Feeling better now he was back in his own clothes, but still not entirely comfortable because of the restaurant smell that was now following him around, Mitch stood by the bus stop waiting for his transport home.

It was still hot even at this late hour, but nowhere near as bad as earlier. He hoped with all his heart that this day really had been a rare one off; weather wise and work day wise. In fact he would happily erase today completely and come in again tomorrow with a breeze in the air and a better idea of the people he would be working with.

C'mon hurry up. Unlike the densely populated streets of Manhattan, and New York as a whole, San Diego had no need for a form of public transport around every corner, available at a beckoning whistle. His bus wasn't scheduled to arrive for another twenty minutes, not what he needed when all he wanted to do was go to bed.

Not to mention the fact it was extremely dark, with only one street light behind him until another one a good twenty feet away, and Mitch had no idea how safe this area was. There could be a pick pocket or an axe murderer hiding in the bush across the road, just waiting for him to drop his guard so they could pounce.

Mitch knew that was all childish talk but he had never dealt well with tiredness, and also he had never worked such long hours in his life. And I have to start at the normal time tomorrow, he suddenly realised with horror. A normal shift started a nine o'clock. He'd had a two hour lie in today!

In the distant, Mitch could hear the harsh sound of an engine coming from up the road, the direction he had walked from. Maybe there's a chainsaw murderer roaming about. If he did get killed he hoped his body would be hidden out of sight so he wouldn't be found straight away, and people didn't get a smell of his Mestizo's infested body.

In the darkness the noise was getting louder and it was incoming at quite a fast pace. It was clearly the noise of a motorcycle and not a chainsaw he was hearing, and the perpetrator appeared less than a minute later, much to Mitch's dismay.

Oh it would be you, wouldn't it? Mitch glared as the blond man zoomed past on the narrow, winding road, with no form of safety bar a black motorcycle helmet. Even though he couldn't see Scott's eyes under the visor he took small blessings in the fact he was pretty sure the guy hadn't seen him.

Apparently he was wrong as the bike made a u-turn by the next street light and drove back up to towards the bus stop.

No, no, no! Please just give me a break! Mitch didn't even bother to hide his moody face as the blond pulled up in front of him and removed his helmet. He had taken the time also to change back into the clothes he had arrived in but somehow he managed to look so much more collected than Mitch, most likely because of the breeze he would feel from the riding a motorcycle, yet the younger man still thought it was unfair.

Sorting his hair out he gave Mitch a grin as he kicked the stabilisers down and hopped off. "You must've just moved here," he guessed. "Waiting for the bus? Only old ladies and under sixteens take the bus."

"Yeah...haven't had time to buy a car yet," Mitch lied. It would be a while before he could afford a car he wouldn't be ashamed to be seen in.

Scott nodded, seemingly believing Mitch's story for now. "Where 'bouts you sleeping then?"

"Um," why can't you just leave? "near Colina del Sol park, that area..." Mitch didn't want to be too specific. He didn't trust Scott enough to know he wouldn't rally up his little buddies and come and vandalise his apartment for offending one of them. His new home was bad enough without having eggs or paint chucked over it.

"Huh, you're not too far from me then, Balboa Park, I can show you around one day if you like?" The tall man offered. "I know the area well."

"Maybe," Mitch said slowly, which translated as hell no.

This time Scott did seem to see through his lie, giving him a strange kind of knowing smile, but he didn't say anything about it, instead just leaning back against his Suzuki and looking at Mitch.

"So, how d'you think your first day went?"

Mitch stared at him like he was crazy. "You are kidding right?"

"I was busy!" The man retorted in his defence, shrugging. "Couldn't keep an eye on you the whole time, could I?" No, because you were more busy hiding Avi's shoes in the freezer. He answered the question surprisingly honest though.

"I've had better first days," he admitted.

The blond wanted more than that. "Good's, bad's?" he queried. "How's the culinary business compare to that of advertising?"

He could tell Scott was only trying to be friendly but Mitch had had enough of talking by now, and replied tersely, "A lot different." Well technically that's not a lie. You hardly got into advertising and cooking from the same college degree.

Scott was quiet, still regarding him with a friendly enough expression. When he realised that was actually all Mitch had to say he sighed and scratched a hand through his hair. "You don't say a lot, do you?" he observed.

I'm just tired and grumpy and I stink, I really don't want to talk to anyone right now. Those were Mitch's exact thoughts and no matter how strange they might have sounded if he said them out loud, it might have been a more sensible reply than what he actually said.

"Well I've never worried I'd end up in hospital until today," he muttered instead.

Scott tilted his head in question, "Why? The heat get to you or something?" He looked slightly less than vaguely concerned.

"No." As it became clear the other man still wasn't going to leave him alone Mitch gave up with trying to be polite and blurted, "Alright, I'll come out with it." He folded his arms across his chest, ready for the argument he was undoubtedly going to be having. "It is a safety risk to have someone like him around."

It took a good ten seconds for the coin to drop but when it did Mitch could see Scott's expression change from friendly to utter confusion.

"You mean Danny?" he asked in astonishment. At Mitch's silence he let out a small laugh, mainly from the shock, and shook his head adamantly. "Danny's a sweetheart, wouldn't harm a fly," he insisted.

Mitch raised his eyebrows, arms still firmly crossed. "Really?" In his mind there was no defending the guy who had scared the shit out of him today.

Scott took a few steps towards him, and Mitch instinctively took a few steps back. If this guy wanted to he could probably easily punch few of his teeth out in one swipe. Noticing his approach was not welcomed, the blond held up his hands submissively but didn't move back. "He's a tough kid, been through a lot in his life, worked hard to get where he is today," he told the younger man, a wistful glint in his blue eyes. "And fathers is a sore topic for him," he added, giving Mitch a meaningful look.

The other man was all out of words for now, instead choosing to focus on his shoes and wishing the bus to arrive.

He heard the blond let out another sigh. "I shouldn't be telling you this, it's none of your business, but his mom's sick, had a stroke a couple of months back," Scott informed him quietly. "She's the only family he got and most of his wages are going on her rehab." His voice was low, but not angry, just patient. "So you'll forgive him if he gets a little short tempered now and then."

Mitch finally lifted his head back up and saw that Scott wasn't even focused on him, his gaze instead directed at the bright city lights, in the valley below them.

He did feel regret now, for that joke. I can't blame him for getting mad at me when he's going through that. No matter how much he and his dad weren't on speaking terms right now, the thought of the old man leaving him, leaving him alone in the world, was one that frightened him greatly. Mitch knew; he knew that people you loved could be taken at the click of a finger, or the pull of a trigger.

"But as far as him hurting you?" Scott continued, speaking while still looking at the lights. "The biggest injury he's probably inflicted upon anyone would have been from hugging them too hard."

Even Mitch had to smile at the thought of that and the blond turned back to him with a soft expression. One that made him look like a completely different man to the cocky guy he had first met.

"And if you're wondering why no one laughed then you're dumber than we gave you credit for."

Oh no, there he was again. Mitch returned to viewing the man as annoyingly forward and blunt as Scott grinned at him.

"Excuse me?" he asked, his voice pitching higher than he intended to, so it came out squeaky.

"Making a joke like that? With the people you now work with?" Scott rolled his eyes. "C'mon Mitch you weren't born yesterday."

"What? But that was all you lot were doing!" Mitch complained. "You," he waved an accusing finger at the tall man, "you were definitely not being politically correct with your Mexican and Jamaican impressions, but noooo," he extended that last word for a lot longer than was necessary, waving his hands about. He probably looked crazy. He didn't care. "No, we're all just gonna laugh at those like they're perfectly fine," he marched towards the other man now, forgetting about his earlier worries and still raging: "because you get special treatment for some reason beyond me!"

Scott blinked. "Wow," he said, still infuriatingly smirking at Mitch.

I give up. "Leave me alone," Mitch said with a huff, stalking back to his original spot.

He kicked out angrily at a leaf on the floor and heard Scott giving a nearby can the same treatment, sending it skittering across the road. "Y'know as your superior I do have a duty to make sure you aren't feeling alienated in the working environment," Scott spoke up, like he was reading from a HR manual.

Too little, too late, Mitch thought. He knew this guy didn't give a damn about him or his feelings. People he'd known for a year apparently didn't, so someone who'd only known him a day definitely had no reason to be concerned about how he felt in the "working environment". "Save the crap for someone who cares," he snapped.

"Fair enough," Scott replied, with that same easy going manner. He picked up his motorcycle helmet and Mitch breathed a sigh of relief as it seemed he was eventually going to be left in peace. The other man didn't put it on though, having second thoughts as he just turned it about in his hands.

"Y'know people weren't laughing at me because I was making fun of other races," he spoke again so quietly that Mitch had to strain to hear him. "They found it funny that I was doing impressions - and admit it they were good," he raised his voice, daring Mitch to argue with him on that fact. "Anyway they found it funny that I was doing impressions of my friends," he continued once Mitch put up no fight, "who just happen to be Mexican or Jamaican."

The blond went back to kicking at another can, knocking it back and forth between his feet before sending it sailing into the bush behind him. Mitch watched, and then slowly he began to realise the mistake he had made earlier. Scott was right, he had been doing specific impressions, not general stereotypical ones. Mitch had just been too caught up in the shock of hearing people tease each other like that, that he had immediately jumped to the conclusion that all the staff enjoyed racist or demeaning jokes.

And that's why my ghetto joke didn't go down very well. Why couldn't I just tell a knock-knock one? He'd just wanted to fit in, that's why. No matter how much he tried to kid himself, he didn't enter his new job looking to make enemies. He wasn't a sociopath.

"I've been friends with some of these guys for years," Scott added at that point, and given the thoughts Mitch had just been having, it felt like the blond was rubbing it in. "D'you really think I'd make fun of them for where they came from or what ethnicity they are?"

"I never volunteered to tell a joke," Mitch defended himself. He would've been happy to stay quiet in the corner.

"No, you didn't." Scott gave him a small apology. "Sorry," he shrugged, "I forget sometimes that not everyone is as forward as me and my boys."

Mitch sniffed. "At least you admit it," he muttered.

"Let's say it was a misjudgement on both our parts," the blond replied, sharing the blame between both of them, which Mitch still saw as hardly fair but was now too tired to bother arguing back.

"Mmm," was about as much of an answer he could conjure up. The way Scott was still able to find energy to now start bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet seemed like a minor miracle to him.

"Go home, put your feet up," the man said while still going up and down like Tigger. "Have a shower and come in fresh faced tomorrow morning. Y'know the saying: twice is a charm." I'm pretty sure it's three times, Mitch thought but didn't concern himself to correct him on that.

"Things always seem better the next day." Scott continued and Mitch had to briefly look away because the man's constant movement along with the heat was beginning to make him feel dizzy. "I'll be a bit late again but if any of the guys get too hard on you, tell them Scott says they won't be invited over for games night if they don't play fair," the other man instructed.

"How come you get a lie in?" Mitch asked with jealousy. What did this guy have on Cesar that allowed him to get away with turning up late two days in a row?

Scott stopped moving then, finally still, a faraway expression coming across his features. "I haven't been allowed a lie in for about four years," he practically whispered, letting out a small chuckle afterwards. "Gotta take someone for a...fitting...kind of," he ambiguously revealed. "I'm just glad Kirstie insisted I got health insurance. She's worth having around no matter how much stress she can put me under."

Mitch shook his head, his eyes wide, looking at Scott like he was crazy. "You do realise I have no idea what you're talking about," he told him.

The man just smiled wryly at him again. "I know," he simply said, running his hand over the red paint of his motorcycle as if he were stroking a prized horse. "Listen, I know you don't really know me but...with you being new round here and all, I feel obliged to offer you a lift," he offered out of the blue. "And 'sides, you're a little guy, should fit on perfectly," he teased.

Mitch regarded the black and red Suzuki, dirty but looking sturdy enough, and although he had never been on one before he could bet his right arm it was a more comfortable and certainly quicker way home than the bus he was still waiting for. However, tempting as the offer might be, there was no way he was going anywhere with this guy tonight.

I don't know a thing about you.

"Look don't worry, I've only ever had a near miss once with a moose," Scott joked, or at least Mitch was hoping he was. "Other than that," he held up his hands, "clean record."

Mitch stared at the man and the bike some more, and shook his head firmly. The last thing he wanted was this guy seeing the sort of apartment he was living in. He could still keep up the pretence that he was doing alright for himself.

"No thanks, I'm a big boy, I don't need a guide," he answered in a monotone voice, hoping Scott wouldn't press him any more.

The taller man studied him for a bit, and Mitch felt a bit uncomfortable, being watched like he was an exhibit in a museum. "Alright," the blond eventually nodded his head a few times, "alright that's cool." He finally shoved the motorcycle helmet back over his head. "See ya round, Mitchy," he said, although his voice was now muffled, before he flipped the visor down, covering up his face again.

Mitch stood back as he watched Scott hop back onto the bike, kick the stabilisers up, and zoom off, leaving just a cloud of dust behind him. He glared at the man as he disappeared round a corner, dodging the multiple pot-holes.

It's Mitch, he mentally called out after him.

As it happened, the bus turned up less than two minutes later; his conversation with Scott had gone on for longer than he realised. At least he made the time pass, were the only compliments he could think to hand to the man. Then again, he had helped Mitch realise a few things about the guys he was working with. Maybe we're not as different as I first assumed. After all, no person could be seen completely by just looking at their surface.

Yeah, he thought, settling down into a seat near the back. Twice can be a charm. Tomorrow might be a completely different day.

Well...it can't really go much worse anyway.

Ever so slowly revealing Kirstie's character :D