Unfortunately, while Ken's return to the party went more smoothly than his departure, he found himself once more in an uncomfortable situation, doing his best to make conversation amongst strangers, only to meet up with awkward silences, or worse, accidentally insulting his speaking partners. He was almost beginning to wish that he had given in and brought Jun with him when he saw Jack re-entering the room.

"Ken, there you are!" Jack came up, clapping Ken's shoulder with his left hand and shaking his right. Jack was sweating profusely, his entire body seeming to be exuding moisture, as evidenced by his wet palms and the pit stains on his jacket.

"How did the meeting go?" Jack poked Ken in the side. "Bet you wish you'd stayed with me and Carrie, huh?"

"Cherie." Ken corrected absently.

"Whatever. Who can keep these women straight? There are only so many 'opportunities for advancement' in the organization, and they all want those positions." Jack grinned widely. "Carrie is good at positions."

"I'm sure she is." Ken replied uncomfortably, glancing around, looking for a way out. Fortunately, Jack ended the conversation first.

"And I think I see my next 'interview'." Jack smirked. "See you later, Ken." He clapped Ken on the shoulder once more before heading off.

"Sure." Ken recoiled slightly, sighing with relief as the man departed. He raised his hand to his forehead, his eyes widening as he pulled it away in disgust.

His hand still smelled of fish!

Hadn't he washed it thoroughly? Grimacing, Ken realized that perhaps he had been somewhat hasty in his assessment that his hand was clean. Worriedly he glanced over toward the nearby bathroom, noting that it was just as crowded as ever. Moving over to the back hall, he discovered that after trying all of those doors, he really wasn't certain where the other bathroom had been. Turning in confusion, Ken spotted a waiter with a tray of dirty champagne flutes at the far end of the hall. He went after the man, hoping to catch up so that he could ask for directions. Ken moved as quickly as he could without actually running, not willing to make more of a spectacle of himself than he already had done.

By the time he caught up with the waiter, the man was just going through a large set of double doors. Curiously Ken passed through the doors as well, surprised to see that he had entered the kitchen.

The kitchen was nearly five times the size of Ken's entire shack at the airfield, split into one main kitchen and two 'side' kitchens, affording multiple preparation areas. The main kitchen and one of the side kitchens were occupied, while the other side kitchen was currently empty of people, although something was clearly baking in the oven. A six-burner gas stove took up half of a central island, and three large pots were simmering merrily. The entire room was uncomfortably warm and humid, to the point where Ken began sweating profusely. Unconsciously he tugged at his bow tie, loosening it slightly, then took off his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the island before heading over to the sink.

Diligently Ken washed his hands with soap and the hottest water the faucet was capable of producing. He then sniffed carefully at his fingers to ensure that this time they were completely odor-free. After two thorough washes, the scent of fish was definitely gone.

But there was something else… Ken breathed in the air warily, noting an acrid scent: smoke!

Whirling, Ken turned to see that the sleeve of his jacket was just touching the edge of one of the gas burners on the stove. He snatched up the garment, grabbing the sleeve and dousing it in the sink. Pulling the jacket from the stream of water he realized that the fire was indeed out, but that he had definitely forfeited his security deposit on the tuxedo rental. Great. That was something else he couldn't afford. He could only hope that his credit card would be willing to carry the damages for a few months.

Even worse, the entire kitchen now smelled of bitter smoke, and thin grey streaks were visible up near the white ceiling. Ken coughed as the acrid air filled his lungs.

The only good news was that the scorching on his jacket was black, and with luck it wouldn't be entirely obvious when he returned to the party. Still, the lower half of the sleeve was wet. Ken wrung out the garment over the sink, then grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped it around the sleeve, squeezing the entire affair to get out the rest of the water from the burned cloth.

Once he was done the jacket was damp, but the damage wasn't immediately evident. It would have to do. Unfortunately the smoke smell was getting worse, and Ken heard voices nearby. He had to get rid of the odor before other people came into this part of the kitchen.

There was a large vent on the ceiling, so there had to be a fan somewhere. Spotting a control panel on the wall Ken moved over, searching for some instructions as to how to turn on the air circulation. Unfortunately, none of the buttons were labeled, and their layout on the panel wasn't intuitive. He would just have to press them randomly and see what happened.

The first button did not appear to have any effect, while the second button turned off the lights. Ken quickly pressed it again, turning them back on, hoping that no one outside the area had noticed. The remaining buttons did not appear to have any effect.

Perhaps he had to press a certain series of buttons in sequence? Ken frowned at the complicated panel, randomly pressing buttons in a rapidfire manner (avoiding the lights) until at last, he heard the fan begin to activate. Quickly snatching up his jacket he exited the kitchen, but in his haste he left through a door in the opposite wall from which he had entered. To his surprise he was back in the main reception hall, on the far side of the large room. It seemed that in his wanderings he had made a complete circle of the ground floor.

Naturally the kitchen entrance came out close to the dining area, and Ken could see an extremely long table set with fine china and silverware. From the look of things, dinner was to be served shortly.

Glancing around the room, Ken's eyes fell on Karin at the other end of the hall. She looked up, smiling at him in a predatory fashion, and began making her way over to where he stood. Hurriedly Ken moved away, doing his best to keep the crowd between himself and Karin, so that she would have difficulty spotting where he had gone.

Ken now found himself near the corner housing the massive Christmas tree. A middle-aged woman was crouching beside the tree, placing wrapped gifts beneath it. A large box of the gifts stood open next to her.

"May I be of assistance?" Ken asked politely, bending down to address the woman. His offer was more than polite, it was in his own self-interest. Karin wouldn't be likely to look for him here.

"Thank you, young man!" the woman smiled gratefully. "I should have put these down here earlier, but there was so much to do… and the help just isn't what it used to be, you know."

"Uh… sure." Ken replied, kneeling down and grabbing a package from the box. He placed it in an empty spot toward the trunk of the tree.

"Be careful with those!" the woman warned, just as Ken deposited the box, a soft tinkling noise coming from within. "They're very delicate!"

"I understand." Ken nodded, hoping that she hadn't heard the sound. Apparently she hadn't, as she continued to place gifts beneath the tree. Ken followed suit, being more careful with the remaining boxes. He and the woman had nearly finished when he heard a voice whispering in his ear.

"There you are! I was looking for you."

Ken started as he cringed from that all-too-familiar predatory purr. The box in his hand tinkled dangerously and quickly he placed it down.

"Is this your young man, Karin?" the older woman asked in an offhanded manner. "He's been very helpful, but we're nearly done. You can have him back now."

"Are you sure?" Ken asked solicitously. "I'm happy to assist with anything else you need done. After all, it's a lot of work, throwing a party like this. You shouldn't have to do it all alone. " He sent a pleading look in the older woman's direction, but she either didn't see it or chose to misinterpret his meaning.

"I'm just fine, young man. You can go with Karin now." the woman replied, clearly bored with the conversation as she placed the last gift. "There, all done. Now I have to see about dinner. It's about time to call everyone to the table…" she fussed, rising to her feet and departing the scene.

"I'm hungry, how about you?" Karin asked, trailing a crimson fingernail along Ken's jaw and down to his chest, leaving no doubt as to the true meaning of her words.

"I think dinner will be served shortly." Ken replied, backing away as much as politeness would allow. Karin smiled, knowing she had him cornered. She leaned forward, her face moving toward Ken's. He grimaced, leaning back…

"Karin, there you are!" A man in his mid-thirties approached them, taking Karin by the arm and firmly pulling her away from Ken. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Moore, I told you, it's over." Karin huffed. "You're just too boring."

"I'm not boring, sweetheart, let me show you." Moore insisted, dragging Karin away.

"Yes, you are!" Karin pouted. "Moore…"

Ken sighed with relief as Moore took Karin away from him. It didn't look as if Moore would be able to change Karin's mind, but if he could keep her occupied for the rest of the evening, that was just fine with Ken. As it was, he was sorry he had ever come. Hopefully he had put in enough time at this event already. Maybe he could just sneak out…

A soft chime sounded throughout the room, followed by the announcement that everyone should be seated for dinner. Ken sighed regretfully. If he left now, his absence might be noticed. Hopefully after the meal he'd be able to depart.

Dinner was being served at two long tables side by side at the end of the room, between the Christmas tree and the kitchen door. Nervously Ken looked around, wondering if there was some kind of seating assignment. Certainly everyone else seemed to know where they were going, as they moved purposefully toward chairs and sat down. The women who had been in line for the bathroom miraculously appeared, seating themselves in a manner that made it clear that they were the guests of the various men attending the party. Cherie passed by Ken, turning her face away as if she were refusing to acknowledge him. A vague, fishy scent trailed in her wake.

"Over here, young man!" a heavy, older woman gestured toward Ken, before he could ponder the matter. "There's still a seat here." The woman pointed at an empty chair next to her, right at the end of the second table. Ken sat down gratefully, glad to have found a place.

"Oh, thank you! It's so embarrassing to be next to an empty seat." the woman tittered nervously. "Everyone thinks that no one wants to talk to you, and you know how that is…" The woman went on, not letting Ken get a word in edgewise. Fortunately he had had enough of small talk and was happy to let the woman carry the conversation by herself as the waiters laid napkins on their laps and began to serve a salad course. She talked even as she ate, allowing Ken to remain silent up until the second course, some kind of tomato soup, was served. Ken took a sip of his soup, then grimaced.

"It's cold!" he frowned. Had the kitchen workers forgotten to heat it up?

"It's gazpacho." the woman next to him explained. "It's supposed to be cold. Very refreshing."

"It's December." Ken noted. "It's plenty cold outside."

"Well, you know these fancy dinners!" the woman tittered, before leaning over in a conspiratorial manner. "Honestly, my husband doesn't like gazpacho either. Something about cold soup not being natural."

"Your husband?"

"Yes." the woman tugged on the arm of the balding, heavyset man next to her. "Albert, this is… what did you say your name was again?"

"Ken."

"Albert, this is Ken. Ken, this is my husband Albert." Albert turned and grunted at Ken, before resuming his conversation with the person on his other side.

"Oh, and I'm Martha." the woman added, almost as an afterthought. "So silly of me not to introduce myself earlier!" She giggled, her double chin jiggling ludicrously.

"Albert works in Special Operations." Martha informed Ken. "What do you do?"

"Oh, I'm just a test pilot." Ken shrugged, referring to the 'official position' that had been created for him at the ISO.

"Just a test pilot?" Martha frowned distastefully. "Then I don't understand. Why are you here? This is an officer's party."

"Well, technically I have a rank of Commander." Ken shrugged, attempting to explain the apparent discrepancy.

"A Commander?" Martha's eyes grew wide. "Albert is only a Captain. Oh, my! And you're so young!"

"I'm sure Albert makes valuable contributions to his department." Ken replied.

"Oh, he does! He does!" Martha went on to expound upon the virtues of her husband, clearly angling to have Ken recommend him for a promotion. Inwardly Ken groaned, yet he kept nodding politely and ignoring his cold soup. Eventually the waiter whisked the bowl away, replacing it with a plate of roasted chicken. The dish had something of an acrid odor and Ken wrinkled his nose, wondering what kind of 'gourmet delicacy' this was supposed to be.

"I asked for roasted chicken, not smoked chicken!"

A voice screeched across the room and instantly everyone shrank into their seats. There was something oddly familiar about the sound, yet Ken was unable to place his finger on it.

"Oh, my." Martha quivered nervously. "Oh, my; oh, my; oh, my…"

A tall man with long, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail stood at the head of the other table. He was dressed immaculately in a dark purple tuxedo, the cold, hard lines of his face at odds with his softly rounded lips. He scowled at the waiter cowering before him.

"Why are you serving smoked chicken?" the man demanded. "You ignore the menu, then you serve the most vile, disgusting…" The man swept his entire plate to the floor with an elegant gesture, the dish shattering as surprised nearby guests were spattered with food. The waiter next to the man mumbled helplessly, while others rushed in to clean up the mess the man had created. The guests who had inadvertently been in the 'line of fire' were left to fend for themselves, cleaning themselves off with napkins dipped into glasses of water. Ken noted that no one left to visit the bathroom for cleanup.

Before Ken could react, a waiter came from behind, reaching out to snatch Ken's plate away from underneath his nose. Less than a minute later, as everyone was still collecting themselves, Ken found another plate being deposited on the table in front of him.

"What's this?" Martha sniffed indignantly at the pasta dish.

"Vegetarian entrée." the waiter explained. "After removing all of the other plates, there wasn't enough chicken to go around."

"Well get me a plate of chicken!" Martha demanded. "It isn't my fault there's a problem! Vegetarian entrée! What do I look like, a rabbit?" In reality, with her chin wobbling and large stomach protruding from the tight confines of her evening gown, Ken thought she looked something like a slug. The thought was amusing enough that he had to stifle back a laugh, turning it into a cough.

"Ma'am, the chicken is for the head table only." the waiter told Martha nervously. "Those were my instructions. But if you want an exception, I could ask the host…"

"No, that's quite all right." Martha blanched slightly before answering the waiter sourly. "I'll eat your damn vegetarian entrée." She pouted childishly as the waiter departed.

"Actually, it's quite good." Ken told her, taking a bite. "I think you'll enjoy it."

"It's the principle of the thing!" Martha insisted. "Being treated like a second class citizen, and for what? Unbelievable!"

"Better that than to offend our host." Ken pointed out.

"Well, you've got a point there." Martha huffed. She took a bite of her vegetarian pasta. Within minutes her plate was clean, while Ken wasn't even halfway finished. He supposed that despite her complaints she must have enjoyed the dish.

"There you are!" Karin swooped in out of nowhere, wrapping her arms around Ken's neck from behind in a manner that had him fighting an urge to flip her over his head and send her crashing down onto the table. "I was looking for you everywhere!"

"I've been at dinner with everyone else." Ken said nervously.

"I need to sit down." Karin stated the obvious, her eyes narrowing. "Why aren't there any seats? There should be a seat for me!" She flounced over to the head table, approaching the party's host.

"Daddy, I don't have a seat!" Karin whined. "Where's my seat?"

"Perhaps if you had been on time for dinner, you would have had a seat." the man in the purple suit noted dryly, yet Ken noticed the man's hand clenching into a fist around his knife.

"I was busy!" Karin protested. "You know how it is, Daddy! Moore was bothering me…"

"Moore has been here at the dinner table since the soup course." Karin's father pointed out, his fingers gesturing at the man in question. Moore was doing his best to appear entirely innocent of Karin's affairs.

"That's because he's a man." Karin huffed. "You don't understand women, Daddy!"

"Believe me, I understand far more than you think I do." Karin's father smirked slightly, his expression somehow momentarily familiar to Ken. Yet the feeling vanished when the man's face turned to its previous haughty demeanor.

"Still, you're right about one thing. There should be a place for you somewhere." he frowned, beckoning imperiously to a nervous man standing nearby. "Where is my daughter's place?"

"Sire, there were sixty places prepared, as ordered, and they are all taken…" the man bowed obsequiously, yet his nervous demeanor gave away his anxiety at the host's displeasure.

"And there are only sixty people here!" Karin's father announced imperiously. "There were only fifty-eight on the guest list, as well as myself and Karin."

"Sire… there are sixty people seated…" the man looked up nervously, clearly counting heads one more time. "Yes, sixty."

"Well someone clearly doesn't know how to count." Karin's father sneered. "Find my daughter a place and do it now."

"Yes, Sire!" the man jumped.