After the longest break ever I've finally updated again. Sorry for such the long wait!

Another day, another dollar. Another shift, another day of sweating it out frying chicken. Such was the life of a mere prep cook such as him. Pros: his stamina had improved greatly; the others genuinely hadn't been lying when they'd said his body would grow used to the long hours on very little sleep. Sure in the long run, the lifestyle would probably come back to bite all of them in the ass, but for now he felt he had more energy than he'd had in a long time, plus it would probably take a small to medium sized earthquake to wake him from his sleep now.

Cons: he still didn't necessarily enjoy his particular line of work. It wasn't hard but that was part of the problem. It was almost like he had an office job except the keyboard and PC had been replaced with a fryer and cooking oil. There was nothing creative about any of the processes. The others might have assumed that his old job was boring and maybe it was at times, especially all the paperwork, but it also allowed for incredible moments of pure creativity, especially in the brainstorming sessions he used to have with his team. Mitch was a creative person, and he needed an outlet somewhere. Washing vegetables and cutting up chicken was not a suitable outlet.

At least he was no longer considered the new guy any more. One of the dishwasher's had been replaced with an even younger teen looking to save up a bit before college. Now he was just Mitch, not new guy Mitch, just Mitch. He had also found himself unintentionally associated with the three fuckateers - aka Scott, Kevin and Avi - something he was not aware of until Mario had referred to them as "your dudes" right in front of him.

That term of phrase had left him choking on nothing, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. His dudes? The thought of that concept was laughable if not slightly disturbing. Never in his life had Mitch been associated with a clique or group of any sort, he'd largely isolated himself from them in the past, not wanting to be defined by the actions of others. And now apparently he was the newest member on the "banter train", as Kevin had coined the phrase at Avi's birthday, the most unsafe mode of transport in the western world.

Although on one hand the unfamiliar sensation of belonging to a group was pleasant, Mitch also couldn't help but worry that trouble might come his way through that same association. He already felt like he was knee deep in problems regarding Scott and Fox, he didn't need any more issues to be harassing him.

Unfortunately it was impossible to ignore what was being spoken about directly next to him after the initial morning rush had calmed down, especially with voices as loud as these. "So how we gonna go about this Scott? We gonna confront Antonio directly?" Avi was talking to the blond, or plotting more like, about how they were going make their haphazard plan work. Mitch didn't know if it was an accident or not that they happened to do it right next to his work station.

"Nah, everybody knows that you gotta go about it stealthy like," Kevin put in. "A couple phone calls here and there, some letters with the newspaper cuttings," he said, getting himself excited like a little boy talking about his favourite action movie, and Mitch wished Cesar didn't have the morning off. With the head chef around the three always acted slightly less ridiculous.

"Oh and why not build a little scene with dolls while we're at it," Avi sarcastically shot back, rolling his eyes.

Scott shook his head and let out a quiet laugh. "I don't think that's how the top dogs do things guys," he commented, before pausing and glancing Mitch's way. "I mean, is it?" he queried uncertainly.

Mitch laughed in disbelief at how clueless they genuinely all were. "I think you're all mad," he stated, a comment which a few weeks ago might have had the others shackles rising but now was just taken in good taste.

"A bit of madness is key, Mitchy," Scott sang out, sidling up to the younger man and whispering: "But it helps when you stir in a little bit of inside knowledge."

The suggestive nature to his tone had Mitch pausing in his work. This was exactly what he'd been worried about, that they would drag him even further into their schemings. But isn't that what you wanted? The voice inside his head whispered. Isn't that what you wanted all along? To make something of yourself here?

"I can't help until you tell me more," he slowly said, casting his gaze sideways to judge their reactions. Scott and Kevin stopped in their current actions and actually pondered on the idea but for his part, Avi smirked and shook his head.

"Ah ah," he was the first to reply, shaking his index finger like he was chastising a child, "need to know basis only," he pointed out.

Mitch shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Well there you go then," he replied casually, convincing himself that he didn't care either way. It's their little passion project, of course you're not going to become integral to it.

He was so busy debating with himself that he failed to notice the suggestive look Scott was giving the other two. "We could..." were the first few uttered words that drew his attention to the fact that they were - or at least two of them were - seriously considering that as a viable option.

Kevin met Scott's querying gaze and nodded his head thoughtfully, his lower lip dropping in a "why not" kind of manner. "I mean you know..." he drawled, shrugging his shoulders at Avi.

The skin between Avi's eyes creased ever so slightly as he allowed the possibility to enter his mind. "Alright then," the bearded man said after a moment, giving Mitch the go ahead. "Tell us big shot, why should we allow you to become part of the inner circle?"

Mitch thought that was all quite self-explanatory and that Avi was just enjoying putting on a mini show of power. "Haven't you just answered that question for yourself?" he deadpanned.

Avi didn't get annoyed by his response, but merely rubbed a hand through his beard, accepting his reply like he was a judge at court. "Hmm dodging the question I see..."

Ugh...could he really be bothered to fight his corner for a place in something he didn't feel overly passionate about? No doubt he could see the merits to their ideas, but it wasn't exactly his dream. Then again, did he really have dreams? Why couldn't he make this his dream? And even though Kevin was silent, his words were somehow ringing in Mitch's ears. Have a leap of faith and go for it.

"I...I used to be a part of this world," he told them to start off with. "I know how it works."

"All we know is what you've claimed," Avi pointed out. "How do we know you weren't just some bitch boy who got his ass kicked out because he squeaked up too loud one day?"

While Mitch stewed under the accusation, neither Kevin or Scott found the sympathy to back him up; in fact they seemed to relish in his annoyance. Mitch realised being part of the "banter train" also meant consistent and regular moments where they would mess about with him. I'm going to need some intel on you three, he decided, ammunition of his own. At the moment the only thing he knew about was Scott's not quite truthful tale about Fox and his babysitter, and he figured that wasn't material suitable for this kind of conversation. Although Scott didn't mention that time about Kevin waking up next to a pig...

"S'true," Kevin commented. "The losing money part is the only bit of your story we can verify," he said cheekily.

Mitch frowned. "Verify?" he repeated.

The three shared another inside look before Scott spilled the beans, unable to help himself. "You do make a good cover for New York's Business Journal," he told the younger man, smirking as realisation slowly dawned on Mitch's face.

"You researched me?" he asked incredulously. Jeez, he'd known these guys were nosy but to actually spend time searching out and verifying his story? Motherfuckers.

"Hey, it's a free world," Scott defended, struggling to keep a straight face as Mitch dark eye's burned holes in his chef's jacket. "And the article was so boring I didn't read all of it anyway," he assured, as if that made it any better. "Listen Mitchy," he tried to comfort when the smaller man refused to stop pouting, "I don't think these guys are doubting your experience but more..." He spent some time trying to think of one particular word to sum up what he was trying to say, but in the end gave up and just elaborated some more. "If you're in, you gotta be really in, this is an investment and we can't have you backing out on us, there's just too much at stake."

Avi nodded. "Yeah...you're still relatively new here and people who've been here longer than you have aren't in on everything."

"I don't know what to say–" Mitch complained, well aware he probably looked and sounded like a toddler. I don't even know why I care so much. Yes he did. No I don't. He did. Okay, maybe I do. Because for the first time a long time he'd found a group of people he actually enjoyed spending company with, both in and outside of work, and although the concept perhaps scared him a bit, he genuinely wanted to do everything in his power to make it work. To make them work.

Already formulating a speech in his mind, Mitch opened his mouth with determination...and immediately shut it again and took an instinctive step backwards as Antonio burst into the kitchen and fixed a steely gaze on his two sous chefs.

The man betrayed no outward emotion but immediately Mitch could spot the rage boiling underneath, Scott too, for the blond was stood to attention, all joking aside for now. He was the one Antonio addressed directly, although it was pretty obvious the question he then asked was aimed to the kitchen as a whole. "Please can someone explain to me," he started off deadly calm before crescendoing into full on screaming: "WHY THE FUCK ARE THERE CHICKENS OUTSIDE?"

Silence, and then, "Oh shit, the latch," Mitch heard someone whisper, it could have been Danny.

Scott glared at the young man, harshly whispering back: "I'm gonna kill you if he doesn't first, I swear to God dude–"

"Hoying!" Antonio barked out.

"Sir," Scott replied tersely.

"Do you care to explain why a fucking chicken crossed my path when I went to check out the back?"

A look of defiance crossed Scott's face, a look that reminded Mitch of the expression he had worn when he'd been talking to Kirstie, challenging and rebellious. "Do you care to explain why you bothered going out the back?" he retorted, his cheekiness purposeful. "You never like to mingle in the same areas we do," he muttered.

What is he thinking? Does he want to get himself fired? Mitch watched in shock as the owner strode forward and gripped the taller man's shoulder harshly, looking like he wanted to shake the living daylights of the blond.

No, Mitch thought as he saw Scott's fingers closing into fists. He can't be getting himself fired. He needs to keep a job for Fox. Act. Mitch had to fucking act before the situation escalated even further. Getting himself fired was hardly going to benefit him in any way. "Mr Antonio, Sir," he found himself speaking up before he really knew what he was doing.

The man turned to him, dropping his hand from Scott, eyes glinting red with barely suppressed rage, like a bull that had spotted a red flag. When he saw who was addressing him however, that seemed to lessen the tiniest amount. "Grassi, isn't it?" he inquired sternly.

Mitch nodded. "Yes Sir," he replied politely.

The man glanced him up and down. Mitch stayed silent but did not break his gaze, knowing now was not the time to be appearing unsure of himself, and after a few tense moments Antonio gave him a silent motion of approval. "Well boy?" he queried, folding his arms. "You have anything to actually contribute?"

Mitch took a deep breath, recalling all the times he had to pitch to his colleagues and clients, all the experience he had gained over the years, all the tricks and nuances that there were to putting forward a successful persuasive argument. His muscle memory didn't fail him, the skills retuning to him like a characteristic he had just put to one side, not buried.

"The chickens, Sir," he started, after swallowing a few times to ensure his voice wouldn't come out dry or squeaky. "While I'll admit that having them running loose is a big mistake on our part, a mistake that will surely be rectified to make sure it never happens again," he added, staring meaningfully at the other staff before returning his gaze to Antonio. "I would think that the manager of a fine," he paused, careful to not overdo it on the ass kissing, "well respected business such as this would be interested into the reasons behind them actually being there in the first place."

He paused again. And waited. Nope, he hadn't been fired yet so everything was going good so far. Now it was time to pull out the big guns. Taking a few steps towards his boss, he wore a smile that had been practiced and perfected for many years in front of a mirror, one that was to be reserved for only the toughest of clients, a smile his dad was well known for.

"I know this is a traditional restaurant but recent studies have shown that presenting the actual animals that the restaurant is well associated for to the customers - chickens in Mestizo's case - can vastly improve the overall ambience for the them," he began, not rambling, not stuttering over his words; simply speaking at the perfect pace. "It's a practice that began in Tokyo, that has only recently been brought over to the US - there was a whole article that The New Yorker did about it a few months back. They found that not only did it improve the customers dining experience but it was also a major branding addition." He altered his smile into a more sheepish one, knowing he couldn't be seen as too cocky. "It was just a little idea we wanted to try out, of course we should have come to you first but I think I can speak for all of us when I say we were hoping to acclimatise the chickens to their new home, so that when we brought the idea to you and you would hopefully give it the go ahead, they would be all set to delight the masses." He laughed lightly, spreading his hands out. "Come to Mestizo's and dine out on the full chicken experience!" he said quietly, with just the right amount of enthusiasm and nervousness that he hoped might play on Antonio's softer side, if he had one.

The following minute was one of the most nerve-wracking of Mitch's life, and that was including the times he'd been pitching in front of clients who could ruin them with a few well spoken words to their associates. Antonio gave nothing away, the picture image of a seasoned poker player. Mitch said no more, anything else spoken would probably have ruined all his hard work, and he made sure to glare around at the others every so often to make sure they knew to keep quiet too.

"I want them gone by the end of today," Antonio declared, addressing Mitch and Mitch only. "I don't care if you cook them or whatever, I don't want the back of my restaurant filled with chicken shit." And with that he was gone, stalking back out of the kitchen towards his office.

Silence remained in his absence, everyone still in shock as to what had just occurred. Scott eventually broke the trance, allowing the others to break into relieved laughter, the blond wiping his shoulder where Antonio had grabbed him. "No, there's enough of that in the produce you order," he resentfully commented, proceeding to shout at two of the others to lock the chickens away, somewhere out of sight. Despite his strong voice, Mitch hadn't failed to notice the way he was breathing slightly quicker than normal, or the tiny tremors that still shook his clammy hands. Antonio's anger had definitely had an effect on him.

"Was any of that true?" the blond asked, staring at Mitch as if he'd just sprouted another head from his shoulders. From the ache Mitch felt in his joints, due to the amount he had been tensing up a few moments prior, he felt as if he had.

Mitch shook his head, allowing the pride to well up in him. The feeling of surprising people with his skills never really got old. "Hell no," he replied, letting out a short breath of laughter. "But you talk enough crap in a confident manner and a lot of the time people just assume you're correct or let the original point go just to get you to shut up." He pulled a face at their uncertain expressions. "I mean fifty percent of the time it works..." he corrected himself. It was usually kind of a hit and miss tactic, definitely not in the handbook, but what else was he supposed to do? Watch as Scott's big mouth and teenage temper got him fired, along with possibly Avi and Kevin?

He regarded the three. Kevin and Avi were doing that thing again. The thing where they kept glancing towards Mitch, then at each other, and then back to him again, in a silent conversation, sizing him up secretively.

"Well," Scott said loudly to gain the two's attention. "I for one think that was a perfect demonstration of both Mitchy's skills and loyalty, don't you think guys? We need someone with the gift of the gab," he pointed out. A flicker of fondness sparked up inside Mitch's heart. Scott always had been the one looking out for him, from day one. Whatever faults he had there was no denying the guy had been alright to him.

Kevin grinned eagerly, winking at Mitch, his eyes wide with that infectious enthusiasm he always carried about him. He'd already been pretty much sold on the idea from before, another man who'd been there for him from the very start. Well except for the time when he and Avi had poked fun about his manner during the first day. Come to think of it, I guess I kind of deserved that.

Avi stepped up to him, his face solemn as he stopped a footstep away from him and raised both his hands to Mitch's shoulders, gripping them firmly. "Do you solemnly swear that you will do everything in your power to aid us in our mission to turn this place into a fucking awesome restaurant?"

"Seriously?" Mitch raised an eyebrow at the performance from the older man.

Kevin cackled in delight. "Just do it man!" he cried out.

Sighing, Mitch repeated what he'd heard - well the parts he could remember. "I solemnly swear that...that I'll do everything in my power to make this place fucking awesome." He was sticking his chin out as he did it, he knew it, but seriously, it was like Avi was trying his best to make Mitch regret this.

"And you promise to stand by us and fight for justice," the man continued, definitely overdoing it on drama, like he was some old superhero character. "And to serve our multi-racial kitchen with honour and pride."

Mitch shook his head incredulously, but repeated all the same. "I promise." A lot of the time it was easier to just go with the flow and ask questions or ridicule later.

Only once the younger man had undergone his mini initiation vows, did Avi's normal smile return. "Please note, that the staff present cannot be held accountable for any stress, trouble or general pain in the ass-ness this scheme will cause you," he spoke insanely fast, like one of those voiceovers at the end of a commercial. "Terms and conditions apply," he winked at Mitch before sauntering back over to his work station.

Mitch rolled his eyes and glanced up at the clock. Good, he could go for a break soon. He turned as Scott brushed past him on his way to his own work station, not looking directly at Mitch but pausing just long enough to lean down next to him. "Join me in Cesar's office for lunch? I need to talk to you about something," he whispered into Mitch's ear, breath tickling the base of his neck. Mitch tilted his head forward in acceptance and the blond swiftly moved on, satisfied. After all, it would be awfully rude of him to decline an invitation to lunch, and there was something in Scott's tone just then that had sent an involuntary but pleasurable shudder all the way down his spine.

For anyone that reads TRC I will try to have that updated asap also. Just had life taking over recently!

Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me though! <3