Well, since I *was* asked to write a May story with each of the Seven, I thought you might like to see the third one to hit me.


-Celesta SunStar

Disclaimer: I am in college, I have no money, I'll only borrow them occasionally...

It's a bit rough, but I hope you like it anyway.

Please, reviews are the bread and meat of fic writers, even if you are telling me what I did wrong.



Chris couldn’t sleep. His bed was comfortable, but his mind was busy. Finally, with a sigh he got up and headed for the kitchen.

Why Travis? Why spring this on me? I don’t even know what I want anymore, how am I supposed to lead a special team?

His house seemed subtly altered, and he was sure that he had never owned a set of samurai armor... Weird looking armor, why would someone put an eye-patch on a suit of armor?

His kitchen was different too, but when he couldn’t think of a reason why it *shouldn’t* be different, he just let lie.

He sat at the table, it seemed to be shorter, and watched the auburn-haired... kid...? young man...? No, pointed ears... he’s an elf. Huh, I have an elf in my kitchen... stir something in a mixing bowl, pour the mixture into a round baking dish and slide it into the oven.

“Ah, good, you made it. The gingerbread should be done in about half an hour.” The elf said in an... English? accent, when he turned around and saw Chris at the table.

“But, I didn’t...”

“Sure you did.” Said another elf, this one with dark blue hair and cross-shaped scar under his left eye, as he passed through the kitchen, heading for the door to the backyard. “Cye’s cooking is too good to miss.” He stopped suddenly, frowned, then leaned in to whisper into Chris’ ear. “Just don’t ask for seafood. Cye likes to talk to marine animals and goes nuts when someone mentions eating them.” That said, the elf left the kitchen and closed the door behind him. Chris would have sworn that he had seen a white tiger through the door before it closed, though.

Cye, which Chris assumed was the cooking elf, slipped into the chair across from him. “So what are you here for? Well, *besides* my gingerbread of course.”

“Huh?” Yeah, real eloquent there, Larabee. Chris mentally slapped himself.

“Chris, you wouldn’t be down here unless you weren’t sleeping well. You generally sleep well unless you are brooding about something. So, out with it. What’s got you so worried?”

Chris blinked and looked at the elf who was trying to look stern and felt like laughing. There was no way that an elf with that cute a face would ever be able to frown convincingly. Maybe it was the scent of the cooking gingerbread, but for some reason he trusted Cye and he found himself talking.

Talking about the team Travis wanted him to head up, the agony of losing someone he had loved with his entire heart, about the *need* not to have anyone get too close.

And the fear that *he* would not be good enough.

“Well, what I think you should think about Chris,” the elf said finally, “is taking Travis up on his offer. Of course that means that you will have to join the world around you, but really, what would Sarah think about the way you’ve been acting since her death?”

Chris suddenly felt a bit like a three year old who *knows* that he had done something stupid, Sarah would be *pissed* at his behavior.

The elf nodded, “You’ll want to pick the team yourself, I’m sure. And you will have to earn their respect. But you are a born Leader; you wouldn’t be worried so much about this if you weren’t.” He smiled at Chris. “Anyway, I believe that the reason you are *really* here is done. Wait a minute and I’ll give you a piece.”

Moments later Chris was closing his eyes to better appreciate the warm gingerbread filling his mouth and scenting the air around him.


He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. Yeah, he’d tell Travis his decision in the morning. Buck would be on the team and he had heard about an ex-anthropologist turned profiler that was supposed to be pretty good...

He rolled on his side and started to drift back to sleep... was that the faint smell of gingerbread in the air? Nah, couldn’t be, but maybe he would bake some in the morning...