Me again. God, I don't envy Chase at all. Usual disclaimers.

"I cannot believe I'm doing this."

--You want to win, don't you?—

--"If you for one minute think I'm putting on that outfit…"—

"What outfit?"

Chase sighed loudly, and Kyle chuckled. –"Genius boy here wants me to dress up as Princess Leia."—

"I can see it," Morgan said sincerely. "White dress, little buns…"

--"Not that one. The other one."—

Morgan stared. "Oh."

"Damn skippy. You'd have to pay me twice that to get me in that getup."

--But you'll look great in it,-- Kyle argued. –Plus, there's a five thousand dollar prize for the person who most closely resembles one of the original characters.—

--"Hey, I look like Natalie Portman,"— Chase argued. –"And red and gold happen to be my colors."—

--Five thousand dollars. It's double for the person who can pull off the infamous bikini.—

--"Ten thousand?! Why didn't you say so?!"—

--I was hoping you'd do it just for me.—

--"I ought to smack you right here."-- Chase heaved another great sigh as Morgan finally succumbed to his raging fit of laughter. "What are you laughing at, Morgan?" the experienced investigator said briskly. "You get to dress up as Mace Windu…"

"Oh, hell no. Sam Jackson looks better in that thing than I will."

"If I'm looking like every man's fantasy of a slave girl, you're putting on a gold dress. Period."

"Well, what's he wearing?" Morgan inquired, pointing at Kyle.

"What he always wears—the smuggler getup."

"You're serious?!"

Kyle nodded. –I'm always Han Solo,-- he said simply. –He's great. A normal guy in a world full of extraordinary people. Like me.—

Morgan shook his head and grabbed his camera. If she's getting dressed up in that getup, I'm definitely taking a few 'commemorative' shots…

"You snap one picture of me in that thing and they'll find Jimmy Hoffa in Detroit before they find your remains, Morgan. I promise."

----

"Oh, no, she is not," Connie said, putting her foot down. "Anya, I know, and I'm trying really, really, really hard, but she did not just threaten him…."

"You honestly think she'd try something like that?"

"I've heard rumors about her. Some say she's killed people before…"

"Ask Terrence. He's the only one who'd know." Anya settled down with a tall glass of iced tea, eager to see the group dressing up for the 'group challenge'. "Personally, there's been a few times Oliver's wondered about her too."

"Really?"

"Well, she does seem to know a quite a bit of people," the redheaded angel admitted. "And I've seen her shoot. When she's mad, she's scary."

"Whoa. And she's not destined for the other place how?"

"Seems there's something about her the Big Guy likes, or at least understands. Deep down, I think she's a good person."

"I know she is," Stanley said, taking a long pull off of his cola and grenadine. "You should have seen her when Dr. Reid was snatched by that crazy deaf guy at her college…that was amazing. And she did it out of loyalty."

"Did she know him?" Anya asked.

"They'd met a day before," Stanley said. "I've heard tell she doesn't take kindly to people getting hurt—at least, not people that don't have it coming, like terrorists or murderers or people who hurt kids."

"Strange," Anya said. "Still, I bet she'll look good in that bikini…"

----

"Okay, so we've gotten our room, found my guy, gotten tattoos--"

"That look great, by the way."

Garcia smiled. "All that's left to do is dress like a geisha and eat a live octopus. Simple enough."

"You ever tried eating live octopus, Garcia?" Rossi asked.

"No. But then, I've never dressed up like a Japanese escort, either."

"Truth be told, I'm a little nervous. One wrong move with those things and it'll kill you."

"Really?"

"Really. Had a friend who tried eating one—was the type to try anything once—and he ended up in the hospital. He was lucky they managed to get it out in time."

"Eeeew," Garcia said, wrinkling her nose. "Okay then, so it's off to buy a kimono and those little sandals, and then hit a fishmonger."

"I have a better idea," Rossi said. "But first, we'll get your outfit."

----

"Live octopus?! Thees ees not serious?!"

"Sounds to me like they're dead serious, Willy. A live octopus. Wonder who put that one in the mix?" Jorge said as he kept a close eye on Garcia, now unsteadily trying on little pairs of geisha sandals. "Man, those things look horrible…"

"No. I cannot do thees. Everytheeng has to be perfect, and it vill be impossible. And eet cannot be left to an amateur!"

"Hey, who you callin' an 'amateur'?" Jorge spat. "Pay attention to Garcia—she's about to break her neck on those things!"

Wilhelm deftly pushed Garcia back up onto the tiny heels, making sure she stood steady in the precarious footwear. "She should get the flat ones," he said simply, and quickly touched her head with the idea.

"Nice save."

"Thank you," Wilhelm said brusquely. "Now, about that octopus…"

----

"Finally. Mackinac Island Fudge ice cream. God, you wouldn't believe what I had to do to get this!" Oliver said to the shop clerk as she was dishing out a bowl of Superman for Jack.

"Out of towner, huh?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Locals have no trouble finding the stuff. They sell it in the store."

"Really?" Reid asked. "Interesting."

"At least, they do around here. For you, sir?" she asked, looking at Hotch.

"Um, none, thanks…"

"Oh, come on," Oliver chided lightly. "Live a little."

"No ice cream, Daddy?" Jack asked, his little face covered in bright colors.

"Fine. I'll go with butter pecan."

"One scoop or two?"

"One…no, two. Why not?" the lead agent decided.

The clerk quickly paddled two large scoops into a giant waffle cone. "Free upgrade," she said. "Not every day I get people from Virginia—especially this time of year. And you, sir?" she asked, looking at Reid.

"There are over sixty flavors available," the younger agent remarked.

"Reid, no statistics!" Oliver cried.

"It's a fact. There are. I counted. And I'll have a turtle sundae."

"Oh, those are great. Walnuts, or pecans?"

"Pecans."

"Even better. So, what is this, some kind of bet?"

"You could say that. Some friends of ours thought a scavenger hunt was in order for the holiday," Oliver explained.

"Only we have to do certain things rather than find them," Reid supplied as the clerk finished his sundae.

"Hence the thing about statistics," the young woman said finally, a note of realization to her voice. "Well, good luck. And we can ship out that gallon of ice cream this afternoon—next day, guaranteed."

"Perfect," Oliver said, furiously licking his ice cream cone. "God, it's good to come home every now and again…"

"You're from here?"

"From Tawas, actually. Moved to Boston when I was about fourteen."

"Really? Nice place, Tawas."

"Best view anywhere. Thanks a lot."

"Good luck!" the clerk called out one more as the little group left the shop.

----

"I didn't know he was from Tawas," Gina said. "No wonder he knew where to find the ice cream…"

"Someone put that one in as a random thing, I bet," Reginald said quickly. "They couldn't have expected someone to actually find it."

"He did," Charlene chortled. "Smart man, that Oliver."

"I see why he does what he does for a living," Gina mused. "Nice save on Reid there, Reg. That was close."

"If he just states plain facts, it's not a statistic. It must be murder to not do what one is naturally accustomed to," the Britisher said, itching to know what was happening to his beloved Emily. "I do miss my work with Emily…"

"Yeah, and I'm wondering about my guy too," Charlene said. "Wonder what kind of mischief he's been into since I've been gone…"