Work Text:
Jazz glared at the casserole dish. The casserole inside had moved. At least she thought it had out of the corner of her eye. Which was entirely unacceptable. She was taking that to meet Clark's parents. She was not going to meet her new boyfriend's parents with a casserole that might be a bit undead. So she stood glaring at the dish. Waiting to see if it would move again.
"Do I want to know what that poor casserole did to offend you?" Clark asked, walking into her kitchen from the front hall where he had been putting his shoes on.
"It moved," she said, not taking her eyes off of it.
"They do that though?" Clark said. "They bubble when they're hot."
"I know that," Jazz said. "But I've also been attacked by hot dogs before. And those are dead. I have to make sure this is too."
The silence from Clark made her turn and look at him. He had the most confused look on his face that she had yet seen. Though she was making perfect sense.
"One day I will meet your family and understand why sentences like that make any sort of sense," he said.