The Scriptorium

Something for the Old Scrapbook!

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 18:21:36 GMT

I have now received my first bad review for In the Family Way on Wraithbait. And when I say "bad," I don't mean criticism for a particular scene or aspect of the story because I've received that already. No, I'm talking about a review in which the reader pretty much trashed the whole fic and found very little that she liked about it. I'm now wishing I'd waited until the anger wore off to respond to her review because the situation seems pretty funny now. I mean, I had intended to be diplomatic (in some part of my brain), but writing the following sentence wasn't really an act of maturity on my part:

I could argue the points you brought up, but I think that would probably be a waste of time.

I've really got to learn to develop a thicker skin. I mean, taste is such a subjective thing and people have a right to like or dislike whatever they want. That's kind of the point of a democracy. However, I have a problem with people who make destructive rather than constructive criticism. In this case, I felt as if the reviewer was looking down her nose at me and using this as an opportunity to show off how clever and sophisticated she was -- or thought she was. Her review felt dismissive. Well, your little fic was disappointing and definitely below my standards, but thank you for sharing it anyway. It gave me a few minutes of entertainment when I wasn't cringing over everything else. Well, thanks. I'm so happy that, despite its numerous faults, the novel-length story I spent over three years writing had at least a couple of things you liked about it.

Oh, well. Anyone can write a glowing review in which they praise a story, but it takes much more work to provide a list of everything the writer did wrong. I should appreciate the time and effort that went into this feedback. And, hey, it's the first truly negative review for this story, so it should be cherished. *g*

TGIF

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 17:49:43 GMT

I want everyone in my department to die a horrible, hideous death. I'm so completely livid that I'm having trouble stringing words together. TGIF because if I don't get out of here soon there could be bodies.

Third Annual Halloween Ghost Walk

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 02:55:07 GMT

For this year’s annual Halloween ghost walk, I decided to go solo and not drag any friends along. I also decided to book with Muddy York Walking Tours instead of Tasty Tours because I had already gone on the ghost walk Shirley was offering a couple of years ago. And, while I knew I might be covering some of the same ground I had covered before, I thought Muddy York’s The Haunted Streets of Downtown Toronto should still be interesting.

This year’s ghost walk got off to a bit of a rocky start. Apparently, most of us gathered in the wrong spot, though, in our defence, we were exactly where we were told to be on the website. While sitting on the front steps of the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM), I had wondered why I’d seen a man in complete Victorian dress (Muddy York’s founder and main tour guide) walk past the large group that had started accumulating. Fortunately, he came back and directed us to the proper meeting place that was several feet away and in front of the McLaughlin Planetarium. Considering how many people were wearing costumes, I’m guessing we weren’t a hard bunch to miss. My personal favourite was the woman who dressed up as Charlie Chaplin’s Tramp. She had the hat, cane, little moustache, and even a puppy dog in tow. I chickened out of asking her for a picture, but I did take one of the puppy. Sadly, I never did catch his name.

Charlie Chaplin Puppy

Once names had been checked off and money had been collected, we were ready to go. Well…one group was ready to go. As some members of the tour were still waiting for absent friends, the second group had a delayed start. I’m happy to say that I was in the first group, so there was no waiting for me. In fact, as the McLaughlin Planetarium was our first stop, I didn’t have far to go to hear my first ghost story.

Our guide, Christine, began by telling us about a spirit that is said to haunt the ROM. Many people have seen the ghost of a man in a nightshirt walking the halls of the museum. This man is believed to be Charles T. Currelly, a past director of the ROM who was instrumental in forming the museum’s collection, especially many of the Egyptian acquisitions. Currelly was so dedicated to his job that he often worked into the wee hours of the night, going so far as to sleep in a cot in his office. Current museum staff members have sometimes heard music from the twenties or thirties while working late in their offices. However, when they step out of their offices to try to locate the music, they can no longer hear it. As Currelly was known to turn on the radio when he was working late, some have speculated that it’s his way of keeping other night owls company.

The Ontario Veterans Monument wasn’t on the tour,
but I thought it looked really cool against that dark gothic sky

Although this might sound strange, the McLaughlin Planetarium is haunted as well. When the building still functioned as a planetarium, staff would see a little girl looking lost and confused. Thinking that she had been separated from her family or a school group, planetarium employees would immediately approach her to help. This is when the little girl would giggle and disappear…completely. When McLaughlin Planetarium became the Children’s Own Museum in the 1990s, the little girl wasn’t seen anymore. However, people knew she was still there because when staff would arrive in the morning, they would find toys scattered on the floor, as if someone had been playing with them during the night. In later years, the spirit of the little girl went through what our guide described as an “adolescent phase”. She would engage in such activities as ripping up papers. One woman, who used to keep her purse locked in her desk drawer, discovered one day that all of her credit cards had been cut up. While the Children’s Own Museum has closed, and the building isn't being used for anything at the moment, people apparently still see a little girl standing outside, as if beckoning people to go in.

Statue of Edward VII

From McLaughlin Planetarium, we proceeded to Queen’s Park, gathering by the statue of Edward VII. We learned that Edward VII opened Queen’s Park in 1860 when he was still the Prince of Wales. This led to a story about Lord Dufferin, the third Governor General of Canada. According to Christine, Lord Dufferin had a vision one night that would later save his life. He looked out his bedroom window and saw a man walking the long driveway leading to his house. This man was dragging what appeared to be a large coffin attached to a chain. Dufferin shouted for his servants and had the grounds searched, but no sign of the man could be found. Later, when Dufferin was the British Ambassador for France, he was in the Grand Hotel in Paris and had just entered the elevator with his assistant. Then, Dufferin suddenly grabbed his assistant by the arm and hauled him out of the elevator. The elevator ascended to the top floor before the cable snapped and it fell, killing all of the occupants inside. The shaken assistant asked Dufferin how he knew to get out of the elevator, and Dufferin explained that he recognized the elevator operator from his vision. He was the man who had been dragging the coffin, though obviously it wasn’t a coffin but an elevator being pulled by its broken cable.

I should probably point out that the story is purely urban legend according to Wikipedia and some of its sources. Still…it makes a great story!

Christie Mansion

After a short walk within Queen’s Park, we found ourselves looking at a large house across the street from where we were standing. Our guide informed us that this was Christie Mansion, once home to William Christie, founder of Mr. Christie Cookies. However, Christine’s story dealt with William Christie’s son, Robert, who later took over the business. Robert invited his mistress to live in the mansion, under the same roof as he and his wife. However, what the mistress didn’t realize was that she would never be able to leave. While she was given her own bedroom and bathroom, she was kept locked up, relying on the butler for meals. And, as Robert grew tired of his mistress, she was forced to spend more and more time completely alone. Eventually, she went mad, and one morning the butler found her hanging by the rafters in her bedroom. While no one is sure what happened to the mistress’ body, it is rumoured that Robert and the butler buried her somewhere in Queen’s Park.

Christie Mansion is now owned by St. Joseph’s College and serves as a women’s residence. From what Christine told us, some residents have found themselves trapped in what is believed to be the mistress’ bedroom. Then, just as mysteriously, the door can be opened again and the resident in question realizes that it was never locked in the first place. Christine used to believe that it was the ghost of the mistress who was responsible, but then someone pointed out that it could be the ghost of Robert Christie attempting to capture another lover.

Ontario Legislative Building

At the Ontario Legislative Building, we heard a couple more spooky tales. We learned that the Ontario Legislative Building stands on the same spot where a women’s insane asylum once stood and was even been built using some of the same bricks. It is believed that two female ghosts seen on the grounds of the Ontario Legislative Building could have been previous inmates of the asylum. The first spirit has been witnessed in some detail and, yet, no one has been able to see her face. Whenever she is spotted, she thrusts her face into the crook of her arm and runs off, sobbing. The second spirit is often known as the grey lady and looks angry and stern, as if she resents being locked away in an asylum. However, even more frightening is the apparition that has been seen in the tunnel that runs from the Ontario Legislative Building to a block of government buildings across the street.

Christine explained to us that some ghosts choose to appear as they looked in the moment of death, which is what makes the tunnel apparition particularly scary. I’ve actually heard two versions of this story. In one, the ghost is hanging by the neck. In Christine’s version, the ghost is hanging against the wall, dripping with blood. What is particularly horrifying is that she won’t disappear if you close your eyes and open them again. You have to physically walk past her before she will fade. In the story about the hanging ghost, a woman who saw the apparition screamed, threw up the papers she was carrying, and ran back the way she had come, refusing to ever use the tunnel again. Christine told us about a woman on one of her tours who had been a page when she was in grade eight. This woman had to use the tunnel constantly, as she was expected to deliver things back and forth. On her first visit to the tunnel, she saw the ghost in question. After that, she would run down the tunnels, shielding her eyes with both hands, and would often bump into people, including government officials.

This wasn’t a part of the tour, but I couldn’t resist snapping
a picture because the name of the restaurant amused me

Here’s where my memory is a little hazy. I believe it was at this point that Christine informed us that we would have a 10-minute walk before we reached our next destination. I know we walked down McCaul, passing the Ontario College of Art & Design (OCAD) and a restaurant called Sin & Redemption. I was walking behind Charlie Chaplin and her friend most of the time and noticed that the puppy had to be carried during this stretch of the tour. I found myself gazing up at the CN Tower, as it kept changing colour with all of its different light displays. I was seriously tempted to take a picture, but it seemed like a silly thing to do considering that I wasn’t a tourist. *g* Anywaaaaaay, I believe our next location was Malabar (a.k.a. Malabar Limited, Theatrical Costume House & Dancewear Supplier).

Malabar

Close-up on a storage room
that is supposedly haunted

Malabar is supposedly haunted by two ghosts. One is believed to be the spirit of a girl who used to attend the dance studio that once existed in the building. In what is now a storage room, the costumes hanging on racks have moved on their own, as if someone was walking among them. According to The Toronto and Ontario Ghosts and Hauntings Research Society, this ghost is a “white” lady that flits among the costumes. Her identity remains unknown whoever she is. Malabar’s second ghost is known as he was an employee who died in a tragic accident. This man was killed in the fifties when he stuck his head in the elevator shaft to see where the freight elevator was. The elevator came down on him unexpectedly and he was decapitated. Apparently, some people have seen the ghost of this man as he was after the accident, but it’s more common for people to experience fear and apprehension when inside or around the elevator. I visited Malabar on my 2007 Halloween ghost walk, though my group went to the back alley and saw the portion of the building where the freight elevator is located. Malabar certainly looked spooky from the back, though being in a dark alley that contained rats might have contributed to the creep factor.

Apartment behind The Queen Mother Café that is supposedly haunted

It seems fitting that we walked past OCAD during our stroll down McCaul Street as the next ghost story was linked to the college. Two couples were hoping to find accommodation close to OCAD (or OCA as it would have been known then) and were delighted to find an apartment that was within such close walking distance of the college. However, it wasn’t long before strange and sinister things began to happen. One day, in the kitchen, Kathleen was about to take a sip of water when she heard a voice whisper, “Poison!” Worse still, there were times when Kathleen would be in the bathroom and what she saw in the mirror would change. The walls behind her would be splattered with blood, and there would be a deep gash across her throat. Whenever Kathleen reached up to touch her throat, she couldn’t find any sign of it being cut. When she would close and then open her eyes, the bathroom would have returned to its usual state. Kathleen wondered if the stress of school was starting to get to her or if she might be going mad. She confided to Patti about her fears, and, afterwards, Patti took Kathleen’s hands and told her that she had been having similar experiences herself. She had also heard a voice whisper in her ear when she had been in the kitchen. At night, she had felt a presence in her bedroom and was convinced that, if she opened her eyes, she would find someone only inches from her face. When this would happen, Patti would keep her eyes squeezed shut and wouldn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night. When Murray came home that evening, Kathleen and Patti shared their stories with him, and then Murray confessed that he’d seen the spirit of a man standing by the bedroom window. In an attempt to get rid of him, Murray would shake the curtains, and the ghost would disappear. However, as soon as Murray got back into bed, the ghost would reappear.

By the time Bruce got home, he found himself being confronted by the others, who eagerly told him what had been happening to them. Although Bruce hadn’t experienced anything himself, he believed everyone’s stories. He could tell they weren't lying, and he’d seen the dog acting strangely in the front hall, barking at thin air. There and then, they all decided that they would move out of the apartment.

The neighbours told them that they would be sorry to see them go, and Murray asked them if they knew anything about the previous tenants. The neighbours said that the apartment had been previously rented by a sweet newlywed couple. They seemed to be getting on well in their new home, but, then, a few weeks after they moved in, the neighbours began to hear raised voices coming from the apartment. They would also see the husband out on the back deck, yelling and waving his arms as if he were fighting with someone, but there was no one there. As for the wife, the neighbours would see her glancing nervously over her shoulder when she left the apartment in the morning, making shooing motions as if someone were following closely behind her. Then, one day, the couple just vanished. No one saw them move out and no one knew what became of them.

Years later, Murray McLauchlan would write about the haunted apartment in his autobiography. Bruce Cockburn would also reminisce about their experiences, saying that no one should live behind The Queen Mother!

Osgoode Hall

After standing in that dark alley, gazing at that freaky apartment, I was relieved to find myself at Osgoode Hall and on familiar ground. I had been to Osgoode Hall many times as I used to do research in the library for work. I had even been there on a ghost walk before, as it was something Shirley covered on our 2007 Halloween tour. All the same, Christine had a couple of stories I hadn’t heard before. She told us of the role Osgoode Hall played as a temporary barracks after the Rebellion of 1837. Although the Law Society of Upper Canada had their building returned to them (in more worse shape than when they’d left it), Osgoode Hall never entirely lost its military presence. People have seen the ghost of a soldier, with a grey uniform and brass buttons, walking the grounds with a young lady on his arm. Some have also claimed to hear the sound of marching boots on the cobblestones outside Osgoode Hall. I have to admit that I was more interested to learn that the cobblestones themselves had originally come from London, England and had been used as ballast on immigrant ships.

While I had heard about a ghost appearing by the library’s war memorial, I don’t remember hearing about any poltergeist activity. Apparently, books have been seen flying off the shelves. I’m guessing this must be something that happens at night. I know I never saw anything like that when I was in the library.

Old City Hall

I should probably warn anyone who's squeamish that the next story is pretty gruesome, for, as we stood in front of the entrance of Old City Hall, Christine told us about the botched execution of Arthur Lucas, who, along with Ronald Turpin, was one of the last two men to be executed in Canada. Arthur Lucas had killed an undercover narcotics agent from Detroit and was tried at Old City Hall, along with Ronald Turpin, who had committed a separate murder. Both men were sentenced to hang as hanging was the only form of capital punishment ever used in Canada.

A person who was to be hanged was weighed and measured when entering the prison to determine the length of rope that would be required, etc. Unfortunately, Lucas had gained weight by the time of his execution, as he had been receiving three square meals a day. When the trapdoor fell, Lucas’ head was almost torn completely off his body, leaving Lucas essentially hanging by his spinal cord. Not surprisingly, this little detail was left off the death certificate, but the truth came out in 1986 when Cyrill Everitt published his autobiography. Everitt was the chaplain who administered the last rites and had witnessed the double execution in the Don Jail on December 11, 1962. What he saw that day haunted him for the rest of his life.

While Arthur Lucas and Ronald Turpin may not have been executed at Old City Hall, they were condemned to death in Courtroom 33. Perhaps it is for this reason that Courtroom 33 has experienced paranormal activity over the years. In the 1980s, Kathleen Kenna, a Toronto Star reporter and skeptic, decided that she would debunk the ghost stories by spending an entire night in Courtroom 33. Kenna had just set up her sleeping bag, and was about to turn out the lights, when she saw white mist forming in the corner of the room. She left Old City Hall immediately and wrote a sensational story about Courtroom 33 in The Star. With Kenna’s story and the information that was revealed through Everitt’s autobiography, Courtroom 33 became even more popular than ever. It became so popular, in fact, that the numbers of all the courtrooms had to be switched around so that no one would be able to find Courtroom 33 again.

Our last stop on the tour was Mackenzie House, one of the most haunted locations in Toronto. As we walked there from Old City Hall, I felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement. On last year's ghost walk, this was the same place where I had managed to catch what appears to be a ghost on camera...

My infamous Mackenzie House ghost picture

As Christine told basically the same story as Shirley, I'm going to reproduce what I wrote about Mackenzie House last year. Uh, this has nothing to do with me being tired or lazy. No, not at all:

We didn’t have to go far to reach Mackenzie House, the home of Toronto’s first mayor, William Lyon Mackenzie. Mackenzie was a hot-tempered Scotsman, who started his career as a journalist. Mackenzie was a passionate advocate for social reform and often made verbal attacks on what he called the “Family Compact” (Toronto’s elite). In 1834, Mackenzie was elected mayor of Toronto and led a rebellion against the wealthy owners of crown reserves in 1837. While some of his compatriots were hanged, Mackenzie managed to escape to the States and remained there until 1849 when he was granted amnesty. The ghost of William Lyon Mackenzie has been seen at Mackenzie House by several witnesses. In fact, there have been a number of strange phenomena. People have heard the printing press start up on its own (when it’s not electric) and have heard the piano playing in the parlour. However, what might be most frightening is a certain female ghost.

Mackenzie House

In the 1970s, the city decided to hire a couple to live in Mackenzie House as custodians. One night, the couple saw a woman standing between the wall and the headboard of their bed. Not content with looming over the couple, the spirit began poking the wife. Then she pinched the wife. The final straw was when she punched the wife in the eye. The couple quit after that. The city tried hiring another couple to act as custodians and this couple was also forced to leave after having a similar experience with this female spirit. This ghost is described as wearing Victorian clothing, so one has to wonder if it might be William Lyon Mackenzie’s wife, Isabel Mackenzie.

Okay, I'll admit that while Christine was repeating this story, I was busy snapping pictures, hoping to catch something else paranormal on film. However, it just wasn't meant to be.

No ghost this year

After Christine had wrapped up her final ghost story, she suggested that we spend some time looking at Mackenzie House and take some pictures (or more pictures in my case). Then we all thanked her for conducting such a great tour and headed off to our various subway stations, etc. Although I didn't have any personal experiences, or take any ghost pictures, I still had fun. Besides, the most important part of a ghost walk is the stories, and Christine certainly told some chilling tales!

Reader Friendly Version of "In the Family Way"

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 01:56:27 GMT

For anyone who might be interested, there is now a reader friendly version of In the Family Way available here. In case you're wondering, it's "reader friendly" because it has been broken down into four parts as opposed to, uh, eighteen. Unfortunately, the bad cover art by yours truly takes a bit away from the friendliness, but it's easy enough to scroll past that. *g*

Fic: In the Family Way (11(b)/11)

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 20:52:20 GMT

Title: In the Family Way (11(b)/11)
Author: Rusty Armour
Pairing: McShep, Beckett/Other
Summary: Some are born into families; others create their own.
Word Count: 3,496
Category: Slash, MPreg, AU
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Pretty much everything up to and including season three.
Disclaimer: Thou Shalt Not Steal. Even in the interest of fic. Most of these characters aren't mine. I, uh, borrowed them. Yeah.

By the time they reached Cheyenne Mountain, O’Neill had vowed that he would never go on a road trip again. He told Major General Hank Landry as much when he walked into his office.

“Carter and McKay played ‘Name Your Favourite Physicist’ for, like, three hours,” O’Neill said, “and I lost track of how many games of ‘Prime, Not Prime’ I suffered through.”

Landry sat back in this chair, studying O’Neill in amusement. “As fascinating as all this is, General, you haven’t told me the reason why you were on this road trip in the first place.”

O’Neill rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Oh? I haven’t?”

“No, you haven’t.” Landry folded his hands on his desk. “I could be mistaken, but I’m assuming this would have something to do with McKay and Beckett’s disappearance.”

O’Neill nodded. “Yeah, I’m afraid it does, General.” He took a deep breath. “Carter called and asked me to come to Toronto because McKay was seeking safe passage back to Atlantis.”

Landry raised an eyebrow. “Safe passage?”

O’Neill sighed. “This isn’t easy to say, so I’m just going to spit it out. McKay’s pregnant and he thinks we want to steal his baby.”

Landry’s mouth fell open. “I’m sorry. Come again?”

O’Neill closed his eyes. “Apparently, McKay was implanted with the embryo of an ascended Ancient. When he learned that he was pregnant, he became convinced that we were going to kidnap him and conduct experiments, so he fled to Canada.”

Landry frowned. “And by ‘we,’ you mean…?”

“The American government and the military,” O’Neill said.

“Ah, I see.” Landry sat in silence, digesting the news. Then he burst out laughing.

O’Neill gaped at Landry in surprise before his own lips started twitching and he found himself laughing as well.

“I’m sorry,” Landry said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in weeks. I knew McKay was a bit of a headcase, but I had no idea…” This set Landry off again and rendered him speechless. When he had recovered, his voice sounded strained and hoarse. “Where is McKay now?”

“He’s in the briefing room with Carter, Sheppard and Beckett,” O’Neill said.

“Well, I guess I’d better go talk to him.” Landry stood up and walked around his desk.

When they arrived in the briefing room, Rodney, Sheppard, Carson and Carter were seated around the table. Sheppard and Carter rose from their chairs and saluted when O’Neill and Landry entered the room. Rodney and Carson looked nervous and tense. Landry smiled and rubbed his hands together.

“So, I hear congratulations are in order,” Landry said. He held out his hand to Rodney, who hesitated a moment before shaking it. “Do you know if it’s going to be a boy or a girl?”

Rodney looked at Sheppard and Carter, unsure what to say. “It’s a girl.”

“That’s wonderful,” Landry said. “I’m sure a daughter will bring you great joy.”

Rodney stared down at the table uncomfortably. “Yes, I’m sure she will.”

Landry exchanged a meaningful look with O’Neill. “Well, you must all be anxious to return to Atlantis. If there’s nothing else you require, you can be on your way.”

Rodney’s head jerked up. “You’re going to let us go? Just like that?”

“Uh, is that a problem?” O’Neill asked.

Rodney slapped his hand on the table. “Yes, it’s a problem,” he said. “You people aren’t even trying. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you weren’t interested in me and the baby at all.”

Sheppard gripped Rodney’s arm. “Rodney…”

Rodney shrugged off Sheppard’s hand. “No, I’m the first man to become pregnant – pregnant with a ten thousand year old embryo, I might add – and, yet, there’s been no mention of incarceration or experimentation of any kind. Have you got something better? A grandmother expecting Asgard twins, perhaps?”

“Rodney…” Sheppard growled.

Landry crossed his arms and gazed at Rodney sternly. “Do you really think we’d do that? That we’d hold you against your will and conduct experiments?”

Rodney looked away and shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” O’Neill said.

Landry laid a hand on Rodney’s shoulder. “Son, your baby is important to us and, naturally, we’d like to learn more about her, but we have no intention of taking her away from you. Considering the amount of Ancient technology that exists in the Pegasus Galaxy, it would be in our best interests if you were to raise her in Atlantis. This would give her an opportunity to learn about her unique heritage and interact with Ancient technology. In turn, we’ll be able to study her in what might have been her home, if her biological mother had carried her to term.”

Rodney met Landry’s eyes reluctantly. “But you won’t need me for that. What’s to stop you from hiring a group of scientists to keep her in a lab and experiment on her?”

“Because, like it or not, you’re her mother now,” Landry said. “She needs you. We need you. A screwed up little girl isn’t going to do us much good. No, to conduct a proper study, we’re going to need a subject that is being raised in a stable and nurturing environment. You can give her that, Dr. McKay.”

Rodney took a moment to consider what Landry had said. “Can I have that in writing?”

Sheppard groaned and put his head in his hands. “Rodney!”

“What?” Rodney demanded. “This is our kid’s future we’re talking about.”

Wisely choosing to ignore the ‘our,’ Landry said, “Yes, you can have it in writing.”

Rodney gave a curt nod. “Thank you, General.”

Landry patted Rodney on the back. “Oh, it’s my pleasure, Dr. McKay, believe me.” Landry ended up accompanying everyone to the gate room, his eyes twinkling as Carter gave Rodney a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, despite Sheppard’s malevolent glare. As Rodney, Sheppard and Carson walked up the ramp, Landry said, “Be sure to take lots of pictures. The more, the better.”

Sheppard beamed at Landry. “Yes, sir. Will do.”

“After I have that written agreement,” Rodney added.

Sheppard rolled his eyes then gently grasped Rodney’s arm as they stepped through the gate with Carson.

“Sheppard will be a good dad,” Landry said after the three men disappeared into the dazzling blue pool at the end of the ramp.

Maintaining a completely neutral expression, O’Neill nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

As they stepped through the gate on Atlantis, the first thing Carson’s eyes fell on was the huge WELCOME HOME banner that had been suspended from the balcony. Then there were people flooding into the gate room, and Carson was being lifted off his feet as Ronon engulfed him in a bear hug. However, silence descended as people started noticing Rodney’s belly.

Sheppard wrapped an arm around Rodney’s shoulders as Rodney pressed back against him. Elizabeth pushed her way through the crowd, her eyes filling with tears when she looked at Rodney.

“Oh, Rodney, is this why you left?” Elizabeth asked.

“Well…yeah,” Rodney said.

Elizabeth shook her head, though she couldn’t hide the fond expression on her face. “Oh, Rodney.”

Sheppard removed his arm from Rodney’s shoulders as Elizabeth hugged them both. Then, as Elizabeth embraced Carson, Teyla and Ronon approached Rodney, touching his belly almost reverently. This seemed to be the only encouragement the rest of their friends needed, and soon Rodney had several more hands on his belly.

“When are you due, doc?” Lorne asked. “Do you know what the sex is?”

“We must hold a celebration,” Teyla said. “You call it a baby shower, do you not?”

Zelenka began buzzing around Rodney in excitement. “How did this happen? Was it done through Ancient technology? You must tell us, Rodney.”

“Hey, how are you going to get the baby out?” Ronon asked. “Is Carson going to cut you open?”

When a couple of Marines thumped Rodney on the back, and half a dozen scientists whipped out scanners, Rodney turned pale and tried to shrink away from them.

“All right, everyone, back off!” Sheppard barked. “He’s had a long trip and he needs to rest!”

A path was instantly cleared for them, and Sheppard kept a secure hold on Rodney as they left the gate room. Carson was about to follow, but the path disappeared and he was quickly surrounded. It was only after he had fielded everyone’s questions that he was allowed to go.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

All of Atlantis became obsessed with the baby. Teyla did, indeed, hold a baby shower, which took place in the mess hall because everyone wanted to attend. However, even after the baby shower, gifts were being left outside Rodney’s door. A number of these presents were Athosian, and Carson wondered if they had been sent by the Athosians themselves, or if Atlantis personnel had picked them up from the mainland. The scientists had even started a baby betting pool, which was a little ridiculous considering that Rodney would be having a caesarian section – not that Carson knew when the exact date would be either. He was monitoring Rodney’s condition on a day-by-day basis.

He wanted to put off the birth for as long as possible, but he knew that Rodney’s body hadn’t been designed to hold a baby. Carson was worried about the parts of Rodney’s anatomy that wouldn’t normally be pressed against a uterus. There was also the baby’s welfare to consider as she would require more and more space as she continued to develop. An even bigger concern was engagement. When, at 37 weeks, the baby began to turn towards the birth canal – the one Rodney didn’t possess – Carson knew it was time to deliver her.

Sheppard arrived in the infirmary two minutes after he was summoned on the radio. Carson’s staff was still setting up equipment, but Rodney had changed into a hospital gown and was sitting on a bed, looking like he wanted to throw up. Sheppard sat down beside him and started to rub his back gently.

“Carson says it won’t hurt, but that it will feel strange to have people poking around inside of me,” Rodney said.

Sheppard kissed his forehead. “You’ll be fine, Rodney. Carson and his people know what they’re doing.”

Rodney nodded, but he was clutching the edge of the mattress tightly. “What if something goes wrong? They’ve never performed this procedure on a man before. What if something happens to the baby when they’re trying to get her out, or-or they can’t stop the bleeding.” Rodney grabbed Sheppard’s hand. “Promise me to look after the baby if something happens to me.”

Sheppard looked Rodney straight in the eyes, his gaze unflinching. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“Yes, but if it does…” Rodney said.

Sheppard sighed and gave in. “Fine. Although nothing is going to go wrong, I promise to look after the baby in the unlikely event that you can’t take care of her yourself.”

Rodney smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

When everything was ready, Rodney was helped on to the operating table and surgical drapes were set up to block Rodney’s view of the procedure. Once the anaesthetist had administered the epidural, Sheppard took a seat by Rodney’s head.

The delivery started off well. Once Carson had made an incision across the lower abdomen and had opened the womb, it took less than five minutes to deliver the baby. Carson’s assistant, Jennifer Keller, was holding up the tiny pink infant, when Rodney started haemorrhaging.

“We’ve got a bleeder!” Carson shouted. The nurse standing to Carson’s right handed him a clamp without being asked as Carson frantically tried to stop the bleeding.

Carson had discussed with Rodney whether he would like to opt for a caesarian hysterectomy, but Rodney had already been dreading the c-section. The idea of a riskier operation that would involve a longer, and more painful, recovery process didn’t appeal to Rodney. He had decided that he would leave the uterus intact for the time being. Now, it looked as if Carson would have to remove it after all.

Carson was about to ask the anaesthetist to administer a general anaesthetic, when there was a bright flash of light and a beautiful dark-haired woman was standing on the other side of the operating table. Carson was so startled, he almost dropped his clamp. Without a word, the woman held both hands over the exposed uterus. To Carson’s amazement, the bleeding not only stopped but the uterus disappeared altogether. Then the incision Carson had made to Rodney’s lower abdomen closed up and all evidence of the traverse cut faded.

Everyone was so stunned by what they had just witnessed that they almost didn’t notice Keller returning to the operating table with the baby in her arms.

As soon as Rodney had started haemorrhaging, Keller had snipped the umbilical cord and had gone off with a nurse to check the baby. Keller had needed to suction away some lung fluid and mucus from the mouth, nose and throat, but that was hardly unusual with a caesarian birth. After taking measurements of the baby, Keller had wrapped her up in a blanket, hoping Rodney would still be able to see her. However, what Keller hadn’t been expecting was to encounter a woman she’d never seen before or a patient exhibiting no signs of having undergone surgery.

When the woman began to approach Keller, the young doctor backed away and Sheppard leapt out of his chair. Rodney raised his head and, although his voice was a little weak, it was still loud enough to reach everyone’s ears. “Let her see her baby.”

Sheppard, who had run between the Ancient and Keller, shook his head. “No, it’s your baby. You carried her, so that makes you the mother.”

“If it wasn’t for our Ancient friend, here, none of this would even be happening,” Rodney said. “Sheppard, let her see the baby, or we’re through. I’ll never speak to you again.”

Sheppard shot a furious look at Rodney, before realizing that the surgical drapes were still hiding Rodney from view. He turned his attention on the Ancient and glared at her instead. The Ancient studied Sheppard calmly, but didn’t make any further attempts to see the baby. Then Keller was stepping around Sheppard and standing before the Ancient.

The Ancient’s face lit up and she reached out to stroke the baby’s cheek with a finger. Then she waved an arm towards the operating table and went to stand beside Rodney. Sheppard and Keller were right behind her.

“May I see her?” Rodney asked Keller.

“What?” Keller said. “Oh, right! Yes, of course!” She bent over and carefully placed the baby in Rodney’s arms. Rodney stared at the baby, completely entranced. Then his head turned sharply towards the Ancient.

“Really?” Rodney said. “You like it? It’s a little unusual, but I thought it was somehow appropriate, given where we are and everything.”

The Ancient inclined her head and smiled.

“Well, if you’re absolutely sure then of course I’ll use it.” Rodney focused his attention back on the baby, kissing the top of her head. Then Rodney was being kissed in turn as the Ancient leaned down to brush her lips against his cheek. The next instant the Ancient was gone.

“What did she say to you?” Sheppard asked. “What was it that she liked?”

Rodney bit his lip and looked sheepish. “She approves of the name I was considering for the baby.”

Sheppard’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And what would that be?”

Rodney looked up at Sheppard’s expectant face and took a deep breath. “Brenna. It’s Gaelic for ‘little drop of water’.”

“Why, that’s lovely,” Carson said, peering at Rodney and the baby from the other side of the surgical drapes. “It’s certainly fitting for a wee lass born in Atlantis. Don’t you think so, Colonel?”

“It’s a pretty name, but I’m not sure if it suits her.” Sheppard was scrutinizing the baby, as if attempting to determine whether the name matched the face.

“Maybe if you tried holding her, you’d know,” Keller suggested.

Rodney nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, you haven’t had your turn yet.”

“Okay.” Sheppard lifted the bundle from Rodney’s arms and studied the sleeping baby. Then the baby opened her eyes and looked directly at Sheppard. The breath caught in Sheppard’s throat as he saw the colour of the waves outside Atlantis on a stormy day. “Brenna is perfect,” Sheppard said.

“What about a middle name?” Keller asked. “Were you going to give her one?”

Rodney glanced at Carson. “I was thinking of Isobel.”

Carson’s eyes widened. “Isobel? Why, that’s my mum’s name.”

“I know,” Rodney said. “I thought it would also be appropriate.”

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Two weeks after Brenna Isobel McKay was born, Carson found himself standing outside Rodney’s quarters. He paused for a second before ringing the door chime. When the door swished open, Carson walked into the room to find an exhausted, but contented, Sheppard cradling his daughter against his chest.

“Oh,” Carson said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I came to see Rodney, but, as he isn’t here…”

Sheppard laughed tiredly. “He’s in the bathroom. Brenna spit up all over Mommy, didn’t you, sweet pea?”

“And Daddy didn’t do a damn thing about it – just took a picture.” Rodney walked out of the bathroom and glared at Sheppard, though his expression softened a little when his eyes fell on the baby. Rodney also looked completely worn out, and Carson knew he had chosen a bad time to speak to him. Carson was about to make his excuses and leave, but Rodney ushered him over to the bed and pushed Carson down on the mattress.

As if reading Carson’s mind, Rodney said, “I was wondering when you were going to come talk to me.”

Carson gulped. “You did?”

Rodney sat down on the bed as well, leaning back against the headboard and closing his eyes. “Well, yeah. It’s been two weeks since Brenna was born. I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“What do you mean?” Carson asked, though he was pretty sure he knew.

Rodney snorted and opened his eyes. “You’re here to ask me for my blessings, aren’t you?”

Carson blushed. “Well…yes. I suppose I am.”

Rodney clapped Carson on the shoulder. “But you have them already. You’ve always had them. I thought you knew that.”

“Maybe he actually needed to hear the words,” Sheppard said from his chair.

Rodney gazed up at the ceiling. “Well, fine, then. You have my blessings to go and…and officially date my sister.”

Carson looked down at his hands. “Rodney, I want to ask Jeannie to marry me.”

Rodney’s jaw dropped. “You do? Really?”

“Yes, Rodney,” Carson said. “I love her. I love her so much it hurts to be away from her.”

“Then go and marry her, you idiot! What are you waiting for?” Rodney stood up and hauled Carson to his feet. Then he was hugging him fiercely. “We’re going to be brothers, and you’ll be Brenna’s uncle.”

Carson returned the hug. “Well, let’s not be too hasty. We don’t know if she’ll accept yet.”

“She’ll accept, Carson,” Sheppard said. “I know she will.”

“Yes, she’ll accept. She’d be crazy not to.” Rodney grabbed Carson’s arm and started pulling him towards the door. “You need to speak to Elizabeth.”

Carson stared at Rodney in confusion. “What? You mean right now? But it’s almost 2200.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” Rodney said. “Besides, you’ll need to talk to her if you’re going to get a seat on the Daedalus bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Carson gasped. “But I’ll need to pack and say goodbye to everyone.”

Sheppard rose from his chair to join them by the door. “We can see to it that your things are packed and sent to you. As for those goodbyes…Well, I’m sure people will understand under the circumstances.”

Carson nodded, though he still seemed uncertain. “I hope you’re right about this. Maybe, in the mean time, you could do something else for me.”

“What, Carson?” Rodney asked.

“Wish me luck,” Carson said.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Andrew was working on an exercise in his cahier when the doorbell rang. As his mom had gone down to the basement to fetch the laundry, Andrew got up from the kitchen table and walked to the front door. When he saw who was standing there, his mouth fell open in surprise.

“Hi,” Carson said. “I’m a friend of your mum’s.”

Andrew grinned and threw his arms around Carson’s neck.

“Andrew, was that the doorbell? Who is it?” Jeannie appeared in the front hall and froze when she caught sight of Carson.

Carson smiled tentatively at her. “I’m moving to Scarborough and I wondered if I could stay with you.”

Jeannie glanced from Carson to the duffle bag at his feet. “For how long?” she asked.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” Carson said.

“I see.” Jeannie seized Carson by the front of his shirt and kissed him. “I think you’d better come in.”

Previous Part

Fic: In the Family Way (11(a)/11)

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 20:40:38 GMT

Title: In the Family Way (11(a)/11)
Author: Rusty Armour
Pairing: McShep, Beckett/Other
Summary: Some are born into families; others create their own.
Word Count: 4,525
Category: Slash, MPreg, AU
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Pretty much everything up to and including season three.
Disclaimer: Thou Shalt Not Steal. Even in the interest of fic. Most of these characters aren't mine. I, uh, borrowed them. Yeah.

I’m sure everyone assumed this day would never come, that I would never post the final installment of this story. I had begun to have doubts myself. However, after an incredibly long delay, it’s here. I realize that I should probably grovel and apologize profusely, offering several excuses for this severe case of neglect, but, really, does anyone actually want to be subjected to all that? Trust me. You’re not missing much. I also know that there are probably only a handful of people who are still reading this story – and that would be a small handful as I have small hands – but I don’t care because it’s done, over, complete, finished, finito! This is an ex-WIP!

Thanks to everyone who has supported me and has been infinitely patient as I slowly churned out parts! Your faith and loyalty has definitely been appreciated!

For those of you who are interested, you can find the complete version
of this story (broken down into four parts and including bad cover art) here.

The kitchen fell into an uncomfortable silence, and then everyone heard Rodney making his way up the stairs.

Sheppard immediately started chanting under his breath. “Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh.” Then Jeannie elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and Sheppard groaned instead.

Carson watched Carter’s face carefully as Rodney entered the kitchen, but even he was surprised when Carter leapt up from the table and knocked over her chair.

“Hi, Sam,” Rodney said.

“Holy Hannah!” Carter gasped.

Carter stared at Rodney’s belly for almost a full minute before advancing slowly towards him. Her hand began extending, as if by its own volition, almost touching Rodney’s belly, before Carter seemed to snap out of her trance. Blushing, Carter said, “May I?”

Rodney nodded. “Of course.”

Carter cautiously laid her hand on Rodney’s belly. Then she sprang back in surprise when she felt the baby kick. “Oh my God, you’re pregnant!” Carter cried. “You’re really really pregnant!”

Rodney smirked. “Yes, I really really am.”

“But how…how is this even possible?” Carter asked.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Rodney said.

Carter shook her head, her eyes still fixed on Rodney’s belly. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“Well, then, maybe I should sit down.” Rodney headed to the living room, Carter following closely behind him.

“How did it happen? Was it an Ancient device?” Carter was about to sit down on the couch beside Rodney, but Sheppard dodged past the coffee table and stole her spot. Rodney shot Sheppard a confused look, while Carson and Jeannie tried to smother their laughter. Carter simply raised an eyebrow and sat next to Sheppard instead.

“The embryo was implanted by an ascended Ancient,” Rodney said. “I think she may have been pregnant when she ascended and, as she couldn’t carry the baby herself, was looking for a surrogate.”

Carter leaned past Sheppard to look directly at Rodney. “But you’re a man. Why wouldn’t she have chosen a female surrogate instead?”

Rodney shrugged. “I came across her in an Ancient lab that had obviously been abandoned thousands of years ago. Maybe I was the first human she’d come across since ascending.”

Carter shook her head, unconvinced. “But if she ascended then surely she could have found a woman to carry her child.”

Sheppard turned to Carter, effectively blocking her view of Rodney. “If she’d left the lab to impregnate a woman, it would have been seen as interference by the other Ancients.”

Carter stared at Sheppard in disbelief. “Oh, and impregnating Rodney wasn’t interfering?”

Rodney placed a hand on Sheppard’s chest and pushed him back against the couch cushions. “She was healing me at the time,” he said. “In fact, she saved my life. And, yes, I realize that’s interference too, but, in doing so, she killed a Wraith, so I’m sure that must have earned her some brownie points.”

“Killed a Wraith and knocked up an astrophysicist,” Sheppard muttered.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ve never claimed that her actions were entirely selfless, but, then, I can’t think of a lot of Ancients who didn’t have some motive for their actions, can you?”

“No,” Sheppard said. “I guess not.”

Carter got up from the couch, walking around the coffee table to stand in front of Rodney. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Do you plan to raise the baby yourself?” She glanced at Carson. “How do you plan to deliver it? You obviously can’t do it here.”

“Ah, that’s actually why I called you,” Rodney said. “I need your help, Sam.”

Carter nodded. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

Rodney shared the full details of his predicament, emphasizing the need to protect the baby from the American government and all branches of the military. Carson thought it was to Carter’s credit that she listened patiently, remaining silent until Rodney had finished speaking.

“So, basically you’re looking for safe passage back to Atlantis,” Carter said.

“And assurance that I’ll be able to reach Atlantis without military interference.” Rodney’s chin was raised and his hand was resting on his belly.

Carter crossed her arms. “If you want my help, there’s going to have to be some military interference.” She sighed when Rodney tilted his chin even higher. “Rodney, I don’t know if I can give you that kind of guarantee. My rank isn’t high enough. However, I know someone who can help.”

“Who?” Rodney demanded.

“General O’Neill,” Carter said.

Rodney’s eyes narrowed. “Why O’Neill?”

Carter hesitated, considering her words carefully. “Because I trust him and I know he’d do everything in his power to protect the baby. He’d never allow the government or military to take it.”

“Her,” Sheppard said. “Rodney’s going to have a little girl.”

Carter smiled. “Her, then. General O’Neill will protect her.”

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think O’Neill likes me very much. He may not want to help.”

Carter crouched down in front of Rodney, resting a hand on his knee. “I’m sure that’s not true, Rodney. Even if it was, he’d still help you.”

“Oh, and why is that?” Rodney asked.

“Because I’m going to convince him.” Carter rose from her haunches, reached into a pocket for her cell phone, and then turned to Jeannie. “Would you mind if I made this call in the kitchen?”

“You can use my bedroom or the basement if you’d like some privacy,” Jeannie said.

“No, the kitchen’s fine.” Carter flipped open her phone and began punching buttons as she walked out of the living room.

During Carter’s phone call, Andrew emerged from his room. Carson had sent him to bed earlier when he saw that Andrew was suffering from another headache. Andrew still seemed to be half asleep as he almost walked past the kitchen without noticing Carter. When he did spot Carter, he stopped and stared at her. “Is that Colonel Carter?” he asked. “She’s beautiful.”

Rodney snorted. “She’s out of your league, kid.”

Andrew looked thoughtful. “Maybe she likes younger men.”

Both Rodney’s and Jeannie’s mouths fell open, but it was Sheppard who spoke. “What is it with you McKay men and Carter? Is it hereditary or something?”

Carter reappeared in the living room before anyone could answer. “Okay, I managed to get a hold of General O’Neill. He says he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Jeannie’s eyebrows soared. “Wow. You must have been really convincing.”

Carter grinned. “It didn’t take much. I think he’s looking for an excuse to get out of Washington.” Her eyes fell on Andrew. “Oh, hello.”

Andrew stepped forward, thrusting out his hand. “Hi, I’m Andrew.”

Carter grasped Andrew’s hand eagerly. “Sam,” she said.

“Would you like to see my hockey cards?” Andrew asked.

“Sure.” Carter took Andrew’s arm and allowed him to lead her to his room.

“She’s still out of your league,” Rodney said.

Carter glanced at Rodney over her shoulder. “I’ve fallen for guys who were into hockey before.” She ruffled Andrew’s hair, and Andrew gazed up at her adoringly.

“She’s a McKay siren,” Sheppard growled.

Rodney sighed dreamily. “Yeah.”

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Much to Andrew’s disappointment, and Sheppard’s relief, Carter didn’t stay the night. However, she did return the following day with Major General Jack O’Neill in tow – literally. “Is this going to take long?” O’Neill asked after he’d been introduced to Jeannie and Andrew. “It’s just that there’s this sweet street hockey game going on outside.”

Carter swatted O’Neill’s arm. “Sir!”

O’Neill pouted. “What? I said I’d help McKay – whatever his problem is.”

“You didn’t tell him?” Carson and Jeannie exclaimed.

Carter smiled. “I thought it would be more fun this way.”

“What would be more fun?” O’Neill asked. He scanned the living room impatiently. “Where the heck is McKay anyway? And shouldn’t Sheppard be here too?”

“They’re in the basement,” Carson said. “I’ll go fetch them.”

“Whoa, now. Let’s not do anything hasty.” O’Neill’s eyes wandered to the window and the street outside. Then they flew to Andrew, who was parked in front of his PlayStation. “I’m surprised you’re not out there.”

Andrew scowled but didn’t take his eyes off the TV. “Mom won’t let me.”

O’Neill turned to Jeannie, one eyebrow raised. “You won’t let him?”

Jeannie crossed her arms. “The last time he played hockey, he ended up with a concussion. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t want my son getting killed next time.”

“I see.” O’Neill took Jeannie by the elbow and herded her to the kitchen. “We need to talk.”

“What?” Jeannie said. “But…”

Carson never found out what they talked about, as their conversation couldn’t be heard outside the kitchen, but, when they returned, they were both pale and Jeannie seemed visibly shaken.

Carson touched Jeannie’s shoulder in concern. “Are you all right, luv?”

Jeannie nodded then looked at Andrew. “You can play street hockey if you want to.”

Andrew’s head whipped around in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Jeannie said.

Andrew turned off his PlayStation and jumped to his feet. “Thanks, Mom!”

O’Neill walked over to the window and watched Andrew run down the driveway. Carter leaned towards Jeannie, and Carson just managed to hear what she said.

“He told you about Charlie, didn’t he?” Carter asked.

“Yes,” Jeannie whispered. She cleared her throat. “I’ll go get Rodney.”

O’Neill was still standing at the window when Jeannie returned with Rodney and Sheppard. He turned towards them and froze, gaping at Rodney. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he could speak. “There’s something different about you. Have you done something with your hair?”

Rodney snorted. “Yeah, and I got a manicure while I was at it.”

“Riiight.” O’Neill crossed the room, his eyes glued to Rodney’s belly. “So, what happened?”

“Oh, the usual,” Sheppard said. “Rodney was impregnated by an Ancient.”

O’Neill nodded. “As one is in the Pegasus Galaxy.” His eyes flicked back to Rodney’s belly. “Maybe you’d better start from the beginning.”

Rodney sighed and headed over to the couch to tell his story once again. O’Neill remained standing, but Sheppard sat down beside Rodney.

“You must be so proud,” O’Neill said to Sheppard once Rodney had finished. Carson could tell that O’Neill was joking, but Sheppard seemed to take the question seriously.

Wrapping an arm around Rodney’s shoulders, Sheppard said, “I get to be the daddy.”

Rodney quickly shook off Sheppard’s arm. “Shut up!” he hissed. “Are you trying to destroy your career?”

O’Neill rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh, I’m not asking, so you don’t need to be telling.”

Sheppard smiled and patted Rodney’s belly. “Okay. Just as long as I get to be the daddy.”

Rodney shot a long-suffering look at O’Neill and threw up his hands.

O’Neill moved closer to Sheppard, cupping his ear. “I’m sorry. What was that? I seem to have gone temporarily deaf.”

Rodney clamped a hand over Sheppard’s mouth. “Nothing. He said nothing.”

O’Neill’s eyes shifted back to the window. “Is there some reason you’ve asked me here? Other than to hear your happy news, that is?”

“Rodney requires safe passage back to Atlantis,” Carter said.

O’Neill stared at Carter blankly. “Safe passage?”

Carter nodded. “The American military will naturally want to kidnap Rodney and the baby.”

“They will?” O’Neill asked.

Carter jerked her head at Rodney. “Yes, sir. Of course they will.”

O’Neill’s eyebrows rose. “Oh! Oh, right. Yes, I have to admit that I’m fighting the urge to kidnap McKay and the baby myself.”

When Rodney’s eyes widened and he shrank back against Sheppard, Carter said, “He’s just kidding. You are just kidding, aren’t you, sir?”

O’Neill rolled his eyes. “I think I can resist the temptation.” He glanced at Rodney’s belly and sighed. “I’ll make some calls, see what I can do.”

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

O’Neill started making calls that same day – once he’d had his fill of street hockey. Three days after that, they were packing and making arrangements to leave. While Sheppard seemed excited by the prospect of returning to Atlantis, Rodney was nervous and moody and Carson was quiet and withdrawn. Jeannie made a valiant effort to be cheerful, when it was painfully obvious that she was on the verge of tears. Andrew seemed to cope by avoiding the situation altogether, first going out to play with his friends and then retreating to his room. He didn’t even appear when Jamie and Claude came over, though he did let Britney in his room when she knocked on the door.

When both Carson and Jeannie had been forced to flee to the bathroom in a flood of tears, Sheppard had made a hasty retreat across the street with Claude to investigate the strange clunking noise coming from Claude’s car. Jamie decided that it was an ideal time to broach a subject with Rodney that had been on his mind for some time. He sat down on the couch and handed Rodney a present.

“I want pictures,” Jamie said.

Rodney stared at Jamie, dumbstruck. “What?”

Jamie smiled gently. “When the baby’s born, I want pictures. I assume you’ll be sending some to Jeannie, so you can send some to me too.”

Rodney gazed around the living room wildly, as if seeking an escape route. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jamie squeezed his hand. “Honey, I may not be the sharpest eyebrow pencil at the cosmetics counter, but I’m not stupid,” he said. “You were somehow impregnated, possibly by aliens, which is why you came here in the first place, isn’t it? And, now, you have to go back because the baby’s almost due.”

Rodney feigned laughter. “No, it’s a teratoma, like you said before.”

Jamie gave Rodney a pitying look. “Sweetie, I think we both know that isn’t true.” He gazed down at the present Rodney was holding limply in his hands. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“What?” Rodney glanced down at the gift. “Oh. Right.” He slowly tore away the wrapping paper and then was lifting up a tiny knitted sweater. It was pale green with yellow ducks. Rodney’s fear level went up a notch.

“I didn’t know what you were expecting, so I didn’t go with pink or blue,” Jamie said. “I couldn’t resist these duckies, though. Aren’t they precious?” Rodney dropped the sweater hastily, and Jamie patted his shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone. I won’t even tell my family.” Jamie stood up. “I’d better go rescue Sheppard before Claude hauls out our busted lawnmower from the shed and gets him to take a look at that too.” Jamie started heading towards the front hall.

Rodney closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s a girl.”

Jamie spun around, grinning. “I thought it might be. You’re carrying high.”

Rodney stared at Jamie in disbelief. “Uh, you do realize that predicting a baby’s gender based on its position is an old wives’ tale that has absolutely no basis in science, right?”

Jamie shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Rodney glared at him. “You had a 50/50 chance of being right.”

“Yes, but there was also a 50/50 chance that I could have been wrong,” Jamie said.

“What?”

Carson walked into the living room. For a second, it looked like he might be okay, but then his eyes began to overflow again and he was forced to return to the bathroom.

When it came time for them to leave Scarborough, Carson also had trouble containing his emotions. He wasn’t alone. Everyone was fighting back tears.

Sheppard had to clear his throat a couple of times when Andrew’s bottom lip started trembling. “Your uncle and I will visit you and your mom as often as we can,” he said, pulling Andrew into his arms.

Andrew was visibly upset when Rodney hugged him, but, then, Rodney was crying too. Unable to speak, Rodney kissed the top of Andrew’s head. However, Jeannie wasn’t willing to accept the silent treatment.

“I want pictures,” she told Rodney. “Lots of pictures. And you’d better come for a visit. Soon.”

“Okay,” Rodney whispered.

When Jeannie hugged Sheppard, she said, “You take good care of my brother and the baby, or I’m going to come to the Pegasus Galaxy and kick your ass.”

Sheppard smiled. “Understood.”

When Carson was faced with having to say goodbye to Jeannie and Andrew, he wrapped his arms around both of them, making no effort to hide his tears. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

Jeannie nodded against Carson’s shoulder. “Of course you will,” she said, though she didn’t sound convinced.

Carson cupped Jeannie’s face in his hands and kissed her. “I love you.”

Jeannie bit back a sob. “I love you too.”

Sheppard draped his arms over Rodney’s and Carson’s shoulders as they walked down the driveway. In an effort to give their Atlantis colleagues some privacy, O’Neill and Carter had stayed in the car. However, as soon as they saw the state Carson was in, they both got out. O’Neill handed Carson an entire box of tissues, and Carter hugged him tightly.

As they drove away, Carson didn’t dare look back. He was afraid that if he caught another glimpse of Jeannie and Andrew, he would jump out of the car and run back to the house.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

That morning, as they had finished off their packing, Rodney had confided to Carson that his biggest concern, after dealing with the brass at the SGC, was the border crossing. Carson could tell by the dark circles under Rodney’s eyes that Rodney had lost sleep worrying about it. And while Sheppard, O’Neill and Carter seemed outwardly calm, the border crossing was obviously something that was occupying their minds as well.

In a gas station convenience store in Oakville, Carson had seen them gather in a brief huddle. They had spoken in tense whispers, gazing over their shoulders cautiously in case they were overheard. Carson had quickly paid for Rodney’s box of Smarties and had gotten out of there. When they reached Hamilton, O’Neill had parked the car outside a service centre, swapping seats with Sheppard.

“We’re taking turns,” O’Neill said as he climbed into the back seat beside Rodney, who was seated in the middle. Carson sensed that there was a little more to it than that, and so did Rodney, judging by his wide eyes and anxious expression. He had probably been counting on having Sheppard by his side when they reached the border.

As if sensing Rodney’s discomfort, Sheppard swivelled around in the driver’s seat and smiled. “We’re hoping to use General O’Neill’s considerable clout to avoid any hassles at the border, and seeing as he’s a general it makes more sense for him to be chauffeured by a lower-ranking officer.”

“But you don’t have your uniform,” Rodney said.

Sheppard grimaced in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I know, but I’ve got everything else I need.”

Rodney still seemed apprehensive. “Maybe Sam should drive. She’s in her uniform.”

“Yes,” Sheppard said, “but she outranks me. I think we’ll present a better picture for the border guards if the lowest-ranking officer is playing chauffeur.”

Rodney frowned. “But this vehicle isn’t military issue. It’s just a rental car.”

Sheppard rolled his eyes in the rear-view mirror as he did up his seat belt. “With a general in the back seat, they’re not going to care what kind of vehicle this is, Rodney.”

“Maybe I should drive,” Carson suggested. “I could tell them that you’re my military escort.”

“No, you’re the doctor,” O’Neill snapped. “You stay back here with the patient.” Carter turned in the front passenger seat and glanced at O’Neill with a raised eyebrow. O’Neill scowled at her. “I’m not sitting beside a pregnant man if his doctor isn’t back here with me.”

Carson snorted. “If Rodney goes into labour, the seating arrangement is the last thing you’re going to be worrying about.”

O’Neill shot a stern look at Rodney. “Don’t go into labour.”

Rodney glared at him. “Oh, gee, General, I’ll try not to,” he said. “However, if we sit here much longer, I can’t guarantee that the little one is going to stay put.”

O’Neill raised an eyebrow of his own then nodded. “Understood.” He thumped the back of the driver’s seat. “Home, James.”

Any anxiety Rodney might have been feeling about the border crossing, or birth of his baby, didn’t prevent him from being lulled to sleep by the swaying motion of the car. To O’Neill’s chagrin, Rodney’s head fell on his shoulder.

Sheppard almost drove off the road when he caught sight of Rodney in the rear-view mirror. “Oh! Uh…he didn’t sleep well last night.”

O’Neill couldn’t help smiling despite his predicament. “It’s okay. I’ll live.”

Carter’s head spun around and she reached for her cell phone.

“Don’t you dare take a picture, Carter!” O’Neill said. “That’s an order!”

Carter pouted and lowered her hand. Fortunately, Carson had dug up his cell phone and snapped a picture for her.

O’Neill’s eyes narrowed. “Why, you Scottish son of a – ”

“Oh, look,” Sheppard said. “We’re almost there.”

Both Carson and O’Neill looked out their respective windows and saw that they were approaching the Rainbow Bridge. They were so transfixed by it that they might have missed the Falls if they hadn’t heard the roar of the water or noticed the mist rising in the air.

Once they had entered their lane, they had to wait almost 20 minutes before they reached the checkpoint. Carson was torn between nervousness and relief when he spotted the navy uniform, and a customs officer walked towards them. Rodney continued sleeping, blissfully unaware of what was happening around him.

Sheppard rolled down his window, and a pair of bright blue eyes peered into the car. The customs officer was clean-shaven and, to Carson, he seemed frighteningly young. However, he was thoroughly professional and didn’t even blink when he was handed three military ID cards.

“Sir, may I ask you the nature of your trip?”

“We’re returning home from a vacation,” Sheppard said.

The customs officer glanced at Sheppard’s passengers. “All of you?” he asked. Then his eyes widened when he got a second look at Rodney. “Oh my God. Is he – ?”

Carson leaned between the two front seats. “It’s a teratoma,” he said.

“A what?” The customs officer looked confused.

Carson sighed. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. “It’s like that guy in Grey’s Anatomy with the tumor – the one that made him look pregnant.”

The customs officer put his hands on his hips. “I don’t watch Grey’s Anatomy.”

“Oh.” Carson tried not to panic.

“But my grandfather had a neoplastic tumour,” the customs officer said. “Is it anything like that?”

Carson released the breath he’d been holding. “Aye. Close enough.”

The customs officer nodded. “Well, I hope he’ll be okay. Does he have anything to declare, besides the teratoma?”

O’Neill looked down at the man who was sound asleep on his shoulder. “I think he’s still got some Smarties.”

The customs officer smiled. “Unless he’s got a couple of suitcases full, it shouldn’t be a problem, General.” He patted the roof of the car. “Welcome home.”

It wasn’t until they were driving through New York State that Rodney stirred and woke, lifting his head from O’Neill’s shoulder. “Where are we?” he asked.

“Well, it certainly ain’t OZ, Dorothy,” O’Neill said.

Rodney frowned. “Kansas?”

Carter laughed and turned around in her seat. “Buffalo, Rodney. We’re in Buffalo.”

Rodney gaped at Carter. “Buffalo? But-but…When did we cross the border?”

“About fifteen minutes ago,” Sheppard said.

“Why didn’t anyone wake me?” Rodney asked.

Sheppard smirked in the rear-view mirror. “We didn’t have the heart to. You looked so peaceful.”

O’Neill grimaced. “Yeah, it was freakin’ adorable.”

Rodney stared at O’Neill in surprise before his eyes slid to the shoulder he’d been sleeping on. “Did you spill something on your uniform? It looks wet.”

O’Neill glanced down in alarm. “Oh, for crying out loud!”

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

O’Neill’s mood didn’t improve when he learned that the flight he had arranged from Andrews Air Force Base – the one that had required strings to be pulled and favours to be cashed in – wasn’t a viable travel option.

“Rodney is in the third trimester of what is already a complicated pregnancy,” Carson said. “We just can’t take the risk.”

“And how is taking a long road trip any better?” O’Neill asked. “Who’s to say he’s any less likely to run into complications on the ground?”

Carson sighed. “If he’s on the ground, he’s closer to a hospital.”

“Hospital?” Rodney cried. “No, no, no, no, no! We can’t go to a hospital!”

“It would only be as a last resort, Rodney,” Carson said.

“It had better be,” O’Neill grumbled. He crossed his arms and stared out the car window for a moment before his eyes flew to Carter. “Why am I only hearing about this now? I would have thought we’d cover this before leaving.”

Carter lifted her head from the road map and smiled at O’Neill sweetly. “I was afraid you might object, sir.”

O’Neill gritted his teeth. “Well, you’re right. I do object. I was led to believe that I only had to get you as far as Washington.”

“We’re still going to Washington,” Sheppard said. “We’ll drop you off and then continue on from there.”

O’Neill’s eyes narrowed. “Just me? What about Carter?”

This time, Carter kept her eyes fastened on the road map. “I’m going with them, sir.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” O’Neill looked at Rodney, who was happily munching on the rest of his Smarties, and shook his head. “This is nuts. You’re trying to keep this pregnancy under wraps and, yet, you’re going to drive across several states with Exhibit A in the back seat.”

“Well, I’m not riding in the trunk!” Rodney said.

“Well, obviously not. You probably won’t fit for one thing.” O’Neill massaged the bridge of his nose as if he could feel a headache coming on. “I meant that you’ll be out in the open longer. You’ll need to stop for meals and book into at least a couple of motels. Then there will be the frequent stops you’ll need to make, so the pregnant man can stretch his legs and relieve himself.”

Sheppard glanced at O’Neill in the rear-view mirror. “I know it’s not ideal, sir, but we’re going to try to eliminate the risks whenever possible,” he said. “We’ll be getting a lot of takeout, which Rodney, at least, will be eating in the car. Rodney will also stay in the car when we’re signing into motels – the smaller, the better – and go to his room after we’ve been given the key. We’ll leave early in the morning, making sure Rodney’s in the car before too many people are up and about.”

“And when it comes to the inevitable call of nature?” O’Neill asked.

“Sheppard is going to try to stick to the backroads as much as possible,” Rodney said. “We’re hoping we’ll encounter a lot of trees, but I’ve also brought something in case of emergencies.” He lifted a large plastic bottle, which O’Neill eyed in horror. “What? The men in deep submersibles pee in bottles, and no one gives them grief for it.”

O’Neill ran a hand across his face. “I know I’m going to regret saying this, but you’ll probably save some time if you don’t drop me off in Washington.” Three pairs of eyes turned to stare at him. The fourth pair widened in the rear-view mirror, but, otherwise, remained focused on the road. O’Neill shrugged. “It’s been ages since I’ve eaten crappy food and stayed in bad motels. It should be fun.”

Carter grinned at him. “You just want to get out of all that paperwork that’s been piling up on your desk.”

“Well, yes,” O’Neill said. “There’s that too.”

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Next Part
Previous Part

Herne Be Praised! I FINALLY Finished "In the Family Way"!

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 03:24:00 GMT

I'm still in a state of total disbelief, but it appears that I've finally finished the last installment of In the Family Way. It's hopelessly rough and I still have to finish typing the remainder of my hand-written draft, but I'm hoping to get through the revision process in the next few days and then post it.

Yes, I do realize that there's only three or four people who are likely to read this, but I seriously don't care. All that matters is that it's done. It's taken more than three years, but the behemoth is complete at last.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah-hallelujah! Hal-le-eh-lu-jah!

First Full Week in My New Cubicle

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 19:31:38 GMT

Well, it's now been a full week since I was moved to a new cubicle at work and what a difference that move has made! I've only been moved one row over, but it's such a huge improvement! I no longer spend most of the day swearing under my breath and trying to control my temper because I'm far enough from the co-worker I despise for it not to be a problem anymore. I know this is going to seem like nothing, but this co-worker is constantly sniffing, snorting, coughing, blowing his nose, and muttering to himself, not to mention banging things around in his cubicle. And he does all of this quite loudly. I know it doesn't sound like a big deal, but, with the exception of a few glorious months, I've had to sit near this guy for over five years. I literally have reached the point where I loath him. I can't tell you the number of times I've fantasized about him meeting a horrible grisly fate. As I re-watched An American Werewolf in London a couple of weeks ago, my most recent fantasy has involved him being torn apart in some lonely village in Northern England. Anywaaaaay, this move came at just the right time because I was literally at the end of my tether.

Believe it or not, I was moved because they wanted all the IT/Production type people sitting in the same area and not because I'm completely psycho. And the fact that I was sitting with a bunch of people who aren't in my department might be another indication of why I was just a wee bit miserable in my old cubicle. As far as most of these people were concerned, I was invisible. They'd hold little meetings right outside my cubicle (sometimes blocking my entrance and exit) as if I didn't exist. The manager of this department, who I actually like, has the kind of voice that really carries. However, I can often block her out with my MP3 player, which was something I could only do about half the time with the co-worker I hate with a fiery passion. Now, the occasional cough carries over from the other row, but that’s about all I hear. Even then it’s bearable because I’m not trapped right beside him and forced to listen to everything else. Despite the amount of traffic that goes past my new cubicle, it’s practically peaceful in comparison!

Ironically, most people have felt sorry for me in my new cubicle because I used to sit by a window – a window that often made me hot in the summer because of the sun, even with the blinds down. Hell, even if the sun hadn’t been a problem, it wasn’t worth it considering my personal list of grievances. But, then, only my manager, my old boss, and the co-worker I hate (as I haven’t been subtle about my feelings) knew that I had issues. Still, my manager was afraid that I would be upset when he broke the news to me about the move. He seemed surprised that I took it so well. I managed to refrain from telling him that I would have moved years ago if he would have let me! Well, it’s probably better if he thinks I’m actually suffering and just being noble about it. In fact, I’ve let everyone who has expressed their condolences over the loss of my window think that. Well, okay, I told one colleague that I "wasn't entirely happy" in my old spot (massive understatement), but that's the only hint I've dropped. Mostly, I've just told people that a change is as good as a rest and have left it at that.

Wow I've bitched a lot! This was meant to be a post celebrating the fact that I'm in a new cubicle and might be able to save what little is left of my sanity. Oh, and hearing as I haven't had to crank up the volume as much on my MP3 player. I probably had some other point to make, but it must have gotten lost in all the griping. *g*

WOO HOO!!! Primeval Has Been Saved!!!

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 17:05:00 GMT

I just found out on primeval_denial and saveprimeval that Primeval has been saved!!! :-D ITV is going to produce two series and all the cast is willing and available! This totally makes my day!

I know there are only a couple of Primeval fans on my flist, but here are two articles on the subject for anyone who's interested:

ITV Press Release

Digital Spy Article

Revisiting RoS...With a Brief Detour to Baker Street

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 01:21:14 GMT

When I was moving Gisburne's NASTY Knight Page a couple of weeks ago, I made the mistake of glancing at my RoS stories as I transferred the files. I had been thinking of revising them for a while, so seeing the sorry state they were in prompted me to take action. For that reason, I've been trying to revise as many of my RoS stories as possible. The Reckoning was basically okay because I'd written it fairly recently (e.g. five years ago as opposed to ten years ago). I'd also revised Silent Knight last December in preparation for the annual "Fic of Christmas Past" section at the Ros Fanfic Archive. That left Robin Hood and the Sheriff's Mother, The Varlet, The Knight's Charges, and The Last Squire, which I just finished going through. *Phew!*

I don't know when I'll get around to Children of the Wheel and Children of the Wheel II. I'm kind of afraid of them, to be honest! I should also, oh, be doing some actual writing. I'm sure the real reason I insisted on spending most of my weekend on this revision project was to get out of writing (and not just because I'm still recovering from Demon Tofu IV: The Rise of Lucifer’s Zombie Horde *g*)

Surprisingly, my RoS stories aren't as shitty as I thought they might be. I mean, yeah, there were some major problems with structure, clarity and description (or lack thereof), but I think they're almost okayish now. They're the kind of thing I might be willing to share with someone's grandchildren some day -- if said grandchildren needed to be punished.

While going through The Last Squire, I started reading this really cool AU version of "The Empty House," in which Watson learns the big secret (that Holmes didn't die at Reichenbach Falls three years previously) in an entirely different manner than what we see in canon. Unfortunately, it's a very long story and I'm not sure if I have enough will power to pull myself away if I don't finish reading it at a decent hour tonight. If you're looking for a long Sherlock Holmes slash story, I highly recommend nlr alicia's The Longest Night, which is a sequel to 70 Minutes to London. Oh, and I also loved Case of the Missing Flat Mate, which is a bit on the sappy side, but it was the third day of my period yesterday, okay?

Holy links, Batman! This is an index not an LJ entry! Well, at least I didn't post that one picture I also came across when moving Gisburne's NASTY Knight Page. A Guy Groupie grinning like the Cheshire Cat while meeting Michael Praed! Talk about embarrassing!

Oh, crap!

Demon Tofu IV: The Rise of Lucifer’s Zombie Horde (2/2)

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 05:20:57 GMT

Title: Demon Tofu IV: The Rise of Lucifer’s Zombie Horde (2/2)
Author: Rusty Armour
Summary: Dean hatches a cunning and dangerous plan to defeat Lucifer.
Word Count: 2,064
Rating: PG-13
Warning: This story contains tofu and the undead!
Spoilers: The Rapture (4.20), Sympathy for the Devil (5.1), Good God, Y’all (5.2)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters and I don't want to own them. Those boys are all dark, twisted and tormented inside, so I'm only willing to make very brief visits to their universe in the interest of birthday fic.
Author's Note: This was written for jackycomelately's birthday and is a sequel to The Time the Winchester Boys Met God or the Terrible Truth About Demon Tofu. Best wishes and many happy returns, jackycomelately! I hope you enjoy this latest story in the Demon Tofu series! :-)

They set off early the next morning. Castiel still wasn’t convinced that Dean’s plan would work, but he just didn’t have the energy to argue with him anymore. He didn’t feel as if he had the energy to do much of anything. In fact, the longer he was cut off from heaven, the more he found himself losing the will to live. He wondered if this was what was known as depression. He was about to ask Dean if they could stop somewhere for Prozac, when something wondrous caught his eye.

“Ooooh!” Castiel cried. “Stop the car! Stop the car, Dean!”

Dean slammed on the brakes. “What? What is it?”

Castiel opened the passenger door and sprang out of the Impala.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. Cursing under his breath, Dean parked the Impala in the vacated lot Castiel was running across and then got out to join him. Castiel was standing in front of an abandoned diner with a rapt expression on his face.

“Would you mind explaining what that was all about?” Dean said. “I could have really hurt the Impala, hitting the brakes like that. What’s going on? Have you found God?”

Castiel turned to Dean and he was positively glowing. “Oh, Dean, isn’t it beautiful? I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Dean first gaped at Castiel and then the diner. “I’m sorry. Come again?”

“This place, Dean,” Castiel said. “It’s absolutely stunning.”

“You mean the diner?” Dean asked. “Uh, I realize you don’t get out much, but I’ve gotta tell you that this place is kind of a dump.”

Apparently, Castiel didn’t hear Dean because he kept gazing up at the diner dreamily. “Ever since I was a little angel, I’ve longed to have my own diner.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “You have?”

Castiel nodded. “Oh, yes. I’ve always wanted to have a place where families can gather and break bread together.”

“Uh, are you sure this isn’t Jimmy you’re channelling?” Dean asked.

Castiel snorted. “Don’t be silly, Dean. God has left me a sign.”

Dean’s brow creased. “A sign?”

Castiel pointed up above them, barely able to contain his excitement, and Dean saw exactly what he was talking about.

“It’s as if I was meant to own this diner,” Castiel said. “My name has been written on the sign.”

Dean sighed. “No, the name ‘CAS’ has been written on the sign.”

Castiel smiled. “You call me ‘CAS,’ so it’s still my name, isn’t it?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Or ‘CAS’ could be someone’s initials. For all you know, it’s the initials of some chick in Toronto who spends too much time on the Internet and gets off on writing fanfiction.”

Castiel glanced at Dean in surprise. “That’s a pretty specific example.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said. “I don’t know where that came from, but…Oh! She was born on Beltane. If I survive the apocalypse, I’m going to totally kick her ass.”

Castiel shook his head. “Dean, it isn’t the woman’s fault that she was born on Beltane.”

Dean lifted his chin stubbornly. “She isn’t Christian, Cas.”

“Oh, then you should totally kick her ass,” Castiel said.

The ground under their feet rumbled, the sky darkened ominously, and something truly menacing awoke.

But Dean and Castiel were still too absorbed by the sign to notice.

“It’s even grammatically correct, Dean,” Castiel said. “How often does that happen with a sign?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess it depends on which state you’re in. I assume you’ve noticed that your perfect sign is also crooked and falling apart.”

Castiel sniffed indignantly. “Minor detail, Dean. Minor detail.” With a great degree of will-power on his part, Castiel managed to tear his eyes away from the sign and walk inside the diner. Once he was inside, he froze and gazed at his surroundings in amazement. “Oh, Dean, look at the stainless steel tables and the red padded upholstery in the booths! And-and there’s a jukebox!”

Dean was studying the interior of the diner suspiciously. “It’s very clean for a place that’s been abandoned. I wouldn’t have thought the owners would bother tidying if they fled or were about to be slaughtered by demons…” He tilted his head, as if expecting to hear the sounds of people being tortured, maimed and killed. “I’m just going to take a look around.”

Castiel nodded absently. “Whatever.”

Dean did a sweep of the entire diner, going so far as to check the kitchen cupboards, but he didn’t find any demons or bodies. He also didn’t find any tofu, which didn’t bode well for his plan.

“Uh, Cas,” Dean said as he walked towards the angel, “I’m afraid there’s a tiny problem with your…” He trailed off when he saw the expression on Castiel’s face as he polished the counter. He’d seen the same thing reflected back at himself in the side-view mirrors whenever he washed the Impala. There was no way he’d be able to pry Castiel away from his baby. “Uh, I’m afraid the diner is out of tofu, so I’m going to run out and get some.”

Castiel stopped polishing and looked up. “Oh. Should I come with you?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Dean said. “You just keep doing what you’re doing.”

When Dean returned a couple of hours later with the spoils from a vegetarian restaurant and Chinese buffet, he found Castiel cleaning one of the grills. Dean whistled, impressed. “Wow. You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

Castiel dropped the greasy cloth in his hand and eyed the bags in Dean’s hands warily. “Is that the demon food?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’s the tofu.” He glanced down at the grill Castiel had been working on. “I don’t suppose you can cook, can you?”

“Yes, I can cook, or, rather, Jimmy can,” Castiel said. “However, neither Jimmy nor I know anything about cooking tofu.”

“Well, I don’t either, but I figure if non-hunters can do it then how hard can it be?” Dean set his bags down on a table and rolled up his sleeves. He couldn’t help noticing that Castiel kept his distance as he poured some barbecue sauce in a bowl and started marinating the tofu.

When Dean dropped the first cube on the grill, the effect was instantaneous, for not only did the tofu begin to brown, but the undead opened their eyes and rose.

Dean beamed as he grabbed a spatula and began heaping tofu on a plate. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice the large group of zombies that was making its way towards the diner. “Hey, Cas, I really think this plan could really work. It’s a small town, so once word gets out about how fabulous my tofu is–”

“Dean, the town is deserted,” Castiel said. “I don’t see how word can get out. It will certainly be a while before praise for your tofu is spread by word of mouth considering the distinct lack of mouths.”

Dean crossed his arms. “Oh, yeah? Well, what about these folks? It didn’t take them long to hear about my tofu.”

Castiel whirled around and started violently when he spotted their first customers through one of the diner windows. “You idiot! They’re zombies!”

“What?” Dean exclaimed. “Oh, shit!” He looked frantically around the diner for some kind of weapons before remembering that his arsenal was in the trunk of the Impala.

“Tofu,” the zombies chanted. “Tofu.”

“Dean, their numbers are growing,” Castiel said. “Look at them.”

Dean looked and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Tofu,” the zombies chanted again. “Tofu.”

Dean grabbed a steak knife and dove under one of the tables.

“What are you doing?” Castiel demanded. “Those zombies are trying to break into my diner!”

“Maybe if we hide, they’ll think we’ve left and go away,” Dean said.

“It’s a bit late for that!” Castiel hissed. “They’ve already seen us through the windows!”

Dean bit his lip anxiously. “Well, maybe if we hide, they’ll get bored and go away.”

“Tofu! Tofu!”

The zombies were now pounding insistently on the windows and looking far from bored.

Dean moaned piteously. “This is all because of that bitch in Toronto! I just know it!”

“Dean, we’ve got to do something!” Castiel said.

Dean nodded. “Okay, sure. As you’re the angel, you can start praying. I’ll just be curled up in a foetal position under here.”

“TOFU! TOFU! TOFU!”

Dean whimpered as he heard the sound of glass breaking. “Sam! Sam!”

“TOFU! TOFU! TOFU! TOFU!”

“SAM! SAM! SAMMY!”

“Okay, everybody, just calm down!” a voice shouted.

Dean’s head shot up, his eyes fastening on his brother. Sam flashed a quick smile at Dean before running to a microphone that was set up on the other side of the diner – possibly for karaoke. But surely Sam wasn’t planning to serenade the zombies, was he?

Sam tapped the microphone a couple of times. “Testing, testing.” He cleared his throat. “Howdy, folks. There’s something important I need to tell you. The tofu in this diner has been contaminated. Instead of containing soy milk, it contains cow’s milk.”

“Cow’s milk? That’s disgusting! The owners of this establishment should be flayed alive!”

“Sir, I understand why you’re upset,” Sam said. “I think it’s disgusting too, but I have it on good authority that there’s plenty of tofu to be had in the Korean restaurant in the next town over.”

The zombies stopped chanting and breaking glass. For several long seconds, they simply stared at each other. Then, as one, the horde turned away from the diner and began to head towards the next town over. “Korean restaurant. Korean restaurant.”

Once Dean was sure the zombies were gone, he crawled out from under the table. “How did you know about the zombies, Sam? For that matter, how did you find us in the first place?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was driving past the diner when I spotted the Impala parked outside. I was about halfway across the parking lot when the zombies arrived. I managed to sneak in through the back before they totally surrounded the place.”

“Well, we’re grateful that you arrived when you did, Sam,” Castiel said. “Those zombies almost destroyed the place.” Castiel scanned the diner, his bottom lip trembling as he took in all the damage.

“Oh, hey, I almost forgot.” Sam reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I found this under the windshield wiper of the Impala. It’s addressed to you, Cas.”

Castiel took the note from Sam and opened it. His eyes widened as he read it, and then re-read it a second and third time. Losing patience, Dean snatched the note out of Castiel’s hand and read it for himself:

Dear Castiel,

Please complete the task I have set for you.

Love,

God

P.S. You will not require Prozac. Your faith will be enough to guide you.

Castiel retrieved his note from Dean and tucked it carefully away in his trench coat. “We’d better get going, Dean. I’ll meet you at the car when you’re ready.”

Dean waited until Castiel was well out of earshot before slapping Sam on the back. “That was awesome, Sam! Great job!”

Sam stared at Dean in confusion. “I didn’t write the note. I assumed you did.”

“What do you mean you didn’t write the note?” Dean demanded. “Of course you wrote the note!”

Sam shook his head. “It wasn’t me, Dean. I swear.”

Dean swallowed nervously. “But if it wasn’t you then who…?”

Both brothers raised their eyes.

“Looks like Cas missed a spot when he was cleaning,” Dean said when he caught sight of a stain on the ceiling. “I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

Sam grinned. “Dude, you couldn’t pay me to tell him.”

Dean laughed quietly before growing serious. “Sam…”

“It’s only been three days,” Sam said. “I need more time.”

Dean frowned. “Well, how much more time? A week? A month?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, Dean. I guess I’ll be ready when I’m ready.”

Dean groaned. “Could you be any more mysterious?”

Sam’s lips twitched. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean sighed and ran a hand across his face. “Look, I cooked up a whole batch of tofu before you got here. Would you like to split it with me before you hit the road again?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I’d like that.”

Part One

Demon Tofu IV: The Rise of Lucifer’s Zombie Horde (1/2)

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 04:47:34 GMT

Title: Demon Tofu IV: The Rise of Lucifer’s Zombie Horde (1/2)
Author: Rusty Armour
Summary: Dean hatches a cunning and dangerous plan to defeat Lucifer.
Word Count: 1,650
Rating: PG-13
Warning: This story contains tofu and the undead!
Spoilers: The Rapture (4.20), Sympathy for the Devil (5.1), Good God, Y’all (5.2)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters and I don't want to own them. Those boys are all dark, twisted and tormented inside, so I'm only willing to make very brief visits to their universe in the interest of birthday fic.
Author's Note: This was written for jackycomelately's birthday and is a sequel to The Time the Winchester Boys Met God or the Terrible Truth About Demon Tofu. Best wishes and many happy returns, jackycomelately! I hope you enjoy this latest story in the Demon Tofu series! :-)

There was someone else in the room. It was dark and Dean was still half asleep, but he could feel someone watching him. He raised himself up on one elbow and squinted in the darkness. Dean could just make out the outline of a figure sitting on the other bed. “Sammy?” he whispered.

The figure on the bed shifted. “No, Castiel.”

“Castiel?” Dean reached across to the bedside table and switched on the lamp. Sure enough, Dean’s favourite angel had been sitting there patiently, waiting for Dean to wake up. Dean rubbed a hand across his face. “Man, don’t you ever sleep?”

Castiel looked puzzled for an instant then shook his head. “No.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should,” Dean said. “You look like shit.”

Castiel frowned. “I have been feeling…different since I was cut off from heaven. My limbs keep growing heavier and I have had difficulty concentrating. It has been a huge struggle to keep my eyes open.”

Dean snorted. “Dude, you’re exhausted. When they cut you off from heaven, they must have also cut off your Red Bull supply.”

Castiel’s brow creased. “Red Bull?”

Dean sighed. “It’s not important. Just get some sleep, Cas.”

“Okay, Dean.” Castiel stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean said.

“Why did you book a double room if you’re travelling alone?” Castiel asked.

Dean winced, glad that Castiel’s eyes were still closed. “Force of habit. That’s all.”

“I see,” Castiel said. Then he drifted off the sleep.

Approximately Eight Hours Later

Castiel sat up and stretched, and Dean barely had time to hide the sampler he was cross-stitching. Castiel looked over at Dean and smiled. “I feel much better now,” he said. “I can understand why humans spend so much time sleeping. It is most soothing and refreshing.”

“Yeah, for most people maybe,” Dean grumbled.

Castiel began to stand up and froze. “Dean, I have this pain in my, uh…” Castiel waved vaguely at his groin, and Dean had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“The bathroom’s that way,” Dean said, pointing to a door across the room.

“Oh, so it’s–?”

Dean nodded quickly. “Yes, Cas, it’s that.”

“Hmm,” Castiel said. “I think I like sleeping more.” He dashed quickly to the bathroom, and Dean sincerely hoped that he knew what to do because he did not want to go in there.

When the bathroom door opened a couple of minutes later, Castiel smiled again then clutched his stomach. “Dean…”

“What is it now?” Dean demanded.

“I’ve got this kind of ache in my stomach and it just made a sort of…rumbling noise,” Castiel said.

Dean threw up his hands. “What do I look like to you? Dear Abby? Your mother?”

“I don’t know who this dear Abby is, besides someone who must be very special to you, but I don’t have a mother, Dean. You know that.” Castiel rubbed his belly thoughtfully and it growled loudly enough for Dean to hear it.

Dean rose from his bed. “I’m going to grab us some lunch. Then maybe we can discuss the reason why you’re here – other than to sleep on the spare bed, use the bathroom, and get a free meal off me.” Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Dean raised a hand, cutting him off. “We’ll talk about it when I get back, Cas.” Shaking his head, Dean walked out of his room, wondering how he had managed to exchange one little brother for another.

When Dean returned to the motel room, Castiel was sitting on his bed, studying the cross-stitch sampler. Dean blushed and pretended not to notice, setting the takeout bags down on a table. Castiel was obviously starving because he set the sampler down without any questions and began digging around in one of the bags. Dean watched Castiel eat in amusement, and some trepidation. Castiel was stuffing his face with gusto, putting even his body’s original host to shame, which was really saying something considering how hungry Jimmy had been once he’d lost the angel inside of him.

“Not that I don’t appreciate seeing you,” Dean said, “but, if you could stop packing it away for a second, maybe you could tell me why you’re here.”

Castiel swallowed and dabbed his lips with a napkin. “Well, it’s what we discussed at the hospital, Dean: I want to find God.”

Dean closed his eyes and groaned. “I was afraid you’d say that. Look, Cas, I think it’s great that you’re searching for your daddy, but tracking down God has got to be worse than trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

Castiel crossed his arms and glared at Dean. “If you think so little of my plan then perhaps you should come up with one yourself. Oh, wait. You’ve been too busy shooting down my ideas to do that.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. Sarcasm? That wasn’t something he often heard from Cas. Dean smiled his most charming smile and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s not that I don’t think it’s a good plan, Cas. As far as plans go, it’s one of the best ones I’ve ever heard. But it’s not the plan that’s the problem, buddy: it’s our ability to carry it out. You’re trying to accomplish the impossible.”

“Well, if you have any better suggestions–” Castiel began.

“As a matter of fact, I think I do,” Dean said. “About a year ago, I met this guy named the Doctor, and he told me that demons love tofu, that they just can’t get enough of it.”

Castiel stared at Dean blankly. “Tofu?”

Dean wasn’t surprised that Castiel wasn’t familiar with the wonders of tofu. He doubted it was something Jimmy Novak had ever eaten, and somehow it didn’t seem like the kind of topic that was widely discussed in heaven. However, Dean was prepared. He pulled out the information he had gotten off of Wikipedia and handed it to Castiel, who read it with interest:

Tofu (豆腐), also tōfu (the Japanese spelling), doufu (the Chinese Pinyin spelling), dubu (from the Korean spelling), toufu, or bean curd (the literal translation), is a food of Chinese origin, [1] made by coagulating soy milk, and then pressing the resulting curds into blocks. There are many different varieties of tofu, including fresh tofu and tofu that has been processed in some way. Tofu has very little flavor or smell on its own, so it can be used either in savory or sweet dishes, and is often seasoned or marinated to suit the dish.

Tofu originated in ancient China , [1] but little else is known about the origins of tofu and its method of production. Tofu and its production technique were subsequently introduced into Korea, then Japan during the Nara period, and Taiwan. It also spread into other parts of East Asia as well. This spread likely coincided with the spread of Buddhism as it is an important source of proteins in the religion's vegetarian diet. [2]

Tofu is low in calories, contains a relatively large amount of iron and contains little fat. Depending on the coagulant used in manufacturing, the tofu may also be high in calcium and/or magnesium. Tofu also contains soy isoflavones, which can mimic natural human estrogens and may have a variety of harmful or beneficial effects when eaten in sufficient quantities.

Castiel grimaced when he’d finished reading Dean’s printout. “Tofu sounds revolting. No wonder demons love it.”

“Hey!” Dean said. “It isn’t just for demons anymore. A lot of humans like it too. I like it.”

Castiel made an effort to look contrite. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Dean. Please tell me how you intend to utilize tofu to defeat Lucifer.”

Dean grinned, almost rubbing his hands together gleefully. “I’m glad you asked, Cas. My plan is to lure some of Lucifer’s demon minions using tofu as bait. Then, once we’ve trapped them, we get them to tell us where Lucifer is hiding.”

Castiel stared at Dean in disbelief. “That’s it? That’s your plan?” He shook his head. “And what do you plan to do once you’ve captured these demons? Torture them until they talk? It won’t work. Even if they knew where Lucifer was, they wouldn’t betray him. They’re terrified of him.”

“What if I promised one of Lucifer’s minions a whole room full of tofu?” Dean asked. “Would that work?”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said. “However, if Lucifer had a sudden hankering for tofu, I’m sure your plan would be brilliant.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. He was pretty sure that was sarcasm again. “You know, it’s quite possible that Lucifer does like tofu. I know one angel that wolfed down the stuff when I gave it to him.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Who?”

“You,” Dean said. “It’s what you had for lunch: a tofu burger and fries.”

Castiel turned green and a hand flew up to his mouth. Dean seized him by the arm and rushed him to the bathroom. Then he was pushing Castiel down in front of the toilet and guiding his head over the bowl.

“Oh, Cas, that’s nasty,” Dean said as Castiel brought up his entire lunch. “I thought Sammy could hurl, but he doesn’t hold a candle to you.” Dean grabbed a glass off the bathroom counter and filled it under the tap. Castiel accepted the water gratefully and gulped it down.

“Maybe we could use the tofu to poison, Lucifer,” Dean suggested. “Going by your reaction, it doesn’t agree with angels, though you gobbled it down easily enough when I gave it to you.”

Castiel glared at Dean. “That was before I knew it was tofu.”

Dean laughed. “You’re such a princess.” He grasped Castiel by the elbow and hauled him to his feet. “Come on. I’ll tell you more about my plan.”

Castiel shuddered but allowed Dean to lead him out of the bathroom.

Part Two

The Time the Winchester Boys Met God or the Terrible Truth About Demon Tofu (2/2)

Sun, 20 Sep 2009 03:35:42 GMT

Title: The Time the Winchester Boys Met God or the Terrible Truth About Demon Tofu (2/2)
Author: Rusty Armour
Summary: While Dean and Sam try to work out how and why Dean was sprung out of hell, they have an unexpected encounter with…God. Category: Crossover
Word Count: 2,478
Rating: PG-13
Warning: This story contains not only tofu, and references to the origins of demon tofu, but Doctor Who content as well!
Spoilers: No Rest for the Wicked (3.16), Lazarus Rising (4.1), Utopia (Doctor Who, 3.11), The Sound of Drums (Doctor Who, 3.12), Last of the Time Lords (Doctor Who, 3.13)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters and I don't want to own them. Those boys are all dark, twisted and tormented inside, so I'm only willing to make very brief visits to their universe in the interest of birthday fic.
Author's Note: This was written in 2008 for jackycomelately's birthday and is a sequel to The Return of the Demon Tofu: A Supernatural Adventure. I want to thank jackycomelately for putting up with all the Doctor Who content that mysteriously worked its way into this story.

Dean leapt to his feet. Then he and Sam gaped in amazement as a large blue box materialized in their motel room. God also watched as the box appeared, though He seemed more resigned than anything.

>

When the blue box fully materialized, a door opened and a head with wild spiky hair popped out. “Hello, hello, hello! Is this Illinois, then? September 2008, right?”

It took a couple of tries, but Sam managed to croak out the word, “Yes.”

The man from the blue box grinned at Sam happily. Then the grin grew even wider as he looked past Sam and noticed God.

“I knew it!” the man from the blue box said. “You are alive!”

God shook His head wildly. “No, no, you’re just hallucinating. You’re-you’re still senile.” The man from the blue box rocked on his heels, barely able to contain his glee. “Silly Master! I was able to feel you the moment I arrived on Earth! As if I wouldn’t be able to sense the only other Time Lord in existence!”

Dean and Sam whipped their heads around to stare at the man in the black suit. “Time Lord?”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” the Master shrieked. “I’ll just be sitting there, minding my own business, when you show up and ruin everything! ”

The man from the blue box snorted. “The last time you were ‘minding your own business,’ you brainwashed Britain into electing you as Prime Minister, took over the world, killed a tenth of the population, and set about trying to conquer the universe.”

The Master pouted. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Yeah,” Dean chimed in. “It’s his job to kill people and rule the universe: He’s God.”

The Master groaned. “Oh, great,” he murmured. “Here it comes.”

“You posed as God?” the man from the blue box cried. “Again? Wasn’t it enough that you convinced that poor girl in fifteenth century France to lead an army against the English?” He shook his head sadly. “You’re losing your touch, Master. In the old days, you always hatched brilliant new plans. Now you’re recycling old ones.”

The Master shot a venomous look at the man from the blue box. “I hate you. In case I failed to mention it before, I hate you with every fibre of my being. I should have killed you when I had the chance instead of turning you into a wizened old man.”

Dean coughed and raised a hand. “Okay, just so we’re clear,” he said to the man from the blue box, “this guy isn’t God, then?”

A pair of brown eyes regarded Dean sympathetically. “No, he isn’t God.”

Dean nodded, trying to hide his embarrassment. “And I guess you’re not Lucifer.”

The man from the blue box glanced at the Master in outrage. “No, I certainly am not.” He held out a hand to Dean. “I’m the Doctor.”

“His doctor, I hope,” Sam said.

The Doctor’s lips twitched in amusement. “Always,” he answered.

“Oh, shut up,” the Master snapped. “You’re nothing of the kind. You’re my enemy.”

“And your friend,” the Doctor said, “whether you like it or not.”

The Master placed his hands on his hips. “Well, I don’t like it, so there.”

The Doctor tutted softly. “You used to have better comebacks than that too. You really are slipping, Master. You need help. My help. Let me help you.”

“No!” the Master snarled. “I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone’s help!”

The Doctor stared at the Master in disbelief. “You’re a sociopath and a complete loony.”

The Master sniffed disdainfully. “I prefer the term ‘sanity-challenged’.”

“So this guy’s a nutjob as well as a con artist,” Dean said, breaking into the conversation again.

The Doctor nodded glumly. “I’m afraid so. He can hear this constant drumming in his head.”

“It’s really most unpleasant,” the Master added.

Sam studied the Master in interest. “Is there a way to cure it?”

“Possibly,” the Doctor said, “but I doubt he’ll let me.”

The Master grimaced in disgust. “Of course I won’t. I don’t want you groping inside my head.”

Sam’s fascination grew. “You’re able to read people’s minds?” he asked the Doctor.

“If I’m in physical contact, yes,” the Doctor said. “It’s…” He trailed off, looking a bit sheepish. “It’s a bit like a Vulcan mind meld.” The Master snorted in what sounded like laughter and the Doctor glared at him. “It’s something all Time Lords can do.”

Sam’s focus shifted to the Master. “Oh, so you can do it too?”

“You son of a bitch!” Dean shouted before the Master could reply. “He read my mind! That’s how he knew about Binky!”

The Doctor frowned in confusion. “Binky?”

“You don’t want to know,” Sam said.

Dean’s face flushed furiously and when he took a step towards the Master, the Master actually moved back. “When did you do it and why can’t I remember?” Dean demanded.

The Master grinned, though it did nothing to alleviate Dean’s anger. “When you were in hell,” he said, “I assumed you would block it out the same way you would block out your other memories. Most people do the first time they’re in hell. I know I did.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You were in hell with me and it wasn’t your first time?”

The Master yawned. “Oh, no, I’ve been there a few times.”

“He has a habit of dying,” the Doctor said. “A lot.”

Sam stared at their two guests, a stunned expression on his face. “But-but how is that even possible? You talk like he’s been around for centuries.”

The Doctor squirmed uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a very long story.”

“You can skip ahead to the part where this bastard was sent to hell,” Dean said. “His most recent trip,” he added in case the Doctor felt it was necessary to provide him with a full history. Then Dean regretted the question when he saw the haunted look in the Doctor’s eyes.

“Oh, for the love of Rassillon,” the Master grumbled. “It’s been over a year, Doctor. Get over it already.” Adjusting his tie, which was already painfully straight, the Master fixed his dark mad eyes on Dean. “It’s very simple, really. My wife shot me and I died. End of story.”

“It bloody well is not!” the Doctor shouted. “I begged you to regenerate, but you died just to spite me!”

The Master sniggered then hid his laughter behind a cough when he saw the Doctor reaching for his sonic screwdriver.

“Hold on,” Sam said. “You guys can regenerate?”

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s complicated.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, after I built a funeral pyre and burnt the body—”

Dean laughed. “You built a funeral pyre? Whose body did you think you were burning? Darth Vader’s?”

“He always was a drama queen,” the Master whispered. “You should have seen the way he was blubbing as I lay dying in his arms.”

The Doctor eyed the Master coldly. “You have yet to explain why you invaded this young man’s mind.”

Remembering that he was supposed to be mad at the Master, Dean growled, “Yeah, you haven’t.”

The Master shrugged. “I was bored,” he said. “Well, that and the boy didn’t look like he belonged in hell. I suppose I was satisfying my own curiosity more than anything.”

“And did you?” Sam asked. “Satisfy your curiosity, I mean?”

“Well, I discovered that the only reason your brother was in hell was because he made a pact to save your life,” the Master said. “That was when I decided that it might be a good idea to stay close to the boy and keep an eye on him.”

The Doctor smiled in delight. “You wanted to protect him.”

The Master rolled his eyes. “Oh, please,” he said. “I did it because I knew that someone would probably try to spring him. I knew that if I was patient and bided my time, I would have a means to escape.”

Dean’s brow creased as he tried to follow the Master’s logic. “But Castiel pulled me out of hell. How did that help you?”

The Master couldn’t help looking smug. “I grabbed on to your ankle and hitched a ride.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “What?” he said. “But-but you weren’t there when I got out. I came to in my coffin and didn’t see any sign of you…thank God.”

The Master gave a mock shudder. “Oooh. Creepy. How very Edgar Allan Poe. Well, to answer your question, I ended up in Bloomington, Illinois. As I didn’t have any money on me, I had to get a lift from a pig farmer and his family.” He glanced at the Doctor. “It was so dreadful, it actually made me long for Malcassairo.”

The Doctor bit his lip. “That’s bad.”

The Master nodded. “Tell me about it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Sam said. “Back up a second!”

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean asked.

Sam couldn’t quite conceal the worried look on his face. “If the Master snuck out of hell then who knows what’s going to be coming after him.”

“Well, hell, Sammy, it’s not as if the demons gave me a permission slip either,” Dean said.

“Yeah, but Castiel has been acting as your protector,” Sam explained. “Unless, he’s providing the same service for the Master then we could be in some serious trouble.”

The Doctor slapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, causing Sam to jump. “There’s only one thing for it. We’ll have to bribe the hell demons.”

“Bribe the hell demons?” Dean and Sam said in unison. Then they gaped at the Doctor as if he were the one who was sanity-challenged.

The Doctor nodded eagerly. “Yes. I have it on good authority that hell demons love tofu, especially the tofu found on the planet Vegana, in the Organa sector.”

Dean and Sam shot the Doctor a wary look. “The planet Vegana?”

“Of course,” the Doctor said. “It’s where all the best tofu comes from, which makes sense considering that Vegana is where tofu originated from. Isn’t that right, Master?”

The Master, who had been edging slowly towards the door, froze then smiled brightly. “You betcha.”

“And hell demons love tofu?” Sam asked, and even he could hear the skepticism in his voice. If the Doctor noticed his tone, he ignored it.

“The inhabitants of Vegana are actually descended from demons,” the Doctor said, “so it’s not as unusual as you might think.”

Dean looked like he might burst into tears. “Tofu comes from demons?”

The Master also seemed a little chagrined. “What do you mean the inhabitants of Vegana are descended from demons? I slept with the Green Goddess. I think I would have noticed if she was a demon, mate.”

The Doctor winced. “Somehow I doubt that considering that you also failed to notice that the Green Goddess is, in fact, a he.”

The Master’s eyes widened almost comically. “How can the Green Goddess be a he?”

“He thought ‘Green Goddess’ had a better ring to it than ‘Green God’,” the Doctor explained. “He was also extremely fond of Green Goddess salad dressing, which apparently sealed the deal in the end.”

“So you’re saying I slept with a man,” the Master said. “A man.”

The Doctor crossed his arms. “You know, if you engaged in foreplay once in a while, you wouldn’t run into these kinds of problems. I bet Lucy wouldn’t have killed you if you’d been a more thoughtful lover.”

The Master raised his eyebrows. “Are you giving me marital advice? The man who has screwed up his relationship with every single companion he’s ever had?”

“I have not!” the Doctor cried. When the Master just stared at him, the Doctor said, “All right, I’ve screwed up maybe half of them.”

The Master smiled triumphantly. “I rest my case.”

Before the Doctor could respond, Sam threw up his hands in frustration and said, “I can’t believe you guys are arguing about sex when a hell hound could come crashing through that door at any second!”

The Doctor eyed the door thoughtfully. “He’s right. We’d better head to Vegana to pick up that tofu, Master.”

“We?” the Master said.

The Doctor put his hands on his hips. “This is your mess and you’re the one who has a history with the Green Goddess.”

The Master frowned. “But you’ll imprison me in the TARDIS.”

The Doctor rubbed his face wearily. “You know I can’t let you roam free. You’re a menace to society: every society. No, I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me. It’s the TARDIS or hell, Master.”

The Master looked thoughtful for a moment. “Could I have some time to think about it?”

“All right, that’s it!” Sam said. He grabbed a hold of the Master and put him in a headlock.

“Oi!” the Master cried. “Watch the suit!”

Dean rushed over and grabbed the Master’s feet. Then he and Sam were hauling the struggling Time Lord into the air.

“Where do you want him?” Dean asked the Doctor.

“The TARDIS, please,” the Doctor said. “Uh, that’s the big blue box over there.”

Dean glanced at the TARDIS doubtfully. “Are you sure? There’s not going to be a lot of room in there.”

The Doctor smiled. “Trust me. It won’t be a problem.” He pushed open the door of the TARDIS, his smile growing wider when Dean and Sam threw the Master inside. “Thank you for all of your help,” the Doctor said, shaking hands with both brothers. Then he stepped inside the TARDIS and closed the door.

Dean shook his head as he and Sam watched the blue box disappear. “What a couple of freaks.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, they were certainly something. Do you really think they were all those things they claimed to be?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I’m still coming to terms with tofu being demon food.”

Sam placed a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sure it was just a ruse to fool the Master.”

Dean’s eyes gleamed with hope for the first time in months. “Do you really think so?”

“Well, if you like it then how can it be demon food?” Sam said. “You’re a Winchester. It wouldn’t be right.”

Dean broke into a grin. “Yeah, that’s true. I couldn’t possibly like tofu if it was demon food. Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably under Dean’s affectionate gaze. “Don’t thank me yet. There’s still one issue we need to deal with.”

“Oh?” Dean said. “And what’s that?”

Sam took a deep breath. “Well, if the Master isn’t God then who is? And, more importantly, what does He want with you, Dean?”

Part One

Fic: The Time the Winchester Boys Met God or the Terrible Truth About Demon Tofu (1/2)

Sun, 20 Sep 2009 03:07:10 GMT

Title: The Time the Winchester Boys Met God or the Terrible Truth About Demon Tofu (1/2)
Author: Rusty Armour
Summary: While Dean and Sam try to work out how and why Dean was sprung out of hell, they have an unexpected encounter with…God. Category: Crossover
Word Count: 1,547
Rating: PG-13
Warning: This story contains not only tofu, and references to the origins of demon tofu, but Doctor Who content as well!
Spoilers: No Rest for the Wicked (3.16), Lazarus Rising (4.1), Utopia (Doctor Who, 3.11), The Sound of Drums (Doctor Who, 3.12), Last of the Time Lords (Doctor Who, 3.13)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters and I don't want to own them. Those boys are all dark, twisted and tormented inside, so I'm only willing to make very brief visits to their universe in the interest of birthday fic.
Author's Note: This was written in 2008 for jackycomelately's birthday and is a sequel to The Return of the Demon Tofu: A Supernatural Adventure. I want to thank jackycomelately for putting up with all the Doctor Who content that mysteriously worked its way into this story.

“Man, I sure missed tofu!” Dean said as he consumed his third plate of thit pan tofu.

Sam stared at him in confusion. “I thought you said that you couldn’t remember anything about hell.”

Dean swallowed a mouthful of tofu. “Yeah? So?”

“Well, if you can’t remember anything that happened then how could you miss tofu?” Sam asked. “You had a tofu burger the day before that hell hound tore you apart.”

Dean grimaced. “Thanks for the reminder, Sammy,” he said, though it didn’t seem to affect his appetite as his fork lunged into the thit pan tofu again.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said. “You think that just because my mind doesn’t remember being denied tofu all those months that it’s somehow okay. Well, let me tell you, Sammy. My body knows that it’s been deprived and it’s not happy.”

Sam’s forehead furrowed. “Your body was torn apart by a hell hound and it’s tofu it’s fixating on?”

This time Dean flinched. “Will you stop bringing that up? It’s something I’m really trying to forget about, okay?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s your trauma. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you!” Dean raised his beer to his lips and took a healthy swallow.

“We can talk about God instead,” Sam said. Then he winced as he was sprayed by Dean’s beer.

“That’s not funny, Sammy,” Dean growled.

Sam wiped the beer off his face. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

Dean shook his head. “We’re not having this conversation.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket off the bed, but Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulder before Dean could leave their motel room.

“Dean, this is serious,” Sam said. “God sent an angel to spring you out of hell. God said He had plans for you.”

“And Elvis is alive and running a fat farm.” Dean shoved Sam’s hand off his shoulder. “It’s a hoax, Sammy. Some elaborate con.”

“Then how do you explain Castiel?” Sam asked. “He knocked Bobby out by just touching his forehead and he didn’t even blink when you stabbed him.”

Dean snapped a finger in front of Sam’s face. “Hello? Does the word ‘demon’ mean anything to you?”

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose that’s a possibility, though if he is a demon he must be pretty powerful.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Well, he was able to pull you out of hell, Dean,” Sam said. “That’s no mean feat.”

“Okay, fine,” Dean grumbled. “So he’s a powerful demon. So what?”

Sam smiled, though it was a look that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So it has to make you wonder just what kind of being Castiel would answer to given that he’s so powerful himself.”

Dean crossed his arms. “Well, it’s not God,” he said.

Sam didn’t look convinced. “You can’t be sure of that, Dean.”

“Sure I can: God doesn’t exist,” Dean said. “And,” he added, lifting a finger when Sam opened his mouth to argue, “even if he did exist He wouldn’t be interested in me. I mean, it’s not like He’s going to show up at the door and say, ‘Hi, Dean. It’s nice to meet you. I’m God.’”

The loud knock on the door had both brothers almost jumping out of their skins.

Dean laughed nervously. “I’m sure it’s just one of your many girlfriends, Sam.”

Sam snorted and walked over to the door. “Uh, hi,” Sam said to the stranger standing out in the hall. “Can I help you?”

The stranger in question had dark hair and eyes, a crisp white shirt, and a neatly pressed black suit and tie. He beamed brightly when he saw Sam, and Sam instantly thought politician. However, when the man opened his mouth, he didn’t sound like any politician Sam had ever come across. For one thing, he had an English accent.

“Hello, Sam,” the stranger said. “I believe your brother is expecting me.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “Umm…I think you must have the wrong room.”

The man looked momentarily confused. “No, I don’t think so. I’m positive that I made an appointment to speak with Dean Winchester and seeing as I was in the neighbourhood—”

Dean pushed past Sam to confront the stranger. “Look, mister, I think I’d remember if I made an appointment with some-some British guy.”

The man tilted his head to one side, studying Dean in interest. “Actually, I was the one to schedule the appointment. As you may recall, Castiel did inform you of My interest in you.” The man tossed a quick glance at Sam. “In you and your brother.”

Dean and Sam exchanged startled glances before staring warily back at their visitor.

The man sighed wearily. “I take it that neither of you are regular churchgoers,” he said. “It’s such a shame in this day and age that people are rejecting religion when there’s so much wrong with the world. If they would just embrace Me and take Me into their hearts—”

Dean slammed the door in the stranger’s face and locked the deadbolt with trembling fingers. “Call 911,” he said to Sam. “This guy is obviously a whackjob.”

“Dean,” called a voice through the door, “I realize that this must all seem rather overwhelming, but I only seek to guide you and help you find your true potential.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Dean shouted back, “but I think I’ll pass, thanks.” He glared at Sam, who was still standing in the same spot. “I thought I told you to call 911.”

“But what if he’s the real deal?” Sam asked. “What if he’s really—?”

Dean clamped a hand over Sam’s mouth. “Don’t say it. It’s impossible.”

Sam laughed. “Dean, we see impossible things every day. What makes this any different?”

Dean scowled and muttered something under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “What was that?”

Dean blushed and refused to meet Sam’s eyes. “He’s too short and he doesn’t have a beard.”

“I used to have a beard,” the stranger said. “For that matter, I believe I used to be taller.”

Dean and Sam spun around, shocked to find the stranger in their room.

“How did you get in here?” Dean demanded.

The man seemed mildly disappointed. “Oh, Dean. I created the world in seven days. Do you really think getting through a simple door is going to prove a challenge?”

Dean scanned the room wildly, trying to find any weapons within easy reach. Sam, on the other hand, regarded their guest with open curiosity.

“Your angel Castiel burnt Pamela Barnes’s eyes out of her sockets when she saw him in his true form,” Sam said. “Would I be right in thinking that you’ve also adopted a human form?”

The man smiled. “Bright boy. Yes, I use this form when I honour mere mortals with My presence. It’s the more PC, family-friendly model. It’s proven to be more effective than the white flowing beard, robes and the bright glowing light. People want a God they can trust, a God who believes in the same morals and values that they do. In other words, a God who—”

“Oh, cut the crap!” Dean said. “You’re not God!”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You would deny your Lord and Saviour?”

Dean crossed his arms. “You’ve given me no proof that you’re God. For all I know, you could have escaped from a mental institution.”

A brief look of anger crossed the man’s face, but then it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Very well,” he said. “Until the age of three, you had a favourite blanket named Binky.”

Sam burst out laughing. “A blanket named ‘Binky’? Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous.” He glanced at Dean for his reaction and was surprised to see his brother staring at the stranger with wide, startled eyes.

“You know about Binky?” Dean whispered.

“Of course, Dean,” the man said. “I know about everything.”

Dean stared at him for a few seconds longer before prostrating himself at the man’s feet. “Forgive me, O Lord! I should never have doubted You!”

God regarded Dean sternly. “No, you shouldn’t have doubted Me. However, I’m prepared to forgive you, my son.”

Dean gazed at God’s Italian leather shoes in adoration. “Thank you, O Lord. I am your most grateful and humble servant.”

Sam couldn’t hide his mortification. “Dean, get up!” he hissed. “He’s not God!”

“Of course, He’s God,” Dean said from the floor. “He knew about Binky!” He glanced at the Italian leather shoes again. “Forgive him, O Lord. He knows not what he says.”

Sam glared at his brother. “Dean, the man is obviously psychic or something.”

God raised his chin defiantly. “I prefer the term ‘omniscient,’ though obviously ‘omnipotent’ would be more accurate.” He was about to say more when he suddenly froze and glanced quickly over his shoulder.

A strange sound was filling the room, one that neither Dean nor Sam could recognize. However, God seemed to know what it was because He turned a few shades paler.

“Shit,” He said. “I should have known he’d find me.”

“Who, O Lord?” Dean asked.

God grimaced. “Lucifer, Dean. Lucifer in his bloody blue box.”

Part Two

The Return of the Demon Tofu: A Supernatural Adventure

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 01:56:23 GMT

Title: The Return of the Demon Tofu: A Supernatural Adventure
Author: Rusty Armour
Summary: Sam forces Dean to confront his tofu issues after he has another traumatic experience involving vegan products.
Word Count: 2,531
Rating: PG-13
Warning: This story contains many kinds of tofu...possibly even demon tofu!
Spoilers: None I can think of.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters and I don't want to own them. Those boys are all dark, twisted and tormented inside, so I'm only willing to make very brief visits to their universe in the interest of birthday fic.
Author's Note: This was written in 2007 for jackycomelately's birthday and is a sequel to Demon Tofu Birthday Surprise: A Supernatural Adventure.

Sam glanced at his watch and smiled in satisfaction. Dean had been out of the motel room for almost 12 minutes, which beat his previous record by an entire 10 minutes. It was a baby step, but a step all the same. It looked like Dean might finally be on the road to recovery.

Five days ago, Sam and his brother had managed to crash through a mystical portal to another world -- no, not another world but a parallel universe. A post-apocalyptic parallel universe. A post-apocalyptic parallel universe where the only food source was tofu and certain soy products. And it had taken nearly two days for them to claw out of that hell-hole and return to the more familiar hell-hole that was their own universe.

There had been scars -- deep soul-searing scars. But as Sam had lost count of the number of deep soul-searing scars he had accumulated during his lifetime, he had more or less shrugged off the experience. Dean was a different story. He had crouched in the farthest corner of their motel room with a fully-loaded beretta in one hand and a machete in the other. Even the Magic Fingers in their room hadn't distracted Dean from his deep-seated terror. He had been convinced that demon tofu was coming to get them.

As Sam had helplessly watched his brother from the vibrating bed, he had been reminded of those awful days after his demon tofu prank at that small town diner. Although he must have said it a hundred times, he hadn't been able to convince Dean that it had all been a joke and demon tofu didn't exist. Fortunately, Dean had eventually gotten over it -- after eating part of a fried tofu salad that Sam had strategically placed on the dashboard of the Impala. Well, Dean had sobbed hysterically for several minutes once he'd realized what he'd eaten, but, when he still hadn't converted to demon tofu worship a week later, he had been forced to concede that maybe all tofu wasn't bad (like the kind found in fried tofu salad), though that didn't mean demon tofu wasn't out there. Sam had just been happy to let the subject drop, which is why getting thrown into a post-apocalyptic parallel universe where the only food source was tofu and certain soy products seriously sucked. It had brought back all of Dean's demon tofu issues and had turned him into a gibbering idiot. In fact, the only way Sam had managed to get him out of their motel room had been to stage a hunger strike and refuse to go out anymore to bring back food. As the motel didn't have room service (or any restaurant to speak of), Dean had been forced to venture out for food.

Sam took another look at his watch. It had now been more than 14 minutes, and Dean hadn't returned to their room shrieking about demon tofu. Maybe this was the turning point. Maybe Dean had finally recovered and they could focus on something other than demon tofu rehab. Sam's thoughts had just started to drift to the paranormal, and he was thinking longingly of werewolves, when he heard the key in the lock.

As the door opened, Sam said, "Hey, Dean, how'd it…?" He froze when saw his brother. Then he stared at him for a long time, not quite believing his eyes. "Dude! What the hell?"

Dean grinned. "Do you like it? I picked it up at an occult store. The hot blonde at the counter told me that there are protection spells woven into the polyester fibres that ward off all demons, including demons of the tofu variety."

Sam shook his head, barely able to suppress his laughter. "You look like a total loser, Dean!"

Dean glared at him. "The hot blonde at the counter thought differently."

"Yeah, well, I think the hot blonde at the counter was pulling the wool or, rather, the polyester fibres over your eyes," Sam said.

"Oh, you do, do you? Then how do you explain the fact that I was able to ward off tofu demons with it?" Dean demanded.

Sam threw up his hands and shouted, "THERE ARE NO TOFU DEMONS!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, and the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus don't exist either. I know, I know." He laid a hand on his brother's quivering shoulder. "Sammy, I appreciate what you're trying to do, really I do, but pretending not to believe in tofu demons isn't going to make things better. As Dad always said, we should confront our fears, face them head on."

Sam nodded, the gears in his brain already turning. Maybe if he forced Dean to confront his tofu fears, they could get past this once and for all. Fighting back a smile, Sam grabbed his jacket from the closet.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked.

"You were so busy flirting with that hot blonde con artist that you forgot to get us some breakfast," Sam said.

"She wasn't a…" Dean sighed and shook his head. "Never mind." He followed Sam to the door. "Hey, do you want to borrow my lucky hat for protection?"

Sam looked at the hat and grimaced. "Uh, no, that's okay. You keep it. You never know when you might need it." He forced a smile and made a quick escape into the hall, leaving Dean waving the hat at him from the doorway of their room.

When Sam returned to the motel 45 minutes later, Dean was finally making good use of the Magic Fingers. Although Dean had failed to get breakfast, it would seem that his little excursion had had some positive benefits. Sam set the brown paper bag down on the bedside table, and Dean didn't waste any time rummaging inside. At first, he seemed taken aback by the strange squishy square he found in his hand, but then he shrugged and began to wolf it down anyway.

"What is this?" Dean asked, talking around a mouthful of food.

Sam waited a few seconds, to make sure Dean had swallowed, before saying, "Fried peanut butter tofu."

Dean gagged dramatically and spat tofu across the bed. "What? Are you crazy?" he shouted. "Why the hell did you bring back tofu, you moron?"

"Well," Sam said, "it's like what you said earlier. You should confront your fears if you're going to beat them, and, Dean, you seriously need to get over this tofu phobia of yours."

Dean scowled. "I don't have a tofu phobia."

"Oh, yeah?" Sam lifted the other square of fried peanut butter tofu and brandished it at Dean, who threw his arms over his head and shrank away from his brother. Sam raised an eyebrow. "You were saying?"

"Oh, shut up," Dean grumbled. Then his brow creased in confusion as Sam glanced at his watch. "What? Do you have an appointment or something?"

Sam smiled. "No, I'm just seeing if enough time has passed for the toxin to have taken effect."

Dean laughed nervously. "Toxin?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, the one I sprinkled on your fried peanut butter tofu." As Dean's eyes widened in horror, Sam said, "Oh, don't worry. It isn't deadly. It just causes temporary paralysis in the limbs."

Dean's eyes narrowed and then he launched himself at Sam. "You BASTARD!"

The two brothers wrestled on the stained carpet, rolling around the room and bashing into various pieces of furniture. However, as the minutes ticked by, Dean's arms and legs began to move more and more slowly. Then, they could no longer move at all. Sam was able to subdue Dean easily after that.

"You psycho son of a bitch," Dean moaned. "What the hell did you give me?"

"Shh," Sam soothed. "It will wear off in about 12 hours. It's just some toxin taken from the fins of a Japanese blowfish." He squeezed Dean's shoulder lightly. "I borrowed some from that occult store of yours when the hot blonde's back was turned. Apparently, the toxin used to be popular with Japanese maidens on their wedding night."

Dean closed his eyes and whimpered. "When did you start hating me, Sammy? Did I miss the memo?"

Sam patted Dean's shoulder gently. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but this is for your own good. Remember how I used to be terrified of the dark when I was a kid?"

Dean opened his eyes and grinned. "Yeah, Dad locked you in that crypt, and you sobbed and screamed like a baby. It was freakin' hilarious."

Sam gritted his teeth. "Well, maybe I wouldn't have been so scared if Dad hadn't chosen a cemetery full of vampires!"

Dean snorted. "So, he came to rescue you, didn't he?"

Sam huffed indignantly "He waited until daylight, Dean!"

"Well, of course, he did," Dean said. "He might have run into the vampires if he hadn't waited." His eyes widened. "You're not going to lock me in a crypt full of tofu, are you?"

Sam laughed and shook his head. "No, nothing quite that elaborate, though we will be taking a little road trip."

Dean eyed him warily. "What kind of a little road trip?"

"To Asheville, North Carolina, the #1 vegetarian-friendly small city in America!" Sam leapt to his feet in excitement. "Come on, Dean, let's go!"

"Sammy…" Dean growled from the floor.

"Ooops," Sam said. "Sorry. I forgot." He bent over and lifted Dean off the ground. Then they were heading for the Impala.

An undisclosed number of hours later, Sam was hefting his brother into his arms again. "Dude, you seriously need to go on a diet. I think we got here just in time."

"Well, if you're planning to starve me to death then this is definitely the place to do it," Dean said, staring at a restaurant called the Mellow Mushroom in trepidation.

Once they were in their latest motel room, Sam deposited Dean in a chair and started to bind his hands and feet.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yo, Sammy, I'm paralyzed, remember? Where do you think I'm going to go?"

Sam barely glanced up from the rope in his hands. "You might try to crawl out of here. I certainly wouldn't put it past you." When he was finished tying the knots, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a handkerchief.

Dean groaned. "Ah, Sammy, come on!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't risk you calling for help," Sam said. Then, before Dean could protest again, Sam gagged him with the handkerchief. Dean glared back at Sam furiously, but Sam knew he had to harden his heart if he was going to help his brother. He turned away and walked to the door, not daring to look back over his shoulder.

In his quest to rid Dean of his tofu phobia, Sam explored several vegetarian and vegan restaurants, hoping to find the perfect tofu dish. When he came across a diner serving Tofuffalo wings and tofu French fries, he knew he'd found the right place. Still, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt as he carried away the Styrofoam container.

"Oh, Dean," he muttered. "If only there was another way."

When Sam returned with the Tofuffalo wings and tofu French fries, Dean was lying on the floor, having tipped the chair over on its side.

"Well, that was stupid," Sam said.

As Dean was gagged, he could only nod in agreement. Sam sighed and untied Dean from the chair, propping him up against the bed and removing the gag. Dean immediately started swearing up a storm, and Sam was tempted to pop the handkerchief back in again. Then Dean caught sight of the Styrofoam container and blanched.

"No, Sammy, I can't," he whispered. "It's-it's unnatural."

Sam snorted. "This coming from the man who can burp the national anthem." He took one of the Tofuffalo wings from the container and waved it in front of Dean's face. Dean flinched and tried to move away, but it was pretty hard when your limbs were paralyzed. "Come on," Sam said. "Just take a bite."

"Will you get off my case about it if I do?" Dean asked.

"No, but it will be a start." Sam prodded Dean's tightly clenched lips with the Tofuffalo wing. "Come on, Dean. Open up. You're a Winchester. You can do this."

Dean looked up into his younger brother's earnest face and nodded grimly. "Okay, fine, but just a tiny bit to start." He opened his mouth and then almost choked when Sam shoved the entire Tofuffalo wing into his mouth.

"Chew," Sam said. "It will make things a lot easier."

Dean glared at Sam, and, fighting his revulsion, he began to chew the Tofuffalo wing. To his amazement, the Tofuffalo wing didn't taste bad. In fact, it tasted absolutely fantastic.

"More," Dean ordered, and Sam quickly complied, stuffing another Tofuffalo wing into Dean's mouth.

"Would you like some tofu fries with that?" Sam asked.

"Yufpleese," Dean said.

Sam watched in fascination as Dean consumed more and more tofu at an alarming rate. Dean was snapping so enthusiastically at the food, that Sam started to have serious concerns about losing a finger. Then he stopped worrying about his fingers and marvelled at the incredible elasticity of his brother's cheeks.

Sam laughed nervously. "Uh, okay, Dean, you're really starting to freak me out."

"Guuuuuh," Dean said, and Sam winced as Dean packed away even more tofu fries.

Epilogue

It was almost two weeks before Sam was able to drag Dean, the tofu-loving freak, out of Asheville, North Carolina, and, even then, Dean had insisted they have a large supply of his favourite vegan goodies for their trip across the state line. It had been nightfall by the time Dean had been satisfied. Sam couldn’t help feeling worried when Dean chose to sit in the back seat with his stash rather than take the wheel of his beloved Impala.

Every so often, Sam would glance nervously at his brother in the rearview mirror. What he saw on his sixth viewing almost sent him off the road and he screamed as loudly as he had the night his dad had locked him in the crypt.

Dean was grinning at Sam from the back seat, blood smeared liberally across his chin. Only it couldn't be blood because Dean had become a vegetarian and had sworn off meat. That could only mean one thing…

"Mmm…cherry-tofu smoothie." Dean swiped the back of his hand across his chin then licked his fingers happily.

Sam drew in a deep breath and placed a hand against his rapidly-beating heart. "God, you are so screwed up!"

"Well, duh!" Dean said. "I'm a Winchester: what else is new?" He thrust the container of cherry-tofu smoothie between the driver and passenger seats, almost sending Sam off the road again. "Hey, would you like some?" he asked.

Sam shook his head emphatically. "No, thank you!"

"Oh." Dean frowned for a moment, but then his face split into a shit-eating grin. "How about some pie? There's a vegan bakery not far from here. All of their pies use silken tofu for the filling." He stared dreamily into space. "Mmm…freakin' tofu apple pie…"

Demon Tofu Birthday Surprise: A Supernatural Adventure

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 23:49:41 GMT

I should probably explain. In 2006, I decided to write a little Supernatural fic for jackycomelately's birthday. As often happens with my stories, it ended up being a little stranger than I'd anticipated. It also contained a certain element that would end up being the feature creature in the next two birthday fics: demon tofu. Anywaaaaay...when I asked jackycomelately what fandom-related treat she would like this year, she requested another demon tofu story. She also gave me permission to share this year's fic – as well as the previous stories in this warped little series – with the world. And, so, poor flist, I'm unleashing all four stories on you – starting with the first fic tonight and the remaining three stories (including this year's birthday submission) over the next few days.

Title: Demon Tofu Birthday Surprise: A Supernatural Adventure
Author: Rusty Armour
Summary: Dean gets more than he bargained for when he orders Tofu Birthday Surprise.
Word Count: 698
Rating: PG-13
Warning: This story contains tofu...demon tofu!
Spoilers: None I can think of.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters and I don't want to own them. Those boys are all dark, twisted and tormented inside, so I'm only willing to make very brief visits to their universe in the interest of birthday fic.
Author's Note: This was written in 2006 for jackycomelately's birthday. Somehow our friendship survived the experience. *g*

So...I heard there might be birthday cake.

As was Dean Winchester's lot in life, he was once again sitting in some small town diner with dusty venetian blinds and bad vinyl upholstery that was older than he was. Sam had taken off again after whining for the umpteenth time that his older brother was suffocating him and he needed his space to grow and become the upstanding young man that everyone kept telling him he would become if only he could stand on his own two feet, etc. As Dean knew that Sam was only in the next town over, he didn't see the need to panic much, or do any of those other girly things that men in touch with their feelings liked to do. No, real men sat in small town diners and ordered specialty desserts, like Item 5: Tofu Birthday Surprise.

Dean didn't exactly know what this "tofu" thing was, but he was a real man and, so, was willing to try anything once, like lying naked in a crop circle. That kind of thing. And so what if it wasn't his actual birthday? He knew that he was entitled to at least one this year, and now seemed as good a time as any to celebrate. Just as it had been the previous week when he was consuming that birthday special at another diner in another small town far, far away. But we'll save that story for another day, boys and girls.

Anyway, Dean had just finished flirting with the very voluptuous waitress (who was not yet 18) and was about to dig into the Tofu Birthday Surprise. He was lifting his fork to his lips when a high-pitched scream pierced the diner.

"Don't do it, Dean! That's not real cake! It's demon tofu!"

"God dammit, Sammy!" Dean threw his fork down on the greasy table. "I thought you were off spreading your wings." Shaking his head in disgust, Dean walked over to his baby brother to teach him what for.

Are you saying this whole diner
is made out of demon tofu?!

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean grabbed him by his jacket. "We so don't have time for this right now. We have to get out of here before they tear the meat off our bones and sacrifice us to their demon tofu god."

Dean stared at Sam in confusion. "Say what?"

"It was in Dad's journal," Sam said. "He visited this diner back in '77 – during his vegetarian days. By the sounds of it, he barely escaped with his life."

"Because of the tofu?" Dean asked.

"Because of the demon tofu. According to Dad's journal, the whole diner, and everything in it, is made of the stuff." Sam shivered involuntarily. As Dean took in the voluptuous under-aged waitress he had been flirting with, he shivered too. He stepped in front of his brother protectively and stared the demon occupants of the diner down. He even shook his finger for good measure.

You stay away from me and my
brother, you demon tofu freaks!

"Don't think you're fooling anyone with your charming small town diner facade!" Dean said. "We know what's going on around here! You people should be ashamed of yourselves!"

The voluptuous underaged waitress instantly dissolved into tears and hid her face in her apron. The owner of the establishment and his very vegan wife stepped forward to try to reason with their unhappy patron, but Dean wielded his mighty pointy finger as if it were Excalibur itself.

"You stay away from me and my brother, you demon tofu freaks!" he shouted. "You'd better pray to your totally inappropriate gods because Sammy and I are going to come back here with some big ass crosses, tanks of holy water, and...and whatever else we'll need against demon tofu!" And, with that, Dean turned and stalked out of the diner. Sam, being a little more polite, waved and said good-bye. Then he went off to join his brother in the car.

As the Impala sped out of the small town with a squeal from Dean, and a loud screech of tires, Sam looked out the window and smiled to himself.

Sometimes it was just too easy to con the family con artist.

Labour Day Treat! :-)

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 03:52:25 GMT

Woo hoo! The story I bid on (and won) at the David Hewlett MSF/DWB Birthday Auction, benefitting Doctors Without Borders has been posted! lilyleia78 took my rather flimsy idea and wrote Dogged, a sweet and humourous McShep story! If you're a fan of McShep, please check it out!

In other news, I'm happy to say that I've been exonerated. It wasn't my fault that I kept blowing fuses. My dad checked the light fixture in my kitchen this afternoon and discovered faulty wiring...or something like that. I know it involved wiring anyway because he unscrewed the entire fixture and pulled out a scary looking wire that had turned green and black. Herne only knows when the light fixture was originally installed. I have a feeling it was before I was born...In any case, my dad agrees that it wasn't my fault that I managed to blow the fuses in my apartment on multiple occasions. He confirmed that I did screw the lightbulb in properly and that I'm not a total idiot. Well...his opinion might have changed when he gave me some fuses he brought specifically for my stove, and I expressed surprise and wonder because I hadn't realized the stove had any. *g*

Man, I'm tired. I spent most of the day (when I wasn't learning about fuses) moving the remaining files for one of my websites from Tripod to a new web host. Unfortunately, I still have to move most of the files for my other site, but I can't think about that right now or else I'll burst into tears. Websites. They're so much fun.

In Memory of Hamish

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 23:08:45 GMT

I just found out that Hamish passed away during the night. Mom says that she knew he had been ill for a while, but didn't want to put him through the stress of multiple medical treatments, which is something we went through with Mookie. Hamish couldn't even stand being picked up, so any kind of medical treatments would have been absolute torture for him. Anyway, I'm relieved to say that he went downhill very quickly and died in his sleep. A dignified death for a dignified cat. I think that has provided a lot of solace for my mom. She sounded pretty calm on the phone, though I suppose she's had time to digest the news. She was also able to send him off with a quick funeral in the backyard or, at least, I assume it was in the backyard. She says he was buried and has a headstone. I guess I'll find out for sure when I go to pay my respects.

EX Weekend 2009 Album

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 00:08:53 GMT

Well, I've now seen my mom off after another successful EX weekend. For those of you who didn't suffer from last year's post on the subject, my mom and I go to the Canadian National Exhibition every year and she always stays with me over the weekend. As I'm suffering from a severe fit of laziness (and want to finish reading a Sherlock Holmes slash (Minor Interludes for the Solo Violin, Interlude III) before Inspector Lewis comes on), I'll simply say that we had a lot of fun, spending and eating more than we should have. Oh, and I can post some pictures, which should give you an indication of the kinds of things we got up to over the last couple of days.

I bought this cool reproduction Grecian vase at The Elegant Garage Sale on Bayview for $2.00!
We figured it would say "Made in China" when we looked on the bottom, but it was handmade in
Greece! :-) On Bayview, I also spent an embarrassing amount of money at Sleuth of Baker
Street, though, ironically, only one of the four books I bought was Sherlock Holmes related.

We always start off at the Horse Palace, and Mom insisted that I harass this poor guy and take his picture. On Saturday, it was
the Miniature Horse Competition, so almost every horse we saw that day was shorter than we were. It made for a refreshing change. *g*

The first thing I bought at the EX (Canadian National Exhibition) was this adorable cat toy...for myself. You see,
we always time our visit to coincide with the cat show. While we were looking at cat toys for Minerva's second birthday
(even though Mom had bought all the cats woollen mice from the Toronto Humane Society), I found this chubby little mouse
and just fell in love with him. I haven't thought of a name for him yet, but I'm sure something strange will come to me soon.

At the Arts, Crafts & Hobbies Building, we both picked up these awesome book holders. They came
in three different sizes, but we managed to have some control and just bought ones for hardcover
and trade paperback books. Luckily, regular paperbacks seem to fit in the trade paperback holder.

Check out the cool Yoda butter sculpture! There were a number of butter
sculptures in the farm area of the Better Living Centre, but this one was the best.

I can relate. I was about ready to flop at this point aussi.

And, now, lots of goats...

And we mustn't forget those gorgeous pigs!

Lastly, we saw these fantastic sand sculptures in the Direct Energy Centre. I think my favourite is
the one for the CNE (Gotta love that CN Tower on top), though I was also very partial to "Sword in the Sand".

I Have the Power of Lightning!

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 20:55:47 GMT

I just learned from my brother and sister that lightning struck a neighbour's tree and knocked out power for the entire street last night. Apparently, they were without power until morning. Not to brag or anything, but I managed to knock out my own power without the aid of lightning... *g*

I didn't realize the storm was so bad for them. I assumed my family was okay because Scarborough wasn't one of the areas hit by a tornado. There were four of them that swept through the Greater Toronto Area.

Dammit, Jim, I'm An English Major Not An Electrician!

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 00:21:52 GMT

Well, I did it again. For the second day in a row, I managed to blow out a fuse. In fact, I blew out nearly all the fuses. As I could hear thunder rumbling at the time, I briefly hoped that the power had gone out. Then I went up to the fuse box, replaced the fuse that I suspected was the problem and -- voila -- let there be light...and life from other appliances. I suspect that I may have put in the wrong kind of fuse yesterday when I, uh, blew a fuse the first time after changing the light bulb in the kitchen.

I don't know if I somehow screwed up the simple procedure of screwing in a light bulb, but, when I flicked on the switch to test it, the lightbulb went out -- as well as a number of other things around my apartment. As I vaguely remembered my dad coaxing me through a blown fuse a number of years ago when my stove lost power, I knew I needed to do something with the fuse box. Unfortunately, all I could recall was screwing and unscrewing fuses. Ergo, I wasn't able to come up with a solution on the first attempt.

I called my parents in the hope of reaching my dad. Of course, my parents were fielding their calls and let the answering machine pick up. I left this long babbling message and, then, after calming down a bit, I climbed back up to the fuse box and examined the problem fuse. That's when dummy noticed that it was completely burnt out. Thankfully, my dad made sure I had some extra fuses, so I was able to replace it, and power was restored to vital systems, such as my air conditioner, TV, etc. Then I called my parents again and started recording a second babbling message in which I explained that they could ignore my first babbling message as the crisis was over. Of course, that's when my mom picked up. Apparently, she'd had the answering machine turned down low, so she didn't even hear my first message. She was sympathetic about my light bulb plight, though I'm sure she must have been rolling her eyes when she asked me if the replacement fuse had the right number on it and I said, "I have no idea." As I lost almost all the power in my apartment a couple of minutes after turning on the kitchen light tonight, I'm guessing it wasn't the right fuse. I'm pretty sure I have the right one now, though I think I'll avoid using the kitchen light for the time being as I'm getting really sick of resetting the clock on my VCR and recording new messages on my answering machine. And the lights on my chandelier work just as well and are a lot easier to change.

The really sad thing is that I'm an electrician's daughter. You'd think I'd be able to change a light bulb, but apparently I didn't inherit that gene. Just as I didn't inherit the math and science genes from my mom, who used to be a nurse. If I wasn't so much like my parents in other ways, I'd have to wonder if I was adopted.

Well, on the plus side, I finally got the thunderstorm I'd been waiting for all day -- and it was fan-freaking-tastic! It has kind of died down now, though there's still rain falling and I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance. Oh, and I'm going to eat supper soon, which would be a good idea because I'm hungry. And while I'm eating, I'm going to finish reading this cool Holmes/Watson story (Katie's An April's Journey). jackycomelately was kind enough to introduce me to The Seventeenth Step, though I suspect it might have been in an effort to convince me to see Guy Ritchie's TRAVESTY (e.g. his so-called Sherlock Holmes film) as it's supposed to contain gay sex. *g*

Thank Herne I'm Anal!

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 21:04:36 GMT

Well, I'm happy to say that being anal has paid off for once. I discovered around 4:30 this morning (during a brief bout of insomnia) that I'd actually written an outline for the last installment of In the Family Way, which should prove quite useful. I mean, I knew I had notes for it somewhere, but I'd forgotten that I'd also done a bit of plotting. Oh, and I also found a rough draft for the opening scene of the last installment, which is also great news because I often struggle when it comes to starting new scenes. In fact, I ended up adding a bit to this rough draft as I did some writing this afternoon.

At the risk of jinxing this stroke of good luck, I'm going to say that I'm cautiously optimistic that I can pull off the final installment of In the Family Way. I'm a little less optimistic as to what the quality will be like, though I'll try to keep it from being absolute shit if at all possible. I think re-reading everything I've written so far has helped a lot. I also spent an embarrassing amount of time working on cover art for the story, so that should be an additional reason for me to finish off this behemoth once and for all.

Spam Review

Fri, 07 Aug 2009 15:32:38 GMT

I just received a spam review at Wraithbait for Thankless. It was really bizarre because it looked like a regular review at first, with the poster in question saying that he/she thought my story was well-written, etc. But then I read the second sentence and discovered that it contained a link for a British loans company. Very strange. I deleted it there and then, though I'm kind of wishing I'd kept it now for its amusement value.

I've actually had to return to edit this post because I initially thought that this Wraithbait spam review was my very first spam review. Then I remembered that I'd received two spam reviews for In the Family Way for some kind of drug or alcohol intervention program. I'm not sure how I forgot about that. I must be getting old or doing a better job of blocking out In the Family Way than I realized -- though I have gone back to start re-reading the story in the event that I eventually get around to writing the final installment. I do plan to start working on it soon, though it's not something I'm looking forward to. I'm hoping that if I have my crazy Primeval crack!fic to work on as well, I can use that as a kind of reward system for getting any work done on In the Family Way. Knowing me, I'll consider "any work" to be a sentence or paragraph and give myself permission to write an entire scene of the Primeval crack!fic in return. *g*

Words Meme

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 21:30:47 GMT

Reply to this meme by yelling "words!", and I will give you five words that remind me of you. Then post them in your journal and explain what they mean to you. Keep in mind that if I don't know you that well, your words might end up kind of esoteric/oblique.

Meme and words were supplied by crew4.

Paganism: I don't have a religion, but if I had to choose one then I think there's a good chance it would be paganism. I've always felt drawn to nature, so it's hard not to respect a faith that finds spirituality and meaning in the natural world. And, from what I've seen of paganism, it isn't a religion that tries to control people's lives or enforce a particular set of rules.

Cats: Quite possibly the most noble animals in creation. I simply adore them and couldn't imagine life without them. My parents had cats before I was even born and their house has never been without at least two or three of them. In fact, I seem to have inherited some kind of cat gene as my mom's side of the family is completely cat mad. *g*

Family: A necessary evil...? Just kidding. I returned last night after spending a few days with my immediate family, so today is a welcome return to peace and relative sanity. *g* However, as with cats, I can't picture my life without my family. Hell, I don't know how I could possibly cope without them. I guess you could say that they're pretty much everything.

RoS Archive: A big surprise. I first started the site because I wanted to collect as many Robin of Sherwood stories in one place as possible. I originally thought I'd be lucky to archive twenty stories. Now, the site has over 150 stories. I think it's wonderful that fans are still interested in reading and writing RoS fic after all these years.

Fandom: Feels like coming home. I always felt like an oddball when I was a kid and I don't think I ever really fit in anywhere -- not entirely and not until I discovered other geeks. In terms of my own geek-uality, fandom has played a huge role. I have an obsessive personality and that obsessive personality is almost always drawn to TV, movies, and books. When I first started going on the Internet, I realized that there were other people who were equally invested in fandom and that it wasn't something they were ashamed of. Over the years, I've made a number of good friends through various fandoms. I think fandom not only unifies fans but allows people the freedom to explore their creativity and, most importantly, their inner geek.

Fic: Better Late Than Never

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 06:06:38 GMT

Title: Better Late Than Never
Author: Rusty Armour
Pairing: Lester/Quinn
Summary: While Quinn wonders what will come of the kiss, Lester has other things to worry about.
Word Count: 5,105
Rating: Slash, NC-17
Spoilers: S3 in general
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters or the shiny prehistoric creatures. I just played with them for a while and then returned them to the toy chest.
A/N: This is a sequel to Ps & Qs. For those of you who read Ps & Qs, I'd like to apologize for a minor error I made. When I wrote the story, I had only seen up to 3.8, so I didn't realize Abby had found out where Connor had been staying. I suppose it's a pretty minor detail, but I went in and corrected my little faux pas because I'm anal and just a tad bit insane. *g*

“I’m sorry,” Lorraine said. “I can’t think what’s keeping him. It’s really not like him to be late.” She shot another anxious look at her watch. “I tried calling him on his mobile, but he must have either forgotten to turn it on or he let the battery run down.”

The team was gathered around the conference table for the 9:00 meeting Lester had scheduled last week, only it was now 9:20 and Lester was a no-show. Quinn bit his lip and avoided making eye contact with anyone. He had a pretty good idea why Lester was late and he found himself wishing once again that he’d stuck around last night. However, at the time, it had seemed more prudent to disappear and not be around for an awkward morning after in which Lester may or may not have remembered what had gone on the night before. Now, his mind was tormenting him with all kinds of nasty scenarios.

What if Lester had gotten up during the night and had tripped and fallen? He could be lying in his flat, bleeding and unconscious, while the people who worked under him joked about why he was late. Quinn was about to inform Connor that he was positive Lester hadn’t been abducted by aliens, when the man himself finally walked into the conference room.

Quinn heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“‘Dragged’ being the operative word,” Becker muttered, and Quinn couldn’t help agreeing. Lester’s eyes were bloodshot and he seemed haggard and pale. Lorraine took one look at him and walked out of the conference room. Lester didn’t seem to notice. He sank down in the nearest chair, clinging to a Costa expresso.

“I apologize for being late. You wouldn’t believe the traffic.” Lester took a long sip of his coffee and closed his eyes. They stayed closed even after he lowered the cup.

“Uh, are you okay?” Abby asked. “Because you look…Well, you look…”

“Like crap,” Connor said.

Lester opened his eyes and stared at Connor blearily. “I’m fine.”

No one looked convinced. In fact, Quinn was sure that everyone was beginning to suspect what was wrong, if they didn’t know already.

“I think there’s a stomach bug going around,” Quinn said.

Lester glared at him. “Oh? Contagious, is it? Perhaps I caught it from you?”

Well, I did try to help you, Lester. “I think it’s more likely that you caught it in a public place. Maybe a pub.”

Lester raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose you’d know all about the kind of contagions someone might be exposed to in a pub.”

Quinn smiled. “Oh, I doubt I’m as knowledgeable as you are, guv.”

“Uh, am I missing something?” Connor asked. He glanced from Lester to Quinn and then back to Lester again.

“No, absolutely nothing,” Lester said. He cleared his throat. “Should we begin?”

They were only about two minutes into the meeting when Lorraine walked back into the conference room and set a glass down in front of Lester. It looked like a combination of water and Alka-Seltzer. Lester stared at the glass in confusion.

“Drink it,” Lorraine said. “All of it. Right now.”

Quinn wasn’t sure if it was fear, desperation, or unquestioning faith in his secretary’s abilities that made Lester raise the glass to his lips.

Lorraine stood over Lester, hands on her hips. “Go on. Straight down. Keep swallowing. Swallow, swallow, swallow. That’s it. Good.”

Lester actually smiled when he handed the empty glass back. “Lorraine, I think I love you.”

Lorraine snorted. “Wow. I haven’t heard you say that since I cleared the spyware off your computer.”

“Yes, but I mean it this time,” Lester said.

Lorraine shook her head, but Quinn could see that her lips were twitching as she left the room.

Lester straightened his tie and shot an impatient look at Connor. “Well, get on with it. I haven’t got all day.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Quinn followed Lester back to his office when the meeting had ended.

“Are you really okay?” Quinn asked.

Lester set his briefcase down on his desk, wincing at the thud. “I’m not talking to you,” he said.

Quinn stared at Lester in disbelief. “I’m sorry. What?”

Lester draped his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down. “You got me drunk last night and now I’m suffering because of it.”

Quinn’s eyebrows rose. “I got you drunk? That’s funny because I don’t remember pouring any alcohol down your throat.”

“No, but you made sure there was a steady supply, didn’t you?” Lester raised a hand above his head and started snapping. “Oi, darling! Can I have another pint over here for my friend?”

Quinn crossed his arms. “I don’t sound anything like that,” he said, though he secretly thought Lester’s imitation was rather good.

Lester opened his briefcase and pulled out a set of files. “Well, it doesn’t really matter to me what you sound like as I don’t expect to hear your voice for the rest of the day, unless there’s an anomaly alert.”

Quinn sighed. “Lester–”

“Oh, it’s Friday, isn’t it?” Lester said. “That means I shan’t have to hear your voice again until Monday. How nice.” He smiled to himself as he opened one of the files, and Quinn made sure he stomped his feet loudly as he marched out of Lester’s office.

There was an anomaly alert, but it didn’t come through until after 10:00 pm, when even Lester had gone home for the weekend. They traced the anomaly to a club in Soho, which was easy to find due to the mass of people that had flooded outside. Most of the clubbers seemed dazed and confused, but Quinn could see at least a few girls who were crying. A couple more were hysterical. Quinn was glad to be dealing with whatever had emerged from the anomaly rather than the clubbers, though he’d dealt with enough riots when he’d been a cop to feel pity for the three men Becker posted outside to disperse the crowd.

Given the lack of blood, corpses, and carnage in general, Quinn assumed that they must be dealing with a creature, or creatures, that was herbivore. However, what he hadn’t expected to see were two dozen dodos waddling around the dance floor. An even bigger surprise was the dark-haired girl in a purple tank top and black mini skirt. She had one of the dodos wedged under her arm and was trying to pry its beak open.

“Hi,” Quinn said.

The girl looked up, cursing under her breath when the dodo almost escaped from her grip.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Quinn asked.

“It ate my mobile,” the girl said.

Quinn stared at the girl, wondering if he could have possibly heard her right. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The girl rolled her eyes and then repeated herself slowly, emphasizing every word. “It…ate…my…mobile.”

“I…see,” Quinn said, speaking equally slowly. He moved closer to the girl, trying not to trip on any dodos. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think you’re getting it back – not in the same condition it went in, anyway.”

The girl glared at Quinn. “I have to get it back: this is the second one I’ve lost this month, and my dad says he won’t pay for another one.”

“Couldn’t you just tell your dad that it was lost due to unforeseen circumstances?” Connor asked.

“Oh, yes,” the girl said. “I’ll just tell him a deformed turkey swallowed it, shall I?”

Quinn felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. There was something familiar about the girl, but he couldn’t figure out what. “Look, give me the bird and we’ll see what we can do.”

The girl clutched the dodo tighter and backed away. That was when Abby decided to step in.

“Hi,” Abby said. “I used to be a zookeeper. If you let me operate on the do-turkey, I’ll do my best to save your mobile.”

“Can you operate on it now?” the girl asked.

Abby exchanged a look with Quinn. “Well, I’ll need to operate soon or the bird could die, but I can’t do it here. I’ll have to take it back to the…my lab.” She pulled out her own mobile. “If you could just give me your name and a number where I can reach you–”

“You know what? Forget it. It probably won’t work now, anyway.” The girl handed the dodo to Quinn and started to move past him. Quinn quickly tucked the dodo under his arm, reaching out with his free hand to grasp the girl’s shoulder.

“How old are you?” Quinn demanded. Close up, she appeared to be no more than 14 or 15, despite the clothes and makeup.

The girl shrugged off Quinn’s hand. “I’m 18.”

Quinn shook his head sadly. “Let’s see your ID, luv.”

“Let’s see yours,” the girl said.

Quinn laughed. “What?”

The girl raised her chin. “Unless you’re a bouncer, bartender or cop, I don’t have to show you anything.”

It was at times like this that Quinn missed his badge. “I used to be a cop, all right? I’m afraid that’s going to have to do.”

“Not good enough,” the girl said.

Quinn gritted his teeth and, stepping over a couple of dodos, handed his own bird to Abby. Then he was back in front of the girl. “Look, sweetheart, I’m sure your mum and dad must be very worried about you. How about you give them a call?”

The girl smiled. “They won’t be worried. They think I’m at a sleepover. Besides, I can’t call them. That stupid turkey ate my mobile.”

Quinn sighed in exasperation. “You can borrow mine.”

The girl shook her head. “No way.”

“Then I won’t have any choice but to escort you to the nearest police station,” Quinn said. “I’m sure they could track your parents down.”

The girl’s green eyes flashed. “You’re not escorting me anywhere. You’re not a cop anymore, so you can’t.”

Quinn studied the girl thoughtfully. “Well, in that case, I could just report you and get one of my old mates to arrest you.”

“That’s police brutality and-and an abuse of the system,” the girl said. “You’re-you’re trying to promote a police state.”

Quinn’s mouth fell open. “What?”

The girl scowled at him. “Oh, don’t try to deny it. You’re hoping to set up a totalitarian regime and take away my democratic rights. Well, you’re not going to get away with it.” She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, and Quinn suddenly knew exactly why she seemed so familiar. He’d seen her picture last night in Lester’s flat. Judging by Connor’s startled gasp, he had also recognized her.

“What is it?” Sarah asked.

Connor pointed excitedly at the girl. “She’s Lester’s daughter!”

Sarah gaped at the girl. “Lester has a kid?”

“Kids,” Connor said. “Plural. He’s got two little boys as well.”

Becker, who had been holding a discussion with his men on how best to deal with the dodos, froze and turned towards Connor. “Lester? You’re joking.”

Quinn smirked at the girl and arched an eyebrow of his own.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The girl’s expression hadn’t changed, but her metallic blue nails were digging into her arms.

“Connor, call Lester,” Quinn said.

Connor’s eyes widened. “Me? You want me to call Lester?”

Quinn rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Lester’s not talking to me at the moment. Besides, you were his flatmate.”

The girl stared at Connor in shock before remembering that she wasn’t supposed to know what they were talking about. Connor pulled out his mobile and dialed Lester’s number.

“So, do you have a first name, Miss Lester?” Quinn asked.

“Piss off,” the girl said.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It turned out that the girl’s first name wasn’t “Piss off” but Emma. Abby managed to get that much out of her when she asked Emma where she’d bought her tank top. They were discussing the merits of H&M over the Gap when Lester stormed into the club.

He had obviously left for the club as soon as he’d gotten off the phone with Connor as he wasn’t wearing a jacket or tie. “Where is she? Is she all right?” Lester came to a halt when he saw Emma, staring at her in horror. “Dear God, what are you wearing?”

“Don’t you like it?” Emma asked.

“Of course I don’t like it!” Lester said. “You look like-like…”

“A minor sneaking into a club?” Quinn suggested.

“Yes! You look like that!” Lester scrubbed a hand across his face as if he might banish the sight, but Emma was still dressed the same when his eyes fell on her again. “Dammit. I should have worn my jacket,” he muttered.

Quinn shot a look at Connor, who picked up on what Quinn was thinking and removed his jacket, handing it to Lester.

Lester seemed surprised but grateful. “Thanks, Connor.” He tossed the jacket to his daughter. “Put it on.”

Emma stared at the jacket disdainfully. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Put it on,” Lester snarled. “Now.”

“You’re such a prude,” Emma said, but she put the jacket on.

“How could you do this to your mother?” Lester demanded. “How could you do this to me? Do you hate me? Is that it?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Not everything in my life is about you.”

“Of course it is!” Lester exclaimed. “I’m your father!”

“Yeah, on weekends,” Emma muttered, “or when it’s convenient.”

“Right,” Lester said. “Go to the car. You’re grounded forever.”

“Whatever.” Emma began heading towards the exit, but Lester caught one of the sleeves of her oversized jacket.

“Is it because of the divorce?” Lester asked. “Is that why you’re acting out?”

“Oh, please,” Emma said. “The divorce was, like, ages ago.”

Lester didn’t release the sleeve. “But there has to be a reason. Is it school? Drugs? A…a boy?”

Emma laughed. “God, you’re such a drama queen. I just did it for a lark, okay?”

Lester frowned. “A lark? You frightened me half to death and almost gave me a coronary for a lark?” He shook his head. “No, you’re a bright girl, Emma. There has to be more to it than that.”

Quinn could see that Lester was trying to clutch at more than his daughter’s sleeve: he was searching for a lifeline. Emma seemed to pick up on this immediately, if the calculating look in her eyes was anything to go by.

“Well, there is one thing,” Emma said, sounding almost hesitant.

“What?” Lester asked. “What is it?”

Emma bit her lip. “I didn’t want to say anything because I was afraid it might upset you, but it’s about Mum’s boyfriend.”

Lester’s eyes widened. “Boyfriend? No, no, no, no, no. They’ve only been on the one date.”

Emma shrugged. “Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but Mum did bring him round to meet us afterwards.”

Lester blanched. “She did?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, like she was looking for our approval or something.”

“Oh God,” Lester said.

Emma put a hand on Lester’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Dad. He’s an estate agent and he drives a Smart car. He called me ‘princess’ and asked me if I still liked Barbies.”

Lester snorted. “You sold all your Barbie dolls when you were ten.”

“Exactly,” Emma said. “The guy’s a complete tosser.”

Lester massaged the bridge of his nose. “Do your brothers like him?”

“Well, yeah,” Emma said, “but only because he said he’d get them tickets for Monster Trucks.”

Lester looked up sharply. “I was going to take them to Monster Trucks.”

Emma smiled sympathetically. “I know, Dad.”

“Hmm.” Lester stood engrossed in thought for a moment then said, “No wonder you’ve been acting out. I’d be acting out too if I had to deal with a patronizing sycophantic estate agent in a Smart car.” He released the jacket sleeve and reached out to push a strand of Emma’s hair behind her ear. “Leave it with me. I’ll deal with it.”

“Are you going to have him deported?” Emma asked eagerly.

Lester smiled at his daughter affectionately. “Well, that might be a bit drastic, though he drives a Smart car so it’s certainly tempting.” He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the keys to his Mercedes. “You run along to the car, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Emma took the car keys solemnly. “Okay, Dad.”

Quinn waited until Emma had left the dance floor, and was well out of earshot, before saying, “She’s playing you, Lester.”

Lester raised an eyebrow. “Playing me? Quinn, she’s a fifteen-year-old girl with issues, that’s all.”

Quinn crossed his arms. “I think you’ll find it’s issue – singular – and it’s your issue, not hers.”

Lester sighed. “This is another one of your feeble attempts at pop psychology, isn’t it?” he asked. “Well, as I’m Emma’s father, and have known her for fifteen years as opposed to fifteen minutes, I think I might be slightly more qualified to assess the situation.”

Quinn lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just trying to help, boss, and, for the record, my own qualifications involve dealing with minors who have committed countless offences, including the illicit use of alcohol and drugs.”

Lester’s eyes narrowed. “And was my daughter engaged in any of these activities?”

“No,” Quinn said. “She was too busy wrestling with the dodo that swallowed her mobile and accusing me of totalitarianism.”

“Oh, hell. She’s lost another mobile?” Lester’s eyes shifted to Abby. “Can you get it out?”

Abby nodded. “Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem, though I really need to get this little fellow back to the ARC if I’m going to –”

“Yes, of course,” Lester said. “Go ahead.” He walked over to Connor. “So do we have anything else to worry about besides the dodos?”

Quinn grew increasingly angry and confused as he watched Lester. How could a man of Lester’s intelligence be so easily manipulated by a stroppy teenage girl? Sarah appeared at Quinn’s side and, as if reading his mind, said, “Lester’s not stupid, Danny. He’ll figure it out.”

“How?” Quinn asked. “She’s got him wrapped so tightly around her little finger–”

“He’s her father. He can’t help it.” Sarah smiled as she glanced over at Lester. “Just give him some time. He may not be capable of rational thought when he’s around her, but he’s not blind.”

Quinn nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. He had been hoping to have a little chat with Lester about the kiss, but there didn’t seem to be much point now. Even if Lester remembered some of the finer details of Thursday night, he wouldn’t be in the right mood or frame of mind to discuss it. He was distracted by other things.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Quinn was sure there was once a time when he’d gone out and had fun on Saturday nights. Yet, lately, he’d taken to holing himself up in his flat and reading old case files from the ARC. It might have been funny if it hadn’t been so pathetically and lamentably sad. Quinn was about one-third of the way through a file on a herd of hylaeosauruses that had appeared in Epping Forest when there was a knock on his door.

His first thought was that his elderly neighbour Mrs. Leibowitz had lost her cat and was going door-to-door to ask if anyone had seen Whiskers, but then Quinn remembered that she’d gone to Norwich to stay with her son and had taken Whiskers with her. He looked through the peek-hole and wondered if he was hallucinating when he saw James Lester standing in the hallway. More than that, it was Lester in the hallway wearing jeans and a polo shirt. However, when Quinn opened the door, Lester seemed real enough, even without the suit.

Lester gave an awkward little wave. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be in on a Saturday night, but I thought I’d stop by just in case.” When Quinn just stared at him, Lester said, “Perhaps I should have called first.”

Quinn snapped out of his trance. “No, it’s all right. I’m just surprised to see you. I thought you’d be with your kids.”

Lester smiled ruefully. “That’s actually the reason why I’m here or, rather, Emma is.”

Quinn felt himself tense. “Is she okay? She’s not in trouble again, is she?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Her mother and I discovered that she was lying about more than just the sleepover.” Lester crossed his arms and didn’t quite meet Quinn’s eyes. “You were right, Danny. She was playing me.”

Quinn might have been tempted to gloat if Lester hadn’t looked so miserable. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Lester’s eyes flew back to Quinn’s face. “You have nothing to be sorry about. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me, especially as Emma accused you of totalitarianism.”

Quinn’s lips twitched. “Don’t worry about it. Teenagers can be a handful at the best of times.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Would you like to come in? My flat might be a more comfortable place to chat than the hall.”

“That would be nice,” Lester said. “Thank you.” He followed Quinn into the flat, raising an eyebrow at the files scattered across Quinn’s coffee table and couch. “My, someone’s been busy.”

Quinn blushed and began scooping up files. “I’ve been trying to learn as much as I can about the Anomaly Project and the kinds of creatures I might be facing in future.”

“How very industrious of you.” Lester sat down on the couch. “You know, you are allowed to have a life outside the ARC.”

“Well, after some of the things I’ve seen, life outside the ARC pales a bit in comparison,” Quinn said.

Lester snorted. “After some of the things I’ve seen, I’m bloody grateful that life outside the ARC does pale in comparison.”

Quinn grinned. Lester did have a point. “Can I get you something? I promise to keep you sober this time.” Not waiting for an answer, Quinn dug out a bottle of whiskey from his liquor cabinet. After he had set two glasses on the coffee table, he said, “So, what else was your daughter lying about?”

Lester scowled. “Apparently, Joanna – that’s my ex-wife – didn’t bring her date back to the house because she was looking for approval from our kids: she brought him back because he insisted on meeting them and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Joanna was hoping that Emma would put the stupid git off, as she often seems to have that effect on people, but no such luck. In the end, Joanna had to use the direct approach and tell him to bugger off.”

Quinn took a sip from his glass. “So, you don’t have to worry about the estate agent with the Smart car stealing your children’s affections.”

Lester looked sheepish. “Uh, no. Joanna told me in no uncertain terms that I had nothing to worry about on that count, that I would always be their father no matter what happens.” He gazed down at the arm of the couch. “Joanna and I ended up having a rather long discussion. I suppose you could say that we cleared the air.”

“That’s great,” Quinn said. “It sounds like you both had things you needed to get off your chests.”

Lester nodded. “Yes, I think it’s fair to say that neither one of us held anything back, which brings me to the other reason why I’m here.”

“Oh?” Quinn asked.

Lester reached for his glass, draining almost the entire contents in one gulp. “I told Joanna that you kissed me, and she said that if I didn’t talk to you she would do it herself.”

Quinn gaped at Lester. “You told your ex-wife that I kissed you?” His eyes widened. “You remembered that I kissed you?”

Lester’s brow furrowed. “Is there any reason why I’d forget?”

“No, answer the first question before the second one, Lester,” Quinn said.

Lester took a deep breath. “She was my wife: I had to tell her. She knew there was something I wasn’t telling her – and that it wasn’t about work for once.” He sighed. “She knows me a little too well, I’m afraid.”

“How did she take it?” Quinn asked, not sure if he really wanted to know.

“Surprisingly well,” Lester said. “Very well, in fact. She said she was happy for me.”

Quinn raised his eyebrows. “That was pretty open-minded of her.”

Lester shrugged. “Well, that’s Joanna for you.”

Quinn knew he should probably let it go, but he couldn’t. “Wasn’t she surprised at all?”

Lester laughed mirthlessly. “Apparently, she’s suspected for some time that I might be gay or, at least, bi.” He lifted his glass and drank what little whiskey was left. “I wish she had let me in on the joke. I didn’t have a bloody clue.”

“Oh,” Quinn said. “Is that why you didn’t say anything about the kiss yesterday?”

Lester closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. “I didn’t know how to handle the situation, and the hangover certainly didn’t help. At the time, it seemed easiest not to say anything. It didn’t occur to me that you’d think I’d forgotten, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised given the circumstances.”

Quinn nodded. “Well, I’ve seen people have blackouts after drinking less.” He draped his arm over the back of the couch, moving a little bit closer to Lester in the process. “What exactly did you mean when you said you didn’t know how to handle the situation?” he asked.

Lester opened his eyes, staring at Quinn for a moment before speaking. “Well, I suppose the simplest explanation is that I didn’t know what the kiss meant. Were you actually coming on to me or, to quote my daughter, did you just do it for a lark?” Lester raised his hand when Quinn opened his mouth to speak. “Before you say anything, I’ll understand if it were the latter. If my boss had been pissed, I certainly would have been tempted to mess with his head.”

Quinn grimaced. “You wouldn’t have kissed him, though, would you?”

“Good God, no!” Lester said.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Quinn shifted again, inching even closer to Lester. “What if I told you that I hadn’t been larking about?”

Lester swallowed nervously. “I-I don’t know. I suppose I’d ask you for some proof of your claim.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Quinn said. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips down on Lester’s. Lester tilted his head to give Quinn better access, one hand wrapping around the back of Quinn’s neck. Quinn ran his tongue gently along the crease of Lester’s lips, and Lester opened his mouth, admitting Quinn’s tongue. Lester moaned softly as Quinn began to suck on his tongue, and his other hand rose to caress the side of Quinn’s neck.

Both men were breathless by the time they pulled apart. Quinn couldn’t help being smug when he saw the glazed look in Lester’s eyes and the tell-tale bulge in his jeans.

“So, was that proof enough for you?” Quinn asked.

“I think I still need convincing,” Lester said and, cupping Quinn’s face in both hands, he kissed him slowly and deeply. Then Lester’s lips moved lower, and he was nuzzling and nibbling Quinn’s neck. When Lester bit Quinn’s earlobe, Quinn gasped and felt himself grow harder. He grabbed the hem of Lester’s polo shirt and yanked it over his head. Lester barely had time to glare before Quinn pushed him back against the arm of the couch. Quinn bent his head to suck on a nipple and was happy to hear Lester moan a second time.

“How-how far are we going to take this?” Lester asked.

Quinn trailed a finger through Lester’s chest hair. “As far as you’d like. I was thinking we could keep things simple – maybe jerk each other off.”

Lester’s breath hitched. “That sounds feasible, though perhaps we could take this somewhere else and spare my back.”

“How about my bed?” Quinn suggested.

“Your bed would work,” Lester said.

The journey to the bedroom took longer than usual as Quinn and Lester kept exchanging kisses and divesting each other of clothing. They were both completely naked by the time they reached the bed, and Quinn managed to pull back the sheets before he and Lester tumbled on to the mattress. This time, it was Lester shoving Quinn down, though Quinn didn’t mind, especially when he worked a hand between them and grabbed Lester’s cock. Lester hissed through his teeth, his hips bucking.

“That’s the idea,” Quinn murmured. He opened his hand and seized his own cock as well as Lester’s, gripping them tightly in a fist. Lester gasped and jerked again, his fingers digging into Quinn’s shoulders. It took a couple of attempts for them to find the right rhythm, but, once they did, it was a rapid ascent for them both.

Lester came first, shuddering and stifling a whimper against Quinn’s neck. Quinn didn’t even try to muffle his voice, shouting out loud as his body shook and he climaxed. After that, they just lay there in a panting sweaty heap, until Lester rolled off Quinn and on to his back.

Lester made a face when he saw his stomach. “Eww. I’m all sticky.”

Quinn sighed and got up, going in search of a washcloth and a towel. When they were both clean, he climbed back into bed and pulled the sheets up over them. “Can you stay the night?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lester said, “but I’ll need to return home in the morning.” He yawned and turned on his side, snuggling down into his pillow.

On impulse, Quinn kissed Lester’s shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist, spooning up against him.

Lester went tense for an instant before slowly relaxing. “I feel like a teddy bear,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, you do,” Quinn said, rubbing the hair on Lester’s chest. “You’re all furry.”

Lester groaned. “I should have known it would be a mistake sleeping with you.”

“Ah, you don’t really mean that, do you?” Quinn nuzzled the back of Lester’s neck, pulling him closer.

Lester squirmed but made no attempt to escape from Quinn’s arms. “No, I suppose not. In fact, it really would have been nice if Joanna could have set me straight about my sexuality before today as we could have been doing this much sooner.”

“Oh, well,” Quinn said. “Better late than never.”