Our Work In Progress

A hot orange beam sizzled past him, followed by the sprinting form of Peter Venkman as he chased the class 5 around a corner. "Egon, go the other way and head it off!" he shouted, disappearing. Egon pushed himself upright with a protested groan and turned, staggering in the other direction.

The temperature in New York was officially ninety-six degrees, but down by the pier where the sun beat down unchallenged it felt more like a hundred and ninety. Forty pounds worth of proton pack made his uniform cling to his back with a hot, soaked feeling that set his teeth on edge. He removed his fogged glasses, wiping them futilely on his dirty sleeve before replacing them, sighing when the scene before remained as fogged as before.

Rather than cursing the heat wave in New York or the fact that the uniforms didn't allow for shorts (not, Egon had to admit, that shorts were safe to wear around particularly nasty ghosts if you wanted to keep your legs), Egon stood still, holding his proton wand at the ready. Although his glasses refused to de-fog, he could still make out movement--if there was one lucky thing about being visually impaired, it was knowing how to get around said impairment.

Off to the right he heard the unmistakeable sound of a proton steam striking something solid, like a wall. A voice cursed, then raised in a shout that was quickly drowned out by another blast.

The Class Five in question--at least, Egon assumed that was the glowing blob floating in front of him--hovered a moment. Egon fired, but the ghost was already out of the way, speeding towards a sailboat. He shook his head; there were times when the speed of light just wasn't fast enough. At least his glasses were finally clearing.

Winston came around the corner, evidently wet with something, although whether it was slime or sweat Egon couldn't tell. Winston raised his wand as the ghost veered away from the sail and back towards them. "C'mon. Let's hit it with a two-fer."

Egon nodded, taking a step back and bracing himself. Just as it cleared the edge of the boat and picked up speed towards them, another brighter flash of light made both men flinch, and even the ghost paused, watching with its tennis ball-sized eyes as something emerged from the light, landing on the wooden dock with an "oof!"

It looked like a woman, Egon thought, and instinctively, he charged forward. "Winston! Cover me.”

Winston nodded, never taking his eyes off the specter. "You got it."

Egon knelt in front of the woman, putting himself between her and the ghost. "I don't know who or what you are, but you picked an inopportune time to excite quanta..."

A head covered with hair of several shades of red and brown slowly raised. "Quan...who?" Slightly crossed brown eyes focused blearily on the class 5, which had already locked in on her and moved into a steep dive. "Oh bloody hell!"

Egon shook his head. "Not today." He aimed at the ghost and fired, hoping his energy beam would hold for a few moments until he could get Winston's help.

Winston didn't need to be asked. He fired at the ghost almost at the same time as Egon, and the two snares together trapped the ghost.

Egon spoke to the woman behind him. "If you would take the small box-shaped electronic device from my side and place it on the ground in front of me, that would be incredibly helpful."

"Small...yeah...sure." She unclipped the trap from his belt. "Wow...look, it's even got little wheels on i--oh, right." Setting it on the ground, she gripped the handle and rolled it; it came to a stop right under the ghost.

Without any further ado, Egon stomped on the pedal to activate the trap. The Class 5 yowled as it was sucked into the trap, and then the door closed. Both Winston and Egon deactivated their proton packs.

Peter walked onto the pier. "I see I'm going to have to do all the work around here." He picked up the ghost trap. "Honestly. You should know better than to leave these things lying around. Where were you brought up? In a barn?"

Winston moved as if to smack him, then stopped. "Nah, it's too hot."

Egon let out a long breath. He was just about to allow the weight of his proton pack to bring him into a prone position on the pier. Then he remembered their unexpected guest, and looked at her, remaining seated. "May I scan you?"

She shrank a little, eyes going wide. "Scan for what?"

Egon smiled, hoping he looked friendly and not bizarre. "I'm sorry, but the fact is that you happened upon us in unusual circumstances and..."

"Unusual circumstances? What'd she do, fall out of the sky?" Peter asked.

Egon nodded. "Basically."

"I didn't fall out of the sky," she said, raising her chin. "I fell out of the thirteenth subthread of the fifth linear time-stream. I had to bail."

"Oh, good. She speaks Egon," Peter said, rolling his eyes.

Egon ignored Peter's remark. This stranger was becoming more and more intriguing. "This is fascinating...what forced you out? Was it the instability of the thread itself or the slippage between time-streams?"

"I'm not sure. I was cruising along at level 12 hyperspeed and then it was like 'bam!' and I--hey, maybe the console can tell me." She parted the thick folds of her long coat and reached inside, pulled out a square device the size of a small radio. "Oh no. Not good. Not good!"

Ray came running over. "Hey, guys, what's happening?"

"We got the class 5, Ray," Winston said, pointing to the ghost trap Peter was still holding.

"And those two are doing what I think passes for flirting among scientists," Peter said.

Egon looked over the woman's shoulder. "What is it?"

Her fingers ran over the small screen, which sported a deep crack; dark fluid was already seeping out. A deep dent in the casing had split the heavy plastic--the smell of burnt circuitry wafted out. "This is wasted," she moaned. "I am in SO much trouble..."

Egon squinted at it. "The device you used to travel through time-space?" He wanted to ask her a million questions about it, but for now, he decided two would suffice. "Where did you get it?"

"This is just the remote unit--I can't very well drag a six ton trans-dimensional unit with full network--well, I can't take that whole thing with me, so this is my remote unit." She scowled at the battered equipment, slapping it a few times as if it would fix everything. "WAS my remote unit."

Ray took a hesitant step forward. "Excuse me...I don't mean to disturb you, but...do you have a name?"

"Just call me Mich," she said, managing a smile.

"Mich. Hello. I'm Ray Stantz," Ray said. "This is Winston Zeddemore..."

Winston smiled at Mich. "How you doing, Mich?"

Ray pointed to Peter. "Peter Venkman..."

"THE Peter Venkman," Peter said, raising his eyebrows at Mich.

"And I'm Egon Spengler," Egon said, wishing for the umpteenth time that he didn't have such an unwieldy name.

"Egon? Wow...you're only the second Egon I've ever met." She grinned unabashedly, her current dilemma momentarily forgotten.

Egon's eyebrows rose. "The second?"

"I went to school with a guy named Egon. He was a real space cadet, but he was good for laughs. And he helped me pass Interspatial Mechanics."

Egon smiled. "I've never met another one."

"Don't mean to interrupt, but do you guys think you can discuss this stuff back at HQ?" Winston asked. "At least it's air-conditioned."

"HQ? Hey, are you guys like the martials? Only you nab crooks that float or something?" The question was asked with the complete guilelessness of a very naive teenager.

Egon struggled to his feet, offering Mich a hand to help her up. "I'd be happy to explain it to you on the way."

Winston looked sideways at Peter as they headed for the Ectomobile. "Don't say it."

"I'll have you know I have a very innocent and pure mind," Peter said.

"When you were two, perhaps," she said, straightening and dusting off the long coat that shrouded her like a cloak.

"Hey! No fair; I wasn't ready!" Peter said.

Egon smirked. He liked Mich already. "Nicely done."

"Takes a smartass to know one," she replied with a wink. "Wow, nice ride!" She blinked for a few moments at the tires. "Ground transport? I've never ridden in one of these before..."

Egon's forehead furrowed. "Just what kind of world do you come from?"

"New York," she answered, getting into the back seat.

Thinking that that was no answer at all, Egon slid into the seat beside her.

"New York when?" Ray asked.

"Which calendar you use? Gregorian?" Her eyes rolled up as she calculated in her head. "1992, by your way of measuring time."

"I think we'd all like to hear more about your New York," Egon said.

"What you wanna know? Only...don't ask for history questions. I'm lousy at history."

"Your little box there...is that the usual way people get around there?" Winston asked.

"This? Hell no. I mean, we teleport, but this is a dimension hopper. Very special." She sighed. "Not so special now since I'm stuck here."

Egon patted Mich's hand awkwardly. "It's not that bad."

Peter craned his neck around to look at Egon. "Not that bad? Have you taken a look around lately?"

As he spoke, Ecto passed by a streetcorner where several police officers were pushing and shoving a few homeless men, whose meagre possessions were scattered by the boots and nightsticks of the officers. Mich watched with an expression of mingled distaste and confusion. "Did...they do something wrong?"

"Probably not," Peter said.

Ray looked amazed. "You don't have homeless people where you come from?"

"Homeless? Oh, right. Not exactly--we have freaky people who roam around the streets and parks because they're weird, but we don't have any involuntary homeless. I keep forgetting that not all dimensions are the same," she said, returning her gaze to the streets.

"Don't worry," Egon said. "We'll help you find your way in this one."

"Could be fun," she murmured. "And you guys are okay...if a little wet."

"A little," Peter muttered. "You could wring our clothes and get the Great Salt Lake."

"Well, wearing heavy uniforms in such warm weather...what do you expect?" she said matter-of-factly.

"They're flame-retardant, which can be important in our line," Winston said. "Wait. We still haven't told you what our line is."

"We call ourselves Ghostbusters," Egon said. "We fight paranormal disturbances when all other options have been exhausted."

"Wow!" she exclaimed, startling them. "That's what that thing was? Oh, this is SO cool!"

"You think so?" Ray asked.

“I wanted to major in Trans-Spectral Theory but my parents wouldn't let me. So I went into the dimensional major just to piss them off."

"You could certainly be a help to us," Egon said.

"Excuse me, Egon? She just fell out of a blinding flash of light, and all of a sudden, we're helping her with her homework?" Peter asked.

"You have to admit, it is a little sudden," Winston said.

Mich stuck out her tongue. "I'm not IN school, silly. I graduated a couple years ago--been working for the Ministry's Office of Dimensional Studies ever since."

Peter gave Egon a look that said 'we'll talk about this later.' Right now, Egon was only interested in a few things--getting out of his wet clothes, getting into an air-conditioned room, and getting to know Mich better.

Chapter 2

Janine Melnitz looked up as the big Cadillac slid into the bay. Her four employers piled out, Egon pausing to pry a fifth person from the car. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of the young woman, who was dressed like some kind of punk reject--multi-colored hair and wild, eclectic clothes--and staring open=mouthed at the firehouse's high ceiling.

"New friend?" Janine asked. Punk-Girl didn't exactly look like the kind of girl the boys usually brought over; maybe she was in trouble or something.

"Yeah," Peter said. "She's a dangerous convict from another realm and we thought you two might like to bunk together."

Punk-Girl poked Venkman in the ribs. "Heard that." She eyed the poles. "You know what would be so killer? If you put like ropes on the ceiling so you could swing across like this!" She motioned expansively, nearly hitting Venkman in the head.

Janine pursed her lips, smiling just a little. There was something naive and interesting about this woman.

Egon coughed. "Some of us lack the physical coordination...necessary to..."

"What he's saying is, we'd fall down," Peter said.

"Oh pfft," she said dismissively. "Anyone can learn." Her attention finally settled to eye-level and fixed on Janine. "Hi! Are you a Ghostbuster too?"

"No, I'm a secretary," Janine said, holding out her hand. "Janine Melnitz."

"Mich," the other said, shaking her hand firmly.

'I'm going upstairs and spending the next six years in the shower. Anyone gonna join me?" Venkman said, plodding towards the stairs.

"I call it after you," Winston said, who had remained silent for so long because he was lying on his back on the cool floor.

Janine looked more carefully at Mich. "So...what's your story? Are you a new customer?"

"Customer? Me? Nah, I'm broke. I fell out of the hyperstream--" here she mimed a dive "--and landed right on my knees and the remote unit. Fried both," she added with a sheepish grin.

Janine nodded, wishing she were smarter and understood this sciency stuff. "Hyperstream? Is that like the East River?"

"More like quantum subspace theory. You see, right below--not directionally, of course, since directionality is determined by gravity and perception and those are subjective--anyway, below real space is subspace, and in subspace the laws of spacial relations and linearity are not subject to the same laws as real space--"

Janine held up a hand. "Thanks. I got 'you see' and 'right below' outta that, so you'd be better not wasting your time trying to explain things to me."

Mich's face fell. "Really? You didn't have quantum subspace theory in school? I thought everyone understood it..."

"It's as common as history or arithmetic?" Egon asked, clearly intrigued.

"Well, yeah. I had my first quantum mechanics class in secondary school. I was twelve. Why, don't they teach that here?"

Janine blinked. "Where in the world did you go to school?"

Ray shook his head. "You're thinking too small, Janine. She didn't go anywhere in this world."

Mich scratched her head. "Wow, this is New York, but it's a lot different than my New York. Wish I could remember how many streams I crossed before I fell out--that'd explain the mass divergence."

Janine paused. "So wait. You're from some different version of New York? Why didn't somebody just SAY so?"

"I just did." Mich looked at Ray. "Is everyone here this confusing?"

Ray smiled kindly at her. "Don't worry. You'll get used to it soon. Janine's not a scientist, and the technical jargon can get a bit thick and confusing if you're not used to it."

"Oh yeah, jargon. I keep forgetting about that . . . and usually no one will TELL me I'm rambling until I've been talking for half and hour and everyone's gone off leaving me by myself talking to the damn wall . . . " She trailed off. "Kinda like now."

Janine snorted. "Don't worry, hon. Here, someone will ALWAYS tell you. We're not short on talkers."

"Oh goody! I'm so glad to find people who understand the stuff I do!" She took a step forward, her knee hitting the edge of Janine's desk with a solid thunk. "Yeow!" she howled, grabbing the injured appendage as she hopped on one leg, a string of colorful--and not entirely recognizable--curse words streaming from her lips.

Ray frowned. "Are you all right?" He bent down to look at her knee. "Oh my gosh, Mich...you've hurt your knee..."

"I did?" She stopped, looking down. "Dude, that's really gross."

Egon looked concerned, taking a step forward, but Ray put his hand on Mich's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get that cleaned and bandaged."

As they headed off, Egon took a step back.

"Is anything wrong, Egon?" Janine asked.

Egon looked at her. "Hmm? No, nothing. I was...thinking about the...class 5." He held up a ghost trap. "I'd better take care of it."

Janine watched as he headed to the basement, his long stride a little slower than usual, until the ringing phone directed her attention elsewhere.

Chapter 3

He was pretty. Mich had already decided that before they'd gotten upstairs, and while Ray was kneeling at her feet, carefully cleaning the ugly scrape on her knee, she took the opportunity to carefully study his features--his round face, powerfully arched eyebrows, expressive eyes, and his full lips, which pursed as he worked. He tossed another bloody pad onto the table, brushing some damp hair off his forehead before reaching for a band-aid. "Almost finished."

"Take your time," she said. "Doesn't hurt."

"I'm sure you're just saying that," Ray said, shaking his head. "I can't believe you fell onto a pier and none of us thought to check you for injuries."

"Aw hell, *I* didn't think to check for injuries. It didn't ever tear my pants--didn't notice it until I hit the desk."

Ray stuck the band-aid gently, covering the injured area. "There you go. You should be good as new in a couple days."

"Thanks," she grinned. "My knight in shining armor."

Ray smiled, ducking his head a little. "Somehow I don't think gauze pads and a band-aid translate into armor."

"Armor comes in many forms, grasshopper," she said, pushing herself upright and testing the band-aid. "This place is the coolest! Man, you gotta show me everything!"

"Everything in headquarters, or everything in New York?" Ray asked. "I think we can handle the former, but the latter might take a while."

"I wanna see it all . . . I have all the time in the world."

Ray looked genuinely curious. "Are you immortal?"

"Huh? Me? Oh no--but I'm twenty-seven and it looks like I'm gonna be here on a permanent vacation. Might as well get my lifetime's worth."

Ray nodded. "Are you sorry?"

"Don't know yet. There's a lot worse places I could have fallen out in, and at least I met some nice guys. Ask me later."

Ray sat beside her on the bed. "Okay. But you know that if you want to talk...if any part of this is bothering you...we're all here for you."

She blinked a few times, absorbing what he'd said. "Thanks," she said at length. "I'll keep that in mind."

Evidently, Ray mistook her pause for concern. "And don't worry about the ghosts. We're trained to handle them, and we can protect you from pretty much anything that comes along."

"I'm not afraid of ghosts," she said. "Don't think my weapons will be much use against them, but it doesn't bother me."

"What kind of weapons?" Ray asked.

She took off her heavy coat and laid it aside; a short double-edged sword was strapped across her back and a small handgun--one that looked, however, like it fired anything but bullets--was attached to her belt at her lower back.

Ray's eyes widened. "Oh...wow..."

"I don't like carrying this," she said, pulling out the gun. "But they make us--'for standard security measures designed to ensure the safety of each Ministry agent.'" She rolled her eyes.

"You mentioned the Ministry before," Ray said. "It's a government agency, isn't it?"

"Yeah. They control all the advanced technology and they're even stricter with the experimental tech. One of my departments," she said, grinning ferally. "I've tested their security quite a few times myself."

"I see," Ray said. "So, in essence...you designed the machine that brought you here?"

"Not really. The scientists before me did--I just made it more efficient and figured out how to work it better than anyone else."

"That's very impressive." Ray paused, searching for something to say. He settled for patting her hand.

She covered it with her own, smiling at him. "So are you."

Ray smiled back. "I have a feeling you and I are going to get on very well."

"Wow, Ray, this is a record time for you." Peter wandered into the bedroom, dressed in nothing but a towel, his wet hair dark ringlets on his neck. "How many time have I told you that Moving In On Chicks was MY field of specialty?"

Ray moved his hand away from Mich's. "You have the mind of a suspicious mother and a dirty old man combined."

"And the legs of a chicken," Mich dryly observed.

Ray stifled a chuckle.

"Hey, do I comment on your physique when you're only wearing a towel?" Peter asked.

"You're assuming I'd LET you see me wearing only a towel," she winked.

Peter smirked. "See, Ray? I'm stealing your girlfriend already."

Ray blushed a deep shade of red and quickly got up. "Hey, where's Egon?"

"I dunno. You came upstairs after I did, remember?" Peter said.

"Maybe he got lost," Mich said, drawing an annoyed and a confused look. "Just kidding."

Peter arched an eyebrow. "Is that a hint?"

"A hint to what?"

Peter took some clothes out of the drawer. "All right, that does it. I'm changing in the bathroom."

"No, no, I'll go," Ray said, heading for the door. "I should make sure Egon took care of the ghost trap anyway."

"Can I watch?" Mich said, following him. "Never seen a ghost trap before. I mean, while it's emptying."

"Sure," Ray said, hurrying out of the room before Peter started making loud kissy noises or something equally embarrassing.

"Oooh, we're going downstairs, right?" Mich asked, her eyes kindled with a very familiar glow.

"Trust me, it's not that exciting," Ray said.

"Yeah. We haven't installed the ropes yet," Peter called after them.

His words fell on deaf ears as Mich leaped on the pole with a whoop and slid out of sight.

Ray looked at Peter, who mouthed "girlfriend". Ray shook his head and followed Mich down the pole.

Chapter 4

Egon pushed his glasses up on his nose, attempting to concentrate on the ghost trap in front of him and not on Mich. He wasn't sure why, but he was disappointed that Ray had noticed that Mich was hurt, and that he hadn't. He should've been more observant, and although he told himself it was no big deal, he wasn't entirely convinced of that.

Why was he spending so much time musing on it? She was absolutely nothing like him--brash, loud, immature, and boisterous. But she was smart. She was intelligent, able to grasp the theoreticals that sent most people running for the aspirin with their heads between their hands. And her enthusiasm meant that his rapid-fire questions would be welcomed and answered just as quickly.

He started, realizing that he'd been sitting and staring at the containment unit for nearly five minutes. This was ridiculous; he was acting like Peter Venkman after he'd fallen head heart and heels in love with Dana. Egon was NOT in love.

Of course, Egon reflected, he wasn't sure he'd ever been in love. A scientist needed to be able to repeat experimental conditions to prove the veracity of something, and Egon hadn't had any experimental conditions yet. Although there had been that time as an undergraduate...

Thankfully, just at the point where Egon was about to confuse himself, footsteps sounded behind him. Egon reasoned it must be Ray, and he was glad to be distracted from his muddled and somewhat irrational thought processes.

"Ray," Egon said. "How is she?" Then he turned...to find Mich standing behind him.

"She's fine," she grinned. "All fixed up." She gestured to her bandaged knee. "Of course, this means I've depriciated in value."

Egon shook his head, smiling slightly. "I wouldn't say more than two-point-five percent. Three at the most."

"Oh good. I'll still catch a good price on the open market." She moved to the containment unit. "This is your storage facility?"

"Yes...this is where we keep all we catch, so to speak." He explained it to her in as much detail as he thought she could possibly stand. "Would you like to see it in action?"

"Is the atomic weight of cobalt 58.9?" she said, bouncing on her toes like a small child about to enter a toy store.

Egon's eyes widened, and he had to suppress a full-fledged smile, although he suspected it threatened to overtake him at any minute. "That's...very funny. I use that analogy too." He cleared his throat. "But on to the containment unit." He put the ghost trap inside. "It's very simple, really..."

She watched raptly as he emptied the trap, explaining each step as he went. Mich bobbed, trying to see things from every angle; Egon couldn't remember having a more rapt--or active--audience.

"I know it's early to be asking this," Egon said, "but have you considered joining our number? You'd make an invaluable addition to the Ghostbusters and none of us has quite the background you have..." Egon trailed off. "Or is that a ridiculous question?"

She paused. "I...I don't know. I mean, I'd love to, but--I DO have a job back in my own dimension and I don't think they'd like me moonlighting." She paused again, her eyes going unfocused, her face adopting a look of seriousness that didn't seem possible given her personality. For a moment she began to say something, then stopped, smiling. "But thanks anyway."

Egon nodded, tightening his mouth in what usually passed for a smile for him. "You're welcome." He wondered why he felt as if he would never run out of things to say to this woman and, at the same time, as if everything he said was somehow wrong and he shouldn't talk at all.

A second pair of boots clunked down the stairs and Mich turned, her cheeks flushing a little as Ray made his casual entrance. It was a move that Egon did not miss.

"Did you show her how the containment unit worked?" Ray asked.

"Uh, yes," Egon said.

Mich crossed the room to Ray. That was a much harder sign to miss. Egon attempted one of his smiles, but quickly gave it up. Nobody was paying attention.

"So what do you guys do when you're not chasing down ghosts and blasting things with those whatever those things are?"

"Proton packs," Ray said with a smile. "Well, we...pretty much stay here."

"That's it? You mean there's nowhere to party?" She mimed holding a hand to her heart and reeled against the wall.

"Oh, I'm sure there are," Ray said, "if you're interested in that."

"We don't frequent that type of establishment," Egon said, suddenly feeling very dorky.

"Type? I'm not talking about a synth club--I mean someplace to sit and have a drink, maybe dance a little!"

Egon's face flamed and he was silent.

"No...that's what we mean too," Ray said hesitantly.

She rolled up her sleeves. "I see I have work to do around here after all."

Egon blinked, examining his laboratory equipment. "What kind of work?"

"Teaching you guys how to go out and have a good time," she said, enunciating the last two words.

"This may be hard for you to believe, Mich, but we have a good time here," Ray said, smiling amicably.

"Okay, so you drink, play some good music, and dance your butts off here? Might be fun--plenty of room upstairs."

"Well, you're close," Egon said. "We occasionally listen to the radio while we eat take-out food and wait for calls."

She covered her ears dramatically. "No no no! MAN I have ground to cover!" She grinned to assure them she was kidding.

Ray smiled. "Well...I don't see any harm in that...it might be fun." He looked at Egon. "Egon?"

"Yes, Ray?" Egon asked, pretending he didn't know what Ray was asking him.

Mich was busy peering into the viewing port, occasionally murmuring "Cool!" or "Whoa!"

"If Mich wants us to go out dancing with her, I think that's a reasonable thing to do, don't you?" Ray asked.

"Ray, that's certainly a very interesting offer, but Mich isn't exactly familiar with this New York," Egon pointed out.

Ray shrugged. "But we are. We could pick a safe place."

Egon frowned. Clubs and bars were on the bottom of his list of "places he enjoyed being," usually just below jail and alleyways.

Winston stuck his head in the door. "What're we talking about?"

"Mich would like to party," Ray said. "We're trying to figure out how to do that."

"As if it requires careful planning," Mich commented.

"Sounds good to me. I haven't been out in a long time," Winston said. "No offense to you guys or anything."

"None taken," Ray said.

Well, that was three to one. Egon was pretty sure Peter would wind up on that side too--Peter was always clamoring for more of a social life, particularly since he had Dana with whom to socialize. He hated being the odd man out and he wasn't too happy with Ray for putting him in this position.

Well, there WAS Janine, and she'd always liked him . . . but she was infatuated with Louis now, so now his options were down to none.

"Hey, why the long face, Egon?" Mich said without a hint of teasing. "It'll be fun."

Egon nodded tightly. He wanted to explain, to say that he was extremely uncomfortable with the places she proposed they go, but he was too embarrassed at the moment to get the words out.

"Great! It's a date!"

"This calls for a change of clothes," Ray said. "I'll go put on my Hawaiian shirt."

Egon looked down at the sweat- and slime-stained jumpsuit he still wore. "Good idea . . . is a suit appropriate?"

"Yeah, if we were going to a funeral," Mich said.

Egon nodded. "I...see. Then what does one usually wear?" He decided to come clean. "I've never done this before."

"Neither have I. Not here, anyway."

Winston leaned on the railing. "Depends where you go. Suits are for nice restaurants and clubs. Button-down shirts, slacks, nice jeans--those are what you wear to a bar for a night on the town."

"Thank you, Winston," Egon said, feeling a little better. Not much, but a little.

"Come on, guys," Ray said. "Let's get moving!"

For everyone else's sake, Egon hoped he was wrong to have misgivings.

Chapter 5

Venkman stuck his head in the door to Egon's room. "You gonna be ready sometime today?"

Egon turned to face Peter. "I'm almost ready now. You're sure I don't need a tie?"

Peter made a face as he looked at Egon's clothes. "What are those?"

Egon looked down. He couldn't see anything wrong with the way he was dressed--he had a nice pair of khaki pants on, coupled with a dark green button-down shirt. "My clothes."

Peter shook his head. "Egon, I'm telling you as a friend...you're a fashion victim."

That was enough. Egon was sick and tired of being told he was nerdy and had his priorities wrong. He sat on his bed. "Maybe you'd better go without me."

Peter looked at Egon for a minute. Then he crossed to the bed and sat beside Egon. "What's going on?"

"I've already lived through the part of my life where I was constantly ridiculed. It was called high school," Egon said.

"Nobody's ridiculing you," Peter said.

Egon gave him a look.

"Okay, yeah, I am, but I ridicule everybody," Peter said, "so that's nothing new. Look, if that's what you wanna wear, I'll leave you alone."

"It isn't that," Egon said.

Peter frowned. "Then what?"

"Academia was my niche," Egon said. "I'm good at it. And post-academia, ghostbusting became my niche. I could work within that infrastructure without worrying about whether I was doing it correctly because I helped create it." Egon paused, afraid he was telling the wrong person. Ah, well. He had embarrassed himself 95% of the way; another 5% wouldn't make much difference. "I don't know how to do this."

Peter nodded. "If it makes you feel any better, Egon...I don't know if you realize this, but none of us are waiting for you to make a mistake and fall on your face so we can laugh at you."

Egon gave Peter another look.

Peter shook his head. "Not even me."

Egon felt a little better; that was about as close to comfort as Peter could get. "All right." He paused. "But...my clothes..."

Peter rubbed his hands together. "Okay. First thing--wear jeans. You have some, right?"

"I think so," Egon said.

Peter went drawer-diving to find said jeans. "Take off the prep-school pants."

Egon removed his khakis, standing awkwardly in his boxers. Peter handed Egon his jeans without looking.

"What about this?" Egon asked.

Peter turned a critical eye on Egon. "Untuck your shirt."

"It looks sloppy," Egon said.

"It's supposed to," Peter said. Egon untucked his shirt, but Peter shook his head. "Unbutton it."

Egon unbuttoned his shirt so that the black T-shirt underneath showed.

"Ditch the green shirt and go with the T," Peter said.

"But it's my undershirt," Egon said.

"I won't tell if you won't," Peter said. "Besides, it'll be hot in there."

Egon removed his button-down shirt. He wasn't used to dressing this way; it made him feel a little unusual, like some exotic boron isotope. The T-shirt was tighter than he might've liked, but he trusted Peter, and he wasn't physically uncomfortable.

"Egon," Peter said, sounding amazed. "You have muscles in your arms."

Egon shrugged.

"How'd that happen?" Peter asked.

Egon considered it. "I've been moving some of our equipment lately in order to maximize laboratory efficiency."

Peter nodded. "You look good, pal. Almost as good as me."

"Well, at least I have something to aspire to," Egon said, dry as toast.

Peter smirked. "C'mon."

It was dark (or as dark as it got in New York, which wasn't very), and Egon was glad everyone was in the car already. He didn't want them to notice his clothes.

"Hey, Egon," Ray said from the driver's seat. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," Egon said, getting into the passenger-side seat.

Ray turned around. "Peter? Is Dana coming?"

"Yeah, she said she'd meet us there," Peter said.

"I'm psyched," Winston said. "This is gonna be great."

"You're telling me," Mich said. "I can't wait to see what the places around here look like."

The garage door rose, and the Ectomobile set off into the night.

Chapter 6

The bar was crowded and noisy, with tendrils of smoke weaving around the overhead lights and eventually drifting over to the bandstand's brighter colored lights. People milled around, drinking and laughing and, in the case of the ones on the cramped dance floor, dancing. Mich stood between Ray and Peter, her body swaying as she faced one, then the other before spinning around.

"Are you having a good time?" Ray shouted to Mich, hoping he'd be heard above the thumping percussion line of the music.

She bounced back and forth, her head bobbing in what he assumed to be a nod.

Venkman couldn't dance, but unlike most of the men in the room, he didn't seem to notice, moving as he saw fit. Ray hoped nobody would think he was having an epileptic fit and try to help.

Ray's gaze drifted across the room to the table they'd occupied when they'd first come in. Egon was sitting there, nursing a drink. He glanced at Ray, then glanced away, taking a sip.

The song ended and Mich waved a hand in front of her face. "Whoa!" she gasped, patting Ray's arm. "Now THAT'S music!" She headed for the table, ignoring the interested looks of several male patrons, and plunked herself next to Egon. "Not much for dancing?"

"I did it once and have yet to recover," Egon said, a slightly amused look on his face. "But you make it look like fun."

"They frown on dancing at home," she said. "They say it's undignified...and before I saw Peter dance I always disagreed." She giggled. "Just getting out and moving around feels good."

"They don't let you dance? That's terrible," Egon said, taking another sip of his drink. "Although Peter's a case in point. He looks as if he's come down with some degenerative disease affecting the nervous system." He took a larger sip. "But he looks comfortable out there."

She moved out of the way as a waitress dropped a couple menus on the table, then picked hers up. "They don't disallow it, but they frown upon it. They don't encourage it, and sometimes if you party or drink or get crazy you can get in trouble at school or work. Societal restraits can be more effective than law sometimes." Her forehead crinkled as she frowned. "What are...hot wings?"

Egon lifted his glass as if in a toast. "Societal restraints." Then he squinted at the menu. "Oh...hot wings? Chicken wings with a spicy sauce on them. It depends on where you are how spicy they are."

"I'll have two dozen," she said as the waitress returned. "And whatever these french fry things are, I'll have two orders. And that fizzy sugary stuff that tickles my nose."

Egon nodded. "Waitress, bring me some fizzy sugary stuff as well."

The waitress nodded as if they were from another planet. "Two sodas, two french fries, and two dozen chicken wings, coming right up."

Egon leaned forward a little. "So, mysterious lady, they don't have soda where you're from either?"

"Nope. No soda, no hot wings, no french fries--I come from Blandsville. Only I didn't know it was Blandsville until I started studying other dimensions."

Egon nodded. "I understand. I think I occasionally confine myself to a sort of Blandsville." He thought for a minute. "Tonight, though...tonight I think I'm getting out."

"Good for you!" she said, thumping the table with her fist. "Everyone needs to get out and live every now and then." She picked up her water glass, draining half of it. "So what's your specialty? I gather you're the theoretical one and Ray," she turned, casting an appreciative look at the engineer, "is the tech-head."

"You would be correct. I work more with the conceptual side of things, although Ray and I both have strong science bases," Egon said, noting her look.

The waitress emerged, balancing a tray that held two baskets of chicken wings and two sodas. "We're backed up in the kitchen but I'll bring out the fries as soon as they're ready."

"Thank you babe," Mich said. "Well, there's something we have in common--I deal with both, too." She picked up one of the wings, sniffing it. "Oooh...spicy." In a move reminiscent of a hungry dog--or Peter Venkman--she put the entire wing in her mouth, chewed a bit, then removed a bare bone from between her teeth. "Wow. These I like."

Egon raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone eat them that way before." He inclined his head forward. "I bow down before you; in comparison to your chicken-wing talents, parapsychological cognition is relatively trivial."

"Oh foo," she said. "Besides, my parents always said I could eat anything." She laid the bone aside and picked up another wing, eating this one normally. "Man, if I ever have to go home I'm gonna miss this food."

Egon frowned. "I thought you said you couldn't go home because your machine broke."

"True, but I might be able to fix it. I have to see what kind of circuitry you have available. Might have to jury-rig something."

"Oh." Egon looked at her. He wanted to tell her that, although he'd just met her, he didn't want her to go. He wanted her to stay with them, so that he could see her every day. He was suddenly terrified that she might disappear one day and he would never see her again. "I don't want..."

She paused her ravenous eating. "Don't want what?"

Egon froze. He knew what he wanted to say...but he couldn't say it. It was obvious how Mich felt about Ray; any idiot could have seen it, and Egon was no idiot. He stared at Mich for a moment. "I...don't want...you to try anything without running it by Ray first. Just to be safe." He was a coward. He was always a coward and now, this time, he was a coward again.

"And what about you? Or does trans-dimensional theory no longer interest you?"

"Of course it interests me," Egon said, leaning forward with obvious excitement. "What can you tell me about it?"

Half an hour later the band ended their set and the dancers moved back to their tables. Ray looked over and saw Mich and Egon having what looked like an animated conversion. He craned his neck and thought he saw diagrams drawn on several napkins; Mich was at the moment gesturing with a french fry.

"What are they doing over there? Plotting world domination?" Peter said, putting his arm around Dana.

"It must be physics," Ray said. "Egon only gets that look in his eye when he's having a scientific discussion."

"I've never seen Egon with that look in his eye," Dana said.

"That's because you've been so enthralled with me," Peter said, "and who can blame you?"

Ray sat next to them. "It's easy--just mention some new theory and you can see him getting really excited. It's subtle, of course," he added, looking back over at the pair. Mich was laughing about something and Egon was giving her a subtle grin. "I think he likes her."

"Yeah, well, he picked a doozy," Peter said.

"The only problem is...I think she likes me."

"How do you feel about her?" Dana asked.

Ray gave her a nervous look. "I, well, she's nice, but..."

Dana nodded. Evidently she had more than a passing familiarity with the "nice-but" school of thought. "Then you have to tell her."

Ray nodded absent-mindedly. "I know, I..."

Dana shook her head. "No, Ray. You HAVE to tell her. I know you're too nice to want to hurt her feelings, but the sooner you do it, the better, so she doesn't get some exaggerated idea of what your relationship is."

"She's right," Peter said. "Better to do it sooner before she really falls for you--the longer you let it go the more it'll hurt her."

Ray sighed. "I'm sure you're right." He brightened. "But maybe I'm wrong. I could be imagining things."

"Yeah, because you always imagine that women you don't know have fallen madly in love with you," Peter said, rolling his eyes.

"I don't think she's madly in love with me," Ray said. "We barely know each other."

"Yeah, but she's indicated that she's interested in you, right?" Dana said, moving over to give Winston room to sit.

"A little." Ray paused. "She looks at me a lot."

"Well, hell, Ray, I look at you a lot too. You think I'm interested in you?" Winston asked. "And anyway, who are we talking about?"

Peter jerked his thumb. "Miss Fall Out Of The Sky."

Winston turned to look at Ray. "You think she's interested in you?"

"I'm sorry I even brought it up," Ray said, holding up his hands. "Can we please talk about something else?"

"Yeah, okay, let's talk about Winston liking you," Peter said. "After all, he's been looking at you a lot lately."

Back at the other table Mich was polishing off her second basket of fries between sips of the Long Island tea at her elbow. "So the interdimensional matrix translates the invisible layers into a visible matrix so we can decipher it."

"And from there, you can observe the different realities and choose where you want to go?" Egon looked to Mich for confirmation that he understood.

"To a degree. Some of them are harder to get into than others--you have to navigate a little and that gets dicey, which is one of the reasons they don't let--well, they want us to be careful."

Egon shook his head. "Fascinating. You and your co-workers are a good fifty to seventy years ahead of current scholarship in this field--here, anyway."

"Fifty years? Wow...I didn't think it was quite that far. I mean, you guys have figured out how to trap and contain entities that have phase-shifted--WE can't do that."

Egon tilted his head. "Really?" He smiled a little. "It seems odd that, with all the differences between our realities, both of them would have ghosts."

"We might, but people who claim to see ghosts are usually taken to the med facilities. Not many come back claiming to believe in ghosts."

Egon sobered, nodding his head. "We have corresponding moments in history. It took us a long time to achieve a viable reputation...and to lose it, and to get it back..."

She nodded, taking a long drink. "Took years for me to convince my parents that trans-dimensional work wasn't a waste of time. My father still makes snide comments."

"Obviously it's not a waste of time if you're here. You've been successful in your aims." Egon sipped his drink. "It would be nice if you could have a moment."

"Have a moment for what?" Her eyebrows twiched mischievously and she glanced at Ray.

"A moment to prove to the people who didn't believe in you how wrong they are. Everyone should have a moment like that. You deserve it." And Egon took a big swig of his drink while Mich's head was turned.

"Thanks," she said, returning her attention to him and giving him a wide smile.

Egon nodded. "You're welcome."

He would never have asked the next question under any circumstances if he had been absolutely sober...but he wasn't absolutely sober, so the question sort of fell out of his mouth. "I'm trying to plot the continuation of my escape from Blandsville, and I was hoping you might be able to help me. Would you by any chance dance with me?"

"Sure!" she said, hopping out of her chair onto legs that were not entirely steady.

"Uh uh uh," Egon said, standing and steadying her. "Let me help you with your feet." My God, she'd said yes. Egon hadn't expected her to say yes. This was amazing. He was amazed.

"I'm fine," she said, touching his arm and noticing what Peter had noticed earlier. "Ooh, muscle. Very nice."

"Thank you," Egon said. He couldn't believe this was happening. Any minute, he expected to wake up. He held out his arm to her. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she said, leading him out onto the empty dance floor. To Egon's relief most of the people barely gave them a glance.

He rested his hands on her shoulders, blocking out everything in the room but her, and he began to dance.

She moved in time with him, her head resting on his chest, and even the smiling face of Peter Venkman watching their every move couldn't dispell Egon's wish for the moment to last forever.

Chapter 7

“Wow. She crashes hard, doesn’t she?”

Egon turned in his chair and craned his neck, peering into the bedroom. A lump, obscured by blankets save for a single hand, lay unmoving and noiseless on the bed neerest the door. She’d fallen asleep in the car on the way back, waking up enough to stumble her way up the stairs before collapsing onto the bed. It had taken Egon—who had appointed himself tucker-inner for the night—several minutes to figure out how to undo the heavy metal clasps on her boots; her feet kicked as he removed them, pulling themselves deep into the protective cloak of the bedcovers.

“Okay, so what do we know about her?” Venkman said, calling the impromptu briefing session to order.

“She’s a great dancer,” Ray said.

“Besides that.”

“She’s not a threat to us, or anyone else here,” Egon said with certainty. “I have no doubt that she has told us the truth in all matters since our arrival here.”

Venkman sat up straighter. “You sound awful sure about that, Egon. What else did she tell you during your little talk tonight?”

Egon clasped his hands in front of him, moving into what the other three collectively referred to as “Professor Mode.” “Her world apparently had no Dark Ages—which represented for this world a step backwards from knowledge and learning into superstition and ignorance. It took us hundreds of years to recover. From what I’ve extrapolated, her world’s history runs fairly concurrently with our own with some exceptions. Religious and cultural divisiveness are almost unknown—her world’s humanity defied convention and learned long ago that it is more beneficial to work together for the benefit of all.”

Across the table Venkman began humming “We Are The World.”

“Sounds like a perfect place,” Winston said, leaning back.

“So with the absense of the Dark Ages, does that explain their advanced technology?”

“I believe—even without a chance to directly study her world—that it is safe to make that statement. Europe banded together fairly early and the American colonies’ split from Britain was amicable.”

“Great, so let’s move there,” Venkman said. “Sounds like Utopia.”

Egon’s face twisted into a rueful smile. “That’s more accurate than you know.”

"What do you mean?" Venkman lowered his head, giving Egon a look. "You know I don't like it when you get cryptic."

Egon ignored the remark. "Her world is vastly lacking in art, music, and literature. The utilitarian ideals of her society strongly discourage acts of personal expression or vivacity, hence her enthusiasm for our world."

"So how do you explain her personality, then?" Winston asked. "She doesn't seem to be lacking in humor and enthusiasm. And how do you explain her hair?"

Egon smiled. "She and some of her peers are participants in an underground movement to introduce more 'life' into her world. Her behavior is atypical, not the norm."

"So you're saying she's not just unusual. She's almost..." Ray searched for the right word.

"Subversive," Egon said, nodding. "Her very appearance and behavior would be regarded, in her dimension, as a threat to the status quo and therefore to the strength of society itself."

"And yet she still has a cushy job in Trans-Dimensional whatever. I still say we move there," Peter said.

"She has her job because there are few who do it better. She has an excellent grasp of subspace physics and understands how the machine works from the theoretical to the practical. She would be very hard to replace."

"Besides, doesn't sound like there's much room where she comes from for smartasses, Venkman," Winston said.

"She's a smartass," Peter retorted.

"I mean smartasses who AREN'T incredibly scientifically brilliant," Winston said.

Peter made a pained face. "You know, it would be like you were stomping little pieces of glass into my heart." He paused. "If I cared."

"So what's she planning on doing?" Ray said, circumventing the possibility of an argument.

Egon paused. "She hopes to repair the remote unit and be able to return home."

Winston frowned. "Why? I mean, if I were from that place, this place would look pretty good to me."

"But she probably can't just disappear," Peter said, surprising everyone with a relevant addition to the conversation. "It would look suspicious, particularly given the field she's in."

"And despite her interest in this dimension, she IS dedicated to the work she does. I imagine she's quite eager to get back to it," he added, hoping the disappointment didn't show in his voice.

"But she's not eager to leave some of us," Venkman said, elbowing Ray in the ribs.

"Never mind," Ray said. "So she's here now, and she's not going to cause us any harm. I say we put her up here until she's ready to go back. We happened across her and I think we should take care of her."

"Not that she needs taking care of," Winston said.

"And it may represent a unique opportunity to learn about interdimensional travel," Egon added, completely unable to hide his excitement.

"You're saying we should go with her?" Ray asked.

Egon shook his head. "No, just that if we work alongside her, we should be able to obtain some fascinating insights about a branch of science far beyond our current capabilities."

"There he goes again," Peter said, mock-thumping his head on the table.

"You never know, Pete," Ray said. "It might even help us with ghostbusting."

Egon nodded. "We have encountered beings from other planes of existence--Gozer, for example."

Winston held up a hand. "Wait. Are you saying what I think you're saying? If we help Mich out, we might be able to go into these other dimensions and stop trouble before it spreads to ours?"

"Perhaps. Or we may be able at some point to 'shove' entities back into their own dimensions."

Peter considered the thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah, I like that idea."

Ray stretched with a yawn. "All right, so she's staying here until...whenever, right? Is that it?"

Egon nodded. "It would seem so. And I'd also like to volunteer to work with Mich on her interdimensional technology."

"Hey, didn't you guys ever consider that maybe *I* want to work with her?" Venkman said.

Egon blinked at Venkman. That was a complication that hadn't even occurred to him. "Do you?"

Instead of replying, Venkman rose from his chair, stretched, then turned to face Winston. "Three years of graduate school, three years of teaching, and six years of working together and he STILL can't tell when I'm joking." He shook his head in disappointment.

Egon's face flamed in embarrassment.

Winston noticed and yawned, although Egon was quite certain the yawn was faked. "So...can we get to bed or what? No offense to you guys, but it's getting late."

"Meeting adjourned," Peter said. "I'm going home--don't do anything to her I wouldn't do."

Winston smacked Peter on the arm. "I've been saving that since earlier, but now seemed like a good time."

"Actually, if you check Article 2, Section 25, our company policy is, strictly speaking, abuse," Egon said.

"You see, I KNEW I shouldn't have let you write that thing." Peter smiled, calling an end to the banter. "See you boys tomorrow. If you have any problems--don't call me." With a casual wave he headed downstairs.

Egon cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Ray...I gave her your bed. Is that all right?"

Ray nodded. "Fine. That's why we've got spares." He smiled at Egon. "Long day, huh?"

"Very," the physicist replied, lifting his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "It's hard to believe it was only this morning that we were battling that class five."

"Kinda funny how fast things change," Ray said, ambling towards the bedroom. "Night, Egon."

"Good night, Ray."

Privately, Egon didn't think it was funny at all.

While Ray and Winston tended to their nocturnal rituals, he went around, turning off lights and idly tidying things until all was still and quiet in the bunkroom. He tiptoed in, pausing as Mich rolled over. "Ming, toldya...it's the left...innerface." A quiet snore later, she was asleep once again.

"Good night, Mich," Egon whispered softly as he climbed into bed, so softly he was sure she wouldn't hear him.

And before long, he too was asleep, dreaming of a dance floor and Mich in his arms.

Chapter 8

They were coming for her. She could hear their boots pounding down the hall to the accompaniment of beeps as doors opened for them. Every door she slammed to block them vanished, until she was at the edge of the building, searchlights tracing through the air but not penetrating the endless depths below.

Voices were speaking, but she couldn't understand them. They came closer and closer until finally there was no where else to go except down, tumbling into the abyss, the pull of gravity twisting her insides as she shrieked, terrified of what the impact would feel like--

It took a few moments for her scream to register being audible, and even longer to register the tight feeling over her chest and arms was coming from another. Someone was holding her.

Instinctively, she struggled, but the hold loosened, becoming gentler. After a panicked minute, Mich remembered where she was.

She trembled, still uneasy about the nightmare, and in response, the arms drew her closer, one hand stroking her back gently.

Gradually her heartbeat and breathing slowed and she relaxed against the warm body, savoring the secure feeling. (Ray's such a sweetie,) she thought sleepily, the gentle hand stroking her back chasing the dream further away with each movement.

She meant to thank him, but all that came out of her mouth was a mumbled "mmphh". She felt rather than heard Ray laugh a little, and smiled.

"M'fine," she mumbled. "Thankee..."

She felt the gentle pressure of lips on her forehead, but only for a few seconds. (He kissed me...)

Her hand found his and she squeezed, surprised--in a muddled way--at how strong the slim fingers were.

He squeezed back gently, and Mich marveled at how Ray was always so careful not to hurt her.

She settled back down onto the pillow, pulling the blankets up under her chin and hoping she'd remember to thank Ray in the morning...

Chapter 9

The screeching of a police siren woke Winston Zeddemore from a vague dream of clouds and whipped cream. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and suppressing a chuckle when Egon rolled over with a violent snore. He then noticed that the bed nearest the door was empty, the covers pulled onto the floor as if its occupant had been dragged from it . . .

He got up, hurrying out into the main room. Mich was there, barefoot and mussed, studying the pool table with a scholarly frown.

"Morning," Winston said, doing his best to be amiable although his first instinct had been to worry that something had happened to Mich. She struck him as savvy, using her smarts and sarcastic tongue to cover any vulnerabilities. As it happened, Winston knew something about that kind of person. "Everything okay?"

"I'm just not getting this," she said. "Sixteen balls, one of them white, the rest colored and numbered. Six holes. There's no way these are divisible by six, so which holes get three balls and which get two?" She scratched her head. "I'm missing something here--must be some kind of large-scale math riddle or something."

Winston chuckled. "It's no riddle." He picked up a cue. "You take this stick--it's called a cue--and you hit the white ball into the colored balls. The goal of the game is to get the colored balls in the pockets--one person takes the solid colors, and one person takes the stripes."

"Ohhh," she said, obviously embarrassed. "Knew I was over-analyzing things." She took the cue from Winston and looked at it. "Looks hard--how do you keep from overshooting the table when you swing it?"

"You don't swing it," Winston said. "Here. Let me show you." He set up the balls properly, put the cue ball in its proper place, and hit the cue ball, scattering the colored balls across the table. "Like that." The solid orange ball dropped into a pocket.

"Cool." She picked up the other stick and moved nearer the cue, standing awkwardly with her arms nearly perpendicular to the table so that when she made her shot the cue ball obediently leaped off the table and rolled under the couch. "Oops."

Winston smiled. "Don't worry about it. I did that lots of times starting out. Everybody does." He retrieved the cue ball for her. "Now, the trick is you lower yourself down like this." He stood next to her, one arm draped over her as he extended her left arm. "You look down the cue like you'd look down an arrow, move the stick nice and slow, and tap it."

Mich furrowed her brow. "Okay..." She followed his instructions, knocking the cue ball into a few balls clustered together and actually knocking the blue ball towards the left corner pocket.

"Very good!" Winston said, giving her shoulder a friendly pat. "Now the rest should be easy for you--it's all about physics and motion." He leaned in a little closer. "Only don't play Egon--he turns games into lectures every time."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. "Although I suppose you could always end the lecture with this." She held up the stick.

Winston chuckled. "Well, that's one way to handle it, I guess. Egon's not a bad guy, really...I don't think I've ever wanted to hit him. He just gets carried away."

"I know the feeling. You get to talking about something that no one else understands, so they look at you like you're a freak while you prattle on and embarrass yourself." She shrugged. "It's what we get for choosing fields that are so elite and obscure."

Winston nodded. "Yeah." Maybe Egon had chosen an elite field. Winston didn't feel as if he had. He'd just been in the right place at the right time, looking for a job. Didn't have to be Ghostbusting--could've been filing. (Now there's something elite.)

"I know, I know. Egon told me that you're not strictly a scientist, but that doesn't mean you're not elite. You're doing something . . . well, something for a living that only three other people in the WORLD do. Heck, there's no one in my world who can claim to be a ghostbuster."

Winston nodded. "Yeah...guess I never thought about it that way." He waggled a finger at her. "Still, don't expect me to go walking around the Bronx telling everybody how elite I am."

"Never. Even if I knew what a Bronx was."

"It's part of the city," Winston said. "We've got different boroughs, you know. Neighborhoods. The Bronx, Harlem, Brooklyn, Manhattan..."

"We have Manhattan, but that's it. Harlem...sounds like a nice place."

"Well, it's better than it was," Winston said, taking the tactful way out. "I agree with you though...it's a nice name."

"I need to go shopping," she said. "It's going to be at least a couple weeks until I can go and I can't go that long with one set of clothes."

"Okay," Winston said. "Well, I don't know how it works in your universe, but in ours, you need money to go shopping."

"I know...and I left mine in my other pants. Probably wouldn't be worth anything here anyway."

"Yeah, I'm betting it's different," Winston said, trying to think of a solution. "Well...maybe we can loan you the money for a couple outfits..."

"No no no," she said. "I'm horrible with loans and somehow I don't think banks in your world could handle a transdimensional transfer. Can't sell my gun, can't sell the remote unit, my clothes wouldn't fetch anything...maybe my belt. Is gold worth much here?"

Winston's eyes widened. "You gotta be kidding. Those round things are gold?"

"Yep. The belt's fake, though, but the discs are real. My grandfather bought a hunk of gold once for a lark, put it in the attic, and forgot about it. I found it when I was a kid and he let me have it--I guess he forgot what it was. When I found out I had them made these discs and I put them on a belt. Mom said it was hideous so naturally I wear it all the time. I guess it looks enough like junk that no one suspects."

"Wow," Winston said, shaking his head. "Yeah...I'd say you could get a pretty good amount of money for that."

"If I'd known gold was worth a lot of money I'd have started smuggling it here long ago. Silver's worth a whole lot more where I'm from."

"Not here," Winston said. "You lucked out, kid."

She grinned. "This is exciting."

"You're telling me," Winston said. "Man...you want me to take you somewhere you can exchange that for some cash?"

She looked at him. "Well, obviously, unless you think I'd be okay wanering the streets all by myself."

"Yeah...no...just...let me leave a note for the guys so they know where we've gone," Winston said. "No offense, but having a girl around...well, I think we're all feeling kinda protective of you, you know?"

"It's the big brother/father complex. We studied it in psych. Not, of course, that I mind having a couple nice guys watching my back."

Winston finished scribbling his note, leaving it in plain view on the kitchen table. "Okay. Ready to go?"

She hopped out of the bunkroom, pulling on her boot as she did so. "Think...so."

"I just have one question," Winston said. "Maybe you've answered it already, but...is Mich a nickname, or is that your actual name?"

"I know it seems out of the blue," he added, opening the front door for her, "but I've been wondering about it for at least a couple hours."

"It's both. My real name's Adele, but my parents say it Ah-day-lay, and I hate the sound of it. Choosing Mich was at first just a way to piss them off, but it grew on me and I started to like it, and now it's more me than 'Adele' ever was." As she said her given name she waved her hands in the air.

"Yeah," Winston said, following Mich out to the car. "You don't strike me as an Adele type of person."

"Nope. Personally I think people should choose their own names. Except Egon. He's not allowed to change his."

Winston laughed aloud. "Why?"

"I don't know. Egon suits him. And I like the sound of it. Of course, Ray is pretty nice, too." As she spoke her neck craned to its limit, trying to look at all the buildings at once. "This place is so DIRTY."

"Well, you know, it's better than it was," Winston said. "In the sixties and seventies, there were some real rough spots. Times Square's still pretty bad, though it's getting better too."

"But it's wonderful," she said, real awe in her voice. "Nothing's perfect. It's interesting and different. My New York is too clean and sanitary and perfect."

"I...see," Winston said. He couldn't really think of anything to add.

She came to a halt in front of a store that touted itself as a "Tattoo parlor AND Christian bookstore" and peered in the soap-streaked window. "Wow...body art, huh?"

"Yeah, sure enough," Winston said. "I'd be careful, though...these places don't always use the cleanest equipment in the world."

"That's illegal where I'm from. Otherwise I'd probably have half my body done up just because."

"Body art? Really?" Winston shook his head. "Not much for freedom of expression over there, huh?"

"Nope." She continued walking beside him. "Egon told me a little about utilitarianism, and that's exactly how things are in my world. You're just a part of a larger machine, no more, no less. Everything is for the betterment of mankind, although they never tell you HOW what you're doing benefits mankind. You're just supposed to do your work and be mindless about it. I was lucky--found a job that requires thinking."

"I'd say that's pretty lucky," Winston said, glancing at Mich, "particularly since you don't seem like the kind who could STOP thinking."

"Nope. I was the 'incorrigible child.' I could never grasp the idea that my life was supposed to be determined by anyone other than ME. They tried to rationalize it out of me but I held on. I started to toe the line as a teenager, and then when I started university I found The Movement."

"Is that that rebellion thing Egon was telling us about? I mean, that's why you wear your hair that way and stuff?"

She nodded. "We go right to the limits of legality. Things that are socially prohibited but that they can't arrest us for. Drives the authority insane. So naturally we enjoy every minute. Most of us are estranged from our parents and peers but we band together, so it's okay. A couple of us have even taken in younger ones who were thrown out of their homes." She paused, her eyes clouding over. "Sometimes...it feels like we'll never be free."

Winston nodded; he could only imagine what she'd already gone through, and somehow, he didn't think his imagination was anywhere near good enough. He patted her on the shoulder comfortingly.

"But you guys are nice. Tell me--is Ray single?"

Winston blinked, trying to follow the change in the conversation. "Yeah, I think so..." Then he remembered the conversation he'd walked in on the middle of the previous night. He figured he'd do well to find out a little more about how Mich felt. "Why? Are you interested?"

"Maybe. He's really, well..." Her ears tinged pink. "He's really cute. And sweet."

"Uh-huh," Winston said. He knew he shouldn't say anything...but Ray was too nice...but it wasn't any of Winston's damn business! He struggled with the question of how much to say, or whether he should say anything.

His dilemma was safely solved as the bank appeared before them. Mich went inside, looking around. "So...which one's the gold counter?"

"Uh, well...you just go up to them at any available window and ask to make the exchange. And if they ask you if you've got an account with this bank, say yes, because I have, and we can just claim mine if we need to."

"Okay." She pulled off her belt as she waited, using a pocket knife to cut the narrow bands of material that fastened the discs to them. By the time she reached the front of the line she held twenty-five coin-shaped gold pieces and a very forlorn-looking belt.

"May I help you?" a bored-looking teller said, looking at Mich. The bored look dropped from her face as she stared at the gold pieces, and then at Mich. "Oh my God."

"I need New York money, please," she said, dumping the pieces onto the counter. "There are twenty-five there. Solid gold, each of them."

"Yes, ma'am!" the teller stammered. "Right away, ma'am...Gerard! Get me the scale!"

A droopy-looking man came to the front counter with the scale, and the teller piled the gold pieces on the scale, eyes still wide.

Mich ignored the curious looks, resting her chin on the edge of the counter as she watched the gold being weighed and counted. "Twenty-five at 23 grams a piece. No more, no less."

The teller looked at her. "And you'd...like this all in cash?"

"Please," Mich said.

When the teller had finished counting out the money, there was nearly $6875 on the counter for Mich.

"Is this a lot?" Mich said, picking up the tidy stack of hundred dollar bills.

"It's a fair sum, yes, ma'am," the teller said. "I hope we can...serve you again some time in the near future."

"Put it in your pockets, Mich," Winston advised as they headed for the door. "You don't wanna get mugged."

She folded the bills in half and stuck them into an inner pocket. "I'm not worried. The last person who tried to mug me spent a week in the hospital. Sometimes Ministry training comes in VERY handy." She casually slid her arms into his. "Besides, I have a big strong Ghostbuster to protect me."

Winston wasn't sure whether to puff up with pride or giggle at her misconception. He settled for a compromise. "Uh...yeah, sure."

"All right, now it's time for me to ask you a question. Have you had any military training?"

Winston nodded. "Some."

"I can tell. So, I feel safer with you than I would some 98 lb. weakling."

Winston smiled. "Well. Thank you."

"Welcome. Now--I need clothes. Something funky and colorful. Something you definitely wouldn't want me to wear if you were taking me home to meet your parents."

Winston considered the problem. "Well...let me think. There's a little shop just a couple blocks over that sells trendy stuff--you can't miss the display windows. I notice 'em even when we drive by. Sound good?"

"It'll do for a start."

Chapter 10

Egon could feel the sunlight coming in through the windows. He yawned, stretching and opening his eyes. Of course, opening his eyes didn't do much to help him, so his first conscious action was, as it always was, to put on his glasses. He rolled over to check the progress of Mich's sleep...and found himself staring at an empty bed.

An empty bed that looked as if someone had been dragged away from it.

He sat up so fast the covers tangled around his legs and nearly sent him sprawling. He yanked free, running to Ray's bed and grabbing the blanket-swaddled figure there.

"Ray! Ray!" Egon said, anxiously shaking his sleeping friend.

"What?" Ray asked, rolling over and blinking at Egon.

Egon knew he was speaking a mile a minute. "C'est Mich! Elle est parti! Mais je ne sais comment ou comme qui--je ponce que c'est..."

Ray looked at Egon blankly. "Come again?"

With a visible shake Egon paused, his brain taking a few seconds to realize his mouth had been speaking French. "It's Mich, she's gone."

Ray sat upright, his gentle eyes concerned. "What? How do we know?"

Egon pointed to the empty bed.

Ray blinked, then looked around the room. "Winston's not here either." He looked at Egon. "Have you checked the other rooms?"

Egon closed his eyes, mentally smacking himself for getting worked up without even doing the simple and obvious by checking to see if they were outside the room.

Ray got out of bed, evidently understanding Egon's irritation with himself. "I'll check downstairs and you can check the other rooms up here, okay?"

Glad to have a course of action, Egon stood and headed out, glancing at the pool table and the empty lab area before his eyes setted on the kitchen table and Winston's note.

Egon picked up the note--"Guys--Have gone to bank with Mich and then clothes shopping. Be back soon.--Winston."

He sighed in relief. She was safe. Though he would never admit it, the thought of Mich alone on the streets of his New York terrified him.

Ray came back up the stairs. "They're not down there. Did you find anything?"

Egon nodded, handing the note to Ray. "She's with Winston."

Ray nodded, reading the note and then handing it back to Egon. "Well, that's a relief. I'm going back to bed. Wake me if anyone calls."

Egon nodded. "Okay." He knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, so he would have to find something else to do.

Chapter 11

Egon sat on the couch, reading his latest physics journal. He couldn’t seem to concentrate, though—he kept reading the same paragraph over and over. With a sigh, he put away the journal and sat back on the couch.

At times like these, he reflected, he liked to pull out his guitar. He’d learned to play a long time ago, and although he was no B.B. King, he was certainly reasonable. He knelt on the floor, sliding the guitar case from beneath the couch, taking out the guitar, and sliding the case back underneath. Egon was alone for the moment, so he figured he’d play whatever came to mind.

He strummed random chords, instinctively following the chord structure that felt right…and he groaned as he realized what he was playing, muttering the words as he played: “Just like me…they long to be…close to you.” He stopped playing. Not only was it a very silly, poorly written song, he had no logical reason to be singing it. He moved his fingers to form a different chord on the guitar strings. (Let’s try this again.)

But it was another love song. Egon sighed. He knew why he was doing this—in a word, Mich—but he decided to go with it for the time being. Maybe it would help get her out of his mind so he could continue with his everyday routine. He strummed, half-singing and half-speaking the words softly as he played. “Every time I see her, she won't even look my way…maybe she will notice me, but then what would I say? I would say what's on my mind…but the words are hard to find…but I…” He looked up mid-sentence and saw Mich standing in front of him.

Mich was looking at Egon, and Egon felt as if she’d wandered in while he was changing his clothes. His throat closed. He had to figure out a way to cover up what he’d been doing. “I…I…” He switched tunes with a vengeance and began playing faster. “I come in late at night and in the morning I just lay in bed…well, Rhonda, you look so fine…”

Mich gave Egon a curious look. There were no limits to how foolish Egon felt, but he continued with the song because there was really nothing else to do. “You gotta…help me, Rhonda…help me get her out of my heart…”

Instead of walking away and leaving Egon to his embarrassment, as Egon had hoped she might, Mich walked in and sat close to Egon. “What are you playing?”

“Uh…Help Me, Rhonda…it’s a song by the Beach Boys,” Egon said.

"Beach Boys, huh? Keep playing."

Egon blinked. "I don't understand. You're familiar with the Beach Boys?"

"I am? Since when?"

"Oh. I thought..." Egon shook his head. "Never mind." He strummed a little, uncertain whether he should really continue. "You'd really like to hear more?"

"Yeah. Music's hard to come by where I'm from. Just being able to listen out in the open without having to hide is a luxury."

Egon nodded. "I see." It occurred to him that he'd never played the guitar in front of anybody before, but he pushed that thought aside. If Mich wanted music, Mich would get her music. He cleared his throat. "Okay...I'll take it from the chorus. You'll love the lyrics. 'Help me, Rhonda...help, help me Rhonda...'"

Mich just sat, her legs curled up under her, and watched his hands.

Egon was a better guitar player than he was a singer, and he was fully aware of that fact, but he managed to make his voice somehow fit what he was playing on the guitar...at least, until he finished the song. He looked at Mich and shrugged, not sure what to say now. "That's it."

"Wow. That was really good. You should perform live or something."

Egon blushed; he had certainly never expected to get that reaction. "Thank you."

"So when do I get to see ghosts?" she said, once again displaying a disconcerting habit of changing tracks abruptly.

"Uh, well, when we get a call, we'll go to...wait." Egon shook his head. "I don't think you should come."

A look of hurt flitted across her face. "Why not?"

"Well, you're not trained and..." Egon fumbled with his own protectiveness towards her. "And I don't want you to be hurt."

"Look, I don't want to wrestle it or try to give it a manicure--I just wanna look. Besides, I had the standard two years' training. I know how to handle myself." She crossed her arms, giving him a stubborn look.

"Didn't you see the class five yesterday?" Egon asked.

"Not very well. I was really disoriented, and you zapped it before I got a good look."

Egon pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Well...I suppose I should speak to the other guys..."

"Speak to the other guys about what?" Peter said, lounging casually in the doorway. He waved at Mich. "Hiya, Punky."

"Punky? Some cultural reference, I take it?" She stuck her tongue out at Venkman.

"TV show character," Peter said. "What're you talking about, Egon?"

"She wants to see a ghost," Egon said, "and I thought it might be a little dangerous."

"Dangerous? Sure, she might get covered in mucus," Peter said, "but if she doesn't care, I say let her do it."

"Yes!" Mich hopped off the couch, dancing around. "Wait'll the guys in the Subharmonics Division hear about this!"

"Peter!" Egon protested.

Peter gave Egon a dubious look. "C'mon, Spengs. When was the last time we came across an actively dangerous ghost?"

"Do you want a list?" Egon asked, his voice rising in volume.

Mich stopped bouncing, watching the two nervously.

"I just think you should relax," Peter said.

"This isn't the time or place to relax, and I'm not willing to put her in harm's way twenty-four hours after she arrived!" Egon said.

"Hey, what if I WANT to be in harm's way!" she interrupted. "Look, give me a test! Try me! If I'm not smart or fast enough to be out in the field with you I'll stay here!"

Egon looked at Peter, then at Mich. He realized that, in his reluctance to let Mich come along, he had undone any progress towards friendship he might have made. That seemed to be the way of things in his life--he meant well, but when it came time, he couldn't take the easy road. Ever.

"I don't care," Egon said quietly, all his fight gone. He looked at Mich. "You don't need a test. I apologize if I insinuated that you couldn't take care of yourself. That wasn't my intent." Then he looked at Peter. "You win."

And Egon left the room.

"Well damn," she said. "Now I'm a screwup in two dimensions."

"You're not a screwup," Peter said. "I don't know what's going on with him, but it's his problem, not yours."

"No, it's my fault. I'm a guest here and I'm wanting to put myself in danger and he's just trying to protect me. And I almost bit his head off for it."

"But I wasn't kidding," Peter said. "I mean, yeah, we have some dangerous ghost encounters, but mostly, they're pretty harmless." He paused thoughtfully, speaking more to himself than to Mich. "I wonder if maybe there isn't something else going on..."

"Something else? Like what?" She scratched her head. "This world is way more complicated than mine."

Peter looked at Mich, startled out of his thoughts. He shrugged. "Who knows? It could be anything from a new ghost-fighting technique to Fermat's Last Theorem. If I were you, though, I wouldn't take it personally, especially since he was angry at me, not you. And if you do, I might have to start dragging you around by that multi-colored hair."

"Abuse," she murmured, smiling. "I might have to get Ray to protect me, then."

Peter's eyes lit with a quick realization, but all he did was nod. "Uh-huh. And you know what Ray would do? He'd follow me around saying, 'Peter, would you please put Mich down?'"

"Whatever. He has that sweet innocent look but I wouldn't want to make him mad."

"Me neither. That's why you'll always notice me cowering in the corner when he comes into the room." Peter paused. "I'm serious about not blaming yourself for anything that goes on here, okay? We're four very weird guys with weird lives and weird hang-ups."

"I can handle weird. Hell, I'M weird. I guess I just have to learn your rhythms. It's easier studying particle physics."

Peter smiled. "No argument here."

"As if I knew anything about particle physics," he added after a moment's pause.

"What DO you know?" she asked. "I mean, they call you Dr. Venkman--what are you a doctor of?

"Psychology," he answered. "I mean, I have a Ph.D--doctor of philosophy degree--in psychology."

"Wow...you don't seem like a psych to me. You're...different."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Never knew a psychologist to crack this many jokes?"

"Nope, and the psychs I know are all stiffs."

Peter smirked. "Me, a stiff? Trust me, it'll never happen."

"It has," she said, waggling her eyebrows. "Trust me."

Peter shook his head, pointing at her. "You know, you start out all innocent and 'oh, I'm sensitive,' and then whoever says the wrong thing at the wrong time gets a salad fork between the eyes."

"What salad fork?" she said, spreading her hands. "I'm unarmed, honest."

"Sure. Sure you are. I'm not falling for that one again. I'm watching you," Peter said, shaking his finger at her.

She again stuck out her tongue. "Better watch with your other set of eyes--I'm quick."

"Yeah, okay, Punky," he said. "I see my work here is done. Time to go wreak havoc on somebody else."

"Wish I had my lab here. I need a computer to mash on for a while."

"Ask Egon about using the one in the lab," Peter said. "I'm sure he'll let you play with it...after draining every interesting and non-interesting scientific bit of information out of your brain."

"He'd need years. And besides, while he was draining me I'd be draining him, so we'd just endlessly balance each other."

"Oh. Sounds great. Think I'll stay on the other side of the building." Peter gave Mich a perfunctory wave. "I'll see ya."

"Later," she said. She paused by the pool table, idly pushing the balls around while she decided what she was going to say to Egon.

Chapter 12

Mich poked her head into Egon's office, ready to poke it out again if Egon was still angry. "Hey."

Egon looked up from his computer. "Hello."

"I'm sorry about what happened in there," Mich began.

Egon interrupted her. "No. I'm the one who should apologize. I overreacted in an incredibly inappropriate way."

Mich entered the office. He didn't seem angry; she hoped that was a good sign. "I only want to go because I've never seen this kind of stuff before. I didn't mean to mess things up."

"You didn't," Egon said. "I'm sure you're perfectly qualified to take care of yourself. I've never had anyone to..." He paused. "...worry about before."

Mich smiled. "I guess it's my first time being worried about. I'm not used to having someone looking out for me."

"I think you'll find you have four of us now," Egon said. "It occurs to me that I've been inconsistent in my behavior towards you. I suggested that you join us as a ghostbuster, yet I balked when you suggested an elementary step, and not even one necessarily towards such a goal."

Mich shrugged. "I'll accept your apology if you'll accept mine."

Egon almost smiled. "With pleasure."

Mich perched on the edge of Egon's desk. "What are you working on?"

Egon opened his mouth to explain, but suddenly, a shrill siren cut through the silence.

Mich jumped to her feet, every muscle tensing. "What's that?"

"We've got a call," Egon said, heading to a nearby closet to get his jumpsuit. "Are you still interested in coming?"

Mich blinked. "You want me to come?"

He handed her an extra jumpsuit. "You may need to roll up the sleeves and pant legs, but I think you'll find it affords an essential amount of extra protection."

"Got it," Mich said.

There was that almost-smile again. "That is, if you want to come."

"Are you kidding?" Mich asked, putting the jumpsuit on over her clothes. "Lead me to it!" This might turn out to be a good day after all...

Chapter 13

They met a balding, fussy-looking man at the front door of the history and cultural museum, who shook hands with each of them, then wiped them on a handkerchief. He blinked at Mich, who waved. “I thought you were a foursome.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond when Mich spoke up. “They decided to add in a girl to make it more interesting.”

Winston covered his mouth, trying to smother a laugh, and Ray blushed. Egon merely glanced at Mich, sharing a look of grudging amusement with the grinning woman.

“This way, gentlemen,” the man said, opening the door. Peter, Ray, and Winston entered, with Egon hanging back to hold the door for Mich. As she went in, smiling and nodding her head, Egon made a mental note to procure a sized (and more form-fitting) jumpsuit for her. His mind tried to drift to the singularly pleasing image of a black patch with the word “Mich” embroidered in red, but he quickly forced it to focus on the task at hand.

“Man, what is it about museums?” Peter was griping. “This is what, the second time we’ve been called to one?”

“Fifth,” Egon corrected. “Though I hardly feel it right to include the wax museum,” he added with noticeable distaste.

“Wax museum? What kind of wax, exactly?” Mich asked, clearly picturing a building full of pale clumps, or perhaps something as disgusting as earwax.

“There are skilled artists who are capable of rendering incredibly lifelike and accurate statues out of wax,” Egon said, drawing a surprised look from Peter. “I never said I was unimpressed with the level of artistry. Such a venue simply shouldn’t be included with institutions devoted to science, history, and archaeology.”

The man, still leading the quintet, cleared his throat. “If we could get down to business?”

Ray nodded. “What can you tell us about this apparition, sir?”

“Well, it happened when Jenkins knocked over a priceless Persian burial urn. Smashed it to bits, the stupid fool, he’ll be fired by this time tomorrow for sure—anyway. It shattered and the ashes hit the sword that was by the urn. We heard screaming and smashing and I rushed down with two of the guards and we saw this . . . thing flying around swinging the sword and throwing artifacts. Our Mideast collection will never recover.”

“Who was in the urn?” Winston asked. “Anyone important?”

“Not that we know for sure, but based on the items found nearby, it was likely a warrior, probably from the eighth century or so. The sword the ghost was swinging at Jenkins was found next to the urn.”

“Sounds like a five, maybe a six,” Ray said. Egon nodded his agreement.

“So where’s this undead warrior now?” Peter asked.

“We’re not sure. He left the Mideast room and I believe one of the guards spotted it in the Egyptian room.” The curator wiped his neck. “I hope it doesn’t go berserk in there—those sarcophagi have to go back to their home museums next month.”

“We’ll try to avoid them,” Ray said. As one they pulled their throwers and huddled, Mich worming her way between Ray and Egon so she could hear.

“All right. We split up—each one covers a wing. If you see our samurai, radio the others. Don’t try and take it alone unless you think you can hold it. You,” Peter said, pointing at Mich, “stay close and if anything happens you get clear and stay there, got it?”

For a moment it seemed that Mich was going to pout, but then she nodded. “Right. Contrary to popular belief I do not have a death wish.”

As they headed off in separate directions Mich hung back, unsure. Ray was heading down the hall without a word, and as she raised her hand and drew breath to hail him he turned the corner and was gone. “Oh hell,” she murmured.

“Is something wrong?” Egon asked, softly so he wouldn’t startle her. Nevertheless she jumped and spun.

“Don’t do that,” she said with feigned annoyance—Egon knew it was feigned by the grin that pulled at the corners of her mouth, ruining the effect.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. They headed for the east side of the building, their boots echoing in the empty corridor. The journey that would have taken a few minutes took almost twenty because Mich kept stopping to look into the exhibit rooms. “Some of this is . . . oddly familiar,” she said, her normally strident voice noticeably subdued in the solemn quiet of the museum.

“I would imagine it would be,” Egon said absently, his attention focused on the PKE meter in his hand. “Before the Dark Ages our dimensions were fairly in sync. I’m not getting anything yet.” They continued in silence until the wings of the meter sprang up and the device started to hum. “We’re getting close.” Egon handed the meter to Mich and gripped his thrower tightly. “If the reading exceeds one one oh five please tell me.”

“You got it,” she said, gripping the black handle. They turned the corner and found themselves in an empty room. The marble floor was dusty with recent activity; several empty glass display cases ringed the room, some covered with sheets, some not. A forlorn mop and bucket huddled in a corner with several brooms, staring across at several piled chairs.

“Ah. This must be the twelfth century—a study in disuse,” Mich said, the joke falling flat as a shape flew through the wall and paused in the middle of the room. It looked, as it stopped and turned towards them, like a skeleton wearing armor—hollow, socketed eyes fixed on them, a bony hand tightening over the real, solid sword in its hands. Egon lifted a hand in greeting and said something in a language that hadn’t been spoken in centuries; instead of pacifying the ancient dead warrior, it seemed to only make it angry. It slashed the air with its sword and wheezed something in kind; Egon turned to Mich, his dour face even more solemn than usual. “Mich, get outside. Now.”

She didn’t argue, instead backing away into the hall, peeking around the jamb until the ghost’s charge chased her away. Egon dove to his knees and skidded across the floor, feeling the blade woosh over him. As he turned, the nozzle of his thrower aimed upwards, he saw the blade at the completion of its arc, severing the wires holding up a heavy wood and steel scaffold that hung near the wall, whose incomplete paint job attested to a recent remodeling. As the heavy edifice plunged downwards Egon’s reflexes kicked in; he dropped his thrower and dove horizontally, his arms and legs flailing outwards. As he landed on his stomach with a hard jolt the scaffold landed with a terrible clatter. Pain shot through his wrist and hand and his body gave an involuntary jerk; looking up he saw that his hand was pinned by one of the steel bars—fortunately either the crash or a prior incident had created a bend in the metal so that instead of being crushed, his hand was merely pinned.

Relief was short-lived. Enraged that the scaffolding hadn’t crushed him, the ghost warrior plunged toward him, blade held high. Egon grabbed his captive wrist, trying to jerk it free; all he got for his troubles was pain that made him grit his teeth. He was caught, with death fast approaching in the form of a ghostly centuries-old warrior gripping a very real sword.

“Get away from him!” The shout came from behind the scaffold, followed immediately by a silver object that went flying through the air, striking the ghost’s sword with a harsh clang. A body vaulted over the wreckage, landing close enough for Egon to see a pantleg that had unrolled and was almost dragging on the floor.

“Mich, no!” Egon pulled at his trapped hand anew. “Get out of here!”

Mich wasn’t listening. She picked up another loose metal bar and raised it, glaring at the ghost who had stopped its mad charge and was now hovering a few yards away, considering the new situation. “Yeah, c’mon!” she said. “Afraid of someone who isn’t pinned down?” For emphasis she swung the bar.

“Mich, this is exceedingly dangerous!” Egon shouted. Why wouldn’t she move? He watched her as she stared down the ghost with nothing between her and Anne Boleyn’s fate but a bent metal bar and a horrible sensation gripped him—terror. It was strange; as fascinated as he was by emotions, particularly by the darker ones, terror was horrible horrible feeling. He wanted to get free, to get in front of her—didn’t she understand how much danger she was in?

The ghost, apparently tiring of this new interloper, moved its other hand to the sword and swung. Mich swung at the same time, yelping as metal met metal; she ducked the ghost’s next swing and hurled the bar, deflecting a stroke that would have nearly split her in two, and took off. She ran across the room, the ghost in hot pursuit, and vaulted over an empty, dusty glass case. The sword landed a moment later, shattering the glass, but Mich was already on the move, scrambling back across the room to hide behind another case. This time the glass shattered over her head, forcing her to duck and cover her neck and face. As soon as the rain of glass was over she was on the move again, running back and forth across the room, forcing the ghost into a deadly game of pinball.

In the meantime Egon finally managed to reach across his body for his radio. “Ray, Peter, Winston! We’re in Exhibit room C! First floor, east corridor! Hurry!” He realized how he sounded. Panicked and half-hysterical, like a green rookie, but there were extenuating circumstances now and he really didn’t care how he sounded.

Mich, in the meantime, had grabbed one of the chairs in the corner and hurled it before making another mad dash across the room to Egon’s side. She grabbed his discarded thrower and straddled his legs, looking down at the unfamiliar device. “How do I turn this on?”

“Put your hands on the grips. The switch is near your thumb.” He heard the whine of the pack and saw the ghost’s charge—an orange beam snaked out, grazing the ghost once before making contact, the thick proton stream wrapping around it and holding it in place.

“Woo!” Mich shouted, struggling to hold the writhing beam steady. “Now what?”

“We’ll have to wait for the others! I can’t reach my trap from here!”

“Damn!” she said, gasping as the ghost began struggling in earnest. “Egon, I’m not gonna be able to hold this thing!” As if in confirmation of that the ghost gave a sharp yank that nearly pulled Mich off her feet. “I’m losing it!”

“Turn your body to the side! Brace your legs!” He reached back with his free arm and wrapped it around her lower leg, hoping that it would anchor her and not cause her to lose her balance. She steadied, gritting her teeth as sweat ran down her face from the strain. Muscles began to ache and tremble in the minutes that seemed to stretch into hours. As the ghost started to break free the welcome sound of addition proton energy accompanied the appearance of Ray and Winston, with Peter following close behind. Mich waited until all three had snared the ghost before turning off her stream and grabbing the trap from Egon’s belt. Recalling how Egon had worked it the week before, she rolled it out under the ghost and waited for Ray’s signal, stomping on the pedal at his nod. The ghost was pulled down into the trap with an enraged howl, the sword clattering to the floor as the trap closed, sealing it inside.

“Whoa,” she panted. “That’s a lot of work.”

“Could I possibly get some help here?” Egon said. Ray and Winston immediately rushed over, each taking an end of the scaffolding.

“Careful,” Peter said, bending down to take hold of Egon’s wrist. “Guys, on three. One, two, three.” At his signal Ray and Winston heaved and Egon pulled his hand free. Peter and Mich helped him up.

“You okay?” Mich said, carefully pulling the glove loose.

Egon winced. “I don’t believe it’s broken,” he said, biting his lip as she pulled it off.

"How would you know? You're a physicist," Venkman said.

Ray shook his head. "Peter, now's not the time." He turned to Egon. "Can you move it at all?"

Ray shook his head. "We should really get you to a doctor."

"I'm a doctor," Venkman said, looking smug.

The look of skepticism on Winston's face would've deflated a smaller ego. "Not the helpful kind of doctor."

"Let me see," Mich said. She took Egon's wrist in hers, feeling along the bones. "Nothing's broken. Do you feel sharp pain when I do this?" She probed a few spots; each time Egon shook his head. "Ice for the swelling and a bandage or something to keep it from moving. Should be fine."

"Thank you, Mich," Ray said.

Egon looked at Mich and managed a hint of a smile. "Thank you."

She returned it, her gaze lingering on him a little longer than usual. "Anytime."

Venkman took the ghost trap in his hand, waggling it back and forth. "Let's get this bad boy in the system before it decides to make a jailbreak."

Winston reached for it. "I'll take it--you go talk to the curator about our fee. We let Ray do it and we'll be taking home arrowheads instead of cash." Ray blushed.

"Money is always acceptable in lieu of actual work," Peter said, nodding and heading for the curator. "C'mon, Ray. Let me show you how the master works."

Mich shook her head. "Somehow I think this company would be comparatively boring without him." She looked at Egon. "Although you hold your own pretty good."

"I do my best," Egon said, "though we certainly can't all be masters." He punctuated his remark with a slight roll of his eyes.

"Being a master is overrated."

Egon chuckled. "Oh, don't tell him that."

"I won't. His wrath be great," she intoned solemnly. "How's the wrist?"

Egon shrugged. "Passable. I won't be foaming at the mouth with pain, nor will I be doing any one-handed pushups any time soon."

"One handed...you'll have to show me that sometime." Egon looked over in time to see Mich's eyes roam up and down his body. A tingle rose unbidden up his spine and fought a sense of confusion and lightheadedness.

"Certainly," he said, trying to maintain his demeanor. After all, her glance might not mean anything. She might've been looking to see if he'd been hurt in any other way. She might not even have realized she was looking.

But, oh, the way she'd looked at him...

Chapter 14

“So does this happen often?” Mich said as she methodically crushed several cubes of ice with the blunt end of a screwdriver.

“What?”

She gestured to his wrist. “Getting hurt.”

“Occasionally. More often than we’d like.”

She nodded, still focused on her work as she said, “Tell me.”

“About?”

“Getting hurt.”

Egon was surprised at her solemnity; up until now she’d been irrepressibly bouncy and enthusiastic--in some ways a female version of Ray Stantz--and seeing her without a trace of a smile was odd. “What would you like to know?”

She shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Most of the time if we sustain any injuries they’re minor. Bumps, bruises, scrapes, and the like. Ray’s broken ribs before, both Winston and Peter have sprained their ankles . . . we’ve been lucky thus far.” He held out his hand as she piled the ice into a towel, folding it three times before wrapping it around his wrist.

“What about you?”

“Well . . . ” He paused. “I slipped a disc when we were battling Vigo the Carpathian.” He glanced up at the ceiling, remembering. “We were confronting him and Ray gave him to the count of three to abandon his plan to possess Oscar. Peter and I fired; at first we fazed him, but then he rebounded against our attack and threw us to the ground.” Even now his back twinged at the memory of hitting that marble floor pack-first, sliding backwards until he slammed into the column behind him. His mouth twisted into a rueful half-smile. “I asked Ray if he could move partly in hopes that he and Peter or Winston would be able to get me up.”

“Ouch,” Mich whispered. “So what happened next?”

“Vigo went for Oscar. Dana was pleading for us to do something but none of us could move. Venkman managed to worm his way closer, and as usual his tendency to speak first and think later got us in trouble. One should not insult the murderous tyrant with supernatural abilities who has you and your friends pinned to the ground.”

"But everything turned out okay, right?" Mich asked, wide-eyed and worried.

He nodded. "After Vigo hit us with a psychomagnetheric energy pulse, yes."

"Whoa, back up. A what?"

"Vigo drew his power from the psychomagnetheric slime flow generated by the negative emotions in this city. He was able to harness this power into an energy pulse that was . . . quite painful."

Mich swallowed hard, her face paling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...dredge that up."

Egon shrugged. "It's over now. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but I'm happy to say none of the discomfort from that incident remains." He searched for something more comforting to say, and was on the verge of saying, "Don't worry"...but he didn't.

She was silent, toying with the safety pins that held in the ice in place. At length she cleared her throat. "Well, um...when the swelling goes down I'll wrap that up, okay?"

Egon nodded. "Thank you for your ministrations."

"Anytime. And...I'm sorry for not obeying you."

Egon made a face. "Obedience is a terrible word. And besides...let's not forget that you very probably saved my life tonight because you 'disobeyed' me."

She blushed, her head ducking demurely. "Well, this time we were lucky. I got a little carried away with the running around bit."

"It was useful strategy," Egon said. "You reacted well in a difficult situation. You deserve every commendation for that."

She looked up at him then, her gaze locking with his.

Egon swallowed, but somehow, he couldn't look away. He knew he should say something, should do something...but he didn't want to.

At that moment Ray came upstairs, and Mich's gaze moved to him. Egon started to suppress a sigh of disappointment when just as quickly her attention passed over Ray and back to him.

Egon barely had time to digest it. That was a new response...

"Just wanted to see how you're doing," Ray said.

"He's going to live. It was hard pulling him through," Mich said, grinning.

"There was a moment where I thought I'd lost me, but there I was," Egon said, never even raising an eyebrow.

There was a loud thunk as Mich overbalanced on her stool and hit the floor, bursting into uncontrolled giggles a moment later.

Ray chuckled. "I guess the only danger here is that you might make her laugh and fall off something."

Egon pondered a moment. "That rules out the trip to the observation deck of the Empire State Building, I suppose."

"The what of the what?" she said, sitting up.

"You don't have the Empire State Building?" Ray asked.

"Uh, no. What is it? I didn't think this dimension had empires..."

"It's just the name of the building," Egon said. "It's the tallest manmade erection in the city."

For a moment she sat, staring at him with a look of complete bewilderment. Slowly the corners of her mouth began to show signs of strain, her lips thinning as she clamped them shut. The stool--her legs still tangled in it, rattled on the floor as her body began to shake uncontrollably.

Ray harrumphed, looking a little embarrassed.

Egon looked at Mich. "Despite any claims Peter might make."

With a howl she flopped onto her back, laughing loud enough that Winston and Peter came up the stairs, looking unsure whether the sounds were of pain or mirth.

"Okay, who tickled Cyndi Lauper?" Peter asked once he'd figured out that Mich wasn't hurt.

The only word she could manage to get out was "erection" before collapsing into giggles again.

Winston frowned. "Yeah...I laugh about that all the time," he said, obviously bewildered.

"You probably shouldn't ask," Ray said.

Egon did his best to look innocent--which translated to pretty much the same facial expression for him as "deadpan."

Mich finally calmed down enough to untangle herself, pulling her legs free and crawling to her knees. "Oh...oh wow..." She staggered a little as she set the stool back up and hopped back onto it, panting.

Unfortunately, Venkman was no help to Mich's recovery. "Gee, I wish my erections were that funny."

This time Egon was ready; as Mich started to fall he grabbed her arm, helping support her until she got her footing. She clung to the edge of the table, tears streaming down her cheeks from the force of her mirth.

"Oh, don't worry, Pete," Ray said, making a face. "I think they are."

"Oh, good," Peter said. Then he frowned. "Wait, what?"

"Stop, stop!" Mich wailed, gasping for breath. "I give up! I yield!"

"Okay, five-minute moratorium on jokes till Mich can breathe," Winston said.

"You all are dangerous," she said, still panting. She weaved a little as she straightened, her arm wrapped around her aching middle. "I haven't laughed like that in a long time..."

"Happy to help," Peter said. "I think."

Egon continued watching her as she regained her composure. Even though Ray was nearby, she wasn't sitting with her eyes locked on him. Why the sudden change? he wondered. Or am I seeing something that doesn't really exist simply because I want it to be?

Chapter 15

"...so the orbital matrix sits here, and regulates the visual matrix which is here." Pencil scraped across paper as Mich leaned further forward, extending the line of the rough blueprint. "The sine wave patterns give each dimension its own 'color' interpreted by the computer."

Egon squinted at the lines. "But how do you read the colors? Or can you?"

"See, that what the problem. When I started they were actually trying to classify dimensions by their colors. But since the dimensions are infinite and colors aren't...well, it was a pretty stupid way to go. Now we just have color differentiation to allow the visual cortex to more easily process the trans-streams. In other words it's easier than looking at a bunch of white."

Egon nodded. "I see. But if the colors aren't that helpful, how will you be able to find your original timestream again? Or does it have a specific frequency that you can isolate?"

She brandished her pencil. "That's where the sine wave patterns come in." She scribbled an equation on the corner of one of the massive sheets of paper that covered the table. The length and complexity of the equation would have rendered it incomprehensible to anyone else, but Egon required only a glance to understand it. "Each dimension, even one's that differ only by a single event or action, has its own frequency. We've been recording and tagging frequencies for years, and since I have mine memorized, getting home'll be a snap."

"Of course," Egon said, looking at the equation and shaking his head. "I should have guessed as much." He paused. "Will there be...that is, will you remember the frequency for this one?"

"I suppose so. Why?"

Egon shrugged, forcing himself to remain casual. "Just so we'd know whether or not to expect any visits from you. I'd hate to mistake your travel device for an apparition manifestation."

"Wonder what a proton stream would do to a transdimensional portal. Probably cause a chain reaction that would destroy all space-time. That's why I'm not allowed--I mean...nevermind." She scratched the back of her neck with the eraser.

"Not allowed?" Egon asked.

"It's nothing," she said, rifling through the papers. "Hey, did I mention the subharmonic tremors you experience during hyperstream?"

"I don't think you did," Egon said. "Do they manifest themselves in sound or in kinetic vibrations?"

"Ever ride a sled down a rutted slope? Same idea."

Egon nodded. "This is absolutely fascinating. I'm so glad you happened by--this is an area of physics I don't get the chance to visit very often, let alone discuss."

"It's nice to be able to gab on and on without having to stop every two seconds to explain things. You'd be brilliant in my world, too.:

Egon shook his head. "Not brilliant. Well-schooled. And in talking to you, that's to my advantage."

She was silent for a few minutes, staring down at the drawing and scribblings and equations with a thoughtful look.

Egon tilted his head to look at her. "Schrodinger's cat got your tongue? Although I suppose if you knew whether he had it or not, the paradox would be null and void."

"Schrodinger's cat?" she asked. "I didn't know you guys had a cat--and who's Schrodinger?"

Egon raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Schrodinger didn't exist in your world? He was a theorist in quantum mechanics."

"Oh, him! Yeah, I remember. Don't remember his cat, though."

"The idea was that, theoretically, there's a cat in a box," Egon said. "You close the box so you can't see the cat, and there's a time-release method for pumping some sort of poison into the box. At any given moment, the cat is either dead or alive, but because you can't see the cat, you don't know which he is, so he's simultaneously dead and alive at the same time...at least, until you open the box."

"Ah, the Duality Principle," she said. "Integral to transdimensional theory, since you can only speculate about differences in dimensions until you 'see' them, so the differences may or may not be there."

"Exactly!" Egon said triumphantly, thumping his hand on the desk and almost causing the stapler to take a swan dive off the edge.

"Okay, how 'bout this?" She quickly scrawled two equations on the paper. "Now, what's the difference between these?"

"The difference? The logarhythm's in base eight in one and base ten in the other." Egon made some calculations in his head, then nodded. "That's my answer..."

"Exactly!" She beamed like a teacher whose student had just given a correct answer. "Now if I were to produce this," she scribbled two more equations that appeared to be identical, "you'd have to solve to determine if there's any differential."

"I see!" Egon said, nodding intently.

"Is it bad that I can read numbers better than books? I'd rather sit with pages of equations than read a story."

"I don't think that's a bad thing," Egon said. "There have been times I've preferred equations to people. Equations are much simpler."

“Unless you introduce parabolic arcs into them.”

“Well, granted,” Egon amended. He stared at the table for a minute, lost in thought.

“You don’t seem to have any trouble with people,” Egon observed, still looking at the table.

"I have a LOT of trouble with people," she said, scrawling a little on one of the sheets. "There are the others in the Ministry who think I'm an embarrassment, my coworkers who think I'm strange or are jealous of me, and..." she trailed off, frowning at the table.

"And?" Egon prompted gently.

"And then there are the New Breed in the movement. They don't like just pushing the limits of what's allowed. They want to get 'proactive,' which means being militant. Sooner or later that means violence."

Egon nodded. "You don't support that."

"No. I hate the idea." She gripped the pencil. "Nothing good ever comes from violence. That's not the way to do it, but no one wants to listen to ME anymore. I'm...old-fashioned." She scowled. "Makes me want to give it all up."

"But you can't," Egon said without thinking, "and that's why you want to go back."

She nodded. "I believe in what we're about. People have the right to determine their own lives. I just...don't know what I'll do if the militants take over. Everything we all have worked for," she leaned in, blowing away some of the eraser shavings, "Gone."

Egon nodded, not sure there was anything he could say.

"How's the wrist?" she said, nodding towards the slightly dripping towel.

"It feels better already," Egon said. "Maybe because I can't feel it."

"Oh, well in that case." She slid off her stool and retrieved the bandage roll from the counter. "Let's get this off." She unpinned the towel and let it drop, gently touching the cold flesh. "How's that feel? Numb, or does it still hurt?"

"Numb," Egon said, wishing, in an awkward way that made him feel like he was an unstable element, that he could feel her touch.

She slid her fingers into his, holding his hand as she wrapped his wrist. He turned his hand, his fingers brushing against the back of her hand.

"Thank you," Egon said, because he felt he should say something.

"Anytime," she said, smiling at him again. "Do you...um...you know? Are you...involved?"

"What?" It took him a minute to realize what she was asking. "Oh...oh, no...I'm not." He swallowed hard. "Are...you?"

"Me? Are you kidding? Most guys get scared away as soon as I break out the equations."

Egon nearly smiled. "I've had similar experiences with women." He frowned. "And men, for that matter...most people just aren't interested in the unique qualities of noble gases."

"I like the ignoble ones, myself," she replied, nodding seriously.

Egon considered her comment for a moment. "I try not to talk about those."

"You know, I honestly can't tell whether you're being either REALLY deadpan or not getting my jokies."

"Usually if you err on the side of really deadpan, you're right," Egon said.

"Okay. Just wanna know where I stand," she said, giving his arm a gentle smack. "Oooh..." she squeezed his bicep. "I keep almost forgetting how nice these are."

Egon was ready either to turn crimson or melt into the floor. Given the physical impossibility of the latter, he was resigned to the former.

Mich gave him a decidedly evil glance and started running her hand over his arm and up to his shoulder.

Egon pressed his lips together and tried to maintain his scientific composure. "What...ah...what are you...doing...?"

"I don't know," she said, dropping her voice to a purr. She let his wrist go and moved behind him, her hands roaming over his shoulders and up to his neck.

Egon fought to maintain control...in all aspects of his anatomy...but found that, on at least one front, he was losing the battle.

"Just relax," she murmured, trailing her fingers into the short hair at the back of his neck, her other hand sliding under his collar and kneading the base of his neck.

"I'm trying," he managed to say, goosebumps rising on his arms and his neck.

"You haven't had many girls touch you, have you?"

"No," Egon admitted, deciding to omit the fact that his last sexual experience had been with a nonsentient protoplasmic ooze.

"You're serious!" she said, leaning around so that she could look him in the eye.

Egon cleared his throat, wishing he weren't. "Ah...there have been a few...but...used to it...no." Evidently sentence structure wasn't going to work for him tonight either.

"Sit," she said, turning one of the kitchen chairs around and gesturing for him to straddle it.

He complied, albeit reluctantly. "All right..."

He gripped the chair tight as she stood behind him, her fingers tracing along the back of his neck until the hairs were standing on end. She moved slowly, her touch both delicate and strong as she traced the muscles of his shoulders and back.

His grip went white-knuckle as he fought not to say things like, "That feels nice."

"You're being quiet. Can I at least assume I'm not hurting you?" she said, a giggle lurking behind her words.

"Oh...yes, of course. You're not hurting me. It feels..." He sought vainly for a different word. "...nice."

Her index fingers traced along his earlobes and he sucked in a breath as her body pressed up against his back; he pictured her standing there, her chest... He closed his eyes against an unbidden flurry of images.

"Mich," he exhaled. "I need to know..."

She stopped, sliding her arms around his shoulders, her breath whispering in his ear. "What?"

"I'm not sure I want to ask you this," he said, catching his breath, "but I need to know anyway...at least, I think I do. I was led to believe by your behavior that you were...that is to say..." He paused. "Are you just being nice to me, or do you--do you really have...feelings for me?" He hesitated another moment, then blurted out, "Because I think I have feelings for you and I don't think it would be fair of me not to tell you."

For several long minutes Mich stood, not responding or moving. "I don't know," she admitted finally. "I...I can't...words are just..." She shook her head, looking more and more flustered until finally she leaned in, sliding a hand under his chin and pressing her lips to his.

Amazingly, the kiss broke Egon out of his stammering paralysis, and he returned the kiss, deepening it.

Ray Stantz emerged from his office, his mouth opening to ask a question. At the sight of the liplocked couple he swallowed hard, reddened, and turned on his heel, sliding back into his office without a sound.

Egon did not pull away from the kiss, hoping that Mich would not notice Ray's brief interruption. Please...not when things are beginning to go the way I imagined them...

She did pull away, but only for a moment, long enough to toss her hair out of the way and find a less-awkward position, her lips returning to his with an answer to his question.

If Egon had been the sort of man who could cry, he would have cried. If Egon had been the sort of man who laughed easily, he would have laughed. Not being either kind of man, Egon did his equivalent; he stayed in the moment and thanked any and every relevant power for this moment that so beautifully realized all his previously repressed hopes.

Mich finally drew back, dropping a few light kisses on his throat. Her cheeks were flushed, but with what emotion Egon couldn't tell.

Without a word, Egon reached out and, very gently, brushed his fingertips down the side of Mich's face.

"It's late," she said. "Time for bed, I think."

Egon withdrew his hand quickly. "Of course."

He followed her to the bedroom, watching a little forlornly as she changed into the striped pajamas she'd bought a few days before. He sat on the edge of his bed, taking off his watch and reaching up to take off his glasses when he saw that Mich wasn't getting into bed. She was coming over to him.

Egon's eyes widened as he realized what she was implying. "Really?" he whispered.

"Don't get any ideas," she said, wagging her finger. "I'm not performing any experiments to see if Ray Stantz has a voyeuristic streak."

Egon sighed. "Well, there goes my theory." He looked sideways at Mich to see how she would take it.

She gave him one of his own 'that isn't funny' looks before sticking out her tongue.

"Don't tempt me," he said, nearly smiling.

"You're right. Plenty of time for that later." She waited while he removed he glasses and as he eased himself flat she curled up next to him, burrowing under the covers.

He wrapped his arms (the arms she liked so much, he reminded himself with a hint of pride) around her, snuggling close.

"Mmmm...this is familiar," she murmured.

Egon smiled. "I didn't think you'd remember that."

She turned, looking at him. "Huh?"

"You're talking about the other night, right? You had nightmares..." He trailed off.

Her jaw slowly dropped at she stared at him. "You...know? Wait, that was you?"

Egon nodded. "I thought it might help," he said softly.

"And you didn't say anything? I thought it was Ray!"

"I don't advertise," Egon said. "And I thought since you were sleepy...the odds of you remembering were very low."

"I remember being held...and a kiss...and gentle hands, but I wasn't awake enough to see who it was." She cupped his cheek. "Thank you. It was really sweet."

Egon smiled--his first real, full smile in a very long time. "Anytime." He covered her hand with his own.

Chapter 16

The next morning Egon awoke with empty arms. He blinked, wondering for a moment if Mich’s warm body next to him had been a dream. But the blankets were pulled out of whack on one side, characteristic of Mich’s usual method of rising—lurching out of bed and taking the sheet and bedspread with her.

He sat up, looking at the empty beds around him and wondered where Ray and Winston were. His eyes, still bereft of their glasses, saw something at the foot of the bed and he reached for it holding it up for a few moments before his fumbling fingers finally closed on the wire rims. Slipping them over his eyes, he was able to focus on the object in his hand—a polaroid with a single remark written on the white strip at the bottom: “Awwwww . . . ” From the horrible penmanship—Ws that looked like spiders crawling—Egon instantly knew that Peter had written it. He looked at the photo itself and suppressed a groan; Mich was there, curled in his arms, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. What made him groan was not the image itself—that made him tingle in places he didn’t know were capable of tingling—but that Peter (and possibly Ray and Winston as well) had seen him in such a vulnerable state and that he was sure to receive plenty of teasing about it later.

Strangely enough, it didn’t seem to bother him that much. Intellectually he knew that such a vulnerable position usually stung his carefully honed sense of dignity, but suddenly it didn’t seem to matter. Sooner or later Peter, Ray, and Winston would discover both his feelings and hers, and there didn’t seem to be much point in trying to hide them. For now, he intended to keep casual and matter-of-fact around Peter; not letting any sign of annoyance or embarrassment show would be revenge enough, thereby depriving Peter of any enjoyment from his teasing.

Egon rolled out of bed, mind already at work. First he would find Mich. Oddly enough, last night had seemed to open up a part of him that he had dealt with only occasionally. Now he had instincts like "make her breakfast" or "sneak up behind her, grab her by the waist and spin her around until she, giggling, tells you to put her down." The second option seemed extremely promising.

Still, Egon hadn't forgotten that he lived with two other guys, and that Peter might be around too. Not that he would necessarily change his behavior, but it wasn't as if he had his own apartment...although that might have to change if...

But what was he talking about? Mich was going home. Of course Mich was going home. Egon shook his head. Nothing lasted forever; he should be happy to have her now, even if it was only for a short time.

He didn't want it to be a short time.

Mich was in the lab, straddling a chair as she carefully arranged the disassembled pieces of her remote unit. The cracked casing sat to one side, the fractured displaed screen next to it. The rest were laid out presumably so Mich would know how to put them back together. "The leg bone's connected to the hip bone..." she hummed tunelessly as she worked.

Egon ditched the "twirling around" idea for something more practical. Instead, he came close behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Good morning."

"Mmm...hi," she said, leaning back against him. "The guys left you a present on the bed.'

"I saw," he said. "That's one for the photo album."

"They went out on a call. Ray wanted to wake you up--said you'd be mad if you missed out." She looked up at him. "Are you?"

He smiled slightly. "I suppose I'll resign myself to it eventually." He brought his hands up to massage Mich's shoulders. "I foresee it being difficult, but I'm willing to attempt the necessary adjustments."

"How noble and stuff," she giggled. "I don't suppose you guys have anything that'll act as an interface between the primary dimensional interpreter and the subspace subharmonic navigator, do you?"

"What kind of something are you looking for?"

She held up a burnt piece of circuitry. "Something that can take complex binary streams and convert them to logarithmic cycles."

"Hmm..." Egon rummaged through a nearby pile of electronics until he found a promising-looking circuit board. He held it up. "Will this do?"

"Hey, wow!" She took it, examining the circuits. "It just might...with some modification."

Egon nodded. "Be sure to tell me what you do to change it...I'm quite invested in this project."

"No guarantee it'll work. Some of the vital bits were destroyed, and there's no way of knowing...well, whether I can make this work well enough to get me home."

Egon nodded. He wasn't sure whether he wanted it to work or not. Ah, well--he was leaping ahead of himself. Egon had no precognitive powers, but he did have a tendency to think about potential futures once he was interested enough in a particular chain of events...and why was he making Mich sound like an article in Parapsychology Monthly?

"And if it doesn't," she mused, not noticing his pause, "I'll have to build a whole dimensional unit from scratch."

Egon nodded, raising his eyebrows. "Perhaps Ray and I could assist you. It might be an entertaining project."

"You'll have to. I can't do it on my own. It'll be fun." She grinned. "Ray was telling me the other day about some of the ghosts and demons you guys have encountered. Maybe we can figure out ways for you to shunt them back into their home dimensions..."

"A brilliant idea," Egon said. "And perhaps..." He trailed off.

"Perhaps?"

"Perhaps we might use it to...visit you. Once you're safely ensconced at home." Egon made a vague gesture with his hands.

For a moment the same closed expression flitted across her face. "We'll see," she said. "I'll have to clean my apartment first," she grinned.

Egon raised his eyebrows slightly. "You can say that after having seen our living conditions?"

"Yeah, but you haven't seen mine," she said, sticking out her tongue. "Honestly, I don't know why you'd want to bother. Everything in my world is drab and gray and nothing but sameness. It's nothing like here."

"But you would be in it," Egon said.

Her cheeks flushed red and she used the screwdriver to scratch her neck.“When do you want to start working on the transdimensional unit?”

Egon shrugged. “We don’t have any pressing cases. Might now be a good time?”

“Are you that anxious to get back to science?” Mich asked, giving Egon a playful look.

“Get back to science? No,” Egon said. “Spend more time with you? Absolutely.”

Mich blushed a becoming shade of pink. “Sweet-talker.”

“Only if you like your sentences laden with technical terminology,” Egon said, heading for the door so he could get changed and rejoin Mich, and perhaps convince Ray to help.

“You picked the right girl,” Mich said, just loudly enough for Egon to hear.

Egon turned back to face her, still not entirely used to this free expression of emotion. “I’m sorry?”

Mich grinned at him. “Hurry back.”

If there had been a way to break the speed of light, Egon would’ve done it right then.

****

Hours later, Egon was sitting in a pile of circuitry and half-wired electronics as Ray and Mich lay half-swallowed by the jaws of a mechanical monster.

“Hand me the needle-nose pliers, would you, Egon?” Ray asked, his voice muffled by the machine. Egon pushed his glasses up on his nose, finding the pliers and handing them to Ray.

“I wish I could be of more help,” Egon said. “Are you certain there isn’t anything I can do to help, Ray?”

Ray slid himself out from beneath the circuitboard he was working on. “Sorry—I couldn’t hear you in there. What did you say?”

“I asked if there was something I could do to help,” Egon said.

Ray frowned. “Well…I’m not sure, at this stage, that there is. I’d love to ask you to help on the machine, but I want to check all its wiring myself. I might need some calculations a little later, so I’ll let you know if that’s the case.”

Mich emerged from the machine, looking at Egon. “Actually, Egon, I wanted to take a break and talk to you anyway.”

Egon raised an eyebrow, not sure why. “What about?”

Mich shrugged. “Things.” She gestured for him to join her, and he did, falling into step behind her as Ray crawled back into the belly of his beast.

Egon followed Mich into his office, closing the door behind him. “What is this about?”

“Egon, how do you feel about me?” Mich asked.

Egon frowned. What was she implying? “I thought I’d made the extent of my feelings quite clear yesterday evening…”

Mich caught his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, and Egon found himself returning it. Part of him observed, with scientific detachment and curiosity, what she was doing, and part of him simply went with it because it was something he’d wanted…and it felt incredible. Janine’s kisses simply couldn’t compare.

“Egon,” Mich whispered in Egon’s ear, running her hands down his back and giving Egon cold chills.

Suddenly, Egon knew what Mich was asking, and he gave the only answer it was in his power to give. “Yes.”

She looked satisfied and nibbled at his neck, while Egon noted his rise in blood pressure and body temperature, in addition to the blood vessels swelling in his…

“Where?” he asked, trying to take his mind off his physiological changes.

“Anywhere,” Mich said. “Here. The desk. I don’t care.”

Egon took her earlobe in his mouth and tugged gently with his lips, but then the door swung open, and Mich and Egon instinctively backed a few steps away from each other.

It was, of course, Ray. “Egon. I need you to look at these equations and double-check them. I’m pretty sure they’re right, but I just need another set of eyes.”

“Do you want me to check them too?” Mich asked. She was doing a better job of looking as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening than Egon was.

“Sure,” Ray said, nodding. “The more back-up I have, the better. If you have revisions, can you get them to me by the end of the day?”

“Sure,” Egon said, not sure what else he could say.

“Great. Thanks, guys,” Ray said. If he’d noticed anything unusual, he didn’t let on, and he was quickly gone the way he had come.

Egon set aside the sheet of equations, looking at Mich. Their momentum had gone awry because of Ray’s interruption, and he wasn’t sure he could resume at his previous level of attraction right away.

Mich gave him a devilish smile that seemed to indicate she could read his mind.

Egon coughed nervously. "So."

Mich looked at him. "Yesss....?"

Egon returned the gaze, but only for a moment. "On the...desk."

Mich shrugged. "Or the floor, or the chair, or the file cabinets..."

Egon frowned. "The file cabinets are vertical, and...oh, I see."

Mich smiled. "The human body is capable of amazing feats of contortion, my dear doctor..."

Egon was reminded of a journal article he'd read recently. "That reminds me of the Monongahela tribes...fascinating people. The men were actually able to get their leg directly above their..."

Mich leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands as she listened intently.

"Well, both legs, actually. I think it has to do with the musculature...and...um..." Egon trailed off as he noticed Mich's stare.

Mich straightened in her seat. "Ahem, yes. You were saying?"

Egon looked at the wall. "You're sure Ray can't hear?"

Mich shook her head. "No. Wanna test that hypothesis?"

"Just a moment. My...stapler's...in the way."

"That's what they all say," Mich said with a knowing look.

Egon took the stapler off his desk. "Really...the only way to learn precisely what the Monongahela tribes do..." He took off his glasses, setting them delicately on the file cabinet. "...is to emulate..."

"Emulate. Wonderful euphemism, I must say." Mich grinned, pushing her chair back.

Egon stumbled for Mich, but stumbled into his desk. In his desire to get to Mich, he'd almost forgotten how blind he was without his glasses. "Excuse me...I think I really need these." He put his glasses back on.

Mich giggled.

"There's no point in keeping them from breaking if I can't see you to...emulate," Egon said. "I could wind up having intimate relations with your knees..."

Mich laughed. "I know my knees are nice but I didn't think they were THAT nice..."

"I'm more interested in your ciliated columnar epithelium," Egon said.

Mich frowned in concentration, then shook her head. "It's been years since my last anatomy course. Layman's?"

"Cells such as are found in the nose...Fallopian tubes...uterus..."

"I see. And...you're planning to extract these? For research?"

Egon coughed. That wasn't what he'd meant at all. "Ah...uh...maybe I should try again...it's been a while since I've done this."

"Getting rusty?" Mich asked.

"Foreplay has always been a bit obvious for my tastes."

"Well, you're in luck. I have very little interest in foreplay. I'm a 'skip to the main attraction' type of girl," Mich said.

"Very good. I suppose, then..." He took a few steps towards Mich, trying to decide what to do next.

Mich stood, eyeing Egon.

Egon ran his fingertips gently down the side of her face, and Mich closed her eyes. "You have such nice hands..."

Egon shook his head, smiling slightly. "You have a very nice face."

He leaned in and kissed her. Mich returned the kiss, sliding a hand up to Egon's neck. Egon moved his arm to support Mich's lower back, and as Mich leaned against him, Egon swiveled them around so that they were lying on his desk. He brushed Mich's hair out of her face.

"Whee," Mich said.

Egon chuckled. "They teach you that in physics lab."

"What? Sweeping women off their feet? I should have majored in that, then."

Egon was a little perplexed by her assertion. "Sweeping women?"

"Yeah. That little move, the turn, and here I am? "

"Yes, but...*you* want to sweep women off their feet?"

"Well, in my case they would have altered the curriculum, obviously." Mich grinned.

Egon smiled. "I'll stop talking now." He pulled Mich close. Mich began to tickle his sides, and after an extremely high-pitched series of giggles, Egon pulled away. "Hey..."

"I had to find out if you're ticklish," Mich said, sounding no-nonsense.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread it around."

"My lips are sealed."

Egon kissed her. "Literally."

"Mmmmm," Mich said.

Egon rolled to his side, and winced as he hit something. "Ow...tape dispenser." He whacked it with his hand, sending it flying off the desk as he took Mich in a passionate embrace.

Mich giggled, sliding her legs around Egon's waist. "Gotcha."

Egon undid his button, but had a little trouble with his fly. "Ah, the zipper...the most irritating form of birth control."

"Allow me," Mich said, reaching down to unzip it. "Females are more delicate at these things." She stuck her tongue out teasingly.

Egon nodded. "Without a doubt."

Mich unbuttoned his shirt. "No tummy fuzz?"

"I'm afraid not...I've been shocked by equipment going awry a few too many times." He removed Mich's shirt. "No tummy fuzz here either, I see. What's your excuse?"

Mich laughed. "Genetics?"

"Excellent excuse," Egon said, unfastening Mich's bra. "Here's something men excel at..."

"Oooh, yeah. You have the touch."

Egon smiled, pulling Mich close. "Are you ready?"

"Bring it on," Mich said.

Egon entered her, and Mich gasped. "Oh, that's the spot right there..."

Egon rocked back and forth a little. "Here?"

"Ohyes..." Mich's eyes crossed a little.

Egon moved a little faster. "Oh...yes...very nice..."

"Sweet...talker..."

"I...mean it," Egon said, moving faster and faster. "You're lovely, Mich...you're so...beautiful..."

"So are you," Mich said. She gripped him tightly with her legs, her breath catching in her throat.

"Ahh...oh..." Egon came. Mich trembled, holding him tight. Egon continued to move for her, kissing her neck. "For you..."

Mich panted. "Oh, wow..."

"Tell me...what you want."

Mich looked puzzled. "Huh?"

"What feels good...to you..."

"This...is very nice...just being here with you."

Egon smiled shyly.

Peter opened the door. "Egon, do you--oh, you're in a meeting. I see." He closed the door again.

Mich cracked up.

"Sometimes I wonder if he understands the word 'knock,'" Egon said.

"If he did we'd be deprived of moments like that..."

"What a loss," Egon said dryly.

Mich snickered.

Egon shook his head. "I don't care if he walks in again. I'm not moving."

Mich met his eyes. "Me neither."

Egon took her hand and kissed it.

She smiled. "You, sir, are a man of multiple personalities."

"What do you mean?"

"You like to pretend you're just a humble man of science, but when you put on that proton pack you're a world-defender, and take everything off...and you're a very sensitive, passionate man." Mich stroked his chin.

Egon blushed. "I think the real wonder here is you...you're tough when you need to be, and sardonic...but you can give so much...and you have, to me."

"I try. Besides, we're all tough when it comes to it," Mich said. "You don't have much of a temper but I seem to recall hearing something about you once leaping at a guy who worked for the EPA and saying something about his mother." She grinned. "I respect that."

Egon snorted. "He and his entire ancestry deserved it."

Mich nodded. "Very true. If it'd been me...well, let's not ponder that."

"I think there are a lot of good things we could ponder."

"Yeah, like...you in that dark gray uniform. Yummy."

Egon raised an eyebrow. "Really? I always thought it was aesthetically clumsy myself..."

"What?"

"The jumpsuit is very...functional, at least to me. No more, no less."

Mich looked at Egon as if he were crazy. "Are you shitting me? No, wait--you're a guy, so you don't see what I do, I dig..."

"Be that as it may, I have all the fashion of a polyester pantsuit. You, on the other hand, are always stunning."

"Polyest--by the way, thanks for the compliment--Egon, are you mad??"

"I had hoped the focus might be on the compliment...ah, well."

"You're right, you're right...just remember--chicks dig uniforms."

Egon smiled slightly. "I'll keep that in mind."

"And remember that *I* get defensive about certain things, so if I start with the mouth, either smack me or kiss me. Your choice."

"That's no choice at all, really." Egon smirked. "I have half a mind to call Peter back and embarrass him again. But I think I'd prefer to find some other way of embarrassing him."

"Why take the easy way out?" Mich winked at Egon.

Egon shrugged. "The world may never know. By the way, what's your favorite language?"

"In what context?"

"I need to know what language you'd like your pet names to be culled from."

"Oh, you pick. The only language I can speak in any capacity is English."

Egon pondered. "Hmm...English is acceptable too. I just wanted to see if you had any preferences."

"I love the sound of Vietnamese and Chinese, and Italian when it's spoken correctly."

Unfortunately, Egon wasn't overly familiar with Vietnamese, and his Chinese pronunciation was atrocious, as he'd been helpfully informed by a native Chinese speaker. "I see..."

"What can I say--I like the obscure ones," Mich said with a grin.

Egon smiled. "Tesora mia..."

"Oh melt," Mich said, going limp.

"Oh! Good! It worked."

"If you start singing "Tengo Amor" I might just die," Mich said.

Egon cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. "I know a few things, but as you've heard, how to sing isn't one of them."

Mich shrugged. "Can't have 'em all. But to be honest--with your voice I'd be a permanent floor fixture if you could."

"I could always take lessons."

"You do and I'll be sorry."

"I would enjoy having a permanent floor fixture." Egon smiled at her. "Do you sing?"

Mich rolled her eyes. "Yes. Badly."

"Oh, good. We should have a concert sometime."

Mich laughed.

Egon sobered, deciding to say what was on his mind. He spoke quietly. "I don't think I want this to be just a tryst..."

"Whoever said this was "just" a tryst?" Mich asked.

Egon sighed with relief. "Oh...good. I thought this might be...well. I wasn't sure what it might be."

"I don't know either, and I know neither of us is going to be hopping down to the altar, but who says we can't have fun and let it go where it will?" Mich asked.

Egon nodded. "I doubt either one of us is going to be hopping, period. If I'm taking things...in a direction you don't want to go...I hope you'll tell me."

Mich smiled. "You won't have a choice there, I'm afraid."

"Good. That's good." Egon paused. "So...what now?"

"Well, my back's going to start hurting here in a minute--shall we get vertical again?"

"Certainly," Egon said, helping Mich to her feet.

Mich swayed a little. "Whoo...head rush..."

Egon steadied her. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I get a little dizzy when I get up too quick."

Egon nodded. "I see." He ran his fingers over her hand.

"I thought Ray was the one into palm-reading," Mich said.

"He is. I'm the one into palm-touching."

Mich grinned.

Egon looked down at Mich's hands, unable to look at her face as he spoke. "He sees your future in your hands. I see mine."

Mich went completely silent, swallowing hard. Egon held his breath, afraid he had said something wrong. Mich looked away from Egon, blinking. Egon felt guilty; she was going to cry, and it was his fault.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I...should never talk."

Mich pulled him into a kiss. "Don't ever stop."

Egon, relieved, kissed her back. Mich rested her head on his chest, and Egon kissed the top of her head, holding her close.

****

Peter passed Egon on the stairs later that day. “Egon.”

“Peter.” Egon waited for the wisecrack he was certain would come.

“I see you’ve moved away from mood slime,” Peter said.

Egon cleared his throat, hoping that Mich was far enough away that she wouldn’t hear this. Not that she would know what Peter’s comment was in reference to, but still…having to explain could be incredibly embarrassing.

“You’ve graduated to bipeds,” Peter continued. “I and all my fellow human beings salute you.”

“I’m not sure that’s scientifically sound,” Egon said.

“What? Saluting you?”

“Claiming a place for yourself among human beings. I think you’re being overly optimistic at this point,” Egon said.

Peter regarded Egon for a minute, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “You made a joke.” He pointed at Egon. “I’m gonna have to watch you. You’re dangerous once you get a woman in your life.” He continued upstairs. “Hey, everybody! Egon’s got a sense of humor!”

Egon sighed. Some things remained constant—gravity, the speed of the Earth’s rotation, and Peter Venkman’s propensity to embarrass his friends.

****

Egon was stretched out on the couch. His friends were all asleep upstairs, but he was rechecking his equations for Mich and Ray’s transdimensional machine. He wanted to be sure his figures were absolutely right before Ray acted on them.

Mich sat on the couch, snuggling against him. “Hi.”

Egon smiled, lowering his papers to his lap and kissing Mich on the top of the head. “Hello.”

“Still working?” Mich asked.

Egon nodded. “I want this machine to work.” He wasn’t sure if it was due to masochism or simply because Mich wanted it so much, and he wanted to make her happy. He did want to make her happy.

“Leave it for tonight and come to bed,” Mich said.

Coming to bed had never looked so inviting. Egon dropped the papers over the back of the couch. “All right.”

Mich giggled. “I’ve never met anyone who was willing to drop everything for me.”

“That’s what page numbers are for,” Egon said, kissing her.

For Much Later

The door opened and Ray and Winston charged in, followed closely by Peter. Just as Egon stepped forward Peter turned, blocking his way. “You don’t wanna go in there, Egon.”

“Peter, if Mich is in there I assure you that I DO,” he replied, trying to push past the psychologist. Peter, however, remained firm.

“Egon, listen to me for once. You don’t want to go in there. Look, Ray and Winston and I’ll handle it—you stay out here and play lookout, okay?”

Egon glared. It was obvious that Peter was trying to keep him from Mich. But why? “Peter, what is it? What’s wrong?” He craned his neck, trying to see past his friend. Peter moved to block his view.

“Egon, it’s gonna make you very unhappy,” Peter said after a few moments.

“Peter, I am already very unhappy. Seeing Mich is the only thing in this entire situation that has the potential to make me otherwise. Now stand aside, please.” With a firm shove he managed to nudge Venkman aside, surprised when Peter pushed back, nearly sending him into the wall.

“Egon, you can’t go in there, okay? It’s—”

“Let him in, Pete,” came Winston’s voice.

The reason for Peter’s obstinance became clear as soon as Egon crossed the threshhold, along with a revelation—the situation had indeed worsened, though Egon had not believed it possible for it to do so.

Ray and Winston crouched near a figure that was huddled against the bare gray wall, tilted on its side with legs askew; had the wall not been there, the person would have been lying on the floor. The slender back and spine of a female was facing him, covered only by a thin, pale blue shirt and pants that looked like they afforded absolutely no protection from the chill in the air. Her arms were wrapped around her torso as they would be if she were wearing a straitjacket; instead of the confining garment, two ropes attached to thick wrist cuffs crossed her back and attached to a thick leather collar—any attempt to pull the limbs would choke her. The only other thing Egon could see from his vantage point was a cruelly cropped head, as if a pair of dull shears had been applied to her hair.

He looked at Ray and Winston, his gaze both seeking and dreading confirmation. At their solemn nods he suppressed a moan and raced to her side, dropping to his knees, heedless of the pain as they connected with the concrete floor. “Mich, can you hear me?”

Her eyes raised to his face, her pupils huge. It took her a few seconds to focus on him. “Egon?” Her voice was soft and slurred.

“We’ve come to take you home,” Egon said, unable to think of anything else to say. He motioned to Winston, who immediately produced a knife; together they cut the ropes that bound her. With a sigh, her arms drooped to her sides, though she made no further attempt to move them. Egon set to work on the collar, sawing through the thick strap that kept it buckled with all the rage he could muster. It finally parted with a snap and he pulled it away, throwing it into the corner. He grasped one of her wrists, but saw that the cuffs were locked. No matter; they could remove them later.

“Home,” she murmured. “Am home.”

“No, you are not,” Egon said, sliding his arms around her. “You are coming with us back to our New York and I will not entertain any arguments to the contrary.” He helped her up, holding her as she clung to him, her legs trembling as if they’d never carried her before.

Peter stuck his head in, his gaze going from Egon to Winston and carefully avoiding Mich. “You know, I don’t want to break up the Kodak moment, but will you guys hurry up? We don’t exactly want visitors, now do we?”

With a single movement Egon slid his arm behind her knees and lifted her up. “We must hurry. If we can get outside the building we’ll be able to escape back home. Once there we will figure out a way to keep these people from coming into our dimension.”

For Even Later

Peter was heading for the stairs when Dana’s grip on his arm brought him up short. “Look,” she whispered.

Normally Peter Venkman used any and all opportunities to tease his friends. It wasn’t because he was mean or insensitive; he teased because—as he frequently reminded them—he cared. If he didn’t like them he wouldn’t bother. And deep down he knew they understood that, too. This time, however, he was going to keep quiet. At the very least, he would file it away for future use.

Egon was on the couch, leaned far back into the mass of cushions piled behind him. His right leg was crooked and propped up on the couch back, supporting the book he was reading. Mich was safely nestled between his legs, her back on his stomach, her head on his chest, her eyes closed as she slept. Egon’s left hand gently stroked her cropped hair as he carefully turned a page so he wouldn’t disturb her.

Peter and Dana watched for a few moments more before tiptoeing to the stairs and quietly slipping out.