Work Text:
‘This was a terrible idea,’ Dylan mutters to himself.
He’s stood in the FBI’s biggest conference room, surrounded by co-workers wearing Santa hats and festive sweaters and remembering why he never goes to office parties. They’re even playing that godawful Slade song that he endured on repeat growing up.
The food table is laden with pre-packaged turkey sandwiches and some sad-looking iced cakes. He grabs two cans of coke and turns back to scan the room.
Coming here was Kevin’s idea. He’d seen the invitation Dylan had thrown in the trash and insisted it would be fun. Maybe he could meet some of Dylan’s work friends! And Dylan couldn’t bring himself to say that he didn’t have any work friends (except maybe Fuller) and most of the office hates his guts.
It only takes a moment to spot him. Kevin sticks out like a tall, blond, bespectacled sore thumb, and he’s about ten years younger than most of the people here. He seems happy at least, and is talking animatedly to – oh god, he’s talking to Cowan. This evening can’t get any worse.
Dylan shoulders his way through the crowds of people, ducking past Molly from HR (Mandy? Milly?) who flails a sprig of plastic mistletoe at him, pouting with red lips. A peal of merry laughter bursts out from a group as he passes. They’ve barely been here an hour and already he wants to leave.
Kevin spots him and waves enthusiastically. ‘Hey, Dylan!’ Even now, after two months together, he’s always thrilled to see him. Dylan was only gone for five minutes.
‘Hey. I got you a drink.’ Feeling strangely furtive, Dylan presses the can of coke into Kevin’s hand.
‘Rhodes,’ Cowan drawls, giving Dylan a look that’s far too knowing as he sips from a plastic cup. ‘Kevin here’s a big fan of yours. Why didn’t you tell us about your little friend?’
Kevin frowns. ‘Oh, we’re not friends, I’m his boyfriend. I just told you.’
‘Ah, he’s hilarious. Much more fun than the last one you brought here. How long did she last, a year?’
Dylan’s jaw clenches. ‘Haven’t you got some boots to lick? Wouldn’t want anyone to think you were slacking off.’
Cowan meets his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Merry Christmas, Rhodes. Have fun with your new boy toy.’ Still smiling, he drifts away to join a group of agents at the other end of the room.
Dylan glares after him, feeling a curious mixture of anger and shame. No one had batted an eye when he’d brought Catherine along, so why should it be weird to bring Kevin? Most people probably know he’s bi – he’s had plenty of hook-ups in his travels and word gets around – but he’s never been blatant about it. No doubt there’ll be workplace jibes come Monday.
‘Boy toy?’ Kevin looks puzzled. ‘Does he mean me?’
‘Cowan’s an asshole. Just ignore him.’ Dylan can’t quite bring himself to hold Kevin’s hand, but he manages a lingering squeeze of his arm.
Kevin nods wisely. ‘He was probably just jealous of my Christmas jumper.’ He gestures proudly at his sweater, which depicts a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat below the words Christmas Tree-Rex.
‘Uh yeah, maybe.’ Dylan is wearing his black Santa’s Not Real sweater from five Secret Santas ago – on top of his usual work attire. He’s not quite sure who he should be here: hardass Agent Rhodes, or the Dylan who’s learning to be a little softer for Kevin. More than anything, he’s pissed that Cowan tried to embarrass him for bringing Kevin along.
‘Hey Kevin,’ Dylan says, ‘do you wanna blow this joint?’
Kevin pauses, his coke halfway to his mouth. ‘But we just got here.’
‘Yeah, and it sucks. Do you really want to stand around talking to guys like him?’ He jabs his thumb at Cowan. Cowan notices. Dylan gives him the finger.
‘Not really,’ Kevin admits, then brightens. ‘I know somewhere we could go. It’s a lot more Christmassy than this.’ He takes Dylan’s hand. ‘Let’s go.’
Dylan feels an instinctive twinge of unease, but he crushes it down and squeezes Kevin’s hand. ‘Lead the way.’
They weave through the crowds, making for the door. They’re almost there when Dylan spots Fuller, holding a handbag and looking a bit lost.
‘Hey, Ian,’ says Dylan, nodding at the bag. ‘Where’s the wife?’
He sighs. ‘She’s complaining to Evans about the misogynistic atmosphere. Again.’
‘It’s a yearly tradition.’ Dylan checks his watch. ‘One hour, fifteen minutes in? That’s a new record.’
Fuller always looks like he’d be more at home behind a desk than chasing perps. Thin and balding, with a kind face that sometimes gets people to talk faster than Dylan can. They’ve been partners for years. Dylan still thinks of him as Fuller rather than Ian.
‘Hey, Agent!’ Kevin claps him on the shoulder. ‘Remember me?’
Fuller smiles. ‘I couldn’t forget you, Kevin. Dylan talks about you a lot.’
Minutes later, a woman with short brown hair marches over to them, a Santa hat in her clenched fist. ‘I tell them every year,’ she says loudly, ‘and here we are again. Those old boys are playing pin the thong on Mrs Claus over there – Jesus, so many bald heads it’s like looking at a room full of boiled eggs. Oh! Hello, Dylan.’
Dylan nods. ‘Alison.’
Alison Fuller moved to the states twenty years ago, but her accent remains stubbornly British. She takes her bag from Fuller with a kiss on his cheek. ‘Every year, it’s a bloody shitshow.’
‘You didn’t have to come,’ Fuller points out.
‘Well, someone has to whip them into shape.’ She catches sight of Kevin, and her face lights up. ‘Is this him? Are you the boyfriend with the underwear-stealing chihuahua?’
‘That’s me,’ says Kevin happily. ‘You must be Agent’s sister.’
She shakes his hand. ‘Wife.’
‘Agent and Wife. You two have such interesting names.’
‘Oh, I like you. You’re funny.’ Alison grins. ‘Are you two leaving already?’
‘Yeah.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘I wouldn’t wipe my ass with those sandwiches.’
She nods vigorously. ‘They don’t even have vegetarian options! Or mince pies.’
‘We’re going to find somewhere better to eat,’ says Kevin. ‘You guys wanna come?’
They find a pizza place that’s a ten-minute walk away. As they eat and talk, Dylan starts to feel like himself again. It gets complicated when work and home spill together.
‘So Kevin,’ says Alison, picking peppers off her pizza, ‘what do you do for work?’
‘Oh, I’m a Ghostbuster.’ Kevin plucks some crushed ice from his drink, spreads it on his pizza and takes a bite. Dylan watches without surprise. ‘Well technically I’m their receptionist. But sometimes they let me come along.’
‘What’s a Ghostbuster?’ Fuller asks. ‘Is that a band name?’
‘No no, we catch ghosts. If someone’s being haunted we go over there in the van and blast it with our ghost equipment. Sometimes we catch them in jars but usually they just blow up.’
Fuller glances uncertainly at Dylan. Dylan shrugs.
‘Do you ever get any nice ghosts?’ Alison leans forward. ‘I used to hear my grandma all the time.’
Dylan zones out of the conversation, more interested in demolishing the rest of his pizza. He’s not sure what the Ghostbusters actually do, and it’s probably better if he doesn’t know; he wouldn’t want to have to arrest anyone.
He watches Kevin re-enacting a fight he had with a ghost and smiles. Maybe tonight isn’t a failure after all.
Afterwards, Kevin insists they go to a nearby bar. It’s festooned with Christmas glitteriness, and Dylan immediately feels too old to be here, but it’s still better than being at work. He doesn’t realise it’s a gay bar until he notices that the bartender is wearing a he/they pin.
As they order their first round of drinks he feels strangely furtive, and glances around for anyone who might recognise him. Then he laughs at himself. He just brought Kevin to meet his co-workers, of course he isn’t straight. It’s just that he’s never had a relationship with another guy and maybe it’s changing his self-image a little. No bad thing.
Kevin downs his bright green concoction and drops the cocktail umbrella into Dylan’s whiskey. ‘Drinking contest. Bet I can beat you.’
He chuckles. ‘You’d die.’
Alison toasts them both with her glass of lemonade. ‘I’m driving. You boys have fun.’
Fuller leans over to look at Kevin’s empty glass. ‘Can I get one of those?’
It’s the best “Christmas party” Dylan’s had in years. Kevin orders every Christmas drink on the menu and insists Dylan tries them all, and Fuller bitches about all the assholes at work, and they gradually raise their voices as the festive music gets louder and more people begin to file in.
There’s a dance floor at the back of the room, where snowflake projections skitter along the wall. At some point Kevin gets bored of the drinking game and wobbles over to strut his stuff. He dances like an excited giraffe: all arms and legs, but with plenty of enthusiasm.
Fuller nudges him. ‘So how long’s it been now?’
Dylan smiles, still watching Kevin. ‘Two months.’
‘And he’s already moved in with you? Things seem to be moving pretty fast between you.’
‘The idiot burned his house down. What was I supposed to do, let him move back in with his mom?’ He knows what Fuller’s getting at though: things had also moved quickly with Catherine. They’d gotten married and divorced in the same year. ‘I was in a bad place then. It’s different this time.’
‘I hope so. You seem pretty happy together.’
Kevin is now attempting to pirouette. Dancers are scrambling to get out of his way. The man is a whirlwind; he disrupts and causes chaos, but he’s kind and sweet and god Dylan really is in love with him.
Kevin falls over.
‘Shit.’ Dylan springs up, a little unsteady himself, and hurries over to the dance floor. Kevin is lying in a giggly heap, apparently unable to get his legs under him. ‘Time to go home, twinkle toes.’
Kevin’s arms stick up in the air. ‘Dance with me.’
‘You’re literally lying on the floor. Come on, get up.’ He takes Kevin’s hands and tries to pull him up, but the floor is slippery from someone’s spilled drink. Dylan’s feet skid and he falls on top of him. He tries to get up but can’t gain purchase on anything, and Kevin is still giggling, and Dylan must be drunk because he’s giggling too. He’s not even sure what’s so funny, but soon enough they’re clutching at each other, laughing too much to even try and get up.
In the end, Dylan gives up and rests his head on Kevin’s heaving chest. Everything is perfect: even the awful Christmas music and the dancers gathered around them. This is going to be the first Christmas he’s had in years that didn’t suck.
Somewhere above them, Alison sighs. ‘I’ll get the car.’
Dylan wakes up in bed with a headache and a dry mouth. When he opens his eyes, he’s nose-to-nose with Mike Hat, Kevin’s bug-eyed chihuahua. Mike politely licks his forehead, then snuggles into Kevin’s side.
Kevin stirs, a frown crossing his features. ‘Dylan…’
‘M’here, honey.’ The pet name slips out unintentionally, but Dylan rather likes it. ‘How you feeling?’
He groans. ‘Bad…’
‘You did drink a lot of those cocktails.’ He pats Mike’s head, then Kevin’s head. They’re still wearing their Christmas sweaters from last night; Fuller’s definitely going to tease him for this. ‘We should do that again. Maybe with less alcohol.’
‘Hnrgh.’ Kevin’s already drifting off to sleep again, his blond hair wild. Somehow, there’s glitter on his face. ‘Five more minutes…’
Dylan laughs softly. ‘Okay.’ Sunlight is streaming through the curtains, but it’s going to be a lazy day today. He shuffles a little closer so he can throw an arm over Kevin and Mike. Maybe they have moved fast, but he has a good feeling about Kevin. He hopes he’ll still be here next Christmas. And the next, and the next…
‘Happ’ Chrimus,’ Kevin mumbles.
It’s December 2nd, but Dylan doesn’t bother to correct him. Instead, he yawns and reaches up to brush Kevin’s hair off his face. ‘Happy Christmas, Kevin.’
Within moments, Kevin is snoring. Dylan pulls the covers more securely over them both, then closes his eyes.