Holidays, in an institution, are really nothing special. Life goes on. The cafeteria has a go at cooking something vaguely related to the holiday in question -- in this case, given that it was Thanksgiving, dry slices of turkey with anemic gravy, mashed potatoes from a box, rolls that were making an honest effort at decency, and cranberry sauce still somewhat shaped like the can.

And there's always one person semi-dedicated to keeping the holiday spirit alive.

In this case, given that it was the School and no one was really too hot on remembering when the hell it was the holidays anyway, said person was Kyle. Who was among the most normal people working at the School, incidentally, if we're excepting people like the secretaries and janitors.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said to Reilly that morning.

"Fuck off," Reilly replied civilly, and pulled the covers over his face.

Kyle yanked them back down. "C'mon, can't you be nice?"

"It's too early to be nice. Didn't I just tell you to fuck off?"

"Yeah, you did." Kyle sat on the edge of the bed. "That's not very nice. But in the spirit of Thanksgiving --"

"I'll smother you with a pillow if you don't shut the fuck up." Reilly squeezed his eyes shut, apparently still determined to attempt and sleep. "Now get the fuck out of my room."

"Why? It's seven o' clock. You should be up by now. No reason to stay in bed all day." OK, so maybe he was overdoing the cheer a little bit. Maybe.

"I was up until two last night. You hear me? Two in the morning. I got four hours of sleep. Fuck off." He put an arm over his eyes.

"Oh, come on. I can bring you coffee or something." Kyle sighed, and stopped resisting his temptation to elbow Reilly in the ribs.

In response, Reilly made a highly undignified, high-pitched sound, somewhat resembling a squeal. "Fuck you!"

"Be nice or I'll do it again," Kyle said warningly.

"You wouldn't." Reilly clamped his arms to his sides, which meant he had to uncover his eyes. He looked rather goofy, in an adorable way.

Oh God, had Kyle just applied the word "adorable" to someone? Fuck fuck fuck!

"Oh, I will." He made his best attempt at a menacing, evil laugh, but suspected that he only made it halfway. "I will."

"When Hell freezes over you will. Now get the fuck out." He would've sounded a lot more impressive had he not been lying in bed with his eyes closed.

"C'mon. Up. I don't care how many hours of sleep you did or didn't get last night, you're going to get out of bed on Thanksgiving."

Reilly pried one eye open. "Disregarding that you're not the boss of me... what the fuck is it with you and Thanksgiving? I actually have today off, fuckface. It's my business if I want to stay in bed all day."

Kyle for once chose not to go with an immature retort -- it might have been the slightest bit inappropriate to say 'well, staying in bed by yourself would be no fun at all -- maybe I could join you?' and dude, fuck that. "Just get up. I don't have to give you reasons."

Reilly whacked him with the pillow.

"Oh, that's not cool," Kyle muttered gravely, and flopped down across Reilly's stomach. "You're gonna get the fuck out of bed or I'm just gonna stay here."

"That is," Reilly said, "the shittiest plan I've ever heard, and I've heard some really terrible plans."

"Oh yeah?" Admittedly, it wasn't much of a plan. He could work with keeping Reilly in bed, though. "Do tell."

Reilly laid one arm across Kyle's chest. "Well... there was one time involving Dr. Harrison, a whole mess of surgical tubing and three really pissed-off Erasers..."

Meanwhile, elsewhere, in a land with much less swearing and a lot more fluffy lovey-dovey action -- which is to say, down the hall in Doctor Batchelder's room...

A knock on the door. "You awake?"

"No." Ter Borcht pulled the pillow over his face. Some people like being up and awake in the morning. Some don't.

You get three guesses as to which type Doctor ter Borcht was, and the first two don't count.

"I brought you breakfast?" One thing about Jeb: he knows fuckall about how people and their emotions work. One other thing: he knows what makes Roland tick, what he likes, what he doesn't like.

He took the pillow off his face. It wasn't obscenely early. Well, not quite. By his standards up until recently, it was right around when he should be up and in the lab. Considering that he was across the globe from said lab and, oh yeah, pregnant -- forget getting up at six. Unless it was for Jeb -- for Jeb he'd make an exception. "Fine."

How did Jeb know him so well? Normally he seemed almost willfully clueless about... people in general. When it came to Roland, though -- it seemed like he just knew things.

Like the fact that he could be bribed into semi-civility in the early morning with an offer of food and companionship and not having to be stared at in the cafeteria.

Jeb came in and set a plate down on the desk. "You feeling OK?"

"Yes." He sat up, not quite willing to get out of bed yet. Jeb made it worth being awake in the morning, but... getting out of bed would be pushing it. Maybe in half an hour. "Come over here."

Jeb sat down on the edge of the bed, and Roland wrapped his arms around him. "Thanks," he muttered.

"For bringing you breakfast?" He sounded at least a little surprised. Brilliant scientist or no brilliant scientist, sometimes the great Doctor Batchelder was nothing if not adorable.

"For everything." Damn. He smelled good -- as if ter Borcht didn't have enough reasons to want to keep the man around.

"You're welcome." He sighed. "I have today off. Anything you want to do?"

You.

"Not unless there's something you want to do."

"You have something in mind?"

"Possibly."

Ter Borcht gave in and yanked him down onto the bed.

Breakfast remained forgotten for a while.

"So remind me why you hate Thanksgiving."

Reilly resisted the urge to poke Kyle in the ribs. Revenge right now would be so satisfying... but as the Klingons said, revenge was a dish best served cold.

"Dunno. Never really liked my family; yours was more fun." It was hard to talk with Kyle lying on his stomach, and Kyle didn't seem to have figured that out. Why was his best friend such an idiot?

"That was a fiasco." It only took one minor disaster for Kyle's family to discover that as friendly as their son's best friend could be, he was deeply bad juju when it came to family gatherings. That, and he hadn't told his family where he was intending to spend Thanksgiving.

They made him pay for his own Greyhound ticket back home. Reilly had never really gotten over the experience -- dammit, he'd been saving that money for the convention next year, their last before Reilly went off to college.

"OK," Reilly concedes. "Fiasco or no fiasco, your family was way awesomer than mine. I never did get your mom's recipe for those cookies." One thing quite a few people never suspected about Reilly: he kind of liked baking.

Kyle snorted. Reilly had one strange definition of 'awesome'. "Awesome? I doubt it. We're a bunch of crazy Southerners. You're lucky my uncles didn't try and induct you into our family by making you my blood brother."

"We're already blood brothers, fuckface. Want me to show you our scars?"

Stop perving on me. "No. If you want, I can ask her for the recipe next time I see her. Warning, it involves violence." It was looking like he'd have to actually see his family in person sometime soon. They'd been fine with phone calls, but... Mom was so bad at giving instructions over the phone.

"Sounds like my kind of recipe," Reilly said brightly.

"It would be." He sighed. "Then again, you've never seen my mom bake. Bring your safety glasses. Your shots are up to date, right?"

"Duh!" Reilly sounded thrilled. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. "So it's set. Next year we're going to your house for Thanksgiving?"

"Sure. Now remind me why you hate the holiday?"

"I do not hate Thanksgiving." If he weren't so good in bed -- and funny -- and nerdy -- and OK so Kyle had lots of reasons to stay with the bastard, whether or not he lacked the ability to be consistent.

"You just said you did."

He sighed, and if he hadn't had his eyes closed, probably would've rolled them. "I never had much to be thankful for, I guess. My family sucked, I was too smart for my own good, and I turned out gayer than a three-dollar bill."

Kyle poked him in the ribs. He had it coming. "Well, come on. There must be something."

"OK. Fine. Lemme think."

Kyle was silent for a moment.

"You, I guess."

Kyle tried not to laugh. Reilly opened his eyes.

"Do not laugh. I'm deadly serious."

"OK, OK... if you say so." Well, if nothing else... entry number four on his list of things he'd thought only happened in fanfic.

"Your family is more awesome than mine. Mine's fuckin' boring, yours is at least weird." He spoke as if he were reciting a list. "You kept me from losing my mind in college. And -- you're not bad-looking, either."

Kyle grinned. "Aww, thanks, darling."

Reilly made a growling noise. "If you call me 'darling' ever again, I swear to God I'll rip your intestines out and choke you with them."

"You're so sweet."

"Fuck you!"

There's nothing spending time with the ones who love you most.

(Yes, Reilly. Even if they piss you off.)

Happy holidays.