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.
Archive: I'm flattered. Just tell me where you're archiving
it.
Archive Date: October 26, 2000
Author's Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/lady_aethelynde
Category: AU/Crossover
Disclaimer: Only the so-efficient bartender is mine.
The rest belong to Fox, Paramount, Lucasfilm, Renaissance
Pictures, Warner Brothers, et. al.
Feedback: I crave it. It's my favorite high.
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.
Rating: PG, just kissing
Summary: In the Tavern Outside of Time, SF characters
are grumbling about their lovers.
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 week, 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."
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, 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 hush 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 we tried--"
Luke kissed him quiet. "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.