Disclaimer: Do you ever have days when you think you have everything, and then you have to write a disclaimer? I'm having one of those days.

Author's Notes: I may have lied mildly in the last chapter. This story is starting to look much less like a collection, and much more like a full-on, knock-down-drag-out, full-fledged, (funny how many of these words have dashes) chapter fic. It seems I have not yet overcome my addiction. And my therapist had such high hopes...

This IS set BEFORE the first chapter. I.E. the first chapter being the prologue, and this being an actual chapter that has cohesive plot and genius characterization throughout. (Yes, I'm laughing at my delusions as well.)

Anyway, this one is rather longer than the usual length I plan on posting. Please enjoy it!

oOo

Some day we will look back on this, laugh nervously, and change the subject. -Someone's Profile

oOo

Three years, six months, one week, and four days earlier. January.

Hinata had long since consigned herself to the unhappy state of permanently being in the process of freezing to death.

She had always known it would one day be her fate; her hands would go completely cold and she would be buried in the Bahamas along with Frosty the Snowman. She had always been cold-natured, with goosebumps popping up on her arms and legs in anything under eighty degrees, but she hadn't known it would happen after falling on the icy steps of the subway with her butt three inches in slush. It was cold, and now she was going to be late to her meeting with her potential client and—and—it was cold.

Moving to New York? Hinata thought, standing up gingerly and wiping at her dark slacks with one pink gloved hand. They were going to take forever to dry. Brilliant idea. I'm cold natured so, naturally, I choose somewhere cold to achieve my dreams of interior design. Brilliant idea.

"Um, hey," someone said from behind her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Hinata sighed, turning around. Any other words froze in her throat at the sight of a blond-haired, blue eyed, modern day Adonis in jeans and a blinding orange jacket. His head was cocked to the side, his lips lightly chapped, and he was just beginning to grin.

"So you're just standing in the middle of the stairs patting at your rear because you had a workout this morning and are testing for tension," he said wisely, grin coming out in full, sparkling view. "I do that myself."

Hinata could feel the blush start in her toes, and it just worked its way up from there. It was really quite helpful, because her bum was going numb from its continued icy dip. She wondered how many other people had seen her make a complete idiot out of herself and—she realized with a wince—bruise her tailbone.

"No—I—sorry," Hinata stammered, clinging to the rail and pressing herself against the graffitied wall. "I just—I slipped—I… I am so sorry."

"Nah," the guy said, moving to lean beside her so a man (who shot them a nasty look and was flipped the bird by her impromptu companion in return) could get by. "It's all good. So, to return to my earlier question: Are you okay? I mean, if you fell down…"

"Oh!" Hinata said, and let herself entertain the idea he was being so nice because he wanted her phone number for a moment. Probably not. He was good looking, kind, and therefore taken. Or gay. Or taken and gay. Or taken and gay and with a jealous lover that was going to kill and bury her.

Her life was officially hitting a new low.

"No," Hinata said firmly, sidling down the steps and being much more careful about where she placed her feet. She shivered as the ice water soaked through her underwear. "I'm okay. Thank you, though. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," the guy said, nodded a goodbye, and jogged down the last few steps to evaporate among the labyrinth of the New York subway.

Hinata stood watching him go for a moment, thinking that somehow he was familiar, and then remembered she had places to be, things to do, and people to pump for every last cent they owned so she could pay her heating bill.

Oh, she thought sadly, heat…

She hurried past the musicians and dancers putting themselves on display for a few extra bucks. Pressing through the turn stile, she barely made it on the train before the doors rattled shut, grateful for the blasts of warm air on her frozen cheeks.

Ah, heat… heat, heat, heat. Wonderful, amazing, incredible, lovely, heat.

She took a seat between a man hugging his briefcase like a lifeline, suit the worse for wear, and another man with a gold watch on his wrist talking a mile a minute on his cell phone. He swore a great deal, and most of his conversation seemed to consist solely of berating the person on the other end about how much of an idiot they were, how much money he shouldn't be sending them, the stupidity of their mother, and any interruption was quickly cut off with a steady stream of swearing.

Hinata spent most of the ride focusing on how cold her butt was, how much thinner her coat seemed, and the contents of her wallet to know which store she should stop at for an immediate pants transferral.

Not too pricey, as it turned out, but she was able to find a replacement that didn't scream 'jump me!' or 'mother-in-training'. She rather wished she had Ino and Sakura with her at times like these, her friends were shopping geniuses; but Sakura's grandmother had recently died and Ino had gone with her to Georgia to handle the sale of the family farm.

She walked into the coffee shop to meet her client five minutes late by her watch, and two minutes early by anyone else's. Her much-loved-but-none-the-less-had-betrayed-her pair of pants was stuffed into a bag she had also managed to pick up. She probably looked ridiculous. One nice little black number slung over one shoulder, and a big, striped cloth thing thrown over the other—topped, of course, by a big wet splotch on one side. Hinata silently prayed to whomever might be listening that the client wouldn't notice.

The meeting place her cli—prospective client, she reminded herself—had opted for was blatantly casual and was, blessedly, well within her price range. She hadn't been sure what she would have done if she couldn't afford her meal. Probably run screaming in the other direction. Or, if she wasn't too humiliated, just climb under her covers and will the world away.

She chose a small table at the front, near the doors so she could see whoever was coming in. The man she was meeting had been very specific about what he was wearing, so she was sure she would—

She froze, dug in her pocket for the small slip of paper that had the client's information, and groaned aloud. He would be wearing an orange and black jacket, just as she would be wearing her purple one, so that surely they would spot each other right off. Except they already had. Because now she knew why the nice man earlier had seemed familiar, he was the client that had called her just yesterday. He was the client that had watched her make a complete fool of herself this morning, taking an icy, bumpy slide down into the subway.

Yup, she was going to have to run screaming.

I could just kill myself now, she thought. And save myself the humiliation. I could just take one of those nice plastic knives and shove it into my brain and swirl it like the Egyptians used to. Or throw myself in the way of oncoming traffic. …Or I suppose I could just overdose on the coffee beans in the back and have a heart attack. Either, or.

To calm herself, Hinata spent a good deal of her time people watching (always waiting for a flash of orange coat). The general hustle and bustle was interesting in its own way. People coming and going and staying in all different shapes, sizes, colors, cloths, mannerisms, emotions… She wondered how many of them thought the same thing when they watched people. Did they wonder about other's pasts? Did they imagine what such-and-such person did with their lives? Maybe the woman in the red coat was a Russian spy. She had the cheekbones for it…

"Um, excuse me? Are you Hinata Hyuuga?"

Hinata looked up, already trying to contain her mortification at the thought of seeing the grinning god again, but instead found a portly gentleman about the age of forty, nearly bald, and nervous looking, wearing a black and orange jacket—that, really, was more black than orange.

Her face flushed in surprising anger. All that time worrying, and the man in the subway hadn't even bothered to show up!

The nerve.

"Yes," Hinata said instead, smoothly, standing up and shaking his proffered hand. "And you must be Mister Maier, so nice to meet you. Why don't we get some coffee, and then we can sit down and discuss this project of yours. It was your sitting room, wasn't it?"

oOo

Author's Notes: Strangely, I feel like I forgot to tell you all something, but for the life of me I can't remember to tell you what I must have forgotten. So I'll digress and ramble for a bit, because I know how much you all love to see me ramble.

(Insert witty and clever ramble here about all the witty and clever things I forgot to say.)

There we are then.

Please review, it will probably make my day.

Oh! And any suggestions or critiques? Long reviews are fun, but short ones are great too... and now I am rambling. Sorry. I'll just let you get on with life now...