Mitch was headed downtown in the early afternoon. It was about half an hour bus journey to Little Italy and a short walk to Blick Art Materials where he desperately needed to buy some paint to cover up his horrendous walls. It was a nice area, if not slightly overwhelmed by too many pizza places and, unlike shopping in New York, he could actually move freely along the sidewalk without being jostled from every angle, despite the fairly large number of tourists congregated.

The rest of his week had gone slightly better than bad. He still felt like he was causing more work for the rest of the staff than helping them but no one ever got unreasonably annoyed with him. Ever since the first disastrous day, Mitch had actually managed to not offend anyone else during the week and had even begun to engage in friendly chat with a few of his colleagues, especially with Kevin, seeing as his work station was closest to his.

At times the man was too friendly for Mitch's liking - seeing as all the overly friendly people he had met in the past had an alternative motive - but he was able to have Mitch laughing even after the latter had been shucking corn for what felt like a good hour.

As for the rest of the staff, they were pretty much the same. Loud-mouthed, boisterous and hyperactive but incredibly competent and hard working all the same. He had actually seen another side to Avi besides hopeless romantic when someone had their meal sent back, causing the man to kick off at one of the line chef's for not degreasing a soup properly. Mitch had no idea what that meant but was glad it wasn't on his list of tasks.

And as for Scott, he was still as confusing as ever. One moment he would be rushing around very seriously making sure the party of twelve all got their food at the same time, the next moment he was performing a spoon juggling act with one of the front of house staff. Most days he would pay Mitch little to no attention, just shouting out to the others occasionally about planning nights out, but then on Thursday he had taken the time to teach Mitch how to caramelise sugar so he could make things like fancy sugar cages and baskets for the deserts. They had actually been quite fun to do and the other man had complicated his technique afterwards.

Today, the weather was almost perfect in Mitch's opinion, not too hot, but sunny with a nice breeze. It had put him in a good mood. Walking through the store doors, he was immediately approached by a boy, maybe about sixteen years old, who was in serious need of a hair wash and acne cream, and listened patiently while the kid spewed out the customer service jargon he was trained to. "Hi there Sir, how are you today?"

He sounded kind of like Chris from Family Guy. Mitch had been watching a lot of that show recently, it was one of the few decent programmes available on his TV when he got round to sitting down and putting his feet up.

"Good," Mitch gave the kid a tight smile, hoping that he would get the message that he preferred to be left alone when he was shopping.

No luck there unfortunately. "Uh...can I be of any assistance?" The kid was clearly repeating that for the fiftieth time today and due to his brighter mood Mitch decided that he would actually give him a challenge to see what he was really made of.

"Hmm maybe," he speculated. "Have you got any colors the opposite to golden brown?"

It quickly became apparent that this kid's brain was as absent as the expression on his face. "Uhh...we have some African Violet..." The boy mumbled and pointed dumbly to the paint aisle that Mitch could clearly see from where he was.

"Do I look like an eighty year old woman?" he sassed back in jest. It went right over this boy's head though, who just gawked at him, the response to that obviously not in the training manual. "Never mind," Mitch waved him off. "I'll find something myself."

It didn't take him long. He avoided all the bright colors and headed straight for the bland ones, quickly settling on a cream color that was apparently called Champagne, the naming of which had no influence on his decision of course. The hardest task was trying to lift the three incredibly heavy tins into his shopping cart, which involved a lot of cursing on his part and a lot of disobedience on the paints side.

After that mini workout, Mitch wondered why his stamina hadn't seemed to improve after a week's hard graft. It's what Kevin had been constantly telling him, that his body would soon begin to get used to running off little reserves. Well he'd just been defeated by three buckets of paint so he figured he had a while to go before he got to that standard.

Mitch had been pushing the cart to go and pay, when suddenly there was a hand grabbing hold of his shoulder and for a split second Mitch truly believed he was being mugged. That was until he realised most criminals wouldn't say, "I believe this is your's Mr Grassi," and hand over a wallet, Mitch's own wallet.

"Oh my– you..." Mitch couldn't stop himself from giving Scott a light slap on the arm as he snatched his wallet back. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" He complained as the other man just jumped back and started laughing.

"Woah calm down Mitchy!" Scott said through more laughter, holding his hands up defensively. "Just trying to be a good samaritan is all. I thought you might need this to pay for that." He gestured to the now returned wallet and the tins of paint in Mitch's shopping cart.

Mitch huffed in reply. "Thanks," he muttered. Why on my day off do I happen to run straight into you?

"No problem," Scott smiled brightly at him. "Enjoying your day off?" he questioned, following Mitch the moment the younger man began to walk away.

Accepting defeat that he was stuck with the man now and escape was impossible, Mitch admitted, "It was needed."

The blond smirked. "Yeah I can see that."

"What d'you mean?" the smaller man asked, frowning. What insult am I about to receive now?

Fortunately, it turned out Scott was referring to a discussion he'd had at work rather than some embarrassing mistake he had made or his current appearance. "That chat you had with Kevin on Friday night..." he shook his head in amusement at the memory. "I swear you both sounded like you were high on something." You're saying this to a guy who's never once got high in his life. Even so, Mitch was partially amused as Scott then went on to imitate the two of them, saying in a dopey voice: "Hey...do you...do you think chicken's have souls?"

I really did have that conversation didn't I? To be fair that had been right at the end of the shift and the two had been working at the grill the whole evening with an influx of chicken based meals coming in. After twelve hours of working in that kitchen, Mitch's mind tended to wander to places he had never thought possible before, including the topic of whether chicken's went to normal heaven or an exclusive chicken heaven.

He glanced at Scott who was still walking alongside him with a bounce in his step and a bright spark in his eyes. He was slightly envious. "I don't know how you do it everyday," he confessed.

The other man appeared quite delighted with that half compliment. "Practice my friend," Scott gave him a pat on the shoulder. "A hell of a lot of practice."

Mitch didn't doubt that. Along with Avi the guy was basically second in command. That was definitely some responsibility for two men their age. "You started when Avi did, right?" he clarified.

"Umm," Scott narrowed his eyes in thought, "a little after yeah," he mused.

"So you've been there since you were seventeen," Mitch deciphered. That was the age Avi had told him he started doing Mitch's current job.

The other man was taken aback however. "What? No!" Scott exclaimed. "He's two years older than me," he informed Mitch, before putting on a face of mock hurt. "I don't look that bad, do I?"

"No you..." Mitch hurriedly tried to correct his statement. "Sorry, I just assumed with you knowing each other for so long that you were old classmates or something."

Good-naturedly as always, Scott took no offence from Mitch's honest mistake. "Ha, I dropped out of school just after I turned fifteen." He said it as though it were no big deal, but Mitch instantly read it as I was kicked out. Somehow he found that the more likely story to believe. Scott didn't elaborate any further on that part though. "That's why I needed to get this job, something else to keep me preoccupied. Avi was the guy who helped me get it," he continued. "Started off worse than you if you can believe it," he disclosed.

"I can't actually," Mitch joked at his own expense, surprising himself. That's not like me. Bigging himself up like a peacock might spread it's tail feathers was his speciality.

"Believe me, we've had worse," Scott assured him. "You're not experienced, but you've got something Mitchy, a natural talent. You pick up things quickly," he remarked kindly before regaling Mitch with his own first job woes. "I started out as a dishwasher and smashed about ten plates within in the hour. Good thing the exec chef at the time had a soft spot for dumb kids, otherwise I'd have been kicked out in no time."

Mitch smiled at him; a real smile. "And now you're one of the top dogs," he noted. It was admirable, he had to admit. Scott was probably someone his father would like. Someone who had worked themselves up from the bottom rung at a young age and was earning a stable income at only twenty three. Not like Mitch who had been handed everything only to lose it all and start out at the very bottom at the age of twenty two.

Scott didn't make any show of his higher position at work. "Proves miracles really do come true." The man bounded ahead of him and spread his arms wide. "For my next trick, I'm gonna be walking on water!" he cried out, making Mitch look around nervously to check no one was watching and if they were, he was prepared to openly distancing himself from the blond as quickly as possible. He didn't want anyone else to think he was with this crazy. In work the guy might act like his boss but here, and that time by the bus stop, he joked around like Mitch was someone he had known for years.

Finding no water near enough to walk on, Scott returned to his side and moved like a normal human for a while as they neared the checkout counter. "So there's no guessing what you're planning to do with the rest of your day," the blond remarked, glancing down to the tins of paint again.

"Yeah...that reminds me, I've gotta call a cab, there's no way I'm carrying all this home," Mitch motioned to the three large tins that he had no chance of carrying the small distance from the bus stop to his apartment with his skinny arms.

"Hmm, a cab from here to where you live is gonna cost a lot," Scott told him, his face lightning up as an idea came to him. "How about I give you a lift?" he suggested enthusiastically. "I'm sure we've got some room in the top boxes for all that."

Mitch assumed he was joking. He didn't know much about motorcycles but he didn't think they were known for their carrying capacity. "You think you can fit all this on your motorcycle?" he queried in doubt.

The other man nodded his head vigorously, blond hair falling across his face. "Easy!" Scott proclaimed. "You're looking at the guy who's driven a motorcycle with a road bike strapped to it," he said proudly.

Mitch just gaped at him. "That sure doesn't fill me with much confidence," he stated, ignoring the man's wry smirk. "And I wouldn't want to put you out of your way. I'm sure you've got other stuff you'd rather be doing."

"Not at all," Scout countered. "I only came down here to pick up a carving set for Avi's birthday in a few weeks." The thought of Avi carving anything except meat amused Mitch greatly but the blond was being serious apparently as he pulled from his backpack a box labelled '21 Piece Carving Chest'.

"I would normally leave things like this last minute but then I tend to forget them completely, and well...Avi's too important to be forgetting about," Scott said softly. "Plus I am often forced to visit the little ice cream place around the corner whenever I get free time."

The younger man jumped on that out of panic that he was going to give in to the offer. "Like you say, it's your free time. You don't need to waste it helping me out with a bit of paint."

That had little effect on Scott however, who merely put an arm around Mitch's shoulder, telling him, "Hey, we're work buddies now. Work buddies help each other out outside of their jobs too," he sang out. "And helping someone out is never a waste of time." He said it like he was a boy scout.

Mitch met the pleading blue eyes and sighed in defeat. Oh why not? Who cares if he see's where I live. Mitch imagined if he didn't show him today, the blond would end up stalking him one day purely out of curiosity.

"If you really don't mind, it would be nice," he accepted. "I'm not exactly rolling in cash."

"No, you're like me; you smell like you've been rolling in taco sauce." They both laughed at that, mainly because it wasn't too far from the truth. It felt good to laugh properly and it was a pleasure he had rarely allowed himself, even before he had fled across the country. Laughs were usually a tool to use as a way to charm clients.

Nevertheless, he still felt a bit self conscious when Scott stared at him for a prolonged amount of time afterwards with a strange look in his eyes, before he stopped by the line for the checkout and told him: "Listen, I've gotta go and check up on something outside, but tell the guy, Ryan, at the counter that Scott's got his girl parked up outside and he's to load that up for you." Upon seeing Mitch visibly blanch at the thought of saying that to the employee he reassured, "Don't worry he owes me for a lot of favors."

Mitch shook his head in wonder. "Do you know everyone in this city?" he asked Scott.

'I try to," the man responded. "Always good to have an alibi to hand if you need one."

"I never know if you're joking or not."

Scott just laughed again. "I'll be waiting for you outside."

Mitch watched him leave. "Thank you!" he called out to his turned back. Scott didn't say anything in return but held up both arms, giving him a double thumbs up. As it turned out, just mentioning Scott's name earned him a pleasant smile, small talk and an "of course I'll see to that as soon as possible Mitch", from Ryan at the checkout, who told him he had a few more customers to serve first.

Heading outside Mitch couldn't spot the tall blond to start with, and seeing that losing the giant in plain sight was damn near impossible, Mitch figured he must have parked up around the side of the store.

Sure enough, he spotted Scott in the center of about eight small children, all of whom were in the middle of a rough and tumble game of soccer in the middle of the parking lot and shouting very loudly. The blond was acting as referee, coach and the occasional obstacle; even a ride at one point as one of the kids jumped onto his back.

"Hey, c'mon you little rascals!" he was cheering them on excitedly. "Between his legs, that's it! Find some space!" he yelled at one of the boy's who had just stolen the ball and was charging down the parking lot while under pursuit from a hoard of tiny kids. Mitch squinted. There was something about the way that boy was running that looked strange, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"That's it foxy boy, you can do it! Go for goal!" Scott urged the child on, getting as hyped up as all the kids. His words must have jinxed the boy, for as soon as he went to take a kick at the makeshift goal - two small snapbacks placed four feet apart - he stumbled over the ball and went flying across the tarmac.

It was quite funny really as he fell in quite a slapstick way, but Mitch winced, expecting a full on crying fit from the boy. To his surprise however, the kid merely heaved himself up laughing, dusted himself down, and ran back to join the game again. Scott clapped him on his way. "Nearly! You'll get it next time," the man reassured him, before finally noticing Mitch watching from the sidelines.

"Alright stay out of the road you lot," he instructed. "I'm just gonna have a chat with my buddy over there," he said as he jogged over, slightly more dusty than earlier due to the mini sandstorms the soccer game was creating.

"You know those kids or do you just join in with random kids games all the time?" Mitch asked, amused as Scott wiped at his head, inspecting his hand as it came away dirty.

"A bit of both," he admitted, rubbing the dust off on his shorts, and proceeded to list off which kids he was acquainted with. "You got Noah, Ava, David, I went to David's christening," he added. "Little Mia over there is Kate from work's little niece," he said, pointing to one of the smallest who was just running around barefoot. "She's got a mouth smarter than her aunt at five years old," he chuckled. "The rest...I'm not sure, but I probably know their relatives!"

Their was a loud cry of joy from the group as one of the little girl's scored a goal and the kids all dog piled on top of her. While Scott called out his congratulations, Mitch searched around for any obvious parents also watching and saw none nearby. "Isn't anyone keeping an eye on them?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, me for now!" Scott declared with glee. "And then when I'm gone someone else will take over," he explained like it was no big deal. Mitch on the other hand still wasn't convinced these kids were safe from abduction or any other danger that might be lurking on these streets and Scott must have noticed the uncertain look on his face. "They're fine," he assured him, "San Diego itself is a pretty close knit town, but especially here in Little Italy, despite the trendy front it now puts on, the age old bonds are still there, and people look out for each other," he commented. "I guarantee these kids are being closely watched by the store owners to make sure they don't get in trouble or lost amongst the hoard of holiday-goers."

People are really happy to let their kindergarten aged children roam wild? When he was their age he wasn't allowed to take five steps away from his mom before she would be grabbing hold of him and telling him not to run off. "A bit different to New York," Mitch observed.

Scott chuckled. "I'll bet."

"You grew up here too then? Played on the streets like these kids?" It seemed to Mitch sometimes that Scott lived and breathed this city.

That apparently didn't mean he was from here though. "Me? No," Scott gave on his rare nervous laughs, one he usually reserved for when he was around the manager of Mestizo's, and ran a hand through his hair. "I uh...grew up way out in the country. Safe area but not many kids to play with. That's why my soccer skill levels only match these little tykes."

"They're better at sport at that age than I ever will be," Mitch speculated. "And I would definitely be crying if that was me," he said as he watched the boy who had fallen earlier take another tumble only to bounce up like he was made of rubber.

Scott followed his gaze, face breaking into a huge grin when he saw who Mitch was looking at. "Yeah my boy's a little scrapper," he said fondly. That line came so out of the blue that Mitch didn't comprehend what had been said for a moment.

Taking a moment to process, he asked "Sorry, did you say your boy?" in shock, realisation suddenly dawning on him.

Beside him the blond took a deep breath in. "Yep," he replied shortly. Scott then put his thumb and his forefinger in his mouth and let out a whistle that would make any New Yorker proud. "Yo metal man, get over here!" he yelled.

Immediately one of the kids, the one who had fallen over a moment ago, charged towards them, little face red from all the exercise. Again, there was something odd about the way this kid moved but Mitch still couldn't work out what it might be, and there were more important matters to hand such as: Scott called him his boy?

Instead of stopping on his own accord, the boy ended his charge by using Scott's leg as a crash mat, gazing up at the blond with a look that could only be described as pure adoration. Placing a large hand on the boy's head, Scott spun the child to face his stunned colleague, announcing "Mitch, I'd like you to meet my son, Fox."

He gave the boy a nudge forward. "Say hi to Mitch kiddo," he coaxed him, obviously at the stage where pleasantries were still being taught.

Mitch wasn't overly concerned by being said hello to, he was more interested in this whole scenario itself. This was certainly an event he hadn't foreseen and he didn't know what the proper way to respond was. So he settled for just staring at the child. There were two things bothering him in particular.

One: the kid didn't really look anything like his supposed father, with his tanned skin and dusty brown hair. The only noticeable feature in common were the blue eyes.

And two: Who the hell names their son Fox? I mean, is that what's on his birth certificate? If it was then Mitch felt sorry for the child.

The boy gazed up at him, only somewhat interested. "Hi Mitch. I'm four," he greeted him politely like he had been instructed to while adding his own important fact. "Daddy my leg's itchy," he complained, bending down and squeezing his left knee.

Scott crouched down and gave the leg a tap. It made a strange sound, kind of like it was hollow, and freaked out Mitch even further. "Well the nurse told you it was gonna to take some wearing in," he said gently.

"It keeps making me fall over!" the boy whined.

"How can it itching make you fall over?"

"It's wobbly!"

Scott pulled the boy's jean leg up to reveal yet another surprise. Mitch promptly switched from staring at the boy's face to staring at his leg. In the place of skin the boy had a metal limb starting from just under the knee; all very high-tech looking, the silver coloring shining brightly under the sun.

He peered intently as Scott reached out his hand to give the limb a little shake. "Oh so it's wobbly too now, is it?" he queried in an overdramatised way that made Mitch assume this wasn't the first time his son was whining about it.

He shook the limb again and then fussed around a bit at the top where the prosthetic met the actual joint, and pulled a face. "I dunno it seems okay, although I'm not an expert on these kinds of things. You Mitch?"

Mitch was thrown by the sudden question and realised he had probably been staring wide-eyed for an inappropriate amount of time. "Uh...no," he mumbled, forcing his attention to look anywhere else except the little boy's - Scott's son's - leg.

Scott studied the prosthetic some more before standing up looking fairly unconcerned. "How about you take it off for a bit when we get back and then see how it feels later?" he suggested, giving the child's hair a ruffle.

"Okay." The boy seemed satisfied with that reply for the time being. "Are we going home now?" he asked, twisting to look back at the soccer game, obviously wondering if he was allowed to return to it.

"Yeah, just after we drop Mitch here off at his own home."

"Look, it's fine, I didn't realise..." Mitch stopped himself before he said something really dumb and instead forced out a small smile. "I'm sure I can manage," he insisted, although he knew taking a cab would cost him loads.

The blond turned to him in confusion. "But the stuff's already in the top box," he said in disappointment, motioning towards his motorcycle.

"You're sweating," Fox also stated randomly, while pointing to Mitch's head.

"I'm n–"

"Oh of course!" Scott thankfully cut him off before Mitch could rant at a four year old child and make him cry. "How silly of me!"

Fox turned excitedly to his father. "What's silly Daddy? Tell me!"

"Well you see, Mitch here is from a faraway land called New York," Scott explained patiently, making Mitch feel like he was being described as some sort of mythological creature.

"The Giants," the little boy whispered in awe.

"Yep, first game I ever took you to when we destroyed them," Scott boasted to Mitch and the younger man pulled a face of distaste. I literally couldn't care any less about football. "But anyway," Scott carried on, "Mitch here is not used to our glorious weather which is why he is sweating so much," I am barely sweating at all! It was most likely the stress of this unexpected meeting that had caused it. "And what's polite to ask people who are sweating?" Scott set the question to his son.

"Umm," the youngster thought hard for a bit. "Do you want a drink?" he answered hopefully.

"Absolutely!" Scott gave the boy a wink before turning back to Mitch. "So, do you want a drink?" he asked cheekily. "I think you'll find our house is sufficiently stocked in that department," he announced with pride.

"I uh..." Mitch struggled to answer. He didn't want to be rude but everything had happened so quickly. A few minutes ago he had been accepting a lift home from Scott and now he had discovered the same guy had a son with an amputated leg and was being invited to the man's home for a drink.

"You should M-Mi...Mister." The boy settled for being polite rather than continuing to try and remember the newcomers name. "Daddy makes the best fizzy soda's that make people go hyper!"

Well there's no guessing needed to know what that translates as. Truthfully, Mitch could really do with a drink right now, something to take the edge off. But drinking for him was usually done in a quiet bar, or at home on his own.

Scott looked sheepish at his son's admission. "Well it's not a lie," he admitted, "C'mon Mitchy, it's your day off after all. Paint can always wait."

"Mitchy!" Fox cried out after hearing the newcomer's name for a second time.

It can always wait...but do I really want to go with this guy though? Honestly, the Scott who Mitch had talked to by the bus stop and the one he saw every day at work was not the sort of person who's house Mitch would spontaneously go to.

But that was not the same Scott. This Scott, the one he had met today, and the one in front of his eyes right now was a different man. The man in front of him was a father. Mitch was suddenly overwhelmed with fascination for getting to know the blond more; clearly he was a lot more complex of a guy than he had initially thought. Plus, the idea of having a lift home and getting a drink was all too tempting.

Almost as if we were running on auto-pilot, Mitch threw his arms out in acceptance and let out a half laugh. "Okay then," he hesitantly agreed, shaking his head in amusement while the father and son cheered and high-fived.

If my own father could see me agreeing to this now, he thought. The man probably wouldn't believe it was his son who was accepting an invite to the house belonging to someone he had only known for a week. Besides curiosity, Mitch couldn't quite explain it either. But there was something about San Diego and his new job that was giving him the "why the hell not?" spirit.