by TheTimeTrust and Chewy Walrus
"Cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-CHA! cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-CHA!" Kit Piper muttered to himself in song as he sauntered down the hallway, a drink in his hand. He passed by a doorway that was was partly opened and seemed to have a dim light inside. He pushed it slowly open and looked in.
"Kris? What are you doin' in here all by yourself, man? The party's out here!"
Kristofer Schanz looked up at him from the book he was reading and smiled politely. "I'm just reviewing these books on the Renaissance and Italy for the mission."
"For God's sake, man, it's New Year's Eve!"
"Uhhh... Kit, I'm not really much of a party person."
"Oh, come on, big guy, we've actually got a few more women around tonight! If I was twenty years younger, I'd be out there trying to score... Hell, I might even try, anyways!"
"It's... just not me, Kit. I'm uncomfortable at parties. Don't know what to do with myself while I'm at one." He smiled. "You know me... I always have to challenge myself, whether physically or intellectually."
"Kris, it's New Year's Eve, man! Live a little!"
Chance laughed. "All right, Kit, I'll be down in a few minutes. Just let me finish this chapter."
Kit looked at the tall Swede, who sounded more like an Englishman than a Scandinavian when he spoke. Had something to do with the British English he was taught in school, he supposed. And he had mentioned something about taking a few semesters at Cambridge in his early twenties. Chance seemed a bit withdrawn tonight. Maybe it was the effect of the beer on him, but Kit actually took notice of this, even though empathy was not one of his strong suits.
"You okay, man?" he asked with a more subdued tone.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm fine, Kit. Don't worry about me."
"'Cause my door is always open if you want to talk about... whatever it is you want to talk about," Kit said slowly, still trying to study Chance's face for any sign of his true emotional state at the moment.
"Thank you very much, Kit. I'll remember that."
"Sure," Kit said, stepping back toward the door. "Oh, one thing I noticed today while going through the personnel files salvaged from the complex..."
"Hmm?"
"Saw Pete's file. It seems as though his birthday would have been tomorrow... New Year's Day."
"Yes... I know."
"Is that what's bugging you?" Kit asked after a pause. "Pete's death?"
"Not really," Chance lied, feeling suddenly uncomfortable at the subject. "Well, it's more than just that, anyway. This MBL isn't my MBL, Kit. I'm a stranger in a strange land. This is not my home. I don't think it ever could be my home. Until I find a way to get back to my own world, it'll be my temporary home, but I can never be comfortable in a place like this. I miss my friends."
"You have friends here, too, Kris."
"Yes, I am glad for that," Chance said. "But it's just... not the same, if you know what I mean."
"I, uh... I think I do, yeah," Kit said, thinking suddenly of his two daughters back in New Orleans with their mom, the ex-wife who broke his heart. It was hard not having them around during Christmas. The only consolation was that his daughters would be staying with him again in a few weeks.
Kit made a point of sniffing the air in the room Chance was in. "Uh... I wouldn't stay in this room for too long, there, Kris. The smell of fish might sink in a bit too much. Still sorry I couldn't find better accommodations for us after the storm."
"Hm. Yes... frankly, the situation stinks."
Kit grinned in surprise as he realized that the usually-serious Swede had tried to make a joke, then laughed. "Well, come and join us whenever you're ready... and make sure to come on over by midnight, at least!"
"I will, Kit. Thanks again."
Grissom Montag loved parties, just loved 'em. He sat at a table filled with women, regaling them with stories about his past adventures. They seemed incredibly captivated and were laughing at even the dumbest of his jokes.
"So I says to the Shiek guy, I says, 'Hey, is that a scimitar in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?'" The table roared with laughter as Grissom finished off the last of his Guinness and called for another pint. Maria, one of the girls from the meta bar Griss had heard so much about, sat comfortably under the Brit's left arm, while Kat, a metahuman contortionist with feline agility, snuggled closely to his right side.
Receiving his pint, Grissom took a draught, then turned again to his captivated audience. "So, what'd you do, Griss?" asked Sarah, who sat across the table from Montag.
"Well, ladies," Grissom said, relishing the attention, "let's just say that once he pulled his scimitar..." Every woman at the table gasped as a small carving knife suddenly appeared in Grissom's hand. "...I had the situation well in hand."
Cheers and applause erupted from the ladies at the table as Grissom lightly bowed his head and let go of the knife, which vanished from sight as soon as he did.
"Tell us another one, Griss," Kat cooed, looking up at his with her big brown eyes. A chorus of female voices echoed her sentiment. Grissom smiled again and took another drink of his ale.
"All right," the ex-mercenary agreed as the ladies continued to insist, "but just one more. I'm anxious to get out there with some of you to cut a rug. What say?"
All Grissom could see were smiles as he leaned forward and began to weave another story. "So, there I was out in the desert sands of Morocco..."