The Highlander's Guide to Hitchhiking in the Star Wars
Universe, Episode II: The Return of the Abomination
by Hiper Bunny ( hiperbunny@hotmail.com ) and Ladonna King
(lking@agora.rdrop.com)
ARCHIVE: M_A if you want it, and
http://www.slashcity.com/ciceqi/hitch2.htm
PAIRINGS: Q/O, DM/M, Alex/Maul
CATEGORY: Xover, Humor/Parody
RATING: NC-17 for m/m sex, questionable humor, and Vogon
Poetry.
SERIES/SEQUEL: The first one can be found at:
http://www.slashcity.com/ciceqi/hitch.htm
DISCLAIMER: We disclaim to this first name / G-E-O-R-G-E / And
we disclaim to two more names / R: P/D and CC / We love to
slash their characters / And if they ask us we'll stammer /
That if they'd slash them first, they'd see / We wouldn't have
to parody...
WARNINGS: Certain parts of this story *may* require a spew
warning if you're susceptible to such things, there's the
unfortunate matter of a few hundred regrettable puns and
parodies, and I cannot in good conscience fail to warn that
there will be a battle of Vogon poetry, but otherwise, not a
single one, nope. Well, okay, there's that whole GenX!Maul
thing, but other than *that...*
SPOILERS: Errr...none, really. Certain elements of the movie
are used and some are even discussed, but nothing that
shouldn't have happened actually happens in this story. (Well,
okay, so the entire story probably shouldn't have happened, but
we're going to ignore that...) Plus, nothing that was
*supposed* to happen in TPM happened. And as far as locating
this sucker in the XF timeline...
NOTES: So, is there anyone we managed to *miss* here? What with
one thing and another, we felt we really ought to acknowledge a
few people, places, and institutions for their unwitting
inspiration, including the Church of the SubGenius, Monty
Python, Bill Gates, the Sith Academy, the Buddhists and the
Hari Krishnas (whichever controls the Lucrative Airport Loony
Franchise (tm) at the moment), Limp Bizkit, Dr. Who, Tom
Stoppard, the makers of _Trainspotting_, Right Said Fred, Keith
Laumer, and anyone we've forgotten.
A very *witting* inspiration thanks goes to Padawan Layna for
kind permission to let us run with her Interstellar House of
Pancakes.
Also, it should be made clear that while there are SA
references, this is NOT SA!Maul. This is GenX!Maul--sort of a
Rancor-Hugging, Corellian Spirit-Smoking GQ reject who'd
probably go to artsy movies and poetry slams if it didn't mean
he'd have to be around other people. Grr. <Maul obligingly
whacks Ladonna across the back of the head, getting her back on
track.>
Also Also, my darling coauthoress points out that we managed to
parody OURSELVES, twice. You know, if we get any better at
that, we ought to run for office...
THANKS: To everyone who was crazy enough to ask us for more of
this! And to Jeniece, Leila, Heidi, boyd, and Ryen--as soon as
I remember who got "horn sex" stuck in my head, somebody's in
for it...giggling...
BUNNYTHANKS: To MrsHamil who read this sucker and didn't kill
us. And to EvilEverlordPepe, who contributed and discussed and
paid for dinner on three separate occasions in an effort to get
this finished.
SUMMARY: A funny thing happened on the way to the Gathering...
Two Jedi, two Immortals, an Assassin, and a Sith head back to
Earth on a mission of mercy.
FEEDBACK: We are truly gluttons for punishment, what can we
say.
The Senatorial Mansion was awash in beinganity. Obi-Wan was
beginning to think he'd been worried for nothing. He'd helped
Methos and Mac select the perfect ensemble, got Qui-Gon dolled
up in his best robes, and briefed them all carefully on what
they should say if anyone asked about Qui-Gon not being dead.
They had obediently repeated their lines twice, as requested, a
trio of perfectly believable choir boys just telling it like it
is.
"He got better."
Methos and Duncan were able to draw on personal experience to
give the explanation credit, but Qui-Gon had his doubts that
they'd be able to bluff their way through an entire evening.
"Padawan, I was dead. Very publicly and heroically dead,
with a state cremation that I didn't enjoy one single
bit, I might add. What makes you think no one's going to
notice when I show up in the bloom of health, two hitchhiking
Immortals in tow, and you without a Padawan to be seen?"
"I dunno, Qui-Gon. Call it intuition," Obi-Wan had hedged.
Qui-Gon had a point, really. To be honest, Obi-Wan shouldn't
have been wearing his braid at all. The Council had officially
Knighted him after the Victory of Naboo, but Obi-Wan hadn't
felt like he'd earned it. More than one deception had occurred
in the power plant that day, not the least of which was the
fact that no one had died there.
Not even the Sith.
So Obi-Wan had told them he wanted to keep his braid, in memory
of his Master. They had agreed, not really caring what he did
with his hair at that point, only hoping he'd shove off and get
the chirpy little street rat out of their hair. Feeling
mutually obliged, the Jedi and Obi-Wan had parted ways, the
Council heading back to Coruscant for meditation and planning
while Obi-Wan headed off to parts unknown for hot, Force-Driven
Monkey-Love with his beloved Master every night. Twice on
Thursdays.
Until his joy had been thwarted by a double shot of Liquid
Stupid.
//Hell hath no fury like a horny Jedi,// Obi-Wan smirked,
scanning the crowd once more. //I've just got to be sure my
point is well and truly made this time.//
Duncan was in rare form tonight. He was surrounded by any
number of things he didn't understand and/or couldn't believe,
but had failed to bring the subject up at any point in the
evening. All through dinner he'd simply followed Methos' lead,
eating with the utensils Methos used, passing on courses Methos
passed on, smiling politely and spilling nothing on his
waistcoat. Obi-Wan was proud of the Immortal, though he felt
that after 400 years, Duncan might possibly have picked up a
trick or two when it came to adaptation.
On the other hand, Obi-Wan made a resolute oath to never tell
Laird MacLeod he'd eaten Ewoks, a cuddly, semi-sentient race
that Duncan probably would have kept as a pet of some sort.
Then again, he'd also resolved not to tell Methos or Qui-Gon.
If they didn't know to not eat something only a droid would
serve, they deserved what they got.
But dinner was over and the fun was just beginning. Tonight was
a special night for Senator Palpatine. His apprentice had just
passed his Bahr Dmiytzbaya and was fully qualified to start his
career as an evil villain. Darth Maul's Lackey License had been
suspended for "failure to execute a dramatic demise," as had
been called for in his contract, but the Senator had pulled a
few strings and gotten him back on course. Tonight he would
test his mettle by trying to blend in at a boring social
function without going bonkers and slaying anything. Tomorrow
he'd ship out with the most evil, despicable, slave-driving
baddie in the business. Tonight was his proving grounds.
Obi-Wan couldn't wait to stir things up a bit. He had just the
thing to break the evening's monotony. And lookee here, just
the man to help. "Alex! Hi there! What have you been up to?"
The interstellar double-agent sidled up to the Jedi and handed
him a drink. "Oh, you know. This and that. Mostly that. Oops,
wrong one. Spit that out."
Obi-Wan turned his head and obeyed, handing the poisoned drink
back and keeping his hand out for the antidote. "I thought I
told you not to do that shit while you're drinking."
"Sorry, Obi. I really needed a drink. But I also
really need to kill that little yellow...thing
over there," Alex shrugged, carefully not looking at his target
while deftly preventing Obi-Wan from staring. "Really, I am
sorry about that...."
//Wonder of wonders,// Obi-Wan hid a smirk, //he actually
sounds it.// Good. He was fairly certain Alex didn't have a
truly contrite bone in his body, but the man's infrequent
near-guilt encounters were always fun to play on...
"Don't worry about it. Listen, do you know the Carakas Bendal?
I'm doing it tonight, but it always looks so much better
with a partner..." Obi-Wan coaxed, scanned the room once more.
"Sure, I'll be there when the music starts. Of course, if you'd
just give that fellow a nudge to take this drink from me in a
second, it'd be a lot easier..." Alex turned his best pleading
look on Obi-Wan.
"Save it for your Fibbie back home. I don't do assassinations."
"Yeah, and he doesn't do assassins," Alex grinned charmingly,
sinfully-long lashes dipping as the man's stare heated up, "but
that doesn't always stop him..."
"Good for you," Obi-Wan snorted, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure
it's entirely due to your fabulous charm."
"And you're about to tell me to kiss your braided ass, aren't
you?" Alex chuckled, not put out in the slightest.
"Maybe after the music starts," Obi-Wan grinned, just to
get Alex in the proper mood. Qui-Gon was going to regret
falling asleep on him if it was the last thing he did...
Before Alex could answer, Obi-Wan turned on his heel and made
his way back to the table, being sure to toss his braid as his
robes billowed dramatically, giving Alex a nice view of his
ass. Part of him was pleased to note that Qui-Gon hadn't
noticed the by-play between Obi-Wan and the blackhat, but the
rest of him wasn't very pleased at all. "I don't see him
anywhere, Qui-Gon."
"You're absolutely certain?" Qui-Gon demanded.
"As much as I possibly can be, given the information I'm
working with," Obi-Wan groused. "I don't see any of the other
Councilors, either."
"Look, I know you think I'm just being paranoid, but it's very
upsetting to meet an old lover at a social function like this,"
Qui-Gon muttered, his eyes scanning the crowd once more.
Obi-Wan reached for the wine carafe, eschewed his glass and
began drowning his sorrows. //Slut,// he scowled at Qui-Gon.
"Obi-Wan! You don't think I'm looking for Mace so I can..."
Qui-Gon began.
"Oh, no. Of course you aren't. You're just about to break your
neck over there because you're nervous," Obi-Wan smiled
sweetly.
Methos intervened, saying: "Isn't it time for the floor show,
Obi-Wan? Perhaps I could help you get into your costume..."
Just then, the band began the pounding rhythm of the Carakas
Bendal, and Obi-Wan stood to take the floor. "What costume?" he
inquired, tossing his robe aside and stepping out of his boots.
Methos had to admit he'd missed the various pleasures available
in the Greater Galactic Area. //Still, there's no place like
home, and we all have to go there sometimes.// And yet, to
think this luscious little Padawan had been floating around,
doing things like...that...and he'd missed it.
A damn shame, no two ways about it.
Obi-Wan had continued shedding clothes as he made his way to
the dance floor, stopping only when he was down to a very
becoming leopardskin buttflap. //Wow. You really CAN hide
anything in those robes,// Methos admired. A strangled noise
was coming from the other side of the table, where Duncan and
Qui-Gon sat and observed the undulations, gyrations and
rhythmic gambols of the younger Jedi. "Breathe," Methos
suggested.
On the evening's entertainment, the performance had been
advertised as "The Hunt: An Interpretive Dance," and while
Obi-Wan was certainly triggering the 'stalk and conquer'
instinct in the gathered beings, there was no hunter to be
seen.
Obi-Wan leaped and sprang, floated and flitted about the floor,
looking for all the world like a doe in season. Methos shook
his head, firmly reminding himself that this was not
some innocent waif who had no idea what kind of messages he was
sending. This was the man who had matched Methos
drink-for-drink just last night, fought a pitched battle
afterwards and had still managed to fuck his master
through the mattress. Obi-Wan knew what he was doing, for all
that he looked the gasping, wide-eyed virgin. Head back, arms
wide, throat exposed as he spun on one toe, Obi-Wan led with
the hips, making a tease seem like an open invitation.
Methos briefly dwelled on what that throat tasted like and
received a dark glare from Qui-Gon for his trouble.
Just then an ominous tone entered the music and Methos' eyes
were drawn to a beautiful stranger. He stalked his way onto the
dance floor, mouth a thin, hard line, hands relaxed at his
side, steps the image of a tiger, a lion, a hungry wolf
scenting its prey. Death on the hoof.
Methos knew his own. "Who's that?" he whispered to Qui-Gon.
"That's Alex Krycek. Native to your planet, I believe. Senator
Palpatine had him brought in to be Darth Maul's first partner
in the baddie business, so I expect he's only come for the
vodka. Not really known for publicly displaying himself or his
talents, but..." Qui-Gon shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.
And well he might try. The dance had gone quickly from stalking
to conflict, a complicated blend of battle and ballet. Obi-Wan
was destined to lose, but he wasn't going easily. The rough
contact between the two performers was erotic in the extreme.
Even if this Krycek person had been a half-blind Tauntaun
eunuch, the blackhat couldn't have passed the opportunity up.
Methos certainly couldn't have.
Krycek brought his prey down with a hip-throw and pinned him to
the floor. A few weak struggles and Obi-Wan went limp on the
last drumbeat, Krycek's teeth buried in his neck. Methos
shivered. After a long moment, the crowd burst out in
thunderous applause. The two rose and took their bows before
Obi-Wan headed back to the table, gathering his clothes up as
he went. When he sat down, he had a smug look of
self-satisfaction plastered across his face. "Well, how'd I
do?"
"That was...really beautiful. Well done," Duncan tactfully
offered.
"Why didn't you just bend over a table and fuck the audience,
Padawan?" Qui-Gon growled.
"Because I'd rather bend over a table and fuck you, Mahstah,"
Obi-Wan purred.
"That's it. We're out of here. Methos, Duncan, stay as long as
you like. I'll leave the Gannet unlocked for you." Qui-Gon
grabbed Obi-Wan's clothes in one hand and his braid in the
other, heading towards the nearest exit.
Methos and Duncan managed to hold in their chuckles until the
Jedi were out of earshot.
"Where are those two going in such a hurry?" a new voice asked.
"Well, where would you be going?" Methos inquired
archly.
"Actually, I'm looking for a ride back to ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha. I
have a little matter there to take care of, and I thought it
would be a good place to break in the new guy."
Methos looked up and realized the speaker was Obi-Wan's dance
partner. "Ah! Mr. Krycek! Well, I think we were going to be
headed that way, but I'm not sure there's room on the Gannet
for you. It's a working ship, you know. Very minimalistic."
Duncan perked up, though. "Hey, we could put them in our other
bedroom. I mean, if we're not going to be using it. I doubt Obi
and Quigs would mind."
Methos considered this. In his heart of hearts, he thought
Qui-Gon might mind very much. He looked Alex up one side and
made the return trip down in a slow, considering manner. Ah
well, can't keep everyone happy all the time. "If you think you
can make do with one bed," he hedged.
"Oh, I'm sure Maul could be persuaded to accept that," Krycek's
smile was a slow and dangerous one.
Methos couldn't decide whether to pity or envy Alex's new
partner.
"So, Mr....Krycek," an oily voice purred at his shoulder, and
Alex held his breath automatically against the puff of
cigarette smoke that usually followed such a greeting.
Turning with a hard, fixed smile, Alex raised his glass as a
shield between them when he saw it was only his employer--his
other other other employer. "Yes, Your...ah, Satanic
Majesty?"
"Oh, no need to stand on ceremony, dear boy," the man he knew
as Darth Sidious chuckled coquettishly and actually batted his
lashes. Alex took a quick drink, wishing he dared move on to
something stronger. Like Spirits of PanGBlasters. "I realize
you'll be shipping out tonight--" --and Krycek winced inwardly
at the unspoken sailor that hung in the air between
them-- "--so I wanted to make absolutely certain you
have no questions about the care and training of young Sith. Is
there anything you want to ask me, maybe...a demonstration of
certain...talents?"
"As I said, I'm immune to Mind Whammies," Alex began hastily,
but Sidious only stepped closer, eyes half-closing over a smug,
lecherous smile.
"I had a different set of talents in mind..."
Three things happened very quickly. A sly hand brushed Alex's
hip, moving on to cup his ass in an insultingly familiar
manner. Alex's smile turned even harder, his glass pinging
warningly in his clenching hand as the world went briefly black
with a kaleidoscopic swirl. And Sidious gave a surprised little
gasp as his hand flew off Alex's ass to flicker a
warding in midair.
Chuckling nervously over the scream of a nearby reveler who
went up in a sheet of white light, leaving a vaguely
Gungan-shaped flash-shadow on the ballroom wall, Sidious waved
his hand uncertainly in the air, smiling, "Just checking...oh
look, here's Maul! Maul, come over here and meet your new
tutor, Mr. Krycek..."
The tattooed young man with the horns stomped sullenly over,
slouching with his hands shoved into the pockets of a rumpled
suit. Halting no closer to his Master than he had to, the young
Sith grimaced fiercely, baring evilly blackened teeth as his
bright yellow eyes turned mad and dangerous.
Taking another sip of his vodka, Alex looked the kid up and
down and sighed, "He'll do."
And then, just for good measure, he let his eyes do the Oilien
thing again, making the two Sith flinch uncomfortably as the
green washed completely black. Damn that Oil stuff came
in handy sometimes...
"Ah, yes, well, I'll leave you to it," Sidious smiled brightly
and beat a hasty retreat, leaving Alex with a young Apprentice
who glared at him warily, a hint of resentment peering through
the anger. Well, this was going to be interesting...
"Come on," Alex ordered, turning on his heel without waiting to
see if he was being followed. If he was going to train this
kid, he'd do it right, and the first rule of being a Bad
Guy In Charge was very simple: Act like the Queen of England,
and you'll be treated like the Queen of England--or, in
his case, the head of the Russian Secret Police.
The fact that he was the head of the Russian Secret
Police, at least in his spare time, made no nevermind, of
course.
Maul followed after him, practicing his seething--Alex could
feel it in the air and smiled to himself, slightly mollified.
The kid had the seething part down pat, at least--maybe this
wouldn't be such a bad assignment after all. He'd been a
little...doubtful when he'd set up a routine surveillance of
his new project--all Maul seemed to do was sit around surfing
the holovid channels, starting flamewars in religious chatrooms
when he got bored, and catering to the whims of his cat. Not
exactly the most auspicious introduction to his trainee.
And Alex was a dog person, himself.
There was the small matter of the way Maul tended to
lounge around in his boxers, of course...not to mention what
was under them...and he was supposed to provide a full
training regimen...
No, not such a bad assignment after all.
In the parking lot, he passed by the sleek, smug ships Sidious
owned under his Senatorial guise, then passed the business-like
battle cruisers owned under a more Sithly registration. Maul's
steps lagged expectantly by the one they had been assigned, but
the kid caught on quick when he realized Alex wasn't stopping.
"We're stealing a ship?" Maul unbent enough to ask as he caught
up with Alex, the question grudging but untroubled.
"Thugs steal," Alex instructed patiently. "Cut-rate minions
occasionally borrow. We commandeer, infiltrate, and
possess."
"You mean we buy it?" Maul demanded, disgusted.
"I mean they call for an exorcist when we hand back the keys,"
Alex snorted, scanning the parking lot carefully. Now, was
Kenobi still driving that gaudy silver--ah yes, right
there...hmm, racing stripes made a world of
difference...
Maul balked at the ramp, staring up at the ship in horror.
"But...but that's..."
"Our ride," Alex waved his hand loftily, but Maul didn't look
convinced.
"What about the ship my Master gave us?" he asked with a trace
of desperation, and one of Alex's brows rose consideringly.
Now, what had put the kid in such a state?
"Do you trust your Master?" he asked instead, certain all would
be made clear in time.
"No," Maul stated without having to think about it, and Alex's
estimation of him rose another notch.
"Neither do I. That's why I'm not going to make a jump to
hyperspace in anything he's had his hand in."
"But...I'm sure there are much better ships we can
commandeer," Maul insisted, the desperation coming clearer in
his voice. "Look--isn't that the _Heart of Gold?_"
Alex gave the fabled Improbability Drive ship a cursory glance
and dismissed it with a grin. "It certainly is. But the _Heart
of Gold_ doesn't come with the fringe benefits the _Fortnight
Gannet_ does."
For some reason, that made Maul curse all the way up the ramp.
The two men Alex had seen sitting with Kenobi's aging Master
earlier were already onboard, the one with the lovely hazel
eyes pouring another drink for the man with the tempting lower
lip. Hazel-Eyes had a long-suffering expression, but Lower-Lip
was obviously plowed enough to be maudlin, an expression of
absolute guilty horror shining from his big brown eyes.
"Cuuuu wee laddies," Lower-Lip was sobbing, waving his hand at
roughly knee-height and nearly falling out of his chair at the
big dining table. "Poor li'l...li'l Wockies..."
"What's wrong with him?" Alex frowned, pausing in the doorway.
Hazel-Eyes looked up with a sigh of vast patience, rolling his
eyes.
"Someone told him that third course we had was roasted Ewok,"
the man--whose nose was absolutely to die for--informed
him matter-of-factly. "And then they pointed one out to him in
the crowd. Of diners."
"Wi' barb'que sauce," Lower-Lip groaned, burying his face in
his folded arms.
"Duncan," Hazel-Eyes-and-Gorgeous-Nose said sternly, "you know
how I hate to cook?"
"Yuss, Methos," Duncan slurred without looking up.
"Kronos hated cooking too."
"Uh?"
"So did Silas."
Duncan's head popped up at once, his face dead white, and
whether it was the sudden motion or Methos' cryptic statements,
something made him clap both hands over his mouth and flee the
table at a dead run.
"Well, that takes care of that," Methos smirked, stretching his
legs out before him with a smug grin. Alex took the opportunity
to study his shipmate's long, lean form, paying special
attention to the bizarre bulges of concealed weaponry under the
tasteful duster. That was strange...why was this guy carrying a
concealed broadsword? "Even we tend to pass out
if we drink too much," Methos continued with a shrug, "so it's
best to just nip that in the bud, wouldn't you say?"
Before Alex could think of a reply, a loud wail of: "Ohhhh,
Mahstah!" echoed through the ship, and everyone turned
to look in the general direction of the scream. Methos and Alex
rolled their eyes at each other, nothing more needing to be
said, but in the brief silence that followed, Alex clearly
caught a mutter from his trainee he hadn't quite
expected to hear.
"I wish someone would learn to gag that...that Jedi,"
Darth Maul growled behind him, contempt and rage
dripping from his voice, and Alex's brows quirked with a
grin of comprehension. So that was the way the wind was
blowing...
"If you'll excuse me," Alex smiled charmingly at Methos, "I
think my trainee and I need to have a little...orientation
talk. Could you tell us where we'll be bunking?"
"Straight through that door, the room just right of the
fountain," Methos offered without hesitation, looking at Maul
with renewed interest, somewhat more warily but with an
inscrutable smile ghosting his lips. "I'll try to keep Duncan
quiet when we get in..."
"If that's your thing," Alex shrugged obligingly and stalked
purposefully away, Maul following reluctantly in his wake.
Methos felt it best to leave Duncan to his own devices for a
while, opting instead to make himself useful with getting the
Gannet underway. He took the ship out of Naboo atmosphere and
pointed it towards Earth, instructing the autopilot to let him
know when they got to Pluto. He left the cockpit and found
himself wandering near the Jedi quarters. He was surprised to
discover a...silence in effect. Curiosity piqued, he made so
bold as to knock. Better safe than sorry.
Obi-Wan answered the door in basic nude and a smile, hair
mussed and braid unraveled. "Hey Meeth. What can I do for you?"
Methos shrugged. "Nothing. It just got all quiet, so...I just
wanted to make sure everything was all right."
"Never better," Obi-Wan assured him. "Well, I take that back.
Zero-g environments offer a certain...element to the
proceedings, but otherwise..."
"Ah, good," Methos smiled. "Well, I'll just leave you to it,
then."
"No, wait. Qui-Gon's already asleep and I could use a drink.
Care to join me?"
"Sure," Methos predictably agreed.
"Lemme grab my robe." Obi-Wan stepped away and reappeared in a
burgundy terrycloth. "We'll just make use of my personal bar,"
he decided, leading the way down a hall that Methos had yet to
explore.
Obi-Wan opened one of the many nondescript gray doors and
ushered Methos into a lovely little Irish pub, complete with
gleaming oaken bartop and pockmarked dart board. "So, what's
your poison?" the Padawan inquired, taking his place behind the
bar.
"Oh, I don't care. Surprise me," Methos invited.
A considering glance made a brief tour of Obi-Wan's eyes before
he put it away for later use. He ducked behind the bar and came
up with a pair of squarish bottles, unstoppered them and
presented one to his companion. Methos tasted and fell in love.
"Name?" he whispered hopefully.
"It's my own home-brew. You like?" Obi-Wan sipped at his own
beverage.
"Will you marry me?" Methos sighed.
Obi-Wan didn't answer that, opting instead to move the
conversation to more stable areas. "I thought I sensed more
lifeforms come aboard. Do we have guests?"
"Hmm?" Methos pulled his eyes away from the object of his
desire. "Oh, yes. That lovely Krycek person needed a ride back
to ZZ 9 Plural Z Alpha, so I put him in our spare room."
Obi-Wan smirked at the 'spare' thing.
"He's got that horned guy from the dinner with him. I believe
Qui-Gon said you knew him? Daft Mel or something?" Methos
returned to his loving consumption of Obi-Wan's delightful
concoction.
A crash and a clatter recaptured his attention. He glanced
Obi-Wan's way and was surprised to discover the Padawan was
staring at him as if he'd just grown a spare head. His face was
pale, eyes wide and boggling, mouth agape. More importantly,
he'd dropped his beer, the broken glass and liquid made a
terrible, pitiful mess on the shining bartop. "This is a joke,
right?" the younger man finally managed.
"What in the world is wrong, Obi-Wan?" Methos edged his hand
under his coat, just to be safe.
"You don't mean to tell me Alex Krycek is onboard with his new
apprentice. You mean to say that you're not stupid enough to
allow something like that to happen. Don't You?" Obi-Wan was
clearly struggling to not Mind Whammy Methos into saying
what he wanted to hear.
"Well, I thought they were your friends," Methos began, sensing
a danger that was not in the act of passing him by. "Duncan
said he didn't think you would mind."
"Duncan didn't think??? He couldn't think his way out of
a wet paper bag, Methos! Thinking is your job,
from what I can tell. Oh, I can just picture it. Alex turning
those eyes on you. I bet I know what you were thinking
with!" Obi-Wan Force-shoved the beer-and-glass ruin off the bar
and into a trash can. With movements too quick to see he put
out a line of shot glasses and poured something thick, orange
and lethal-looking in five, made a space and poured five more.
He took a deep breath. "Now, you're going to tell me that Alex
did not have a red-and-black tattooed, multi-horned
freak in a black suit with him. You will be honest when
you say this. Otherwise, I'm going to have to do something
desperate."
Methos took a careful look at the glasses between them. "Molten
Quasar Shots? Are you insane?" he yelped.
"Answer me, Methos," Obi-Wan growled.
"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I didn't know."
"Wrong Answer! Thank you for playing!" Obi-Wan reached for the
first shot.
Methos caught his wrist in a firm grip, trying to save the Jedi
from himself. "Would you please tell me what's wrong? I
thought you were friends.."
"With Alex, Methos. I'm friends with Alex. The
other guy...I knew him in high school. I should have killed him
then, when I had the chance and the Juvenile Reform laws on my
side," Obi-Wan sighed, then spoke very slowly, as if addressing
a lobotomy patient. "Let me be very clear for you, Methos. I
knew Maul when I was a kid, but we were never friends.
Whatever we might have been...well, that was over before it
started. I'm Padawan Kenobi. Jedi Padawan Kenobi.
You just let Darth Maul onto my ship. Are you familiar
with the term 'Darth,' Methos?"
"Oh gods," the Immortal whispered. "Sith."
"Yes, Methos. Sith. You know, the antithesis of 'Jedi?' Utterly
incompatible with the concepts of 'chivalry' and 'honor' and
'nice guy?' And Alex is supposed to teach him how to get
better at being bad."
"Duncan," Methos mourned.
"And Qui-Gon. Now, I'm about as relaxed a Jedi as you're likely
to find, and Qui-Gon's a rebel in his own right, but I
definitely had no desire to mix those four up in the same star
system, much less the same ship. So if you don't mind, I
need a drink." Obi-Wan tugged free of Methos' grip.
Methos watched in rapt fascination as Obi-Wan tipped back five
shots of the most devastatingly alcoholic substance ever to be
banned from the public market. Obi-Wan sat the last empty down,
banged his forehead on the bar three times and finished the
second row. He stepped back. He took a deep breath. "I am now
properly equipped to deal with this situation. Care to join
me?" Obi-Wan promptly tipped over and passed out cold.
Methos looked down on the Padawan. He looked at the shot
glasses. He decided the Jedi were indeed wise in many ways and
began pouring his own rounds.
//'Working ship,'// Alex grinned wolfishly to himself as he
passed the fountain, eyeing the spa droid consideringly.
//'Very minimalistic.' My sainted ass.// Chuckling
softly, Krycek (whose ass really was sainted, ever since
that time he'd infiltrated the Vatican looking into rumors of a
Secret Templar Superweapon powered by the mythical
Philosopher's Stone, a fragment of the Ark of the Covenant, and
an Energizer battery) took a good look around the room they'd
been offered and pronounced it satisfactory.
Kenobi never could travel anywhere except in style...
Maul was still dragging his feet, his sullen snarl working its
way into an all-out brood, little sparks of electricity
glittering off his horns as he gritted his teeth. Briefly, Alex
wondered whether Kenobi had any idea that this guy was a real
Sith, then filed it away for further reference. You never could
tell when the right bit of information could save your ass,
sainted or otherwise.
Or, at the very least, make for interesting dinner
conversation. One such tidbit had nearly finished off the
Smoker one evening over the seafood course, and Alex had been
practicing his Fatal Revelation timing ever since.
"So," Krycek began innocuously enough, turning to face his
trainee and motioning for Maul to shut the door behind him.
"Let's see if I've got this straight. Not only do you seem to
have some sort of grudge here that's obviously impairing your
ability to know a good thing when you see it, but you're so out
of condition, I'm surprised you can walk straight and you have
all the subtlety of a Tauntaun in mating season. You do,
however, have the suit thing down pat," he added kindly,
appreciatively noting the way the Sith made even that
well-tailored and expensive outfit look like something he'd
pulled off the bottom of his closet in a hurry. From what he'd
seen of Maul from his surveillance tapes, the kid probably had.
"What?" Maul hissed, no mean feat considering that there
were no sibilants in the word--more bonus points in Krycek's
estimation, but Alex wasn't ready to admit it yet.
"My reputation rests on my being able to turn you into a proper
Black Hat," he said slowly, as if explaining quantum mechanics
to a small child. "If you can't meet my standards, your Master
will be looking for a new Apprentice. I understand," he added
with a smile calculated to offend, "Ewoks are becoming all the
rage in certain circles..."
With a strangled snarl of rage, Maul's hand flew to a
lightsaber that wasn't there anymore, and when Alex held the
thing up and waggled it meaningfully at him, the Sith went
completely berserk. Charging with a speed Alex approved of
heartily, Maul crossed the room in a red and black blur,
absolute murder in his glittering golden eyes.
Sidestepping neatly, Alex cracked the Sith over the head with
his own lightsaber, smiling calmly when Maul whirled and
clutched his skull with a growl. "I believe you have a saying,"
Alex said politely, "but now is not the time to rise up
and strike me down. You wouldn't have the first clue what to do
with yourself if you managed it."
"And I suppose you're going to teach me that?" Maul sneered,
bitter cynicism lurking beneath the anger.
"As it happens," Krycek grinned alarmingly, "yes. Unlike your
Master, I don't have any reason not to, now do I? And it might
be useful to know the next Sith Master, hmm? Once I turn you
loose, you're not my problem--but there is one goal we agree
on..."
"What's that?" Maul demanded suspiciously.
"I really...really don't like Sidious," Alex purred, and
Maul's bright grin of understanding was just as deadly, just as
shiveringly lovely.
"Now," Alex said briskly, tapping the deactivated hilt of
Maul's light saber purposefully against his other palm. "About
you and Kenobi."
"He's an idealistic little martyr-in-training that wouldn't
know Real Life if rose up and struck him down," Maul snorted,
turning half away, though he kept one eye on his lightsaber,
wariness and possessiveness warring in his glance. "There
is no 'me and Kenobi.'"
"If you practice saying that with a bit more feeling, you may
fool yourself someday," Alex shook his head. "But for the
moment, you're my Apprentice, my trainee,
my project, and if you want to throw away your career
for a stupid grudge and misplaced pride, you're not going to do
it on my watch. You're a Black Hat in Training--you
don't have any pride. Hands off the Padawan, keep your
eyes to yourself as much as reasonably possible, no fussing, no
fighting, and absolutely no fucking. Leave that to the folks
who don't have a vested interest in his demise, kid, trust me."
"I believe you have a saying," Maul snarled, eyes glittering,
ignoring Alex's jibe with clenched teeth. "What's in it for
me?"
"I," Alex smiled with lazy intent, stalking Maul with casual
ease, "teach you how to dance the Carakas Bendal."
Eyes wide, Maul swallowed audibly, beginning to back nervously
away from the other man.
"Um, look, uh, Mr. Krycek--"
"Call me Alex," Alex purred, advancing on the Sith without
pause.
"Alex," Maul nodded quickly, trying on a placating smile, which
was rather difficult considering the state of his teeth. Not
bad, nevertheless, but absolute innocence would have worked
better, in Alex's professional opinion--shamming a complete
lack of understanding had gotten him out of more bedrooms than
he could easily count. "Can't we talk about this?"
Alex pretended to think for a moment, then smiled decisively,
tossing the lightsaber aside. "No."
Predictably enough, Maul decided to struggle. The Carakas
Bendal it was.
Maul lunged for the door, but Alex was there before him,
deflecting his attack by sliding smoothly out of his way. When
Maul finally came too close, Alex whirled aside and caught
Maul's arm as it lashed out, using the Sith's momentum to
propel Maul's back to the wall. Sliding close, Alex rocked his
hips gently against Maul's, licking the side of the Sith's neck
when he felt an unmistakable hardness against his own. If Maul
hadn't been interested, he would have
stopped...really...maybe after just a bit more
convincing... Maul stiffened with a jerk when Alex grazed his
teeth over the strong column of the Sith's throat, the taste of
Maul's skin salty and sharp and not quite human, tantalizing in
its strangeness.
Maul pushed Alex off with a snarl, but the Sith's eyes were
wilder now, a deeper gold than before, and his attacks no
longer had anything to do with escape. They lunged and feinted
with greater force, and when they grappled close, it was a
battle for supremacy, Maul's brute strength against Alex's
subversive touches, steel against fire. There was a kind of joy
in it, bright and fierce, Maul's deep growl sending a shiver
down Alex's spine to curl around his cock, the feel of the
Sith's surprisingly fit, hard body tight against his own an
undeniable pleasure. When one of Maul's horns nicked his cheek
in passing before the Sith writhed away from him, even the
sudden, sharp sting was good.
Maul's feral gaze fixed intently on the thin line of blood,
pupils devouring the gold of his eyes--and without warning,
Alex's back was pressed to the wall, one of Maul's hands
wrapped tightly around his neck as the Sith's tongue traced
that bright red line with sensuous slowness, Maul's growl
nearly drugged with satisfaction. Almost, Alex was tempted to
give in to it, to lose himself in the raw, unrefined power of
this most promising of students, but he couldn't allow it, not
yet--not on the first date.
Capturing Maul's mouth with his own, Alex kissed the breath
from the young Sith, hooking him closer with one hand fisted on
the belt of Maul's rumpled suit and thrusting against him until
Maul whimpered under the assault. Tripping Maul to the floor,
Alex ripped the clothes off his trainee and pinned him before
Maul could gather the wit to protest. It was a pity the horns
weren't longer, Alex reflected with a wicked grin--they would
have made excellent handholds...
The tattoo, Alex noted appreciatively, covered Maul like a
second skin, tangled bars of red and black slashing like
lightning across his chest, even twining around his cock, pain
transformed into beauty. Leaning on Maul's wrists, Alex bent to
take another kiss from those uncertainly parted lips, soothing
Maul with his touch, with the slick glide of their hips. The
sudden shift from combat to gentleness kept Maul off-balance,
and the merest brush of Alex's thumb against a blood-red nipple
made Maul buck under him, Maul's chin coming up unconsciously
to bare his throat for more.
Maul kept his hands where Alex left them when Alex slid down
his prone form, arms raised over his head, fists clenching on
air. Following the jagged bands of red down from the hollow of
Maul's throat, Alex licked an erratic path over the smooth
swells of muscle, dipping his tongue ticklishly into Maul's
navel before zigzagging down to the tempting leap of that
painted cock. Tracing first the black, then the red, Alex
flicked his tongue over the straining shaft until Maul was
writhing helplessly beneath him, hissing breathless pleas
through clenched teeth.
Keeping his gaze locked on Maul's face, devouring the torment
and need he saw there greedily, Alex wrapped his lips around
the head of Maul's cock and circled it with his tongue, ready
for the desperate thrust that followed. Opening his throat, he
swallowed Maul's length and let the Sith fuck his mouth, his
hands stroking Maul's sides, lean arching pelvis, pulling
Maul's knees up and back as Maul jerked wildly beneath him and
came, filling Alex's mouth.
Moaning something unintelligible, Maul went utterly boneless as
Alex pulled slowly off of him, using Maul's own come to slick
his cock. Maul hummed faintly as Alex began to open him up with
patient fingers, experimentally rocking his hips up into Alex's
hand, his half-closed eyes doubtful but dazed. Alex grinned
when he found the perfect angle, watching Maul's eyes turn
black, ringed with a glittering corona of gold as Maul's lips
parted on a soundless groan.
Wrapping his hands around the backs of Maul's knees, Alex slid
smooth as silk into the moaning Sith, his eyes narrowing as he
gave a hiss of satisfaction. Oh yes, that was perfect,
and as he began to thrust in a slow, unhurried rhythm, Maul
wrapped his legs around Alex's back and rocked up into his
stroke, hands clenching around Alex's forearms in time. It was
so easy to lose himself in this, in slick velvet heat and the
feel of a powerful body caged beneath him, open to him,
his. Maul was groaning continuously, pleas and curses
and encouragement spilling from bitten lips as Alex's thrusts
grew more forceful, their hips slamming together until Maul
came with a wordless cry that echoed from the walls like a
challenge.
Grinning fiercely, Alex let Maul's coming trigger his own,
leaning down to capture Maul's mouth again in a hot, violent
kiss, their tongues tangling together as Maul pulled Alex's
head down insistently. Sighing contentedly, Alex let Maul
swallow his groan as he shuddered through liquid aftershocks,
clenching his eyes tightly shut against the overwhelming
intensity of it. Perfect, perfect indeed...
And they had many more dancing lessons to look forward to.
Methos sat up with a gasp, instinctively grabbing for his sword
hilt as life returned to his body. Glancing around, seeking
evidence of who or what might have caused his recent demise,
his eyes fell upon the bottle of Molten Quasar, and he relaxed
in understanding. He eyed the remaining four shots with
suspicion, then shook himself firmly before moving to check on
Obi-Wan. As he came around the end of the bar, he was relieved
to find Obi-Wan was stretching and scratching himself into
wakefulness. Methos' opinion of the Padawan went up several
notches as the young man arced his body up into a full
backbend, then stood with a roll of the head and twist of the
shoulders.
"Feeling better?" Methos inquired.
"Mmm. I have to go shower and change for morning workouts," the
Jedi replied. "I don't like to keep Qui-Gon waiting."
Methos shook his head in wonder, finally beginning to
understand exactly why the Jedi were so respected in the
Republic. A glance at the cuckoo clock told the ancient
Immortal that they still had some time in transit, so he went
to look for Duncan. Hopefully the Scot's maudlin spell would
have passed by now. Perhaps they should also have a little
spar. They were, after all, headed back in time to the
Gathering. Best to be prepared.
Methos tiptoed through the sitting room towards his and
Duncan's room, not wanting to wake their guests in case they
were still asleep. As he neared their door, he paused,
listening. It would seem lessons had begun early for Alex
Krycek's protege,, for a litany was being recited in Maul's
cultured tones. Apparently a mistake was made. The sound of
flesh on flesh punctuated the air, then Alex ordered "Again!"
Noting the lack of sigh or protest, Methos leaned against the
closed door to listen.
"Always Strike in Silence," Maul intoned. "Put Everything Back
Before You Leave. Always Be Orderly and You'll Always Know
Where Your Weapons Are. The Pen Is Mightier Than The Sword
Because The Pen Will Pass Airport Security. Do not put your
weapon down and fight like a man, pick your weapon up and
kill--ow!"
"Dammit Maul! It's a very simple rule. Sith do not merely kill,
Sith slay! Start with the last one," Alex sighed.
"Do Not Put Your Weapon Down And Fight Like A Man, Pick Your
Weapon Up And Slay Like A Sith," Maul's pronunciation
was slow and deliberate as he concentrated.
"Good. Carry on..." Alex's tone was quite a bit lighter.
Maul continued. "Clean Up Your Old Mess Before You Make A New
One. Shmooze Thine Enemies Wisely. Do Not Take A Chance When It
Is Easier To Take A Life."
"Good. Now, your vocabulary. Neutralize."
"Kill."
"Subdue."
"Slaughter."
"Interview."
"Torture."
"Mercy."
"Sith Do Not Know The Meaning Of 'Mercy.'"
"Very good. Now, get dressed and let's have breakfast
before we start on your physical training."
Methos beat a hasty retreat towards the relative safety of his
own room. Duncan was sitting up in bed combing the tangles out
of his hair. "Mornin', Methos. Ah, I see you slept on a bar
last night. Well, I hope it was comfortable," the Highlander
snipped. "Did you hear what was going on next door?"
"Mmhm. Very practical. Care for a spar? We're headed back to
Earth, you know," Methos casually mentioned. Always good to
include the element of surprise with morning greetings.
"Really? Well, yes. I suppose we should. This is the
sort of situation for which that 'Better safe than sorry' rule
was created." Duncan fished under the bed for his katana and
headed for the wardrobe. Methos admired the view while Duncan
sought pants in the vast recesses of Obi-Wan's clothing supply.
"See if you can find something for me to wear. I need to get
some laundry done," Methos mentioned.
"Tell the spa droid," Duncan suggested. "It does dry-cleaning
very well."
//Well. He did pick up a bit of initiative in the last
400 years,// Methos smirked. He drew his sword and inspected
the edge, then fished his maintenance kit from his carryall.
"We'll have to use our combat blades. I didn't bring any
sparring mock-ups."
"Don't worry about it. I'll make some after we get back,"
Duncan pulled out a pair of sweats and threw them to Methos.
"Good?"
"Yeah, thanks," Methos replied, catching them. "Breakfast
first?"
"Sure, sounds good," Duncan affably agreed.
Methos led the way to the dining room, where a kitchen droid
was waiting to take orders. Methos was more than happy to
provide them, beginning with coffee in obscene amounts. Maul
and Alex joined them at table some few moments later, offering
their orders when the Immortal's breakfasts arrived. Methos was
amused to notice that neither Maul nor Alex had bothered with
donning a shirt this morning and briefly wondered if the Jedi
would make it unanimous.
When Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan entered and took their seats, he was
even more amused to note that they had.
His amusement was short-lived, lasting only long enough for the
coffee to hit Qui-Gon's system. Once that happened, the Master
Jedi began registering the other beings at table with him. He
gave a smile and a nod towards Methos, a startled glance at
Darth Maul, and froze when he noted Alex. "You," he rumbled,
eyes dark with some unchecked emotion.
"Me," Alex returned agreeably.
Qui-Gon clenched his flatware, lips moving silently as he
brought himself back under control. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Alex returned, suspicious.
Qui-Gon ignored the suspicion and reached for more coffee. His
hands brushed over Obi-Wan's similarly searching fingers and
their eyes met briefly. Obi-Wan glanced away, shyness etched on
every feature. Methos smirked. Kid had that 'waif' thing down
to a science. The Padawan made a great show of pouring coffee
for himself and his master, effectively distracting Qui-Gon's
gaze from Alex. Methos mentally awarded Obi-Wan extra style
points when his braid 'fell' into his own cup and he was forced
to suck the tail of it dry.
That Padawan would bear watching. Twin growls from the newest
guests reminded the Eldest Immortal that the whole situation
bore watching. He cast a covert glance in their direction and
decided he didn't like the look of them at all. He might
not have any official claim on the younger Jedi, but he was
definitely protective of any man who could brew beer
as...perfect...heavenly...as this one apparently could. The
gleam in the eyes of Maul and Alex set his alarm bells ringing
at a fever pitch.
He cleared his throat. "So, we should be nearing Earth sometime
this afternoon, personal time. I was wondering where you were
going to lock Duncan and I up while you retrieved our friends."
The Jedi turned their way, attention well-gotten. "What?"
Methos shrugged. "Well, once we get back in Earth atmosphere,
we're going to become a couple of homicidal maniacs. I hardly
think you're going to want us running around loose."
Duncan put in: "We'd rather not end up killing the very ones
we're here to save, anyway."
Methos gave Duncan a grateful look, glad to know his companion
had come to the same conclusions on his own. "I believe there
are four targets, all of them will need to be surgical strikes
to retrieve alive."
"What was that?" Alex piped up.
Shit.
"We're on a rescue mission. It doesn't concern you," Qui-Gon
informed the black hat.
"You said 'surgical strike,' and I assure you that interests
me," Alex replied. "I'm on a training assignment. Practical
demonstrations are always valued."
"Really?" Qui-Gon smiled sweetly. "Maybe I can arrange a
practical...demonstration or two..."
"Not again," Maul groaned under his breath, sinking down into
his chair as Qui-Gon raised his hand--
"Um, Master--" Obi-Wan stammered quickly, suddenly remembering
the source of Alex's peculiar resistance to Mind Whammies--
"Keep your hands off my Padawan, you treacherous sonofabitch,"
Qui-Gon purred, putting all his considerable talent into the
Whammy--
As Alex's eyes washed completely black, and in the center of
the breakfast table, the quiche turned suddenly into flambee.
Methos had no idea what had just happened, but it
certainly had been impressive. Too bad--he'd been hoping
Qui-Gon could take care of the problem quietly...
And he really had wanted to try the quiche.
"Don't worry, Quigs," Alex smiled with perfect composure,
wiping his mouth with his napkin and setting it deliberately
aside as the defenseless quiche burned itself out. "I'm on the
clock. I don't have time to play around, though I admit, it is
a pity..." he smiled at Obi-Wan, an undiluted blast of sheer
rakish charm that carried the clout of the best-aimed Whammy.
Even Methos found himself glancing twice at the man, mentally
rating it as an "8" on his own Smile/Charm/Rakish meter.
"Still, what is it you say? There can be only two, no more, no
less?"
"I thought there could be only one," Duncan blinked,
turning to Methos with a vague shimmer of something unreadable
in his eyes.
"Hmph," Obi-Wan snorted, glaring suddenly at Maul as Qui-Gon
went red in the face. "And you'd know, wouldn't you?
Darth Maul..."
"Am I to take that as a threat?" Qui-Gon growled dangerously at
Alex.
"I don't threaten," Alex sniffed, examining his nails. "It's
not in my contract. I just teach the technique to my
subordinates."
"That's right, Jedi," Maul sneered at Obi-Wan, lounging
more indolently than ever, propping his knee up on the edge of
the table as he took a sip of his coffee. Methos noticed, not
without interest, that the creased slacks from the night before
looked even better on the Sith the morning after, without the
rest of the suit. Briefly, Methos considered kicking himself
for his disloyal thought...then kicked himself for letting his
conscience get in the way of a perfectly enjoyable ogle and sat
back for a better view. "Of course, I wouldn't expect you to
understand, you and your precious little Jedi rules..."
"Oh, it's rules again, is it?" Obi-Wan snapped. "Not that they
could ever be important to the likes of you, oh
no--they're just about respect for sentient life, the happiness
and welfare of other beings, nothing you'd ever want to
concern yourself with, I'm sure!"
"How interesting," Qui-Gon smiled coldly at Alex. "Because I'm
a teacher too, you know...and I have a mind to teach you a
thing or two, friend of my Padawan or not..."
"Your Padawan," Alex chuckled provokingly, "is more than old
enough to make his own decisions, you know...and has, on many
occasions."
"Is that so?" Qui-Gon purred dangerously.
"Very. So." Alex raised his mug and took a cool sip of his
coffee, watching the livid Jedi over the rim.
"Respect and happiness and welfare," Maul parroted mockingly.
"You're living in a dream world, Jedi! When are you
going to wake up and realize that all this talk of logic
and serenity and your damned emotionless
holier-than-thou posturing are so far from what the real
power of the Force is about--"
Qui-Gon lunged over the table with surprising grace, somehow
managing to miss the pitiful remains of the quiche with the
pristine knee of his loose uniform pants. Alex was up in a
heartbeat, one hand locked around Qui-Gon's straining neck just
as the Jedi held him, the other hand raising the nearest weapon
that came to his grasp--a brimming tureen of white gravy for
the biscuits. Sneering, Qui-Gon drew back his free hand, the
delicate three-pronged fork for spearing sausage links clutched
in his fist as Obi-Wan and Maul leapt to their feet as well,
the Force crackling between them in bright sparks of purple and
blue.
Methos glanced at the Jedi, then at the others, then sighed.
"We might need two retrieval teams," he allowed, his words
shocking everyone to sudden stillness.
Obi-Wan sent him a glare and flopped down in his seat, crossing
his arms over his chest. "No one flies the _Gannet_ but me," he
grumbled in a tone that brooked no opposition.
"Not a problem," Alex smiled as he stepped away from Qui-Gon,
setting down the now-dripping tureen with admirable aplomb. "I
have my own ways of getting around, if it comes to it, at least
back on Earth."
Smoothing his hair back as he climbed down from the table,
Qui-Gon sank slowly into his seat, spearing a sausage with the
fork and placing it on his own plate as Maul sat down at last.
"Well, then, that will work out fine."
Maul's eyes narrowed suddenly as he darted a glance at Obi-Wan,
and this time when he leaned back in his chair, it was towards
Alex, pointedly so. Everyone else pretended not to notice.
"First, we need to get Joe," Duncan announced, glancing from
man to man with an uncertain smile. "He'll know who's doing
what with who and where...um, that is, he'll have information
we need..."
Methos nodded in agreement. "From there, we'll hunt Amanda and
that cop of hers, Nick?" he frowned a question at Duncan, still
feeling the effects of his relief at hearing Amanda was
involved with an Immortal. One that wasn't Duncan. "Oh,
and Connor MacLeod, Duncan's teacher."
"Very well," Qui-Gon accepted. "I'm done here, Padawan. Care to
join me for a workout?"
"Always, Master," Obi-Wan purred.
"Sounds good," Duncan piped up. "We'll join you."
Methos followed the others down to the training room, noting
that Alex and Maul weren't far behind him.
Upon reaching the gym, Duncan excused himself to begin his
warm-up katas while Methos settled onto a mat for his preferred
yoga stretches. Methos arched up into the Bridge pose and took
a quick recon of the gym's occupants.
The Jedi were also doing katas, but wielding their lightsabers
rather than steel. Their focus was intense, total,
all-consuming. For the first time since meeting them, Methos
beheld the Jedi in their glory, dangerously focused, battle
ready, stone-cold sober. They were beautiful. Mirrored katas
flowed into sparring, the energy blades making glorious, deadly
patterns around their bodies as they moved in perfect unison
through the strike and parry, attack and retreat. The air
around them fairly hummed with the connection they shared. A
tiny grain of jealousy took root in Methos as he turned over
and slipped into Cobra pose. Something in him longed for such a
connection.
The shift in posture brought his gaze online with Alex and
Maul. Maul was hanging from the chin bar, chanting rhythmically
as he raised and lowered his body. He was apparently reviewing
his SOP once more while Alex spotted his workout. This time
Alex was reciting along with him, keeping his rhythm constant
to prevent a slowing in either physical or mental exercise. The
flex and relax of Maul's red-and-black flesh was hypnotic in
the extreme and distracted Methos from the content of their
litany. When their actual words penetrated his brain, he was
hard-pressed to not dissolve into a fit of giggles. The
Baddest Baddie Ever and his protege, were growling with
complete and total conviction:
I'm too sexy for my guns, too sexy for my guns
Gun's going to save me
I'm too sexy for plastique, too sexy for plastique
Too sexy and unique
I'm too sexy for this trunk, too sexy for this trunk
Too sexy for a black van.
And I'm too sexy for your cabal,
too sexy for your cabal
No way I'm picking sides now
I'm a villain, you know what I mean
I haul my little tush up this fire escape
To the hideout, to the hideout yeah,
I get my little tush to the hideout.
Methos finished his stretches and firmly ignored where that
little chant might be going. Duncan was waiting and ready for
him, barefoot and pumped to spar. Methos restrained the urge to
sigh. He didn't want to fight Duncan, wished he could just
forget this ugly little part of his life. But necessity always
won out over wishful thinking so he raised his blade to signal
he was ready.
Duncan stepped back, bowed and brought his sword up to trace a
design in the air. Methos' heart skipped a beat. He nodded once
and stepped into the kata Duncan had selected. It took a moment
to find his rhythm with Duncan's speed and strength, but once
found, they fell into perfect balance, blades barely touching,
whistling through the air within hairsbreadth of one another's
flesh. There was no sense of danger, only give and take,
exchange, partnership.
Joining.
Methos was laughing as he spun through the air, taking their
form to the next level. Duncan's grin flashed at him as he met
the challenge, bringing his own strength and power up to accept
and return what Methos had begun. The Eldest Immortal felt
timeless, weightless, and completely separated from Death for
the first time in thousands of years. Alive. Methos felt
totally and completely alive. When their swords fell into the
final position, he thought he might weep at the loss. Then
Duncan leaned forward over their crossed swords and kissed him.
The tears that did fall were from something entirely removed
from loss.
When they broke apart, Methos realized some kind of alarm was
sounding. He glanced around to find Obi-Wan patiently waiting
to gain his attention.
"We're back in your solar system, guys. I need directions to
this Joe person," the Jedi informed them.
Just then, like a shriek, the Gathering Imperative assaulted
Duncan and Methos with the full force of its battle fury. If
anything, it was all the stronger for their temporary escape.
Methos staggered away from Duncan and did the only thing he
could to stop the pain. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't upset
Obi-Wan too much.
With a sigh of relief, he fell onto his own sword.
"Methos," Duncan hissed, his voice shaking nearly as badly as
his hands, and Alex watched with puzzlement as the two Jedi
stepped instantly between the Scot and the fallen man, their
faces white and set.
"Back away, Duncan," Obi-Wan ordered, more steel in his voice
than Alex could ever remember hearing there. He'd always
known that sweet little Padawan had a spine under the
naive exterior, but actually hearing it...was
damned attractive. "Just put down the sword, and we'll
put you to sleep, nice and easy..."
"What...what if I wake up?" Duncan growled, taking a trembling
step forward, the sword lowering obediently...but sweeping up
again behind him, as if Duncan weren't fully aware of it
himself, pure instinct letting the blade complete its arc.
"You won't," Qui-Gon promised firmly, raising his hand the
second Duncan's maddened, horrified eyes broadcast the
intention to charge. "Sleep."
Instantly, Duncan dropped as if felled, his sword clattering to
the floor of the workout room.
Frowning dubiously at the prone pair, Alex shrugged once.
"So...what the hell was that all about?"
"They're Immortals," Maul surprised him by asking, "aren't
they?"
"I'm shocked," Obi-Wan smiled humorlessly. "Taking an interest
in different cultures. Not very Sithly, is it?"
"I read," Maul growled back, baring his teeth in a
furious grimace. Turning pointedly to Alex, Maul snarled,
"Immortals of this type are native to your planet. They kill
each other by hacking off the head, and then they absorb
something called a 'Quickening.' It's something like being
electrocuted by an aphrodisiac, or so they say. Popular
Immortal folklore states that there will be a period called the
'Gathering,' where all will fight to the death until only one
remains."
"Alex," Obi-Wan interrupted, kneeling by Duncan's side. The
Padawan really did look shocked, however, darting a
frowning glance at Maul that seemed somewhat troubled, even
thoughtful. "I need a knife."
Pulling one out of concealment, Alex handed it over with a
frown of his own. "So, you're telling me these guys are
Immortal. And they suddenly wanted to kill each other. But
they're going to come back?"
"That's the idea," Qui-Gon nodded briskly, then winced as
Obi-Wan slammed the dagger Alex had given him into Duncan's
chest, right through the heart. "Force, I hope we get this over
with soon, though..." the Jedi Master grumbled to himself,
sounding not half as impressed as Alex was by Obi-Wan's cold
calculation. "Lugging around dead Immortals...I just hope they
don't start to smell..."
"Hmm," Alex agreed thoughtfully as Obi-Wan rolled Methos over
onto his side, bracing one foot against Methos' shoulder before
yanking out the sword. Alex was there in a heartbeat, slipping
another blade smooth as silk between the dead Immortal's ribs,
applauding the boy's quick grasp of the situation. It'd be
damned hard to do any lugging if the dead Immortal in
question still had a sword sticking out of him... "All right,
then, Maul, time for another object lesson--proper
non-permanent disposal of a body intacta..."
Sighing faintly, Maul did as he was asked, scooping up the big
Scot with surprising ease for the Sith's smaller size. Neither
Jedi was grumbling as Alex and his trainee carried the bodies
off to cold-storage, merely directing the way with a subdued
manner that Alex didn't trust a bit. Oh well. He'd get more on
these two out of Obi-Wan as the opportunity came up.
Right now, he just wanted to dump the bodies and take a shower.
And it really wasn't at all fair that this Methos guy still
looked good dead.
Maul was trying very hard not to fidget. The fact that he
knew that little twit Kenobi was staring at him didn't
make it any easier. After a nice long shower and a change into
something more Sithly, he should have felt like the master of
all he surveyed, but a proper sneering detachment was
uncomfortably beyond him at the moment. His new instructor had
already promised to take his next infraction out on his ass...
Which was part of the reason why he couldn't stop fidgeting
now. Damned Jedi and their showers built for two...
Which brought him back to Kenobi. Who was staring at
him--and at Alex--putting two and two together...and dammit, he
didn't like the idea of Kenobi imagining him naked in the first
place, much less up against a steamy shower wall and begging
for more while a surprisingly...forceful human pounded
into him hard enough to make him forget his own name. But there
were considering looks and there were considering looks,
and that damned Padawan looked like he was plotting something,
as un-Jedi-like as that sounded.
Just this once, Maul wished the twerp would go back to being a
Jedi.
"All right," Alex began with a grin of anticipation, "time to
make plans. How long until we reach Earth, and what do we know
about this 'Joe' person?"
"We're already cloaked in a stationary orbit above Paris,"
Obi-Wan shrugged, tearing his attention away from plots and
Maul and offering a wan smile. "That's where we picked them up
a few, uh, ship-days ago, anyway... Earth-time, maybe an hour's
passed--I wanted to be sure we'd skirt any possibilities of
creating a paradox, you see: showing up while we were already
here, being molested by anyone's grandmother, that sort of
thing..."
"Understandable," Alex snorted, and Maul rolled his eyes. Trust
Kenobi to lower the moral tone of any conversation...
Wait, he was supposed to admire that...
"As for Joe," Qui-Gon cut in smoothly, still regarding Alex a
trifle coolly, "all we know is his name, I'm afraid--just his
first name. We assumed the first place to start looking would
be where we found them..."
"Wrong," Alex stated simply, but without undue malice. "The
first place to start looking is them. Obviously, we
can't ask them now, not unless you want to be stabbing
someone every five minutes--" Maul perked up instantly at the
idea, but Alex kicked him unobtrusively and he settled down
with a sigh. "--so, start with the next logical place. What did
they bring with them when they came on-board?"
"Well...Methos brought his towel," Obi-Wan frowned, "and he had
a spare..."
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say
on the subject of towels.
A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an
interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical
value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound
across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the
brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the
heady sea vapors; you can sleep under it beneath the stars
which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it
to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for
use in hand-to-hand combat; wrap it round your head to ward off
noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter
Beast of Traal (a mind-bogglingly stupid animal, it assumes
that if you can't see it, it can't see you--daft as a brush,
but very, very ravenous); you can wave your towel in
emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself
off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.
More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For
some reason, if a strag (strag: nonhitchhiker) discovers
that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically
assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush,
washcloth, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of
string, gnat spray, wet-weather gear, space suit, etc., etc.
Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitchhiker
any of these or a dozen other items that the hitchhiker might
accidentally have "lost." What the strag will think is that any
man who can hitch the length and breadth of the Galaxy, rough
it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through and
still know where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned
with.
>Hence a phrase that has passed into hitchhiking slang, as
in "Hey, you sass that hoopy Obi-Wan Kenobi? There's a
frood who really knows where his towel is." (Sass: know, be
aware of, meet, have hot sex with; hoopy: really together guy;
frood: really amazingly together guy.)
"Good thinking," Alex nodded, turning to Maul. "If you always
have your towel handy, you'll be amazed at how quickly folks
will pull the wool over their own eyes. Here's another Rule for
you," he added over Maul's groan. "'Assumptions Make an Ass Out
of You, Not Me.' Got it?"
A meek and resigned: "Yes, Master," seemed the safest reply,
though the words seemed to...do something to Alex's
smile. And his eyes. Which were narrowing to lazy slits of
sated emerald, hypnotic and...
"Ahem," Obi-Wan muttered dryly, and Maul remembered suddenly
that breathing was a good thing. "Methos also brought a duffel
bag, if you'd be interested...?"
"Lead on," Alex smiled jauntily, as if nothing in the world had
happened to make those already sinfully-tight leather pants
tighter.
Someday...Alex would teach him the source of that Sithly
control.
And then he'd rise up and nail that smug bastard to the
wall.
By the time Alex had the contents of Methos' duffel spread out
all over the bed, Maul had gotten himself under control. He did
have to wonder whether all Masters had the same bizarre urge to
dress their Apprentices up like themselves...he hadn't minded
the formal Sithrobes, really, but the black leather pants,
boots, t-shirt and leather jacket...he'd have to think about
that. They were black. And they were leather. And
the look definitely worked for Alex...
Glancing up at the ceiling, he caught a glimpse of himself in
the mirror overhead, scowling at his reflection consideringly.
Well...maybe he didn't look too bad...in fact, come to
think about it... He grinned, as evilly as he could, and
admired the effects as he straightened out of his habitual
slouch, squaring his shoulders and pulling the black tee tight
across his chest.
He made this 'uniform' look good.
"Bingo," Alex chuckled, holding aloft his prize. "Thank you,
suckers..."
"Alex," Obi-Wan rebuked from the doorway, and Alex
fastened such hurt, soulful eyes on the Padawan, it made Maul
want to punch a hole in something. Like Kenobi, for starters.
"It's just a figure of speech," Alex pouted. "And besides," he
added with a roguish grin when he saw the 'soulful' tack wasn't
working, "old habits die hard."
"What is it?" Maul asked despite himself, staring with
suspicion at the innocuous object.
"The Grail of All Blackmail," Alex grinned, kissing the cover
reverently. "Also known as the Little Black Book."
Maul shook his head again, but this time it was in awe. It was
going to take him years to learn all that Alex knew
about being a proper standupping Black Hat...
"Let's see," Alex chuckled, flipping avidly through the pages,
"who do we have here...Duncan MacLeod, Kronos--hmm, I wonder
why his name's scratched out?--Jim Morrison...hey, this is a
current address...ooh, kinky, he's got 'Industrial Light
and Magic' under this Lucas fellow's name...hey, here's
one--Joe Dawson, looks like the only Joe...and it's an address
here in Paris, too," he added, skimming ahead a few more pages
as he spoke.
A faint shimmer in the Force, and the Little Black Book was
whisked out of Alex's hands and shut firmly. "Okay, Alex, if
you're finished memorizing those addresses..." Obi-Wan fixed
the other man with a meaningful stare.
"Me? Even my memory's not that good," Alex protested,
but he let the matter go with a sigh of his own, already
beginning to repack Methos' bag. To Maul's amazement, though he
couldn't quite be certain of it, it looked to him like
everything was going back exactly as Alex had found it--down to
the folds in the spare towel and the extra tubes of lube.
Truly, his new mentor was adept in the ways of sneakiness...
"Book," Alex waggled his fingers without looking, and Kenobi
surprised Maul by floating it over to the assassin without
comment, letting Alex repack it exactly where it had been
before.
"Professional admiration?" Maul couldn't help hazarding a guess
aloud, wondering if it was Alex's reputation that had convinced
Obi-Wan to surrender the Little Black Book without a fight.
Kenobi, however, shot him a withering glare and snapped,
"Friendship," crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'm shocked," Maul sneered back at him. "Taking an interest in
an unsavory character? How very un-Jedi-like of you."
"What did I tell you about pestering the Padawan?" Alex
mentioned amiably without looking up from his task, then paused
and glanced up at Maul with an honest grin just as Maul
resignedly drew breath to recite the instruction aloud. "Wait.
Don't answer that one."
Kenobi just rolled his eyes at both of them when they started
snickering helplessly.
"Right," Alex nodded, rising from the bed to stow Methos'
duffel where he'd found it in the first place. "Paris it is."
"Do you know your way around the city?" Obi-Wan asked with a
mildly anxious frown. "I asked the ship's computer to try and
pull some maps off your planet's Information Net, and it nearly
committed suicide in frustration..."
"That's all right, I know my way around the City of Love," Alex
chuckled, and Obi-Wan blushed, and Maul got that urge to punch
holes in things again. Insanity. He was not jealous.
Jealousy...well, it was a perfectly Sithly emotion,
true...not one he'd practiced often in his life, but...
"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," Obi-Wan shook his head
with a slow grin, and something inside Maul snapped.
He growled at Kenobi, not mollified at all by the way
the Jedi's head snapped up, blue eyes opening wide as the
pupils dilated, lips parting slightly. Something made
Alex's lashes flutter as if a shiver had raced up the human's
spine, but Maul wasn't sure whether it was his own snarl or the
daunting picture of reflexive lust Kenobi presented before the
Padawan shook himself out of it. Stupid Jedi.
"Hmm," Alex mused casually aloud. "That could be an asset,
Maul. Perhaps we should add vocal training to the
curriculum..."
Stupid mentor.
"Tonight," Alex smiled, and suddenly Maul felt very
pleased with himself. Even if it did mean Kenobi would be
wondering about him again, about him and Alex, maybe picturing
them both...that is... "You'll have to tell us if the exercises
get too loud," Alex smiled innocently at Obi-Wan, who was still
staring at Maul in something akin to horrified fascination, as
if he was already picturing Alex and Maul and their
'training exercises.'
Ewww. Stupid, stupid, stupid Maul...
"Err...sure," Kenobi shrugged distractedly, dragging his eyes
back to Alex with an effort. At least the Jedi looked properly
disturbed by the whole thing--Maul would hate to think he was
the only one.
Watching Kenobi get turned on by his growl was bad enough.
It was hard not to stare, but Obi-Wan managed. He was a Jedi.
He had discipline. In a wide range of styles and colors,
some with accessories.
And yet--who was this guy, and what had he done with
Darth Maul?
The Maul he'd known hadn't given a damn about other cultures,
much less read about them--and the Immortals of ZZ 9 Plural Z
Alpha weren't exactly a mainstream topic of study. Hell, they
were downright esoteric--so how had Maul gotten
interested in them? Maybe it was the decapitation angle...that
had to be it...trust Maul to know about any group that made a
regular practice of lopping each other's heads off with sharp,
pointed objects...
But the Maul he'd known wouldn't have done that...that
snarl thing just because Obi-Wan had flirted with an old
friend--hell, Obi-Wan hadn't even meant anything by it,
it was just habit where Alex was concerned. He hadn't
even known Maul liked guys--but if that wasn't a warn-off he'd
seen, then he'd never 'conveniently' distracted his Master at a
banquet before.
He believed the saying was...curiouser and curiouser.
And Alex, though he had managed an almost Masterly performance
of unflappable serenity, had been downright amused by the whole
thing, Obi-Wan could tell. Even without the smirk, Alex's eyes
had done that cute little crinkle at the corners, lashes
dipping until he regarded the world with sleepy satisfaction,
like a cat that just knows it will be petted whenever it
wants...
//Discipline,// Obi-Wan reminded himself, grinning just a bit
as visions of sending Maul right off the deep end danced
through his head. If he wasn't absolutely certain that throwing
himself at Alex would send Qui-Gon over the edge right along
with Maul, he just might have given in... //Hard to see, the
Dark Side is...especially when someone's holding your head down
by your braid.//
Discipline, discipline, discipline...
He didn't even laugh when Alex found Maul some gloves and a
black toboggan cap from somewhere in the _Gannet's_
admittedly eclectic clothing stores. There wasn't much they
could do about the eyes or the tattoos, but with the horns
covered, Maul looked more like a particularly flashy catburglar
than an alien lifeform, so Alex declared himself content. Maul
just glowered, but didn't dare protest--Obi-Wan had no idea how
Alex had managed to cow the Sith so quickly, but he
rather thought their little shower interlude explained some of
it.
The Maul he'd known would never have screamed quite that
loudly...would he?
"All right," Obi-Wan announced as he opened the doors of the
hovering _Gannet_, tossing down the rope for the second time
that subjective day. "The SEP field is on, if you're ready..."
"Always," Alex grinned and slithered down the rope to the
street below with a fluid grace Obi-Wan couldn't help admiring.
Okay, so the guy was a Black Hat of epic proportions...he was
also one of the best men for this little mission of mercy
Obi-Wan knew. And it was his planet...
"Show-off," Qui-Gon muttered under his breath, following Alex
down with an artistic billow of robe, moving as smoothly as
only a Jedi Master could.
Which left him alone with Darth Maul.
They regarded each other silently, open suspicion and hostility
filling the air between them, and that was certainly the
Maul he knew. Neither of them particularly wanted to go first
down that rope--Maul because he no doubt thought Obi-Wan might
take the opportunity to cut it behind him, Obi-Wan because the
idea of leaving Maul alone on his ship was about as
appealing as a Hutt in a G-string.
A flicker of apprehension sizzled along his bond with his
Master, but the moment stretched in silence until Maul
contemptuously turned his back on Obi-Wan, starting for the
open door. Narrow-eyed, Obi-Wan watched the Sith take hold of
the rope, Maul turning as he stepped out into empty air with a
glare Obi-Wan couldn't quite catalog. There was no trust there,
of course, nor any invitation for it, but still...
//I wonder how much trouble it would be to corrupt a Sith to
the Light?// Obi-Wan mused privately as he followed Maul down,
levitating the rope back inside the Gannet when his boots
touched asphalt. Somewhere out there, there would be a Sith
Master mad-as-hell about it...reason enough right there to give
it a try, he had to admit...
And besides. He'd probably have to drive Maul crazy to
do it--and that part would be fun.
By the time Obi-Wan turned back around, Alex had the front door
open, breezing in like he owned the place--and Alex had picked
the locks so fast, he might as well have had the keys. Maul and
Qui-Gon were blocking the door behind Alex, glaring at each
other distrustfully, neither one wanting to go first and leave
his back unprotected. Obi-Wan sighed, wondering if they were
all three going to end up standing around outside like idiots
while Alex did all the work. "Maul," Alex said mildly from
somewhere inside Dawson's home, his distracted tone almost
gentle, but the Sith turned without a word, stalking inside
with shoulders tensed.
"Your friend certainly hasn't lost his sunny
disposition," Qui-Gon mentioned as he glanced inside, making no
move to follow the Sith.
"Ah. Well, you know Alex," Obi-Wan coughed, trying not to grin
at Qui-Gon's irritated, reluctant respect. "Having a Sith to
order around is something of a lifelong goal for him..."
"Lucky him," Qui-Gon snorted, robes billowing even more
masterfully as he swept in. Sensing the subtle Force
manipulations his Master used to achieve the effect, Obi-Wan
had to bite his lip to keep a knowing smile from his face.
Qui-Gon was positively adorable when he was jealous...
Joe Dawson's home was surprisingly roomy, with large spaces
between the furnishings that gave the place a light, airy look.
It reminded Obi-Wan of the Temple, only with more a tasteful
decorator. Alex had already gone through the front room,
apparently, because Obi-Wan found their resident Black Hats
ensconced in a rather more cramped area, cluttered with dusty
paper books, overstuffed files, and an eclectic collection of
archaic-looking artifacts. And a rather primitive computer,
which Alex was ransacking with a near-feral expression of
animal satisfaction.
"This is great," Alex mentioned without looking away from the
screen as Obi-Wan and his Master entered the room, Maul
wandering out with a sneer for the Jedi. "Looks like our friend
Dawson is involved in a few covert little operations on the
side, something called "the Watchers"--they appear to know
everything about our Immortal friends. His last e-mail from
them told him 'It' was happening in New York City--but there's
no way we're going to be able to just pick him out of a
crowd..."
"Mr. Krycek?" Maul called from the next room, puzzlement in his
voice.
"How did you do that so fast? Didn't you need a password?"
Obi-Wan asked Alex with an uncertain smile. Had Alex just
gotten lucky, or was the man a computer expert--and did this
mean Alex could hack into the _Gannet's_ computers? Obi-Wan
trusted the man, perhaps foolishly...but the ship's computers
had pictures he didn't want anyone but his Master to get
a glimpse of, and even Qui-Gon hadn't seen all of them. Yet.
"He's got a PC," Alex shrugged off Obi-Wan's nervous amazement.
"I did a job for a Mr. Gates a while back, and all PCs have
this lovely little buried code in them. Mostly, Mr. Gates'
minions just use it to make your programs lock up whenever he
puts out a new software update and to piggyback to porn sites
for free, but it also has a master password for every Gates
product. It's not what you know," Alex chuckled darkly, "its
whose dirty laundry you wash."
"Alex?" Maul tried again, his voice sounding a little firmer
now, expectation coupled with irritation at being ignored.
"How interesting," Qui-Gon smiled sweetly, distracting Alex yet
again. "Jedi, after all, take care of their own laundry..."
"Anyone could do a Jedi's laundry," Alex snorted
disdainfully. "It's all beige."
Obi-Wan couldn't help it. He was strong in the Force, but not
that strong, and his laughter nearly doubled him over
despite his Master's glare--which was starting to slip at the
edges as the corners of Qui-Gon's mouth began to twitch with a
stifled, helpless grin. What advantage his Master had in
inscrutability, Alex more than made up for in slipperiness,
more difficult to pin down than Yoda's syntax. The Padawan in
Obi-Wan really thought it might be a good idea to keep
these two apart...but there was a niggling little voice that
reminded him in a decidedly Sithly whisper that he wasn't
liable to get entertainment like this every day...
"Well," Qui-Gon surprised Alex by saying airily, his expression
so innocent Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon was having another of
his weird jokes on someone, "that's rather the point..."
"Master."
"What?" Alex turned immediately towards the glowering figure in
the doorway, then caught himself with a visible jerk of
startlement while the two Jedi tried not to smirk. "Christ,
that was weird," Alex muttered to himself, shaking his head.
"You'll get used to it," Qui-Gon chuckled under his breath,
ignoring the disgusted glare Maul sent him.
"There's something in here you'd better take a look at," Maul
informed Alex grimly, holding his mentor's eyes with a
meaningful look.
"What?" Alex questioned with narrowed eyes, making no move to
rise from the computer.
"I think I just found my first Plot Device."
Alex was out of his chair and across the room before Maul's
words had quite penetrated, Alex's purred: "Well done,
my Apprentice" sending a strange shiver down Obi-Wan's spine.
//Darth Krycek?// he asked himself slowly, regarding his friend
with newfound caution before reality caught up with him.
//Naaaah. He'd hate having to actually pick a side.//
Clustering around the bedside table, the four stared down at an
innocuous tablet of lined green paper, its surface marred by a
scattering of jotted notes in painfully clear block letters.
'New York. Flight 507. Arrive 5:45 PM @ JFK.'
Obi-Wan didn't even have to concentrate to feel the distinctive
Force-signature the notepad shed. "It's a Plot Device, all
right," he said nervously, trained from an early age that there
was little more capricious in the Galaxy than a Plot Device in
motion. Somewhere between a Prophecy and a notification of an
audit, Plot Devices had started more wars, saved more
distressed damsels, and gotten more otherwise completely
incompatible partners laid than even the Pan Galactic Gargle
Blaster.
"Mm," Alex nodded with a frown of distrust. "But whose
Plot, that's the question..."
"Sometimes, Alex, you just have to trust the Force," Obi-Wan
said with a shrug.
"The Force and Star 69," Alex agreed, reaching for the Stone
Age communicator beside the Plot Device.
"Star 69?" Qui-Gon frowned.
"Alex," Obi-Wan protested, "this is no time to brag..."
Rolling his eyes, Alex hit three buttons on the communicator's
controls, a star...a six...and a nine. "Your faith in me is
encouraging, anyway," Alex smirked, lifting the receiver to his
ear.
"Thank you for flying United, how may I help you?"
Obi-Wan heard a tinny voice from the receiver as he tried to
ignore his Master's pointed 'harrumph' and expectant eyes.
"Yes, I'm calling to confirm that one of my employees, a Joe
Dawson, made it aboard your ten o'clock flight--he was due to
arrive here three hours ago, but he hasn't checked in yet..."
"One moment, please..."
Maul, Obi-Wan noticed as Alex charmed the receptionist, was
staring at the assassin with undisguised hero worship, tainted
by a relatively friendly level of envy and sheer lust--relative
as Sith go, that was. On the one hand, Obi-Wan wanted with all
his heart to eradicate the Sith from the Galaxy once and for
all and ensure the Balance was kept firmly where it should
be--on the side of peace and light and Fuck-Me Boots for the
tempting of deliciously honorable Masters. On the other...if
there had to be Sith for the sake of said
Balance...having this one in Alex's pocket was probably not the
worst idea.
After all...it wasn't like he'd ever had any trouble twining
Alex around his little finger, now had he?
The gentle hand on his shoulder startled him out of his
reflections, and somehow, he wasn't surprised when it slid
across his nape, reaching around to tug lightly on his braid.
Controlling a shiver, he glanced over at his Master with a
rueful grin, noting Qui-Gon's patiently raised brows and
amused, indulgent smile. His Master always knew when he
was plotting, Sith take it...
Oh well. He could explain later.
And then 'convince' or 'apologize,' depending on how much lube
they had left. If they looked likely to run out, then his
explanation was definitely going to call for an
'apology...'
"No, thank you," Alex purred into the receiver, his
voice dropping into a sultry rasp that made Qui-Gon's hand
tighten almost convulsively on Obi-Wan's braid. "You've been
wonderful...have a good one..."
"Oh, I will," the tinny voice breathed as Alex hung up,
looking pleased with himself.
Glancing around at the other three, Alex shrugged easily,
asking, "How fast can you get us to New York City?"
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