I know I said I wasn't going to write more stories about the Captain, but this needed to be written. I did hesitate as to whether to post or not -- I didn't want to come off as a sympathy hound. However, I came to the conclusion that it was necessary. I didn't want to have things hanging, and it was a relief to be able to start anew. Should anyone be slighted by this story, bear in mind that I mean no offense.

Disclaimers at the end. There are hints of m/m (read: slash) in it, but nothing above a PG rating.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Pinocchio gave a digusted harrumph, looking up at the cold droplets falling from the near-black sky. The wooden bouncer huddled further into the alcove near the entrance of the Writer's Cafe, bright eyes eternally watching for trouble. Especially when there was a horror Writer roaming about. The incident where Peregrine and Jupiter had to fight off Lovecraftian tentacled creatures was still vivid in his mind.

Lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the landscape. The light glinted off a head of wet red hair, its owner standing still in the midst of the rain. She stood only a few feet away from the Cafe, and the mere seconds of light was enough for Pinocchio to recognize her attire.

"Night out, Captain?" he called out casually.

Blue eyes, old despite the face's apparent youth, smiled along with her generous mouth. "Just taking a break. I love the rain," she sighed, holding out a hand to catch the downpour.

"Better get yerself inside -- yer goin' ta catch a cold."

"No, I won't." The Muse stepped up to the doors anyway, grinning at the Bouncer. "But thanks."

"Welcome."

The interior of the Writer's Cafe was bright, warm, and unusually quiet. Apparently, the action was concentrated in the Subreality Cafe tonight. Probably another Let's Kill the Writer/Fictive Night, the Captain thought. Or perhaps many of the Writers didn't feel like braving the rain. As she stepped on the welcome mat, her clothes dried instantly -- another of Peregrine's modifications to the Cafe.

The Captain waved affably to Mary Shiva, but resisted the temptation to sit at the bar. Instead, she took a booth near the back. She needed silence tonight, and facing a skilled interrogator with a penchance for troubled souls was not the way to get it. Hank brought over her usual martini, and she thanked him with a smile. He smiled back and moved on to a group of Writers hunched over a table, but not before his eyes lingered somewhat worriedly over her. She ignored the look, sipping at her drink.

"Hello. You must be the Captain."

Looking up, she saw a tall, thin man with saturnine features. The wrinkles and greying hair pointed to him being one of the older population of Subreality, but she had not lived so long to be fooled by appearances. He felt odd to her, almost as if he was a mixture of Writer and fictive. Something more than an avatar, and yet... she mentally tamped down on that line of questioning, pasting a "Nice to meet you, now bugger off" smile to her face. "Yes, I am. You are?"

"Peregrine." His eyes were a light green, like an apple held up to sunlight. "I am the Manager of the Writer's Cafe."

"Charmed. I'm flattered to be the center of your attention, but I'd like to be alone." Her voice took on an edge. "Now."

"There is no need to be hostile, Captain. I am not here to be your enemy or your wooer." His black robes rustled as he took the seat opposite her, affixing her with the disconcerting gaze. At least, a gaze that would have been disconcerting if the receiver in question was not the Captain.

"Convince me why I shouldn't decorate the Cafe with your intestines." Her eyes hardened into sapphires. "I'm sure a master magician such as yourself will have no problems picking up the pieces afterwards."

A small glow in his hand materialized into a martini, which he handed to her as an obvious peace offering. "I know your Writer slightly," he said evenly. "Besides, this is not a night for drinking alone."

She raised an eyebrow. "First he hands me a red herring, then the real reason as an off-hand comment. Real smooth. Stick to book-keeping, Peregrine."

Far from being insulted, he merely looked amused. "If you were taken in by my diversionary tactic, Captain, I'm afraid that my opinion of you would have been sorely tested."

"Cut the crap, green eyes. What's all this about?"

He tapped a finger soundlessly against the table. "My sources tell me you have... a problem with your Writer."

The Captain's eyes blazed with anger. "I don't know where you heard that, but it's a lie. I do not have a problem with Yasmin."

"So why are you drinking alone lately? Or is liquid courage what gets you through the stories?"

"You bastard." She clenched a fist, ready to strike. "Take your damned lies back, or I'll make you."

Peregrine eyed her steadily. "I read every single story that pass through Subreality. It is part of my duty to know the Writers who might step into the Cafe, and what better way to do so than read their work?"

"Your point?"

"My point is there is a significant disparity between your Writer's earlier works and her latest ones." He plucked a piece of paper from thin air, skimming through it. "Such as this Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan slash story, "Master"."

The Captain nodded in acknowledgement. "The one with the very bitter Obi-Wan. She wasn't feeling quite herself that day, as I recall."

"Have you compared it to "Welcome to Generation X, Teacher"? The Writer who wrote the latter is very different from the one who wrote "Master". Not linguistically, but philosophically." Absently, he started folding the paper into an origami crane. "Of course, Generation X has few similarities to Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, but as I analysed the two stories I found that it is impossible for Yasmin to write "Welcome to Generation X, Teacher" now."

"Are you accusing my Writer of plagiarism?" she growled.

"No, I am saying she has lost her sense of fun."

She leapt to her feet, furious. "What do you mean by that? I told you, she wasn't feeling well the day she wrote "Master" and--"

"Tell me, Captain, is "dark and angsty" an apt description of her recent story ideas?"

"She has plans for a light-hearted Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan story," the Muse maintained stubbornly.

"But is it the rule rather than the exception? Come now, Captain."

The Captain met his eyes unflinchingly. "She has the right to write stories she wants, Peregrine. I don't tell her what kind of stories to write, I just help with the inspiration. Neither you or me has the right to decide where her chosen genre should lie. Perhaps she's grown more mature since the beginning of the road, too."

Her shoulders slumped as she sank back to her seat. For a long time she stayed silent, then said, "It's just a phase. She'll be taking her A-Level finals soon, and she's worried about her results. She isn't even sure which universities to apply to. Naturally, it affected her writing."

"Have you talked to her about it?" he asked gently.

"No." The Captain twirled her glass, watching the olive slide in a circle. The words felt like lead in her mouth, demanding to be spoken. "I've been thinking of asking Calliope to transfer me to another Writer."

Peregrine's gaze sharpened. "Why?"

"Things aren't the same anymore. Not for the better, either. In fact, I think it's worse than when I first became her Muse." She laughed softly, a small choking sound with very little humour in it. "Before you ask, it's not because of Falcon. She wasn't responsible for the rogues' actions -- not really. I think... I think it started with the mess over at the House of Strange Dimensions' housewarming party."

"I see." He laid a hand over hers, squeezing it. "I am sorry you had to go through what you did."

"You have eyes and ears everywhere, don't you?" The small smile faded moments later. "She did what she could to repair the damage, but our relationship lost something."

"Innocence?"

"Not quite. What we lost, I think, was the illusion that nothing could hurt us. Our bond was personal, almost sacred, and we came out in the end feeling as if it was dragged through mud. I wasn't the Muse she knew anymore, and vice versa." She withdrew her hand from Peregrine's grasp. "Since then we've isolated ourselves from each other, and the rest of Subreality. She still likes it here, as do I, but neither of us feel quite safe here anymore."

"I would not have thought that safety was high on your list of priorities."

"It isn't, but it is on hers -- at least in a place that used to be her retreat. I hate seeing her unhappy, and she's upset because she's making me unhappy."

"She just doesn't want to hurt you again, Captain."

"I know that!" she snapped. "She tip-toes around me. We never have any fun anymore, it's been work and more work. The last part's my fault, by the way. I've always prided myself on being an efficient Muse, but lately... it seems as if we don't know how to deal with each other outside of strictly the creative process."

"If I may ask, what is the status of your current relationship with her?" Peregrine asked hesitantly.

"We're barely friends." The Captain's grip around her glass tightened. "I think the uneasiness has decreased, but it wouldn't surprise me if she'll be relieved if Calliope assigns another Muse to her."

"You should not be bitter."

"Why not?" Her tone could cut diamonds.

The Manager of Writer's Cafe steepled his fingers. "My impression is that she is doing everything she could to salvage the situation. You, milady, are not as resigned to seperation as you make yourself out to be. Correct me if I am wrong, but I do not think you will take the final step. You're a fighter, Captain, and stubborn."

"I hate it when you're right," she grumbled. "And don't think I didn't notice what you were doing." The Captain glared at him, resting a hand on the pommel of her sword. "It was pretty slick of you to be using a strategy you so graciously outlined earlier. Get me on the defensive about my Writer's angst swing, and slip in between the cracks to get to the real issue."

His smile stretched wider. "You have not killed me, though."

"The night's still young."

"No, Captain. I don't think you want to kill me at all. I think that subconsciously you knew you had to talk to someone -- who happened to be me. I was there at the right place, at the right time."

Again, she raised an eyebrow. "What's your stake in this, Peregrine?"

"I used to be an avatar," he started, the brightness of his eyes transmuted into the mists of memories. "When my Writer left, I wandered Subreality for a long time. I saw history made and erased within the span of one day. As a scholar, I have developed a fascination for Subreality's history. You and Yasmin are a small part of it. The dissolution of a partnership which was unique in its day would have been interesting, but the prevention of it would make me one of history's shapers."

"I would never have figured you for a glory hound, Peregrine," she said caustically.

"Not hunting for glory, milady. Just an old meddler rejoining life after drifting on its fringes for too long. Do talk to her, Captain. Her recent angst swing--" he hesitated, but forged on anyway "--may not be the result of your enstrangement, but I would wager that neither helped the other." He stood up, and bowed courteously. "By your leave."

"I should get going too," she concurred, looking out through one of the windows. "See you around, green eyes."

"I look forward to it."

Turning sharply on her heel, she walked with more energy than she felt towards the door. It wasn't too late, she told herself. She could still spare herself and her Writer the quiet sorrow of a friendship broken.

Somewhere in Reality, her thoughts were echoed by a Writer. Yasmin read through Rossi's challenge one more time, finger poised over her mouse. Maybe a short vacation -- hopefully not as disastrous as the first one she planned -- was what the Captain needed. An apprentice to boss around should do it.

Maybe.

END

Well... all I can say is that this was cathartic.

Disclaimers:

The concept of Subreality was created by Kielle, as was the House of Strange Dimensions. I don't know who created the Writer's Cafe, but Seraph gets the credit for rebooting it. Rossi belongs to herself. As for the staff, Peregrine and Mary Shiva belong to me (Yasmin M.) and Falstaff respectively.

Carlo Collodi created Pinocchio, but this version was created by Seraph. Sailor Jupiter belongs to Naoko Takeuchi and related copyright holders, while Henry "Hank" McCoy and Generation X belongs to Marvel. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan belong to George Lucas/Lucasfilm, as well as Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. Please don't sue: I'm making no profit out of this.

The Captain and Falcon belong to me. At least, I *think* they do. Calliope, Queen of the Muses, is more or less public domain though I put her on the throne. So to speak. ;) Stories mentioned in this fic belong to me: "Master", "Welcome to Generation X, Teacher", and (in passing) "Is That A Mutant in Your Pocket, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me?"