Jolted

BY : Scribe
Category: 1 through F > Austin Powers
Dragon prints: 2257
Disclaimer: I do not own the Austin Powers series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Yark! I FINALLY got this finished! Now maybe after a nap I'll have enough ambition to do some work on my Nanowrimo. :)

Title: Jolted
Author: Scribe
Fandom: Austin Powers
Pairing: Scott/Number Two
Rating: FRAO
Summary: Scott Evil is always a handful. On caffeine and sugar, he's a DOUBLE handful, and on caffeine and sugar OVERLOAD...
Archive: Yes
Feedback: poet77665@catlover.com
Status: Finished
Sequel/Series: The Evil Series
Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit
from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors
and actresses who portray them.
Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and
http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver
Warnings:
Notes: This one is thanks to Josette and her Mom. See? Watching the Food
Network is NOT a waste of time. They saw a program about candy on TFN where
it was mentioned that Jolt (famous for the soda that has all the sugar of other sodas,
and MORE caffeine) was considering coming out with a gum. That got Josette
thinking about Scott, and his devotion to Jolt, and what he'd be like if... Let's just
say I went >.< O.O... I didn't see this program, so I'm making up what the Jolt
representative said, though I DID get facts about price and caffeine content from
their website.
Other notes: ^Maple Leaf Sugar. Seabiscuit and Man o' War are, of course, famous race horses, and Ol' Midnight was a legendary rodeo bucking bronco. scheise--German for 'shit' (or as close as I could come).

Jolted
by Scribe

Scott Evil was off making another (probably doomed) orientation tour of a
university suggested by his father. Everyone with a working brain cell knew that
the College of Megalomaniac Machinations didn't have a chance in hell of
attracting Scott, but since it was located in Chicago, Scott had agreed to go.
Number Two had no idea what could have induced him to agree to the trip. The
only clue was one enigmatic remark about trying to look up a Mountie and a very
agile blond with a bit of an identity problem.^

Actually, this trip worried Two a little. He knew how Dr. Evil's mind–well, what
PASSED for a mind, anyway–worked. He was worried that Scott might arrive for
a tour, and stay for... Well, 'incarceration' seemed like an appropriate word. Two
tried not to worry too much. If he didn't hear from Scott in a few days, he'd just
mount a rescue mission. After all, this was the sort of thing the henchmen were
SUPPOSED to do–breaking into buildings and snatching people–and they knew
that Dr. Evil might be head of the corporation, but Number Two signed the
paychecks.

With Scott gone, it was a little dull at the lair. Dr. Evil was between plans to take
over the world, and Frau had gone on an Aryan sponsored retreat. All Number
Two knew for sure about that was that there was going to be a lot of calisthenics,
close order drill in goose stepping, and in depth study of Mein Kampf. The
henchmen who weren't watching a football game were watching soft core porn (on
a scrambled station--Dr. Evil was too cheap to pay for the adult channels. He didn't
know that Two had bought the entire DTV package for Scott last Christmas. With
how Scott got after watching a good skin movie, Two benefited as much as he did.)
Neither one appealed to Two at the moment, so he was relaxing in his room,
watching his own portable television.

In fact, he was enjoying what would probably pass as a guilty pleasure at the
Lair--he was watching The Food Network. Frau knew of his fondness for the
channel, and so did Scott, but if anyone ELSE in the Evil Organization ever found
out, his life would be an endless string of snickers and snide remarks would be too
stupid to be amusing. Frau was a firm believer that a perfect man should be able to
master any talent--including cooking. Scott thought his interest in cooking was
cute. The first time he caught Two watching Emeril Live, he'd climbed on his lap
and asked if food was the only thing that could be 'bammed'. Two never DID find
out how that recipe ended.

Right now he was eating Twinkies (when Scott was away and he got lonesome, he
found himself gravitating toward junk food. Anyway, he had some fond memories
of what Scott could do with a Twinkie--when he was naked), and watching a
special program. It was coverage of the annual international expo for
confectioners. In other words, it was all about what was hot in the world of candy,
and what might, or might not, be the next hot thing. As he watched, Two thought
that the percentage of the products presented that he'd seen Scott consuming was
amazingly high. The only ones he seemed to have missed were a few of the foreign
ones, and the ones that hadn't yet been marketed.

When the host stopped at one kiosk that bore the very familiar name of a soda that
Scott was particularly fond of, Two sat up a little more, interested. It seemed that
the company that produced Jolt Cola ("All the sugar, twice the caffeine"), was
coming out with a gum

The representative said enthusiastically. "We have two flavors--spearmint and icy
mint, and two pieces give the caffeine equivalent of a cup of coffee. It's going to be
about $1.49 for a twelve pack--that would work out to about a quarter a cup of
coffee, and that's a great price these days. Besides that, it also contains Guarana
and Ginseng, for maximum energy." He grinned. "Both of those are rumored to ,
um, shall we say increase one's romantic energy? Our slogan will be chew more,
do more. We'll be test marketing it in a few places before we put it into wide
release."

*Scott would like that,* thought Two. *He loves Jolt cola, and he chews a lot of
gum." Two ate another Twinkie as they moved on to the Japanese candies. He
wondered how anyone could be interested in candy that included things like
seaweed and dried squid.

He'd started watching the program to take his mind off missing Scott, but after the
Jolt segment, he found himself thinking of his younger lover again. Scott
alternated between bouts of indolence and energy that could approach manic, if
he'd had enough sugar and caffeine. Then he thought, *Sugar and caffeine--the
two things Jolt is known for--and Scott LOVES Jolt. And Scott gets, shall we say,
vivacious, after he's had more than one glass of Jolt. Now, if Scott got hold of Jolt
cola AND Jolt gum...* Number Two suddenly straightened up, the eye not covered
by the patch widening. "Yow." That was an almost scary proposition. For some
reason, he found himself thinking of that pale, skinny guy in leather on Xena--what
was his name? Streak, Strike--something like that.

*Well, their only doing a test release now, and God knows WHERE they'll send
the samples. It's highly unlikely that Scott will run into any...*

~*~*~*~*~

*Chicago, my ass,* Scott thought sullenly, dragging his suitcase into the bus
station. *Trust Dad to lie to me about the fuckin' school's location. It's in
something resembling a SUBURB of Chicago. And I'd like to know how the hell
they managed to get that burg's name past whoever the hell is in charge of those
things. I mean, when it came time to make the map, you'd think that someone
would have sat up and said, 'Hey, isn't Bummfuque just a LITTLE off color?' Still,
I gotta say this--they picked a name that fit.*

Scott was surprised that the place even had a bus station. It seemed to consist
mostly of gas stations, convenience stores (though none of the bigger chains),
churches, and feed or hardware stores. *Fucker doesn't even have a McDonalds or
a Wal-Mart. I thought they had those in Outer Mongolia.*

He'd known that the trip was going to be a disaster from the moment that he'd
stepped off the plane in Chicago and got a look at the driver standing there holding
the sign that said 'LIVE'. Since the guy was slightly humpbacked and dressed in a
quasi-military uniform, he could only be a henchman--and apparently a dyslexic
one, at that. If nothing else, that alone was a good reason to cock an eyebrow at his
father's idea of a suitable institute of higher education.

He was sure of it when, after he'd gotten in the back seat of the car, a shatterproof
glass shield had slid up between the front and back, and all the locks had engaged.
Instead of having hysterics, as the henchman seemed to expect, Scott had simply
sat back, folded his arms, and said dryly, "So Dad cautioned you about my
probable reaction to shit like this, huh?"

The henchman's voice came through the speaker into the backseat. "It was
mentioned that we might want to increase security till you were *cough* settled in.
He left the handcuffs and shackles to our discretion. It was decided that those
might attract unwanted attention if applied in public. We'll see how you react once
we get on campus, and if you show the proper spirit of cooperation, perhaps
nothing more than the electronic ankle bracelet will be needed."

"Let me guess--this is a school for the 'problem children' of evil geniuses and super
criminals."

"We prefer to think of ourselves as an institute for the 'otherwise gifted'."

"I'm not sure, dude, but I think Marvel has something like that trademarked
already, and believe me, you only THINK super spies are tough--you don't WANT
corporate lawyers after your ass. Well, don't expect small talk from me. I'm pretty
sure I could get more intelligent conversation out of Mister Bigglesworth. I'm
gonna nap." Scott lay down on the back seat, curling up into not quite a fetal
position.

The trip was so long that Scott wondered how, even while lying, his father could
have claimed Bummfuque as part of Chicago. It was close to three hours. He
didn't, of course, sleep, though he gave a good imitation. He even threw in an
occasional snore, and mutter. Eventually they drew to a stop, and the driver said,
"Mister Evil, we've arrived." Scott snored. "Mister Evil?" Scott let his mouth
hang open slightly, and managed a little drool. "Damn. I just hope I don't have to
carry him in. He's little, but he looks solid."

The driver got out, and unlocked and opened the back door on the driver's side.
Scott had lain down with his head toward the passenger side. He could hear the
driver muttering. "Lessee--if I can drag his legs out of the car, maybe I can hoist
him over my shoulder in a fireman carry." He leaned in.

Scott's bent legs shot out straight, both Doc Martin clad feet landing squarely on
the henchman's fly. The henchman made a noise that was somewhere between a
wheeze, a moan, and a faint shriek, and collapsed, clutching himself. Scott quickly
climbed out of the car, dug in the moaning man's pockets and took his keys and his
wallet. He took one glance at the building they'd parked in front of. It most closely
resembled a medium sized prison, built out of cinder blocks. "Nother winner,
Dad," Scott muttered, getting into the car.

He locked the doors again (since the henchman seemed to be showing signs of
recovering something close to coherent thought), started the car, and pulled off in a
spray of gravel. He figured that the first thing the driver would do when he could
talk again was send someone after him, or report the car as stolen, so he ought to
find some other form of transportation as quickly as possible. He'd spotted what
looked like a Greyhound station on the way through what passed for a town.

He deliberately parked in a handicap space, got his suitcase out of the trunk, then
broke both the taillights and removed the license plate. He was sure he could
figure out ways to get them even more tickets if he only had time, but he was in a
hurry.

So now he was in the bus station. He'd found enough money in the henchman's
wallet to buy a ticket to Las Vegas, with some left over for snacks for the trip. He
hit the station's store and loaded up with Jolt Cola, Doritos, Twinkies, and beef
jerky and Slim Jims (Two and Frau kept nagging him to eat more protein). He also
found copies of The Advocate and Maxim on the magazine rack. As he was
checking out, he scanned the racks of candy and gum set up by the register for
impulse buys, and was struck by an impulse.

A very familiar name, on an unfamiliar product, caught his attention. He picked up
a pack of gum and said, "No way! I didn't know they made gum."

"Way," said the clerk. If nothing else had convinced Scott that he needed to get
away from this place, the clerk's mullet hairdo alone would have done the trick. It
would have looked extreme on Billy Ray Cyrus in his heyday. "Those are brand
new. They're, like, testin' 'em out in typical American towns to see how they're
going to sell."

*Where the hell are they getting their statistics, if they consider this a typical
American town?* thought Scott. *Can we say 'payola'?* There were two
flavors--Spearmint and Icy Mint. Scott grabbed two twelve packs of each. What
the hell--it wasn't as if HE was paying for them.

If they had driven straight through, the trip would have taken a little over thirty
hours, but with rest breaks and lay-overs, it was closer to thirty-six hours. It was
almost three AM of the next day when he finally arrived in Vegas, and he was tired,
and pissed. He'd managed to grab some shut-eye on the bus, but it wasn't quality
rest. He was grateful that the buses now had porta-potties in the back, because he'd
need it, after drinking his soda.

And then, of course, it turned out that some fool had made rules about not eating or
drinking on the bus. He wasn't sitting near the driver, but the bus seemed to be
filled with stoolies--little old ladies and snot nosed kids who were happy--even
eager--to report any transgression, and since he didn't want to be put off and have to
hitchhike, he had to be very careful. He managed to sneak some of the food, being
very, very careful to keep the papers from crinkling, but he had to wait for rest stops
to drink the sodas--there was no way he could hide the pop and hiss of opening a
well carbonated can.

Most of his attention, when he wasn't napping, was taken up by the magazines. By
the time he had gotten to the last twenty or so miles of the trip, he'd finished
everything but the gum (which he'd tucked deep in his pocket, and had pretty much
forgotten about). He figured that there weren't any rules against chewing gum on
the bus, so he pulled out the first pack (Spearmint), snapped two pieces out of the
blister pack, and popped them in his mouth, chewing.

*Hm, not too bad. Tastes like...* he shrugged, *spearmint.* He chewed for a few
more moments, and started to feel a little perked up. By then, some of the flavor
had started to dissipate, so he took another piece. Before he reached the Las Vegas
bus station, he'd taken another two pieces of gum, and had decided that they were
actually pretty good.

He'd finished the twelve pack of Spearmint by the time the bus arrived at the station.
He found himself bouncing on his heels as he waited to claim his suitcase. To kill
time, he opened the first pack of Icymint gum and added another two pieces to the
wad he was already chewing. It was getting a little hard to manage. He figured that
once he'd chewed all the flavor out of this, he'd have to spit it out. And start again.

He'd just gotten his suitcase when one of the bus snoops (a middle aged woman
who REALLY should have reconsidered wearing that tube top), sniffed and said,
"That's very unattractive. You look like you're chewing a cud."

"I wouldn't be goin' around accusing other people of lookin' like a cow, Elsie," Scott
snapped. He left while she was trying to get her spluttering under control.

He paused outside the bus station, gazing up and down the strip, trying to decide
what to do next. Austin's pad was closer than the Evil Lair, but he really didn't feel
up to dealing with smirking innuendo right now. His nerves were so frayed that he
might end up bitch slapping the geek, and as incompetent as Powers was, he DID
have access to a gun, so the Lair it was. The question was, how to get there? The
university henchman's wallet was pretty flat by now. He wouldn't have enough to
rent a car, or pay for a taxi out into the desert.

He supposed he COULD hitch hike. He'd had several very interesting fantasies that
started off like that. Unfortunately, real life seldom lived up to fantasy. The one
time he HAD tried hitch hiking, the guy who stopped for him was also giving a ride
to a Mormon missionary who'd miscalculated his endurance level while making his
rounds on his bicycle. Scott had to listen to several miles worth of Good News
while he shared the backseat. He got the driver to let him out as soon as they got
near his destination. By that time, Scott had decided that his Dad would probably
like the Mormons, what with their 'be prepared for survival, and don't question the
establishment'.

Scott spat out his now flavorless wad of gum, and piled four fresh pieces in, then
started walking down The Strip while he tried to figure out what to do. He paused
outside a titty bar and got another Jolt out of a vending machine. He chugged it
(long practice let him drink without swallowing his gum). Scott decided he was
starting to feel buzzed, and celebrated with another two pieces of gum.

He'd just gotten them worked into softness when he recognized someone about to
enter the bar. "Hey, you." The man stopped, giving Scott an irritated look. Then
he blinked, looking closer. "Yeah, it's me. Get over here."

The henchman (for that was what he was, even if he WAS off duty and out of
uniform) came over, and he was visibly nervous. "Hi, Mister Evil. I, uh, I thought
you were going to be gone for at least another two or three days."

"Yeah. My Dad thought I was going to be gone a lot longer than that, but he was
about as right as he usually is. Look, did you drive in?" Scott asked.

"Yeah." The man pointed to a standard issue Virtucon SUV parked at the curb.

"Great." Scott held out his hand. "Give with the keys."

"Hey!" the man protested. "How'm I supposed to get back?"

"Either tuck a little less in the G strings, or call The Lair and have them send
someone to pick you up," said Scott shortly. "I need a ride, and I'm really not in the
mood to argue now, so unless you want to find yourself in the middle of a streak of
rotten luck that makes it look like Strife, God of Mischief has a hard on for you,
shut up and give me the keys."

The man, not being a complete fool (and being a great fan of Xena fanfiction), shut
up and handed over the keys.

On the way out to The Lair, Scott finished the pack of Icymint gum and started on
the second pack of Spearmint. By the time he reached the 'hidden entrance', he'd
almost finished THAT pack, and was bouncing up and down in his seat.

A voice came over the PA system. "Password?"

"This is Scott Evil. Open this fuckin' thing unless you want me to do a crash test
with this vehicle that the manufacturers never intended."

The entrance opened. "Welcome home, Mister Evil. We weren't expecting you
back so soon."

"Yeah. Probably not till Christmas vacation. Be glad I'm back early. BELIEVE
me, you wouldn't have wanted to deal with the presents I'd have brought. I have
connections. I could probably get winged monkeys with sexual obsession for men
in uniform, if I wanted to."

"I'll say a prayer of thanks."

Scott drove in. He took up not one, not two, but THREE spaces when he parked. It
wasn't easy to do. It involved laying a serious dent in the driver's side of his Dad's
personal Mercedes, but hey–he felt like today was his day to set records.

On his way into the depths of the Lair, he met Mini Me, scuttling down the hall.
When the clone saw him, he started rubbing his hands together, chuckling evilly.
Scott paused, and held up a hand in the famous 'STOP' gesture. "Before you even
CONTEMPLATE doing some shit to me, I want you to take a good, long look at my
expression. Pay particular attention to my eyes." Mini Me studied him carefully,
and his smile faded. "That's right. Ask yourself very seriously if you really want to
screw with me when I'm in the mood I am right now."

Mini Me considered things for a moment, then came over, pulled out a
handkerchief, bent down, and dusted off Scott's shoes. Then he gave him a salute,
and continued on his way. Scott decided that this proved that the clone had
somehow managed to get more working brain cells than his father had. He
celebrated with more gum.

Fat Bastard was in the kitchen. Before he had a chance to make a grab, a lewd
suggestion, or even an innuendo, Scott simply CLIMBED right over him. Once he
was down the back, he grabbed the waistband of Bastard's underwear (Scott didn't
bother to wonder when he'd given up the fine old Scottish tradition of going
commando beneath the kilt), and gave him the mother of all wedgies. It wasn't
easy–he had to raise his hands over his own head–but it was worth it. While
Bastard was swearing revenge and trying to pick cotton knit out of his butt crack,
Scott located a large, cold Jolt in the refrigerator. He also took out a tray of ice
cubes, but he only dumped them down the back of Bastard's underwear once he got
it loosened enough.

He chugged the cola as he trotted down the hall, listening to the swearing fading in
the distance. He knew where he was going. Despite a burning desire to make his
Dad suffer the agonies of the damned for this latest bit of shit, he figured that it
might be better if he took a little time to plan things out. What was that saying?
Revenge is better if it's like a five year old popsicle–cold, hard, and bitter. No, Dad
was marginally safe–for now. Right now he had a lot of energy. There were a lot
of constructive ways to use it–the pool, the gym, the labs... Scott hadn't even
considered them. With Scott Evil, a rush of energy (if he wasn't, like,
skateboarding with his buddies) meant one thing–sex. And NOT solo sex, if it
could be avoided, so that meant...

*BANG*

Number Two, in a pair of Snoopy pajamas that Scott had given him as a joke
present a few months ago, squeaked in alarm, jumping up from where he'd been
sitting at his personal computer. He was stabbing for the PANIC button, and
missing.

"Twoie, chill!" said Scott. "It's just me. If I catch you looking at porn, it's a point in
your favor."

"Scott! I thought you were..."

*zip*

Scott was wrapped around Two, and he laid a tonsil-tickling lip lock on him. When
he pulled away he said, "I'm just full of surprises, ain't I?" Two started to embrace
him, and he bounced away, opened the top drawer of Two's dresser, and started
rummaging in it.

"Scott, what are you doing?"

"Just tidying up a little. Man, your sock drawer is a mess."

Two blinked. "Scott, those socks could pass inspection during Marine drill camp."

"They're not evenly spaced. I mean, a quarter inch between these, at least an inch
and a half between THESE." He arranged. "There." He went into Two's private
bathroom. Tooey, confused, followed him to find him squatting in front of the
opened cabinet under Two's bathroom sink. "Oh, man! These towels SO need to be
refolded!" He looked over his shoulder at Two. "Did Mom leave her room
unlocked? She's got one of those portasteamers, and I could kind of press these as I
refolded them." He squinted at the bathtub, frowning. "And that grout really needs
scrubbing. Or maybe replacing. Yeah, I bet I could mix up some fixative in the
lab..." He climbed to his feet.

Two caught him as he started past. "SCOTT! What is it? I haven't seen you with
this much undirected energy since, well, since your Dad slipped that experimental
metabolism enhancer into your Jolt, and... Say, how much Jolt have you drunk in
the last few hours?"

"I dunno. Not much more than usual." Scott bounced. "Maybe a 2 liter bottle."
He bounced harder. "Oh, oh, oh! Jolt! Tooey, you gotta see this!" He pulled a
crumpled, nearly empty gum package out of his pocket. "This is the coolest thing.
It's..."

"I think I can guess what it is. How much of that have you chewed?"

"Um... Dunno. I think that maybe if I collected all I've chewed so far, the wad
would be about the size of a tennis ball."

Number Two took hold of Scott's arms, trying to hold him still. "Listen to me
carefully, Scott. Between the soda and the gum, you've had the equivalent of
drinking enough coffee to get an Ivy Leaguer senior through finals. You're in
caffeine over-drive."

Scott giggled. "Yeah, I guess so. Ain't it great? Hey, do you want me to reorganize
the info on your hard drive? I'm pretty sure I can do it without wiping it, as long as
I do it standing up."

Two sighed. "We've got to do something to work off this sugar and caffeine high."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

*whishthud*

Two found himself flat on his back across his bed, with an even-more-active than
usual Scott on top of him. "Considering how many artificial stimulants I've taken
in, what say we do it the natural way?" In a shing-song voice Scott chanted,
"Caffeine makes me hor-ney!" He started unbuttoning the pajama jacket. "Of
course breathing pretty much makes me horny, but caffeine gives me INCENTIVE."

"Maybe you should think..." *sshhhf* "How the hell did you get my pants down
without me lifting my ass?"

"Talent and desperation, man. You wanna do, or get done?"

"Are you kidding? When you're like this? We have excellent medical coverage
with Virtucon, and you make me feel young, but Scott–this ass can take only so
much."

"Fine by me. Don't bother to get up. I can find the supplies." Scott rolled off him
and somehow managed to strip before his feet hit the floor. He jerked open the
drawer of the bedside table and one second later tossed a wrapped condom on the
bed beside Two. He'd also grabbed a tube of lube. He uncapped the tube and
squeezed lube on his fingers, saying, "Go on, suit up, dude!" Two reached for the
condom. By the time he picked it up, Scott had one foot planted on the mattress,
and had reached back to begin preparing himself. As his lover fitted on the rubber, Scott observed, "You know, man, it's a damn good thing you're hard already," he nodded at Two's undeniable erection. "Otherwise I'd have been humpin' your leg like one of those annoying, yappy little dogs." With no more effort at sweet talk, Scott climbed on top of Two and impaled himself.

It was just as well--Two would never have had the breath to make conversation. He had a feeling that the only thing in this world to ever have been ridden harder and faster than he was would have been Seabiscuit, Man o' War, or possibly Ol' Midnight. It lasted all of about five minutes. When it was done, Two felt like he'd run the Boston Marathon, but had been given a reeeeally good mood altering substance just after. He was panting, and sweat slick. "Damn, Scott. I'm sorry about that."

Scott climbed off him and settled beside him. "No problem, dude." He stripped off the condom, dropped it in the bedside wastebasket, and grabbed some tissues, beginning to wipe Tooey down.

"But you didn't... um..."

"Don't worry about it." Scott tossed the tissues. "You'll have more staying power the second time around."

"SECOND?! Wait a minute..."

Scott grinned wolfishly, and Two was reminded of that friend of his from California, Oz, who had visited not long ago. "Tooey, you didn't think you were gonna get off THAT easy, did you?" He swooped.

As Two felt himself engulfed by hot, soft, wetness, and the beginning of suction that Oric would kill for, he started to pray--partly for strength, but mostly in thanks.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Frau returned to the Lair not long after dawn. Some of the attendees had brought up that old 'Eva and Adolph had a baby, who was raised in Argentina' crap again, and she had to leave before she started smacking people. She was a little surpised that she didn't run into Fat Bastard in the halls. A passing henchman told her some garbled story about the Scotsman having to go to the ER to have his underwear removed from a very vulnerable place, and the panic stricken rush from the hospital that had resulted when he'd made hiss problem clear. Apparently SWAT had been called in, and Bastard wouldn't be around for another week or two. Frau somehow couldn't bring herself to be too upset.

She made her way to the kitchen, and got her second surprise. When she went to the spare pantry for coffee maker filters, she found Mini Me hiding behind the trash bin. She started to ask him why, but he held a finger to his lips, then made pinching motions, pulling up from his own scalp, like he was pulling hair into spikes. "Scott?" Mini Me nodded. Frau shrugged, and shut the door, then went to start the coffee.

About the time she had it dripping, Number Two staggered into the kitchen and collapsed into a chair at the table. Frau eyed him critically. Two's hair was rumpled, he was barefooted, and it looked like all he was wearing was a robe--and that was tied lopsided. "Two, I hafn't seen you look like zis since..." Her face lit up. "Mien kinder is home!"

Two nodded wearily. "Got back last night."

"Ach, that's gut. I had a feeling zat ze Doctor vas going to try somezing nefarious, vhat vith zat ridiculous build up he gave zat college." She snorted. "Escort services on campus, my eye."

"You were right. Apparently they were going to just keep him there, but you know Scott."

She smiled fondly. "Did he leave it standing?"

"As I understand it, all he did was nearly cripple his driver, endager the man's chances of ever procreating, and make sure the school's car got enough tickets to keep them busy in traffic court for the next year or so."

"Hmm. He's getting more mellow as he grows." The coffee had stopped dripping, and Frau poured herself a cup. "Can I get you some?"

A familiar voice floated down the hall. "Tooey, damn it, get back here! Gah, a guy can't fall asleep for five minutes without being abandoned. And if you're in the kitchen, check and see if we have any whipped cream, or chocolate syrup."

Frau smiled. "Better let me fix you a big mug, vith extra sugar. I sink you'll need it."

"Not necessary." Two pulled a crumpled, nearly empty gum pack out of his robe pocket, popped out three gum tabs, and tossed them in his mouth. As he chewed, he went to the refrigerator.

The voice came again, wheedling, "Toooooooey..."

Two took out a bottle of Jolt cola, took several hefty swigs, then showed the gum pack to Frau. Frau's eyebrows lifted. "Scheise."

Two nodded grimly, but he was smiling. He squared his shoulders, said, "It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it," and almost loped out of the kitchen.

The End


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