#xkitx

"Oh. Yeah." He added a final shake to his home fries, then capped the bottle and stuck it back in his pocket. His coveralls were so loose that Maynard wouldn't have even guessed it was there. As a matter of fact, it was hard to believe the rest Kit was concealed in the baggy outfit too. He must have been stick-thin; Maynard doubted he would fit comfortably into the coveralls himself, but his new colleague was swimming in them.

Kit didn't elaborate on the hot sauce, so Maynard simply shrugged and accepted it as yet another of Kit's quirks. They'd only met that morning, having both been called to exorcise a creaky old house of what they both agreed was nothing more than a draft. Despite their reluctance to work together, that had been an easy conclusion to reach--both of them were gifted with the ability to see and hear ghosts, and Maynard had been a plain old handyman before a series of near-death experiences had left him with his ability. Kit had been born with his, and Maynard could see the occasional twitch that an adolescence full of unnecessary antipsychotics had left him with.

Now, their day's work having lasted only until mid-morning, the two ghost hunters were sitting in a diner booth enjoying a nice hearty breakfast. It had been Maynard's idea; he hadn't exactly been eager to spend more time with the prickly young man, but he'd noticed his belly rumbling all morning, and he was a little hungry himself. Certainly not as hungry as Kit--Maynard liked his routine, and unlike the younger man, he'd eaten breakfast around seven that morning--but it was getting close to lunchtime now, and he supposed eating a little early wouldn't hurt.

Not wanting to overdo it, Maynard had ordered a short stack of pancakes, although he almost wished he'd gone with a full stack. Kit was enjoying a big mushroom and feta omelette with home fries and Canadian bacon on the side, all dripping with a nice coating of hot sauce. Maynard had doubts about how much of it would fit into Kit's scrawny belly, but he supposed he'd seen stranger things in his days than a skinny guy eating his weight in diner food.

"So, how long have you been in the field?" Maynard almost didn't ask; Kit didn't seem like the type who was into small talk. He wasn't a big fan of it himself. Kit thought about that for a moment, stifling a hiccup.

"Seven years. Can't do much else." That was a surprise. Maynard doubted he was even thirty yet, though his dark-bagged eyes seemed weary beyond his years. "What about you?"

"About as long," said Maynard. "I was just a handyman for a while. Now I do both."

"Good way to do it," Kit nodded. "Not a big market for ghost hunting." Maynard thought his speech sounded awkward, almost forced, as though holding a normal conversation was unfamiliar to him. Considering that for a moment, he supposed it probably was.

"Could you always see them?" Kit looked up suddenly. Maynard shook his head.

"Not until about ten years ago," he said. "I almost died a few times--accidents, y'know, stuff like that. Close calls. Each time they got a little clearer. Now I can see 'em just like they were any old person." Kit nodded, looking thoughtfully interested, though he didn't seem to know how to respond. Satisfied with Maynard's answer, he went on eating his omelette. His plate was halfway cleaned, and Maynard suspected he must've been feeling full by now, but he was still going. He was beginning to feel a little full himself, and he supposed it was a good thing he hadn't gotten a full stack after all.

Maynard left Kit to do whatever he might and went on checking out the attic. He still wasn't sure he liked working with him. He preferred to work alone, for starters, but the homeowners, for reasons he couldn't wrap his mind around, had deemed it necessary to call both of them right from the start. Kit hadn't been enthusiastic about teaming up either--in fact, he'd tried to turn around and leave, and had to be persuaded to stay. They'd grown a little more used to each other over the past couple hours, and Maynard supposed there were worse people to be stuck with, though Kit still seemed prickly. Well, that was alright. If it meant they'd stay out of each other's way, he supposed prickly was alright.

The attic was silent, save for the creaking of the floorboards and the occasional blip from whatever contraption Kit was fooling around with, and Maynard nearly jumped out of his shoes when that silence was broken by a low snarling sound. He spun around, half expecting to come face to face with the reason for the homeowners' panic, but nothing was there but the cupboard. He remained still, listening. Nothing. Then, just as he was about to carry on, another growl. Maynard furrowed his brow. The sound was coming from the cupboard itself. He leaned down and peered in.

"Is that you?"

Kit's gaze remained fixed on his task for a moment, then he looked up, as though he'd only just noticed the older man. His belly rumbled. Maynard raised his eyebrows.

"Didn't you eat breakfast?"

Kit shook his head. "Don't like to." He looked back down at his device, giving it a firm smack on the side. Maynard mulled that response over in his head. It was another of many differences between the two of them. Maynard kept to a strict routine each day, and part of that routine was waking up early and eating his shredded wheat. He supposed he could understand not liking breakfast--not everybody's stomach responded well to eating first thing in the morning--but it was only 10:30 now, and it would be a good while before lunchtime.

"There's nothing here," said Kit, tumbling out of the cupboard. He plucked the hair tie from his head and ran his fingers through his long, wavy hair as it cascaded down over his shoulders. "Can't feel anything. Can't hear anything. Can't see anything. Nothing coming up on here. What are they so worked up about?"

"No idea. It's an old house. I found a couple of drafty spots. I suppose you could get a pretty strong gust out of 'em if it was windy."

"They called two separate guys over a draft?"

"Some people just have wild imaginations," Maynard said with a shrug. Kit shoved his little contraption into his pocket. His stomach growled again, and he held a hand against it. Maynard watched him for a moment. He wasn't dying to spend more time with his new colleague, but he couldn't help feeling concerned.

"How about an early lunch?" he suggested. "There's a diner up the road. It'd make up for coming all the way out here for nothing." Kit thought about that for a moment. Maynard could tell the question caught him off guard. That wasn't surprising; Kit didn't strike him as the type to socialize much. He didn't socialize much himself. He thought he might decline, but after an awkward pause, Kit nodded.