The thing about working in nuclear energy, Antoine Radson knew, was that the industry never truly slept. Day and night the reactors ran, providing energy to the city.

Christmas day found him and his work crew doing maintenance in the administrative levels that were generally occupied during the normal workday.

Antoine was glad at least that he didn't have to dress up. He wore a pair of camouflage cargo pants and a graphic tee shirt with a picture of a surfing unicorn. Balanced on a ladder, he swapped out the fluorescent light tubes with four foot LED tubes; an initiative Preston, of all people had suggested. It came as the result of an argument at home.

Antoine had bought lightbulbs, incandescent ones. Preston protested that he only used LEDs because they were cheaper in the long run. After an argument about lightbulbs that went into way more depth than it needed to, at least in Antoine's opinion, Preston won. Antoine returned the incandescent bulbs and purchased the apparently correct type.

The debate, it seemed was far from over. Later that evening, they found themselves once again arguing about lightbulbs. Antoine, in frustration had finally announced that if Preston was going to be so obsessive about lightbulbs, why didn't he convert the plant to LED bulbs?

Preston thought that was a brilliant idea. He'd quickly submitted an expense proposal to the Board, citing that they could pull from the surplus in the helicopter budget for initial funding; and use the holiday downtime to do begin the change-over without interrupting workflow. The Board had agreed without any resistance. It was agreed to expedite the matter. Two days before Christmas, a supply delivery had arrived containing several crates of the LED tubes.

Thus, Antoine and a significant number of the infrastructure team were spending Christmas hanging lights, though not the decorative kind.

"You really think this is the way to spend your holiday?" Stewart asked as Antoine handed the fluorescent tubes down to him.

Antoine shrugged. "Ordinarily, it would beat sitting at home bored." He thought of Preston and the lightbulb debate. "But honestly, I'm not exactly thrilled to be here, you know?"

Stewart carefully stacked the old bulbs into their box. "At least it's double pay," he chirped.

Antoine rolled his eyes. "For you. I'm on salary."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

They worked quietly for a while, periodically moving desks and chairs out of the way to get at the light fixtures.

Stewart, young chatty Stewart, could not stay quiet for long. "So, you have any plans for today? I mean other than being here? Party to go to, family or something?"

"No." Antoine carefully rotated another tube into position and replaced the cover. He thought about Preston. His roommate was at home, probably doing Sudoku or crossword puzzles in his favorite chair. When Antoine had left this morning, it seemed like it hadn't even registered to Preston that he was going to work. Antoine understood work, knew the importance of getting a job done. He had to be honest though, he did feel rather offended. Hurt even. It seemed like Preston was taking advantage of the situation. He would've liked it if Preston had come in to change a few lightbulbs, or at least offered. This was his idea after all. It was almost out of character for Preston to be thoughtless like that.

Antoine wondered if he was still playing the role of snooty executive he'd worn at the party the other week. If he is, Antoine thought grumpily, that is not going to fly. Oh, we are going to be having a serious discussion about what I will and will not do when I get home. He took another bulb from Stewart and angrily pushed it into position.

Preston stood in the empty house alone, lost in thought. He felt bad for Antoine having to go to the plant. He'd offered his housemate the Cadillac, but Antoine had sulkily refused, and taken his ancient Geo Metro, Bessie.

Somehow, that little act hurt Preston the most.

Preston wandered into Antoine's room, and looked over the small collection of books Antoine kept on his dresser. There weren't many. Antoine wasn't much of a reader. Two books on beach life, a few on hiking and camping, one on hike-and-bike trails around Plateau City. There were also two glossy coffee-table books in the heap. One had pictures of various helicopters (of course), the second was a photographic essay of surfing culture.

Those books, less than ten, made up Antoine's entire library.

Preston worried perhaps he'd been too busy with work lately. With the end of the year coming, his priorities revolved around getting at least a few irons in the fire; proposals he could either handle himself or route to the Board if they were large enough. Antoine's comment about the lightbulbs might've been made in a moment of pique, but Preston had to admit it was brilliant. Preston wasn't sure off the top of his head how many nuclear generating stations were focused on green technology, but making a switch was a step forward.

Preston sat down on Antoine's bed and regarded the books thoughtfully. His mother once told him: "Don't wait for inspiration. Sometimes you have to go after it with a club." Later, Preston realized that was a quote from author Jack London.

Health insurance premiums, company costs… and here he was sitting on a bed doing what?

Looking for inspiration, he decided.

Antoine's room was as good a place for inspiration as anything on Christmas day. The man wasn't messy, per se, but he did have a tendency to leave things lying around his room when he was done with them. A pair of mountain bike gloves and a helmet sat atop the TV. There were a pair of those hideous toe-shoes tossed in a corner. A Hawaiian shift hung over the closet door. Disorganized, but not cluttered. Everything he owned served a purpose. Antoine wasn't one to keep mementos or knickknacks.

Earlier in the day, Preston debated going over to the plant to check on Antoine. He'd ultimately decided against it. Antoine would probably still be surly. Preston also worried about the implications of him coming in on his day off to help Antoine with lightbulbs. If that didn't start rumors flying, he wasn't sure what would.

What else, Preston asked himself, could he reasonably do at the plant? Business was largely halted for administrative tasks, and thanks to Rigel's work he was technically caught up. He could wander about "tour the spaces," as he called it, but then what? Nothing to do but walk around, and think.

Walk around… and think.

Something was playing at Preston's mind. Something, an idea or memory that fluttered just out of reach. Walking, thinking, employee health premiums… Preston snapped his fingers loudly. "There's the ticket!" he said to no one in particular.

The Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station, like most nuclear plants, occupied an area over a mile square. Technically, their plant sat on a two square mile plot, with half of the site being devoted to the existing plant, and the remainder largely unused. Originally the land had been purchased for surface storage with dry cask silos containing spent fuel rods. That had been something Dimas talked about. Preston knew it would never happen now. Preston didn't object to re-racking and stacking multiple assemblies in the cooling ponds. If the NRC said it was safe, he was sure it probably was.

The side parcel was currently wasted land; but it didn't have to be. There was space for a recreation park, even a jogging trail outside the main security line. Preston wondered what Antoine would do if they put in a bike park.

That was better use for that tract than spent fuel storage.

The idea of a park caught his attention.

An employee fitness program was one thing, Preston mused. He could have facilities built, but that didn't mean anyone would use them. A recreational area would be much more likely to draw use from the staff. It would cost less to maintain, and it would be a good way to segue into encouraging activity. It was something he'd have to pursue more seriously once the holiday season was over. Perhaps the plant could even donate to some of the local parks in the area, sponsor trail maintenance, something like that. Increase not just employee activity, but promote some community recreation sites as well. That would put a good name out.

Perhaps, if he were feeling particularly ambitions, he could consider looking into alternative energy fields. Not that he wanted to lose his plant, of course. Nuclear energy was a great thing. But maybe some "green" initiative would help improve the public perceptions of nuclear energy. Perhaps even donating a few small-scale projects like solar panels of wind turbines to help supply local non-profit organizations. Charitable interest on the part of the Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station, great press coverage; and a foot in the door for expansion.

Preston kicked the ideas around in his head. Definitely an avenue to consider. Feeling energized, Preston sat down at his computer, notepad in hand, and began brainstorming.

Antoine had almost finished installing the current shipment of bulbs with Stewart and a few other members of the team. He felt hot, tired, and filthy. By the time they got the last lightbulb installed, Antoine wanted nothing more than to go home and take an hour long shower.

Grease on his hands was one thing. Or mud from a hard bike ride. That was okay. Being covered in ceiling dust was another thing all together. It was gross. His mood towards Preston hadn't improved either. Gonna give him a piece of my mind. Or maybe the entire pie, Antoine thought roughly.

He didn't even bother stopping at the decontamination showers to rinse off. Without a change of clothes, he'd just be putting the same fouled items back on over damp skin. Soggy dust was even worse than the powder. It was in his hair, his eyes; everywhere.

Antoine gave Stewart a fist-bump, wished him a Merry Christmas, and left.

Of course it had snowed while he'd been inside. Bessie was covered with a blanket of white. He pulled out the scraper and started sweeping the snow off, wishing he'd brought gloves; wishing he had more than tennis shoes to keep his feet warm. After what seemed like far too long, Bessie was cleaned off. He climbed into the car, knocking the snow of his wet and frozen feet.

Fortunately Bessie, for all her rather aged features, had an excellent heater. Soon he practically steaming. He might have been dirty and sopping wet, but at least he wasn't cold.

Preston heard the garage door open, the familiar rattle of Antoine's car as he pulled in. He bounded to his feet, feeling happier than he had in a long time. He couldn't wait to tell Antoine what he'd been researching online. Preston saved his work and made it to the entry just as Antoine was coming in.

"Antoine, I want to tell you something," he said.

Antoine's blue eyes regarded him stoically. "Later," Antoine said harshly. He shrugged off his canvas coat and dropped it deliberately on the floor, eyes never leaving Preston's. Without a further word stalked into his room and shut the door.

Hurt and confused, Preston picked up Antoine's jacket. It was soaked through. He hung it sadly in the hall closet. Preston stopped outside Antoine's room, and listened at the door. He heard Antoine turn on the shower.

Preston wandered into the living room, and picked up a copy of the local newspaper. He read through the business pages until he heard Antoine turn the shower off. A few minutes later, the sound of Antoine's TV reached his ears. It sounded like he was watching a reality show.

Preston bolstered up his courage, and walked down the hall. He knocked lightly. "Antoine?"

"What?" came the reply through the closed door.

"Can we talk?"
"I'm watching TV," Antoine replied.

Preston leaned against the door frame. "Can I come in?"

"I can't stop you," came the weary voice.

Slowly, Preston opened the door and stepped in. Antoine was lying on his back on the bed, head and shoulders propped up with a stack of pillows. He raised his eyes to Preston, but did little else. "So, now you're in," he remarked, turning his face back to the TV.

Preston sat down on the edge of the bed. "What's going on with you?"

Antoine flipped aimlessly through the channels. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No, not really," Preston admitted.

Antoine paused on a channel showing some sort of extreme elimination challenge. Contestents were running through an obstacle course while avoiding water cannons and dodgeballs. One of the players took a ball to the stomach and toppled into the water. He surfaced, sputtering, and swam back to the beginning of the stage. "Poor dude," Antoine muttered. The show broke for a commercial, and Antoine finally muted the TV. He rolled on his side and rested on an elbow. "Okay. Here it is, Prep: did it ever occur to you that I might want to spend the holiday with you, instead of installing a bunch of stupid lightbulbs?"

Preston stuttered for a second, then looked away. It hadn't occurred to him at all.

"Yeah, I thought not," Antoine said. "I work for Sharon. She says she needs eight of us to swap bulbs. Volunteer, or be voluntold, she said. So, well, I said I would. And I did, because it's a job and it's what I do." Antoine rolled his eyes. "I dunno. I guess it's not a big deal. But I wanted to spend the day with you, maybe watch a movie or something; not replace bulbs."

Preston reached out tentatively. He laid a hand on Antoine's ankle. "There's still time. We could watch a movie if you wanted."

Antoine shrugged, then reached into the space between his mattress and the box spring. He made a noncommittal grunting sound. "Whatevs, Prep." After a moment, he pulled out a small, flat item wrapped in newspaper. "Got you a present though. Merry Christmas, or something." He looked away suddenly, and turned the volume back up on his show.

Preston took the gift gently. The wrapping style was distinctly Antoine. Not the neatest, rather spur of the moment, but the intentions were there. He carefully tore the tape off and pulled out a book. How to Fail at Almost Everything and Still Win Big; Kind of the Story of My Life. It was by Scott Adams. Preston immediately recognized the name. The author of the well-known Dilbert comic strip.

"Sharon recommended it to me. I don't read so quick, so she loaded the .mp3 onto my player. I admit I didn't really listen to all of it, but what I heard made me think of you. So, yeah, this book made me think of you and I hope you like it."

Antoine looked positively embarrassed. Preston had no idea why. It wasn't a huge present, not something to feel self-conscious over. He flipped open the front cover. Written in Antoine's familiar and barely legible handwriting was a single line. "Preppy, you got this, I believe in you." It was signed with a simple sketch of a heart, and the initials AER.

Preston kept his face as neutral as possible. He wondered exactly what it meant. There were several things he wanted it to mean, but Antoine was, well, Antoine. With him, it might mean nothing at all.

"I was going to leave that on your desk. I forgot it here," Antoine mumbled awkwardly, still watching his show. He glanced over at Preston. "Too much bromance?"

Preston felt blood rushing to his cheeks. He turned his face away, and laughed shyly into his hand. "Uhm, no. Well, maybe. Jeeze, I don't know."

Antoine snickered. "Made you blush." He turned his attention back to the TV. "You know, I was going to give you a piece of my mind when I got back here. Read you the riot act about making me take care of your stupid lightbulbs… but then I figured ultimately, I did volunteer for it. So that's not really your fault. I mean, yeah you put the note out to Sharon to get it done asap… but whatever. You're the boss. I think I was probably mad at myself too for not remembering your book. Regardless, making you turn all red like that has been worth it." He slapped Preston's thigh affectionately. "Merry Christmas, right?"

"Merry Christmas, Antoine." Oh, just wait till I show you the card I bought, Preston thought smugly. Check and mate, Antoine. He smiled to himself; glad he hadn't thrown it out after all. Two could play at that game. Merry Christmas, indeed.