Title: When in Rome
Summary: Riley thought he had trouble making friends before he stole the Declaration of Independance, got nearly killed several times, and became fabulously wealthy. Afterwards, he began to think he wouldn't really relate to someone anymore...well, turns out that depends on the someone.
Author's note: Blame the plotbunnies. They haunted my dreams and made me write this rather pointless little vignette. Had fun, though, I must admit...
I have no plans to contunue it, but I don't really mind the idea...we'll see what the bunnies say. g
Please review!

"...but only if that's okay with you."

Riley Poole snapped to, trying not to look like he was only just tuning in. "Sure, I guess," he replied. I hope I didn't just agree to something I'm going to regret.

His blond, statuesque date (a bit too statuesque; at 5 foot 91/2 inches he got sick of looking up to every other woman he met) stood up from the table and flashed him a perfect white smile. "I'll be right back. Don't run off without me."

He opened his mouth, on the verge of making a smart remark that she might possibly even understand, but the bimbo had already walked away; he turned in his chair, pulled around by curiosity, and decided that she was headed to the restroom. With an exhaled breath that was half growl he turned back to the table and slumped a little to rest his elbows on the edge. His chin rested on his hands and listlessly he eyed the slightly blurred words reflected in the mirror nearby, debating whether to put on his glasses and deciding against it with another sigh. "Well, Riley, you sure know how to pick 'em," he mutterd disgustedly to himself.

"You said it, dude."

Riley started; the low, emphatic voice had come from somewhere under the table. He started to lean over and investigate but was stopped by frantic shushing.

"Shht! Shht! Do you WANT to give me away!"

His forehead thunked into his palm and he directed an incredulous look to the center of the table (it seemed as good a place as any). "Okaaay...do you mind explaining who you are and what you're doing under my table?"

"My name's Hattie; I'm hiding."

He snorted, amused in spite of himself. "This I can see...or not see, as the case may be. Might I go so far as to ask WHY you are hiding?" She didn't answer immediately and he made an abortive little movement to look. "I think I have a right to know, seeing as it's my table you're under." He frowned, his pride in his observational talents pricked. "How is it we didn't notice you untill now, anyway? This isn't exactly a banquet table, here."

The voice sounded slightly smug. "I'm good at hiding. I can squinch real small. Besides, I don't know how smart you are but I think Miss Barbara Ann Fairbush over there wouldn't notice anything beyond the end of her manicure if it bit her in the liposuctioned butt."

This time he actually spluttered, turning the imminent tide of laughter into a couple of strangled coughs. "Uh, hem. I really should defend my date's honor but I somehow can't bring myself to do so."

"Good for you." The person under his table was definately pleased with herself now, sounding like the cat that ate the canary. "I'm glad you can see through her, and I mean other than her transparent clothing." Her voice turned serious. "She's a gold-digger, you know."

"I know the type," he agreed, and smiled to himself at the joke.

"Too bad. How is it a young, casual guy like you ends up a target for braindead gold-diggers in a swanky joint like this, anyway? Are you one of those internet moguls, or something?"

"Well, as a matter of--" he broke of and frowned at his chosen spot of table. "Hey, don't change the subject. You still owe me that explaination."

She was silent for a while. "Darn. I was hoping you were dumb enough to be distracted." After a moment of hemming and hawing, she blurted out in one rush, "A friend of mine was being forced into cooperating with these guys because of some information they had, so I got the stuff away from them and now I'm hiding because they're concienceless swine and I'm afraid they might put a bullet in the ol' brainpan."

He blinked, impressed in spite of himself. "Huh." He pulled his glasses out of his pocket, dropped them casually, and bent over double to pick them up. He slid them on and peeked under the table; he didn't want to draw attention to her, but he caught a glimpse of someone small and dark, with huge expressive eyes, before he sat back up straight. Pulling some reading material out of his satchel, he pretended to scan it as he continued the conversation. "You look a bit young to be a secret agent."

"You're no elder yourself, Kimosabe." She sounded as if she was trying to be indignant but couldn't quite justify it. "I'm 21. Espionage is just a hobby; I'm a college senior. Chemistry major."

Riley turned another page, blinked, and sheepishly flipped the stack of documents right side up. Okay, let's pretend that never happened. "So, what, you melted the door lock of the top-secret blackmailing swine headquarters with some handy-dandy acid from the classroom?"

"I'm also a good lockpick--not something to admit to 'the powers that be', but I only use my powers for good. Oh, and I've seen a lot of detective tv shows." She thumped his foot. "Your turn, smart guy."

"My turn for what?"

She actualy stuck her head out from under the table, far enough to allow her to scowl at him properly, before ducking back under the cloth. "To tell your life story. What's a clever twenty-something like you doing in a place like this? And how do I get in on a similar arrangement?"

"It was kind of a one-shot deal, sorry." While she grumbled half-heartedly he debated how much of the truth he should tell her...Well, it's not like it's some national secret. "To make a long, long, long story short: I joined a treasure-hunting expedition and we found something. Even though my entirely-too-noble partner turned down the reward they offered him, we did get something."

"If Barbie is your reward, I think you should ask for a refund." Riley snickered. The tablecloth fluttered as if she was almost coming out, but she settled for thwapping at his shin as something occurred to her. "Hey! Are you one of the guys that found THAT treasure?" He coughed modestly, which she took for an answer. She emitted a strange little squawk. "Holy Moses...that is the coolest thing ever!" Obviously unable to help herself, she stuck her head out again. He helpfully adjusted the way his satchel hung from the back of the chair to make her less visible and she smiled in thanks before continuing; "Say, I don't suppose you folks could use a chemist with a talent for breaking and entering next time you go off on a whirlwind adventure..."

He raised an eyebrow, a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Well, we can always find some use for someone experienced in getting out of trouble." He stuck out a hand as well as could be expected what with the strange way they were positioned. "I'm Riley Poole."

An arm joined the head sticking out from under the table and she firmly shook his hand. "Hatherleigh Quinn." The dark-eyed gypsy grinned cheekily. "Pleased to meet you. I don't think I've ever hidden under the table of a more congenial rich and smart guy." Her eyes flicked to the window, then widened. "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you." With this non sequitor, she dove back under cover.

With a sinking feeling, he turned to the window; there was a man outside, peering against the glare; he shifted and Riley could spot a suspicious-looking bulge in the side of his jacket. The young man shook his foot to attract Hattie's attention. "So is that one of the guys who--" a passing van momentarily blocked out the sun and in the absence of glare he could see the man's face. With a startled curse, he snatched his bag off the back of the chair and slid of his seat. Pushing the satchel in front of himself, he scurried under the table. Settling into an awkward hunched position, he grinned ruefully at the startled girl. "The nice man with the gun is mine, not yours. Hope you don't mind."

Hattie waved her hand magnanimously, easier said than done in the tight space. "Mi table is su table." She hesitated, then asked, "Um, I don't suppose you have anything interesting in there? Not much entertainment under the table."

He shrugged a little, also a more complicated procedure than normal, and dug through his belongings. "I think I have a copy of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in here somewhere..."

Her eyes lit up. "Ooh!"

Riley passed over the novel and shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. He laughed to himself. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship...