Warnings: minor language

"What's everyone doing for Thanksgiving tomorrow?" Cap asked during dinner.

Roy looked up with a long-suffering expression, explained, "We're going to Joanne's parents' for the whole day."

Everyone nodded knowingly, all too aware that Roy's mother-in-law, for whatever reason, was not very fond of him.

"I just picked up an extra shift," Johnny spoke up, "After all, my people aren't too big on Thanksgiving. Might as well make a little money and give someone the day off who wants it."

"What about you, Cap?"

"Oh, it'll just be me, Ginny, and the girls this year, but it'll be nice, I think. What about you, fellas?"

He gestured to Mike, Marco, and Chet. Marco said, "Well, my family really doesn't do Thanksgiving, either, so me and Chet are going with Mike to his parents'. It should be a lot of fun."

"Yeah? That does sound nice. Maybe one year we should all have a big Thanksgiving dinner with all our families," Cap suggested thoughtfully, "We oughta remember that for next year."

Mike nodded and cast a glance over at Chet, who was not looking at anyone and had some color in his cheeks. This Thanksgiving dinner had been at least a month and a half in preparation. Libby had called Mike in October to make sure he and Marco would be off, and Mike asked if, just in case, they could bring along an extra person. He didn't know what Chet usually did on Thanksgiving and other holidays like it, but he thought it would be nice to at least invite him to join them. When he'd asked Chet about it, he hadn't expected the reaction he got.

Chet had flushed bright pink, avoided Mike's eyes, started shuffling his feet and fidgeting.

"N-No, I couldn't- I do-don't wanna impose on any-"

"It's not imposing. I'm inviting you."

"I dunno… I don't want it to be weird. I feel like it would be weird."

"Chet, it's not gonna be weird. My family likes you, and me and Marco'll be there. If it's the sign language thing, don't worry about it. Marco's isn't exactly great yet. He can't really follow conversation yet, and I'm used to translating, so that's no big deal. I mean, if you had planned to pick up OT, that's fine, but-… I just-… I don't want you alone when you don't hafta be."

He couldn't really argue after that, which was good because Mike really didn't feel like arguing. He didn't know exactly why Chet felt so undeserving of their friendship and love, but he was determined to try and make him see otherwise. Now, he was hoping Chet wouldn't try to back out at the last moment. Marco was making idle conversation with his partner, the two speaking in low tones. Mike smiled softly and returned to his dinner. Johnny actually did a good job tonight. This is not only edible, it's actually pretty good. Roy had helped him a little when he asked for it, but he honestly was getting better at cooking.

"Mike, what time are we goin' to your parents' tomorrow?" Marco asked

"Oh, we can go whenever," he shrugged, "Dinner's usually around five or five-thirty, but I'm sure Mom wouldn't mind a few extra pairs of hands to help set everything up. That's if she makes you guys do anything at all, which she probably won't. She doesn't let guests do anything."

"Am I really a guest anymore?"

"True, but she might make an exception because Chet's gonna be there, and she won't want him sitting alone."

"Really? She's gotta let me do somethin'!" Chet piped up, "I don't wanna be a mooch."

"Well, I'll see what we have for you to do that'll keep you outta the kitch-"

The tones dropped, sending the firemen launching to their feet, directing the station to an unknown trouble call. Mike pulled himself up into his seat and put on his turnout, waited for Cap to climb up next to him, felt Marco settle in behind him, sighed contentedly. It had not been so long ago that Mike and Marco had been on the brink. Mike had been exceedingly stupid and nearly ruined it all. They'd made it through, however, had apologized and made up and made promises, and things between them were back to normal… were better than normal. Cap pulled the map out of the glove box, not that Mike needed a map. He switched on the sirens as they left the driveway behind the squad.

The address belonged to a small house, children's toys scattered on the front lawn. A woman frantically ran out to them, her dark face fearful and tear-stained.

"Please!" she cried, "It's my husband! I don't know what's wrong! He's shaking and sweating and freaking out! Please, he-he's never been like this before!"

She practically dragged Roy into the house ahead of everyone, leaving Johnny and Chet to carry the equipment in.

"What've we got, Roy?" Johnny asked, setting up in the living room.

"Apparently, the male patient has locked himself in their bedroom," Roy explained while Cap calmed the woman, "Wife said he wasn't feeling well the last two days, was shaky and sweaty and vomited several times. She did give us permission to break down the door if necessary, but I'm hopin' we won't hafta do that."

"What happened today?"

Roy only shrugged and went to the door, knocking on it to try and communicate with the patient. Johnny gave a quiet huff and got to work setting the biophone up. After a moment, the wife came back, sufficiently calmed by Cap.

"Ma'am, is there anything you can think of to tell us about what may have caused this?" Johnny asked, "Could he have taken any drugs? Started a new medication? Does he work with any chemicals?"

"No, nothing like that. He just got a job as a security guard at an art museum. He starts there next week. That's why he wanted to get clean, for me and the kids and his new job."

"Get clean?"

"Yes, he's been drinking. He was in the Marines in Vietnam. Got a Bronze Star and Purple Heart, but when he came home, things were hard. His job laid him off while he was gone, and he couldn't find much good work. It really tore him up, pained him, so he turned to alcohol. He was never mean or violent, never touched me or the children… he just drank. With this new job and things goin' so well, he promised me he would clean up."

"What happened today that made you call 911?" Roy asked.

"He started freaking out, said his skin was crawling, said there were things in the house trying to hurt him. I told him nothing was there, and that's when he really lost it. Locked himself in our room."

"What's his name?"

"Ted."

"And how old is Ted?"

"Thirty-one."

"Any previous medical conditions or medications? Allergic to anything?"

"No, nothing."

Roy went back to the door, knocked, called, "Ted? Ted, I'm a paramedic. I work with the fire departme-"

There was a loud gunshot. Everyone hit the floor. Johnny screamed for Roy. Mike could hear the children in their room yelling as their mother scrambled to go to them. There was a large hole in the door about at the upper frame. Great. This guy has a shotgun. Just what we need. Looking up, Mike could see buckshot holes in the ceiling. Johnny and Roy were arguing loudly with Cap, and Johnny crawled to follow the wife. Marco was pressed into Mike's side, shaking slightly. He whispered, "Querido, are you alright?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine. You?"

"I'm okay. Just scared."

xXxXx

The patient was yelling indistinctly behind the door. Assured that Mike was okay, Marco made his way the short distance to see if Chet was the same. He was still facedown on the carpet, hands covering the back of his neck, his whole body shaking finely. Marco softly called his name and laid a hand on his lower back; Chet jumped.

"Are you alright, Chet? C'mon, manito, talk to me…"

Very slowly, Chet picked up his head and looked around, seeming to take inventory of his body and surroundings. Johnny scurried back into the room, telling Cap, "Wife says he's got a 20-gauge, side-by-side double barrel. We can break down the door and get to him if we time it right since they take some time to reload."

"No, Johnny, we can't risk it," Cap said, "The police are on their way. If we just wait-"

"We can't wait! Delirium tremens has the possibility of seizures. We can't help him if he has a seizure behind that locked door."

"I just can't risk it, John. We're gonna wait."

Marco couldn't see Johnny's face, but he could imagine the look on it now; a mixture of anger and stubbornness with the merest hint of betrayal. That's the look he gives you when you won't let him risk his neck. Stupid kid… Marco returned his attention to Chet. He still looked at little shaky but seemed more with it now. Sirens could be heard in the distance, rapidly approaching. Mike said to Cap, "I'm gonna go let the police know what our situation is. I'll be back," and gave Marco's arm a squeeze before heading out.

Chet made to sit up, but Marco pushed him back down gently, hand still on his lower back. The officers stepped in carefully and stood on either side of the bedroom door. One, the younger of the two, held a shotgun of his own. The elder partner knocked on the door.

"Ted, this is the police! Drop the weapon and open the door-"

Another blast set Marco's ears ringing again as he moved to protect Chet. When he looked up again, the officers were wrestling the patient out of the room… right up until the patient started seizing. Roy and Johnny quickly took control of the man, Roy yelling, "We need help over here!"

Marco and Chet got right to their feet and hustled over to the paramedics. They already had him on his side. Marco grabbed a cushion off the couch to put under his head. Roy was on the biophone, calling, "Rampart, this is Squad 51. We have a male patient, age thirty-one, currently having a grand mal seizure. Patient is reportedly withdrawing from alcohol, and we believe he may be suffering from delirium tremens. Hold for vital signs…"

"Marco, can you go get the oxygen and the drug box?" Johnny asked.

He hurried out to the squad.

"What's goin' on in there? What happened?"

"Guy's havin' a seizure. Police pulled him out and he just went. It looks bad."

The patient was still seizing when Marco came back inside. Johnny had an airway started and was issuing orders to Chet while Roy communicated with Rampart. Cap and the police officers were trying to calm the wife and crying children. Involuntary sounds escaped the patient as his throat muscles constricted. It was barely controlled chaos. Marco handed the oxygen over to Chet and gave the drug box to Johnny.

"Johnny, IV with D5W and 10mg Diazepam," Roy called over the din.

"You got it. Marco, gimme a hand over here. I need help holding this arm still…"

He held the patient's arm down at the wrist, watched Johnny methodically insert the needle and set up the IV. The patient was still seizing as the ambulance arrived, already having seized for about five minutes. Johnny and Roy carefully helped load the patient onto the gurney and took him out.

"… absolutely follow them to Rampart General, Mrs. Woods. Just don't speed or follow us too close, alright? Your husband's gonna be alright," Cap told the woman calmly.

Chet was sitting on the ground in front of the kids, a boy of four and a girl of six, telling them a silly story to keep their mind off what was happening.

"Where are they taking Daddy?" the girl asked.

"Well, he isn't feeling well, so my friends Johnny and Roy are taking him to the hospital so a doctor can make him better. They're takin' really good care of him, I promise," Chet replied gently.

"Christy, Teddy, come with me," Mrs. Woods said thickly, "We've gotta get ready to go to the hospital and wait for Daddy, okay? The nice firemen took him there so a doctor can help him get well, understand?"

"Yes, Mommy."

The firemen left after that, followed by the officers, who were still talking to Cap. He shooed them toward the engine, clearly wanting a modicum of privacy.

"Well, this was an exciting run," Marco quipped.

"I'll say," Chet agreed, "Not sure I need that kinda excitement in my life ever again, man."

Mike hummed in agreement. The three firemen stood by the engine, milling about, waiting for their captain. The sun was almost completely sunk behind the horizon.

"So, Mikey-baby," Chet spoke up after a moment, "how's Marco's moustache treatin' ya?"

A flush crept into Mike's face as Chet smirked; Marco snorted. He'd grown the moustache over the summer, abruptly deciding to grow it in those last two weeks of his recuperation, just after he and Mike really made up. He rather liked it himself, and Mike had finally admitted he liked it, too.

"Oh, I guess I like it well enough. Can't say I have any complaints," Mike replied.

"I certainly haven't heard any complaints," Marco smirked, "Sounded like all praise to me."

Chet snorted loudly just as Cap walked up. Mike cleared his throat and asked, "What was that all about, Cap?"

"Just discussing the patient's potential criminal charges," Cap answered, "I think I managed to convince them not to press charges against Mr. Woods. I don't think he really wanted to hurt anyone, and he wasn't in his right mind, anyway."

"Yeah, if he'd wanted to hurt someone, he wouldn't have shot through the doorframe," Chet remarked.

"That was very good of you," Mike added.

"Call it the holiday spirit. C'mon, let's head back to the barn, fellas…"

xXxXx

"Chet, I'm not gonna let you do this," Mike said firmly, "You promised to come."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to anymore. Maybe I don't feel good."

"Cut the shit. You feel fine."

I fuckin' knew this would happen. Chet had been fidgety all morning, a little distant, more quiet than usual, and Mike wished he knew what the problem was. Chet was such a bundle of contradictions. At times, he was desperate for attention and downright clingy, almost seemed starved for touch in the way he stood too close and let his hand linger a millisecond too long. Then, there were times like this, times when he pushed all his friends away, wanted to be alone, flinched away whenever anyone touched him. It confused Mike to no end.

"I just don't understand this, Chet," Mike said, "You were so excited for this just a few days ago, you wouldn't shut up about it. Now, you're lying to me to get out of it. Why?"

"I told you, I just don't feel good-"

"Dammit, don't lie to me. Tell me the truth."

Chet ducked his head, looked at his feet, fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt. His respiration seemed to quicken.

"I don't know how to explain it," he mumbled after a moment.

"Just try. We have some time. Marco's putting the finishing touches on some covered dishes. C'mon, we'll sit down. You want me to make coffee or get you a glass of water?"

"No, 'm fine…"

He led Chet to the cluttered couch and sat next to him. Chet suddenly switched into his touch-starved mode, pressing his body against Mike's side, shivering slightly. Mike quickly put an arm around his shoulders, keeping him there. Neither spoke for a long moment.

"I don't… I don't wanna be a burden, Mike," Chet finally whispered.

"You're not a burden. Chet, you're our friend. You're my friend. If I thought you were a burden, I wouldn't have invited you to Thanksgiving dinner at the beginning of October."

"I just know I'm gonna be useless. I can't help with anything."

"You're not useless. There's plenty for you to do, plenty we can find for you to do. I'll ask my mom and sister when we get there. It's a holiday party. There's always plenty to be done."

"I just don't want them to feel sorry for me… don't want you feelin' sorry for me, either."

"I don't feel sorry for you, Chet. You know that. Besides, Mom's been lookin' forward to seeing you again. She likes you almost as much as she likes Marco. Plus, I think Violet has a 'lil crush on you."

"The ten year old? What can I say, man? Chicks dig me."

Mike snorted quietly, giving Chet a squeeze, and told him, "C'mon, Chet… go get dressed."

Chet lingered a moment longer before pushing himself up and headed into his room, emerged a few minutes later in a smart shirt and jacket with no tie and a pair of khaki pants.

"Hey, you clean up pretty good, Chet. Lookin' sharp."

"Only for my friends, babe. Only for my friends."

They arrived at the Stoker house around noon, and everyone was in full swing. Violet came running, yelling, "Uncle Mike! Uncle Marco! You're here!"

"Yes we are, Vi, and we brought a friend. You remember Chet, right?"

Her round cheeks turned bright red as a pair of apples, and she mumbled an affirmation of some sort. She turned and ran back toward the kitchen. Marco snickered, earning a smack in the chest from Chet. Libby emerged in a floured apron, waving them all in. George, Rosie, and his parents were all set to some task. His mother looked up from her pie, grinned, signed, -I'm so glad you're here. What did you bring?-

-Marco made some Mexican food for side dishes. Our place smells great.-

-I can only imagine. Tell Marco he can set those on the counter where there's room.-

Mike passed along the message, and he was immediately put to work in the kitchen. The family worked like a well-oiled machine, a perfectly choreographed dance. No one so much as tapped elbows. Marco took Chet on a grand tour of the house while Mike helped in the kitchen.

"Anything we can do to help, querido?" Marco asked when they returned after a while.

"I don't think so, but I can ask… one minute," he said, turned to get his mother's attention, signed, -Mom, do you need Marco or Chet to do anything here?-

-Just to enjoy themselves. There's football on today, right? Tell them to watch football.-

"Mom says she wants you to watch football. There's a TV in the living room."

They put up a bit of a protest but were eventually shooed out by his mother and told to relax.

"I'm glad Chet could come today," Libby said once they left, "I wouldn't want him to spend today alone. It must be horrible, to go through the holidays with no family. What did he usually do before?"

"Worked, I think. There are guys who wanna work the big holidays. They usually get at least time-and-a-half, plus it gives another guy the day to spend with his family. Johnny usually does it, too. 'Course, he's Indian, so he's not too big on Thanksgiving, anyway. Gave us a pretty good lecture on the history of Columbus and Manifest Destiny the other day, actually. Very informative."

"I can only imagine. Anyway, like I said, I'm glad Chet's here with us today. He's such a sweet young man."

"You don't work with him."

"Oh, you wouldn't like him if he wasn't."

Libby had a point. Chet liked to put up a front of being a prankster and immature and not serious, but the truth wasn't far below the surface. He was genuinely sweet and kind and brave and loyal, just the kind of person Mike liked to be friends with. Ridiculous as his mood swings were and sad as his past was, Chet was still a good person. Mike would never not be amazed by that. What he's been through would break most people… but it only made him better. He was glad others were beginning to see what a good person Chet was.

After another hour, Mike was shooed out of the kitchen to keep his friends company 'like a good host,' and he found Marco and Chet cheerfully watching football, beers in hand.

"Who's playin' now?" he asked.

"Denver and Detroit," Marco replied, "It's lookin' pretty close right now."

"Yeah, but I think Detroit's goin' down," Chet said, "Their season's not bad, but it ain't great, either."

"For that matter, Denver's not exactly havin' a stellar season themselves."

"Detroit got shut out against Washington last year, though. Plus, Denver just lit 'em up with twenty-one unanswered points! Shame, too, since it's the Lions' last game in Tiger Stadium…"

Sure enough, the Lions ended up losing a close game to the Broncos, and the afternoon game started at 4:15. Violet came to sit with them for a bit, climbing up to sit on Mike's lap, avoiding Chet. The three firemen and Violet sat together on the couch, Mike and Marco pressed close together, their fingers twined. Chet sat on Marco's other side, just barely touching him. It just felt so right, so comforting, so domestic. Mike dropped his head onto Marco's shoulder, felt their fingers disengage and an arm slip around his waist, felt chapped lips at his hairline, let out a happy sigh.

"Aren't you two just adorable?" Chet cooed jokingly, "Such a cute 'lil picture…"

They chorused, "Shut up, Chet," and all returned their attention to the Washington-Dallas game. George called them into the dining room for dinner at six. Mike scooped up his niece and carried her in, still holding Marco's hand. Lucky… I am so lucky. That's what he decided to be thankful for this year. He had a family and group of friends who loved him no matter what, who loved him when society usually said that people like him were unworthy of that love. Instead, these people offered him love and support and kindness, every attempted 'coming out' to their shiftmates met with a smile and 'I know.' Mike and Marco were closer than ever, their fight almost entirely forgotten, kept in their memories as a teaching tool only. Sitting at the table, he shared a smile with Marco, then with Chet.

He'd been smiling so much today, his cheeks almost hurt. He wouldn't have it any other way.