A/N Alright, so as we come to the close of this story (yes, it's a short one), there's a couple matters I'd like to take care of. First, a question in one of the reviews I forgot to clear up: yes, the party is being held on Saturday January 9, even though Otto's actual birthday is on January 10. This is because in OINFO, Oscar reminds Otto that he'll see them at his birthday party "next Saturday", and in the year 2016 the closest Saturday to his birthday was on January 9, which is why I picked that date for this fanfic.

Secondly, a fun little thing I did intentionally: today, Dec. 29, is the two-year anniversary of the publication of "Olive's Last Partner"—my first Odd Squad fanfic, THE first OS fanfic EVER, and the kickstart to my biggest project, "Ships Ahoy". Ahh, the nostalgia... :)

Thirdly, a huge shoutout to all the favorites, follows, and reviews from Dr. Pickle 22, Agent0002, Supergirl4323, Zoha Ven, awesomeeden84, Padme Ella Uhura, trauzlly, Ravenpuff, Opla-chan, Guest, and indiacaly. You guys rock!

And finally, a ginormous special thank-you to Aliceine, for being the mastermind behind this entire story and making it all possible. I gotta say, she's probably one of the most involved collaborators I've ever worked with on a Contest-winning story, and was never afraid to speak her mind about what she wanted written. It was truly super fun to work with you! :D

Chapter 3

Otis's jaw dropped.

Agent Onica. She remembered.

Before he even knew what was happening, his coat and jacket and frozen yogurt (though somehow not the mask) had been carelessly tossed aside and he was hurtling through a crowd of bewildered kids, straight for—you guessed it—the dance floor.

Otis couldn't be sure exactly where his inner Dancing Queen came from. For the longest time, until joining Odd Squad and getting to know Olympia, he never realized that not everybody has a natural knack for twentieth-century fusion dance—rather, he always thought it was one of those average normal things that average normal people did. Even when he never saw anyone else dance the way he did in public, Otis assumed that maybe everyone was shyly self-conscious about it and preferred to dance to ragtime by themselves, the way he did. After all, it wasn't like ragtime was played on the radio much anymore. Or by DJs at social dances.

But as he slid into the center of the emptying dance floor and let his inner Dancing Queen heart burst free, Otis wasn't thinking about any of that. The outside world of the crowded and social-anxiety-inducing Menchie's atmosphere was, for the first time that night, utterly lost to him. All Otis knew was that someone had been kind enough to take notice of him and give him a spotlight that, for once, he couldn't be shy about. And even that was lost as the piano swirl of "Maple Leaf Rag" and his unique dance instinct took over and crowded out all other thought in his mind.

There were confused voices all around. "What kind of music is this?"

"I think it's called 'Squat Choppin' by Mabel E. Fragg."

"Whatever it is, it's too old-fashioned, I dunno how to dance to this!"

But Otis couldn't hear them over the wide range of dance styles in his mind that, meshed together, formed his inner Queen. From basic tap...

Shuffle-step clap, shuffle-step clap, ball change—

"Hey, who's that kid in the middle there?"

...to Vaudeville...

—Maxie Ford into bombershay, fall off the log—

"That's a funny-looking mask he's wearing, isn't it?"

...to Eccentric…

—snake hips shimmy, rubber legs, camel walk—

"Who cares about his mask, check out those moves!"

...to Lindy Hop (and all the Charleston)…

—swing Charleston, Suzie Q, Savoy Charleston, hitchhike, Mashed Potato Charleston—

"I've never seen anyone dance like that before."

...to Broadway Jazz…

—rock step, VOP step, step-touch, hitch kick—

"Wow, look at him go!"

...to classic hip-hop…

—happy feet, drop into coffee grinder, dip-step up, James Brown into punch down—

"It's like he can't stop!"

...and into something all his own...

—sideshuffle and two-handwave, hurdle the fence, dive 'n roll—

"Partner, I think he's even better than you!"

...and then the piano swirl tumbled down into the final chord, and with a flourish of his arms Otis dropped to the floor into an appropriate ending full splits.

His mind clearing and resurfacing back into reality, Otis looked up for the first time and realized everyone was gawking at him, in complete silence. But before he could consider scrambling away in embarrassment to the safety of his corner, the entire room exploded into cheers and applause.

Now it was Otis's turn to stare, dumbfounded. They thought I was worth watching? That I was...good?

Vaguely he felt a hand pull him to his feet. It was Onica. "Wow, you weren't kidding when you said you liked ragtime," she marveled, grinning. "Those were some sick moves out there!"

For the first time that night, Otis smiled. "Thanks. And thank you for getting me out here." He jerked his head in the direction of the DJ station. "That was your doing, wasn't it?"

"O-ho, yeah." Onica winked. "Since I sent you in the wrong direction to look for my bosses, I figured I ought to help out and steer you over to the real right place."

The what? Her what? "What do you…?"

Otis trailed off as he felt a hand clap his shoulder. The cheering instantly hushed, and a lighthearted voice spoke behind him. "Y'know, it's not every day I find an Odd Squad agent who shows me up with dancing ability."

Oh no, did I offend someone? Otis whirled around, an apology ready on his lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it would—"

He stopped. His masked eyes took in the silver top hat and purple necktie emblazoned with the number 11, the unusually tall-for-the-age height, the dark hair and skin, and the cockish twinkle in the bright eyes and huge grin of the boy in front of him. There was no mistaking who he had finally, finally bumped into.

A shorter but older girl with a dark ponytail and a silver-trimmed purple romper slid up next to the boy. "Oh, so now you're playing modest," she remarked, punching him lightly on the arm. "Only a minute ago you looked jealous enough to—"

"Okay, okay, Olive, I get it, I can't dance to ragtime!" the boy cut her off good-naturedly as the crowd laughed and resumed their chatter. He turned back to Otis. "Anyhow, I don't remember if we've met, I can't tell who you are under the cool mask. What's your name?"

But Otis was too shocked with his good fortune to say anything but, "You're Olive and Otto. You—I—um, I've been l-looking for you." He regained his wits somewhat and remembered Olympia's presents. "My partner got sick and couldn't come to the party," he went on, pulling out the packages from behind his back, "so she wanted me to bring these to you." As an afterthought he added, "Happy Birthday!"

Otto's face lit up even more as he took them from Otis's outstretched hand. "Thanks, buddy! And tell your partner thanks, too!" With that he turned to Olive. "Hey, think you can run these back to the gift table for me?"

Uh-oh, Otis thought. I can't lose her while I've got them both here! "Uh, wait!"

Olive paused mid-grab and looked up at Otis. Suddenly nervous again (Crumpets, I really need to work on maintaining consistent social confidence!) he stammered out, "I, er, sh-she wanted...I mean, m-my partner...well, we're both new agents, and, uh...she's r-really a big fan of your work, ahem. So if you, erm, wouldn't mind..." the words failed him, and he trailed off and tried to make a writing motion with his hand.

Luckily, Olive caught on. "Oh," she nodded with a knowing smile. "Your partner wants autographs, does she?"

Relieved, Otis nodded wordlessly.

Otto winked. "Well, your partner just so happens to be in luck." Reaching behind their backs, he and Olive simultaneously brought out signed photos and held them out. "We've been getting a ton of autograph requests ever since we got promoted," Otto explained, not without a hint of pride.

Relieved and incredulous, Otis took the photographs and looked at them. Finally, his mission had ended successful. "Thank you very much," he said stiffly, trying not to show his relief. "She'll love these."

Olive smiled warmly. "You're welcome, Agent...what did you say your name was again?"

Otis opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say anything, a certain Lab Director chose that exact moment to finally make an appearance. "Hey guys!"

"Oscar!" Olive and Otto exclaimed, momentarily forgetting as they rushed over and grabbed their friend in a group hug.

Now you show up, Otis thought wryly, after I don't need your help anymore.

"You've gotten taller," Olive noted as she pulled away, a strange expression on her face that Otis couldn't make out the meaning of.

"And your voice has...dropped?" Otto added, puzzled. "How'd you grow up so fast in the past week?"

Oscar twisted his lips and reached up to scratch his neck. "Oh, hehe, you noticed. Yeah, zapped myself with a Make-Yourself-Olderinator on accident. But I kinda like the new voice, and Ms. O didn't make me switch back, so I guess she liked it too—"

Another strange expression flickered over Olive's face. "Anyways," she interrupted in a slightly strained voice, "we were just thanking this agent for Otto's presents and giving him autographs." Then she snapped her fingers and looked down at the packages she was holding. "Speaking of which, I should get these back to the presents table…."

"Ah, how nice!" Oscar glanced over at Otis, and his brow furrowed. "Hey, you kinda look a little familiar. D-do I know you?"

Otis had forgotten about the mask. "Oscar, it's me, it's—"

"Wait, what?"

All three of them looked at Olive, who held up one of the packages and looked straight at Otis. "Why is one of these addressed to me…?"

"You do realize it wasn't also Olive's birthday?"

It was the following Monday, and Otis was sitting with Olympia at their desks, recounting everything that had happened two nights before. Her lucky pox marks had almost completely faded, and she was no longer contagious.

"Pssh, of course I knew that, haha!" Olympia claimed, waving a hand dismissively. "But the gifts were for Otto to share with Olive, so I had to make one of them addressed to her, obviously!"

"No, not obviously," Otis countered. "I had literally no explanation to give them."

"But surely the gift itself explained that on its own, right?"

Otis thought back to the bewildered looks on Olive's and Otto's faces as they opened the packages right there. In Otto's was a boxed set of all the Harry Potter movies, and in Olive's was a couple bags of popcorn and candy and two sodas, with a note that read, "For your next date night together! Enough to last the WHOLE night! :D"

To Olympia he shook his head. "No, no it didn't. I'm no expert at these things, but they almost looked...embarrassed. I ran out of there and got to the tubes as fast as I could, it was so awkward." Otis shuddered at the memory.

His partner wasn't fazed in the slightest. "Yeah, you probably misread that whole situation," she said dismissively. "True soulmates like Olive and Otto have no reason to be embarrassed about a date night package."

More than a little weirded out by what Olympia was getting at (And anyhow, that doesn't seem right to me...but Olympia does understand social cues better...never mind, I don't want to think about this), Otis changed the subject. "So, you like the autographs?" he asked, nodding at the photos enshrined on her filing cabinet with magnets.

"DO I?!" Olympia squealed, gazing at the photos with fangirl rapture. "They're just what I wanted!" Without warning she lunged out of her swivel chair and grabbed him in a tight bear hug. "Thank you, Otis! You're the best partner ever!"

Otis said nothing, but a hesitant smile crept across his lips as he returned the hug, patting her on the back. It was worth it, Olympia, he thought, the memories of his terrifying social flounderings from Saturday night flashing through his mind once more. For you, it was all worth it.

With one final great effort, they grabbed the huge white switch and, in unison, pulled it down.

Instantly the lasers shut off, and Otto and Otis collapsed against the wall in exhaustion, breathing heavily. "Think it worked?" Otis panted, turning his face to the other boy.

Otto was watching him curiously. "Ragtime piano...dancing...you're not that masked agent from my birthday party, are you?"

Otis looked away, thankful for the dark blue lighting to hide his reddening face. "I was more self-conscious then. Didn't want anyone to know who I was. Thought the mask would help me blend in better."

"Blend in better? So that's why you showed off on the dance floor in front of everybody?" Otto laughed. "Sorry, I'm just teasing. It's good to finally know that was you, you hadn't stuck around long enough for me to get your name that night."

"Again, self-consciousness thing." Otis shrugged. "I'm better at it now."

"Good to hear! Although, uh…" a shadow passed over Otto's face and he squirmed a little, "not to make you self-conscious now, but...well, now that I know who you are and all...okay, what was the deal with your partner's gifts?"

Awkward as it was, Otis managed a chuckling snort. "Oh yeah, that. Olympia told me afterward that it was supposed to be a romantic thing. I guess she thinks you and Olive are—oh, what was the word she used—soulmates?"

"Ah." Otto rolled his eyes and sighed. "Ugh, I should've known kids were gonna start thinking that, what with us being Mr. and Ms. O now." He laughed softly. "I'd hate for you to break it to Olympia, but Olive and I are like sister and brother. There's no way we'd...eh, well. Just tell her we enjoyed the movies and the snacks. Especially the snacks," he added with a twinkling wink.

"Alright, I will." Not remembering the depths of Otto's love for food, the joke was lost on Otis, who decided to take advantage of the pause in conversation to change the subject. "Anyhow, nice job on matching my dancing, earlier. I thought you said you couldn't dance to ragtime!"

"I'm better at it now," Otto echoed from before, and they both grinned.

Suddenly Otis checked his watch and straightened up. "We should head back now. Olympia and Olive may need our help soon."

"Right." Otto followed suit. But when they got to the entrance door, Otto paused. "Hold on, back up. If I just gave you a signed picture of myself a few minutes ago...but you were the masked agent that Olive and I gave autographs to on my birthday..."

Now it was Otis's turn to laugh at the look on Otto's face. "It's cool. I'm sure Olympia won't mind receiving a second copy to put on her filing cabinet. I mean..." he faltered. "If we ever get our jobs back, that is."

Otto pushed open the door and led the way out. "All the more reason to get back to work."