September, 1998

Erik carefully flexed his right hand against the muscle of his thigh. His thumb protested at the movement, the partially torn ligament sending a bolt of pain down his arm and to his elbow, but he was more than positive it was something that he could easily wrap up himself. He didn't want to get the team's medic involved – again. As it was, he was more familiar with the physician's life story than he was with any of his team members. And the whole lot of them have been working together for a little over a month.

"'Ey up!" A large hand clapped Erik's broad shoulder. He tensed under the weight, but he could easily pinpoint that brusque accent out of any crowd. "Quit your brooding, Lehnsherr."

Erik lifted the corner of his lips into the semblance of a smile, and shook his head. He wrapped his left hand around a little tighter around the bottle of Beck's he was nursing. "I told you – that's my resting face."

Unuscione, called Unus for practicality's sake, grinned at Erik's dry tone. "You've done nothing but rest your face." He motioned towards a small group of their team heading towards the bar's front exit. "And the point of a pub crawl is to actually go to different bars. So, c'mon! New York is full of alcohol, and maybe we can pour enough into one of the women here and get her to wipe that face off your look."

Erik turned his head to face Unus, one brow perked in amusement and his lips twisted in mirth. He released his hold from the bottle, and used it to pry the other man's death grip from his shoulder. "I think you should be cut off," Erik drawled as he watched Unus nearly collapse without the support. He caught the disdainful eye of a leggy brunette, and switched to German. "I also think you should refrain from speaking of American women in English. They can understand you, you know."

Unus frowned. "I thought they spoke American," he grumbled, but at least it was also in German. He sniffed, and blinked sleepily at Erik's face. In English he crowed: "Fine. Fine, we'll go! But at least have some fun for Christ's sake!"

Erik nodded dutifully, and held up his bottle for good measure. "I'll be fine, Unus."

The larger man returned the nod, and clumsily picked his way towards the front entrance. Erik watched from the corner of his eye. He didn't much care for the majority of the men he had been rigorously training with, but Unus was one of the less grievous ones.

When the other man finally managed to leave without incident, Erik heaved a sigh and turned his attention back to picking at the wet label of the bottle. He picked it up, narrowed his eyes at it, then took a long swig. It tasted awful, but it was expensive and he paid for it.

He leaned back on his stool, jerking when he forgot it didn't have a back to it, and he nearly slid off entirely as a result. He sighed again, took another sip, and grimaced at the bitter ale. It wasn't that he wasn't trying to have fun, it was just that he didn't much care for New York drinks, food, or people. Then again, he didn't much care for any of those things on a daily basis.

"I thought that boorish man told you to have fun," a Polish accent murmured by his side.

Erik's body stiffened in shock. He couldn't help but widen his eyes as he slowly turned to take in an almost long forgotten figure. She was taller, obviously, and the cute little gap between her teeth had long ago closed, but she still looked very much the same. Her dark brown hair was braided down to her waist, just like the day they first met, and her skin was tan from years in the sun.

"Magda." His voice cracked on her name. He cleared his throat, shook his head, and tried again. "Magda?" She confirmed her identity with a beaming smile, and threw her arms out to accept his sudden and enthusiastic hug. He gathered up her lithe body as close to his own as he could, and burrowed his nose into the side of her neck. "Magda," he whispered.

"I've missed you," she murmured in Polish into the curve of his ear.

"And I you," he replied back in German.

TBC...

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