Ozzy's first conscious thought on Christmas morning was:
Why is this hairy wall stuck to my face?
With the groan of an eighty-year-old, Baxter slowly pushed himself up off the floor of his bedroom, peeling his drool-encrusted lips from sticking pieces of carpet. Holding the back of his throbbing head, he simply sat there for the next forty-five minutes, trying to piece together the fragmented, drunken memory of the night before.
He remembered the bar. And Huerta. And, something about the parade. He remembered vomiting near the Ferris Wheel. He...he remembered talking to....to someone right afterwards......a man? A friend? Someone he knew?
Ozzy ran his hand along his face, his fingers stopping on his lips. He rubbed his lips softly for a moment, a fragment of memory churning inside him.
A...woman? A woman. Who....why did he remember....?
A woman. He had made out with some woman....god-knows who......and....and....
Mistletoe? There was mistletoe involved....he knew that....
"...god..." he moaned, holding his aching head, finally giving up any attempt at coherency.
An hour later, he was showered, shaved, and, still, quite hung-over.
What to do today....what to do...., he thought.
He looked around his suite, staring at the golden morning light breaking out across his eight-story-view.
Might as well get to know my surroundings, I guess... he thought. ...starting with this team....
*****************
Phil Smith
"How about now?" Ozzy said, sipping his coffee.
Phil sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Blue, again...." he said, flipping the sizzling eggs with a practiced ease.
Ozzy giggled a bit. He squinted his eyes tight.
"Okay....what color am I thinking ooofff--NOW!"
"Ozzy, you're still thinking the color 'blue'..." Phil replied in an even tone. "I'm a telepath, not a television psychic, okay?"
Ozzy pouted a bit.
"...lucky guess..." he mumbled.
Phil shook his head lightly, flipping the eggs again.
"97833672." he stated evenly.
"What?" Baxter asked, his expression changing.
"Your old bank account. That's the number, right?"
"I...uhh...yeah, I think--"
"Zelda Alistaire." Smith continued. "You lost your virginity to her when you were seventeen..."
"FIFTEEN!" Ozzy suddenly retorted.
"Seventeen, Ozzy. You only tell people fifteen in a remaining juvenile attempt at promoting yourself as an expert lover...."
"I--"
"You and this Zelda...you two hooked up because the kids in your school made fun of both your names...." Phil stated casually. "...the two social rejects finding solace in each other's arms.......until she got her braces off, and started dating Chet Taylor, the quarterback of your football team...."
"You--"
"...that's when you started working out....when you started taking an interest in boxing....all the pummelings the bullies had given you over the years had led you to believe that this was your destiny......trying to prove to Zelda that you were the better man...."
"No--"
"....of course, that didn't happen, did it?" Phil said, a small smile coming over his face. "The day you laid into Taylor....you broke his nose in two places....cracked three of his ribs........he spent a weekend in the hospital.....absent from a crucial game.....it cost your high school the tournament bowl, didn't it?"
"I--"
"And Zelda? Oh, damn, man. Zelda never spoke to you again, did she?" he asked. "You didn't realize until it was too late.....she was never after the strongest....or the best.....she just wanted a man who could be himself....someone who didn't pretend to be something more than he was...."
Ozzy's stopped trying to speak.
"...and, in the end, all you had done was horrify her with your brutality....and cause pain to a boy who had never once done you any harm.........charming..."
Baxter just stood there in silence, the crackling of the eggs the only sound. Phil peered at him from the corner of his eye.
"Oh, I'm sorry?" he began with a flat tone. "Were you sincerely interested in seeing the extent of my telepathic abilities? Or, did you want me to continue performing simple parlor tricks for your personal amusement?"
"I...I...uhh...no...that's....ummm..........right...."
And with that, Ozzy strolled out of the kitchen.
Phil just shook his head, beginning to pan-up the eggs....
"Nice guy....." he mumbled to himself. ".....but, totally clueless...."
*****************
Drake Marshall
"Hey, Professor X, how's it hanging?"
Drake looked up from his book with a wry smile, a faint hum emanating from his hover chair as it turned slightly to face the doorway.
"Funny." he said.
"Ahhh...I'm just messing with you, man....no offense..." Ozzy shrugged, leaning against the door frame of the library. "Why are you secluding yourself back here? Everyone is hanging in the front den..."
Drake pulled his reading spectacles off, holding up the book.
"The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe..." he stated. "...my favorite book. Haven't read it in years."
"Gift?"
"Yeah...from Tayden..." he nodded. "...how he knew it was my favorite, I have no idea..."
"...probably got fucking Smith to scan you..." Ozzy grumbled.
"What?"
"Nothing...listen..." Ozzy said, changing the subject. "...I've been meaning to ask you....since we're going to be working together, and all...."
Ozzy's voice trailed off a bit.
"...yes...?" Drake goaded.
"Well...." Ozzy shuffled his feet. "....I was talking to 'Skully' the other day....and he said that.......well, see, I used to keep up with this...this...vigilante that the papers were talking about.....and...."
Drake chuckled a bit.
"Yes. It's me." he nodded.
Ozzy paused, an excited grin adorning his lips.
"...I thought so..." he replied with a muted awe. "...man, some of the stuff I read about you....holy shit..."
Drake shrugged.
"Ahh...about twenty-percent of it was complete urban legend, you know..." he explained. "Reporters may want to get the biggest scoop, but, editors want to sell copies."
"Dude, I don't care!" Baxter exclaimed. "The Sling-Blade...Crimson Fog....Herr Brickhausen and The 13th Reich.....Master Maneater.....you single-handedly took them ALL down!"
"Sling-Blade was just a pedophile with a knife..." Drake began, counting off on his fingers. "...Crimson Fog, nothing more than a two-time pusher that gained notority by spreading lies about a stockpile of Anthrax....which he never had...."
"But, still..."
"Brickhausen, and his group of neo-Nazi morons, crumbled when I explained to him that there had only theoretically been three Reichs, and that by skipping so many Reichs, he was basically invalidating everything his movement stood for..."
"That doesn't make any sense." Ozzy frowned.
"Sure. But, that didn't stop him from believing me." Marshall said. "He surrended immediately."
"And, Master Maneater?"
"I can't possibly explain." Drake sighed, rolling his eyes. "There's nothing like capturing a transexual-cannibal with an inferiority-complex to really boost your peronal confidence and morale...."
Both men chuckled.
"So, there..." Drake smiled. "...does that take the stars out of your eyes now?"
Baxter thought for a moment.
"Yeah....I guess so...." he shrugged.
"Good." Drake nodded, replacing his glasses.
He turned back to his book, settling back into the pages.
A shadow slowly crept over him. Rolling his eyes up, he saw Baxter standing before him, holding out pen-and-paper....
"Can I have your autograph?"
*****************
Adem Different
"...an interesting detail, however, is their compulsion to alter the physcial shapes of certain food-substances. Take the items known as 'Fish Sticks', for example..."
{I had rather not}
Adem frowned, cutting his eyes down at his sleeve.
"...pause..." he mumbled, an electronic chirp sounding. "Jym, you know I hate it when you interrupt my musing."
{My apologies. I thought you were talking to me.}
Different sighed deeply, shuffling back into the leather recliner that bore his lengthy frame.
"As you have the last THREE times you've interrupted me?" he asked with a hint of irritation. "I have told you....when I say 'Record', it means that I wish to add findings to my database, and that I do not want to be interrupted. Okay?"
{Why not simply ceregraph your findings into a neural filament, and then download it into a holo-vidfile? Why this insistence with verbal linguistics?}
Adem cocked a single eyebrow, scanning the den before him.
"Well, for one, I find that it helps to...exercise...the Perditian's---"
{Humans.}
"---humans preferred method of communication...." he contiued unabated.
{...okay...and...}
"...and, second, I have no idea what any of that techno-jargon means..." he shrugged. "'Ceregraph'? 'Neural Filament'? Are you just making this stuff up as you go along?"
{Yeah, I know...it's all gibberish. You're not the only one that's been boning up on his studies of this culture, you know. I've been scanning the different forms of entertainment these humans have created. Have you ever heard of 'Sci-Fi'?}
"Sci-what?"
{Sci-Fi. It's the derivative name of 'science fiction'....a very entertaining form of human imagination. It deals with fictional accounts of interstellar travel, as well as temporal travel and 'alien' life forms.}
"Sounds positively dull to me..." Different replied, grimacing.
{Ah, not so. Would you believe that certain factions of humans once believed that, not only was their planet flat.....}
"Flat?? Are you serious?" Different asked, raising his sleeve near his mouth with interest.
{....BUT, they also believed that their planet's sole orbiting moon was made of......get this.....cheese.}
Adem's mouth opened, silent. His eyes squinted. His body shook a bit.
It looked as if he were about to have a seizure.
It would, in fact, take the Vanguardians a long time before they realized that this was his species way of laughing.
{Can you believe that?!}
"Actually, yes..." Adem nodded, his 'laugh', fading. "...this is another prime example of how humans manipulate their food."
{Like 'Fish Sticks'?}
"Exactly!" Adem replied. "This animal they call 'fish'.....they take many varied forms, shapes, and sizes. And, yet, this species insists on changing them into a 'stick' form, for consumption. I find that very interesting....."
"What's interesting?"
Adem turned to his left, Baxter strolling into the den.
"Fish Sticks." Adem replied.
Ozzy paused, crinkling his brow.
"Uh. Okay." he finally shrugged.
Baxter walked past him, heading for the mini-bar at the far end of the room, where some of the others were gathered.
"Ozzy?" Adem said.
Baxter stopped, turning back to look at him.
Different stood fully up, walking over to the man. Then, in a very odd display, simply hugged him.
"I, too, feel as if I were your brother." he said.
Ozzy stared at him with wide-eyes.
".............what...............?"
"Last night.....near the great wheel of Ferris...." Adem explained. "....you expressed emotions to me. I have thought on this display, and I have come to the conclusion that you were correct. We are much alike. And, thus, we could have had the same mothers."
Ozzy still stared at him with wide-eyes.
Unfortunately, fragments of drunken memory were beginning to filter through.
Adem turned away, his chest and abdomen heaving a bit. After about a moment of this, he turned back with a guilty expression.
"Sorry. I don't seem to have ingested enough food to be able to seal the occassion with regurgitation." he explained casually. "Have I ruined the bonding moment?"
Ozzy contiued to stare at him with wide eyes.
And, after a moment or two, his face softened.
"...you're fucking with me again, aren't you?" he finally sighed.
Adem cracked a smile.
"You were...if I remember my terminology correctly....hammered last night...." he said, his voice losing quite a bit of its innocent tone. "....I wish I could have captured it on screen..."
Ozzy just shook his head, a broad smile crawling across his face.
"...okay...okay....I get the point..." he said. "...stop treating you like the idiot alien without a clue, right?"
Adem smiled broadly.
"Thank you." he bowed slightly.
"Come on....I'll buy you a drink..." Ozzy said, motioning towards the mini-bar.
Adem frowned, beginning to follow him.
"...we have to pay?" he asked.
"Stop it."
"No, seriously..."
"Fuck you."
"Really....we have to pay?"
"Aren't we done with this shit yet?"
{...sure...fine...forget about me....I mean, it's not like you weren't just talking to me...}
"Oh, shut up..."
"You shut up!"
"No, not you Ozzy..."
{...I mean, I'm easy to forget......I'm only a twelve-quadrillion-count nanite symbiotic life-form......}
"Jym...."
"My name is Ozzy...."
{Adem....}
"What?!"
"O-z-z-y...my name is--"
"I know what your name is!"
{Then why did you call him Jym?}
Tayden, who had been sitting across the den, talking with John Bates the entire time, thought it very interesting to watch Adem Different suddenly begin banging his head against the wooden mini-bar.
"....hmmm...." Tayden mumbled. "...must be some form of advanced alien communication....."
"Oooh! I recognize that language!" Bates suddenly said. "Dr. Huerta speaks that way to Luchie and me all the time...."
*****************
Nuriko
Behind the ground-floor living quarters, a small, ornate garden sits. Guarded on three sides by tall, bamboo walls, the fertile tropical soil is littered with exotic plants from all over the world. Due to the climate, however, it takes long, hard hours of tending and toiling to help some of these plants to survive.
Hours that Nuriko gives freely, each day.
Her hair pulled back in a single ponytail, the long mane wrapped her neck like a thick, silky scarf. Beads of sweat and concentration plague her smooth face, as her eyes scan the dirt before her.
"Not growing pot out here, are you?"
Her eyes cut clowly to the open back doorway of her living quarters, Ozzy standing there with a smile.
Nuriko turned back to her work, her expression hardening a bit.
"Generally, it is customary to knock before entering someone's personal abode..." her dry, humorless voice carried with precision across the small garden.
"Well, why don't you start practicing what you preach!" Ozzy replied firmly, walking slowly along the garden.
Nuriko said nothing, continuing her work.
"Yeah, I've got your number, sweetheart..." he said, as if in reply to a silent question. "...you're all about respect, and honor, and all that crap! But, that didn't stop you from 'entering' MY 'personal abode' without invitation, did it?"
She toiled the damp soil before her, seemingly oblivious to the man's words.
"Well, who the hell are you to judge me, eh?!" he stated, walking around the perimeter of the bamboo walls. "On the plane...you went through my files....rummaging through my 'official' past...suddenly the damn expert on what made me fucking tick!"
Neither her expression, or her mannerisms, changed in the slightest.
"Well, I'll have you know that there's alot more to me than what some damn pencil-pusher jots down on paper!" he jutted a finger at her bowed head, coming to a stop across from her. "Did you know that I used to spend a weekend a month, teaching boxing at the 'Y'? Huh? Did you know that?"
She said nothing.
"I also used to donate twenty-percent of any money I made to charity!" he added. "Twenty-percent! That's more than God makes, you know!"
A light breeze ruffled the soft plants, the only response to Baxter's tirade.
"And how about this: To help out my buddy Clay Whitmore, I took a dive in the third, during my very first title match back in '88!" he stated with a loud tone. "Shocking, eh?!"
She simply sighed, still tending to the tiny plant.
His face suddenly grew very angry.
"Hey!!" he yelled, beginning to stride directly towards her. "Are you listening to--"
He suddenly stopped in place, noticing that he could no longer move his left leg.
It was a moment before he realized that, while the positions of her back and head had not changed, both of Nuriko's hands were clamped tightly against the paralyzed appendage.
Her eyes slowly rose to meet his confused expression, with her right hand tightly gripping the ball of his ankle, and two fingers from her left holding two unique pressure points on each side of his kneecap.
"Mr. Baxter...." she began, her voice coming very still, and very succinct. "....you only volunteered your training expertise due to an obsession you had with one 'Maura Ann Brahms'....the manager of said youth center, and, later, wife #2, correct?"
Ozzy opened his mouth to reply, nothing coming out.
"Also, your monetary charity would be commendable, if not for the enormous tax write-off that you took advantage of, because of it...." she continued.
Ozzy tried to reply, but, just couldn't.
"And, you belittle my research if you do not believe that it is common knowledge that you and the late Mr. Whitmore were working together, having placed the proper bets through third-party channels." she added. "I believe you two spent the next week in the Bahamas, indulging the extent of your winnings on wine and women, am I right?"
Ozzy stared at her, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.
"...wow....where the hell did you get these files....?" he finally muttered in disbelief.
"My statements during your trip to the island were obvious truths." she said. "But, you misread my intent. I have no interest in acting as your moral judge. I merely point out that which you need to hear. That which has defined your life. These instances of proposed-altruism all happened before your meta-evolution....before you became unbreakable."
He stared at her, his leg still locked in it's raised stance.
"My analysis is accurate, and correct." she said. "For thirteen years now, you have wandered through life...strolling wherever your legs might take you, with no direction....no purpose...."
She lowered her eyes staring under his raised boot. He, too, began looking down, trying to find the interest of her gaze.
"...never paying attention to the path you tred..."
And, below his raised foot, he spotted a small, blue Rosea Tigress, one of the rarest strains of rose on the planet.
"...or the beauty you might find, therein..."
He took a deep breath, holding it, as she released her grip. The exhale came slow, as he carefully retracted his foot.
He simply stood there, scratching the back of his head with an awkward silence. She stared at him a bit longer, before turning back to her task.
He sighed deeply, looking around the garden, admiring all the hard work she had put into it.
"So...." he began casually. "...uh....want to get a drink later?"
"Good-bye, Mr. Baxter." she replied, never looking up.
He opened his mouth to say something, stopping.
He opened it again, pausing just the same.
And, after a moment, he finally turned, walking very carefully out of the garden....
*****************
Brianna
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Baxter!"
Brianna's wide smile illuminated her pure, sparkling stare as Ozzy took the cup of eggnog.
"Uhh...thanks..." he replied, sniffing the drink a bit. "And, call me 'Ozzy', would you?"
"Oh...okay, Ozzy..." she replied, still smiling.
The two sat in the main den of the first-floor, the Christmas tree sparkling with blinking lights. Christmas Carols drifted softly in the background, as others came and went, mingling with a festive cheer.
Baxter stared at her.
"What?" he asked, peering carefully at her.
She looked behind her, perplexed, and back again.
"What?" she replied with sincerity.
"Why do you keep smiling like that?" he asked, almost feeling nervous.
Brianna thought on this for a moment.
"Because....I'm happy?" she guessed.
Ozzy just stared at her with an almost unbelievable expression.
"You know, I have to say, this whole innocent act of yours really turns me on...." he stated, sipping the eggnog.
Bri frowned a bit.
"I'm not sure I understand..." she said.
"Oh, stop it!" he replied with a smile. "Now you're just teasing me!"
"I am?" she asked, still-perplexed. "I'm sorry."
Ozzy chuckled a bit, sipping his drink again.
"Wow...I didn't know they made broads like you anymore..." he sighed with amusement.
"Broads?" she asked, not quite understanding the term.
"Yeah...you know...chicks....legs...." he said.
She just stared at him, still a bit baffled at the improper slang.
He stared back, finally nodding with a sigh.
"I...uh...I guess those really aren't good terms to use, huh?" he admitted. "Sorry. I don't know why I do that."
"Do what?" she asked, her expression not changing.
"Ah, you know....try to be so cavalier..." he shrugged.
She thought quietly for a moment, chalking up the confusion to her continuing naivete; finding herself a bit embarrassed because of it.
"I...will have to look up some these words you are using..." she finally admitted.
"Nah...don't worry about it..." he shook his head. "...I was just being an asshole..."
"I...I think you are a nice man." she finally stated.
Ozzy smiled.
"Well, you're the only fucking one, Bri..."
"Ozzy?"
"Yes?"
"Why do you curse so much?"
Baxter stopped, thinking about this.
"You know....I have no idea..." he finally shrugged.
She looked back and forth across the room, eventually leaning in towards his ear.
"One time...." she whispered. "....I said the 'D-word'..."
He grinned broadly.
"Oh...did you, now?" he chuckled with amusement.
"Yes..." she hung her head, seemingly punishing herself for the admission. "...I said one-hundred Hail Mary's for it.....although, I still feel guilty about it..."
"Heh....that's Catholicism for you..."
She frowned again.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Ozzy just smiled, shaking his head.
"Nothing, sweetheart....nothing..." he replied, holding his mug of eggnog up. "Merry Christmas, Brianna."
She broke into that famously wide smile of hers, holding her mug up as well.
"Merry Christmas, Ozzy."
"Dinner!" Grissom announced through the intercom....
