Disclaimer: Generator Rex isn't my intellectual creation. It's the MOA's, lucky thing.

Chapter 1

"Holly, where do you go at night?" the ten year old had asked her earlier. She'd been distracted, putting up the hood of her coat by the exit. She'd not even noticed that Rex had followed her from her lab. All she'd noticed was the time and that she was never going to get home in time to sleep if she didn't tear herself away from the microscope. She could hear the rain pelting down against the walls outside. "Hmm, Rex?"

"You always go, but I have to stay here," he said, watching her keenly. "Where do you go?"

"I go and have dinner with my family," Holiday had said carefully. She'd discussed family with Agent Six: Rex had no memory of family, so should they avoid the subject? They'd decided against it. He'd encounter others talking about their families so he might as well learn to cope.

Callan, a newly qualified guard, had driven her home as was the requirement of her upgraded contract to ensure her safety.

"So how's the kid?" Callan asked as he drove.

"He's adjusting well, I think," she frowned slightly. "He's bright, I'm only worried that Six'll overdo the training. He got a sprained ankle last week."

"Did Six let him off training to recover?"

"Nope," Holiday said immediately. "Well, until Rex…" she blushed. "I let him hide in my office so Six wouldn't find him." Callan had laughed heartily at that, driving through the dark, rain-slicked streets, until they finally reached the outer limits where houses were cramped together but had a tiny bit of garden.

She got out of the car. "Thanks for the lift, Callan," she said with a smile.

"Same time tomorrow, doc?" he asked. He was quite handsome, his face boyish and his light hair crisply cut.

"As long as nothing unusual happens," she said. "Thanks again." He drove off, leaving her outside the garden gate.

Now, pushing it open and walking up the path to the small house she rented with her sister and her sister's boyfriend, she stifled a laugh, remembering what else Rex had said as soon as she'd mentioned why she left the base each night.

"What's your family?" Rex demanded. "Do you have kids? No way do you have kids. You aren't married, are you Holly? I mean, you don't wear a ring—"

Holiday had laughed and assured him that there was no man in her life, just science.

"So why don't you live with us?" Rex had looked sad as he asked this. "Don't you like the idea of living with us? Hey, I could be your guy."

Living with soldiers and a ten year old…she shuddered delicately at the thought then took her key out and inserted it into the lock. As she started to turn the key, the door was pulled open from the other side and a young man nearly rammed into her.

Holiday rolled her eyes and jumped aside as he stormed off.

"Liz?" she called. "What have you done to him this time?"

"Who says it was me?" the girl's voice came from the kitchen. "He'll get over it. Come on!"

The house, small as it was, was warm with the smell of dinner. Holiday inhaled gratefully and shed her coat, her shoulders unhunching.

"You're drenched!" her sister scolded, jabbing a wooden spoon at her sister and sent a glob of some white sauce at her. "Get changed, or else—"

"You'll catch cold," Sandra Holiday finished for her, shooting her a grin. "Liz, you sound way too much like Mom."

"At least I don't cook like her," Elizabeth retorted and turned back to the cooking, feverishly stirring the sauce. "Pasta's in the sink—"

"In a sieve this time? Not the actual sink?" Sandra teased. Liz went red. "I was nine!"

"Love you sis," Sandra said randomly, lovingly as she grabbed the colander from the sink where it was propped. She poured the pasta onto the three plates. "So Tom—"

"Three, two, one," Liz said quickly with a grin and right on schedule the front door opened again and they heard Tom walking down the hallway.

"Go get changed now," Liz ordered as soon as the last of the pasta had slipped onto the plates.

That made her sister laugh and bob a mock curtsey. "Yes, ma'am. I'll let you have your apology snog now." She darted from the kitchen, dodging Tom and went upstairs to shed her wet clothes and put her briefcase in the corner of her bedroom where she couldn't see it so easily.

Home, she thought gratefully, simply, casting a look around her bedroom. Photos of her and Liz on the windowsill, the curtains a soft rose against the cream wallpaper. Her old college textbooks stacked in the bookcase by her desk, her old desktop computer almost obsolete compared to the state of the art equipment she worked with every day but she didn't care. She changed into slacks and a clean blouse then went back downstairs. As soon as she entered the kitchen, Tom and Liz broke apart, flushed. Liz grinned at her and pointed to the chair. The dinner was ready.

"So, how was work?" Liz asked.

"Same as usual. Yours?"

"Same. Boyfriend crashed in on me making out with someone from credit control."

Tom flicked pasta at her. Liz caught it neatly in her mouth. "Thanks darling. Works every time."

"Anyone would think you forgot to eat at work," Tom retorted.

"Well, you were in the same closet as me at lunch," Liz grinned.

"Enough!" Sandra gasped. "Please!"

"I could so imagine you with Keith from reconciliations," Liz said to her. "You'd make such a cute couple. Matching outfits and everything."

"He wears a skirt?"

As usual the pasta began to fly. That was the real reason to have pasta in their family. It was such a fun weapon.