Author: Angel

E-mail: valarltd@hotmail.com

URL: http://www.oocities.org/lady_aethelynde

Rating: PG, just kissing

Summary: In the Tavern Outside of Time, SF characters
are grumbling about their lovers.

Type: AU/Crossover

Archive: I'm flattered.  Just tell me where you're archiving it.

Disclaimer:  Only the so-efficient bartender is mine.
The rest belong to Fox, Paramount, Lucasfilm, Renaissance
Pictures, Warner Brothers, et. al.

Acknowledgements:  Um... Kate Bolin who suggested Marcus/Henry
and Obi the Kid whose "A Certain Point of View" contributed
the "8' tall Jedi Master."  Amothea's Angst Archive, where
I've been OD-ing on Hercules and Battlestar Galactica.  Anyone who
writes goofy crossover.

Notes: The Tavern Outside of Time is from a weird SF
novel that bored me silly back in high school.  I can't
remember the title.

Feedback: I crave it. It's my favorite high.
 

***
Boys' Night Out
2000, Angelia Sparrow
***

The room was a bar in any universe.
Dim light, smoke, a long polished counter
with bottles of intoxicants behind it.
A most efficient looking bartender moved
quietly among the oddly dressed patrons.

"What a sorry lookin' bunch of losers tonight," announced
the blond man in the tan uniform as he walked in the door.

A semi-unaminous "Hey, Starbuck," came from the men at the bar.

"Why's everyone looking like their homeworlds just got
blown to bits?" he wanted to know as he sat down at the end of the bar.
The bartender set a glass of ambrosia in front of him and
winced as he lit a fumarillo.

"Pon Farr," said Kirk.  "I'm just staying out of the way until
the violent bit blows over."  His Romulan Ale was topped
off before he knew it needed it.

"Lucky you," grumbled Solo from the next barstool.  "I'll
take brawling any day over levitation practice.  He's
taken to trying it in his sleep.  Waking up three feet
over the floor is no fun."

"Full moon," said Devon.  The rest nodded sagely.

"Buffy angst with lots of brooding," added Xander,
sipping cautiously at a bloody mary.  Dev could have
the beer, he'd never touch it again.

"Temper tantrum over some bad borscht."  Muldar
rubbed a welt on his face the shape of a computer mouse.

"Unexpected skirmishing near Athens that he didn't want
to haul me along for," Iolus muttered, more to his wine than
the men.

"Late night crast-job, and me with a broken rooker," Pete
threw out, resting his casted hand on the bar.  "Never mind
'twas Georgie himself gave it to me."

"Yearly report to the temple at Minbar," added Vir, fishing
for the cherry from the shirley temple.  Grenadine gave
him a better buzz than alcohol.

"Oh, some silly research trip to a church in Cornwall that's
supposed to be the last place the Grail was seen,"
complained Marcus.

The two young apprentices at the other end
were too busy comparing notes on their lousy
masters, and getting cozy, to answer.

"All right, you guys win. Drinks on me.  All I'm doing is avoiding
a brooding fit.  Anyone in for a game of pyramid?"

"C'mon.  Nobody broods like Deadboy.  Your Captain can't
out-sulk him."

"Look, if you're gonna argue, don't do it over
my head," Solo announced, moving to the other end
of the bar to sit next to Iolus and grumble
about super-heros and how they treat their mere mortal
lovers.

"Oh, I say.  Do break it up.  You know we aren't
here to do that sort of thing," Marcus protested
as the red and black Zabrackian planted a
sloppy one on the blond padawan.  They ignored
the academic as they did comparative laryngal anatomy
by Braille.

Kirk set up a 3-D chess game, which Muldar
immediately joined, having mastered
the moves quickly.  Unfortunately, strategy eluded him
still, and Kirk had him checkmated in ten moves.

A late arrival strode through the door.  Iolus
glared at him as did Starbuck, Devon, Solo and Maul.
Ares was notoriously fond of blond men, and very
lax about recognizing prior claims.  The Zabrakian
moved a little in front of the taller human and reached
for the saber at his belt.

But tonight, the War God took a seat between Pete and Vir and
stared morosely into his drink.  Nobody bothered to ask.
It was either trouble with his brother or his nephew.
Xena was a less likely choice given the night on which he'd
chosen to come to the bar.

A beep sounded.  Kirk flipped open his communicator
at the same time Starbuck reached for his comm, and
Solo opened his comlink.  Muldar's hand was halfway to his cell
phone, and Vir had raised his link as well.  Obi and Maul never
heard the beep.

"Starbuck."  He listened.  "Rising Star in ten centons?  On my way
Captain, sir."  He rose and snuffed the fumarillo.  "Next secton, you guys
won't get off this easy."

"Dear, dear.  I don't know if I shall get used to this
sort of thing.  Telephones used to ring in such a civilized
fashion."  Marcus always said that, and they always ignored him.

"Until next week, gentlemen.  Provided I am still in one piece."
Kirk nodded, and told his communicator, "One to beam up."
He vanished in a sparkle.

Three young toughs burst in, their white quasi-uniforms
showing small bloodstains, their black combat boots scuffed
and dirty.  "Our motorcar awaits, my little droog,"  announced
their leader, a fair-haired young tough with a
one-sided smile, as he half-dragged Pete off his barstool
by his casted hand.

"Next week, right, right?"  Pete managed as they took him
out.  No-one responded.  Pete's friends were rough trade
and nigh-on incomprehensible when they talked.  While the
big one looked like a mountain of muscle, it was the
leader who worried them.  A glint of madness lurked in
those blue eyes, false eyelash notwithstanding.  Ares vanished,
intrigued, going invisible to follow them.

"Goodness.  I have a 7:30 lecture to give for Henry tomorrow.
Can't stumble when lecturing on Beowulf." Marcus set the
Guinness glass on the bar and hastened out.

"We better go, dude.  Time to check Oz."  Devon
nodded to the door.  Xander followed.

"You got his van, right?"

"Yep."

"Good.  Walking in Sunnydale is still suicide.  Back next week"

Muldar's phone rang.  A hushed conversation later, he
stood up.  "My partner.  We have to investigate an alien landing."

Solo tossed him a worn-out power coupling from one of his
many vest pockets.  "Pure vekallium.  Should put your labs
in a snit if you let her find it."

Murdar gave his bassett hound smile and left,
power-coupling secure in his pocket.  "I'll tell you all
about it next week."

The door slammed open.  An eight-foot tall Jedi Master with
a prominant beak of a nose stood in the frame,
his grey-brown hair whipping in the Force-generated
wind.  "PADAWAN!" rumbled through the bar,
setting up resonance frequencies in a couple of bottles the
proprietor hastened to damp before they could explode.

Obi-Wan broke off his groping with the sith apprentice and
scuttled meekly out of the back booth to follow Qui-Gon home.
As he left, he tossed "Next week," over his shoulder, his
eyes lingering on the horned sex god of his nightmares.

"I must leave as well," the dark velvet voice of Maul added
as he paid both apprentices' bar tabs.  "Until next week,
my friends."

"Still a little weird seeing him like that," Solo commented
to Iolus.  "I knew Obi-Wan as an old man.  Never thought
he'd be that gorgeous as a kid."

"Time's really screwy," agreed Iolus.  "Hard to think I've
been dead so long I'm just a legend to the guys I drink with.
It's the same for Kirk.  He's like 300 years after Muldar.
But Vir here is his contemporary off a different probability line."

"And how does a bronze-age hunter know all this?"

"The gods are always messing with time and probability."

"Any way we can give Ares an unwelcome mat?  I don't want
him around Lennier," Vir put in.

"I second that.  He looks at Luke like he's dinner."

"Ares comes and goes as he likes.  Sorry, guys.  I need to go.
Alcmene's expecting me home.  I told
her I'd rethatch her roof while Herc was busy.
Next week."

"Alcmene?" Solo asked.

"Mother-in-law."

"Ah."

Vir's link beeped.  "Vir!  Vere are you!" demanded the
accented and irate voice of his ambassador.

"Duty calls.  Next week."

Solo waved, sitting alone at the bar.
The bartender refilled his brandy.
He found he couldn't lift it.
It was firmly rooted to the bar.

"Backward levitation also requires practice,"
said a voice from the door.  "You're about two
ahead of me.  R'alla mineral water, cold, with water ice."

"Came looking for me, kid?"

"No need to look.  And I promise,
no more levitating you."

"'Sall right, kid.  I don't mind levitating,
it's the being dropped I object to."

"I haven't done that for months."

"Not since you lost control when we tried--"

Luke kissed him quiet, his mouth cool from the
drink.  "You talk too much."
He finished his water.  "Let's go."

"Next week,"  Solo flipped a five credit
piece over his shoulder.

The bartender caught it deftly, and stashed it
in the register before setting out to clean up
the mess.