by Mara

Summary: When Scott loses a bet to Jean, she comes up with a…unique way for
him to pay up.

The sun was almost directly above the mansion and there wasn’t a cloud in the
sky. Under most circumstances, this would please Scott, but today he’d been
hoping for a violent hurricane. A monsoon. Maybe a tornado?

A light breeze drifted through the shrubbery, carrying the scent of azaleas.
Scott groaned and tried to step backward.

Jean patted Scott on the cheek as she herded him out the front door. “Look at it
this way: If you’re lucky, maybe Magneto will attack on the way there.”

“I *wish*,” he muttered, scowling at her as she leaned her head back and
laughed.

Ororo came down the stairs at a jog. “I could accompany you, if you need help.”

“Oh no.” Jean shook her head firmly, waving her back. “No way. He lost the bet
fair and square and he’s not wriggling out of this.” Ororo shrugged and turned
down the hall toward the kitchen, unsuccessfully hiding a smile.

Birds chirped in the trees, as if they were also laughing at him and Scott
decided the entire universe hated him. “If I’d known,” he said, almost pleading,
“that Jubilee and Angelo were *capable* of behaving themselves in class for an
entire week, I would never have agreed to the bet in the first place.”

“You’re a pessimist,” Jean said, crossing her arms.

“A realist.” Scott corrected her as he checked his pockets.

Heaving a sigh, Jean watched him. “The keys are already in the ignition. Your
driver’s license is in your wallet in your right pocket. The car is waiting and
you have to go now.”

Scott wavered. He could beg. Maybe if he offered back rubs for a month? To spend
less time working on the jet? Anything else?

Her smile beatific, Jean pointed toward the Ford Explorer sitting in the drive.
“Go.”

Scott manfully suppressed a whimper. “Ave, Caesar, morituri te salutamus.”
Turning, he trudged down the walk toward his doom.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Scott. You’re not actually going to *die*.” She closed
the front door with a resounding thud, which echoed in the courtyard.

Really, Scott thought, there was only one thing that would make this moment even
worse. He thanked whatever deity might be listening that Logan was still off on
his quest, then looked around hastily, lest the universe teleport him back in
time to witness this humiliation.

“C’mon, Mr. Summers,” Jubilee called, leaning out the window of the SUV, “it’s
almost 12 o’clock! The mall closes in nine hours and we’ve got a lot of shopping
to do.”

Scott rubbed his temples and got into the driver’s seat, glancing around to make
sure nobody was missing. No, there were Jubilee, Rogue, Kitty, Betsy, Monet, and
Paige, all lined up in their seats looking like cats with their eyes on a
particularly tasty fish.

Jean opened the door and leaned back out. “Oh, and try and look interested,
would you, Scott?”

Scott decided he hated his life.

* * * * *

Very few people knew that besides his unusual visual skills, Scott also had the
more common ability of passive absolute pitch: He could identify and name
individual notes or groups of notes. It was useless, he’d found, since he
couldn’t *produce* those notes on command, just recognize them–an extension of
his excellent memory.

All of which made for a great party trick and an absolute hatred of mall music,
which always seemed to be transposed to a different key or played at a
nonstandard pitch.

It gave him a headache every single time.

Scott paused at the door, glaring through the glass with loathing at the milling
hordes. Jubilee took his left hand and Paige his right.

“It’s okay, Mr. Summers,” Paige said in what was meant to be a kind tone, but
came out sounding like a parent trying to convince a child that shots weren’t
really that bad. “It’s just one day at the mall,” she said, “how bad can it be?”

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked as they led him through the doors.

“Okay,” Jubilee said, taking point. “We agreed we’d hit Hot Topic first, right?”

Monet sighed. “If you insist. However, I find the store quite wearying.”

Scott realized he was in the odd position of agreeing with Monet about
something. Proving that *anything* was possible at least once.

“I promise we’ll take you and Betsy someplace appropriately snooty before the
day is over,” Kitty said with a grin.

Betsy and Monet both sighed.

“As long as I get to go to Old Navy for pants,” Rogue said.

“Yes yes,” Jubilee said. “Let’s go. We’ve got important shopping to do, ladies.”

Scott followed in their wake as the strangely assorted gaggle of girls swept
semi-majestically down the corridor. He winced as the public address system
blared out a hideous instrumental version of “Stairway to Heaven.”

* * * * *

The procession came to a stop in front of something that looked like a
nightclub. “This is Hot Topic?” Scott said, his voice faint. “Are you sure–”

But the girls were already in the store and Scott dashed in, odd
lights winking off…was that a collar? A chain?

If he lived through this day, Scott decided, he was going to *kill* Jean for not
warning him that there was something that looked like an *S&M dungeon* in the
local mall.

There were *corsets* over there and satin things…and…

His students were happily congregated on the other side of the store looking at
jewelry and t-shirts. Monet and Betsy were laughing at Jubilee as she waved her
hands at a rack of t-shirts, and he decided to let them sort that out
themselves.

Paige’s mouth was pinched in mild disapproval and Scott went to stand with her.
“Not your favorite store?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know what my momma would think of it.”

“Paige, c’mere,” Rogue called. “I need you to look at these earrings.”

Scott hid a grin as Paige forgot her misgivings and dashed over to inspect the
apparently vitally important accessory. Then he resolutely turned his back on
the wall of terrifying unmentionables and concentrated on keeping Kitty away
from clothing that bared too much of her skin.

* * * * *

Fortunately for Scott’s nerves, Hot Topic was the most terrifying store they
visited. Victoria’s Secret ran a close second, but fortunately, when they got
*there*, the girls strictly ordered him to stand outside the entrance with the
fathers, boyfriends, and husbands.

Scott was irresistibly reminded of a doctor’s office, with a corner full of men
avoiding each other’s eyes and trying not to blush. Leaning against a fake
pillar, he was briefly glad that he couldn’t see colors, as the overwhelming
amount of pink would otherwise be sickening.

Although the pink couldn’t possibly be as bad as the fact that the music coming
from overhead had moved on to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.” Scott wondered if it
would really be a problem if he punctured his eardrums to survive the day.

It seemed to be days before his giggling students emerged from the store, but
his watch claimed it was only 20 minutes. He frowned at them, trying to decide
if he was supposed to ask anything. Certainly he didn’t want to *see* what
they’d bought. He squirmed at the thought. No, his responsibilities as the man
in loco parentis definitely didn’t extend to supervising the purchases of
unmentionables.

Jubilee grinned at him and the blush he’d been fighting promptly emerged. He
glared at her and she grabbed Kitty’s arm. “C’mon,” she said, “let’s go get
coffee!”

Scott sensibly dove out of the way as six girls made a run for Starbucks.
Fighting Magneto was one thing, but getting between teenage girls and a chai
latte was suicidal.

* * * * *

Betsy and Monet finally gained control of the outing and the group moved on into
the more expensive niches of the mall. Scott raised an eyebrow as he caught a
glimpse of the price tags in Lord & Taylor, and most of the girls were obviously
restricting themselves to window-shopping here.

Betsy, however, made a beeline for a complicated piece of black fabric that
seemed to have straps or…something. Monet tilted her head this way and that as
Betsy held it up in front of her, then started to mutter arcane incantations
concerning accessories and silk and…Scott walked over to where Paige was
pointing to a flowery dress that looked like nasty wallpaper.

“I’m telling you, my gramma had a housecoat that looked just like that,” she
said, covering her mouth to stifle the giggles.

Kitty nodded. “Mine too. Maybe it’s back in fashion.”

“Kitty,” Jubilee said, peering at the dress, “that pattern was *never* in
fashion.”

Scott jumped when someone sniffed. Reminding himself it might be a bit of a
giveaway to hit someone with his beams, he lowered his hand from his glasses and
looked at the woman behind him.

From the bun resting atop her head, to the glasses attached to a chain around
her neck, to the severe dark-colored suit, she was the very image of a
librarian, if hell had a chief librarian. Her tag insisted that she was the
floor manager in the store.

Jubes and the woman eyed each other warily and Scott wondered if he was going to
have to break up a fight.

“Is there a problem?” the manager said, her lips missing a sneer by a hair.

Scott opened his mouth but Rogue beat him to it. “No, ma’am, no problem. We’re
just looking at the clothing.”

“Perhaps,” the manager said, “if you don’t enjoy the clothing we sell, you might
move on to somewhere more suitable to your tastes.” She flicked a glance over
Paige’s denim and t-shirt, Jubilee’s yellow jacket, and Rogue’s enveloping
scarf. “Might I suggest the Wal-Mart down the street?”

Scott’s jaw dropped and there was a frozen moment where he didn’t know what
everyone was going to do.

“Pardon me,” Monet’s smooth and cultured voice said as she strode over. “Do you
work here?”

The manager smiled approvingly at Monet, whose long legs were encased in skin-
tight pants and her upper body draped in a maroon sweater. “Yes, I do. Can I
help you?”

Betsy came up beside Monet and smiled brightly. “Yes, you can.”

“You see,” Monet went on, “we were just about to spend hundreds of dollars in
your store, buying the latest fashions.”

“But then you insulted our friends,” Betsy said, still smiling. “So I think
we’ll go spend our money at Nordstrom instead.”

Monet gestured imperiously at Scott and the others. “Come along, everyone. We’ll
go to Nordstrom and then you must test the new Vera Wang fragrance at Sephora.”

She and Betsy swept toward the entrance in unison, looking very grownup and
graceful.

“Vera Wang?” Scott said, trailing after them. “I thought she did clothing?”

“Oh no,” Kitty said. “Don’t get M started please, or we’ll *never* shut her up.”

Behind him, Scott glimpsed the saleslady still standing where they’d left her,
jaw drooping and glasses sliding slowly down her nose.

Take *that*, he thought.

* * * * *

Old Navy was a relief, Scott decided, two hours later. It looked respectable. It
didn’t overwhelm his eyes with weird lights and reflections. It didn’t stink of
perfume and makeup and lotions. And the salespeople left you alone, which was
nice.

Most of the clothing was relatively harmless and the colors weren’t eye-
searingly awful. Scott took a deep breath and thought perhaps, just perhaps, he
might make it through the day.

Jubilee dithered over a rack full of cropped shirts, and Scott went over to try
and help. He figured it was simple self-preservation: If he helped her pick one,
it might not give him a heart attack when she wore it, and perhaps they could
leave the mall sometime this decade.

He glanced around and saw Paige and Kitty in the back of the store by a sale
rack of the odd skinny pants they’d seen everywhere, Monet hovering
(figuratively, not literally) by the door, and Rogue had her head bent over a
nearby pile of scarves, with Betsy looking on.

“I just don’t know if this color works on me,” Jubilee said. “What do you–oh,
never mind.” She popped her gum and waved at Rogue.

Behind his glasses, Scott rolled his eyes. He could never decide if she said
things like that on purpose, to needle him, or if she really kept forgetting
about the side effects of wearing red glasses. It was always hard to tell with
Jubilee.

There were several male voices a few racks away, and part of his brain paused to
listen to what they were saying.

“Dude, the one with the blonde hair is totally hottest,” one said. “I bet she’s
never done it. I could be her first.”

“No way,” another voice said, “the black chick is hotter. I’d totally do her.”

“What do you think the scarf is hiding?” a third voice said.

Jubilee was still talking to Rogue about the shirts, so she didn’t even notice
Scott sliding away and circling around the young men who were talking. All three
had the backwards baseball cap and baggy jeans look of boys trying to look like
gangsters, which wouldn’t have endeared them to Scott under *any* circumstances,
but especially not when they were leering at his students.

Not being battle-trained, they didn’t notice Scott until he stood directly
behind them. “You know,” he said, watching them jump with surprise, “any one of
those young ladies you’re eyeing could kick your ass with one hand tied behind
her back. And I wouldn’t need either hand.”

His voice grew lower as he spoke, and even the apparent leader–a particularly
repellant specimen in need of a bath–stepped back, nearly tripping over a
wheeled cart.

“In fact,” Scott continued, crossing his arms and flexing his biceps, “I would
recommend that you go somewhere else to ogle, because if you so much as stand
next to one of these ladies, I will return you to your parents minus at least
one portion of your body.”

Eyes wide, the boys stumbled away, tripping over each other in their haste to
get away from the crazy man, nearly knocking over piles of sweaters and vests.

A slow smile grew on Scott’s face. Now *that* was fun.

Betsy pushed through a rack of denim jackets and stomped up to him, scowling.
“You ruined it.”

“What?”

“I was just about to–”

“Wait!” Scott put up a hand to stop her. “Whatever you were about to say, I’m
sure it’s against school rules, so don’t tell me.”

She put her hands on her hips and waited.

“Unless…” He weakened. “Did it involve them seeing spiders?”

Betsy grinned. “Tarantulas. Big hairy ones.”

“I didn’t hear that,” he said with a firm nod. “Let’s go. I’m tired of this
store.”

Betsy grinned and efficiently rounded up her classmates to make their purchases.

Scott found himself smiling. His kids really *could* take care of themselves,
couldn’t they? And they took care of each other, which was even better.

* * * * *

Scott lost count of the stores they visited throughout the afternoon and early
evening, although he vaguely remembered something about eagles and an endless
array of stores selling music and…something about a debate over the coolness
of opaque stockings worn with shorts. That couldn’t be right, could it?

Hands laden with bags, Scott was about to elbow his way through the doors when
he stopped and tilted his head. The public address system was playing “I Will
Survive.”

With a chuckle, Scott followed his students into the parking lot.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Rogue asked as they stepped off the curb, and
she smiled at him from under her white streak of hair.

Scott slowed his walk to consider the question. Really, it hadn’t been all that
bad. They were good kids, even if he would never understand their music, their
dress sense, or many of their preoccupations. And it was sort of nice to get to
know them better. “No, it wasn’t so bad,” he agreed. “But you should still take
Jean or Ororo next time.”

Rogue laughed. “So…what are you going to do to get Dr. Grey back for this?”

Hands full, Scott couldn’t put a hand over his heart, but he projected sincerity
with all his might. “I lost the bet fairly, Rogue. I wouldn’t try and get
revenge.”

“Mm-hmm.” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “So, what are you going to do?”

Shrugging, he looked skyward for a moment. “I don’t know. Logan’s still got my
motorcycle. Maybe for my birthday, I’ll take her motorcycle shopping with Bobby
and Peter and Angelo.”

“Ooooh.” Jubilee turned around and stared at him. “That’s cold.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Scott said with a straight face.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: A day in the life of Ultimate Professor Xavier’s cat.

NOTES: This is a response to the Ultimate X website
(http://ultimate.comixtreme.com/home.html) Fan Fic Challenge: “A Day in the Life
of Ultimate Cat.” More challenges, please, this was *fun*!

************************************

I have read enough narratives to know the rules for telling a story properly.
But really, did you expect a cat to follow the rules? I thought not.

So, I will tell you about myself, but there are things I simply cannot explain.
Either because humans (and I include mutants in that category) are not ready to
believe them, or because I doubt you will understand.

In any case, I am the cat who has been living at the school for the past year.
My name? Hmm, I don’t have one in the sense that you mean. You may call me Cat,
if you like.

As I was saying, I was assigned to this school to assist and protect the young
mutant students.

Now, please don’t remind me of the Weapon X fiasco. That may possibly have been
the worst failure of my career and I doubt I will ever live it down. I tried to
warn my charges something was wrong, but it was too little, too late. Scott
heard me, but not in time to take effective action.

How did I warn them? Well, obviously I used the same telepathy I’m using to
speak to you. I certainly wasn’t playing charades.

I am a combined telepath and empath, and my mission is to try and keep these
youngsters emotionally healthy, (preferably without revealing my presence to
them). It’s a monumental task, as I’m sure you’re aware. Even normal teenagers
generate enough angst to power a small city. Super-powered teens? Let us just
say they keep me busy and leave it at that.

I know you thought I spent most of my day sleeping, but that is not the case.
Perhaps if I describe a representative day in my life, you will you understand.
Perhaps last Tuesday?

*****************************

I started my day sprawled across Bobby’s chest as he lay in bed. His depression
was so strong, I’m surprised it didn’t generate a black bubble over his head.

I lay on his chest and purred at him until he began to rub my head. Licking his
face a few times netted me a reluctant laugh. Meanwhile, I was pushing so many
soothing thoughts at him he almost fell back asleep.

“Hey, cat,” he finally said.

“Mrow,” I replied. Most humans can understand rudimentary Cat, or at least they
would if they tried.

“Yeah, life does suck, you’re right,” Bobby said. Well, he obviously *wasn’t*
trying to understand me.

“Mrow *mrow*.”

“It’s just that I feel like such a doofus compared to everyone else around here.
I’m just the dumb kid brother that they have to take care of.”

I hissed, and he looked strangely at me. I blinked slowly at him and sent more
soothing thoughts. He relaxed a little bit and scratched under my chin.

“How will I ever be as good at controlling my powers as they are?”

I slowly shifted my soothing thoughts to those of confidence. After I allowed
him some time to think, I prodded his attention back to me with a paw on his
chin.

“I guess I probably shouldn’t compare myself to people three or four years
older, should I?” he asked me.

“Mrow,” I said firmly.

He put me down on the bed beside him and reached for his workout clothes. “I
guess this means more time in the Danger Room.”

I licked the side of his face again and set off, content he was taken care of
for the day.

Then, I spent an enjoyable hour hunting the mansion grounds with Logan. Now,
there is a human with a good head on his shoulders and proper claws. I’m pleased
there is *someone* around here I can trust to take care of the children other
than me. I’ve been trying to help him clear out some of the interference in his
mind, although he is unusually resistant to both empathic and telepathic probes.

*******************************

After breakfast, I paused outside Peter’s room, but he was relaxed, so I didn’t
bother him.

However, Scott was already studying and worrying in the library. That child has
a severely overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Hard work is to be applauded,
but he takes it a bit too seriously.

The door was closed, but that is no deterrent to a determined cat.

I jumped onto the table, tail swishing with my annoyance, and settled firmly
onto the book Scott was trying to read. From the tenor of his emotions, I
suspect he was tempted to drop kick me out of his way.

So, I curled my tail and tucked my paws under my chin in a most appealing way,
sending cheerful thoughts to his scowling face. The scowl cleared a little, but
he still picked me up off the book and put me on the floor.

I didn’t get where I am today by being deterred by an amateur move like that. Of
course, I jumped back up and settled myself even more firmly on the book. He was
going to tell me what was bothering him, even if it took all day. (You’re right,
I *could* just read what’s bothering them in their minds, but they are more
likely to notice that. For some reason, humans rarely notice when you tamper
with their emotions, just their thoughts.)

“Cat, what’s wrong with you?” Scott finally asked. “I’m trying to get some work
done.”

“Mrow?” I asked.

“Look, if you leave me alone, I can get an hour’s worth of research done before
my first scheduled practice.”

I stood up and rubbed my head against his cheek. He flinched when I neared the
edge of his glasses, and I soothed him. The poor thing is so terrified of
knocking his glasses askew, I can’t remember the last time I saw him hug
someone. I made a mental note to work on that. Of course, he has a number of
issues to deal with before regular human contact will be easy for him.

“C’mon, give me a break,” he said, leaning forward to get a grip on me, “I can’t
get behind in my work, I’ve got too much to do.”

I lifted my head until we were eye to eye and said, slowly, so he couldn’t
mistake my meaning: “Mrow.”

His eyebrows lifted above his glasses and he leaned back in his chair, a curious
feel to his mind. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

“Mrow.”

“I should know better than to argue with a cat.”

“*Mrow*.”

Scott clasped his hands behind his head and stared off over my head. I prodded
gently at his mind. “You don’t know what it’s like being the leader,” he said
absently. “What if I fail them?”

I sat with Scott for over an hour while he worried about leadership and failure
and trust. I did what I could to reassure him, but he will require a great deal
more work.

I was wearied after working on Scott, so I took a nap in the living room. After
all, these days I patrol the grounds for most of the evening. I won’t be caught
napping again by any two-bit soldiers.

************************************

I didn’t have to find my next job, because she found me. My nap was interrupted
by Ororo, who dropped down on the couch next to me and stroked my back. I
forgave her for waking me up, because she’s *very* good at that. After a few
moments, I felt her worrying away at something, so I crawled into her lap, and
kneaded away at her chest a few times.

“Hey, don’t stick your claws in me,” she said, pulling my paws away. I
stretched, turned around once and settled down with my head against her stomach.
I could feel her sigh reverberate in my head.

I purred. She sighed. She was almost ready to tell me what was wrong, when the
door opened. I could smell Jean even before she asked, “Have you seen Hank?”

Ororo rolled her eyes, angry over something. “No, I haven’t. Believe it or not,
I’m not his keeper.”

Jean was confused. “Um, sorry, I just thought you might’ve seen him. Never
mind.” The door closed behind her with a small bang.

Ororo leaned back on the couch, and I thought reproachful thoughts at her until
she grimaced. “Okay, I guess that wasn’t nice of me, but I don’t feel like being
nice. Especially not to Ms. Jean ‘I’m So Perfect’ Grey.”

She’d stopped petting me, so I put my head under her hand. She looked down.
“Boy, I wish I had your easy life. Eat, nap, have people rub my head.”

Hmmph. After all the work Logan and I put in retrieving them from Weapon X. I
nipped her hand and she jumped. “Mrow,” I said.

“What was that for? Geez. Darn ungrateful cat.”

I settled back down on her lap and rubbed my head against her chest, trying to
calm her back down so she would tell me what she was worrying about.

“It’s just this thing with Hank,” she burst out after a few minutes. “I’m
worried that one day he’ll wake up and realize he can’t date me anymore.”

I projected curiosity. This was interesting, especially since Hank spent half an
hour yesterday explaining how Ororo couldn’t possibly want to date him, because
he was ugly.

“I mean, he’s such a wonderful smart guy. And, well, I’m just an uneducated
bitchy car thief.”

Nonsense. She attends this school, she can hardly be considered uneducated. As
for bitchy…well, we can’t all be perfect. I tried to project my disagreement,
but I don’t think it reached her.

I made a mental note that Ororo would need a reminder of her quite formidable
(if not entirely classically-trained) intelligence, and left after she shared
part of her lunch with me. (The school could use more tuna, by the by. I don’t
get to eat it nearly often enough.)

I prowled around the mansion for the rest of the afternoon without encountering
any serious problems.

Peter has been rather cheerful lately, well, as cheerful as Russians allow
themselves to be. I have high hopes for him, since he seems to be the most
emotionally stable of the bunch. Not what you would expect from a teenager
wrestling with an unpopular sexual preference, but apparently he finds that less
stressful than being a mutant.

Jean was a little depressed, but not enough to warrant my interference. She
requires a great deal more finesse, since she’s more likely than the others to
notice my actions. So, I only work on her when absolutely necessary. A little
angst over why Ororo was annoyed with her didn’t strike me as absolutely
necessary.

**************************************

And of course, you know the rest, because I spent the evening with you.

Now, listen carefully, Professor Xavier. These children are going to be very
important, and I’ve been sent here to oversee their health and safety. You will
*not* be allowed to endanger them as you have previously.

Who sent me here? Well, that’s a story for another day, I think.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: What happens when the laws of physics meet the Marvel Universe?

NOTES: This story began when Avi looked at a picture of Bobby Drake. After a
short discussion of physics, we hashed out this plot (such as it is). Thanks to
Askani’daughter for the beta and giving me my snarky ending.

***********************

“The Fantastic Four *finally* show up for an annual picnic,” Scott Summers said
to Johnny Storm, also known as the Human Torch.

Johnny laughed. “Well, we’re glad to be in town this year, and I’m ready to
relax. If any supervillains show up, they’re all yours.”

Scott grinned at him, and waved him toward the party.

Most of the X-Men, a few Avengers, and a couple of stray X-Factor folk were
lounging around the X-Mansion back yard, engaged in various summer picnic-
related activities.

Johnny found an empty seat and watched Franklin, Artie, and Leech play a
complicated game involving empty soda cans, two balls, one paddle, and the prone
body of Cable, who had apparently agreed to play dead for them.

Bobby finished making ice for the sodas and came over to sit next to him. “How’s
it going, Icecube?” Johnny asked.

“Not bad, Sparky,” Bobby said. “So, how would you like to torment our
unsuspecting teammates today?”

They exchanged nearly identical evil grins and everyone nearby groaned. The two
pranksters tiptoed away to make some plans.

After an incident involving Logan’s towel and Rogue’s sunscreen, Bobby and
Johnny found themselves perched in a tree overlooking the backyard, waiting for
their victims to calm down.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Bobby said, “let’s see whose powers are stronger.”

“How?” Johnny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bobby looked around for a suitable test. “See that bucket of water over there
behind Domino? You heat it with your plasma and I’ll freeze it.”

Johnny nodded, and the two bent their minds on the hapless bucket of water.
After a full minute of concentration, Johnny blinked. “Um, Bobby, shouldn’t
something be happening by now?”

“Yeah, I guess we can stop.” Bobby frowned at the recalcitrant bucket and then
looked at Hank’s drink, which immediately froze solid. “Huh, my powers are
working fine.”

At that moment, Hank picked up his drink and stared at it. “Bobby!” he called,
with resignation.

Johnny concentrated and a small flame hovered over Hank’s drink, melting it
quickly. Hank nearly dropped the glass, before carefully setting it down to
finish melting. “My powers are working fine, too,” Johnny said, “I wonder what
happened with the bucket. Let’s go ask Hank. If he’s speaking to us, that is.”

After a quick detour around the pool (chased by a shovel wielded telekinetically
by Betsy), they explained the situation to Hank.

“Well,” he said with a frown, “It’s possible your powers are so equally matched
they cancel each other out. But that seems unlikely.” He started to mutter.

“Uh oh,” Bobby said, backing away, “we’ve revved up the scientific genius. Maybe
if we leave quickly, he won’t notice we’re gone.”

Hank looked up. “You’re not getting away that fast. Just give me fifteen minutes
in the lab to get some readings.” They groaned and followed him inside.

Released from the lab later, Bobby and Johnny went back to enjoying themselves.
They became engrossed in a game of volleyball, and had forgotten their
scientific mystery by the time the party was breaking up.

The sun was setting, mosquitoes were emerging, and the guests were preparing to
leave, when Hank emerged from his lab with a dazed look on his face.

“Hey, buddy, you weren’t supposed to stay down there all day,” Bobby said.

Hank just shook his head and looked around. “Is Scott here?” He looked at the
Richards and Johnny Storm. “Please stay a few moments, I have interesting news.”

By the time Scott arrived, most of the remaining guests had come to hear Hank’s
news, and the hall was almost full. Scott pushed his way through to the
oblivious Hank, who was looking strangely at Bobby and Johnny.

Before Scott could open his mouth, Bobby said, “I didn’t do anything Scott,
really.”

Most of the crowd cracked up at that, and Hank waited for the laughter to end.
“No Bobby, you and Johnny didn’t do anything wrong. Just…fascinating. I wanted
Scott and Reed here so I could explain to both team leaders at the same time.”

Scott and Reed exchanged confused looks. Hank continued, “This afternoon, Bobby
and Johnny showed me that their powers appeared to cancel each other out.”

Reed said, “But that’s-”

“I know, Reed, that’s why I went to my lab to investigate. The answer lies in
the laws of thermodynamics. Specifically, the rules regarding the conservation
of energy.”

Reed went a little pale and his mouth opened and closed. Everyone else just
looked curious, confused, or annoyed.

“You see,” Hank said, “I’ve never really investigated how Bobby’s abilities as
Iceman work. But the laws of physics state that matter and energy cannot be
created or destroyed, simply changed. So, when Bobby turns the water in the air
to ice, he is drawing energy out of the water to slow its molecules. Where does
the energy go?”

By this point, most people had turned to look at Johnny Storm, who was holding
onto a banister like it might run away from him.

Hank concluded, “Apparently Bobby draws the energy off the water, and places it
in some kind of a pocket universe, where Johnny subsequently draws it out. When
they were trying to affect the same object, the power put in by Bobby balanced
out the energy Johnny pulled and nothing happened. This will require further
study.”

The crowd looked delighted at the thought of the two pranksters trapped in a lab
with Reed Richards and Hank McCoy. Bobby and Johnny just looked scared as they
were dragged off. Sue Richards trailed behind the group, and she could be heard
plaintively asking her husband if maybe he couldn’t put this research off until
next week.

Scott turned to the remaining crowd with a sad shake of his head. “And here I
thought Hank had found something interesting about the two of them.”

Jean wrinkled her nose at him. “I thought that was interesting. What were you
expecting?”

“That he thought Bobby and Johnny were my children from the future and had time
traveled back to save us from some sort of inevitable destruction by a powerful
supervillain.”

A hush fell, and Scott looked around. “What? You act like it’s never happened to
me before.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Hey, even House has his off days, right?

Author’s Chapter Notes:

This is a birthday present for DebC. It’s a suggested title I gave to
her, but I’m borrowing it back

“I can’t believe it,” Cuddy said, leaning back in her chair, trying to keep her
jaw from dropping.

“It’s true,” Wilson said, grinning madly.

“You’re not just saying this to make me feel better?”

“Would I do that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, you’re right.” Wilson shrugged. “But I’m telling the absolute unvarnished
truth.”

“Wow.”

“House not only made it through the case without pissing anyone off, the patient
and his family have sent a thank you for his care.”

“Unbelievable.” Cuddy paused. “Wait, what’s the catch?”

Wilson’s lips twitched. “Well…”

“Tell me.”

“The patient and the family don’t speak a word of English. Everything was done
through a translator.”

Cuddy took a deep breath. “You had me worried there for a minute.”

* * * * *

Cuddy generally kept ahead of her paperwork. In the back of her mind, she felt
as if letting her desk get too crowded meant that she was out of control–and
control was more important than just about anything else.

So woe betide the person who kept her from clearing her desk when it started to
pile up. Staff at Princeton-Plainsboro learned early on that when the Dean of
Medicine was tearing through piles of folders, the only reasons to interrupt her
were fire, flood, famine, or plague.

Which was why Cuddy couldn’t understand why a shame-faced Chase was spinning a
patently false tale about needing her help with something. Halfway through the
story, she stopped listening because it had House’s fingerprints all over it.

She considered sending Chase away with a lecture about not letting House send
him off to find a left-handed board stretcher, but as Chase’s sorry tale wound
to a close, she decided it was time for a break anyway.

While she was out of her office, several *actual* crises occurred, which made
her forget the original distraction entirely.

To Cuddy’s surprise, when she returned to her office, the pile of folders had
been greatly reduced, and her eyebrows went up in surprise. Could it be that
some of her department heads had actually taken responsibility for things?
Miracles did happen, she decided.

She never did look at the neat stack of folders in her secretary’s outbox, each
with House’s scrawled notes telling the doctors in question how to fix their
problems.

House did look entirely too pleased with himself for a week, but she chalked
that up to getting laid and didn’t ask.

* * * * *

The vase sat on her desk looking entirely harmless, but Cuddy frowned at it
anyway. There was a *reason* she kept her birthday a closely guarded secret, and
her family and friends knew to send everything birthday-related to her home.

So who in the world would send her a gigantic bouquet of flowers today of all
days?

She stepped closer and realized that not only were they flowers, they were her
favorite roses, an obscure variety called Fire and Ice. Even her *father* could
never remember to get her those.

Taking a deep breath, she searched the bouquet for a card, but found nothing.
There wasn’t even a note as to whom they’d been ordered from.

With a scowl, she stepped back. Who knew that–

A memory surfaced and Cuddy blinked. No. Absolutely not.

True, House had been present when Max had given her those flowers. And she might
very well have said they were her favorites. But he…

He wouldn’t…

He’d been so scornful of Max and caused such a scene that she’d blotted out the
memory. So he couldn’t…

Cuddy sat down heavily in her chair. Absolutely not. House must have…told
Wilson about the flowers.

Right.

* * * * *

As they continued down the hallway, Cuddy pointed toward an open doorway. “And
over here–”

“Did that man just say what I thought he said?” Leslie Arminh, the prospective
head of Radiology asked, craning her head around to watch House walk away.

Cuddy rolled the conversation back in her head. Oh. That. “Yes, he did. Don’t
pay him any mind. Dr. House is, ah, not one of our more conventional staff
members.”

“Oh. I see.”

“No, you really don’t.” Cuddy suppressed a sigh. “But he’s a really good doctor,
believe me. One of the best.”

“And when he says things like that…?”

“The best thing to do is ignore him. I know I do.”

* * * * *

Under the warm covers, Cuddy felt content and sleepy, obscurely comforted by the
way House’s fingers softly traced the path of her circulatory system.
Surprisingly, he’d managed to avoid saying anything annoying the entire time,
keeping his mouth busy with…better pastimes.

It had been a long road that got them to this point, but she couldn’t find it in
herself to regret it.

He grinned. “So, not half bad in the sack, huh?”

“Don’t push it, buster,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

When he laughed, she tackled him with a kiss bold enough that he forgot what he
was doing.

Yep, Cuddy thought, as she straddled him, there was *one* thing always
guaranteed to shut House up. And it was remarkably pleasant to boot.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: The title says it all, I should think.

Story Notes:

House getting shot was almost anticlimactic, Cuddy thought with a distant part of her brain as the surgery went on. She’d always assumed someone would shoot him eventually, when he pushed a patient or a family member or a clinic visitor one step too far.

But she hadn’t thought about what it would be like to stand and watch while someone else did the surgery. For some reason, she’d always imagined herself as the surgeon, which was utterly ridiculous.

But here she was, standing in the gallery with Wilson and watching the monitors. And when the surgery was done, she followed his gurney down to Recovery. Nobody questioned her presence, and eventually everyone else went away, leaving her with House and a lot of beeping machines.

She sat for a very long time, just watching his chest rise and fall with slow breaths and thinking about how oddly relaxed he looked. She tucked the blanket more firmly around him and brushed a hand across his stubbly cheek.

If this was a romance novel, she would lean over and kiss his forehead and he would wake up and smile at her and they’d live happily ever after.

Eventually, Cuddy turned to leave. “Heal quickly so I can kick your ass,” she said over her shoulder.

3.

“So, there we were in the meeting,” the handsome man in the blue suit said, leaning forward in his seat. “Me with my hangover, David with his shirt with the scorch mark, and Naomi with the slip gradually sliding down her waist.”

“Oh no,” Cuddy said, laughing already.

“And then the client asks–”

“I hate to interrupt this cozy chat,” a voice said from behind her.

Cuddy covered her eyes for an instant before twisting in her chair. “What do you *want*?”

House put a hand to his heart. “I’m hurt that you would think I wanted something from you. Out of the goodness of my heart, I seek you out to ask your permission before I begin treating my patient with a potentially dangerous drug cocktail and–”

“Shut up.”

His eyebrows shot up in almost comically overdone alarm. “I–”

“Shut. Up.”

He mimed zipping his lips shut and Cuddy shot a quelling look at her dinner companion, who was hiding a grin.

“House. Let me start by saying that there is a *reason* I decided to have dinner a full hour away from the hospital. And if you spent *half* as much energy on being happy as you do on stalking me, you’d be Pollyanna. Not to mention the fact that if you wanted to talk to me, I carry both a *pager and a cell phone*!”

Her voice was rising and House wasn’t hiding his smirk very well.

“And lastly, I would like to note that you have trekked an hour on your motorcycle in order to interrupt dinner with my *brother-in-law.*”

House’s smirk disappeared and for an instant he looked utterly astonished.

“Gregory House, this is Andrew Cotone, who is married to my younger sister.”

Andrew stood, openly grinning now, and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Pulling himself together, House shook Andrew’s hand. “I can just imagine what she says about me, considering what she says in bed. Does she tell you I’m a stud? And that she lusts after me all the time?”

Cuddy rolled her eyes. “No.” The two men exchanged manly grins and Cuddy wondered what they’d do if she grabbed House’s t-shirt and kissed him right there in front of God and everyone.

Then with a sigh she waved at House. “Now that we’ve established there’s no date for you to interrupt, go away so we can eat in peace.”

“You’ve come all this way,” Andrew said. “Why don’t you join us?”

Cuddy changed her mind. She didn’t want to kiss House, she wanted to smack her brother-in-law.

“I’d be *delighted*,” House said, grabbing a chair from a nearby table.

Cuddy picked up her purse and began to rummage for an Advil. Maybe she’d bum a Vicodin off House, because the headache was shaping up to be a monster.

4.

When House kicked the new fellows out of his office, they went, scattering like leaves in the wind. Cuddy caught sight of them and nabbed Kutner, like a lioness catching the weakest zebra in the herd.

“Don’t you have a patient to be treating?” she asked.

“We lost her,” Kutner said, practically shuffling his feet. “House finally figured out it was acute promyelocytic leukemia, but her heart gave out before we even started a round of chemo.”

“She died.” It wasn’t a question. Even as she said it, Cuddy knew it was stupid. She’d had a bad feeling about this case and how House was going to react ever since he’d stampeded into her office, ranting more than usual about the patient’s parents.

She almost flew down the hallway to House’s office.

It was empty.

“Where is he?” she demanded, whirling to glare at Kutner.

“I–”

“Never mind.” She took off, leaving a stunned fellow in the hallway. She ran into Wilson moments later, his coat and briefcase in hand. “Good, you’re still here.”

“I was just–”

“The baby died.”

Wilson changed course and followed her toward her office, waiting while she grabbed her own coat. They strode quickly down the street, turning right three blocks down.

“Where’s Foreman?” Wilson asked, breaking the silence.

“Conference.”

“Oh. Right.”

The Plainsboro Grill was a hole in the wall which survived on traffic from the hospital, and Wilson held the door for Cuddy as they entered.

As they’d expected, House was in a booth in the back corner and from the looks of the table, he’d already managed to get through a couple of glasses of whiskey. He didn’t look up when they slid into the booth on either side of them or acknowledge the waitress who brought an apparently endless stream of booze.

Every once in a while, House would look up from his drinking and insult their ancestry, clothing, or personal habits. Or all of the above. Cuddy sipped at a glass of Sam Adams (the only decent thing the place had) and then switched to a diet Coke.

Occasionally, she and Wilson would chat, but mainly they waited, glancing at the TV showing CNN or watching House. There were plenty of doctors and nurses scattered through the crowd, but after a single glance at the table, everyone steered away. Cuddy sighed and took another sip of Coke.

It took two hours, but finally House picked up a glass and looked like he was about to throw it. Wilson grabbed his arm and Cuddy snatched the glass out of his hand.

House resisted for a second, then slumped, his long body bending over like an old man’s. Wilson threw one of House’s arms over his shoulder and the two of them dragged him out the door and into the chilly air.

Cuddy sat on the bench, shivering at the cold even through her jacket, and Wilson propped House next to her while he went to get his car.

House leaned against her unashamedly and she smacked a wandering hand out of habit, making him chuckle.

Slinging an arm over her shoulder, House propped his head on top of hers, and Cuddy steadied herself with a hand on the wooden bench.

“She wasn’t bad. Y’know, for a baby.” House’s words were barely slurred, which was impressive, considering how much alcohol he’d consumed.

“I know.”

“I shoulda figured it out sooner.”

Cuddy didn’t bother to respond. She’d tried, the last few times it got this bad, and it made him more upset, so she’d stopped trying. Slipping her other arm around his waist, she just held on tightly.

“You should have one.” His voice was distant, wondering.

“What?”

“A baby.”

Cuddy’s hand slipped on the wood and they nearly toppled over, but she wasn’t sure House even noticed.

Lifting his head, he looked down at her and for a moment she thought he looked entirely sober. “You’d be a good mother.”

Through the lump in her throat, Cuddy managed to speak. “Thank you.”

House leaned back against her and started to snore.

Shaking her head, Cuddy sighed and a smile crept across her face. “You wouldn’t be a half-bad father,” she said softly.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Just when Jack Carter thought his life couldn’t get any worse…

by Mara

Summary: Vicki’s not exactly a typical girl. That’s okay, though, because
Henry’s not a typical guy.

“You’re kidding, right?” Vicki stared at Henry with dismay. “There’s *got* to be
another way to get this info. Coreen swears everything is on the Net now.”

Henry’s lips tightened in a familiar look of frustration with her. “I can assure
you that a New Year’s ball is not my idea of fun either, but it will enable us
to see if Simon Carle is using magic to unduly influence people.”

“Then you go to the ball and I’ll wait outside.” Crossing her arms, she glared.

“This is *your* case, not mine.” Henry looked at her, doing that impassive ‘I’m
the cool vampire’ thing, then walked slowly around her in a circle. Vicki did
her best not to squirm. “You’re actually afraid,” he said. “I didn’t think that
was possible.”

“I’m not afraid. I just don’t like…” She waved her hands, trying to articulate
the utter horror that dressing up and cosmetics and hors d’oeuvres caused in
her.

Henry smiled happily. “That makes this a challenge.”

Vicki gave up her pretense of bravery and backed away. Unfortunately, she wasn’t
quick enough.

* * * * *

Three hours later, she stood in front of a set of mirrors while Henry prowled
around her. Now, instead of studying her face, he was looking at her body,
encased in something green. She was sure that most women would know all kinds of
words to describe it, but all she could come up with was green. It was a
green…dress. Thing.

At least Henry had been sensible enough to avoid any lacy frilly crap. But
still…

“I feel like an idiot,” Vicki said.

Henry looked up from examining the hemline and Vicki caught her breath at his
expression, which was one step away from vampire. “You don’t look foolish at
all.”

Vicki opened her mouth, certain she should say something, but when she realized
she had no idea what, she closed it again.

Henry went back to dressing her like a doll and she scowled fiercely at his
goddamn handsome profile.

* * * * *

“Stop tugging at the waistline,” Henry said softly as they strolled toward the
doors. “It fits beautifully.”

“It feels tight.”

Henry was obviously suppressing a grin. “That’s the point.”

“I hate you,” Vicki said as they reached their destination.

The ballroom was already full when they entered, and Vicki automatically scanned
the room for dangers.

“Try for a moment,” Henry said with a sigh, “to act like the escort of a famous
writer of graphic novels rather than like a cop.”

“I can’t help it,” Vicki said as a waitress in an extremely abbreviated skirt
offered her a glass of champagne. Vicki waved her away, but Henry snatched one
before the tray escaped. “What happened to ‘I don’t drink…wine.’?”

“You’re taking your cues from the movies again.” Henry sipped the champagne. “I
can’t get drunk, but I can enjoy the flavor.”

Something about the crowd nagged at Vicki’s mind as she looked for their target.
“Hey, why are all the women dressed in black or gray, but I’m in green?”

“Because you’d look dreadful in black,” Henry said absently as he smiled
politely at a young blonde who looked like she had more makeup than sense and
more genuinely at an older man who saluted him with his champagne glass.

“But I’m almost the only woman wearing a color in the whole room. I stand out!”

Turning to look incredulously at her, Henry said, “*Now* you’re worried about
being fashionable?”

“No, I just don’t think I should stand out when we’re here working.”

Henry shook his head. “You’re with me. You would stand out in any case, so why
not showcase you to your advantage? Besides the current fashion for black is
ridiculous.”

About to make a comment about the size of his ego, Vicki realized that nearly
every woman (and a large percentage of men) in their vicinity were eyeing Henry
like he was a particularly choice dish. “Ah.”

“There are many reasons I don’t attend these parties. I prefer the more…honest
atmosphere of the bars and clubs.”

“Where you’re the hunter, not the prey.”

He grinned. “That too.”

“So, have you seen–”

“Carle is behind you and to the right, approximately 50 feet away. He’s wearing
an ill-fitting tuxedo and chatting with a young lady who looks entirely
enraptured.”

Vicki closed her mouth on an annoyed comment. “Well, I’m going to go put a stop
to that.”

Henry grabbed her arm. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re here to observe him, not get
ourselves thrown out.”

“I don’t intend to stay any longer than I have to, but if he’s already selected
a victim, then let’s go get him.”

Henry’s hand tightened painfully on her arm and he scowled. “You may very well
be the most exasperating woman it has ever been my pleasure to escort. How can
you be so intelligent one moment and so *stupid* the next?”

“Oh you flatterer you.” Vicki rolled her eyes.

“I mean it. Aren’t you the one who told me we needed *evidence*? I was ready to
simply kill him and be done with it.”

An elegant arm covered in expensive bangles insinuated itself between them and
dragged Henry away. “Darling,” the owner of the arm said, “you’re always such a
kidder. Which of your characters are you killing today?”

“Ah, Emerald,” Henry said, giving Vicki a look that said to stay put. “It’s
always a pleasure to see you.”

Vicki smiled her most dangerous smile. “While you’re catching up with your
friend, I’ll just go mingle.”

As she slid away through the crowd, she could hear Emerald say “Who was *that*,
Henry?”

Nobody, Vicki thought with venom. I’m nobody.

She moved as fast as she could without stepping on anyone’s toes. She knew Henry
couldn’t use his uncanny speed in this crowd, so she had a few moment’s
advantage and she intended to use it while he was delayed with *Emerald*.

This is what happens, she thought, when you start depending on someone else to
help: You get sloppy. Get in there, catch the perp, find the evidence when
you’re sure nobody else will get hurt. She’d saved a lot of lives following
those simple rules and there was no reason to stop now.

There he was. Vicki hated her glasses, but at least they helped her find the
perp now. And…damn it, he was on his way out of the room with a tall brunette
wearing enough diamonds that she glittered painfully in brightly lit room.
Nobody else seemed to notice them, but his spell wouldn’t work on her, Henry s–
it wouldn’t work on her.

What the heck was he doing? Had he gotten so overconfident?

Vicki cursed under her breath as she tried to work her way around a knot of
laughing socialite whose platinum blonde highlights probably cost more than her
monthly office rent.

“Pardon me,” one said as Vicki elbowed her aside.

“Uh-huh,” Vicki said. “‘Scuse me.”

Through that door, that’s where he’d gone. Finally through the crowd, Vicki
almost broke into a run, ignoring the strange looks from around her as she burst
through the door.

“Certainly,” the brunette was saying, taking off her choker filled with
diamonds. “If you really want it, of course I’ll give it to you.” Her eyes
looked almost drugged.

Carle turned to stare at Vicki. “You want to leave now,” he said, his voice
faintly hypnotic.

Shaking her head, Vicki stepped forward. “Like hell I do. Give those diamonds
back, *now*.”

He frowned. “Listen to me,” he said, focusing on her. “You don’t see anything
happening here.”

Vicki’s vision went red and she took another step forward, punching Carle square
in the face. He went down with an audible thump and the brunette, who’d been
staring off into space, seemed to awaken.

“What…what’s going on?” she asked, looking around.

Vicki blinked. “That man was stealing your diamonds,” she said simply, pointing
to Carle. “I hit him.”

“How did you know?” She was still dazed, still suggestible.

“I heard you scream, of course,” Vicki said carefully, just as the door burst
open, revealing an angry Henry Fitzroy. “There you are, Henry. I’m glad you
heard this woman scream too and came to help.”

He still looked pissed, but he knew a cue when he heard one. “Indeed. I’m very
glad we were able to help you.”

“Yes,” the brunette said, “I did scream, didn’t I?” Her voice got stronger.
“That man is holding some of my jewelry! How dare he? Call the police!”

“Certainly,” Henry said. His look at Vicki promised a talk later.

* * * * *

While they were waiting for the police and various men stood guard over the
unconscious Carle, trying to look tough, Henry dragged Vicki aside. “What was
that about?”

“That was me solving the case in the most direct fashion. Seems pretty obvious
to me.”

“You know what I mean.” His teeth sounded like they were grinding together.
“What do you mean by taking off without me? I thought the idea was that we would
work *together*.”

“I didn’t need you tonight,” she said.

“Oh lovely.” He threw his hands in the air. “You’ll call me when you need me,
then? What if I’d been wrong about his spells not working on you?”

Vicki took a deep breath, knowing he was right. She *had* brought him into this
to begin with. “I’m sorry, Henry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have taken off like
that.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. “Ah. Well, then that’s that.”

“Right.” She turned as two detectives she didn’t know strode into the room,
obvious in their off-the-rack overcoats. Vicki crossed her arms, suddenly
feeling ridiculous in this skintight green thing Henry had bought for her.

“And who are you?” the detective said with a frown as he sorted out spectators
from participants.

“Vicki Nelson. I called you in. I witnessed the theft personally.” Good *god*,
had cops gotten slower or was she getting more impatient?

“Nelson?” his partner asked. “You used to be a cop, didn’t you? Worked with Mike
Celluci.”

“That’s me. I worked with good ol’ Mike. Now can we get on with this?” She shot
a glance at the unconscious crook, worrying he’d wake up before they could get a
witch near enough him to break his charms. If he talked his way out of this, she
was going to be mad enough to chew *bullets.*

“How’d a former cop get into this affair?” the first detective asked he was
getting out his notebook.

“I came with him,” she said, pointing at Henry. “Henry Fitzroy. He draws comic
books.”

“Graphic novels,” Henry muttered under his breath as he smiled pleasantly at the
detectives.

“Same difference,” she said. “The guys at the comic book store said so.”

“You’re Henry Fitzroy?” the second detective asked. “My kid in college says your
stuff’s the best. I dunno about that, but he thinks you’re pretty cool.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, bowing slightly. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

Vicki rolled her eyes and tried to avoid tapping her toes.

* * * * *

Thankfully, Caroline, the witch they’d found to break the spells, was lurking
around outside when they cops finally towed the Carle away. Vicki delayed the
cops by tripping and almost falling, forcing them to stop for a few moments.
While their heads were turned, Caroline tossed a handful of powder in the
direction of Carle, which briefly fluoresced in the moonlight. She gave Vicki
and Henry a thumbs up and melted back into the gawking crowd.

Within moments, the cops pulled away with their perp stowed away, and Vicki took
a deep breath, stomping away from the crowd.

“Vicki!” Henry called.

“What?” She kept going until she found a path that led around the back of the
mansion, toward the gardens.

“Is there something that needs doing back here?”

“No.”

In the blink of an eye, Henry stood in front of her, studying her with concern.
“You’re actually pouting!” He looked more startled than she’d ever seen him,
*including* the time a ghost had walked right through him.

“I’m not!” She resisted the childish urge to stamp her feet. “I don’t *pout*. I
scowl. I smile. I glare. I smack people around. I do *not* pout.”

Henry stepped forward and took her chin in his hand, thumb stroking her cheek.
“Whatever you say. Why are you…not pouting? This seems to be a most
satisfactory outcome to the case, since you’ve ‘collared’ the suspect without
having to describe any supernatural occurrences to your former colleagues.”

“Yeah, great.” Avoiding his eyes, she remembered the amused look in the cops’
eyes when they realized who she was and where she was. At least Celluci hadn’t
been there. He’d have laughed his ass off and never let her forget it.

Henry sighed and turned her head so she was looking at him. “What’s wrong? It
seems I won’t have any peace until I figure that out.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s wonderful. Why don’t you go back to Emerald now?”

Henry continued to stroke her cheek, rather as if calming a dog.
“You’re…jealous of Emerald? She’s n–”

“God no, I’m not jealous of her. If she has three brain cells to rub together,
I’d be surprised. Not your type at all.”

Henry’s brow was knit and Vicki absently noted that he was even more adorable
when he was confused. “Then the problem is…?”

Vicki pulled away from him, stomping off to lean against a railing and stare at
the manicured grounds, plucking at the silky material of her dress. “I don’t
belong here. You’re an artist. You’re gorgeous and polished. You’re *royalty*.”

“Dead royalty,” Henry said, coming to lean next to her.

“Ha ha, very funny. You know what I mean.”

Henry sighed quietly. “I must admit that I never expected to hear you admit to
being inferior to anyone.”

“I never said that.” She glared at him, before transferring her glare to a
particularly ridiculous-looking topiary giraffe. “I didn’t say I’m inferior to
anyone here. Just that I don’t belong in this crowd. I’m a cop, no matter what.
I belong someplace with beer and Chinese.”

Shaking his head, Henry chuckled. “That’s my Vicki.”

“I’m not your anything.”

“I wish you were.” The words were soft, the tone lacking any mockery.

She stared straight ahead.

“Vicki, please look at me.”

She turned her head and found his face nearly against her cheek. “Henry?”

“I don’t belong here either. Remember, I said that earlier. I may be able to fit
in temporarily, but this is not my milieu any more than it is yours. And there
is no-one in that room who could hold a candle to you.”

“That’s rid–”

“You wear that dress just as you do your ordinary clothes: Like battle armor.
You’re filled with an inner fire that those people can only dream of, which
lights up the space around you. You’re irresistible.”

“Henry, I–”

“Shhh.” He touched a finger to her lips and the warmth spread to her cheeks.
“Let me finish. You may not think you belong here, but you could *own* that room
if you needed to. Besides,” and his eyes darkened, “I love the way you look in
that dress.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” Her chest felt tight.

“Say you’ll let me see how you look *out* of that dress.” His mischievous grin
was back.

She grinned back at him. “We’ll see about that, buster.”

“As long as you don’t rule it out.”

“No,” she said slowly, “I haven’t ruled it out.”

He took her hand, drawing her away from the railing. “Then let’s go find
someplace with beer and Chinese.”

“In these clothes?” She looked down. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.” He laughed. “But it’s a pleasant madness.”

Shaking her head, she followed Henry to his car.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: If music be the food of love…Mike and Vicki wish they could order Chinese.

Mike stopped in the doorway, covering his ears. “What the *hell* are you listening to?”Vicki stepped inside. “It sounds like an orchestra warm-up.”

Reclining on the couch, Henry opened his eyes. “You’re both Philistines. It’s Jeux venetiens, an early work by Polish avant-garde composer Witold Lutoslawski.”

Vicki looked at Mike. “Avant-garde. That means bad.”

Mike looked back. “Early. That also means bad.”

“Lutoslawski’s music is groundbreaking in its use of–”

“Henry,” Vicki said. “It’s music.”

“If you have to explain it,” Mike said, “it’s too late.”

“Philistines.” Henry sighed. “And I *assured* Witold that everyone would love it.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Henry’s found something in Vicki’s apartment that provokes a few…uncomfortable question

Chapter End Notes:

::laughs at Medie:: Ha, fooled you! Okay, originally this fic was going to be about Mike going undercover as a stripper, because you can see Dylan Neal stripping on a soap opera here. But I decided that Medie shouldn’t always get her way when it comes to plot bunnies, so I, uh, changed things a bit

You should definitely go watch Dylan stripping, though, because he’s HOT. And I still think the idea of Henry finding a video of Mike stripping would be pretty fun. And, uh, possibly very sexy. So, y’know, if someone else wanted to write it, I’d be thrilled

by Mara

Summary: Vicki Nelson agrees to help one of Henry Fitzroy’s old friends. The good news is that she isn’t a ghost, demon, witch, or vampire…