
When she turns back, Zavala is entrusting the two tins of leftover Gjallardoodles to Ikora. The Warlock slips the smaller one into a drawer at her station. Suraya doesn't think anything of it.
Back to Main Fic Post
