Chapter Text
Thanksgiving, 2017
Over the years, Kevin and Raymond found different ways to generally ignore Thanksgiving: Kevin was writing a thesis, or a book, come late November; Raymond's extended family scattered across multiple states, and his aunt sold her big house; Raymond opted to work overtime, or, as his work turned to public affairs, attend charity events. Once, Kevin attempted to prepare an overly large meal for his brother and a few friends, and ended up giving the majority of the overcooked poultry to an overjoyed dog.
Kevin received the occasional note in the mail from his parents, generally inquiring about his well-being. As he answered them truthfully ( Raymond and I are well; we are both being promoted ) he never received a response. He sent them a brief, no-nonsense wedding announcement following his marriage in 2011, which his brother confirmed they had received, and had nothing further to say about.
It was Raymond's idea to go upstate more often, especially after they were married. They went antiquing; Kevin found a corgi puppy to adopt. (Kevin was generally lenient about letting Raymond choose activities, since his introduction to a country club had resulted in a lawsuit.) Raymond had read about the English Walnut Pie from the Cottage Inn in Saratoga Springs in a magazine feature. It was a trip they could make on their own. Kevin savored the long, quiet drive more than the destination itself. Together, it was their own newly-created holiday tradition.
When Kevin received the invitation to Thanksgiving dinner -- handwritten, addressed to both him and Raymond, from his parents -- he dropped it as though it were warm to the touch.
"I do not understand," he said. "I am incapable of understanding this."
With Raymond's help, he was able to confirm that it wasn't a trick or a forgery, leaving him to puzzle over the reasoning for such a change of heart after such a long time. Was someone dying? On the verge of dementia? Had dramatic shifts in the American political landscape led them toward something more "reasonable"? Had they heard about Raymond's candidacy for NYPD commissioner, and decided that this was finally someone they wanted to know, for the sake of bragging rights?
"Your guess is as good as mine," Kevin's brother Marty said, over the phone.
"I don't see how that's possible," Kevin responded.
He knew they wouldn't explain what had changed their minds. Kevin would have to settle for a "good to see you" as though no time at all had elapsed. His parents had never been confessional, apologetic, or even particularly expository.
"At this point I've had more of my life without them than I've had with them," Kevin told Raymond. "How am I to know what this means?"
Raymond shrugged. "My typical means of gathering evidence to support a conclusion would require us to visit them ourselves."
"It's up to you," Kevin told Raymond, sincerely. "I don't want to put you through anything needlessly unpleasant."
"I would like to know what this is about," Raymond said. "And I would not want you to regret not attending."
"They are elderly," Kevin said. "Perhaps something is amiss."
"It has been nearly thirty years," Holt said. "Almost three decades. That is quite some time."
"I suppose it is."
"We can bring the pie," Raymond said. "It would be an interesting novelty."
"Of course," Kevin said, thinking fondly of a long, silent drive with Raymond. "We can bring the pie."
But Raymond had to work the first half of Thanksgiving Day that year, leaving Kevin to twiddle his thumbs at the precinct. He had thought it would be better than waiting at home, alone. But, instead, he found himself worrying about everything that could go wrong, without the comfort of familiar distractions. He fixated on the pie, which seemed strange, inadequate, repulsive even, barely fit for company, a private thing that would never hold up to scrutiny. The pastry was bold, confusing, and tasteless. It could not be.
It was a childish impulse, to throw it away. But figuring out how to do so gave Kevin the mental exercise he needed; he obscured the security cameras in Raymond's office. He placed the pie in the garbage, and in doing so, calmed his nerves.
Raymond, with his flair for the dramatic, launched a full-scale investigation into the pie's disappearance. Kevin wondered if this was nerves, if Raymond loved throwing himself into the distraction as well.
But Raymond caught him, because apparently Raymond and even the least impressive of his colleagues were good at detective work.
"That pie is an abomination," Kevin said, to Raymond's accusing finger. "It has beef suet and apple seeds in it. Why? It's a walnut pie."
Kevin, knowing full well that Raymond took much greater offense at unconventional food than he did, said the most private thing he was willing to say in front of an office full of cops. "If we brought that to my family's house they would have said something. I was trying to protect you."
I feel there is very little I can do to protect you, Kevin meant. I hate that.
"Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"
"Because I love our annual trips to Saratoga Springs. The two of us, driving in silence, looking at the barren trees, it's perfect," Kevin said. "I didn't want to lose that."
For all the fibbing he was doing, that part was the absolute truth.
"I don't know why we can't still make the drive next year," Raymond said, in a pragmatic manner that Kevin found downright sexy. "We just don't have to buy the pie."
"A trip with no purpose?" Kevin said, tossing his head flirtatiously. "Raymond."
Oh? Raymond's face said, raising both eyebrows.
They ought to stop home for a bottle of wine before departing, they decided abruptly, since many stores would already be closed for the holiday. Yes, of course, they should go home, they reasoned, as if it weren't just an excuse to get their hands on each other.
"So dramatic," Kevin teased, wrapping his arms around Raymond as they were barely in the door.
"My pastry-based investigation was born of genuine outrage," Raymond said. "I believed my squad knew better than to come between us."
At the word between, Raymond placed a strong hand to the small of Kevin's back.
Kevin pulled him toward the bedroom. "Come."
"You would risk being late to dinner?" Raymond said slowly, in a way that underscored the risqué nature of such a suggestion.
Kevin beckoned with his eyebrows. "I would."
"I am very attracted to you right now," Raymond said.
"I know," Kevin smiled.
They made love quickly, fervently, the drama of earlier making it impossible to think of anything but each other. Kevin got lost in it, the urgent now and the familiar touch of always .
When they left the house, buttoned-up again, with a very nice bottle of wine -- Kevin was sober but already drunk on this, the glow protecting him from whatever may lie ahead. Isn't he incredible? Kevin imagined himself saying. Aren't I? Indeed, I agree.
They were running a few minutes late to dinner, and it didn't matter. Whatever happened next no longer mattered to him, because they had something strong, good, secret, untouchable.
He took Raymond's arm as they walked through the door.