Disclaimer: I don't own. You don't sue.

Mike checked the time. Thirteen minutes and twenty-four seconds left. He looked around the room, feeling it shake. Cibo Matto was blaring out from the huge speakers set up at every niche and corner.

All around him women were dancing and giggling and shrieking and generally acting like they'd had entirely too many shots of all different kinds of hard liquor.

It shouldn't have been too hard to find one of them willing to let him stick his tongue down her throat at midnight. He'd been sure of it. He'd even said so to Dan, his terminally shy friend who never had plans on New Year's Eve. Mike had nearly had to drag him to the party.

"You're a pig, man," Dan had told him. "No girl's gonna just let me stick my tongue down her throat anymore."

"You'll find one, man. Just watch."

So now here Mike was, watching each and every woman around him sit in some other guy's lap.

More specifically, watching his good friend Dan sit with not one, but two drunken girls. They sandwiched him, all three playing the What's My Number drinking game that Mike had invented. Well, okay, not invented. But he had taught it to Dan, and the least Dan could do now was wave him over to join the game, hand him a shot, hand him a girl.

Dan caught his look. Mike brightened at the sudden grin his friend gave. He grinned back, straightening, ready to make his way over.

Dan looked away to take another shot. He gulped. One of the girls leaned into his ear, whispering, or maybe licking it. Whatever. Mike couldn't tell, but it had to be something good, because Dan choked and his drink came out of his nose. Wide-eyed, he turned to the girl, grinning even bigger when she winked. Then he turned to the other girl, who smiled back foolishly.

The three of them stumbled up and left the room together, laughing.

Mike stared in disbelief. After a few seconds of gaping, he grabbed a bottle of Corona and went out to look for them.

He knew the entire floor of the hotel had been rented out for the party. Actually, he didn't really know that. Some guy had told him earlier, but the guy had probably been piss drunk and babbling bullshit.

But Mike walked around the halls anyway, checking open doors and putting his ear to the closed ones.

After five minutes he gave up.

Obviously Dan had gone to some Tequila paradise, joined by two girls more than willing to have his tongue stuck down their throats and other places.

"Friggin' Dan," Mike muttered.

He found an empty room with a nice view of Times Square, where the Ball glittering above the big 2002 sign seemed near enough to touch. He plopped himself down at a seat, turned on the television, and opened his beer.

"Um, hi?"

He glanced up to find a girl staring at him. He stared back. She was wearing a cardigan over what looked like layers of big brown burlap sacks, and had three different cameras hanging around her skinny neck.

"Hi," he said, trying to remember how many drinks he'd had and if they were enough to make him hallucinate.

"Yeah. Now, who're you and why're you in my room?"

"Your room? This isn't a party room?"

"Does it look like a party room?"

Mike started to flush. "I guess not."

He got up from the seat, feeling like a brainless toad. But he didn't think he should have to feel that way, since she was obviously the weird one, with her cardigan and burlap sacks and cameras.

"Why do you have all those?" he asked as he approached.

She looked down. "All what? Clothes? Cameras?"

"Yeah."

"People generally have clothes and cameras, you know."

Mike blinked at her. Then he shrugged. "Whatever. Happy New Year," he said over his shoulder. He saw her face fall a little—probably from guilt—and felt a little triumph settling in. It quickly seeped out a second later when he realized he'd left his beer behind.

"Damn," he muttered, trying to decide whether to retrieve the Corona or retain the meager amount of pride he'd just walked away with.

He was just starting to turn back when he heard glass shattering.

"Shit!" He ducked on instinct, waiting for the sound to abate before looking back inside the room.

The girl was crouched behind the couch. Mike crawled over to her.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. What the hell was that?"

"Ohh, not again," someone muttered from further inside the room.

Mike and the girl stared at each other. As one, they peered over the couch.

A blond guy with wings was sprawled on the floor, surrounded by pieces of broken glass.

The girl gasped. "It's the Angel." She got up and ran over to him. 

Mike followed, crouching down to check the guy's pulse. Steady. He leaned in. "Sir, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Don't try to move." The guy was sure to have some serious injuries. Mike ran a light hand over the guy's torso and appendages.

"Anything broken?" asked the girl.

"Not sure. Don't move!" he repeated at the guy's attempt to rise. Mike planted a firmer hand on the guy's chest and glanced up to find the girl looking at him strangely. "Call 911."

"No." The guy brushed Mike's hand away. "I'm not hurt."

Mike gaped at him. The guy shook his head clear and lifted himself up.

"You realize you just fell through a top floor window of a fifty-storey building?" Mike asked, standing to put a steady hand on the guy's right elbow. The girl grabbed the left.

"Thanks, but trust me, I'm fine." The guy somehow managed to break free without being rude. "Sorry for the trouble. I'll cover the damage."

"That's not imp—"

"Thanks again," the guy said before stepping back out through the broken window.

Mike and the girl stepped to the ledge and looked out. The guy was flying between the hotel building and One Times Square, rising higher with every flap of his wings.

"Holy shit," Mike murmured.

"Look." His gaze rose a little to follow the girl's pointing hand.

Nearby were three other people up in the air. A woman carrying a visored boy by the shoulders, and a gold-eyed girl some ways off who suddenly shut her eyes, clutching her head. The woman looked up somewhere to her left as the blond winged guy approached them. He took the other boy from her, moving away as the woman stretched both her hands out towards the girl.

Mike heard the howl of strong winds. He shivered.