Work Text:
Mrs. Curtis was quietly making cake in the kitchen. Her boys were asleep, the ones in her house anyway. Her husband and sons had a tendency to be good sleepers, and she was grateful for it.
She softly hummed to herself as she grabbed the ingredients. She was making chocolate cake, of course—nobody would have it any other way. As she began combining the dry ingredients, she heard the door creak open.
"Hello?" she called softly.
A shaggy tow-headed mop of hair was the first thing she saw. Then, she saw the boy himself, sporting new blood and bruises.
"Hi, Mrs. C," Dallas answered. "I didn't know you were awake..."
"Nobody was supposed to," she answered lightheartedly. "Did you get into a fight again?"
"Yeah. I won though," the boy answered as he made his way toward the bathroom.
He automatically grabbed the first-aid kit and sat at the dining table. Dallas knew that Mrs. Curtis would want to ask questions, like always. This was far more routine than either of them would've liked.
"What was it this time?" Mrs. Curtis asked.
"I hustled at pool, and the other players weren't very happy about it. I held them off with my pop bottle, though," he explained as he dabbed disinfectant on his injuries.
"I see. Why did you hustle them in the first place?" Mrs. Curtis continued. She skillfully cracked eggs into the bowl with one hand.
"My other monetary means were lacking," he answered evasively. "How do you crack eggs like that?"
"Why didn't you just come here? I know you know the door is always open," Mrs. Curtis stated calmly. "It's not as hard as it looks. You just crack, and split it by sort of bending the shell in half."
"I don't need help from the likes of you, Katherine," Dallas snarked defensively. "I've made it this far."
Mrs. Curtis pointedly ignored his challenge. He'd only clam up more if she got angry with him, so she went back to the cake.
"If you're still hungry, I have casserole in the fridge. Do you mind grabbing the milk while you're at it?" she asked.
Dallas rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. He handed her the milk, set down the casserole, and hauled himself onto the counter. Mrs. Curtis held out a fork to him, which he graciously took.
"Is the casserole good?" Mrs. Curtis asked idly as she continued on her batter.
"Yeah, it's whatever, I guess," he answered quietly. He was stuffing his face with the food, as if he hadn't eaten in days. With the way Dallas lived, it could very well be the case.
"When was the last time you ate, Dallas?" Mrs. Curtis questioned.
"I ate yesterday. Don't see the problem," he answered. Unbeknownst to him, his reassurance had the exact opposite effect.
"How about you take the casserole with you, hm? Lord knows I'll just have more leftovers tomorrow," Mrs. Curtis said.
Dallas knew she just wanted him to take the food, she wasn't necessarily being discreet. However, he'd oblige, as any gift from Mrs. Curtis was one he ought to take. She was practical like that, everything she gave you was useful.
"Are you going to stick around long enough to lick the spoon and taste test, or no?" Mrs. Curtis asked, a smile beginning to grace her face.
"I'll stick. Don't got anywhere else to be," Dallas replied.
Mrs. Curtis' smile grew. She knew bribery wasn't in any parenting book, but she also knew that Dallas could easily leave if he wanted to. It was a flimsy balance between them, but a balance nonetheless.
"Smart boy. Here," she said as she handed him the spoon.
Dallas grinned as he stuck the spoon in his mouth. His smile softened as he watched her put the cake in the oven. He was watching over her shoulder to see if she was preforming some kind of magic so the cake would be perfect like every other one. She wasn't, of course, but it seemed like something that would be possible.
"Now we wait," Mrs. Curtis said as she closed the oven. She leaned against it and looked at Dallas.
The boy hopped off the counter and turned on the sink. He washed the spoon off and set it in the dish drain.
"Where's the saran wrap?" Dallas asked.
Mrs. Curtis walked over to a drawer and handed it to him. "Return my dish when you're done, alright? It's one of my nicer ones," she told him mildly.
"Fine. Not sure what else's worth doing with it," he answered with a mischievous tone. She knew he wouldn't do anything too bad, but she fixed him with a glare regardless.
"Don't you even think about it, or you'll be in trouble. Now, did you bring a bag this time around?" Mrs. Curtis asked. The boy shook his head. "That's alright, I'll see if I can find you something to wrap it in," she told him. "Wait here."
She walked off to see if she could find something to help him hold the dish easier. After about ten minutes of hunting, she found a paper bag and a small old towel. When she returned, she found him back on the counter, holding the casserole.
"Here, I'll wrap up the casserole if you check on the cake for me," Mrs. Curtis said. Dallas nodded.
He set the casserole to the side and slipped off the counter. He grabbed a butter knife from the drawer then made his way to the oven.
"Do I just stab it?" he asked. Mrs. Curtis nodded.
Dallas opened the oven and carefully stabbed the cake. Mrs. C looked over at the knife as he pulled it out.
"A little longer, close it up," she told him. He did so and moved to stand by her side. "Here, I wrapped up the casserole in the towel and put it in the bag so it'd be safe," Mrs. Curtis informed him. "We'll just leave it here until you decide to go, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Lovely! Here, let's grab some plates. We can't leave any trace, understand?" she told him with a wink.
Dallas grinned and grabbed the forks sneakily. He liked challenges and they both knew it. Once the table was set, she took the cake out of the oven.
"Go sit down, and I'll cut it for us," Mrs. Curtis told him. He paused and looked around.
"Won't they know we took some?" he asked warily.
"Not with the way I cut it," she reassured with a slightly mischievous expression.
Dallas waited tentatively. Mrs. Curtis carefully cut a long piece out of the middle of the cake before putting the remaining sides back together. Then, she split the long piece in half, placed each slice on a plate, and brought them to the table.
"Tada," Mrs. Curtis preened. She carefully placed the plate in front of him.
Dallas eagerly stuffed his face with the cake, only to immediately drop it out of his mouth because it was so hot. Mrs. Curtis laughed at him.
"Careful," she advised. "It's fresh."
"Clearly," he answered ruefully.
They sat quietly enjoying their cake, but soon the silence began to drag. Mrs. Curtis was trepidatious to initiate conversation given Dallas' flighty nature.
"What's your favorite sport, Dallas?" she asked. "I've noticed that you don't play football as actively as Darry or the others."
The boy shrugged. "Football's overrated anyway. Don't take so much run and throw and catch and tackle, I do that everyday," he stated.
Mrs. Curtis sighed. Whether it was out of endearment or resignation or something else entirely was beyond her. She lifted her head to look at him again.
"That doesn't answer my question. What's your favorite sport?" she asked again. Dallas looked away shiftily.
"Baseball," he relented. "I like baseball."
Mrs. Curtis hummed. "Ever considered playing?" she continued as she picked up her plate.
She quickly saw her misstep as Dallas' face darkened. The ever icy look in his eyes seemed to harden.
"I ain't stupid enough for that. Plus, it's not like I could join up anyway," he spat. Mrs. Curtis feared he was going to leave as he stood up, but he merely brought his plate to the sink.
"I suppose not," she answered lightly. She moved to grab his plate and wash it, but he fended her off.
Mrs. Curtis decided not to say anything and instead wash the leftover dishes from earlier. Quietly, the two washed all the dishes together. Neither addressed how easily they could fall into this routine (or how easily it could stay like this).
Once the dishes were washed and placed on the drying rack Mrs. Curtis looked at him.
They stared at each other for a moment, a soft look meeting a hard gaze.
"My favorite team is the Yankees," Dallas murmured. Then he picked up the bag with the casserole inside and made his way towards the door.
"Goodbye, Dallas. Stay safe out there, honey," Mrs. Curtis called softly.
"Bye, Mrs. C," he answered. He murmured something under his breath.
If Mrs. Curtis had been a little closer, and if Dallas had been a little louder, maybe then, the soft little "I love you" would've made it across. But it didn't. However, even if the words didn't make it across, the feeling did.
Maybe that's all that really mattered in the end.