I missed Hank Month. And Lev Month. And Willie Month.
(Oh, that didn't sound right.)
But BY GOD! I Will Not Miss Maddy Month! Resolved in this, I wrote
a little story for Maddy Month,(even if it really is more of a William
Happy Holidays, Folks!
TITLE: The Great Christmas Cookie Caper
AUTHOR: WGSarah (firstname.lastname@example.org)
RATING: G (Warning: sillyfic)
NOTES/DISCLAIMER: Everyone belongs to Marvel. Sadly. Moreover,
I'm not recieving any financial recompense for this. Archival will
be at the Bright White Light, all others please ask first.
The Great Christmas Cookie Caper
It's all about the cookies, really.
My mother makes the best Christmas cookies. Yeah, I know,
it's not the first thing I would have thought she'd be great at, but
there you have it. They're the best thing about Christmas at my house,
(outside of the whole family getting together thing, and frankly,
that can get painful.) She spends an entire week making them- butter
cookies that are covered in colored sugar and just melt in your mouth,
these little anise ones that just.. oh, and let's not even get into
the chocolate almond biscotti that she makes exclusively for Christmas.
When I started elementary school, at Christmas Mom sent me in with
a plate of cookies for my kindergarten teacher. By the time I made
it to second grade, I was being mugged in the halls by teachers demanding
to know if she'd made the cookies yet. By the time I'd gotten to fifth
grade, I was lugging in a plate for every teacher in the building.
I tell you, the Girl Scouts have nothing on my mother. I even got
Jubilee to agree with me on that.
So after she makes up all the little plates to give to the neighbors
and the family and her friends, what do Dad and I get? You'd think
it'd be whatever was left, right? Noooooo. She freezes what's left
until Christmas. On Christmas Day she puts out a small plate of them
for the relatives. Dad and I can have one each. One. And once
she puts them in the freezer you can forget it, they're history. You'll
see them again when dinosaurs regain control of the Earth.
So, obviously we're not going to put up with this injustice. Obviously
we're going to fight for the freedom of people everywhere. Obviously
we're going to steal and eat the cookies.
Unfortunately, she's caught on to this over the last twenty-odd years.
The 'distract and grab' technique Dad and I perfected no longer works.
(My head still throbs where she broke a wooden spoon over it last
year.) It's a shame, really. But never fear, this year Dad and I have
a plan. And it's a good one, too.
Robert and William Drake peered over the back of the couch, watching
Madeline ruthlessly work the cookie dough with a rolling pin.
"You don't feel guilty about this?" Bobby asked his father nervously.
William gnawed on his lip a moment before letting out his breath.
"Just keep telling yourself it's for the good of the cookies, Son.
Once your Mother gets over her ... initial irritation, she'll see
Bobby snorted. "I doubt it. She's still mad over the time that we
stuffed her wedding dress and tied it to the tree out front. Locking
her in a closet is a whole 'nother level."
William glared at Bobby. "Did we or did we not manage to acquire
an entire batch of gingerbread men by doing that?”
Bobby threw his hands up defensively, "I'm not saying we didn't!
And it's not like I'm not the one who came up with the closet idea,
either, it's just..."
"Are you doubting The Plan?"
Bobby briefly considered mentioning his reservations about The Plan.
"Not at all, sir," he lied, "I ... just don't want to lose the element
William nodded solemnly. Surprise was very important to The
Just then the subject of their conversation suddenly stilled and
raised her rolling pin menacingly. Bobby and William ducked down,
out of her line of sight. After a tense moment the kch-ka-klack sound
of cutout dough being flattened resumed.
"Do you think she's on to us?" Bobby asked in a hushed voice.
"...No." William flashed Bobby a falsely confident smile. "Not your
mother. She's too sweet and innocent."
Bobby glanced over at his father who had a vaguely troubled look
on his face. "If you say so."
"And what's that supposed to mean, young man?" William puffed up
"Nothin'." Bobby slumped down in his seat.
"Robert..." The older man warned.
"The woman has a devious streak a mile wide in her! Don't tell me
you haven't seen it. If I wear my lucky shoes to an interview, she
knows! If I eat Twinkies for breakfast, she knows! If there's a single
woman within a five-mile radius of me, she knows! And every time we
get anywhere near those cookies, she knows."
"Ten miles," William mumbled under his breath.
William waved his son quiet. "Wait. Listen."
The pair peeked over the couch again.
The kitchen was empty.
"Where did she go?" William's eyes slitted as he darted them from
side to side.
Bobby leapt over the couch, flattened himself against the wall next
to the kitchen door and quickly stuck his head in. An unholy grin
creased his face. "Do we care? She's gone!"
Both men made a mad dash into the kitchen. All signs pointed to Madeline's
speedy return- cookies in the oven, a metal mixing bowl of dough was
slowly rising, and a small dish of egg whites sat on the edge of kitchen
table. A plate of cookies sat wrapped by the back door. Decorated
festively, it was ready to be given to a neighbor or friend. Many
such plates would pass through that door, Bobby mourned silently.
William stood in the doorway staring hungrily at the center island
of the kitchen. There stood the real prizes. Twelve Rubbermaid tubs
of cookies sat stacked and sealed, waiting to be shoved into the chest
freezer in the basement.
"Dad? Should we-" Bobby began.
William laid a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward into his
own personal cookie nirvana. "In a moment, Son."
Bobby shrugged and slid over to the cutting board. Raw cookie dough
was almost as good as baked cookies. A thin layer of dough had been
rolled out and several shapes had already been cut into it. Bobby
looked closer and realized that the cutouts were actually letters.
Probably spelled 'Merry Christmas' or...
"Oh, hell," Bobby muttered.
"What is it, Son?" William wandered over, green sugar frosting tingeing
the corners of his mouth.
Naughty or Nice?
The world went white and flour-y.
Bobby could vaguely make his mother's plump form standing in the
living room doorway. She seemed to be waving a wooden spoon.
"GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!" Maddy charged the pairboldly brandishing
her weapon. "OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT!"
"OW!" Bobby ducked his head and tried to dodge around Madeline. She
tossed another handful of flour at his head and tried to back him
against the wall. William hid behind his son, clutching a handful
"Every year you try something. All I want to do is make the cookies
in peace!" She gave Bobby an aggrieved look as she warmed to her subject.
"Is that too much for your poor mother to ask? And you!" She poked
the spoon at her husband. "I see you! Don't think you're going to
get away with this! I want you to-"
Bobby tuned his mother's railing out as he frantically searched for
an escape. Across the room the light filtering in from the back door
"Don't you 'Mom' me, young man!" The spoon descended on his head
"Ow! Mom! Your cookies are burning!" Bobby pointed at the stove.
Maddy whirled around and whipped open the oven door.
Inside sat a dozen perfectly golden Christmas trees.
Realization dawned across her face as the back door slammed shut.
"Wait a minute-!" She ran to the door and flung it open. "AND DON'T
COME BACK UNTIL YOU'RE CLEAN!" She yelled at the rapidly retreating
Bobby ducked around the shed and leaned his back against it. He could
hear his mother screaming something else at them, but he was beyond
William stood huffing beside Bobby, covered from head to toe in flour.
Bobby smirked. "So tell me Dad, are you the ghost of Christmas future?"
William shot the younger man an impatient look. "Well?"
Bobby chuckled and reached under his sweater to pull out the plate
of cookies that had been sitting by the door. Quickly pulling off
the green plastic wrap, he grabbed a stained glass cookie and shoved
it in his mouth. Crunching contentedly while his father gnawed on
a pfeffernausse, he noticed a slip of paper nestled under a Hershey's
"Whassat?" William mumbled around the cookie.
"Dunno. Probably for the person who was 'sposed to get the cookies."
Bobby quickly gave it a once over and choked.
William whacked him on the back. "Son? Are you all right?"
Bobby gasped. "She knows EVERYTHING!"
William snatched the note.
Hope you like the cookies. If you ever pull a stunt like this again,
I will pull the cable and send Bobby's bathtub pictures to the newspaper.
P.S. Bobby, Mrs. Singleton says a young lady moved into the apartment
across the hall from her. She's expecting you for dinner on Thursday.
Groaning, he passed the note back to Bobby and grabbed another cookie.
"She's a smart woman, your mother is. Merry Christmas, Son."
Bobby grinned wryly. "Merry Christmas, Dad."
- (biography) - (discussion)
- (stories) - (pictures)
- (links) - (updates)-