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“Are you sure this is a good idea, Napoleon?” Illya studied the shopping list his partner had complied. “Our hand is rather forced by your aunt’s absence. We could always go to a restaurant.”
“We eat at restaurants all the time. The holidays are supposed to be about home. I’ve watched Aunt Amy cook Christmas dinner a dozen times over. How hard can it be? You shove the turkey in the oven and roast it until it’s done. Do you think 25 pounds is enough?”
“For me. No, wait, there are accompaniment, yes?”
“Um, there’s stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, at least three kinds of vegetables, rolls, and pumpkin pie for dessert.”
“I think we should buy the premade stuffing and just cook it along with the turkey. Same thing with the rolls and the pies. Why reinvent the wheel”
“Pie,” Napoleon corrected.
“Pies.” Illya’s tone left no room for argument. “What do we drink?”
“Wine, I suppose.”
“I knew the buying was the easy part.” Illya blinked rapidly to clear his eyes from the tears caused by cutting onions. He sniffed and pushed the cutting board away. “There, the onions are done, along with the celery and I peeled the potatoes and put them on to boil. I feel like I’m back home and on KP duties.”
“Your mom?” Napoleon was wrestling the turkey out of its plastic bag.
“My staff sergeant. He had no sense of humor. You put one jeep on the roof of the officers quarters and you’d think I’d called him late for dinner.” Illya watched Napoleon get the bird into the sink. “Okay, according to the directions, you need to dress it now. What do you think? Three piece, cutaway tails, matching tie?”
“Stay out of my closet.”
“You and my staff sergeant must be related. There’s a chance I was joking. ”
Napoleon reached into the bird and pulled out a blood drenched sack. “Give me a pan.” He dropped the sack into it. “Those are the giblets and the neck.”
“You can make gravy from that.” Illya read the plastic bag. “It says rinse inside and out, then salt and pepper and rub the skin with oil.”
There was a sudden hiss and Napoleon turned. “Watch out, your potatoes are boiling over.” The turkey fell to the floor as Illya moved the pot off the heat. He swore and shook his hand as the hot water threatened to scald him.
“Are you burned?”
“Not quite, but it was close… the potatoes, on the other hand… At least you dropped the turkey before you washed it.”
Napoleon looked at their turkey, resting happily in its roasting pan. “Is the oven preheated?”
“It is.” Then Illya frowned. “Napoleon, have you measured your oven?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m no scientist--”
“Yes, you are.” Napoleon had a sinking feeling. “Why?”
“Beginning physics tells me that you can’t stuff a twenty-five pound bird in an oven designed to hold a five-pound chicken.”
“Now what do we do?”
Illya suddenly snapped his fingers. “I have it. Can I borrow your phone?”
“Of course.”
Illya started to sift through the contents of his wallet until he found a small piece of paper. The number was impossibly long and Illya dialed it carefully to not make a mistake.
There was an answer and Illya nodded. “Yes, it’s me. We are in need of your special talents.”
Napoleon had covered the turkey and was still staring at his oven by the time Illya returned. “I can’t believe it doesn’t fit.”
“What was the last thing you cooked in it?”
“Last thing?”
“Let me guess, this is the first thing.”
“Well, yes. I just don’t usually need it for anything.”
“It’s okay. I called reinforcements.”
“Who?”
“Exactly.”
A strange noise emulated from the living room and Napoleon’s face went blank. Something started to form… a blue police box. “You didn’t.”
“I don’t know anyone who can bend time and space the way he can.”
The door opened and a dark-haired man peered out. “Hello, I’m the Doctor.”
“You’ve changed.” Illya walked to him and offered his hand
“Regenerated a couple of years back. My word, you haven’t changed at all. How do you do that?”
He stepped out and looked around. “You said you have a problem only I can help with.”
“Napoleon is trying to cook us Christmas dinner and his turkey is too big.”
“For?”
“His oven.”
The Doctor walked into the kitchen and surveyed the catastrophe. “Hmm, I can see why you called me and your potatoes are burnt.”
“True.”
“And your turkey is still half frozen.” He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the bird. “Hmm, that’s what I thought. Gentlemen, this calls for special action.”
“I have to admit, this is probably the best solution to your small oven, Napoleon.” The Doctor took a bite of his turkey and chewed. “This is perfectly done and the potatoes are without equal. And two kinds of pie. I’m in heaven. My compliments to the chef.”
“Mais oui.” And the waiter turned away.