Father's Day Dinner.

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"This is not what I had in mind, Gabriel!" a terse voice pierced Foster's skull.

"Given how absurd this situation you've engineered is, do you really think it's strange that I'd act out?" Gabriel replied, and Foster felt a chin rest on top of his head. He endeavored to move his arms and failed.

"Your 'date' is waking up," the first voice snipped as Foster heard a small moan which he realized had come from him.

"Why is he even here?" Foster heard a deep voice voice growl.

"Why is he here?" Peter exclaimed as Foster opened his bleary eyes. "Why is Dad here?"

Foster's vision slowly started to clear, feeling fingers playing with his hair and an arm slipping around his chest.

"I hate that you have to see us like this," Gabriel—Dexter?—Gabriel murmured in his ear.

"What…?" Foster grumbled softly.

"Shh, don't worry. Let them fight it out."

Foster turned his head to look over at Gabriel and blinked.

"What am I doing here?" he forced out past the haze of unconsciousness.

"I invited you to Father's Day dinner with my family," Gabriel said, picking up a glass of water with a red curly straw and bringing it to Foster's lips. Foster drank, his head slowly clearing. He glanced down at his wrists and started sputtering, getting water all over his shirt.

"Easy," Gabriel murmured, setting the glass down and picking up a napkin that probably cost more than Foster's best and only suit and dabbed at his shirt. Foster surveyed the scene in front of him: Peter glowering back and forth between his mother and father, Nathan glowering at Gabriel, Niki  glowering at another blonde woman, Angela not so much glowering as giving a matriarchally disapproving look at Gabriel, and Arthur maintaining his standard facial expression, which was rather like glowering but which never seemed to change, into a tumbler of scotch.

Foster looked down at his wrists, which had been bound to the chair with navy satin ropes with large tassels

"This… invited?" Foster sighed.

"You said yes," Gabriel smiled. Angela rolled her eyes and drummed sharp looking red fingernails on her own folded arm.

"Wonderful. One of my sons kidnaps a date—"

"I prefer 'abducted,'" Gabriel cut in. "Kidnap makes it sound like I've got some sort of perversion. I'm sure you're not insinuating that I'm some sort of pervert, Mother."

"Don't interrupt. One son brings two dates—"

"Niki?" Foster finally asked, and the taller blonde threw her hands in the air while the shorter one cackled.

"Foster, this is Tracy. Niki had two sisters, triplets—"

"I'm Meredith," the other blonde simpered. Gabriel's arm tightened around Foster's shoulders.

"Mine. Back off," he growled.

"STOP INTERRUPTING. Lastly, one of my sons brings a date who's imaginary."

"Invisible!" Peter insisted. "He knocked over that vase!"

Everyone looked at Peter dubiously, except Arthur, who just stared into his scotch.

"I am trying to have a nice family dinner for once," Angela ground out. "And your collective sabotage is not appreciated."

"What about your date, Mom?" Peter muttered, glancing sullenly at his father. Angela walked over and slapped the back of Peter's head. Nathan snorted.

"Ow! Mom!" Peter whined. A small tchotchke, some sort of little Japanese fox, launched itself at Angela's head, only to be blocked by Gabriel.

"Peter!" Angela snapped.

"I didn't!" Peter complained.

"Sit down," Angela snarled, "Rebekah. Have the caterers bring in the first course."

The terrified housemaid scrambled towards the kitchen as everyone took their seats except Angela, orbiting the table with a stern look.

"Gabriel Peters, are those my curtain tie backs?"

"I didn't want to damage the wood!" Gabriel protested. "Hand cuffs or cable ties would've scraped the varnish, tape would've left residue—"

"You couldn't have used rope of your own?" Nathan sneered.

"I didn't want to damage my date either, I'm not so uncouth as to bring a spare," Gabriel glared frostily back. Each of Nathan's dates stood waiting for him to pull their chairs out, both clearly expecting to be first. Both were disappointed as he just sat down, appearing to be giving this whole multiple dates thing a second thought. An empty chair next to Peter pulled itself out and pushed itself back in as Peter took his own. Arthur and Angela took their places at opposite ends of the round table.

"Knock it off, Pete," Nathan said with a roll of his eyes as a napkin unfurled itself and vanished under the table.

"I'm not doing it!" Peter argued, voice getting higher pitched the more indignant he got.

The wait staff the caterer had provided brought out bowls of a winter vegetable soup, setting one in front of each diner.

"Excuse me? You missed a spot," Peter said, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. Gabriel set his bowl of soup in front of the empty chair and turned his attention back to Foster, who gave him a dejected look.

"Could I persuade you to put the straw in the bowl?" he asked. Gabriel rolled his eyes, unwrapping Foster's napkin and placing it in his lap with care, and more exploration than was due.

"Don't be silly," Gabriel murmured and took the soup spoon in hand.

"Gabriel, we haven't said grace yet," Angela said tersely.

"Oh for god's sake…" Arthur muttered, giving a sharp look across the table.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, tipped his head down, reached behind Foster's head and tipped it down as well, then folding his own hands in front of him.

"Nathan, why don't you lead us?" Angela smiled. Nathan rolled his eyes, but everyone bowed their heads, except for Arthur, who turned his eyes directly to heaven.

"Dear Lord, thank you for this food we are about to receive, if we all make it to dessert it will be a damned miracle, Amen."

"How vulgar, Nathan,"Angela said, with no tone of surprise. Gabriel resumed his spoon, dipped it into the bowl and blew on it before holding it to Foster's lips, somewhat surprised that Foster accepted the bite. At Gabriel's startled look, Foster shrugged.

"What? I'm hungry," Foster murmured. "And clearly I'm not going anywhere."

Gabriel smiled and acquired a bite of soup for himself before offering Foster another.

"That is borderline sickening, Gabriel," Arthur said. "Why don't you just puppet him into eating?"

"This is more intimate," Gabriel explained.

"Borderline?" Nathan asked Arthur.

"You brought two dates, you dilettante; you don't get to comment," Gabriel scowled.

"Why didn't you bring Emily (Emma) Stanton to dinner?" Arthur asked. Angela snorted.

"Mother doesn't care for Emily Stanton, Father," Gabriel answered. "And Foster and I share a far deeper connection."

"Miss Stanton is a horrible influence and she would likely set the drapes on fire," Angela said.

"At least this way it's just your curtain tie-backs," Nathan muttered irritably.

"So you prefer your drapes to your son being gay?" Arthur argued.

"Nathan's heterosexual enough for all our sons," Angela replied.

The bickering continued around them, with no one noticing Gabriel's soup bowl gradually emptying at the empty seat, or Foster and Gabriel sort of lost in their own world with a dish of squash-yellow soup as the sun. The spell was disturbed, but not broken, by the wait staff retrieving the empty bowls and placing a large turkey on a sideboard.

"Would sir like to carve?" the waiter nervously asked Arthur.

"Do not give that man a knife or I will end you," Angela replied sternly.

"As though I would need one," Arthur scoffed. "Nathan, you do it if your mother's so skittish."

"Go to hell," Nathan replied, getting up and getting himself a scotch on the rocks. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes and looked over at the turkey, which fell apart in neat slices.

"Foster, would you like light or dark meat?" Gabriel asked quietly. "Or a bit of both?"

"Either's fine," Foster answered, flexing his wrists.

"A bit of both, please," Gabriel said to the waiter, reaching down to rub Foster's hands to improve the circulation.

"Thank you," Foster said, wiggling his fingers as Gabriel massaged slow circles into his palm. Gabriel turned their chairs so they were angled slightly towards one another to make it easier to delicately feed Foster small bites of various traditional dishes.

"Is this some weird sex thing?" Meredith asked suddenly. "Is this like foreplay for you guys?"

Foster stopped chewing, Gabriel paused with the fork midway to his mouth, everyone pausing to stare at her.

"Meredith, it's impolite to mention glaringly obvious things at the dinner table," Nathan muttered finally, giving Foster and Gabriel a withering look.

"And I thought my family was fucked up," she sighed with a shake of her head.

Peter shrugged and reached into a pocket of the coat hanging on the back of his chair, withdrawing a can of cranberry sauce and a can opener.

"Peter, just ask for some cranberry sauce if you want some," Angela said in exasperation.

"There's always like, bits of orange peel in the kind the caterers bring," Peter whined, opening the can.

"That's because it's not white trash food, Peter," Nathan taunted.

"Hey, I like canned cranberry sauce," Meredith snapped.

"Exactly," Tracy snickered.

"Could I get in on that?" Gabriel asked. Peter passed the can to him and a spoon, which he accepted. He slathered a bite of turkey with the sauce and smiled. "Ohh, that's the stuff."

He offered Foster a bite which he readily accepted.

"Oh, that is good," Foster sighed. "That's wonderful."

"You know, you haven't said, 'Why am I tied up?' or 'monster' once tonight," Peter commented.

"Why am I tied up, you monster. Happy?" Foster said dismissively.

"He did kidnap you," Tracy pointed out.

"Abducted," Gabriel corrected, dabbing the corner of Foster's mouth with a napkin.

"It isn't as though it's the first time," Foster shrugged.

"It's much nicer to just steal you, though," Gabriel said.

"I think it's kind of cute," Meredith said, smiling. "Maybe I'll lock the Lawyer up for a while."

"Enjoy federal prison," Nathan muttered. The empty chair pushed back, a roll plucked itself from the basket and bounced in midair before flying and bouncing off Nathan's forehead.

"Oh very mature!" Nathan spat, throwing his napkin down.

"Peter, what the hell?" Arthur sighed. Everyone started yelling at once, and anyone paying close enough attention would have heard seven distinct voices from six apparent mouths. Gabriel leaned over to Foster.

"Hey. Wanna sneak off to the kitchen and commandeer a pie from the caterers?" he asked. Foster rolled his eyes.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Sure. You can stay here," Gabriel said, looking around. "But these people are crazy."

Foster nodded.

"Pie it is," he consented. Gabriel lifted his chair off the ground a bit, gently guiding it away from the table towards the kitchen.

"I'm not going back out there," one waiter was saying firmly as Foster and Gabriel entered, whipping off his clip on bow tie. "I don't care if they tip diamond tennis bracelets."

"Don't worry," Gabriel said, setting down the chair. "They don't. My friend and I, however, will pay you one hundred dollars for a pie and two of my mother's dessert forks."

"We can't sell you forks we don't own," the chef said sullenly.

"We'll leave them here when we're done. You're doing the same job, you're just doing it in here instead of—" Gabriel dropped his chin ominously. "—out there."

The waiter crossed his arms.

"Let's see the cash."

Gabriel fished a hundred out of his wallet.

"What kind of pie?" the chef challenged.

"What have you got?" Gabriel challenged back.

"Apple, sweet potato, and pecan."

"Preference, Foster?" Gabriel asked.

"Do any of you care that I'm tied to a chair?" Foster asked after a pause.

"What chair?" the waiter said cynically. "I don't see a chair; do you see a chair, Erin?"

"I see no chair."

"Apple," Foster sighed. Gabriel beamed and knelt down, undoing the knots in the silk curtain tie-backs. "You're untying me?"

"I don't need two forks just for me, Foster," Gabriel replied, then looked up. "How much will it take me to score some ice cream?"

"Another twenty bucks," the chef said.

"That's extortion!" Foster exclaimed, standing, stretching and rubbing his wrists before going down like a tree as his blood pressure dropped. Gabriel reached out and caught him, setting him gently back in the chair as the waiter brought over two plates with apple pie slices. "Ohh… stood up too quickly."

"I noticed, my darling," Gabriel replied, pulling a stool up and sitting across from Foster, handing him pie.

There was a crash from the dining room, the shouting getting louder.

"Dexter?"

"Gabriel," Gabriel corrected.

"Gabriel?"

"Yes dear?"

Foster took a bite of pie.

"I'm going to get you for this."

Gabriel beamed and licked ice cream residue off the back of his fork.

"I look forward to it," he replied.