The trio had turned out to be useful. The three of them were in the bakery's basement before sundown, clean, and without police cars piling up front. Oliver eyed the body of the convenience store robber, and his lips uplifted at the welt of red blossoming above his heart. He glanced to the long katana that hung from Kuro's hip.

Luciano spoke up, "I always had a feeling you had literal skeletons in your closet."

Oliver decided, despite the snarky comment, he wanted to keep them. He knew the trio; he practically grew up with them. From all those taunts and endeavors, he wound up being their boss, or at least their method of income. He gave them a hefty sum for their efforts.

They stared, eyes wide, at the money Luciano held in his palms. "Give us a call when you need us!"

Nikolai pulled his glove, causing a sharp, slapping noise to turn heads. He erupted in giggles from their stares. Oliver quickly turned away and called out, "Oh, Luciano, have you found somewhere decent to stay?"

Lutz and Kuro stepped from the tunnel doorway, curious at Oliver's concern. Luciano curtly replied, "We have settled in just fine."

"That is good," Oliver praised. "Have you seen your brother lately? I heard he sprung up his own boutique across town."

"Si, I heard, too. He has grandpa's money to thank for that!" Luciano tossed a glance to the door. "Any other questions, or are you done interrogating me?"

One of Oliver's eyebrows twitched. "Being released from prison is a great thing. You have been gone for over a year."

Lutz crossed his arms as Kuro's eyes narrowed further. Luciano sighed, "You would think I have nowhere to go, but no, I do. I could not collect what my grandpa left in his will, being in jail and all, so Flavio was actually nice enough to bail me out, only if I take Grandpa's mansion, and he gets most of the money to start a business."

Oliver blinked rapidly, the quick words catching up to his mind. "Flavio started his shop a few weeks back. Have you been out for a while?"

"We were finding work. Still are, for something else in the meantime."

"I suppose you will not have to worry about it anymore."

"I guess not," Luciano exchanged an amused look with his housemates.

"Yoooooo," Nikolai made a spooky, drawn out noise.

"Err...I will see you...whenever," Oliver said, turning away with his fingers pinching his nose. "I will call you." Luciano did not reply, opting to rip open the door, and escape from the crazed surgeon.

Nikolai laughed heartedly at how quickly he could clear a room.

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

Oliver's hands were caked in flour when the phone rung in the front room. He threw his head in the direction of the doorway, scowling at thin air. Since paper towels and wipes existed, he jogged into the next room, and grabbed the device with grimy hands. "Hello, Queen's Cupcakes," he relayed, making sure his smile shone through his words. "How may I help you?"

"I'm not going to ask him that!" A muffled exclamation sounded from the other line. Oliver tipped his head, and switched the phone to his other ear. "Hey, Oliver," the low voice was slightly louder. "It's Matt...and Siegmund. He's standing next to me."

"Hello! Is there something you wanted to order?"

"No," Matt exhaled sharply. "Lutz and his pals are back."

"I know," Oliver said, shifting foot to foot as he leaned over the counter. "They stopped in a few days ago. Did Siegmund get to talk to his brother? I heard he and Kuro are staying with Luciano in his mansion on the outskirts of town."

"Yeah, that's were Siegmund is living now. He had gotten too old to stay at the House, so Lutz must have pulled a few strings with Luciano."

Oliver put a few fingers over his mouth to giggle. He pulled them back to eye the flour coating his skin. "Oops. Where have you been keeping yourself, if you two are living separately?"

"I'm still at the House. Our birthday...um, my birthday is in July, so I still have a few months to save up for a place for both of us."

"Aw, that is so nice!"

Matt grumbled something Oliver did not hear over his praise. "Yeah, maybe we'll stop by sometime, but I got to go. The phone booth is almost out of time."

"All right, Matt. Take care of yourselves. Tell Siegmund I said hi."

The other line clicked off to low beeping. Oliver pulled the phone away from his head, rolling his eyes from the lack of response. He went back to the kitchen to wipe the phone off, and to resume baking. A few months seemed to be such a chore, but he already made a year by that time.

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

"What?!" Luciano's violet eyes darted side to side, even though there were nobody else present in the bakery besides him, and Oliver some more days later. Lutz and Kuro waited in his car while he picked up their next assignment. "Why would you ask me that?"

"I asked you if you can draw for me, Luciano," the baker shook his head, and surrendered the envelope. "I did not ask you to relinquish pasta for a year."

"I know you didn't!" The brunet grabbed the folder, cradling it to his chestnut jacket. "I wouldn't do it anyway."

"What, abandon pasta, or sketch a few advertisements for me?" Oliver shot back, "You can keep your pasta. I am just asking you to put a pencil to paper."

Luciano stared at him, pressing closer to the counter. "How do you know I can draw? Or not," he quickly added. "Why did you ask me?"

To Oliver, that question could be easily answered. During his fling with Arthur's world, he had gotten familiar with that awful thing called secondary school, but it was kind enough to offer clubs to its student's schedules. He discovered a wild Italian proudly devoting himself to some clubs, even if that meeting about cardboard boxes was questionable in its main point. Luciano's counterpart had made marvelous murals that hung in the halls of the school, turning the bland white walls to breath-stealing works of art. The baker wondered if Luciano was capable of doing the same thing, being somehow spiritually (yet obliviously) connected.

However, if Oliver said that to Luciano, he most likely would have frightened the poor guy. He shrugged, grinning, "I had a hunch."

"You scare me," Luciano said, and an expression of uncertainty passed over his tanned features. "I suppose it won't hurt."

"No, it will not," the baker flapped a hand in dismissal as the other teen turned away. "Take your time! Art requires patience."

"Would you know?" Luciano asked, as he breezed out of the bakeshop, but nicked his shoulder on the door in a clumsy gesture.

"Would you not like to know, too?"

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

In the basement, "The police officer asked me, 'Where are you going dressed up like are going to perform surgery?' So I told them, 'I am dressed up for surgery!' 'There are no hospitals around here!' Do you know what I said?"

Oliver removed the half cup of tea from his face. "No, considering I was not there at the time." He looked over to his bench mate, arching his brows. "Care to enlighten me?"

"I would!" Nikolai claimed. "I told the officer, 'Anywhere can be a hospital if you are prepared!'"

"Oh?" The baker murmured after a strong silence hung in the air, not entirely sure if the other man was trying to be funny or not. He decided to let off a little giggle out of propriety, finished his drink with a loud gulp, and asked, even though he knew the answer, "How are the new recruits doing?"

Nikolai exclaimed in delight, clasping his hands together. "I wish I could have found them sooner! Especially with those clean cuts that little one makes!"

"Little one?" Oliver crinkled his nose. "Kuro?"

"If that is his name," the surgeon shrugged, breathily laughing again. Both bench warmers became attentive when the trio was suddenly there from around the corner. Kuro trailed after Lutz as the larger man carried a woman's body over his shoulder. They glanced to the duo with ever guarded eyes. Luciano told them to go on and drop off the corpse. He turned to face Oliver, his face slightly haunted.

"Hey, Oliver."

The baker tried not to grin stupidly at his expression. "Why, hello there!"

Nikolai noticed the packet Luciano clutched onto, like a child with his teddy bear. "Whatever information must be discarded, so the police do not discover-"

Luciano stepped away from the large, rubber covered hand that reached for the folder. "We did do away with the bad guy's information. Now, Oliver, if you don't mind, I need to talk to you."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. If Luciano's secret stash contained what they spoke of a few hours earlier, the Italian must have had a quick hand. Perhaps he doodled when he was supposed to be hunting, but that did not matter then, with Lutz and Kuro being capable to get the job done themselves. "Let's head upstairs."

"Aw, why does no one tell me secret?" Nikolai asked. Without acknowledgement, he cursed them under his breath, and sauntered soon after.

"I am going up to the shop," Luciano announced to his squad. "Stay here."

"Luci," Lutz choked, tossing a frightened glance in the operator's direction. Nikolai did not act stupid. A huffy whoop of laughter prompted even Kuro's eyes to widen, and he shrunk from the metal table.

Luciano started to tremble, but carried on as if he was not evidently spooked. "F-fine. Come with me, but I have to speak to Oliver alone."

Kuro and Lutz gave one another relived half-smiles. They hurried after Oliver without a word, and the basement door closed louder than necessary. The baker offered, "I can stick something in the oven for you, if you would like."

The trio looked at him skeptically. Luciano shook his head. "Don't feed them!"

Oliver shot them an equally bewildered look. "Excuse me, I was trying to amicable."

"It is a little freaky how close your baking business runs with body parts. We'll pass."

"There are no body parts in my cupcakes!" Oliver squawked, "Who would come up with such a thing?"

"You say that," Lutz said, and turned away to join Kuro in the front room.

Oliver mashed his teeth together, letting out a sharp exhale from the angry haze that attacked his face. Luciano tittered, "We are just busting on you. Do you want to see what I drew or not?"

The baker turned, mouth pursed in interest. He cleared his throat of any possible remarks, and nodded. "Don't mind if I do! Bring them to the counter."

Luciano did so, carefully surrendering the drawing to the marble. Oliver's eyes nearly popped out of his head. His suspicions were correct; even if they were advertisements, some of the sketched treats looked as if he could grab them from the sheets to eat. The other teen rested his hands against the counter, gazing at his work. "I was not certain of the colors for this one, so I duplicated it, and colored both of them differently. I tried to stay away from dingy colors, since I figured you would want something eye popping. If they are too much-"

"They are brilliant! Do you draw for recreation?"

"S-sometimes," Luciano admitted, looking shocked at Oliver's eager words. "It...it is a good stress reliever."

"Don't be ashamed. Many others turn to more harmful methods of relieving themselves from turmoil." Oliver tapped a picture of a cupcake being swathed in an explosion of sunshine and sprinkles. "I especially like this one."

"I was hoping to achieve something to your expression."

"Art is an excellent method of self-expression."

Luciano rubbed the toe of his boot against the floor. "I know. Maybe I shouldn't, but..." he trailed off, clenching his hands against the counter.

"But nothing," Oliver said sternly. He gathered the sketches into a neat pile. "Art is a marvelous thing. It can bring people together, but only if they embrace their talents." The other man was quiet, so he shrugged, "I should go and copy these. Thank you, Luciano. I appreciate your efforts. You may leave now."

"S-si..."

Oliver seemed to only bewilder him. Luciano stiffly left the kitchen with uncertainty in his eyes.

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

On the other side of town later in the week, the baker decided his wardrobe needed some refreshing, and he had plenty of money to spend. "Wow! Are you that lonely, you decided to come here?"

He stopped in the middle of Flavio's clothing department, relaying in the same tone, "Did the possibility strike you that I am shopping for clothes?"

The dark blond straightened from leaning on the check out desk, and let the comment slide with a distasteful click of his tongue. "It is about time you step away from those generic stores." He whisked around the counter, and flapped a hand to the towering racks posing as aisles. "Let's go find something suitable for you to wear."

Oliver pointed out, "Wow! That is generous of you."

Flavio shot back, "It's my job." He paused for a quick moment to snatch something off of a shelf at eye level, but Oliver did not see what it was. "Customers never put my shit back where it belongs."

"I do not seem to have that problem, but customers leaving behind more crumbs than I give them makes up for it."

Flavio managed a snap of laughter. He hung a brassiere on a hook they passed, and led the other man to an array of men's tops. "You do not have a wide figure, so let's stay away from those shirts, or else you will look like a balloon. How about this one?"

"Ooh, this is nice," Oliver pinched a dark, rippled top. "Oh, goodness, not for me, though. It is a bit too dark."

"How do you know that?" Flavio plucked the shirt off its hook. "Come on, try it on. The changing booths are by the main desk."

Oliver felt like he did not have a choice. The other man disappeared from trailing after him, but he did not dote on it. Inside the changing booth, there was a mirror available to scowl at himself. The dark material fought against the light in his blue eyes.

"Did you put it on?"

"Yes..."

Another garment flew over the door. "Put this on with it!"

"Leather trousers? Flavio, I do not do leather."

"Have you even done leather before? You let your mother dress you up for too long. Find your boundaries."

"With these?" Oliver mouthed to his reflection as he stretched one of the bottom's legs. Begrudgingly tugging at his belt, he asked, "How have you and Luciano been getting along lately?"

Flavio's snappy voice stabbed through the door, "Why would you ask that?"

"Ever hear of small talk before, dear?" Oliver's nose crinkled as he wiggled into the new pants. He picked at the tight material as it pressed against him everywhere. "These trousers are strangling me in unsavory places!"

"Let me see! I know he is out of prison now, thanks to me, but he doesn't come around to me as often anymore, you know? Whatever, his lost. He has been acting bizarre lately, anyway. Jail time must have done something to that scrambled brain of his." Flavio shrugged, and his eyebrows raised as Oliver waddled out of the stall. "Quit walking like that."

"They are too tight!"

"The top really makes your eyes pop out," the blond surveyed, ignoring Oliver's near whine. "It is a bit plain, so here," he held up a sharp scarf. "To add a little pizazz." His hands were snippy and ungentle as he tugged the blue cloth until the point was going down the middle of the baker's chest. Flavio backed away, putting a hand to his chin to eye his work. "You could pull off the punk look even more if you were blond."

Oliver let out a shaky laugh as his legs danced against the smooth material. Despite being almost completely covered, the cloth revealed too much. "Maybe I should go look for my own clothes..."

"Maybe we're going the wrong way." Flavio snapped his fingers. "Based on what you walked in with, I have stuff just for you."

"Um, all right, I guess," Oliver grumbled, leaning against the changing stall door as the store owner waltzed off to hunt for garments. However, the door was open, and he stumbled back with a sharp gasp as the panel swung away. The tight bottoms restricted movement, and he fell onto his rear end. The door retaliated by swinging back to clip his shoulder. "Ouch! Oh, f...fiddlesticks, that hurt."

"What are you doing on the floor?" Flavio asked, disgusted. He had returned with light, pastel colors. As Oliver found his feet, the blond held out a light pink button up shirt. "Nice, si? Closer to your usual?"

Oliver noted, "There is a lot of ribbon and lace in that pile."

"What, now you don't like this style? I think those bottoms are squeezing your balls too tight. Hurry up and change."

At first glance, Oliver would think he saw his mother in the mirror, as a man. The shirt beneath the costly, velvet vest had frilly cuffs, and the garment curved in at the waist. Close to his neck piece, a turquoise bow hung pass his collar. He crept closer, raising a slender hand to the glass. However, his visage was overlooked by much bolder eyebrows, and the array of freckles was a different storm than his mother's. Smiling from his sense of independence, he pushed open the stall door.

"Look, you seem to be in your own skin," Flavio commented. "I was going for the innocent boy kind of outlook. It wards off suspicion well, don't you think?"

"Suspicion of what?!"

Flavio's green eyes narrowed in a sneaky snicker. "Don't act stupid. Come on, we're not done yet. We only have one outfit so far."

In the end, with arms full of bags, Oliver decided to be nice, and thank Flavio. "I appreciate your help."

The shop owner ripped the receipt from the cash register's printer. "It's my job," he insisted, wiggling the paper for surrender.

"You seem to enjoy your job, then!"

An angry red seized Flavio's cheeks. "You can leave now."