A case of Penn Dark Lager in his hands and a cardboard carrier with four bottles of Italian wine balanced on top, Brian depressed the latch and shouldered open the door to Debbie's house. Hit by a wall of noise and warmth, he almost backed up, fully prepared to drink the alcohol all by himself.

Jesus, thought Brian, taking in the press of people milling around the living room. Maybe Deb had invited all the Kinnetik staff. Then again, it looked like it was mostly just family - a family that never stopped growing.

The urge to flee eased when he was assaulted by all sorts of savory aromas. Brian's stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten today; foregoing all food, even a green apple, had seemed like a good plan since the den mothers, otherwise known as Debbie and Jennifer, would be pushing food at him and telling him he was too fucking skinny. Well, Mother Taylor might say it without the ‘fucking,' but you never knew considering the influence Deb'd had on her.

The girls were parked on the sofa on the far side of the living room, engaged in what looked like a heavy petting session. Blech. What kind of example was that for impressionable young minds? Speaking of, Brian glanced around for Gus and JR. He caught sight of Gus and his friend Timmy over by Stan, but there was no sign of Jenny. Brian didn't care where the little hellion was; he just didn't want her putting grubby hands all over him for the third fucking day in a row.

He watched Carl ease his way around Stan, who was now down on all fours, demonstrating something to a wide-eyed Gus and Timmy. Oh Christ, it was the Scuttle, a move the contortionist had invented and subsequently trademarked under his stage name. This was hardly the way to ensure a hearty appetite, mused Brian, his stomach flipping.

Thankfully, Gus couldn't imitate Distorto today, not with his arm in a sling until his sprained shoulder healed. With nothing to stop him, Timmy slid down onto the floor and attempted to contort his body to match what Stan was doing.

Gus pouted for a moment but then cheered his buddy on when Stan helped Timmy move his arm into an unnatural position.

"Follow me," Carl said, lifting the wine off the case of beer and lightening Brian's load. He guided Brian past Distorto and the boys towards a folding table that was sagging under the weight of a large roaster, a couple chafing dishes and an oversized, pastel orange crockpot that could only belong to Honeycutt.

Brian started to lower the case to the floor, planning to push it under the table, when Horvath muttered, "Uh-uh. It's too warm in here. The beer's already sweating."

When he glanced down and saw that Carl was right, Brian wrinkled his nose, hefted the case back up and followed the detective out the back door.

The contractors had done a good job widening the stoop into an enclosed porch, he noted absently, setting the lager down next to the minifridge. The space still wasn't very large, but there was room for a couple of lounge chairs, a small table between them and the mini fridge. An old TV with rabbit ears was perched on another small table opposite the chairs.

"There." Carl set the wine carrier down next to the beer. "Now I'm all set if I want to escape to watch the game." He patted the TV affectionately. "This old gal gets the best reception in the Burgh."

Brian would've liked to contest that - the TV looked ancient enough to have belonged to Carl's grandparents - but Horvath was right. The Zenith TV did get reliably good reception, unlike Brian's fucking expensive, temperamental LED widescreen.

"The Valpolicella should go inside," he commented a trifle resentfully.

"Right. Better grab it then." Carl gave Brian a toothy smile.

Rolling his eyes, Brian set the two bottles of white wine next to the case of beer, hooked his fingers through the handle of the carrier and followed Carl back inside, almost plowing into the older man when he came to an abrupt stop. 

Turning to peer down at the food-laden folding table, Horvath mumbled, "Can't watch that shit. It creeps me out."

Brian might've put the sweat beading Carl's forehead down to the overheated house, but his pale face belied that assumption. As did Distorto, whose shoulders and elbows were bent in the wrong direction.

A snicker escaped Brian before he could stop it. He hurriedly tried to disguise it as clearing his throat, but the pained look on Horvath's face showed he didn't buy it.

"I ended up peeking through my fingers during the Scuttler's Halloween show like a little kid," Horvath admitted, flushing a dull red. "You hear about that?"

"No," Brian flat out lied. He didn't want to embarrass Horvath any further - lots of people were unsettled by Distorto's contortions. Also, he didn't want to throw Justin under the bus since his partner had been the one to share that tidbit.

Brian was casting about for a way to extricate himself from the uncomfortable conversation, when he heard a burst of laughter to his left. Glancing over, he saw Dale Wexler clapping a red-faced Theodore on the back, Blake grinning as he eyed his obviously embarrassed husband. "All it takes is just a little tap, I promise. It'll seem innocuous at first, but then..." Wexler trailed off with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows.

"Uh," fell out of Ted's mouth in response. He shuffled his feet, suspiciously eyeing his college friend.

Dale looked over at Brian and Horvath. "You want to try it, lieutenant?" he queried flirtatiously.

"Uh." Shifting uneasily, Carl echoed Theodore.

Brian couldn't blame the veteran cop for looking like he wanted to flee. Even after living with Debbie for years, Carl still wasn't used to men flirting with him. 

Visibly summoning his courage, Horvath stood his ground. "I don't think that's something Deb wants to try," he got out, his face going redder.

"Hot Whip?" Wexler deadpanned. "Why not?"

Jesus. That sounded hardcore and not at all to Brian's taste. He wouldn't have thought it was to Ted's taste either, but his CFO had done a stint as a ‘suck pig.' That must be why Theodore simply appeared distrustful rather than embarrassed and outraged. If Ted had shared his bondage fetish with his husband, it might also explain Blake laughing like a hyena.

Before Brian could suss it out, Dale winked as if letting Carl in on a secret and said, "Debbie asked me for one to share with you."

Horvath gulped, looking horrified and... a bit intrigued? Huh, maybe you could teach an old dog new tricks.

"Uh," Carl choked out. "What-" That was as much as he managed before clamping his mouth shut.

"What does it look like?" Dale asked. "Lemme just bring it up." 

When he pulled his cell out of his jeans, Horvath began edging away.

Brian forgot all about Carl's predicament when he realized Dale's phone looked like the latest Nokia N95, with a larger screen than the original model. And even more important, eight fucking GB of internal storage. How the heck had Wexler gotten hold of the new model when it wasn't even out in the US yet?

His envious drooling was interrupted by a mischievous giggle coming from behind him. The sound immediately caught Brian's attention, and he looked over his shoulder just in time to see Justin appear in the entryway to the kitchen, holding something small in his hand.

"Jesus Christ," Carl cursed loudly when the blond approached him and opened his hand. "It's a spice?"

Dale and his companions burst out laughing, and when he caught a glimpse of the spice jar in Justin's hand, Brian joined in. The tomatoey red that now covered Carl's face matched the color of the little whip-wielding devil on the label.

"Daddy!" Finally noticing he was here, Gus ran over and wrapped his good arm around Brian, who held the wine carrier away from his son, not wanting to bump his injured shoulder. "Ten dollars, Grandpa," was the next thing out of Gus' mouth.

Brian sighed. It figured that most of his sonnyboy's attention was on his grandad cussing. "Gus," he said chidingly.

Gus looked up at him, all innocence. "But, Daddy-"

"It's okay," Carl intervened. "We told Gus we wanted to help with the ‘vakey fun.' I doubt Red realized how much we'd be contributing though." He shook his head, chuckling ruefully.

"Okay," Brian allowed. "But Je- uh, what your grandad said was one curse, not two."

"But-" Gus' brow furrowed, and Brian could see his mind racing as he searched for an effective counterargument. 

"One," Brian stated firmly. "And just so you don't steal your grandparents' house out from under them, you only get to count one curse whenever one of them speaks. Capisci?"

The seven-year-old looked mutinous for a moment, but then he muttered, "Capito," before running over to Carl. "I don' wanna sheal your house, Grandpa."

"Don't worry, ragazzo. That's not gonna happen." 

He wouldn't be so sure of that if he were Carl, Brian thought. His kid was a mercenary little shit. In a good way - sort of - but still.

Carl ruffled Gus' hair, smiling down fondly at the boy.

The avaricious gleam that Brian was becoming all too familiar with returned to Gus' eyes. "Then-"

"Gus." This time it was Justin who spoke up in warning.

Gus glanced over at Justin, whose demeanor was unusually stern. His shoulders slumping, Gus conceded the battle. "S'rry, Papa."

Justin raised an eyebrow.

"S'rry, Grandpa. "S'rry, Daddy," Gus apologized, darting glances at one man and then the other.

"Hey, Kinney," Mel called out. "How about pouring me a glass?"

"Here." Brian outstretched his arm all the way, the carrier dangling from his fingers. "You can use your teeth to uncork it, and just swig from the bottle, Smelly Melly."

"Brian!" Linds chided, apparently not noticing the grins Brian and Melanie were exchanging. "We haven't drunk wine from a bottle since college."

"Chr- er, crap," Mel quickly amended.

Brian grinned at his sonnyboy, watching his expression go from expectant to downcast. Gus had lobbied for ‘crap' to be included as a cuss word, but to no avail, all four of his parents naysaying that idea.

"Don't remind me of the rotgut we drank in college." Melanie shuddered. "It'll ruin my palate."

"Thunderbird?" asked Justin, scrunching up his nose.

"That and Boone's Farm," Mel replied.

"Yeah, let's skip that." Lindsay looked a little ill, possibly reliving times she barfed up everything she'd downed. 

Fuck knew, she'd emptied her stomach on Brian more than once, although she'd never done it again after the time Brian spewed chunks in her hair. Not Brian's proudest moment, but fuck, it had been nice to get even. Though he could've done without Linds bringing it up for years afterward.

"No white?" asked Lindsay, looking hopefully at Brian.

Brian shrugged. "The Soave's out back. Help yourself."

A put-out expression on her face, Linds glanced around, but when no one offered to get it for her, levered herself off the couch.

"I'll get a corkscrew," Melanie placated her wife, patting Lindsay on the rear as she got up.

"Thanks." Linds planted a kiss on Mel, which went on way too long in Brian's opinion.

"Don't look," he teased Justin. "It'll turn you into a lesbian."

"Mmm," Justin hmmed, moving closer to Brian. "Then you'll just have to use your superpowers to turn me back into a fag."

All for using said superpowers right now, Brian reached out with his free arm to haul the blond closer.

Naturally, the doorbell rang before he could get a good hold. Never one to forget his WASPy upbringing, the little twat trotted over to the door, leaving Brian empty-handed.

Frowning in irritation, Brian glanced over as Justin opened the door to Cynthia, who was carrying an oversized dish. What the fuck? How many people was that supposed to feed? How did she-

"Wow!" Justin exclaimed in awe, immediately reaching out to relieve Cynthia of the gigantic dish. "How'd you even get this in your oven?" he asked the question now on Brian's mind.

"I almost didn't," the blonde woman acknowledged with a rueful smile. "It was nip and tuck, but I didn't want to tote two 9x11 dishes." She looked over her shoulder at the bumper-to-bumper cars parked on both sides of the street. "I wasn't sure how close I'd be able to park, and I didn't want to have to go back to my car for the other one."

Nodding in understanding, Justin carried the dish over to the folding table and set it on an electric warming tray that had appeared out of nowhere.

"Where'd you end up?" Ted asked, craning his neck, presumably searching for Cynthia's red Honda.

"A block and a half away," Cyn replied as she shut the door. "Good thing you warned me about how crowded it gets over here."

"Cynthia!" Gus boisterously greeted one of his favorite people. "Jeet?"

Where'd that perfect perfect pronunciation come from? Brian wondered. He was tempted to peer into Gus' mouth to see if his permanent teeth had suddenly grown in.

"No, ju?" the blonde woman replied, smiling at Gus.

The seven-year-old shook his head, grinning up at Cynthia.

"Hey, that's cool," Cyn observed, studying the sling Gus was wearing.

Cynthia struck just the right tone, making his sonnyboy puff up with pride. "Papa painted it for me," Gus confided, turning so Cyn could get the full effect of a wand-waving Harry Potter dispelling a Dementor.

"Expecto Patronum!" Cynthia declared, pointing a finger at the Dementor.

Brian stared in baffled surprise. Not because his assistant didn't blink at ‘Papa' but because of the Patronus Charm. How the heck did she know it? As far as he knew, Cynthia didn't spend any time around kids except, occasionally, Gus. Brian would've noticed if his sonnyboy had been running around the office, waving his wand and shouting out the charm. Which was pretty much how he'd learned it in the first place: Gus practicing at the munchers' house and then with Justin at the loft.

His speculations, not that he was getting anywhere, came to a halt when Deb let out a piercing, shrill whistle from the kitchen and yelled, "Sunshine, get your hiney over here! The turkey's ready to come out of the oven."

"I can get it, Deb," Emmett called out as he came out of the kitchen with two large plates of ham. "I'll be right back."

If the southern belle thought he'd find a space on the folding table for the two large plates of ham in his hands, he was looking in vain. Brian doubted there was enough space for the smallest cruet.

Giving up on the folding table, Em moved over to the credenza, where the four carved pumpkins had pride of place. "Well, Liza," he drawled in a thick southern accent, "it ain't a-goin' there either. Just let me find a place to set down this ham, Deb," he yelled, amending his promise, "and I'll be there in a shake of my tailfeathers."

"It's okay, Em." Justin patted the southerner on the ass as he passed him on the way to the kitchen.

Brian narrowed his eyes. Justin shouldn't be patting any ass other than his. He'd have to shake his own ‘tailfeathers' and keep Justin's attention where it belonged.

Fifteen minutes later, Brian was cursing a broken fingernail. He'd been shanghaied into putting the extension leaves into Deb's ancient dinner table, after helping Carl haul the damned things down from the attic. Despite his hard work and sacrifice - fresh manicure destroyed - it was now evident, even with all the leaves inserted, that there was no way everyone was going to be able to squeeze in around the dinner table.

"Hang on," Horvath said. "I've got just the thing."

He snagged Brian by the front of his T-shirt in passing. Great, thought Brian, not only was his manicure ruined, his shirt was a wrinkled mess. And smudged with dust, he realized, despairing when he glanced down at his new, wine red Emporio Armani tee.

So much for Brian's foresight in foregoing a sweater to compensate for Debbie's overheated house. Maybe he should just take his T-shirt off? Give everyone a feast worth ogling?

He was just hooking his fingers under the tee when Justin passed him with the requisite Thanksgiving green bean casserole. "Don't you dare," Justin hissed. "That's mine. Well, and the backroom's," he added good-humoredly.

Brian rolled his eyes as he trudged up the stairs behind Carl. It was Justin he took his shirt off for, not any old trick in the backroom.

"Here. You take the table and I'll get the chairs," Carl said after leading him to the back of the attic.

A kids' table? Gus was going to love that, Brian mused, reaching for the pint-sized wooden table, which turned out to be heavier than he anticipated. He staggered a step, then got his balance and headed back down the stairs.

As expected, his sonnyboy eyed the table with disfavor when Brian set it down near the ginormous - but still not big enough - dinner table. "Whosh that for?" Gus lisped.

"You and Timmy and Jenny," Carl informed him, placing four chairs around the low table. "There," he announced, beaming down at the table. "As good as new."

The children's table - maple, cherry or some other glossy, polished wood - was in good condition, Brian acknowledged to himself. No scratches or dents that he could see, even if it had been used, as he suspected, by generations of kids. 

"I'm not sittin' there." Gus attempted to cross his arms but failed, the sling ruining his effort. He reached up with his free hand, obviously planning to rid himself of the sling, but then he caught sight of Brian's lifted eyebrow. Heaving a put-upon sigh, Gus fiddled with the strap before dropping his hand.

Thank fuck his kid hadn't really hurt himself, thought Brian. The ER doctor had assured them that although painful for Gus, he hadn't done anything worse than strain his shoulder. He just had to wear a sling for a few days, put up with having his shoulder iced and rest. The last one was the toughest; resting was far too much like napping, which was just for babies according to Gus. Like Jenny, though Gus thankfully hadn't said that anywhere his sister could overhear and throw a fit.

Given how Gus was glaring at the children's table, he might be the one to pitch a fit. Luckily, Timmy was still practicing whatever move Distorto had been teaching him or he likely would've matched Gus' sullen attitude.

"I'll go get JR." Melanie hurried past Brian to the stairs.

"I'll set the table." Linds shot Brian a pleading look as she headed for the kitchen.

What the fuck was he supposed to do? Upset kids were the munchers' bailiwick, not his. Hell, Brian wouldn't have wanted to sit at the children's table either, which didn't exactly help him find a solution.

"You don't want to sit with me?" came a hurt voice from behind Brian.

Gus squeezed out a weak, "Uh," in response.

Only one person could make his son tongue-tied, thought Brian.

Yep, there was Molly, smiling at Gus as she moved over to the children's table and took a seat. Brian was astounded at how gracious the teenage girl was being about the whole situation; she couldn't have wanted to sit with a bunch of little kids either, but she appeared to have chosen to do so without prompting.

Coloring up, Gus looked bashfully at Molly, who batted blue eyes at him.

Gus almost missed the chair he was aiming for, plonking down awkwardly.

Already a cougar, thought Brian in amusement, watching the strawberry-blonde girl.

If a clattering of dishware behind him hadn't made Brian aware that the table was being set, it would have been Justin schlepping a humongous bird on a carving board that clued him in that it was time to eat. Good thing he'd been dragging his boy to the gym to work out; the turkey probably weighed half as much as Justin did.

As Mel came down the stairs with a cantankerous JR, Debbie, followed by Daphne, Jennifer and Tucker, came trooping toward the table.

What the fuck? Why had Debbie summoned Justin when Tucker was there? Or Daphne, for fuck's sake; there was a lot of power packed into that tiny frame.

Brian shook his head in wry resignation. Knowing Deb, she wasn't willing to trust anyone except her two assistant chefs - Justin and Emmett - with the important things. Even Jennifer had been relegated to the sidelines going by the ‘resigned' shrug she gave Tucker.

"We could feed the entire PPD and still have leftovers," Carl observed, chuckling. 

Better the fuzz than him, thought Brian, although a bite or two of the turkey wouldn't go amiss. Or Cynthia's stuffing...

Horvath swung the video camera he was holding toward Honeycutt as Emmett swished over to the table with the ham. "About time you got the table ready," Emmett grouched. "There was nowhere to put this porker. There's no room anywhere." Setting one of the platters down on the table, he made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the living room and kitchen, where every other surface was crammed with food.

When Carl panned toward him, Brian hastily hid his right hand behind his back. He'd been thinking of biting off the jagged fingernail but didn't need anyone seeing him gnawing at his nails like a five-year-old.

Abruptly realizing that he had his right side to the camera - he didn't want even the faintest suggestion of a double chin - Brian shifted unobtrusively to present the camera with his left profile.

"Don't worry, son." Horvath chuckled again. "It hardly shows."

Did the fucking flatfoot have to be so observant?

"New painting?" Tucker queried, wandering further into the living room to take a look after depositing what looked like a sweet potato casserole on the table.

"Isn't it great, Tuck?" Jennifer beamed with pride as she joined him.

‘Tuck' had to be the most asinine nickname ever, Brian thought as he always did whenever he heard it. Not that ‘Tucker' was much better.

Swinging the camera around, Horvath videoed Jen and Tucker standing in front of the couch, looking at the painting behind it.

Justin eyed the painting he'd given Deb and Carl and then grinned slyly at Brian.

Brian's lips twitched in response. He wondered if ‘Tuck' had any idea that the painting depicted Justin and Brian fucking.

When Debbie had seen the painting, she couldn't stop gushing about it, so Justin had gifted it to her.

Emmett had suggested that Deb and her newly minted lieutenant could use it for inspiration.

Deb had run with that idea, getting Emmett to help her hang the picture above the couch, Em later confiding that a multitude of holes was hidden behind the painting because Deb kept changing her mind about how high up on the wall it should be.

From the get-go, Carl was convinced the painting was of him and his redhead. Granted, the painting was abstract, and you couldn't really tell if the two entwined figures were male or female, but c'mon. Justin wouldn't have painted a hetero couple in the first place, so where Carl had gotten that notion from, Brian had no idea.

Debbie never corrected Carl, although Brian was pretty sure that, unlike the for once strangely unperceptive detective, she knew who was pictured. She probably just wanted to feed off the sexual energy in the painting.

Tucker strolled back toward the kitchen, stopping next to Justin. "Just a little more overt than Johns," he murmured.

Looked like he was wrong about the Tucker Fucker not catching on. Brian normally read people well, but there was something about Tucker that threw him off stride. 

If Tucker were gay and Brian had spotted him on Liberty Avenue four or five years ago, he would've taken him to Babylon's backroom and fucked him, maybe even treated him to a night at the loft. After that, never having heard his godawful name, Brian would've forgotten him.

Instead, he'd ended up with ‘call me Tuck' as a quasi father-in-law. Trying to pinpoint what bugged him about Tucker was an itch Brian couldn't scratch. Justin had surmised it was because Tucker was younger than Brian. Or that it was because Tucker was as hot as Brian. As if. That notion still made Brian scoff.

Tucker might be a magnet for women - he did ride a cool motorcycle - but he was also an elementary school teacher, and there was nothing exciting about that.

Unfortunately, unless he wanted to disturb the uneasy détente that Justin had established with his sorta stepfather, Brian had to hold back the snark. Really not his forte.

"Yeah, well." Justin shrugged, eyeing Brian obliquely.

The gleam in Justin's blue eyes promised more of what they'd been doing in the painting. Brian instantly forgot about Mother Taylor's boy toy. 

""I'm lucky," Justin continued, his gaze now fully on Brian. "I don't have to hide my sexuality behind symbols and subliminal messages. Besides which, unlike Johns, I haven't lost the person who means the most to me."

"I'd say Brian's just as lucky as you," Tucker noted before returning to Jen's side.

Good old Tuck was right about that. Taking a step toward his lover, Brian wrapped an arm around Justin's neck and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Mmm," Justin hummed into his mouth, the sound traveling through Brian to his dick.

Brian changed the angle, deepening the kiss. Christ, all these years later, it still felt like fireworks were being set off along his spine.

"Jesus fuck," he vaguely heard someone say, their tone dripping with envy.

Brian had no intention of ending the kiss anytime soon, but then the front door banged open and they were hit by a blast of chilly autumn air. You'd think it would have felt good in the overly warm house, but instead it just put a damper on the moment.

Reluctantly pulling back - their lips parted with an audible pop - Brian glanced toward the entryway, ready to castigate whatever moron had interrupted him.

Deb beat him to it. "'Bout time you got here!" the redhead shrilled, clouting Michael over the ear.

"The dulcet tones of motherly love," Justin giggled.

"Ma!" Michael protested, raising a hand to his head.

"Sorry, Deb," Ben apologized. "It was my fault."

"Yeah." Hunter pushed past his dads. "Something came up."

Brian scowled. That was his line.

Hunter rolled his eyes so hard it looked like they were going to fall out of his head. "You'd think they were teenagers, the way they go at it all the time."

"You should know." Michael smirked at his son.

"Not a teen anymore. Remember?" Hunter retorted.

"It's been what, six weeks?" Justin teased.

Hunter flipped Justin the bird.

Debbie patted her grandson on the cheek. "Not gettin' any? What happened to Kelsey?" Brow furrowed in thought, she tried, "Or is it Kristy?"

"They're history," Hunter blew off the question.

Brian couldn't help being impressed. The kid was almost as much of a player as he'd been, although why he bothered to get the girls' names was beyond him. That was just asking for trouble.

"Where should I put this?" Hunter asked Deb.

"That gravy?" Debbie frowned, studying the dark liquid that sloshed out from under the lid when Hunter tilted the container.

"I guess." Hunter shrugged, jerking a shoulder at Ben. "Dad told me to pour the stuff into the gravy boat."

"It's a soy gravy," Ben revealed, "to go with the tofurkey I made." He beamed, holding up a round platter encased in an insulated cover.

Debbie gaped at Ben, apparently rendered speechless.

"Sweety," Emmett stepped in, "we already have roasted turkey and honey-glazed ham and a whole slew of side dishes. We don't need, uh, that is, have room for, er-" Em stuttered to a halt, his efforts at southern politesse failing him.

Really, thought Brian, Honeycutt should just tell the truth: it sounded revolting.

"Nonsense," Ben said briskly. Balancing the platter on one arm, he opened the thermal cover to reveal a mud-colored crust. "We've got fresh tofu stuffed full of healthy vegetables."

Calling the tofu fresh didn't make it any more appetizing as far as Brian was concerned.

"You'll try some, right?" Ben looked over at Lindsay and Melanie, who could usually be counted on to eat anything vegetarian, and then at Jen.

"I, uh, gave up the vegetarian diet for Thanksgiving," said Mel.

"You're supposed to give things up for Lent," hissed Lindsay.

Mel contended, "I'm Jewish. You feel free to have some though."

"Er, I'll pass." Linds gave Ben an apologetic look.

His face falling, the tofurkey chef turned to Jen.

"Um." Even WASPy Jen was thrown off kilter. "I'm not a vegetarian."

"Let's eat the meat," came a voice from the back of the room.

That really had been one of his most inspired ads ever, thought Brian.

"Mmm, let's," Justin husked, making Brian's dick stand upright.

Brian grinned. The original commercial, which was still airing, continued to reap dividends. Dividends he couldn't take advantage of right now, unless he and Justin could sneak off to the upstairs bathroom?

Brian grabbed hold of Justin's wrist and took a step toward the stairs, but then Debbie, never taking her eyes off the ghastly tofu thingamajig, cautioned, "Don't even think about it, buster. You either, Sunshine," she added after a beat.

Stymied, Brian copped a feel of Justin's ass. That would have to do for now.

"Now, where shall we put this?" Debbie did a credible job of hiding her distaste for Ben's soybean masterpiece as she looked around the room.

"Outside?" Justin whispered into Brian's ear. "Maybe the birds'll eat it."

"Vegetarian birds?" joked Brian.

"How about on the table?" Ben took a step toward the table, but was stopped by Debbie drilling a scarlet fingernail into his chest.

"I've got it," Emmett volunteered. "I'll just move the green bean bacon bundles - they're scrumptious-"

"They are," Daphne confirmed, licking her fingers.

"Daph!" Em swatted at her fingers as she reached for another one. 

"What? I'm just testing the meat." Daphne grinned impishly at the video camera as Carl zoomed in on her.

"That's my girl," said Brian. He'd swear he heard someone echoing him but couldn't place who, only that it wasn't Justin. Weird. Maybe he'd gotten water in his ear when he showered before heading over here.

"I need a drink," said Emmett, snatching the green beans away from Daphne and setting them, along with a plate heaped high with cornbread, on the table. "Now." He beckoned Ben and Hunter over to the coffee table. "Just put the fake turkey and the maybe-gravy right there."

A titter ran through the room, Ben manfully ignoring it as he set down the tofurkey. "If you try it, you'll be surprised how good it is." Taking the gravy boat from Hunter, he put it next to his soybean creation.

Michael, who'd followed after them, commented worriedly, "Ben, I don't think the gravy turned out ri-"

"Michael, I've made it before," Ben said testily. "It's fine." Ben was clearly losing his Zen.

Giving the supposed gravy a final, wary glance, Michael turned to look around the room. Walking backward, head twisted completely around, Stan waved at him.

"Beeent," Michael yelled, running over to Stan. "You made it!"

Justin grinned smugly.

It figured, thought Brian. Justin had talked Stan into showing up at Red Cape with a copy of the signed flyer from his Halloween show at Babylon, and ever since, Michael'd had a new best friend.

Brian had hardly seen Mikey in the last few weeks. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it was strange. 

Of late, when he wasn't planning dinners with the Stepford fag neighbors or cooing sickeningly over his honeybun, Mikey was busy planning the next issue of Rage, with Bent in a starring role. He was constantly on the phone with Justin, wanting to discuss plots, regardless of the time of day or night. 

He was gonna kill Mikey if he ever again called and killed a class-A rimming. It had been bad enough, years ago, when Justin had zonked out, right as Brian was demonstrating his mastery. But to have Michael interrupt Justin mid rimjob was beyond the pale.

"I've got this great idea." Michael was hopping from one foot to the other, looking like he desperately needed to pee, and grinning at Stan. "Rage gets, like, you know, stripped of his powers. He can't even get it up. Me and you come to the rescue."

Brian growled. That had to be the stupidest idea he'd ever heard. If Rage needed rescuing, it was gonna be JT who did the job. He could give Rage one of the blowjobs that were famous throughout Gayopolis; that would resurrect Brian's alter ego in no time.

The professor, Brian noted, looked equally unhappy with Michael's brainstorm, while Justin merely snorted, "As if."

"I'd rather rescue my sidekick," Stan countered.

"Your sidekick? Who's that?" Michael looked around like Bent's sidekick was gonna jump out of the woodwork. Which wasn't completely wrong, except that Mikey's eyes skimmed over Dale without stopping.

"Bent Whacker." Stan wiggled his eyebrows.

"Huh?"

Brian rolled his eyes. Mikey was seriously slow on the uptake this afternoon.

Debbie guffawed and slapped Carl on the back, making the videocam weave crazily.

"Oh. Oh!" Michael burst out with a braying laugh.

"I hate it when they do that," fourteen-year-old Molly piped up. She glared at the laughing adults. "You know, talk over our heads."

Gus, who'd been staring soulfully at his crush, shrugged. "It doesn't sound that exciting. What I like," he confided in Molly, speaking slowly and carefully, "is when Distorto does the Scuttle. It's my favorite." 

"It's cool," Molly agreed. "I wish I knew how to do it. It would, like, wig my dad out."

"Molly's right," Justin laughed. "He'd shit a brick." 

Gus' eyes lit up, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't want to look mercenary in front of Molly, Brian speculated. He didn't doubt his sonnyboy was toting up every curse however and would present him with an accounting later on.

"Craig thinks Distorto's a total freak show," Justin continued, "'cause he's gay and because he moves like a total spaz."

Hmm, maybe Brian could arrange for Stan to give the kids private lessons. He was all for pissing off Craig Taylor.

Michael, who was still laughing hysterically, finally started to wind down. One more hiccupping laugh tearing out of him, he glanced at Dale and then Stan before returning to Dale. "So which one of you is the Dungeon Master?" he asked earnestly. "Do you, like, take turns?" Unable to keep up the serious facade - this was Mikey after all - he started giggling again.  

"Mmm, Stan's the man," hmmed Dale, drawing him close.

"Your man," Stan qualified, swiveling his head completely around to kiss his husband.

"Eww," huffed Molly. "Old people kissing."

Timmy tried to imitate Stan's neck twist, albeit with limited success. When he ended up staring at the wall, he gave up and unkinked his neck.

Gus screwed up his nose in apparent agreement with Molly. "You guys play Dungeons and Dragons?" he piped up. "Thash, like, an old people's game."

"It is not!" Michael protested. "Me and Brian used to play it."

"Yeah? When was that?" Justin joked. "Back in the Dark Ages?"

"Take that back!" Michael yelled, charging over to Justin and poking a finger into ticklish ribs.

Brian helped by holding Justin in place. Like hell, he was old.

Shortly after Brian and Michael had thoroughly avenged themselves on Justin - they'd had the boy giggling helplessly and pleading for mercy - Debbie carried another dish to the table. Hands on hips, she looked around, nodding in satisfaction.

"It's just like the first Thanksgiving!" Deb proclaimed.

"Minus the Pilgrims screwing the Indians," Ted observed dryly.

"Where's a teething ring when you need it?" a frazzled-looking Melanie asked when JR let out a wail.

"Or that," Blake quipped. "No teething rings back then."

"Huh." Deb cocked her head in thought. "I wonder what the Pilgrims used."

"The natives, the, uh-"

"Wampanoag, Daddy," Gus supplied.

"The Wampanoag probably strung them up on cradleboards," Brian snarked. "Out in the woods where no one could hear them."

"Like we used to do with you," Melanie teased Gus, ruffling his hair.

"Mama!" Gus giggled.

"Did you check my coat?" Linds asked when JR let out another cry. "I think I put a teething ring in one of the side pockets."

Mel took a step toward the coat rack, but then halted, her eyes bugging out. "JR! No!" she shouted, lunging for her daughter.

Ben was on her heels, an anxious look on his face.

"Play-Doh, Mama," Jenny explained, all wide-eyed innocence. Removing her fingers from where she'd dug into the tofurkey, she held up messy handfuls, and then took an experimental lick.

Her face screwing up, she stamped her foot. "No fair," JR sniveled, waving her hands in the air and splattering Mel and Ben with gooey vegetables and bits of tofu.

A chortling Carl zeroed in on the action with the video camera.

"Not Play-Doh, Mama." JR's brown eyes danced with outrage, and it looked like a tantrum was imminent.

"God, Mel, I'm sorry." Lindsay shot her wife an apologetic look. "You were right about the edible playdough being a bad idea. Now Jenny thinks everything is edible."

"Playdough's gross," Gus knowledgeably reported to Molly and Timmy. "All green and pink and yucky."

Brian resisted the urge to heave. Jesus, where did Linds come up with these wacky ideas? Who'd want to eat Play-Doh?

Jennifer, who'd moved over to stand near the table, must've noticed his revulsion. "It's really not that bad, Brian. Edible Play-Doh is just marshmallows, cornstarch and a few drops of food coloring. You can use whatever color you want."

"No wonder Jenny wanted the bean crud," Justin remarked. "She probably thought it was chocolate playdough."

"I'm with you, son." Carl had backed up so that he was standing next to Justin and was panning the camera around. "I don't get why anyone would substitute soybeans for real food."

Debbie belted out a laugh. "You're just like your daddy, JR. Michael liked to gnaw on everything too. He went after the cornucopia centerpiece one Thanksgiving, knocked everything over and covered me and Vic in gravy. He was just about your age, maybe a year or two older."

"Ma!" Michael yelled, his face going red. "I didn't-"

Deb lifted a finely shaped eyebrow at her son.

"I mean, I- I couldn't have been older than JR."

"Tell the truth and shame the devil, honeybun." Debbie tapped Michael's cheek. "You've always shoved anything remotely edible into your mouth. They musta modeled ‘Mikey will eat anything' after you."

"Yeah." Michael laughed, conceding the point.

"Like father, like daughter." Mel heaved a deep sigh. "C'mon, Jenny, let's get you" - she looked down at her stained blouse and sighed again - "and me cleaned up."

"Use the kitchen sink." Debbie shooed Mel and JR in that direction. "There's a step stool Jenny can stand on. I'll get the Shout from the washing machine to treat those stains. Ben?" she tried to get her son-in-law's attention. "How 'bout you? Want me to Shout you, and then we'll see what we can do with your tofu thingy?"

When Ben didn't respond, she left him alone at the coffee table, staring down at the ruins of the fake turkey. The professor was waving his hands in the air as if that was gonna make the wannabe turkey magically reassemble itself.

It looked like the tofurkey was a goner, thankfully. JR had done a real number on it, pushing her hands right into the middle and making one side cave in when she pulled them out.

A woebegone Ben finally sloped over to the dinner table, shoulders slumped and feet dragging.

"I'm so sorry, Ben." Lindsay wrung her hands, appearing genuinely anguished. 

Brian didn't buy the act and neither did Justin, given the unsubtle roll of his eyes.

"Jenny didn't mean any harm." Lindsay wrung her hands again, blinking rapidly as if she was about to cry. 

Brian could hardly object to Linds using her WASPy powers since it was in defense of her kid. But crying over a fucking tofurkey? Really? He was sure she was overplaying it, but then Ben sniffled a little, looking grateful for the attention.

"She really thought it was the edible kind of Play-Doh," Linds elaborated.

Christ. Ben was supposed to be an adult, not a surly teenager; it was time he snapped out of his soybean-induced funk. Brian didn't mince words. "For fuck's sake, Professor, it was just an imitation turkey. Get over it."

"Brian," Justin hissed, nudging him with his elbow.

Okay, he might've been a little harsh, Brian acknowledged, casting about for a way to soften his criticism of the not-turkey. Before he could come up with anything, Mikey spoke up.

Glaring at Brian, Michael ran a soothing hand down Ben's arm. "I'm sorry about the tofurkey, babe, but you know Jenny didn't mean it. She adores you; you're, like, her favorite person."

Brian rolled his eyes. He was gonna puke if he had to listen to much more of this garbage.

"Maybe you can make another one?" Michael suggested hopefully. "I'll eat it with you. Promise."

Brian stared, aghast. He couldn't imagine making that kind of sacrifice. Luckily, he didn't have to worry about that. Justin was a genius in the kitchen, not that he'd ever cook the kind of weird shit Ben liked anyway.

Mel came back holding a spruced-up Jenny in her arms and carried the toddler over to the dispirited tofu chef.

"Sorry," the little girl said sweetly, kissing Ben on the cheek. "I didn't mean to kill the tofucky."

Carl roared with laughter, the camera shaking in his hands.

"Oh God." Justin doubled over, giggling madly.

Even Michael couldn't resist, another braying laugh ripping out of him.

Ben heaved a deep sigh and then finally quit acting like it was the end of the world. "I know, pumpkin." He rubbed Jenny's nose with his own, making the little girl giggle.

Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Debbie nodded in approval. "Speaking of pumpkins, did yinz see what my grandson made for me?"

Gus piped up from the children's table, "It wushn't jush me. Papa helped me and Daddy, an' he did two of 'em by himshelf."

"Papa," Jen whispered, raising a hand to her mouth and going all starry-eyed as she looked over at Justin.

"And, uh." Gus squirmed. "They're jush on loan, Grandma. I'm takin' em home wif me, 'kay?"

"I know, honey. Don't worry." Debbie grabbed the remote and pressed the button to turn on the tea lights. "Somebody close the curtains," she ordered.

Emmett reached around the TV cabinet, drawing the drapes closed.

The pumpkins lit up: a fire burning in Tatanka's belly; the gobbler appearing to have just come out of the oven; and homey lights glowing in the house and tipi.

Brian might be feigning indifference, but inside he was proud of himself. He'd actually carved a pumpkin.

"You boys did a really good job," Jen praised them, squeezing between Justin and Brian and wrapping an arm around each of them.

"Yeah, boys," Tucker drawled, grinning wickedly.

Brian narrowed his eyes at the fucker.

"Where's Harry?" Carl asked Gus, diverting Brian's attention.

"Harry?" Gus glanced over at Tatanka, clearly confused. After a few beats though, a sudden understanding dawned on his face. "Oh, that Harry."

His eyes twinkling, Carl drolled, "There's more than one?"

Gus gave him a gap-toothed grin. "I was thinking of naming Tatanka Harry."

"Yeah?" Carl asked, head tilted in curiosity.

"Yeah." Gus nodded. "It's nicer than H-a-i-r-y, you know?"

"Huh," Horvath said, looking just as unclear as Justin had yesterday, in Brian's opinion. But then, seven-year-old reasoning wasn't always the same as an adult's.

"I'm saving the other Harry for Halloween," Gus told his grandfather, glancing over at Justin. Right, Papa?"

Although he must've been caught off guard, Justin nodded equably. Then, with a playful wink at Mel, he asked, "Quidditch carving contest? We'll see who can carve the best Quidditch players. You, Linds and Jenny against me, Brian and Gus."

"You're on," the bulldyke accepted the challenge. "Prepare to get creamed."

Brian scoffed. Was Mel really so foolish as to think that Lindsay's witchy Halloween carving put them in the same league? Admittedly, the witch had borne a strong resemblance to Mel, but that wouldn't be enough. The girls were gonna get knocked off their brooms. Brian would make sure of it.

Deb fiddled with the remote, dimming the tea lights and then ratcheting them back up to full intensity. "Fancy that," she chortled. "Best invention since Cheez Whiz." 

Pressing the button one last time to turn the tea lights off, Debbie set down the remote and gestured for Emmett to reopen the drapes. 

"Okay, everyone," the redhead announced. "It's time to eat! Grab a plate and load up. Just be sure to leave space for the turkey and ham."

It didn't take long for the crowd to heap their plates high with food, everyone skirting around the tofurkey disaster.

Melanie cast a worried glance at JR after putting together a plateful of food for her daughter. "Maybe you should sit on my lap."

"Nuh-uh!" Jenny shook her head vigorously, dark curls flying.

"I'll help her," Molly assured Mel. "Don't worry."

"You're a godsend." Melanie blew out a relieved breath. "I'll double what we usually pay you to babysit."

"No, ma'am," the teenage WASP politely refused. "I'm good. This is a family dinner."

It might be a family dinner, but dealing with Mel and Mikey's little hellion would hardly be fun. Even if JR did usually behave for the teen, Brian should get Molly something to thank her. Molly, unlike her brother, appreciated a good label, which made shopping for her easy.

Brian claimed seats for himself and Justin near the middle of the table and waited for his partner to join him. The little twat was, of course, still piling food on his plate.

The Thanksgiving horde gradually filtered over with full plates, Justin settling in next to Brian with a happy sigh. Everyone except Brian - even Debbie, for fuck's sake - had obviously forgotten about the turkey and ham. Idiots. Brian shrugged it off, absentmindedly filching one of the bacon-wrapped green bean bundles from Justin's plate and putting it on his own.

It was only when Carl started uncorking wine that Brian realized he'd forgotten to grab a lager for himself. He'd half risen from his chair when Emmett came traipsing over to the table with a large pitcher in one hand and a smaller one in the other. 

"Wait, wait, wait," the southerner cried out. He went from place to place, pouring an orangish concoction into the martini glasses that Brian only now noticed.

"What the fuck's that, Honeycutt?" Brian growled.

"It's a pumpkin spice martini. And you're going to at least try it, Bri," Honeycutt insisted as he flounced over to his next victim. "Vic loved a good martini and he loved the holidays, so we're going to have a toast in his honor before we start eating."

"Oh, Em." Debbie looked at the southern belle from misty eyes before giving Brian a patented ‘you'd better not fuck with me' glare.

Fuck. Brian subsided with ill grace. He'd have to try the damned martini now.

Justin hopped out of his chair and hustled toward the back porch, presumably in search of something palatable to drink. Brian was a tad too late in an attempt to snag Justin's T-shirt and tell him to bring him a beer to chase the martini with, but then he relaxed. Justin wouldn't forget him.

"Em," Ted hissed when his tall friend reached him and Blake. "We don't-"

"-drink alcohol. I know, Teddy." Emmett held up the smaller pitcher. "That's why you're getting virgin martinis."

"There's something in this room that's virgin?" Debbie jested, generating a round of laughter from the table. 

Jen shot her a reprimanding look, glancing over to check that her daughter wasn't listening in.

Brian followed Mother Taylor's gaze and spied Justin pouring something into the kids' glasses that didn't look all that different from the martinis, regular or virgin. That was well and good, but where the fuck was his beer?

"This is a secret potion," Justin disclosed conspiratorially. "I winkled the recipe out of Professor Snape."

"Harry Potter's Pumpkin Juice?" Gus beamed at Justin, obviously thrilled.

Justin nodded, confirming Gus had correctly identified the concoction.

"Cool!" Timmy declared.

Molly, Brian noted, looked just as excited as the two boys, while JR obviously didn't get what the big deal was. Fork in hand the way Michael held his, Jenny looked ready to start shoveling food into her mouth.

Justin hustled back to his seat, sans beer. "Couldn't carry a couple bottles of lager in your other hand?" Brian snarked.

The twat had just opened his mouth to answer when Deb tapped a spoon against her martini glass and stood, raising her glass up high. "Okay, everybody. Here's to Victor Antonio Grassi. Best brother. Best-"

"Uncle," Michael inserted.

"Best at being out and proud," came from Melanie.

"Confidant," supplied Justin.

"Friend," stated Emmett.

"Man I'll ever know," declared Brian, suddenly missing Vic fiercely.

"Hear, hear," came from around the table, everyone raising their glasses and drinking.

Not bad, thought Brian, humming in pleased surprise and taking another sip. It wasn't nearly as fruity as he'd expected of a Honeycutt creation.

Emmett must have ears like a bat, because he immediately reached across Justin, pitcher in hand. "Top up?" he inquired.

Brian shook his head. Palatable or not, he wasn't gonna forgo beer with his meal. He was just contemplating getting up and fetching a lager when a jerk of Carl's chin caught his eye. Jesus. The table had sprouted a bunch of Penn Dark bottles, right in front of the detective. How the fuck had Brian missed that?

Horvath raised an eyebrow, and Brian nodded, holding up two fingers. Unlike Justin, he knew how to be a partner; he'd get the brat a beer.

Carl passed one bottle and then another to Deb, who passed them on to Mel. When the bulldyke raised an eyebrow, Brian grumbled wordlessly. She'd better pass the beer on down, not keep it for herself. Melly could grab a bottle for herself; it was right in front of her, for fuck's sake.

"I remember meeting Vic a long time ago," Stan spoke up as Melanie finally passed the beer over to Lindsay. From there, the bottles made their way to Emmett. The southerner sniffed disdainfully but didn't hold the beer hostage, as Brian half expected to happen, instead setting the lager in front of Justin.

Justin picked up the church key he'd had the foresight to put next to his plate, Brian shaking his head at the twat remembering the opener but not the beer, and pried the caps off. Sliding one of the lagers over to Brian, he raised his own in salute, smiling at him. 

Instantly forgetting his irritation, Brian smiled back, lightly tapped the bottom of his bottle against Justin's and took a swig.

"I was a gawky mess, all arms and legs, a bad of acne: what a dweeb," Stan laughed, continuing his story. "I was bummed because I'd just been dropped from my junior high gymnastics team."

"But," Michael interjected, "you're, like... Bent!"

Stating the obvious had everyone laughing and shaking their heads at him, but Mikey just grinned, unbothered.

"Thanks." Stan smiled at Michael. "But back then, I wasn't much to look at, you know?"

Mikey nodded in understanding, probably recalling his own tweens.

"Anyway, Vic took one look at me, blew off the guy he was with and dragged me into the diner-"

"Where was I?" Debbie broke in.

"Maybe it was your day off?" Stan shrugged. "Anyway, Vic got me a greasy cheeseburger and just sat and coaxed the story out of me. He told me to never give up on my dreams, that the naysayers could just fuck off."

"Vic always cared." Deb wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "He wanted the younger generation to have it better than he did. Not in a PC way, like the GLC is always goin' on about, but just so they could be themselves without anyone telling them how to be or-"

"Hmm?" Stan held up a hand, cutting Debbie off, and cocked an ear at the children's table. He then lifted the bowl with the cranberry sauce, rotated his shoulder and passed it over to Molly.

Molly, Gus and Timmy looked at Stan with starry eyes as they stammered out thanks. Jenny, in contrast, was too busy spooning in food to even look up.

"Having a hot guy like Vic pay attention to me did wonders for my confidence," Stan wound up. "I had a heckuva crush on him."

"Oh!" Face transfixed with joy and eyes shining, Emmett was peering at the ceiling on the far side of the room. "Do you see them? Vic and Judy are toasting all of us!"

Stan and Dale looked understandably confused, while the other adults just played it off as Emmett being Emmett. Brian wasn't about to say he could see Vic, who was holding up a pumpkin martini - had he snitched one of the glasses? - and looking him directly in the eye. It was the clearest vision of Vic that Brian'd had in years.

Fortunately, before anyone asked Brian what the fuck he was staring at, Vic winked at him and then faded out.

"You wanna do the honors, Mikey?" Debbie asked, looking down the length of the table at her son. "Carve up the bird like Vic used to?"

"I knew I shouldn't have sat here," Michael groaned. "But I wanted to be between Ben and Hunter."

Justin snorted, body vibrating with suppressed laughter.

"Duuude," Hunter moaned. "We coulda sat somewhere else."

Brian could see the wheels turning in Michael's head as he rewound what he'd said. "I meant because we've got elbow room down here!" Mikey hastily tacked on.

"Geez, Dad, lame-o," Hunter complained. "You gonna cut the turkey or what?"

"Or what," Michael refused turkey duty. "I still remember sending a wing flying across the table the first - and last - time I tried."

His own effort wasn't much better, Brian remembered, even if he hadn't made the turkey take flight. It was one of the reasons he'd skipped out on Thanksgiving dinner at the Novotnys' for years. He carefully avoided Debbie's gaze now; he didn't want to make a fool out of himself again.

"Why don't I take care of it, Red?" Carl started to get up, knocking into Jennifer because the chairs were wedged in so tightly around the table.

"I can do it," Emmett offered a beat later. "I've had plenty of practice."

"No," Deb declined both offers. "It should be someone Vic taught. You know, to remember him properly."

Shit, his surrogate mom was looking his way. Brian was scrambling for an excuse, unable to come up with anything, when Deb asked, "Vic taught you, didn't he, Sunshine?"

A nod from Justin had Brian sagging in relief.

"Gimme the bird," said Justin, giggling.

Brian gave him the finger, which only made the twat giggle more.

"Might be easier if you went to the bird." Cynthia eyed the turkey in amazement. "I've never seen one that big."

Michael, looking frantic to escape the carving process, pushed back his chair so hard that it tipped over. Picking it up off the floor, he gestured for Justin to take his place. "Uh, you can sit here to carve. I'll go get a couple platters."

"You mean these?" Cynthia picked up the oversized plates in front of her and passed them to Ben, who, undoubtedly still perturbed about the demise of his tofurkey, huffed but then set the plates next to the big bird.

"Uh, yeah," Michael replied, prudently edging further away from the table.

Lips pressed together - Brian could tell Justin was on the verge of a major giggling fit - Justin scooted his chair back and moved over to slide into Michael's. Then, evidently deciding he'd manage better if he stood, Justin got back up. He picked up the carving knife and fork, flourishing them before smoothly cutting into the turkey. 

"Show-off," muttered Michael as Justin proceeded to extract the wishbone.

Justin glanced over at the kids' table, but they were all too busy chattering away about something - either Potter's potions or Distorto's distortions would be Brian's guess - to notice the wishbone.

Stripping off the gristly bits and patting the wishbone with a napkin, Justin noted, "It won't be easy, but anyone want to give it a go?" 

"Me!" said Cynthia and Emmett at the same time.

Justin reached past Ben, handing the wishbone to Cynthia, who studied it for a moment. "I've heard there's more power in it if we wish for the same thing," she divulged.

Brian snorted. What idiot came up with that?

He wasn't surprised when Honeycutt ignored him and bestowed a gap-toothed grin on Cynthia. "I'm in. What're we wishing for?"

"Mmm." Cynthia mulled it over for a minute. "Ten inches, knows what to do with them, hot and can hold a conversation about something besides sports."

Like nine and a half inches weren't plenty. Brian narrowed his eyes at his blonde assistant.

His grin widening, Emmett nodded in agreement. Both he and Cynthia rose partway, getting as good a grip as possible on opposite sides of the slippery wishbone.

"One, two, three..." Ben counted down, getting into the spirit of things. "Go!"

Snickers came from around the table as both Cynthia and Em tugged, valiantly trying to break the wishbone and getting red in the face from their efforts.

"C'mon, Cynthia!" Daphne rooted for the blonde woman.

"Emmylou! Emmylou! Emmylou!" chanted Ted.

Brian rolled his eyes. You'd think this was the Wishbone Olympics or something.

The Olympians finally succeeded in ripping the wishbone in half, Emmett flopping back in his seat and crowing, "Country boy for the win!"

Brian was annoyed to realize that the tug of war had distracted him from watching Justin remove the meat from the legs. In fact, Justin had already peeled half the breast off the breastbone and was now slicing and then transferring it to one of the large plates.

The blond must have honed his skills since shooting a turkey leg into his grandmother's lap. He made carving the big bird look easy. Impressed and more than a little envious, Brian watched as Justin repeated the process with the other half of the turkey, before removing the wings, setting one at the end of each platter.

"Lemme just take this to the kitchen" - Justin hefted the board with the turkey's remains - "and wash my hands and I'll be back."

Apparently deeming it safe, Michael took a cautious step back towards his seat. "I'll take this to the other end of the table," he offered, picking up one of the platters and taking a deep breath of the turkey-laden air.

It did smell good, Brian's stomach rumbling loudly as Jusin returned and slipped back into the spot next to him.

"Better feed you before you start gnawing on Sunshine again," Debbie chortled.

Brian just grinned, more than a little proud of his efforts.

Emmett reached up and brushed a thumb over the bruise on Justin's neck. "That is one spectacular hickey, Baby."

Brian flicked Em's hand, causing the southerner to cry out, "Ow!"

"You shaid hickeys are little love bites, Mama," Gus piped up in an accusatory tone. "They're s'poshed to be small."

"The size depends how much you love the person," Hunter interposed with a sly gleam in his eyes. "The more you love them, the bigger the hickey." He grinned at Justin like he'd finally one-upped him.

Hunter was still a mouthy shit, thought Brian. But he had another think coming if he expected the L-word to bother Brian. "That's right," he told Gus. "It means I love your Papa lots."

Brian could've done without the oohs and ahs from the girls, but the blinding smile from Justin made up for the heckling.

"You done good, Sunshine," Deb congratulated Justin. "You too, ragazzo," she added, smiling fondly at Brian.

Foiled in his attempt to needle Brian and Justin, Hunter turned his gaze to Daphne. "I'd give a hickey to a girl I liked," he said meaningfully.  

Fucker better keep his hands off Daphne, thought Brian. Daphne was Justin's and his: no poaching allowed.

Daphne thoughtfully eyed Hunter, which had Justin tensing up, but then the girl shrugged, turning to Cynthia to say something. Just a harmless flirtation, Brian decided.

Brian outstretched a long arm and transferred a few slices of the white meat to his plate and then added a dollop of the mashed potatoes from Justin's plate for good measure. Might as well make room so Justin could have some of the turkey.

"So, anybody got news?" Debbie asked.

"JR went potty all by herself," Michael proudly announced as he helped himself to the ham. "Number one and number two."

"...brings that up at the dinner table?" Blake questioned, his voice not as quiet as he'd likely intended.

"Jesus," Mel cursed, sharing a despairing look with Lindsay.

Leave it to Mikey, thought Brian. His childhood friend never changed.

"Er, maybe let someone else share their news, babe," Ben recommended.

"But it's a huge step in JR's development!"

"I've got good news," Lindsay cut in before Michael could wax on about Jenny's ‘accomplishment.' "The Carnegie Museum of Art contacted me and asked if I was still interested in working for them. They filled the position I applied for, but they have an opening for an assistant manager in the gift shop; they think my sales experience would come in handy there. The salary's not very good and it isn't exactly my dream job" - she heaved a sigh - "but I can't let Mel carry the load of supporting us any longer."

Linds glanced sidelong at Brian, as if expecting him to object, but he just gave her a bland look. Brian didn't want her to bring up the financial support he'd been providing. Besides, Melanie had been working her ass off to take care of her family; she deserved the limelight.

"If they like what she does," Mel commented, giving her wife a proud glance, "they'll put Linds in the training program to recruit investors at the end of her probationary period."

"The business end of things isn't really my forte," Lindsay mumbled.

"Theodore can give you pointers," Brian volunteered his CFO.

"Sure. Glad to help," Ted agreed easily, smiling at the girls.

"Linds isn't the only one with arty news." Daphne smiled at her bestie.

Thank fuck Daphne had spoken up; now Brian didn't have to. Justin was confident in his work - Brian complimented him often enough - but he hated to brag about it.

Knowing the twat, he didn't want to infringe on Lindsay's news or make her feel bad that she hadn't pursued her own dreams of becoming an artist. Fuck that. It was up to Lindsay to pick up a paintbrush.

"You in another show, Sunshine?" Debbie gave her erstwhile boarder a huge smile.

"Um, yeah." Justin reached up to rub at his neck only to lower his hand when he encountered the love bite Brian had bestowed on him.

Brian smirked. Justin's skin was probably a smidge tender.

"Well?" prodded the redhead. "Do I have to use the tongs" - she flourished the item in question - "to pull it out of you?"

Justin cringed as if terrified. "No! Not the ‘tongs of truth'!" 

Giggling, Daphne warned Justin, "You better spill or Debbie's gonna getcha." 

Cheeks pinkening, Justin imparted, "I've got a solo show-"

That was all he got out before everyone started cheering and clapping.

"Your own show? That's awesome!" Stan enthused. If the contortionist hadn't been a fan of Justin's before becoming part of the Rage franchise, he sure as heck was now.

"Where? When?" Questions flew at Justin.

"At the Bloom Gallery," Justin revealed more details. "It'll run from the day after Christmas through the second week of January."

"Right when people will be looking to splurge," noted Brian.

"I'd think they'd be broke from buying Christmas presents," Emmett argued. "I know I'll be down to chicken feed," he said to laughs and murmurs of agreement.

Brian shook his head. "You're not the target audience. We'll be going after people with money who want to indulge their passion for art."

"You doing the advertising?" Michael wanted to know.

Stupid fucking question. Brian gave Mikey a ‘duh' look.

"How many paintings?" asked Melanie.

Finally a pertinent question.

"I'm not sure yet," Justin admitted.

"How can you not know?" Lindsay inquired, her expression a little sour.

"'Cause it won't just be paintings," Justin explained. "I'll also be showing some drawings as well as panels from Rage. Sidney wants a little bit of everything to ‘showcase my repertoire of skills.'" He raised his fingers in air quotes to make it clear that he was just relaying what Bloom had said.

"I don't have the Rage storyboards anymore - those belong to the movie studio and are probably buried in a basement somewhere - but I'm gonna try and recreate a couple of them to accompany the comic book panels."

Maybe he should get out the sketch Justin had pilfered and brought back from LA. Brian had rescued it from the wastebasket, where Justin tossed it after showing it to him, secreting it away on the top shelf in the closet. It was nestled in a box with the first ever drawing Justin had sold, the cowrie shell bracelet he'd retrieved from Brian's shithead nephew and the bloodstained silk scarf from prom.

The box had been undisturbed when Brian opened it this morning, which didn't surprise him. Justin refused to admit he was too short to reach the upper recesses of the closet without the aid of a step stool, so Brian never had to worry about the twat rooting around in there.

When Ben commented, "That's great news," Brian tuned back into the discussion about Justin's show. Looked like the professor was back to his normal Zenny self. 

"Who knows?" Ben questioned. "Maybe it'll inspire the studio to try again."

"Fuck the studio," Justin denounced that idea. "I'd rather try and do something low-budget that we'd have control over."

"I agree," Michael seconded Justin. "They didn't have the guts to produce the movie a few years ago, and I doubt they'd do it now. Not without watering down Rage and JT so you can't even tell they're gay."

Justin smiled at Michael. "The news about my show gets even better. While it's going on, Sidney wants to host a special event with the people who inspired the Rage characters - me, you, Brian, Ben and Stan. Have us dress up as JT, Zephyr, Rage, Professor Kirchner and Bent as long as we're willing."

"Heck, yeah!" An overexcited Michael slammed a hand down on the table, hitting his fork and sending it flying.

"Sorry." Mikey winced when his fork landed on Cynthia's plate, splattering her royal blue silk blouse with gravy and meat.

Cynthia shook her head in bemusement. "The last couple of days have been hard on my wardrobe," she observed wryly.

Brian made a mental note to buy Cynthia a few new blouses to go with the lingerie he already owed her for taking part in the final scene of the Brown Athletics commercial.

"Sid wanted Reverend Swineheart too." Justin started giggling. "But I don't think we want the asshole who inspired him anywhere near the Bloom Gallery."

"Fuck Stockwell!" Debbie cried out.

"Maybe with a ten-foot pole," muttered Ben, making everyone laugh.

Hmm, maybe Brian should send Stockwell an invitation to the opening. Stick it to the homophobic bastard some more.

"I was thinking maybe we could ask Kiki to dress up as IceTina," Justin mused. "Do you think she'd go for it?"

"That tranny?" Debbie screeched. "She won't be able to pull up her girdle, she'll be so puffed up."

Brian did not want that image in his head. Nor did anyone else, going by the groans from around the table.

"It's like having our very own Picasso in the family." Melanie smiled warmly at Justin before widening her gaze to include Brian. "I couldn't have been more wrong," she stated, shaking her head.

"About what?" quipped Brian. "The possibilities are endless."

"Asshole," retorted Melanie, no heat behind the epithet. She turned to Justin with an earnest expression. "I told Brian you were sacrificing your career to be with him. I'm sorry, baby, for assuming I knew what was best for you."

"It's okay." Justin shrugged it off. "It's not like I listened to you anyhow."

Brian could feel a flush rising up his neck. He hadn't really blamed the bulldyke for spouting that crap about sacrifice. Not two years ago, and even less so since she'd apologized to him at Halloween. For a long time, Brian had taken anything Linds said about making it as an artist as gospel; if she said Justin needed to go to New York, then Brian was gonna see that he went. Thankfully, Justin had proven less easy to manipulate.

"Normally, disregarding a lesbian's advice would have dire consequences." Mel shook a finger at Justin. "But in this case, you were right. You can be a success from Pittsburgh... as long as your name is Justin Taylor. Right, hon?" she asked, turning to Lindsay.

If Linds' expression had been sour before, she now looked like she'd bitten into a lemon. "I suppose," she grudgingly conceded, "but-" 

"Dig in!" Debbie overrode whatever Lindsay planned to say. "Cold meat's for sandwiches, not Thanksgiving dinner."

In an effort to quiet his rumbling stomach - it was getting embarrassingly loud - Brian scooped up a bite of the ham along with some of the mashed potatoes, and swallowed it down.

Mouth still open, Linds didn't look ready to let go of whatever point she had wanted to make.

Melanie took advantage of her wife's open mouth, shoveling in a large forkful of turkey and stuffing. "C'mon, we agreed to give up the vegetarian diet for the holidays. Let's enjoy ourselves."

Lindsay closed her lips around the tines, and Melanie slowly slid the fork out, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Mmm," Linds hummed in evident pleasure.

"Way to put me off dinner," grumbled Ted, going a bit green around the gills.

"Why?" Tucker asked, eyes fastened on the lesbians. "Two women together is hot."

"Tuck!" a pink-faced Jennifer remonstrated.

Debbie narrowed her eyes on Carl. "What've you got to say about it?"

"The lesson from Caffney and Louenna, the lesbians on the force, was enough for me," Horvath proclaimed his innocence. 

Mel scoffed, "You would find two lesbians whose names make them sound like gay clones of Cagney and Lacey."

Horvath blinked in surprise - he'd evidently never made that connection - and then returned his focus to his paramour. "And that was only so I'd know how to pay you back for the stellar blowjob, Red."

Deb cooed, "Oh, Carl, honey."

Brian could feel the food he'd swallowed coming up for a visit.

"Let's just concentrate on eating the meat," Ted injected a much needed dose of rationality.

No one objected - a minor miracle.

Brian scooped up some of the cranberry sauce from Justin's plate along with a piece of cornbread and then filled in the empty spot with slices of turkey from his own plate.

The blond boy smiled at Brian as he snagged the salad bowl, into which significant inroads had already been made, courtesy of a greedy Theodore. Fucker. This must be the new salad recipe Justin had promised to make for Brian, dammit. Ted could have something else, like the limp-looking lettuce creation that some yahoo thought would be a good contribution.

Ameliorating his irritation with Ted, Justin piled kale, small glazed onions, cherries, some kind of nuts and white cheddar onto Brian's salad plate. He even managed to put a sizable portion on his own salad plate, before Emmett snatched the bowl. All so he could have another serving, Brian suspected.

Brian gave Justin a companionable bump of the shoulder and settled down to the serious business of enjoying the Thanksgiving feast.