Fifth Element

Fandom: SPN RPS

Category/Rated: Slash, R

Year/Length: 2008/~28,500 words

Pairing: Slash Jared/Jensen

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.

Warning: I wish to reassure readers that no Tom Wellings were harmed during the making of this movie. It was all done with smoke and mirrors. He will be fine, I promise.

Summary: In here you will find a villain the likes of which has never been seen before. You will find a hero of truly monumental ability, and a being who is just about perfect. You will find character death, bravery in the face of impossible odds and a variety of TV heroes past and present, from Star Trek to the X-files and beyond.

Author's Notes: This is not a story for the faint of heart. There were so many opportunities to lampoon, that I really didn't know where to begin – and if you read then you will certainly notice that I didn't have the sense to know when to stop! All I can say is that I am deeply sorry.

Beta: My thanks go to marys_scribbles for her stellar beta, and for the way she joyfully joined in the silliness. I also wish to thank the script writer of the Fifth Element, and tinkabell007, whose gorgeous manip I 'borrowed' for the banner below.

PROLOGUE:

The scene fades in on a typical Egyptian day. There are camels trekking over the dunes towards the ruins of an ancient Egyptian artifact. A boy leading a mule laden with water bottles is plodding towards a camp that seems to huddle around a building that is unmistakably ancient, pitted with scars wrought by time and yet covered in carvings that seem to convey a message to eternity. There is lush growth to one side of the building, with the sparkle of water in the distance. On the other side there is only sand.

As the artifact is approached, music swells. A chorus of girly voices can be heard singing a familiar tune:

"The X-Files is a show
With music by Mark Snow..."

We enter the edifice, marveling at the towering pillars, each one inscribed with hieroglyphics and painted in bright colors that the sun has never seen. Working diligently in one corner of the room is an odd couple.

The mule and the boy finally reach a camp. There are a few tents dwarfed by a huge temple door jutting out of the sand. The camp is deserted except for some kids by the temple entrance holding large mirrors, reflecting light into the temple. He boy, Omar, leaves his mule in the shade, seizes two goatskins and slips inside the temple.

Special Agent Fox Mulder is apparently studying an ancient inscription on the back wall, while his companion, Special Agent Dana Scully rolls her eyes and curls her lip in the way that only she can.

"Scully, listen to this. When the three planets are in eclipse..." Mulder sounds excited, and Scully yawns delicately as the always driven Federal Agent traces out the hieroglyphs that are his latest obsession.

"Honestly, Mulder," she murmurs. "They should never have let you go to Las Vegas. I knew that the Luxor was going to be bad news."

"But, Scully, it's all written here. Look at this." He indicates a carving that most definitely shows a couple of flying saucers blasting what appears to be a planet of some size. "It says right here that the black hole like a door is open. Evil comes ... sowing terror and chaos." He taps the wall and turns to smile patronizingly at her, while she yawns delicately and looks at her watch. " See? The snake, Scully. The Ultimate Evil. Could you perhaps take a couple of photos of this part? I'm going to need proof."

Pointing emphatically at the snake, the symbol of Evil as depicted by an ancient Egyptian artist long dead, Mulder tries to appeal to Scully's better nature. Sadly, she doesn't appear to have one.

"And when is this door opening snake act supposed to occur, Mulder?" she inquires, gesturing with the disposable camera that she's taken from her purse. Mulder nods and smiles as his fingers touch the symbols on the wall.

"If this is the five, and this the thousand..." He mentally tots things up on his fingers. "Looks like once every five thousand years."

"So not 'til at least season thirteen then?" smirks Scully, finally stepping forward to take the requested photograph.

As the two special agents continue to bicker, a man appears in the doorway to the temple. He appears to be a priest, and he's carrying a water bottle. He apparently only has one arm, and he's wearing a fake beard that's several shades too dark for his hair. Unnoticed by our two intrepid investigators, he observes them, his forehead creased in worry.

Mulder has resumed his attempts at translating, and Scully is languidly repairing her make-up.

"Then the elements of life will be employed against the Terror that is to come." He's getting excited now, tapping the hieroglyphs with trembling fingers. "Water..fire..earth..air..four elements around the fifth... Scully, it says here that there's a fifth element..."

The Priest opens the water bottle he's carrying and begins to pour a vial of powder into it, cackling in a minor key as he does so. "They already know too much. They must never be allowed to return to Washington."

Mulder's completely unaware now of any danger, because he's on the track of an alien invasion, or so he believes. He finally notices the one-armed priest and abandons the unresponsive Scully in favor of lecturing the newcomer. "Check it out, father," he murmurs. "It says right here that this fifth element will contain all the strength, all the hope. Protect us from the Evil that approaches..."

Krycek – for it is he - is pouring some of the water into a tin cup as Mulder turns to him, and he nods, extending the drink to him. He hands the cup to Mulder, who takes it, has it almost to his lips when... "I mean look. It's like a battle plan." In his excitement he doesn't drink, much to Krycek's chagrin. "Here the Good. Here the Evil... Here a weapon against evil. Amazing! I am going to be famous."

"Then let us toast to your fame! Here, Scully..." Krycek hands Scully a cup. "Drink!"

"To fame," murmurs Mulder, raising the cup to his lips, but pausing as a thought occurs. "We can't toast with mere water. Scully - In my briefcase, the vodka... the orange juice... mix us a screwdriver."

Perking up, Scully turns to look for the booze, and doesn't seem to notice that the light is suddenly fading, and there is a strange, eerie sound as if someone has just turned on the soundtrack from the Outer Limits.

The muffled sound grows steadily louder. Outside, a monstrous linear shadow disturbs the peace of the desert and gradually darkens the temple entrance.

Scully is still looking for the vodka. She comes upon a machine pistol. When the muffled sound suddenly grabs her attention, she leans toward the corridor and sees part of a spaceship appear. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, resuming her search through the briefcase. “Honestly, Mulder, the things you'll do to attract attention! It's not big, and it's not clever you know!”

As ever, when he's focused, Mulder keeps right on poring over the inscription. "This perfect person - this perfect being - I don't understand this.. perfect? Yup! Perfect is what it says...” He pauses. “Scully, I need more light. Come on!”

Scully finally looks up as a horde of little green men scurry past her. She rubs her eyes and then grabs the vodka bottle, unscrews the cap and takes a slug.

Mulder is still reading the wall, oblivious to the aliens that are gathering behind him. “And this divine Light they're talking about... what divine light? C'mon, Scully, I need more light.”

The room is flooded with light all of a sudden, as the flying saucer at the entrance to the temple turns on its headlamps.

“That's much better. Scully, look at this; it's the most unbelievable thing I've ever seen.” There's a high pitched giggling from the little green men, and Mulder finally turns around, and is stunned speechless to find himself face to face with them all. Dozens of them fill the hall, and they pick Mulder up, dragging him to one side as a large creature strides down the corridor towards the rear wall. It stops in front of the priest who has fallen to his knees, face to the ground whimpering.

“Master, he was about to discover everything, but I had the situation under control.”

The little green men are holding Mulder three feet off the ground by some weird kind of mind over matter thing. Mulder is wide eyed. “Who are you? Are you Germans? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” he babbles. Krycek swears in Russian and Scully finishes off the vodka and sits quietly giggling to herself.

The huge, bug-like alien holds out his hand to Krycek, who jumps to his feet excitedly.

"What did I do wrong?"

When the bug begins to speak, his voice is like a thousand bees. "Servant, you and the thousand guards before you... You have done your work well, but we have to recover the elements. War will soon engulf your planet. We must keep them safe." It goes over to the wall and seems to be looking for a lock. Finding it, it slides in its metallic finger which is apparently more intricate than the key to a safe. A turn of its hand activates a mechanism that opens the wall. Mulder is entranced. He steps forward, peering into the room revealed beyond the wall, making little, orgasmic noises. The huge creature gives a sigh and gestures to his horde of little green men. As he does so, they swarm over Mulder and reduce him to unconsciousness even as he crows in ecstasy. Scully begins to sing "Row, row, row your boat" and giggles softly to herself.

The large alien – a Mondoshawan - heads down the hallway revealed by the opening. He is followed by his little green men. Krycek slips in behind them.

They step into a vast room. The ceiling is very high, pyramid-shaped. In each corner of the room, there are four pillars containing fourStones - long, triangular shapes inscribed with symbols - the four elements. In the middle, an opaque sarcophagus rests on an altar. The alien stops and contemplates it a moment.

"The Fifth Element..." murmurs Krycek, whose beard has slipped around to dangle rakishly from one ear.

"Take the stones and put them in a safe place," murmurs the Mondoshawan, and there's a flurry of activity as his minions rush to carry out his orders.

Scully has now progressed to singing "Bottle of wine, fruit of the vine," as she staggers across the floor, having finally realized that all is not as it should be. She flings an arm around Krycek and offers him a swig from her bottle, then suddenly notices that the 'priest' is none other than her nemesis. "'S'you," she slurs, china blue eyes blinking owlishly.

Krycek sees no reason to argue with that. "Yep. It's me," he answers, making a vain attempt to return the beard to its former position. "But I'm mostly armless."

It's quite possible that Scully would have let things go, but that comment ignites the vengeance in her, and she fumbles, finally drawing her gun and leveling it as well as she can, which is not very.

"You son of a bitch," she grits and fires, just as the four elements are being carried past her and back to the mothership.

"Will the elements be gone now forever from this place?" asks Krycek, as several shots whistle past his ears, seriously damaging the bas relief. The Mondoshawan looks at Krycek for a very long time, and although it's very difficult to identify moods in a twelve foot space-going cockroach, there is reason to believe that the alien is astonished. It looks around as Scully falls flat on her back, still brandishing her gun.

"When mankind comes to its senses, we will return," it says.

"Knowing mankind as I do, that could take centuries!" Krycek finally succeeds in getting the beard to stay where it's supposed to be and Scully seems to have passed out for the moment, so all is copasetic as the alien turns to follow the stones back to his ship. "Time is of no importance, only life is important," it says. "When EVIL returns, so shall we." Krycek nods, and the alien is already leaving as Scully sits up once more, drawing a bead on the alien and firing the remainder of the bullets in her clip.

The Mondoshawan crumples to the ground, and the wall to the secret chamber immediately begins to close on it, trapping the alien behind the wall and leaving only a finger sticking through. Fortunately the key to the secret room is attached to that finger. Scully doesn't seem to register that. She switches to a new clip, lurches around and then fires wildly, unable to control the powerfully kicking gun.

Krycek takes a bullet and is lying, bleeding, on the ground, seriously wounded. So is the Mondoshawan. Mulder wakes up just as the little green men race off to the ship carrying the stones. He emerges from the secret room, only to be diverted by the sight of Krycek, once more beardless.

"You son of a bitch," he growls, dropping to his knees and beginning to pound on the injured priest with the single-minded intensity known only to obsessives – and Mulder.

"Oh, damn," growls Krycek as he slips into unconsciousness. Here we go again..."

300 YEARS LATER

Another, more modern, spaceship, with USS Enterprise NCC 1771 writ large on her side, fills the screen. It's a ship belonging to the Federation, and its mission is to boldly split infinitives that no man has split before. This is of course a responsibility of the highest order. Mr. Spock studies a screen on which can be seen a group of planets projecting three straight lines that crisscross at a single point. The configuration is identical to the one observed by Mulder on the temple wall. General Kim Manners looks out through the ship's window at one of the three huge planets in eclipse.

"Don't you have anything? Not even a temperature?" Captain James T. Kirk gesticulates as he turns toward his engineer. "Report, Mr. Scott."

"Captain, the thermo-analyzers have jammed. One of them reads over a million degrees, and the other's at minus five thousand. I've never seen anything like it. She's shaking herself apart."

Out in space, there is ominous activity taking place. In the thick, black velvet of space, the door to a nightmare has just opened.

After five thousand years, the ultimate Evil is back, and coalescing there against the sprinkles of stardust is the gigantic head of Dawn Ostroff.

"What is that, Mr. Spock?" Captain James Tiberius Kirk is puzzled. "What is that... thing? That terrible thing approaching us with its rapacious maw open to swallow us whole? What is it? Oh, God! What is it?" If a thing is worth asking, it's worth milking for all the possible drama, and so Kirk asks his question emphatically.

Lt. Uhura looks up from her seat. "General Manners, we will have a subspace channel open with the President in just a few minutes. Hailing frequencies are open."

Manners remains calm as he studies the abomination looming in the porthole. "Send out a probe," he orders, turning away to greet President Lindberg, who is now on screen sporting a mullet he can't stop swirling. Behind him, partially masked by flunkeys and hangers on, we can see a pair of priests, one venerable, and one evidently still at the beginning of the pathway to humility and sacrifice. He's actually listening to an iPod rather than taking note of the proceedings.

"I have to address the Supreme Council in 10 minutes, General Manners. Give me the facts, please." The President gives a nervous laugh and tosses his hair for the umpteenth time.

"There are no results from the chemical and molecular analysis as of yet, all the calibers are overshot. We're hoping a thermo-nucleonic imaging..." Manners' technobabble trails off under Lindberg's intense scrutiny.

"What you are saying is you don't know what this... thing... is?" The President fingers the long, shiny hair that's caressing his shoulders and laughs nervously again. "So what are the options? Wait, or act? Guys?"

Captain Kirk leans forward and peers at Lindberg. "My philosophy, Mr. President, is shoot first and ask questions later. I don't like uninvited guests, especially if they threaten the prime directive."

"Guys?" Lindberg looks around himself nervously. Spock moves forward to stand beside his captain.

"Mr. President, sir," he murmurs in his most annoyingly didactic Vulcan way. "I think it would be both foolish and illogical to shoot at what appears to be a life form, without first taking the time to study it! Besides, as yet it has shown no signs of hostility."

"No," admits the President. "It's just that it's getting bigger."

"So do people, but that's no reason to shoot them," murmurs Spock, and ducks as Kirk aims a smack to the back of his head.

Lindberg frowns. "The security of the Federated Territories is, and remains, number one priority. Besides, look at its teeth. That thing could bite lumps out of asteroids."

"I've got asteroids myself," murmurs Kirk. "I need the soft bathroom tissue. That hard stuff that the Federation issued us with causes me all kinds of grief. I'm a martyr to my bowels."

"You mean hemorrhoids, Jim," calls Dr. McCoy from where he's lounging, mint julep in hand.

"Thank you for sharing." It's pretty clear that the President has turned a little pale. The nervous laugh is very obvious as he surveys the occupants of the Enterprise. An idea appears to strike him. "I guess you must be anxious to proceed with your mission." He nods, steepling his fingers in a manner indicative of sneaky thoughts. "I, er, suppose General Manners' 'philosophy' is acceptable to you?" he asks. Kirk punches the air, and Spock gives a pissy little growl as he returns to his seat.

"Of course, your Presidentship," crows Kirk. "We're boldly going, you know. I can boldly go and blow that sucker out of space, especially for you."

All the Generals clustered around the President nod "yes." Manners, unnoticed, sidles away, leaps into a shuttle craft and hightails it for home and mother. He's light years away and accelerating to warp 6 before anyone notices.

"Very well, then! Manners?" There's a deathly hush as everyone looks around for the General

The older of the two priests tugs at the President's sleeve. "Sir?"

The Priest is younger than it first seemed, and apparently very careworn. He is in his thirties, with a shrewd look in his eyes. He carries around his neck the Mondoshawan's finger, which has, at the tip of it, the key to that secret room in the temple.

Mr. President, I'm Eric Kripke of the 50th level parish. I have a different theory to offer you." The President gives his trademark laugh as he turns to study Kripke. "Imagine for a moment that this thing is not anything that can be identified, because it prefers not to be, because it's the antithesis of all we are. Because it is evil, totally evil. Imagine it rending planets, causing bloodshed and gore wherever it turns its face. Imagine hell, and demons and vampires and spooks... They pale to insignificance before this. It's the mother of all that is vile..." He's just getting into it when the President stops him.

His voice is somewhat sarcastic as he studies Kripke. "I guess we've got one more reason to shoot first then, eh?"

The presidential hangers on all nod in agreement, but Kripke feels bound to continue. "Evil begets evil, Mr. President. Shooting will only make it stronger."

As they bicker, Mr. Spock's voice can be heard from the vidscreen. "The probe will attain its objective in five seconds, Mr. President."

They all look on as the screen shows the mighty head, its mouth gaping wide to capture the nuclear probe that has been sent to survey it. The thing chomps with huge, perfectly aligned teeth, then emits a hiccup as a small quantity of smoke erupts from its nostrils. The Ostroff appears to swallow the probe, licking its lips, and then immediately bubbles over with activity like a furious volcano.

"We're ready for your orders, Mr. President." Captain Kirk is busily applying lipstick as the vidscreen pans across to him, and he instantly straightens up and tries to look as though 'Passion Pink' is his natural color. The President looks puzzled as he turns back to Kripke.

"Your theory is interesting, Father, but I don't think we have time to go into it right now!" murmurs Lindberg, diplomatic to the last. He laughs again as he turns back to the vidscreen.

"Time is of no importance, Mr. President," says Kripke, sanctimoniously. "Only life is important." You can tell that he's waited a very long time to use that line, and he beams as he articulates the words.

Lindberg doesn't see it his way, however, and he's becoming irritated. "That's exactly what we are going to try and do: Protect the lives of some 200 billion of our fellow citizens! Captain Kirk? You may fire at will."

"Uh... what did Will do?" Kirk looks a little confused, and Spock leans to whisper an explanation in his ear. "Oh!" he murmurs at length as daylight dawns on his craggy features. "Mr. Chekov. Fire main phasers. Shoot to kill!"

All of a sudden, outside the ship, the strange being's activity ceases.

A black crust immediately covers it. Its mouth gapes wide once more.

"Captain, the creature's structure has just solidified on the surface as if it felt something." Spock goes on the air once more. "If that's the case, we are undoubtedly dealing with an intelligent being. I urge you to reconsider your present, illogical course of action."

Kripke is virtually jumping up and down now. "It is intelligent! It's the most terrible intelligence imaginable, Mr. President. It... it will inflict soap operas on you. It will drown you in bitchy teenagers."

The President hesitates, uneasy. He tosses his head again, and his luxurious locks give a squeak and run for the hills on many little legs. "Give me a minute... I have a doubt," he mutters.

"I don't, Mr. President." Kirk has struck an attitude much like the one in which people have been known to portray Napoleon. "I am completely confident."

They watch the phaser strike home and penetrate its target. There is an explosion, but it's swallowed up like seltzer in a glass of water.

Nothing happens to begin with. And then the mass grows larger. Smoke streams from the nose and ears of the creature, and the ship is buffeted as a cosmic belch erupts from its mouth. "Mr. Sulu," screams Kirk, who has abandoned Napoleonic posturing in favor of hiding under the bridge. "Reverse. Warp factor 6."

"She'll never do it, Captain," yells Scotty. "She'll shake herself apart."

"Shut the fuck up," growls Kirk, and sadly those are his last words as the giant head devours the Enterprise, warp core, transporters and all.

"Oops," murmurs the President, and he laughs nervously. Can you blame him?

MEANWHILE

We see a sleeping man who seems to be trying to escape from a nightmare. Jared Padalecki rubs his head. He's twenty six years old, powerfully built, unquestionably charming, with smoldering good looks in spite of the scars here and there.

His alarm clock is ringing, and it shows the date as November 2nd, 2359. It's two in the morning. Jared grabs a cigarette, and stops to look for a light. Shutting off the alarm, he growls. There's a barking from the hallway. There's still a ringing sound, and it takes Jared a minute, during which time he trashes his alarm clock with a mallet, before he realizes it's the phone.

He calls to the dog outside. "It's okay, Sophie, I'm coming." Grabbing the phone, he crosses his tiny apartment and heads for the door, patting himself for a light. Behind him, the automatic bed is busily making itself.

Lifting the phone to his ear, he mumbles, "Yeah?" He opens the door for the dog and starts to rummage through a drawer for a match. Out come a handful of war decorations, a hero's collection. "Hi sweetie!" he murmurs to the enormous German Shepherd cross that sits at his feet, wagging her tail.

"I love you too, Major, but you haven't called me that since basic training." The voice of Jeffrey Dean Morgan can be heard over the phone, and Jared snorts.

"I was talking to the dog," he says, grinning.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. You still prefer your dog to the real thing." Jeff's chuckling as Jared catches sight of the photo of himself and a hard looking blonde in a wedding dress.

"Yeah. I prefer my bitches to bring their own fur coats," he snaps, still patting his pockets down in search of that elusive light.

Jeff's laughing now. "You still pining for that two timing ex of yours? Forget her; there are a million women out there."

"I don't want a million - I just want one," says Jared, softly. "A perfect one."

It's Jeff's turn to snort. "She doesn't exist, Jay. Ain't no such thing."

Rummaging through the drawer, Jared suddenly unearths a photo of himself and Jeff. They're in Federation uniform, standing beside a space fighter. He gazes at it for a moment. "Hey, I just found a picture of you," he says.

"Oh, really? How do I look?" Jeff's voice sounds wistful.

Jared chuckles. "Like shit," he says, smirking, then punches the air in triumph as he finds a box containing three matches. He strikes one, but it doesn't light. Sighing, he opens the fridge, but it's bare, except for a virtually empty can of Gemini croquettes. On the packet is an ad. 'WIN A DREAM TRIP FOR 2 TO FHLOSTON PARADISE,' it proclaims.

"Must be an old picture," says Jeff. "Listen, that's not what I called you about. You gotta bring me your hack for the 6 month overhaul, A.S.A.P."

Jared's attempting to boil water as he holds the phone to his ear, and he sighs. "I don't need one," he growls.

"You forgetting who sat next to you for a thousand missions," is Jeff's terse response. "I know how you drive."

"Dude! I'm driving a cab now, not a space fighter!" Jared's dismissive, visibly impatient to get rid of his ex-comrade in arms.

"Jared?" Jeff's voice is pitched as if to calm down a highly strung imbecile. "How many points you got left on your license?"

"Uh... at least fifty," responds Jared, fingers up to feel his nose as though expecting it to grow with the lie. Jeff laughs.

"In your dreams! See you tonight!" He hangs up, and seconds later Jared does the same. He makes coffee and then pours half of it into Sadie's bowl, setting it down beside her and patting her. "Cheers, dollface," he murmurs, lifting his own mug to sip.

The President's office has emptied, and only a few army officers remain. An ancient manuscript, and Fox Mulder's drawings, sit in front of the great man, and Kripke turns page after page in his attempt to illustrate his point. He's been babbling about hell's gates and demons so Lindberg is a little glassy-eyed.

"We only have forty-eight hours," says Kripke. "That's all the time it needs to adapt itself to our living conditions."

"And then?" asks the President in a faint voice.

"And then it will be too late," says Kripke in sepulchral tones. "The goal of this evil thing is to wipe out life! All forms of life. For all eternity...Life upsets it."

The President appears upset himself by this image. "Isn't there anything that can stop it?" he whispers.

"Yes, thank God." Erik Kripke crosses himself and beams. He does indeed believe in angels.

Somewhere, in a galaxy far, far away, the Mondoshawan spaceship bursts through a star cluster and fills the screen.

The manuscript is open on the President's desk, and he's studying Scully's rendering of the Mondoshawan.

"It looks like a freakin' cockroach," mutters the President.

"The Mondoshawans don't belong to the Federation," says Kripke. "But they're peaceful." He points to the case in the clasp of one of the Mondoswhawan's minions. "See here. In their possession are the four elements of life. These elements, when they are gathered around a fifth, The Supreme Being, ultimate warrior, created to protect life..."

In one of the relief carvings, the Supreme Being is depicted. He's standing as if frozen. All that can be seen is the lower half of his body. Beside him, a pair of big, metallic gloves can be seen, holding the case engraved with the emblem of the three suns containing the four Sacred Stones. Kripke continues. "...will produce what the ancients called the light of creation, the light of total goodness which is the only thing that can defeat this evil."

The President points to the spot occupied by the 5th element. "But what happens if instead of this... Ultimate Warrior... it's evil that stands here?"

"White turns to black. Light to Dark. Life to Death, for all eternity. There will be a weeping and a wailing and a gnashing of teeth. The rivers will run with blood, and pestilence will walk the earth." Kripke gets a glow about him as though he's prophesying. "There will be a McDonalds on every corner, and Starbucks will inherit the earth. Microsoft will grow mighty – er, no. Forget that one; that was last week."

The President's nerves quiver. He's popping Rolaids by the tube when his screen lights up, and a sentry from the vast depths of space speaks to him. "Sir, we have a Mondoshawan spaceship at the frontier, requesting permission to enter our territory."

"I guess I should make a decision," says Lindberg, laughing nervously.

Kripke gives him a gentle smile and nods. "They are the only ones who can help."

"Sir," General Sgriccia is on the screen. "The Mondoshawan don't belong to the Federation. We don't know their intention. I must recommend a full trinuclear assault."

Something inside the President seems to snap at that. "Did you see that thing swallow the Enterprise like a... a... gum drop? You can't even tell me what it is! I ask you for options, and you give me bullshit. Give the Mondoshawans permission to enter our territories with my warmest regards."

We might think now that all will be well, but alas it is not to be.

The Mondoshawan spaceship zips across the Federation's boundary, but unfortunately it isn't alone: Two black warships seem to be dogging it.

The Mondoshawans spot the spacecraft chasing them, and they hail what they believe to be a welcoming committee.

In the pursuing vessel, a Mangalore sits at the controls. His terrifying features tell us what sort of welcome the hapless Mondoshawans can expect. The pilot fires without warning, and in two shakes of a light saber, the Mondoshawan ship is no more.

In Jared's apartment, a thermo-nuclear explosion fills the TV screen. Sadie is watching it with great interest. Jared's putting on his coat, about to leave the apartment. "Bye, sweetie. Don't watch it all day; it'll rot your mind."

Sadie barks a response, and Jared opens the door to find a huge gun, brandished by a nervous mugger, pointing right in his face.

"Gimme the cash, man!" says the felon.

"Been here long?" Jared is smirking as he studies the sweating man holding the enormous weapon. The man looks slightly confused.

"Don't fuck with me, man, or I'll blow you into tomorrow!" he growls. Unperturbed, Jared studies the mugger's fearsome weapon.

"Dude, isn't that a Z140? Alleviated titanium, neurocharged assault model?" he asks, beaming brightly, dimples quivering like knives.

The mugger, completely off balance now, can only mumble, "Uh...?"

"Don't you know you could hurt someone with this puppy?" Jared looks impressed, and then grins. "It's a good thing it's not loaded."

The mugger is lost. He looks at his weapon. "It's not?"

"Hell, no. You gotta push the little yellow button." Pointing, Jared indicates the button on the side of the gun, partially concealed by the mugger's sweaty grip. The man takes Jared's advice.

"Thanks," he says, shuffling from foot to foot. Jared merely grins wider as the thing slowly collapses in on itself, leaving behind a small metal tube that would only be good for hitting someone with.

"You're welcome." With lightning speed, Jared blasts the mugger with a straight right hand, sending him down for the count. He retrieves the gun. "You know these things are VERY illegal. You could get in a shit load of trouble. I'd better hang onto it for you."

As the mugger shakes his head in an attempt to clear it, Jared opens a drawer next to him which is full of similar guns. The mugger's eyes pop out of his head. He staggers to his feet and runs off.

Jared shrugs, leaves his apartment and closes the door. Sadie is still watching a nuclear holocaust on TV, uninterrupted. She seems to be unimpressed, but maybe she's seen it all before.

Jared's a wage slave, and the entire thought of that is less than thrilling to him. He's scowling as he enters his taxi. A robotic voice greets him.

"Please enter your license." Complying, Jared starts to push a series of buttons on the dash. "Welcome aboard Mr. Padalecki."

"How're you doing this morning? Sleep OK? I didn't." Indeed, he's got bags under his eyes, and he looks less than refreshed. He hits a button, and the garage door starts to open.

"Fuel level 6.03. Propulsion 2x4."

"I had the worst goddamn nightmare."

"You have five points left on your license," says the dispassionate voice. Jared doesn't take that well.

"Thanks for reminding me," he growls. As the garage door lifts, the Megalopolis that is New York City in the 23rd century comes into view. It's a horrifying cacophony of sound and light, startling in its height and breadth. Traffic zooms by on all sides, and 3D ads projected holographically serve to add to a tension that he and everyone else around him seems to feel without even realizing.

"Have a nice day," says the robotic voice, and Jared sniffs.

"Don't tell me what kind of day to have," he snarls as he lets the propulsion build. "I have other plans."

A moment later, he lets the clutch out, and his taxi rockets off into the maelstrom that is the city of New York.

Kripke collapses in a chair and gazes at Lindberg without really seeing him. "We are lost!" he laments.

Manners, who appears to have made it back to Earth without mishap, appears on the screen. "Mr. President, the attack was launched by two unregistered warships."

"Close all borders and declare a state of general alert," says the President. "And try to contact these Mondoshawans. We owe them an explanation."

"Lost," mumbles Kripke to himself. "What are we going to do?"

"This is government business now. You ought to go home and get some rest, Father." The President motions to his guards to come and get Kripke, and they begin to carry him out. "I promise to keep you informed." As a weary Kripke leaves the room with his assistant's help, the President turns to his screen. "Has the rescue team found any survivors?”

"Not exactly, sir," is the cryptic response.

An arm on a surgical cart is being rushed down the hall of the Nucleological Center, that most sterile of environments. Professor Steve Carlson, mad scientist and intrepid gene juggler, hurries alongside the cart. General Manners is with him.

"This is all that survived?" asks Manners, attempting to poke the arm and having his hand slapped away by Carlson.

"Actually only one cell survived," murmurs Carlson, absently performing complicated equations in his head.

"Have you identified it?" Manners won't shut up, no matter how much Carlson wishes he would. He rolls his eyes, thinking that just a touch of fennel will totally change the flavor of that salmon steak sitting in his fridge awaiting his attention. Reluctantly, he pulls himself back to the here and now.

"It's not that easy, General," he protests. "We've never encountered anything like it before. You see, normal human beings have 40 DNA memo groups, which is more than enough for any species to perpetuate itself. This one has 200,000."

"Speak English, Doc," says Manners at his most patronizing. Carlson sighs.

“This cell is like a huge library. It has infinite genetic knowledge stored inside. It's almost like it was engineered."

"Sounds like a freak of nature to me," says Manners, dismissing the idea of a genetic construct without paying it any thought at all. Carlson rolls his eyes again.

“Yes. I can't wait to meet him," is his response as they pass into the lab and enter a cylindrical laboratory. There is a huge glass turbine in the center, and as Carlson directs, the arm is placed gently inside. On the viewscreen, a DNA chain appears, turning and twisting in the fashion approved by the Discovery Channel. Carlson studies it reverently and begins to muse.

"The compositional elements of his DNA chain are the same as ours. There are simply more of them, and they're very tightly packed. His knowledge is probably limitless." The very idea is exciting to Carlson. Not so to Manners.

"Is there any danger?" the General asks, apparently worried. "Some kind of virus for example."

Carlson laughed. "We put it through the cellular hygiene detector. The cell is, for lack of a better word, perfect."

Manners hesitates a moment, then he sighs and uses his personal key to unlock the self-destruct box. "OK, go ahead! But Mr. Perfect better be polite, otherwise I turn him into cat food."

Professor Carlson starts the operation rolling as Manners puts his hand on the sell-destruct button, ready to use it. Thousands of cells form in the heart of the generator, an assemblage of DNA elements. Then the cells move down a tube, like a fluid, and gather in an imprint of a human body. Step by step, bones are reconstructed, then the nervous and muscular systems. Whole veins wrap around the muscles. An entire body is reconstructing before their very eyes.

Professor Carlson is cackling with glee now. This is what he was born for – well, this and the special recipe for fettuccine that he invented in his last year at college – the one that's guaranteed to get a girl's panties off after only a couple of bites. "Three seconds to ultra-violet protection," he calls, and then a shield lowers down over the reconstructing body, rendering it invisible.

"This is the crucial phase," gurgles the professor, watching as fluid is pumped into the chamber and thinking that he could blend crème de menthe and Kahlua to produce a liquid that's similar in appearance, and that it just might make an awesome sauce for the chocolate ganache he intends to make once he gets home. "You're witnessing the reconstruction of pigment here," he says. "Cells are bombarded with slightly greasy solar atoms, which forces the body cells to react, to protect themselves. That means he'll be growing skin in there. Clever, eh?"

"Wonderful!" Manners curls his lip. This guy is as nutty as a fruitcake. He knows.

All too soon, the meter slows, drops to zero and Manners' fingers twitch on the self destruct button. Almost show-time.

As if he could hear Manners' thoughts, the lab technician calls out, "End of reconstruction, beginning reanimation right now."

There's a whoosh of air in the glass chamber. Manners keeps his hand on the self-destruct button as if ready to destroy this being that has barely been reborn.

Carlson, however, is not deterred. He's doing a masterly impression of Baron Victor Frankenstein. "Activate life support system," he cackles. And an electrical discharge fills the glass chamber, causing the body inside to jerk. After a few moments of silence, the sound of a heart beating fills the room, via the loudspeaker.

"Life support system activated, master," murmurs the technician, and the professor threatens to impale him with a pipette.

"Just do the work and forget the Igor shit, okay, Manns?" he growls. Seconds later, all is forgotten, because the Supreme Being is alive once again. "Remove the shield," he calls.

Manns automatically removes the ultra-violet shield which slowly reveals the perfect being. He's nude, young and very beautiful. Manners just stands there gaping. Carlson glances at Manners and gently pushes his hand away from the self-destruct button.

"I told you! Perfect! Doesn't that make you feel like singing?" He's humming something about a piñata under his breath as Manners goes over to stare into the glass chamber at the creature that's been revealed.

Manners appears to be hypnotized by the being's beauty. "I'd, uh, like to get a few pictures for the archives before he wakes up," he says, eying the young man's package with an expression like that of a tiger gazing on a baby antelope.

Carlson looks at him with a grin. A remote-control camera approaches the being's face, and a flash goes off. Blinded by the flash, the young man jumps and screams. He cowers in a corner, shaking from the cold, darting eyes everywhere, looking for the case of stones he was holding before the Mangalores pureed him.

"Ouacra cocha o dayodomo binay. Ouacra mo cocha ferji akba ligounai makta keratapla. Tokemata, tokemata! Seno santonoi-aypa! Minoi ay Cheba! Givomana seno!" His voice is deep and musical, and his eyes are wide and green, dark with panic.

"What's he saying?" Manners is frowning now. "Is he talking backwards?"

Professor Carlson stops singing long enough to clap Manns on the shoulder. "Activate the phonic detector," he says as the two of them watch the newly created being repeatedly kicking at the glass window of the reanimation chamber. "And better give him a light sedative." Carlson glances at Manners again, shudders at the naked lust in his eyes and adds, "Better give him something to wear, too!"

Manns hits a button, and the machine hums, whirrs and snakes a set of spandex straps around the being's hips, covering his modesty but leaving little to the imagination. Manners stops licking the glass window long enough to cast a disgruntled look at the two scientists.

"This thing solid?" he asks them, and they both nod.

"An elephant couldn't crack it," says Carlson, smirking.

Inside the chamber, the supreme being is babbling angrily, his handsome face a mask of fury as Manners smiles, safely ensconced behind his plate glass window. "You're gonna have to learn to communicate better than that, angel, if you want out," he tells the man behind the glass, and dangles the key in front of him, taunting him. The first inkling that all is not as it should be comes when the captive punches his fist right through the window. He grabs the key and yanks it, and the chain snaps. Manners is seized and slammed into the window with a crunch, where he slumps to the ground as he loses consciousness.

There's a brief lull as the being puts his hand through the window again, unlocks the chamber and steps out. He is still bit wobbly on his legs. Two guards try to grab him, but he sends them flying across the room, muscles sliding beneath tender, freckled skin as he moves.

Carlson and Manns seem most impressed, and give the being a brief round of applause before setting off the alarm.

The supreme being runs through a maze of corridors, searching wildly for a way out. A squad of security guards appears in front of him and open fire without warning. The man takes a leap, grabs an air vent, kicks it out and dives into the shaft it conceals. The guards try and follow him into the vent, but none of them can quite reach it.

Meanwhile, the being is moving along inside the shaft, unable to see what's ahead of him. He comes to a dead end which contains a grille set into the wall. It leads outside, and it's evident that the fugitive is desperate to get out. He tears the grille from its place and throws it out into the void beyond. A moment later he steps onto the thin ledge that runs around the building.

So desperate to make his escape was he, that he had no idea that this would turn out to be a ledge on the 450th floor of a building, right in the middle of Manhattan. The city is monstrous. Buildings rise 600 stories. Cars fly. Subways run vertically. All around is chaos, and the supreme being is suddenly still, unsure how to proceed. He edges along the narrow ledge, unfazed by the height, but scared by the sheer scope of the hubbub going on all around him.

Carlson leans out of the vent, looking out into the void in his effort to find where his patient might be hiding. Behind him, cops are trying to see too. One of them fires at the man on the ledge, and he turns, ducking around the corner of the building. Unfortunately the other side is full of cops as well. A flying police car zooms up in front of him and hovers there, sirens blaring.

The being opens green eyes wide, shocky, still clouded with panic as an amplified voice shakes the building behind him.

"This is the police. We are processing your identification. Please put up your hands and follow our instructions!"

Feeling trapped, the supreme being looks down into the endless depth below. He takes in the cacophony and chaos, all the cars flying beneath him. He seems to come to a decision. Raising his arms in a gesture that is infinitely regretful and impossibly graceful, he dives off his ledge.

He falls for what seems like forever, and it's pure blind chance that brings a particular cab to that place at just that moment. He hits the roof of Jared's cab and smashes through it.

Jared isn't quite sure what the hell has happened, and doesn't have time to do anything but try to control his car as it bucks and swerves, reeling from the impact.

From the console in the cab comes the robotic voice he just loves to hear, saying words he believes will be etched onto his gravestone when he passes. "You have just had an accident. Four points have been temporarily removed from your license." Jared curses as he finally manages to stop his cab and pull it over, out of the stream of traffic. "You have one point left on your license. Have a good day."

Sighing, defeated, Jared turns to look in the back seat to see what the damage is. The young man, somewhat dazed - and who wouldn't be? - emerges from the debris and sits up. There's blood on his face, but otherwise he seems to be perfectly fine, and he's so stunningly beautiful that Jared's heart heads for a meltdown right then and there.

Widely spaced green eyes, high cheekbones and a tender, voluptuous mouth are the things he notices first. There's breadth in the shoulders too, and muscles that slide beneath the glowing skin. He doesn't seem to have shaved for a day, and a dark stubble stains his face, saving him from appearing feminine. The man's skin is pale, almost translucent, and there's a light dusting of freckles across his nose, scattering down over his cheekbones, his shoulders, lower. Jared gasps.

"Akina delutan, nou-shan." The voice is deep and musical. The words are gibberish.

"'Scuse me?" Jared feels as if he's just seen the face of God. He's about to propose a little silent communication on an entirely angelic plane, designed to consolidate relations between heaven and the hell that is his day to day existence, when a police car with wailing sirens halts in front of his cab and a loudspeaker ruins a perfectly good epiphany.

"You have an unauthorized passenger in your vehicle. We are going to arrest him. Please leave your hands on the wheel. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Sorry, gorgeous, but I only got one point left on my license and I gotta get to the garage!"

The police car slides up to the cab. Doors open with a hiss. Huge guns point at the apparently defenseless man in the back of the cab. Jared feels lousy. The man's helpless, there are tears in his eyes, and he looks exhausted.

Glancing back at him in the rear view mirror, Jared sees that he's looking all around for something to help him communicate. He sees when the man's eyes light on the poster in the rear of the cab – the one aimed at getting the public to help out an orphanage. He knows what it looks like – it has a teary photo of a kid over the words 'Please Help.'

His uninvited passenger shoots Jared a look of pure distress. "Please... help..."

And there's absolutely no way that Jared can resist that. He makes his decision, and once his mind is made up, he loses no time. "Jeff's gonna kill me," he growls and shuts off the meter, flooring it and sideswiping the police car as he roars away. As he goes, the robotic voice pipes up, "One point has been removed..." Jared yanks out the wires, and then, finally goaded to the point of insanity, Jared whips out his gun and blasts the loudspeaker, stifling the voice and causing sparks to shoot from the console as he begins to put evasive tactics into practice.

"I hate when people cry. I got no defense," he mutters, mostly to himself. The police car sets out after him, sirens screeching, and an insane chase ensues.

The supreme being could not have chosen a better cab to crash into. Jared and his taxi are absolute masters of the air. The cops have trouble following him, but a second cop car comes to join in the fun. Jared drives like a man possessed. Nothing can stop him – nothing except the dead-end he suddenly finds himself facing.

"Daya deo dono Dato. Dalutan, dude." The being seems to be trying to help. He obviously hasn't read the memo that said men never ask for directions.

"If there's one thing I don't need advice on, it's how to drive," snaps Jared, turning the cab sideways and scraping through a narrow passageway that rips the light from the roof as they squeeze through. Behind them, one of the pursuing police cars smashes into the wall. The other one brakes, but only just in time, and backs off to look for a wider passageway.

The police car roars up, sirens screaming then slows down and checks out another dead-end. Jared's long gone from there, down at ground zero, hiding behind a pile of refuse and flanked by a gigantic, holographic billboard. At a loss, the police drive away.

Down below, Jared heaves a sigh of relief. "We'll just wait here till things quiet down a bit. You mind?"

The supreme being grabs his shirt collar and pulls him close, whispers in his ear.

"Priest," he mumbles.

"You're not that badly injured. Come on; we'll get you to a doctor," murmurs Jared, trying not to display the arousal that his passenger's proximity is stirring up in him.

"E... ric... Krip... ke... Priest..."

"Eric Kripke?" Jared's frowning. As he looks for confirmation that he's got it correct, his passenger nods, and then faints. Jared is somewhat confused faced with so much mystery.

The door opens to reveal Jared standing there with his unconscious passenger in his arms. "Excuse me," he murmurs. "I'm looking for a priest."

The man who opens the door looks tired, like he's the one having the bad day. He snaps, "Weddings are one floor down. Congratulations." He closes the door in their faces.

Jared stares at the grey expanse of the door and sighs. He's starting to feel pissed off now, and he steps forward, puts his finger out and leans on the doorbell. When the door opens once more and Kripke looks out, it's a good thing he's still clutching the unconscious supreme being, otherwise Kripke's face would have been rearranged.

"He's not my sweetie, he's my fare. He's looking for this Eric Kripke, and according to the phone listings, this is where he lives." Jared shrugs, indicating the dead weight in his arms. "And he weighs a ton."

"I'm Eric Kripke, but I don't know who he is. Where did you find him?"

"I guess you could say he dropped in on me. I don't know who he is, but he does have a tattoo if that helps." He carries his burden into the apartment past the surprised looking Kripke, dumps the being onto the couch and raises one of his arms to show the tattoo that depicts three suns.

Kripke's jaw drops, and he seems to be completely overcome. "The fifth element," he says, and faints dead away. Jared looks around helplessly.

"Jeff's gonna kill me," he murmurs.

Jared sits Kripke in his chair and wakes him by slapping his face. He sits up with a start. "Who are you?" he stutters.

"I brought him, remember?" says Jared.

"Him?" Kripke shakes his head as if to clear it, and Jared begins to pace.

"Yeah! He dropped in on me. I mean on my cab. He was talking this... this bizarre language." He trails off as he sees Kripke suddenly realize who his visitor is.

"There's not a moment to lose! Wake him up, but be gentle about it! This man is mankind's most precious possession! He is... perfect!"

Kripke runs into the next room. Jared looks at the man on the couch, goes to slap him too, and then changes his mind. His beauty troubles Jared. He hesitates before gently caressing the pale cheek. His skin seems so soft, so fragile. "Perfect," he whispers. Bending, he gently kisses the man's cheek, but he doesn't respond. He looks around furtively, then kisses the full, soft lips. The supreme being's eyes snap open, and when Jared straightens up he discovers his own gun jammed under his chin.

"Eto ekto gamat!" growls the being, and Jared raises his hands, trying to look small and unthreatening.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I was told to wake you up gently, so I figured..." He slowly comes to a stop as a pair of wide green eyes studies him, apparently puzzled. "You're right, I was wrong! I shouldn't have kissed you... especially since we haven't been introduced." He pulls out a business card and offers it. "Here, it's a bit late, but my name is Jared. Jared Padalecki. Keep it, you never know; maybe you'll need a cab one day. I'd say drop in any time, but considering what happened today I should just tell you that I'll be happy to open the door for you next time!"

The being hesitates, and then snatches the card like a wild animal.

"What's your name?" Jared needs to know. He needs this beautiful creature to like him, need him, love him. The creature himself studies Jared for a moment longer and then decides apparently that he's safe.

"Jensen Minai Lekarariba-Laminai-Tchai Ekbat De Sebat," he says. "Dude."

"Hey, that's cute." Jared frowned. He got about one syllable out of every five. "Do you have a nickname? Something a little shorter?"

"Jensen." Jared repeats it under his breath. He can feel himself falling for this unexpected visitor. "That's really cute," he mumbles as Kripke bursts back into the room.

Jensen turns the gun on him, and Kripke bows. "Appipulai Jensen Minai," he says.

"Kripke?" There's wonder in Jensen's voice, and Kripke bows again.

"At your service."

Jensen lowers the gun and starts to laugh. Neither of the others can resist joining in. Kripke suddenly notices Jared and begins to lead him toward the door, hustling him out. "Thank you so much for your help, Mr...?"

"Padalecki. Jared Padalecki." Kripke takes his arm as he's speaking, and Jensen loses his smile when he sees that Jared is leaving. "I might call to check up on him, you know, to see if he's better?"

"He's fine, really." Kripke stuffs Jared through the door as he's speaking. "Don't you worry. He just needs some rest. He's had a very long trip."

"I know. I was there when he arrived," murmurs Jared. Kripke is about to close the door when Jared's hand blocks it. "Excuse me! Just one thing! He said something to me a while ago and I don't really get it. Ekto gamat? What's that?"

"It means 'never without my permission'," says Kripke, stepping back as Jared drops his hand.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I thought." He's still musing as Kripke slams the door in his face.

Jared heads down the hallway towards his apartment, passing his neighbor as he goes. He smiles. "Evening..."

"Fuck you!" responds the neighbor, and Jared shrugs.

"Thanks. You, too." He pulls open the door to his apartment and Sadie trots over to greet him, wagging her tail as if attempting to shake it off.

"Oh God." Jared stops for a moment, eyes closed as he slaps his forehead. "I forgot your food. I'm really sorry! How about Thai to apologize? How does that sound, huh?" Sadie barks her agreement just as the phone rings.

"Hello?" Jared's thumbing through his PDA as he answers. It's Jeff on the line.

"Hey, Jay, I've been waiting all day here." He sounds a little cranky, and Jared winces.

"Jeff, my man, I'm sorry. Listen. I was on the way over but I had a fare fall into my lap." He grins at the memory. "Y'know one of those big fares you just can't resist?"

"So, just how big was this fare?" asks Jeff, suspicion coloring his tone. Jared smiles wider.

“6'1", big green eyes, long legs, great skin, perfect." He pulls out a cigarette.

"Uh huh. That's tall. Sounds like a model. I don't suppose you got the name of this perfect fare?" Jeff's smiling now. You can hear it in his voice.

"Jensen," murmurs Jared, dreamily.

Back in Kripke's apartment, Jensen has a towel wrapped around his hips, because he's newly out of the shower. He sits in front of a computer wolfing down chicken as fast as he can. Data scrolls by on the screen. Kripke's acolyte and constant shadow, Gabriel, watches from the corner, in awe.

"What's he doing?" he asks, awed by the apparent voracity of the perfect being.

"Learning our history," replies Kripke. "He missed the last 5000 years. He needs to catch up. He's been out of circulation a while, you know."

"Uh, father?" Gabriel is frowning, obviously worried as he tries to phrase his question. "I know he's been through a lot, but the sacred stones...? We don't have much time."

"Yes. Of course." Kripke ponders as Jensen wanders over to the microwave and removes a platter heaped with a whole chicken and exotic vegetables. "Jensen, I'm sorry to interrupt you but..."

Jensen sits back down in front of the vidscreen and begins to devour the second platter of chicken. Kripke sits opposite him and attempts to break into his concentration. "Ummm... I'm sorry to interrupt you, but time is short. The case – the one that held the stones – where is it?"

"San Agamat chay bet... envolet!" Jensen's voice is slightly slurred, speaking as he is around a mouthful of chicken, but Kripke falls back anyway, horrified.

"Stolen?" asks Kripke, faintly. Jensen nods his head, apparently quite unperturbed and continues to devour the food in front of him.

"Who in God's name would do such a thing?"

Jim Beaver limps down a corridor that's tastefully painted and decorated with priceless works of art. He's pursued by a thin blonde carrying a stack of papers. "Excuse me sir, the council is worried about the economy heating up. They wondered if it would be possible to fire five hundred thousand?"

They reach a door at the end of the corridor. The Beav, as he thinks of himself, enters a code, then turns to study her. "Fire a million," he growls, turning to enter his office.

The blonde looks a little guilty. "But five hundred thousand is all they need, sir," she says. The Beav turns slowly back to face her. There's a scar running across his face, and his eye is twitching. She blanches.

"A million! Fine, sir," she says faintly. " Sorry to have disturbed you."

"Thank you, Katie. That will be all," murmurs the Beav, and enters his office.

Gabriel staggers into Kripke's living room, bearing a bundle of clothes and pauses. Kripke is speaking. "There was this guy with a limp who came round about a month ago. He said he was an art dealer, and he was asking all these questions about the Sacred Stones. At the time I didn't think anything of it. What was his name? I'm so bad with names." He pauses, evidently searching his memory. Gabe takes the opportunity to step forward and smile at Jensen.

"I didn't know your size," he says, holding out the bundle of clothing. Jensen purses his lips. The towel falls to the floor as he starts to examine Gabe's offering, and both priests turn away, somewhat hot under the collar as Jensen begins to try stuff on.

"They really made him..." Gabe's voice falters.

"Perfect," nods Kripke as Jensen finishes dressing, apparently delighted with his new look – tight pants and a slashed orange wife-beater.

"Domo danko!" he murmurs to Gabe, and the young priest smiles, completely dumbstruck with admiration. Kripke reaches to lay a hand on Jensen's arm.

"Jensen? The Stones? We must get them back."

Jensen nods, all business now, and settles down to sit back at the computer, turning it on.

"Ikset-kiba. Me imanetaba oum dalat!" he announces.

"You know exactly where they are?" says Kripke. "You don't know how happy that makes me.

In a large warehouse containing several guarded crates, a group of handsome warriors approaches, their leader holding the sacred case in his hands. The metal handle is missing but the second metal glove is still grasping the case.

The Beav rises from the box on which he's been sitting and studies the band. "Welling? Is that you?"

The leader of the little band nods, and a disgusted look stamps the Beav's features. "What an ugly face! Doesn't suit you at all! Take it off," he growls, and Welling's pretty face burns away revealing the head of a monstrous Mangalore. "That's better," announces the Beav. "Never be ashamed of who you are. You're warriors. Be proud." Welling says nothing, but if his eyes could speak... "So what," continues the Beav. "If the Federal Army did crush your entire race and scatter your people to the wind. Your time for revenge is at hand. Voila, the ZF1." He takes out a weapon from one of the crates and goes into a sales pitch. "It's light, the handle's adjustable for easy carrying, good for righties and lefties."

He gestures, and the long suffering Katie rushes in to set up a mannequin rigged with various defense mechanisms at the far end of the warehouse.

The Beav continues pointing out the weapon's qualities. "It breaks down into four parts, undetectable by X-rays. It's the ideal weapon for quick, discreet interventions." He smirks. "Oh, and a word on fire power: Titanium recharger, 3000 round clip with bursts of 3 to 300. With the replay button, another Beav innovation, it's even easier. One shot..." He fires at the mannequin. "And replay sends every following shot to the same location." As he speaks, he spins around, still firing. Everyone ducks madly to avoid the shots ,but somehow the rounds all curve around to hit the mannequin.

"I recharge, but the enemy has launched a cowardly sneak attack from behind." An evil smile illuminates his bearded face. "The automirror takes care of that. Gives me the time to turn around and finish the job with 300 round bursts." He sets down the weapon, lifts his cap for a moment and scratches his head, then reassumes it, enumerating the rest of the features and demonstrating them as he goes. "Then there are the Beav oldies. Rocket launcher, the always efficient flame thrower -my favorite - our famous net launcher, the arrow launcher, with exploding or poisonous gas heads – very practical, and for the grand finale, the all-new ice-cube system!"

By this time, the mannequin has been blasted into a pile of ashes, covered by a net, stuck with arrows, and the whole mess frozen solid. The Beav tosses the weapon into Welling's hands. "There you go. Four full crates, delivered right on time! What about you, my dear Welling? Did you bring me what I asked you for?"

Welling steps forward and proudly sets the case on a crate. The Beav gloats while stroking the case. "Magnificent," he murmurs, smiles, takes a deep breath, opens it up.

It's empty...

Welling looks into the case, dumbfounded. Things are beginning to grow tense.

"All right," murmurs the Beav. "I've got an open mind here. Anyone care to explain?"

Back at Kripke's place, Jensen is explaining what happened. Kripke translates for Gabe, who is still making cow eyes at the perfect being.

"He says that the Guardians never really had much faith in humans. They were afraid of being attacked, so the stones were given to someone they could trust, and that someone took another route. He's supposed to contact this person in a little less than twelve hours from now, at a specific hotel. He's looking for the address right now." A map of the stars flashes onto the screen, and Jensen points. Kripke and Gabe knock each other over in their haste to see where he's pointing.

"Planet Fhloston, in the Angel constellation," murmurs Gabe, and Kripke flops down into his armchair.

"We're saved," says Kripke."

"I'm fucked!" growls the Beav, closing up the empty case and giving Welling a blood-chilling stare.

"You asked for a case," says Welling, who really isn't very bright. "We brought you a case."

"A case with four stones in it." The Beav is well on his way to frothing at the mouth now. "Not one! Not two or three! But four! Four stones! What the fuck am I supposed to do with an EMPTY case?"

Welling's men shift uneasily, edging away towards the door as their leader tries to answer.

"We are warriors, not merchants," he growls, and the Beav smiles, not a nice smile. It appears to have rather more teeth in it than the average human has.

"But you can still count," says the Beav, gently. "Look, my fingers." He holds up four fingers. "Four stones, four crates. Zero stones..." his voice raises to an impossible degree. "ZERO CRATES," he yells. Turning to Katie he growls, "Get them to put everything back, we're leaving."

Welling's warriors seem displeased with that, and some of them turn their weapons on the Beav. After a moment during which Welling looks around for an escape and finds nothing, he steps up to the plate. "We risked our lives for this. I believe a little compensation is in order," he says.

"So, you're a merchant, after all," says the Beav, sharklike smile back on his face. "Leave them one crate. For the cause," he calls to Katie.

The Beav's men, harried by Katie, hustle out, leaving a single crate behind.

Outside, the Beav heads along the street towards his limo, while Katie carries the empty case.

"I don't like warriors!" says the Beav. "They're too narrow-minded, no subtlety. Worse, they fight for hopeless causes -for honor, can you believe that? Honor has killed millions of people but it hasn't saved a single one." He pauses, waiting as his chauffeur leaps to open the limo door. "You know what I do like though? I like killers, real, dyed-in-the-wool killers. Cold-blooded, clean, methodical, thorough. A killer, when he picked up the ZF1, would've immediately asked about the little red button on the bottom of the gun."

Back inside the warehouse, the warriors have all picked up weapons. One of them inspects his ZF1. He turns it over and notices the little red button.

He presses it.

As the Beav watches, an ear-shattering explosion renders the warehouse to its component atoms. The Beav chuckles and indicates that they should drive away. "Oh, I want to see that priest," he says to Katie as they drive away.

Jared is just finishing up a Thai meal, cooked by a Thai on his mini restaurant, anchored at the window. Sadie is eating beside him.

"So you forgive me?" he asks her. She barks agreeably just as a red light blinks, announcing the arrival of a message in a glass tube. Jared ignores it.

"Not going to open?" asks the little old Thai, smiling. Jared shrugs. "I've never gotten a message that wasn't bad news," he says.

"How someone strong like you scared from a message? Is good news I sure." The Thai is wiping down his counter as he speaks, and Jared shakes his head.

"The last two messages I got? The first one was from my wife telling me she was leaving. The second was from my lawyer telling me he was leaving too, with my wife."

"You right that is bad," says the Thai. "But, mathematically, luck must change. Grandfather say, 'It never rain every day.' This is good news, guaranteed. I bet you lunch!"

Jared hesitates, then gives the envelope to the Thai, who opens it with a big smile that fades as reads the contents aloud.

"You're fired. Oh!"

Jared smiles at him. "Guess I won lunch at least."

"Good philosophy," says the Thai. "See good in bad. I like. I prepare number one dessert special for you and puppy."

Sadie barks in total agreement.

Jensen is also polishing off an immense dish of dessert as Gabe bangs away at the computer. "I got it! Everything here we need to know about Fhloston Paradise Hotel, and a detailed blueprint of the entire hotel!"

"Good work, my son," murmurs Kripke. "Now all we need is a way to get there." The doorbell rings as he's speaking. "I'll get it. Finish your work my son." Kripke opens the door to find Katie along with an armed escort.

"Father Kripke?" she asks, her voice sweet. "Mr. Beaver would like a word with you."

Later, much later, the Beav turns to Kripke. "Beaver. James Acheron Gryphon Xerxes Beaver. Nice to see you again."

Kripke snaps his fingers as a light goes on in his head. "I remember you now. You're the so called art dealer," he murmurs.

"I'm glad you got your memory back, Father," smiles the Beav. "Because you're going to need it. Where are the stones?"

"Why on earth do the stones interest you?" Kripke is baffled.

"Personally," says the Beav, "They are of no interest to me; I'd rather sell weapons. But I have a customer, so tell me..."

"Even if I did know where the stones were, I would never tell somebody like you," splutters Kripke.

"Why? What's wrong with me?" asks the Beav.

Kripke splutters. "I'm a priest! I'm here to serve life. All you want to do is destroy it."

"Father, you are so wrong. Let me explain." Throwing his arm around Kripke's shoulders, the Beav leads the priest into his inner office. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you." Kripke is attempting to keep his cool. The Beav leans forward earnestly as he begins to explain his way of thinking.

"Follow me. Life, which you so nobly serve, comes from destruction," he says. "Look at this empty glass." He pushes the glass with his finger. "Here it is – peaceful, serene, but if it's destroyed..." He shoves the glass off the table, so that it shatters on the floor. A crowd of small robots come zipping out from previously concealed cupboards to clean up the mess. "Look at all these little things, so busy all of a sudden. Notice how each one is useful. What a lovely ballet, so full of form and color. So full of life." He smirks.

"They're only robots," protests Kripke.

Katie comes into the room and pours water into another glass. The Beav tosses a cherry into it. "Yes, but by that simple gesture of destruction I gave work to at least fifty people today - the engineers, the technicians, the mechanics. Fifty people who will be able to feed their children so they can grow up big and strong. Children who will have children of their own, adding to the great cycle of life!"

Kripke continues to sit in silence.

"Father, by creating a little destruction, I am, in fact, encouraging life! So, in reality, you and I are in the same business," beams the Beav, looking as though he would take a bow with very little encouragement.

Kripke leans forward in turn, ready to burst the other man's bubble. "Destroying a glass is one thing. Killing people with the weapons you produce is quite another."

"Let me reassure you, Father." The Beav's smile is rather fixed as he draws a breath to rebut. "I will never kill more people in my entire life than religion has killed in the last two thousand years." He smiles, holds up the glass and takes a drink. He chokes on the cherry, and, unable to breathe, The Beav starts to panic.

"Where's the robot to pat your back?" asks Kripke, irony thick in his voice as the Beav falls, writhing, onto his desk, inadvertently hitting buttons which trigger a slew of little mechanisms. They pop out all over the desk. True chaos reigns. A cage appears, revealing a fat multi-colored beastie who seems surprised to be out in daylight. He licks his half-dead master in thanks. Kripke gets up and walks around the desk as the Beav motions for help.

"Can I give you a hand?" Kripke whacks him on the back, and the cherry flies out of his mouth to hit the weird little alien between the eyes. The Beav regains control of himself at last as a phalanx of guards come running in. He fixes Kripke with a steely eyeball and growls, "You saved my life, so I'm going to spare yours." Turning to the guards, he snaps, "Throw him out!"

Stepping forward, the guards do as they're bidden and seize hold of Kripke to forcibly eject him.

"Beaver, you're a monster," says Kripke, shocked.

The Beav beams at this unsought-for tribute. "I know," he says.

As the guards drag Kripke out of the office, he can hear the Beav saying, "Torture whoever you want, the President if you have to, but I want those Stones. You have an hour."

Katie gulps, salutes and hurries out of the office.

The Ostroff hangs in space. Three warships are positioned in front of it. Communication satellites zoom in from all directions, drawn to it like a magnet, only to disappear into the creature's vast maw.

Han Solo watches it in horror. "It's gobbling up all the communication satellites in the galaxy," he says into his communicator.

Far away, President Lindberg stifles his urge to laugh, disguising it as a cough. "Why the hell is it eating up all those satellites like that?" he asks Professor Carlson, who is happily reading a recipe book and dreaming of coq au vin so tender that it falls off the bone.

"We're working on it, Mr. President. We're working on it."

"It should only choke on them," says Lindberg.

Manners enters the office, just as a cockroach crawls onto the desk.

There's a small antenna on its back. Down in a car outside, Katie sits. She's wearing earphones, so she can monitor the President's conversation with her bug.

"I managed to contact the Mondoshawan," says Manners. "They deplore the incident, but accept our apologies."

Lindberg seems relieved, but a thought occurs to him. "And the Stones? Did you find them in the wreckage?"

"They weren't aboard the ship." Manners shakes his head.

"What do you mean?" Lindberg is all ears, as is Katie at her surveillance station.

"The Mondoshawan never fully trusted the human race; they felt we're too unpredictable, so they gave up the Stones to somebody they do trust." Manners smiles happily, glad to be the one with the information for a change. "Her name is Sandeelaguna. She's a Diva, and she's going to sing at the charity ball on Fhloston Paradise in a few hours. She apparently has the Stones with her."

The President breathes easier, and Katie is delighted. Lindberg takes off his shoe at that moment and uses it to crush the cockroach he's spotted on his desk. Katie's earphones fly off her head. Good-bye eardrums!

"I want your best man on this," says Lindberg, decisive as never before.

"Don't worry, Sir. I have the perfect man," says Manners.

The most disgusting dessert ever made is currently hitting a plate near Jared. The ex-cabbie looks at it shimmying on a plate as the Thai serves it to him proudly.

"Stewed jellyfish cake - my specialty," smiles the chef, toothily. Jared forces a weak, polite smile as the Thai looks on expectantly. The phone rings.

"Saved by the bell," whispers Jared. He rises to get his cigarettes, and answer the phone as Sadie devours the dessert and licks the plate clean.

"Hello?" Jared listens, and then shudders as he hurriedly holds the phone away from his ear.

"You're the nastiest dirtbag I know in this stinking City," says a voice he knows all too well.

"Hi Ma," he says, resigned.

"I've been playing twice a week for 20 years. 20 years I've been eating those shitty croquettes..." Jared goes to light his cigarette. There are only two matches left in the match box. He strikes one and it fizzles.

"You wouldn't even eat one to help your poor mother, and you win the big prize? Know something? The whole thing makes me sick!"

The voice drones on, and the Thai starts to clean up, just as Jared goes to strike the second match.

"Are you listening to me, you ingrate?"

Jared sighs and puts the match back into the box again. "Yes ma'" he says. He enters his code on the keypad the Thai is holding. " Go on. This is gonna take a while!"

The Thai casts off, and Jared closes the window as the aerojunk sails off into the stream of traffic and is lost to view. Returning his attention to the phone, Jared tries to divert his mother.

"Other than that, ma, you okay?" he asks. She is not to be diverted.

"And now you're making fun of me? I'm warning you! If you don't take me after all these years of sacrifice, I'll never forgive you!"

"Ma, what're you talking about?" he asks, baffled, as he listens to her diatribe.

"I get it! You want to make me beg, is that it?" she says, the whine in her voice strong enough to level a man at ten paces. He's getting annoyed. It's been a shitty day, and he doesn't need this too.

"All I want is an explanation. I just got in, I lost my job. I smashed my cab up. I got mugged, but other than that everything's peachy, Ma, thanks for asking. Now settle down and explain to me calmly."

A message drops in his tube. The red light goes on.

"You just won a trip, you dolt!" says his mother. "Ten days in Fhloston Paradise for two."

"Ma, if I'd won, I'd know about it." Jared punches the wall, but stops when his hand drips blood. "Someone would have notified me."

"They've been blaring out your name on the radio for the last hour, blockhead!" is her response, and he eyeballs the message still in the tube. He's about to pick it up and read it, when the doorbell rings.

"Ma, it's the door. I'll call you back," he says hastily and hangs up before his mother can say anything else. He heads for the door. Before he gets there, it opens. General Manners enters, followed by a Captain and a Major. The Major is a woman, but all she needs to become a man is a mustache. Manners opens a file.

Major Padalecki, if our calculations are correct, you still have fifty-seven hours owed to the Federation Army on your enlistment, which is more than you will need for a mission of the utmost importance."

"What mission?" Jared is beginning to feel as if he never woke up this morning. Surreptitiously he pinches himself and then yelps as it hurts.

"To save the world," says Manners, gesturing grandly.

"Where have I heard this song before?" snarls Jared, beginning to get annoyed.

"You're to leave immediately for Fhloston Paradise. Retrieve four Stones from the Diva Sandeelaguna and bring them back with the utmost discretion possible. Any questions?"

"Just one," says Jared, bewildered. "Why me?"

"Three reasons," asserts Manners. "One – as a part of The Elite Special Forces Unit of the Federation Army, you are an expert in the use of all weapons and spacecraft needed for this mission." Manners pulls out a long list of documents. "Two - of all the members of your unit, you were the most highly decorated."

"And the third one?" asks Jared as the General pauses again.

"Uh, you're the only one left alive," says Manners, reaching for the message Jared hasn't bothered to look at. "Don't you open your messages?"

"I've had enough good news for today," snarls Jared.

Manners extracts the message from its tube, but doesn't bother to look at it as he delivers the contents. "You have won the annual Gemini contest and a trip to Fhloston Paradise for two. Congratulations. Here are your tickets."

He hands Jared the tickets, and Jared finally gets it. "You rigged the contest?"

Manners nods. " Major Gamble here will accompany you as your wife."

Jared casts a sidelong glance at the Major and his soul rebels. "You couldn't come up with something a little more appetizing?" he asks, depressed at the whole idea.

"Old tricks are the best, eh?" says Manners.

Jared's jaw sets. "I'm not going," he says.

"Why not?" Manners looks astonished, as if he can't believe anyone would turn down a treat like this.

"One reason," murmurs Jared. "I want to stay the only one left alive."

As Jared makes his decision, Jensen and Kripke are outside, searching for his apartment. Jensen carries the card Jared gave him. Kripke finds the apartment, and yanks the number off the door. He waves Jensen over as his hand goes to the bell.

Inside the apartment, the doorbell rings. "'Scuse me," murmurs Jared, pushing past the Major to go to the door. He looks through the peephole and spies the beautiful Jensen. He panics, overcome with happiness.

"Shit!"

"What is it?" Manners is frowning. Jared has about two seconds to make up something to get rid of him.

"It's my wife," announces Jared. Manners' frown deepens.

"I thought you were divorced," he says.

"I mean my future... uh, my ex... My future ex... If she sees you here, I'm finished. She hates you guys. It's what killed us in the first place. Please." He doesn't wait for an answer and bundles them into the fridge. "Sorry, General, but I've got no choice! It'll only take a minute! Let me set up another meeting, and I'll be back."

"Three of us will never fit in there," says Manners, but it's too late. Jared pushes hard, cramming him in with the other two.

"Oh, yes you will," he says, slamming the fridge door. The doorbell rings again. "Coming!" He whips through his place in ten seconds, gathers up things that are lying about, shuts drawers, rolls up his laundry in the folding bed. He brushes his hair back and opens the door with a big smile, only to discover a gun stuck between his eyes held by Kripke.

"Apipoulai," says Jensen, jauntily.

"I suppose that means hi." Jared's dispirited. This isn't turning out the way he wanted at all.

"I'm sorry to have to resort to such methods," says Kripke. "But we heard about your good luck on the radio and we need the tickets to Fhloston."

"Is this the usual way priests go on vacation?" snarks Jared.

The priest looks shocked that Jared should think such a thing of him. "We're not going on vacation. We're on a mission."

"What kind of mission?" asks Jared, fascinated.

"We have to save the world," announces Kripke, and beside him, Jensen nods approvingly.

"Good luck," murmurs Jared. This is something he's heard altogether too much of lately. He had no idea that the world was in such need of saving, but if Jensen thinks it's needed he's willing to give it the benefit of the doubt.

"Of course," beams Kripke.

"Father, I was in the Army for awhile and every time they told us we were on a mission to save the world, the only thing that changed was I lost a lot of friends. So thanks for the offer, but no thanks." He moves to close the door, and Kripke seems disappointed, while Jensen looks absolutely crestfallen.

Jared opens his mouth to justify himself. "I'm sorry," he begins, just as a voice is heard, amplified many times.

"This is a police control action..." Everyone freezes as the whole building resounds with the electronic feedback.

A group of police bursts into the hallway. One of the cops enters a code on the police wall box, and a device descends from the ceiling, a flashing light-siren. The voice fills the air.

"This is not an exercise. This is a police control."

Kripke starts to panic, and Jared takes charge.

"Oh my God, oh my God," yells the priest. Jared pushes a button sending the fridge to the next floor. A shower takes its place.

"Jensen, hide in here and don't move," says Jared. Without argument, Jensen hops in. Jared tosses Kripke onto the bed.

"What are you doing?" demands Kripke.

"Trying to save your ass so you can save the world," growls Jared, pushing a button on the wall. The bed disappears into the wall. Grabbing his tickets, Jared slides them into his belt. Meanwhile, the automatic police voice continues.

"Spread your legs and place your hands in the yellow circles, please."

A cop slaps a viewer device on Jared's door, which makes part of it transparent.

"Put your hands in the yellow circles, please," calls the cop. Jared takes his time, hiding his face. The Cop looks at his sheet. He's apparently looking for one Jared Padalecki. He has Jared's picture, but it is Jared with short hair and a beard.

"Sir?" calls the cop. "Are you a human?"

"No, I'm a meat popsicle," snaps Jared, rolling his eyes.

At the other end of the hall, another cop calls out, "I found him." Jared's calling card is clumsily stuck to the door of the neighbor's apartment. As the cop slaps his viewer onto Jared's unpleasant neighbor's door, he sees that the neighbor is at his sink shaving, instead of against the wall. The first cop arrives with Jared's picture.

"Sir, this is a police control. Please put your hands in the yellow circles."

The neighbor steps right up to the viewer, shaving cream on his face. He could pass for Jared.

"Fuck you!" he growls.

Jared still has his hands to the wall. "Wrong answer," he murmurs, sotto voce. Outside he can hear shots, followed by an explosion and a scuffle.

The riot police hustle down the hall dragging the neighbor behind them in a canvas bag. A cop is talking on the wall phone. "OK, we got the guy under wraps."

In the Beav's office, Katie is on the phone, facing her boss.

"It wasn't easy, but we bagged him. Thanks for the tip."

"Glad to help," smirks Katie, hanging up.

"They just arrested the Padalecki guy for Uranium smuggling. Everything's going as planned." She shows the Beav a plane ticket, and a passport with her picture and the name, Katie Padalecki. "All I have to do now is to go to the airport and take my place as his wife. I should be in Fhloston in less than four hours."

The Beav sits there quietly for a moment. Finally he looks up and speaks. "Don't come back without the Stones," he says.

Back in Jared's apartment, he's opening the shower door. Jensen is soaking wet, his teeth chattering from the cold.

"I'm really sorry," Jared says. "Autowash..." His eyes fall on an old blanket. "Here let me wrap you up." He wraps Jensen in the blanket and vigorously rubs the man's back. Jensen warms gradually and snuggles closer to Jared's shoulder. Jared's rubbing slows, to something more like a caress.

"It's funny," murmurs Jared. "I've met you twice today, and you've ended up in my arms both times." Jensen recovers, looking embarrassed.

"Valo massa. Chacha hamas," he mumbles.

"Uh, you're welcome," husks Jared. The intimacy makes him nervous. He looks for a diversion. "Coffee! That's what you need! A nice, hot cup of coffee!" He pushes a button on the coffee machine. "With some honey! You'll see, honey's great!" Jared rummages through the drawer. Jensen, innocent, doesn't seem to quite understand everything that is going on. "A hot cup of coffee," burbles Jared. "With honey..." He rummages through the cupboard, exceedingly nervous. Jensen smiles and begins to look around. He opens a drawer and comes upon a bunch of photos showing Major Jared Padalecki, War Hero.

He looks back to his host, who is currently fumbling as he tries to find the honey, and smiles.

"Here it is!" Jared holds up the jar of honey. "Here. Try this." Jensen sticks Jared's finger into the jar and then puts it into his mouth. "It... er... melts in your mouth, doesn't it?"

He savors the honey, slowly, sensually. His lips shine with honey. His eyes narrow with pleasure. Jared is hypnotized by his lips - a moth attracted to a flame. He begins to lose control, which makes him nervous. An indistinct sound comes from the wall, but Jared is so entranced with the sight of Jensen licking his honeyed fingers that he doesn't hear it until it becomes almost loud enough to drown out their voices. Almost...

"You hear that?" he asks Jensen, confused.

"Kripke," mutters Jensen, still industriously licking Jared's fingers clean.

"Oh, God!" Jared pushes the button on the wall, and the bed pops out, fully made, with Kripke tucked in it, struggling to get out. "I'm really sorry. Here, let me help you." Jared begins to pull at the covers.

"Achta ge lumitai de matala," announces Jensen.

Jared turns. "What?" He turns to Jensen struggling out of his wet clothes. His breath is taken away by the sight of his perfect body.

At that moment, Kripke whacks him heavily on the head with a lamp. Jared drops to the floor as if pole-axed.

Jensen appears displeased. "Vano da, mechteba? Soun domo kala chon hammas," he scolds.

"No, I'm not proud of myself," murmurs Kripke. "But we don't have the luxury of choice."

Downstairs, the police exit the elevator and head for the front door. A cop suddenly takes a hit from a silenced weapon, then a second cop goes down. Others are bashed on the head by Mangalore warriors. One of them picks up the bag containing the prisoner and takes it into a small shed where Welling, the Mangalore leader, is waiting. He is seriously wounded and covered in cuts and bruises.

"Jared Padalecki. We got him," announces a warrior.

"Perfect," says Welling. I will go to Fhloston and get the Stones. If the Beav really wants them, he'll have to negotiate. Revenge is at hand." With a low, evil laugh he's been practicing in private for years, he rises to his feet and staggers off to the airport.

Back in his apartment, Jared gets unsteadily to his feet. Blood drips down his face, and he daubs at it. He's starting to get pissed off now.

The phone rings, and he answers it automatically.

"Yeah?" he says, but regrets it instantly.

"Have you pulled yourself together?" his mother asks him.

"Not yet," growls Jared and hangs up. He opens the fridge door. The three officers are frozen solid. He grabs some ice, presses it to his forehead and retrieves his tickets from the General's frozen hand.

"I'll take the mission," he says, and closes the door.

Kripke and Jensen – who is still damp - arrive at the Manhattan Intergalactic Airport. It's a huge hall three quarters filled with trash piled up to the ceiling. There are groups of extra-terrestrials on strike standing in the garbage holding picket signs. A security guard picks up a phone from the wall.

"We have an illegal gathering in Zone 4," he says.

A hand taps Jensen's shoulder from behind. He whips around, catching Gabe in the face.

"Jensen, be careful," murmurs Kripke. He turns to Gabe who in holding his bloody nose. "Did you get them?" Gabe hands Kripke two passports.

"Excellent... Jensen Padalecki." Kripke hands Jensen the passport. The name makes him smile. "And Jared Gabriel Padalecki."

Jensen frowns. "Akta dedero ansila do mektet."

"I can't pretend to be your husband," says Kripke. "But Gabriel is in great shape." Jensen looks dubiously at Gabe, who's holding his bloody nose. "He'll protect you. Go on. See the Diva. Get the Stones. See you at the temple, and may God be with you."

As they turn to go to the boarding gate, Jared rushes into the airport. Walking quickly, he casts his glance around the hall, looking for Jensen. A police patrol bearing down on the strikers jostles him. The cops open fire and the strikers dive into the garbage and disappear.

At the gate, Gabe puts tickets and IDs onto the check-in counter. Jensen tosses his suitcase onto the conveyor belt. The attendant smiles a toothpaste smile. "Congratulations on winning the contest."

Gabe gives her a bleak smile, and Jensen rolls his eyes. Back a little way, Jared spots Jensen and Gabe. He heads towards them. Jensen spies him and appears to be both delighted and panicked. Gabe, however, has seen nothing. Coming up behind them, Jared presses one of his fingers like a gun to Gabe's back.

"Hey! I really thought I was going to miss my flight," he says, grinning toothily, dimples punctuating his good humor. "Thanks, kid," he says to Gabe. "You put the luggage on the conveyor belt?"

Discovered, the only thing Gabe can do is appear to agree. "Uh, yeah," he grunts, praying that Jared isn't going to kill him with the huge gun that seems to be bruising his ribs.

"Great," says Jared, removing his hand from Gabe's back. "Now beat it!"

Paralyzed with fear, Gabe backs away. Jared turns to the attendant.

"Excuse me. I was so afraid I'd miss the flight that I sent the kid here to pick up my boarding card." Jensen is unable to hold back a smile. The attendant studies Jensen's Id. "Your brother?" she asks.

Jared grabs the ID and reads it. "Uh, no," he says. "Newlyweds. You know how it is. Love at first sight. You meet, something goes tilt, and you get married. You hardly know each other, right, darling?"

Jensen rips his boarding card out of the attendant's hand. "Dinoine chagantakat. Multipass!"

"Took the words right out of my mouth," says Jared, flashing those dimples again. "Go on. I'll be right with you." He turns back to the attendant. "It's our honeymoon. We're going to use the trip to get to know each other better." He winks at the stewardess before moving on to board the craft.

As they go in, behind them, Jared's neighbor, accompanied by a skanky looking young girl, crosses the airport. The couple is almost knocked over by a police patrol holding a 500 pound pig on a stainless steel leash. The couple panics a moment, then realize the patrol isn't for them. The pig heads for the pile where the strikers disappeared.

"Come on, Snyffer," says the cop to his pig. "Go root!" The pig piles into the garbage. The cop lets out the leash, and there are muffled squeaks from the pile of garbage.

Kripke is sitting at a bar, babbling at the bartender. "I feel so guilty sending him to do the dirty work. I know he was made to be strong, but he's also so fragile, so human. You know what I mean?"

The bartender, a robot, nods its head as it pours Kripke another drink.

The nasty neighbor and his wife hand their tickets to the check-in attendant. The attendant is a little shocked. "Padalecki? Jared?" she asks.

"Yes, that's me."

The check-in attendant triggers a transparent blue light that shines on their faces, revealing that they are disguised, and that the two of them are really Mangalores. She smiles her toothpaste smile and murmurs "Just a minute, please." She hits a silent alarm, but the Mangalores feel something is wrong.

"We'll be right back. We're just gonna check out the duty free." The pair of them spin around and hurry away.

Kripke is still at the bar, but now he's halfway to paralytic.

"The same?" asks the bartender.

"Yeah," slurs Kripke.

"Make that two," says a voice from his shoulder. Kripke turns and sees Gabe.

"Where's Jensen?"

"On the plane," sighs Gabe. "With Mr. Padalecki - the real one," he says.

"Oh, my God! It's all my fault. I'm the servant. It's my mission. Here." He hands Gabe the temple key from around his neck. "Here's the key to the Temple." Kripke blinks owlishly as he attempts to have both eyes track at the same time. "Go and prepare for our arrival." He tosses Gabe's drink into his own, knocks it back and then takes off, passing the Mangalore couple as they make for the exit. They are apparently very nervous. A police patrol is coming, and, this time, it does seem to be for them.

Inside the ship Jensen stands at the buffet in the first class lounge eating everything in sight. Jared makes his way towards him, led by an attendant.

"You are so lucky," she's saying. "Rosey Rhedd is the coolest DJ in the universe."

"I don't want to be interviewed. I'd prefer to remain anonymous," protests Jared. The stewardess stops in the corridor, her jaw on her chest.

"Forget anonymous. You're scheduled to do Rosey Rhedd's live show every day from 5 to 7 for the duration of your trip."

Jared's expression changes, and he assumes his most mulish expression. No more Mr. Nice Guy here. "You've gotta be kidding," he growls.

The stewardess smiles and shakes her head, just as the door next to him swings open and smashes him in the face. In walks Rosey Rhedd amidst a welter of aides and assorted hangers-on. He is impish, with a chubby face and a shiny, bald head, and he's dressed in the weirdest possible outfit – all leopard-skin print, spandex and spangles.

"Jared Padalecki! Here he is; the most hated man in the universe. The one and only winner of the Gemini Croquette contest! Ladies, start melting 'cause the boy's hot! Hot! Hot! The boy is perfect." Snaking up to Jared, Rosey feels his biceps, lips pursed as he gauges the firmness. "The right size, right build, right hair. Right on! Say something to those 50 billion pairs of ears out there, J-man!"

One of the teeming assistants passes a totally lost Jared a mike. He looks at it as if it's a striking snake, leans forward and mumbles, "Hi." Then he backs away.

"Does it get any better or what?" burbles Rosey, grabbing Jared's arm and towing him down the hallway. "Quiver, ladies, he's gonna set the world on fire right here from 5 to 7! You'll know everything there is to know about the J-man. His dreams, his desires, his most intimate of intimates, and from what I'm looking at, intimate is the stud-muffin's middle name. So tell me, my main man, you nervous in the service?"

Jared's baffled. The mike is menacing him again, and he swallows. "Uh, not really."

Rosey Rhedd lets go of Jared's arm at last and grabs for the stewardess.

"Freeze those knees, my chickadees, 'cause J-man is on the case with a major face." He rubs up against the stewardess. "Start drooling, ladies! My man here is a sharp-tongued sire who's gonna stroke your every desire."

They come to an intersection. The airline company has prepared drinks for them. Rosey Rhedd pushes on, grabs a glass of champagne, draining it, scribbles his autograph, turns and hands his empty glass to a flunkey and passes on. "Yesterday's unknown will be tomorrow's Prince of Fhloston Paradise, the hotel of a thousand and one follies, home of luxury and beauty. A magic fountain flowing with non-stop wine, women and Hootchie Koochie Koo." He slurps back his refilled champagne glass and then tosses it over his shoulder as he sashays on. "Beware out there, puppy dogs, my man Jared is on the prowl. Owwww!"

Howling, Rosey Rhedd grabs another stewardess by the arm. "And start licking your stamps, little girls. This guy's gonna have you writing home to Momma! Tomorrow from 5 to 7, I'll be your voice, your tongue, and I'll be hot on the tail of the sexiest man of the year - J-man, your man, my man." The stewardess shivers, and a beep sounds out.

"End of transmission," says an electronic voice. The music suddenly stops. Several assistants come and compliment Rosey Rhedd, who sighs, lights up a joint, pops a few assorted pills, and drops his pretense.

"Jared, sweetheart, do me a favor. I know this is probably the biggest thing that ever happened to you in your inconsequential life, but I've got a show to do here, and it's got to pop, pop, pop. So, tomorrow, when we're on the air, give me a hand." He leans forward, in Jared's face despite the height difference between them, and scowls in an intimidating manner. "Try to make believe you have more than a one word vocabulary, green?"

That does it. Jared grabs him by the collar and drags him into a corner. Rosey Rhedd's feet don't touch the ground as he's dangled from Jared's mighty paws.

"I didn't come here to play Dumbo on the radio, so tomorrow, between 5 and 7, give yourself a hand, Is that green?"

"Green," squeaks Rosey.

Back at the gate, the check-in attendant has two more tickets in her hand. She frowns as she studies the ID in her hand. Mrs. Padalecki... Jared Padalecki?"

Katie gives her a big smile. "That's right."

The attendant scans the ID with a yellow beam, and when that checks out, and the blue light reveals no other face but hers, she isn't quite sure what to say. "The problem is that Mr. Padalecki has already checked in, and he's brought his new husband with him."

Katie's smile disappears as fast as it came. "But that's impossible," she stuttered. "He isn't mar... I mean, there must be some mistake. I have my ticket! I'm the real Mrs. Padalecki!" As she's speaking, there's a loud bell, and the check-in girl smiles sympathetically. "I'm sorry," she says. "Boarding is finished." Hitting a button causes a window to slide up between them, effectively closing Katie off from any further communication.

Livid, Katie hammers on the glass. "I want to see your boss!" she screams. "You're making a big mistake. Heads will roll!" As she pounds on the counter with her fists, a steel curtain comes down and red beams focus on her. Gun barrels protrude from the wall to aim at her. A voice booms at her.

"This is not an exercise. This is a police control. Put your hands in the nearest yellow circles."

For a moment, Katie's jaw drops, and then she attempts conciliation. "Uh, sorry, my fault," she says, biting off the words between her teeth in a manner that merely demonstrates her frustration. "Just a little overexcited, that's all. I'm calm now..."

Inside the ship, Jared is making his way along the corridor, looking for his berth. He finally spots Jensen, who is stretched out on his belly in front of a computer screen. Climbing in, Jared slides in next to him. Jensen is concentrating on the words that scroll rapidly past him on the screen, and Jared doesn't quite understand what he's up to.

"Apipoulai," murmurs Jensen, beaming, and Jared feels himself melt all over again at the perfect being's eye-crinkling smile. However, he has to make his ravishing companion understand something. Leaning in towards Jensen, he tries to explain.

"Jensen, listen to me. These tickets shouldn't really belong to me. I mean they do but not..." He frowns. "I'd love to be on vacation with you for real but..." He sighs softly. "I have a job to do, and I'd love to work in peace..."

Jensen types the word love. "Love," he murmurs, studying the screen and nodding as he sees the definition.

"Yes." Jared nods. "But love isn't really the word. What you need to understand is peace."

Nodding amiably, Jensen types in this new word.

"Peace," he says, approvingly. "Love."

The picture on the screen is that of a 60's style Hippie flashing a peace sign. Jared sighs and switches off the screen, defeated.

Jensen isn't ready to admit defeat yet, however. "Make Love?" he says. "What?"

Jared just stares for a few minutes, and then he sighs and turns the screen back on. "Be my guest," he mumbles, trying to will away the erection that's suddenly complicated his state of mind.

He's saved from any further trouble by the stewardess, who is strolling up the aisle of the shuttle pushing the red buttons on top of each individual compartment.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice coos as she goes. "To make your flight as short and agreeable as possible, our flight attendants are switching on the automatic sleep timer which will regulate your sleep during the trip."

"Okay," says Jensen, as she draws nearer. "Finished." He switches off the computer screen, and smiles. Jared has to ask.

"Finished what?" he says, confused.

"Learning language," says Jensen.

"Which language?" Jared raises himself up on his elbow to study Jensen.

"All," says Jensen, and Jared shakes his head, unsure whether to laugh or cry. As he ponders his response, the stewardess reaches his compartment.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Padalecki," she coos at him, reaching to set the sleep timer.

"No, wait..." says Jared, but it's too late, and as he's speaking, they fall asleep.

At the other end of the shuttle, one of the attendants is finding that it isn't all plain sailing. "Mr. Rosey Rhedd, you have to assume your individual position," she protests as he envelopes her, hands everywhere they can be.

"I don't want an individual position; I want all positions," he announces, licking along her neck. Fighting him off is like escaping the clutches of a giant squid, although she makes a vain but valiant attempt.

"We'll be taking off soon, Mr. Rhedd," she protests. Her words fall on deaf ears.

"Now you're talking," he says, sliding down her body as she moans and gives up the struggle.

Preparing for liftoff, the captain is checking the instrumentation as the copilot radios in their flight plan. "Molecular axis authorization, vector 130, destination Fhloston," he's saying as a stewardess enters the cockpit.

"Zone 1, 217 locked," she says. "The sleep regulator is engaged."

A red light flashes on the vast control panel. A mechanic's voice comes over the radio. "Tell the ground crew we've got parasites in the landing gear."

The message is passed, and down on the asphalt, a member of the ground crew goes to fetch the disinfection units, bringing them over to the front landing gear and turning them on. The resulting flame burns everything it touches. A pack of repugnant creatures falls squealing from the landing gear. A small trapdoor is opened under the shuttle and a huge slightly phosphorescent tube falls out.

Katie is in a phone booth in the middle of the hall. "Yeah, it's me. Put Mr. Beaver on," she says, swallowing nervously.

The Beav is suddenly on the screen, and he's not at all happy. "I'm listening," he says, his voice cold.

"The real Jared Padalecki is on the plane, and he's got a husband with him. I didn't get a chance..."

"This is a joke, right?" says the Beav.

Inside the shuttle, Rosey Rhedd is wrapped around a stewardess like she's his favorite teddy bear. He's nuzzling his prey, and doing his best to hypnotize her. "No, I swear to God! I've never been this sincere with a human before."

"Oh, Mr. Rhedd," she squeaks, believing every word he says, or at least every other one.

An enormous, highly phosphorescent tube is being inserted into the opening in the undercarriage of the shuttle, and one of the ground crew calls the co-pilot to announce that the ship is cleared for take-off.

Inside the shuttle, on the bridge, the pilot does his final checks. "All ready for lift-off," he announces.

Rosey Rhedd is tossing a pair of blue, uniform panties over his shoulder, even as the stewardess protests that she just isn't that kind of girl.

As he sinks to his knees, her cries of, "Oh, please, stop," suddenly become cries of, "Oh, please..."

"I can't hear you; we have a bad connection here. What's your number?" says the Beav. Katie reels it off and the Beav tells her that he'll call her back.

The runway is now empty as the ground crew leave to enable the take-off. A man slips out of the shadows. It's Kripke. He scurries over to the front landing gear. He pauses for an instant, peers around himself surreptitiously and then climbs up the wheel to disappear inside the shuttle's baggage hold.

Inside, the pilots are going through the pre-flight check list. "Anti static pressure?" says the pilot, making a note.

"Primed," says the co-pilot, pressing a button.

Rosey Rhedd is happily popping buttons, too - the ones on the stewardess's blouse. He whispers sweet nothings into her ear, and the stewardess' legs rise slowly, as does the ship. She's undergoing a power surge from Rosey Rhedd that's about to lift her off.

The Beav is gleefully dialing a number. "3... 2... 1..." he counts down.

The engines fire at full blast. The stewardess screams. The pilot calls for lift-off. The co-pilot pushes a button.

So does The Beav.

The engines release their full power. The stewardess screams in ecstatic release. Katie explodes - along with the phone and everything else within 60 feet.

Inside the ship, the stewardess's legs slowly descend.

In the cockpit, the flight crew relaxes. "Landing gear secure. Let's light one up," calls the co-pilot.

Jared and Jensen sleep soundly in their compartment. Jensen is smiling and his hand has found Jared's.

The shuttle achieves orbit, and then goes to warp speed. The stars glow in perfect silence.

The Ostroff is still hovering, immobile. It's watching something, a cosmic cat spying a mouse. Then, suddenly, its face twists in a snarl.

Admiral Singer watches from his spaceship, scientists are monitoring their instruments, and as one of them suddenly begins to chatter and hum, a technician cries out in excitement.

"All right! We're finally getting something," he calls, and everyone crowds around.

In President Lindberg's office, Professor Carlson stands facing the President, who is looking more tired than ever.

"The thing is sending out radio waves," he tells Lindberg.

"What the hell does it want with radio waves?" The President shakes his head, baffled.

It probably wants to make a call," says Carlson, smirking as the President and his Generals gape at him.

In the Beav's office, the phone rings.

"Ms. Ostroff is on the line," announces Lauren, his new secretary.

Picking up the phone, the Beav looks nervous. "Hello," he murmurs. "This is Beaver."

The voice is girly, sinister and cold, coming as it does from the bowels of hell. "Am I disturbing you?" she lisps.

"Not at all," he says. "Where are you?"

"Not far, now," says the Ostroff.

"Really? Maybe I can get you on my screen and see you at last," says the Beav, sounding excited. He brings up a huge screen, pushes a few buttons and from the depths of space and time she appears. She's smiling seductively, fluttering her eyelashes, and the Beav winces.

"How's our deal coming along?" she asks him, sweetly.

"Fine, just fine," he says, unconvincingly. Sweat stands out on his forehead, and he takes off his cap, mops his brow with a spotted bandana and replaces it a little askew. "I'll have the Stones you asked for any time now, but it wasn't easy. My costs have tripled."

Ostroff smirks, and black, slimy liquid starts to ooze from the top of the screen. The Beav looks uneasy.

"Money is of no importance," she lisps. "I want those Stones."

The black liquid oozes across his screen, and it begins to melt. The Beav is still sweating, and he sinks down into his chair, gulping. "The Stones will be here. I'll see to it personally"

"Soon," says Ostroff. "I can't wait to be among you." It's her parting shot. She cuts the connection.

The space shuttle banks left as it begins its descent toward Fhloston, the turquoise planet. It flies over crystal blue water, perfect white sand beaches and heads for the Fhloston Paradise and the dock.

Inside, a stewardess picks up her microphone to make an announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent toward Fhloston Paradise."

Stewardesses walk down the aisles, waking the passengers one by one, pressing the button on the door of each compartment. In one corner, Rosey Rhedd and the stewardess awake with a start and straighten their clothes quickly. The stewardess is embarrassed. "I wanted to tell you that..."

Rosey Rhedd dons his sunglasses and presses a finger to her lips. He disappears behind the curtain leaving the sighing stewardess on her own.

The spaceship descends through a few little, fluffy white clouds and glides over a vast turquoise sea. Fhloston Paradise looms into view, an enormous cruise ship that floats a dozen yards above the water. The shuttle draws near, looking ridiculously small next to the monster. Like a sardine next to a whale.

A blinking light goes on, and the pilot mutters a curse as he registers the presence of parasites once more.

A stewardess opens Jared's compartment door. He is still heavy with sleep. He looks over to Jensen, but Jensen's gone.

The pilot maneuvers the ship into the dock. "Docking activated. You can let the passengers out, now," he calls.

Searching for the parasites, the co-pilot pries open the door to an overhead panel. Kripke falls out, hanging in a jumble of wires.

Down in the dock, the door of the shuttle opens, and the passengers stream out, Jensen among them. He appears to be impressed by the beauty and luxury of the hall and swiftly heads off as if he knows just where he's going. Back inside the shuttle, Jared is attempting to make his way out. He shoves his way through the excited crowds. "Pardon me. Excuse me. I'm trying to reach my husband. Sorry," he murmurs as he goes.

A dozen policemen wait patiently at the end of the hall. Jensen stops and presses against the wall. He spots Jared leaving the shuttle and appears to be about to go to him when a gorgeous hostess approaches Jared, drapes a lei around his neck and plants a kiss on his lips in welcome. "Welcome to Paradise," she says.

Jared's face is covered in lipstick. Jensen sees he did nothing to stop the hostess and frowns. A large, muscular host wearing a sarong drapes some flowers around Jensen's neck. Then, obviously relishing it, he leans in to kiss him. Jensen bashes him on the forehead. The host straightens up, still smiling, but his nose is bleeding. He falls slowly to the floor.

Jared pushes forward, still looking for Jensen. He's trying to wipe the lipstick off his face. Jensen escapes through a door marked 'personnel only'.

A shriek of joy fills the room, and Jared turns around to see all the hostesses cluster around Rosey Rhedd as he comes out of the plane. Rosey Rhedd spots Jared and swaggers over to him, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Jared, my main man," he trills. "Please don't leave me here alone. My head's killing me and my adoring fans are gonna tear me apart! Get me outta here."

"I'll take you to the bar," grumbles Jared. "After that, you're on your own."

Undaunted, Rosey does a little dance step. "Oh, yes! Do that! You treat me right, Jared, my man. Tell me all about yourself, your roots, your personal life, your childhood dreams..."

Jared winces. " I don't think this is a good time," he says. He might as well not have bothered to speak. The man with the shiny head continues unabated.

"You got brothers and sisters? What about your dad? Tell me about your dad! What was he like? Big, I suppose?"

"Yeah, very big, a giant," snarls Jared, trying hard to back away as Rosey clings like a limpet to his arm.

"I didn't have a dad," whispers Rosey. "I was actually drawn by Walt Disney."

Jensen is in a small room, listening at the door. Everything seems fine. He turns to discover that the room is a rest area for cops, three of whom look up from their books and stare blankly at him. He doesn't quite know what to do, so he smiles.

Jared, meanwhile, has escaped from Rosey, and is now being shown to his stateroom. The hostess throws open the door and Jared enters, gaping at the luxury. His suitcases are brought in, and Jared picks up the notice announcing Diva Sandeelaguna's concert at 5:30 that evening.

"For the concert it says formal attire," he begins. " I didn't bring..."

The hostess pulls back the closet door. Twenty tuxedos hang in a row.

There's champagne," says the hostess. "I'll drop by after the concert to open it." She gives him a blinding smile and closes the door.

Jared goes over to the window and pulls the curtains open, revealing a most spectacular view of the turquoise planet. In the vast depths of space, stars shoot out into infinity. It's breathtaking. For a moment he stands gaping, then the phone rings, snapping him out of his reverie. "Hello?" he says.

"You little sleaze bag!" Once again, his mother's voice drags him down to earth.

"Ma," he says, dumbfounded.

"Don't you ever ask me for another thing in my life again; you've killed your poor mother with your own hands." Jared drops into an armchair and sighs. His eyes go to the ceiling, but the torrent of abuse continues.

Elsewhere on the cruise liner, the Chief of Police has Kripke in front of him, handcuffed. "OK, let's hear it again," he says.

"Where was I?" Kripke frowns.

"You opened the door, and there was a cabby with a man in his arms." As Kripke is about to continue, two cops come hobbling in all bloody and bandaged. They're supporting a third.

"What the hell happened to you?" asks the chief of police. "A bomb go off in your face?"

"Yeah." The cop is bleeding from multiple scrapes and cuts. "A 6 foot bomb in an orange shirt. He had green eyes."

Kripke perks up and breathes a sigh of relief. The cops, busily tending to their wounded, don't notice as he slips away.

In the corridor, Jensen watches the Diva's arrival. A door opens and two security guards clear the way for Diva Sandeelaguna, her manager, her bodyguards, and a gaggle of porters carrying her luggage.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Jensen pretends to study a painting that is obviously upside down. The Diva's face is shrouded in white. She pauses before Jensen, reaches out and strokes his face. As she removes her hand there's a sound like crackling electricity. She studies him for a moment and then passes on. Jensen appears to be groggy. As he stands there, recovering, Kane, the Diva's assistant comes up to him.

"Please forgive this little incident. She wants you to know that she senses great powers in you, in the service of a noble cause. She will give you what you have come to get, but she wants to sing first, one last time."

The assistant turns the painting right side up. Jensen looks back at it and nods. Now it makes sense!

Jared's finishing putting on his tux, still on the phone. "Listen, Ma! I've only got a few days vacation, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna spend them on the phone."

The door flies open as he hangs up, and Rosey Rhedd barges in. "Jared? Jared, my man, we gotta get funky with the monkey." Sighing, Jared is dragged away to the concert.

The concert hall is a replica of the Garnier Opera in Paris. A hostess escorts them to their seats. Rosey Rhedd is broadcasting as they walk. "We have just walked into what is probably the most beautiful concert hall in the universe. Believe me, it's totally awesome! Magnificent paintings on the ceiling. I don't know who painted them, but he must have busted his balls! I see a row of former ministers, more sinister than minister! A few generals practicing how to sleep. And there's Baby Chad Michael, star of stage and screen, drowning in a sea of nymphets. He's not gonna get much out of this concert, he's stone-deaf!"

Baby Chad Michael is a short blond, bending his ear to a girl asking for an autograph.

"And over there is Roy Von Bacon, the king of laserball and the best paid player in the League." Rosey Rhedd is in his element, gushing as he maintains his vise-like grip on Jared's arm. "And over there is the Emperor Kodar Japhet whose daughter Aachen is still at the bar. 'I love to sing, too, but in the shower,' she recently confessed to me. She will no doubt prove to be as generous tonight as she always is. Just listen to her sing!" A woman's voice, gasping in orgasm can be heard as Rosey continues his progress. "Sweet," he carols.

A waiter gives them both glasses of champagne and then leaves the hall with his empty tray. He enters a small room reserved for staff, where he's joined by others. They are all well armed. Opening a cupboard, the waiter pulls out a humongous weapon. Suddenly their faces dissolve, revealing the battered, bruised face of Welling, leader of the Mangalores, and his troops. His eyes are glazed with madness. Bandages circle his head, and there's a tic in one eye that doesn't stop twitching despite the fact that it's bloodshot and swollen.

"It's showtime," says Welling.

Back in the concert hall, the lights slowly go down. Jared watches, intrigued and willing to be entertained. The Diva emerges from a cloud of gauzy curtains to stand in front of them. She's alone on the stage, a tiny presence that glows as brightly as the stars displayed on the backdrop behind her.

She begins to sing, and her voice is amazing, rich and full with a sweetness that he's never heard before. Around him he can feel the swelling of emotion as her song touches the audience. He can feel the tears rise in the backs of his eyes. His throat burns with the need to sob out loud.

Throwing back her head, the Diva's voice soars unamplified throughout the auditorium. She's beautiful, exotic, but that pales to insignificance beneath the majesty of her song. The long, slow lament vibrates the very air around Jared, and he can't keep from weeping.

"Don'tya wish your girlfriend was hot like me," she warbles.

It ends as all things must, and the music changes, picks up speed. She smiles tenderly at her audience, and begins a second song.

I'm telling you loosen up my buttons baby (Uh huh)
But you keep fronting (Uh)
Saying what you going do to me (Uh huh)
But I ain't seen nothing (Uh)

The lyrics are inspirational. The audience is moved, and everyone rejoices.

Alone in the Diva's bedroom, Jensen is searching for the stones with tears in his eyes at the beauty of the Diva's song.

Chris Kane is the Diva's manager. He's lounging in the sitting area of the suite, and he's heard it all before. He really has no ear for music, and he's falling asleep despite the sound of the Diva's voice, because he's drunk the best part of a bottle of Scotch. He's drowsing when he hears a knock on the door, and a voice announces that there's a delivery of flowers for the Diva. Grumbling, he rises and stomps over to answer the door. Used to fielding tributes for his mistress, ranging from flowers and champagne to diamonds and Coach accessories, he's not at all prepared to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. A dozen Mangalores rush in. One of them, with a human face, closes the door and waits out in the hall. Gulping, Kane folds himself into a very small ball and cowers down behind a couch.

Lurking around a bend in the corridor, Kripke is watching.

Up on the deck, the captain is being apprized of a malfunctioning ship that's requesting permission to dock for repairs. As permission is given to land, the Beav pulls into the docking garage, turns off his thrusters and climbs out onto Fhloston Paradise with a satisfied smile.

As the Mangalores pour into the Diva's suite, Jensen straightens up. He hasn't found the Stones, and he's running out of time. He knows that he has to act. He conceals himself as rampaging Mangalores trash the Diva's suite in their own haphazard search. One of them finally discovers a case engraved with the four elements. He's about to open it when Jensen reveals his presence.

"Apipoulai!" he says, jauntily.

A Mangalore whips out the biggest knife ever made and rushes Jensen. He makes short work of him and as he drops the dead Mangalore to the ground and dusts off his hands, a fight ensues.

The Diva sings and Jensen dances through a display of martial arts both graceful and efficient, his every move a tribute to his grace and artistry. The Mangalores pay a heavy price for the show.

The Mangalore who's been left on watch outside the door is growing uneasy as he hears the sounds of battle from within. He runs for reinforcements.

Jensen knocks out the last, hapless Mangalore, just as the Diva finishes her song to a burst of applause. The Diva takes a bow. So does Jensen.

Welling and his warriors have been listening to the concert when the Mangalore guard runs in.

"They were waiting for us; it was an ambush," cries the warrior.

Welling, never very stable to begin with, begins to twitch in earnest at his words. "If it's war they want, it's war they'll get," he growls. "Enact the Final Plan." As one, the alien horde cocks its weapons.

Jensen is about to open the case he's rescued from the aliens, when the door explodes. Standing in the empty frame is the Beav, and he's holding a ZF1.

Jensen catches on quickly. He kicks the scotch bottle Kane left on the floor into the gun, which throws The Beav's shot off. He jumps up to the ceiling and disappears into an air vent. Furious, The Beav fires at the ceiling, while Jensen dodges bullets as best he can.

Three thousand rounds go into the ceiling, which winds up looking like a piece of antique lace. Convinced that he can't possibly have missed Jensen, the Beav nods in satisfaction and sticks a small cylinder onto the wall, pushing the button and turning it on. Numbers begin to count down; it's a bomb, and the timer on it reads: 19 minutes and 59 seconds.

Picking up the case that has the Stones depicted on it, the Beav turns to leave the suite. "If you want a job done right, you might just as well do it yourself," he says.

On the deck, Kripke is seated opposite the Chief of Police, desperately attempting to alert the man to the fact that there are aliens trying to take over the vessel. As he opens his mouth to speak again, the door explodes, and a dozen Mangalores attack. Welling is at their head. Security guards and police alike are caught unawares.

"Nobody move! We're taking over this ship," barks Welling, and the Captain gapes. Kripke leans toward him and smirks.

"I told you so," he says.

The Beav has picked up the case and is in the act of exiting the suite just as the general alarm goes off. He sighs in exasperation.

In the concert hall, a party of Mangalores suddenly rush in, shooting.
There's panic all around as the leader screams, "Everyone down."

Rosey Rhedd is on the air, even though he's panicking. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we're being attacked," he gabbles. "The place is crawling with warriors. Jared? Jared, my man? What do we do, Jared?"

Security guards open fire on the Mangalores. One of the aliens is hit, and the others turn their guns on the cops. People scream, diving for cover, while Jared, still recovering from the Diva's performance, bides his time.

He waits, a single still focus within the chaos all around him until The Diva takes a bullet.

She falls from the stage into Jared's arms. Shocked, he lowers her to the floor. Still ignoring the panic all around, he wraps her tenderly in his dinner jacket, trying to stop the blue blood spurting from her wounds.

The Beav's ship speeds away from the doomed resort while he sits at the controls, a devilish smile on his lips.

Fighting is raging all around in the concert hall, but Jared is oblivious to it. He's weeping as he lays the Diva's head gently down. Rosey Rhedd is cowering close by, still manfully broadcasting. "They're hideous. They've got a big horns, and tusks, and they're killing everyone. Jared? What do we do, Jared?"

Jared leans over the Diva. "I was sent to help you," he whispered.

"It's all right," she gasps. I was destined to die for this. How was the concert?"

"I never heard anything so beautiful in my life," he says, firing without even looking at the Mangalore attempting to jump on them from the stage. It falls dead, and the Diva smiles weakly.

"You're a good man. He was right to have chosen you."

"Who?" asks Jared, confused.

"The Fifth Element. The Supreme Being. Your husband." The Diva's smile widens.

Jared can't quite believe his ears. "Jensen? Is he? You're telling me..."

"Yes, he is everything." Her skin pales as pain wracks her tiny frame. "You must give him the Stones; he's the only one who knows how to use them."

"Kripke was telling the truth," gasps Jared.

On the bridge, Mangalores are busily tying Kripke and the Captain up together.

"Of course I was telling you the truth," says the priest, taking comfort in being right, despite the fact that he's in deep doo-doo. "If you'd listened to me in the first place, we wouldn't be in this predicament now!"

Jared, meanwhile, wastes two more Mangalores as the Diva continues to talk to him. Her breathing is erratic now, and he has to lean down close to hear her words. "He needs you; he needs your help and your love. He's more fragile than he seems."

Jared looks around, ready for another attack. "Yeah, so am I," he says as the Diva takes his hand.

"He was taught to love the life of others but not his own. You have to teach him to love if you want him to truly live."

"I'll help him, I promise. Where are the Stones?" Time is running out, Jared knows that. He can see that the Diva's life is fading.

"Do you love him?" The question is sudden, and Jared blinks.

"Listen, the last time I admitted to someone that I loved them, I never saw them again," he murmurs, and the Diva's eyes close.

The timer on The Beav's bomb clicks over to "15 minutes".

"You tell me to save the world, then you go off and leave me in the shit." Jared shakes the fallen Diva. "Come on! You're not gonna die, you hear me? Where are the Stones?"

Out in space, the Beav sets the case he's filched on a table in the cockpit. He opens it with a complacent smile. It's empty. He can't believe his eyes. He goes berserk, destroying everything in sight.

"Very disappointed," he screams.

Jared shakes the Diva, and she comes around somewhat. "I'm sorry," he says. "But the Stones...?"

Weakly, she nods. "They are... in me..." she whispers, and dies.

For a moment he's stunned, but he is brought back by Rosey Rhedd, who is still babbling madly as he transmits the happenings to a listening universe. Jared quickly frisks the Diva but finds nothing resembling a Stone. All around him, shooting slowly dies.

The Mangalores are now in total control.

"Stay calm and nobody will get hurt," announces a Mangalore. "Hands on your head and into the hall."

The guests begin to file out. Jared continues to kneel beside the stricken Diva. "The Stones are in me?" he mumbles to himself. "What the fuck is that?" It suddenly dawns on him what she meant. "In me?"

He touches the Diva's stomach and feels something hard. Bracing himself, he sticks his hand into the bullet wound and pulls out a Sacred Stone, then another and another. Jared pulls out all four Stones, covered in blue blood. Everyone else has left the theater and the Mangalores have begun to check the aisles one by one.

Rosey Rhedd peeks out from under a seat. "Jared? We should be going? Jared?"

A Mangalore spots Jared kneeling alongside the Diva. He grabs Jared by the shoulder and pokes him with his gun.

"Hey, you! With the others!" Jared spins and, in one swift motion, breaks his arm. Another alien rushes over. Jared punches him into oblivion and snatches the gun.

"That's it," he growls. "I've had it! All day people have been sticking guns in my face." He gathers up the four Stones and wraps them carefully in his shirt.

"Jared? Jared, my man, these dudes are going to waste us if we don't do what they say." There's panic in Rosey's voice, and the whites of his eyes are visible all around, making him look even more crazed than usual. Sweat is seeping through the stars and stripes decal that's been painted onto his shiny scalp, and Jared almost cracks a smile. He hands Rosey the package and grabs his mike from him.

"You don't do what I say... I'll waste you myself. Green?" he murmurs sweetly.

"G...g...green," responds Rosey, nodding as if his head might fall off any moment. "Emerald Green. Green as grass, Gree..."

"Shut up!"

The barrage of words ceases instantly. Jared breathes a sigh of relief and turns to survey the task ahead.

Welling is in the security station facing control screens. He's more battered than ever. He barks into a walkie-talkie.

"What's the situation in the hallway?

Hostages are being gathered in the middle of the hall by a squad of Mangalores brandishing weapons. The squad leader responds to Welling's request, growling into his communicator. "There's no more resistance. Everything's under control."

As he speaks, three more Mangalores are suddenly blasted through the glass door leading from the theater to land in a heap at the squad leader's feet. Jared bursts into the hall, his face set in a snarl. His elegant tux is no more. The jacket is long gone and the remnants of his shirt hang in ribbons. His shoulders gleam with sweat, and he brandishes two huge guns, one in either hand.

"Everybody down," he yells, and takes out two more Mangalores as they come towards him, rolling behind a column as the laser bullets zing all around his head. Behind him comes Rosey, reluctant hero, with his microphone pressed close to his lips.

"This is amazing! Jared, Jared Padalecki, the winner of the Gemini Croquette contest just killed three warriors like he was swatting flies." He gulps and ducks behind something that once was a marble urn full of flowers. "There's panic everywhere! Heavy firing fills the hall."

Two Mangalore warriors bring up a huge machine gun and begin firing at the column Jared is using for cover. He dives for cover behind the bar.

A Mangalore shoots in their direction. Rosey Rhedd flattens himself to the floor as a warrior loads some missiles in his gun and destroys the bar piece by piece, forcing Jared to move forward. Jared motions to Baby Chad Michael, who's hiding under the pool table.

"Toss me the balls." Sadly, he's picked the wrong man.

"What?" Baby Chad Michael looks confused, and another piece of the bar explodes above Jared's head.

"Gimme the balls for Christ's sake!" Jared is starting to feel that the gods are totally against him. He mimes playing pool, but Baby Chad Michael really is stone-deaf, and still doesn't get it. Another part of the bar shatters over Jared's head, and he hustles to hide behind the last remaining part. Emperor Japhet finally rolls one of the balls over to Jared, and he turns to Rosey.

"How far is he from here?" It takes Rosey a minute to determine what Jared is talking about, but once he's been smacked around the back of the head, he checks out the Mangalore warrior, who is busily reloading.

"Th...th...thirty yards to the left," stutters Rosey. "Why? What are you going to do?"

Wordlessly, Jared hefts the ball, then jumps to his feet and hurls it with unerring accuracy. It hits the Mangalore's head, and he goes down like a sack of rocks as his newly loaded weapon discharges itself into the air. The resulting destruction causes the ceiling above to fall onto him, and Rosey attempts to high five Jared, still babbling his color commentary into the mike.

"...And our man Jared has literally knocked out the opposition with an amazing 90 foot pitch."

He's still talking when Jared grabs his collar and drags him out.

Rushing back to his room, Jared bursts in, looking for Jensen. The perfect being isn't there. He's still in the ceiling above the Diva's suite, and he's hurt, bleeding from multiple wounds. He whispers a single word as if it's the only one that exists that can save him.

"Jared...?"

As the Beav's ZFX 200 speeds back toward Fhloston Paradise, the timer on the bomb in the Diva's suite reads 10 minutes.

The final few Mangalore freedom fighters, led by a pathetically shambling, once-proud Welling, have barricaded themselves into the bridge. They are shooting at anything that tries to enter, and they have the captain and crew as their hostages. As Jared joins the security guards that are standing outside, wringing their hands, one of them turns to him. "Hey, who are you?"

"The winner of the Gemini Croquette contest," snarls Jared, going to the door and risking a swift peek around the corner. Rosey, his faithful shadow, records the event, despite quelling glares from everyone else.

"Seven to the left. Five to the right," says Jared, checking his gun. He leans around the corner and fires rapidly. "Six to the left. One to the right," he says, with an air of satisfaction.

"He's on vacation," comments Rosey Rhedd, as if that would explain everything.

"We've got to find the leader," says Jared, ignoring the comment. "Mangalores don't fight without a leader."

On the bridge, Welling staggers to his feet, grabs Kripke by the throat and put a gun to his head. "One more shot and we start killing hostages, got that?"

"Found him," beams Jared.

"Send someone to negotiate," demands Welling, whose blood is forming a squishy pool around his ankles.

"Mind if I go? I'm an excellent negotiator," says Jared, twirling his gun as if it were a six shooter.

"Uh... Sure, go ahead," murmurs the head of security, who very obviously would prefer anyone but himself to go in there. As Jared prepares himself, the security guard yells to Welling. "We're sending someone in who's authorized to negotiate."

Jared strolls into the room, heads straight for Welling, raises his gun and puts a bullet through his head. The long suffering freedom fighter is at last out of his pain.

"Anyone else want to negotiate?" asks Jared, peering round at the other Mangalores, who seem suddenly to have found things of great interest to look at – things that aren't Jared.

"Where'd he learn to negotiate like that?" asks the chief of security, shaking his head as his men set about rounding up the remaining Mangalores. Nobody takes the time to answer him.

Jared is at the control center screens trying to find Jensen. Kripke comes over to him, embarrassed. "You're probably very angry with me, and I quite understand. But I want you to know I'm fighting for a noble cause."

"Yeah, I know." Jared is distracted. "To save the world, but right now all I want to do is save Jensen."

"Jensen's in trouble?" Kripke blinked.

Jared rolls his eyes. "When is he not in trouble?" he asks, looking worried. "I have to find him."

"Uh... Have you tried the Diva's suite?" The priest's question freezes Jared. He pauses, turns and runs.

The ZFX200 settles in the landing dock garage. Security guards approach the ship just as The Beav clambers out, clutching his trusty ZF1.

"More trouble?" asks the guard.

"Nothing I can't fix myself," murmurs the Beav, smiling sweetly as he raises his weapon and wipes out the entire garage.

Jared enters the Diva's suite at a run. It's a shambles, with Mangalore bodies everywhere. Kane peers out from behind the hedge, takes one look at Jared and dives back again. Jared looks everywhere, but he can't find the man he's seeking.

Above him, in the air shaft, Jensen lies in a pool of blood. Faintly, he hears something below him.

Faithfully following Jared, his mike still in his hand, Rosey Rhedd pauses outside the Diva's suite to wipe his forehead and suddenly finds himself face to face with the bomb that's stuck on the wall, still busily counting down.

Inside the suite, Jared searches for Jensen. He calls Jensen's name, desperate now as he tries to locate the man he knows is his destiny.

Up in the airshaft, Jensen hears him calling. He groans, calls for Jared, but his voice is too faint to be heard.

Jared's about to go through to the Diva's bedroom, when Rosey Rhedd distracts him, urgently tapping him on the shoulder to show him his discovery. "Jared, man, what the hell is this?"

Jared gives the bomb a perfunctory glance. "A molecular bomb," he says. The bomb in question has only three minutes left on the timer.

"Jared, Jared, my man, uh, what're these numbers it's showing?"

"Probably the time remaining before it explodes," murmurs Jared, turning away to continue his search.

"You're just saying that to scare me, right?" Rosey Rhedd grins, but the grin is not convincing. "If it was a bomb, an alarm would've gone off. There's bomb detectors in all these hotels."

As he finishes speaking, a general alarm begins to sound. Rosey Rhedd slumps, despairing.

Outside, a calm voice coos, "This is a Type A alert. For security reasons the hotel must be evacuated. Please proceed calmly to the lifeboats located in the main hallways." There's a stampede as it's speaking, and Rosey seems convinced that he's about to die.

Down the corridor marches the Beav, and he's taking no prisoners. Anyone standing in his way is dispatched as he stomps towards the Diva's suite.

Rosey Rhedd stands, paralyzed, watching the timer as it counts down. There are less than two minutes before it blows. "Maybe we oughta be going, Jared. What do you think?" He spreads his hands, beseeching.

"Not without Jensen," growls Jared.

Rosey Rhedd can't take his eyes off the bomb. "Like, J-Man, I hate to bother you but uh, like, we're down to 2 minutes here..."

Jared breathes out, irritated. He turns his attention to the bomb. Up in the air duct above him, Jensen moans and rolls over, and, as he does so, blood wells up from a wound in his arm and drips down through the bullet-ridden ceiling to spatter on the back of Jared's hand. Jared snaps his head up, knowing immediately who is up there. He instantly forgets all about the bomb.

"Hey! What are you doing? The bomb..." Rosey watches horrified as Jared turns away from impending doom to drag a desk over and clamber up, pushing through a hole in the ceiling.

There at last is Jensen. He smiles weakly at Jared, and Jared reaches for him. "Don't worry, I'm here." Tugging Jensen into his arms, he pulls the perfect being out of the ceiling and sets him down on the desk. "All you have to do is relax. I've got the Stones, and everything's going to be fine."

Rosey is apparently losing his mind as he watches the tender way that Jared lays Jensen down on the desk. He flaps his hands. "Excuse me Jared, can I have 30 seconds of your time here?"

Bending to kiss Jensen with infinite tenderness, Jared murmurs, "I'll be right back," and dashes over to the bomb. He is stopped by the barrel of the ZF1. The Beav, in person, stands before him, holding a magnetic card.

"Allow me...," smirks the Beav as he slips a small magnetic card into the controls of the bomb. It stops, and Rosey Rhedd faints.

"Well, what do we have here?" asks the Beav, rhetorically. "Is this Jared Padalecki, the famous winner of the Gemini Croquette contest? Or is this Jared Padalecki from the Special Section, sent by President Lindberg himself?" Jared doesn't reply, but that doesn't faze the Beav. "In any event, whoever you are, I'm glad to meet you... briefly."

The Beav fires at Jared who is convinced that he's dead. Nothing happens. The Beav tries again, and again the ZF1 stalls; it seems as if it's jammed or something. The Beav starts to panic. "This is a 3000 round clip! I didn't fire off 3000 rounds... did I?" he mumbles.

"Don't you know how to count?" Jared smirks. "It's not all that hard. Watch!" His ham-like fist connects with the Beav's chin, rocking him back on his heels. "That's one - for trying to kill me."

The second punch twirls the Beav around and he slowly topples over, but Jared isn't done yet. "Two! That's for firing me! Three! That's for pushing around a priest! And the rest is for what you did to Jensen!" He deals the downed magnate and super-villain blow after blow, leaving him battered and broken by the time he's done.

The Beav has lost consciousness by the time Jared gathers Jensen up in his arms. "We'd better leave," he murmurs, and carrying his unconscious burden, he, Kripke and Rosey – newly recovered from his swoon - leave the suite at a run.

Still lurking behind the couch, Chris Kane finds a small remote control and wonders what it is. Pressing the on switch, he listens for music. There is no music, but on the wall outside the suite, the bomb is reactivated, and it begins to count down from five minutes again.

Jared, carrying Jensen, Kripke and Rosey Rhedd make it to the garage, where Jared bursts the lock on the first ship he finds, which just happens to be the ZFX200 belonging to the Beav. They all pile in and Jared cranks up the engine.

"Two minutes to final evacuation," coos the warning.

The Beav starts to come around and sits up, moaning.

In his ship, Jared sets Jensen down and caresses the pale, drawn face, then turns to the controls.

The Beav picks up his ZF1, unaware of the bomb and the countdown. "Goddammit, I didn't fire three thousand rounds."

"One minute to total evacuation..."

Inside the ZFX200, Rosey suddenly starts to worry. "Jared? Jared, my man? You know how to fly this thing?"

"It's just like a cab isn't it?" asks Jared, innocent eyes above gleaming teeth and dimples that you could drown in.

"Thirty seconds..."

The Beav is busy with the ZF1 when the bomb starts to beep signaling the last ten seconds. He looks up. "Oh, no!" he says.

"Hold tight," calls Jared, opening up the throttle so that the vessel surges forward. The acceleration presses them back hard as the ship peels off, hurtling into the wide blue yonder.

As they leave Fhloston behind, the Paradise slowly disintegrates, blown apart into its component atoms by the Beav's bomb. The little ship hurtles out into space just in front of the shockwave.

Crouched, exhausted, in one corner of the cockpit, Rosey Rhedd is finally winding down his show. "Dear listeners, your favorite DJ is alive and kicking. It's seven o'clock and time for the news. Tune in tomorrow for another adventure."

There's a time tick, and a beep. A vocoder announces, "End of transmission," and Rosey Rhedd lets out a huge sigh.

"Oh My God! That was the best show I ever did," he confides to the others.

Back in President Lindberg's offices, General Manners enters the room with a smile.

"Sir, Major Padalecki has the Five Elements on board. The priest is guiding them directly to the temple."

President Lindberg closes his eyes in relief.

"Thank God! We've been saved!

Professor Carlson rushes in.

"Mr. President," he calls, urgency in his voice.

The President turns to look at Carlson, and it's obvious that he doesn't want to hear what the scientist is saying. "Yes? Now what?" he demands.

On the monitor that Carlson turns on, they can see the Ostroff, all-powerful Evil, speeding across the screen with three Federation warships following along behind it as best they can.

"What do you mean, 'it's advancing'?" asks Lindberg, coughing nervously.

"It's not only advancing," says Carlson, frowning. "But it's moving at incredible speed! The ships are having trouble following it."

Lindberg laughs humorlessly and closes his eyes for a moment. "Do you have any idea where it's heading?" he croaks, finally.

Shaking his head, Carlson spreads his hands. "No clue," he murmurs. "Anyone up for a really awesome Bolognese? I've been trying to perfect the recipe for years, but I've got it now."

In the ship as it speeds towards its meeting with destiny, Jared gently wipes Jensen's forehead with a cloth. He opens his eyes a little.

"Apipoulai," says Jared, lovingly.

Jensen smiles, weakly, feverish. "I'm so very sad," he whispers.

"Why? We did pretty well, wouldn't you say?" Jared gazes down at the man of his dreams, desperately wanting to heal the broken spirit he sees.

"Five hundred wars, arms, drugs, money - everything you create is used to destroy." Jensen's voice cracks, and he turns his face away from Jared.

"I told you not to read all that crap," says Jared.

"Protect life until death..." Jensen's voice fades, and he closes his eyes once more, appearing to fall asleep.

Kripke chooses that moment to jog Jared's shoulder. "There's a General on the phone."

Jared takes the phone automatically and raises it to his ear. "Manners here. President Lindberg wants to talk to you. Hold the line," says the familiar voice.

The President clears his throat and takes the phone. "Major, first off, I want to thank you, in my name and in the name of the Federation, for the praiseworthy courage you have shown us. I'd like to congratulate General Manners for his choice. He found the ideal man for such a..."

Jared cuts him short. "So now what's the problem?"

President Lindberg drops into his armchair and sighs. "There's a malevolent creature 1,200 miles in diameter heading straight for the earth. And we have no idea how to stop it. That's the problem."

Jared thinks fast. The Priest is with him. The Five Elements are on board. He can do this. "How much time before the collision?"

The President turns to look at Carlson, who is stirring a beaker full of Bolognese sauce over a Bunsen burner. He purses his lips and doesn't stop stirring. "If its speed remains constant... in an hour and 57 minutes."

"I'll call you back in two hours," says Jared, and hangs up. The President looks stunned.

The ZFX200 shifts to the speed of light and vanishes in the star-studded cosmos.

In the Egyptian desert it is night. There are no lights to dim the majesty of the stars. Inside the chapel beside the tomb, Gabriel is asleep. He is woken by the sound of the ZFX200 as it settles down beside the ancient building.

As he stumbles out to see what's happening, a weird procession becomes visible. Jared walks ahead carrying Jensen. Kripke has the four Stones with him. Barely awake, Rosey Rhedd stumbles along. Gabriel appears at the door of the chapel.

"You're all safe. Thanks be to God," he babbles, trying to scrub the sleep from his eyes. Kripke dismisses the fervent prayer, yelling that there's no time to lose, and the little cavalcade enters the chapel.

Kripke's in his element now, and he pushes the group over to the altar which is surrounded by a wooden barrier. He stands in front of the cross, and Jared heaves a sigh. "Excuse me, Father, but could we pray later?"

Kripke has the air of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat as he bends the cross and pushes it down, triggering a mechanism that lowers the altar like a service elevator.

Together, they descend to the chamber where the pillars await the coming of the fifth element.

In the President's office, Manning sits back with a satisfied smile. "They just landed in the desert," he reports.

Lindberg is sweating. He checks his watch nervously. "How much time is left?" he asks, turning his attention to the other screen on which the impending tragedy looms.

The earth is visible, green and blue, beautiful as it hangs against the backdrop of sparkling, careless stars. Close now, so close, the Ostroff menaces. Its face is contorted in fury, and its maw is open wide. Sharp teeth clash, chomping an unwary asteroid that strays too close.

"About nine minutes," says Carlson, offering a tray on which repose a pile of hors d'oeuvres. "Would you care for a deviled egg?"

Lit by torches, Jared sets Jensen delicately on the altar in the exact center of the four elements. Kripke scratches his head as he attempts to set up the four Stones that have cost them so dearly.

He's almost in tears. "Uh, this one must be water?" he murmurs, trying to put it in place and failing miserably. Jared looks up from Jensen and frowns.

"Don't tell me you don't know how all this works?" he growls, nearing the end of his patience.

"Theoretically, yes," says Kripke. "The four Stones form the beam and the Fifth Element is supposed to stand in the middle there, but I don't have the reference book. I've never seen the Stones work." The last is uttered in a wail that makes all the others stare at him, horrified.

Jared can't believe his ears. He snatches the Stone out of Kripke' hands and studies the inscriptions for a minute, and then takes it over to one of the four plinths as he tries to figure it out. The symbol of air is on the Stone, and he spots the same symbol on the plinth.

"Match the symbols," he yells, putting the first Stone in place and reaching for another one. Kripke stops panicking and pulls himself together, finally spotting the symbol for water. Rosey Rhedd sits down, apparently exhausted.

"What is this? Some kinda game? Like chess?" Jared hauls him to his feet and thrusts a Stone into his hands.

"No. It's much simpler. If we don't figure out where these Stones go in five minutes, we're all dead! Is that green?"

"Green!" Rosey Rhedd gets it and wastes no time running to put his Stone in place. The four Stones are all in place but nothing happens.

"There's no light," says Jared, starting to sweat. "You told me there were supposed to be four beams of light."

"Yes, of course, but the Stones are shut down. We have to open them up for them to work." Kripke is prodding at the stones as he speaks.

"And you don't know how they open," says Jared. "Is that what you are saying?"

"That's what I'm saying," mumbles Kripke.

Close to the earth now, the massive Ostroff looms, teeth snapping at the space station as it swings by in orbit.

Back in the temple, Jared leans over Jensen. "Jensen? The Stones! We have to open them! How does it work?"

Jensen's voice is so faint that Jared has to stoop to hear him. "Wind blows... fire burns..."

"I know all that, Jensen; I'm talking about the Stones," he says.

"Rain falls..." whispers Jensen, and Jared is desperate. He can see that Jensen's too weak, knows that he won't get anything more out of him. He casts around himself, and then darts over to a Stone and turns it over and over.

"Rain falls and wind blows?" he mumbles. "What the hell?" He catches sight of Rosey Rhedd, who's standing in front of his Stone looking at Jared as if he's the messiah.

"Try and figure out how this fucking thing opens, instead of staring at me like that," he snaps, and Rosey Rhedd starts groping his Stone.

"I'm looking; I'm looking," he babbles, his voice reaching an octave almost too high for human ears to discern.

Above the temple the Ostroff looms, casting a shadow that blackens the earth as it draws closer.

The tension is palpable in the President's office. Carlson has finally set his recipe books aside in favor of watching the clock. "Three minutes," he murmurs.

"We've lost contact with them," announces Manning, and Lindberg faints.

Jared and Kripke do everything they can think of to activate the stones, but to no avai1. Rosey Rhedd is discouraged. "We're not going to make it," he squeaks, and sighs. Three hooks unfold themselves from the Stone. Rosey Rhedd can't believe his eyes. "It... it moved! Jared! Jared!"

Jared rushes over, to look at the Stone, but the little hooks are slowly folding themselves away again.

"What did you say? What did you do?" asks Jared, feeling hope for a moment.

"Nothing! Swear to God, I didn't do nothing," babbles Rosey, wringing his hands.

"Look, you did something that set it off." Jared talks slowly and clearly, having realized that the only way to deal with Rosey is to treat him like a five year old. "Try to remember. Concentrate. Tell me exactly what you did."

Valiantly, Rosey Rhedd tries to duplicate the same movement. "I was like this, with my hands here, and I said, 'We'll never make it.' That's all.

Nothing happens.

"Is that all?" Jared can't believe that he's going to be defeated this close to victory.

"Yeah, then I sighed like this." Rosey Rhedd sighs again and the Stone opens again. Jared suddenly gets it.

"The wind! The wind blows..." he says, blowing on the Stone. As he does, the Stone opens up, revealing a patch of blue sky with some miniature clouds floating around inside. A yellow beam pops up like a ray of sunlight, as brilliant as Jared's smile.

"Quickly, everyone to a Stone." Jared's enthused again. "Water for water, fire for fire, earth for earth."

Everyone moves. Kripke, with the earth Stone, reaches to the floor and seizes a handful of dust. As he pours it onto the Stone, a miniature patch of green appears and immediately forms a green beam. Gabe wipes his forehead with a scarf and wrings it out over the Stone. It opens revealing a patch of miniature raging sea as a blue beam lights up the temple.

Rosey Rhedd has a problem. He's shaking now. "Jared? I don't have a light, Jared. I smoked my last joint on the way here! What do I do, Jared?"

Jared pats his pockets, and he comes up with a matchbox. He slides it open, and inside lies a single, solitary match. "Don't breathe," he says. The three men watching hold their breath as Jared strikes the match. A small flame appears on the tip and wavers as a breeze goes through the room. Jared knows that he has the future of everything in his hands as he slowly brings the flame to the Stone. The flame twists, dims, flickers, but holds on. The Stone opens. A patch of miniature fire appears. Jared sighs, snuffs out the match. The fourth beam, a red one, pierces the gloom.

The deadly Ostroff fills the monitor screen in the President's office. The Earth is only a thousand miles away now, and she is gibbering with malicious anticipation.

The President shuts his eyes, and his lips move in prayer.

In the temple, Jared helps Jensen onto his feet where the four beams and four colors cross.

"It's up to you now, Angel," he murmurs, holding Jensen tight as he speaks.

"I'm so tired," whispers Jensen, leaning against Jared's chest.

"You can sleep tomorrow, love. Come on," murmurs Jared.

"I want to sleep forever," says Jensen, and Jared feels himself start to despair.

"Jensen! Listen to me. I'll take you on a vacation afterwards - a real vacation this time, for as long as you want. Come on! You can do it!"

Jared slowly releases Jensen and steps back from the altar. Jensen can barely stand in the center of the four beams. An indistinct white beam begins to form around him, starts to rise.

"Come on Jensen! Come on," yells Kripke, but the beam fades as Jensen crumples to the floor.

The Ostroff hurtles toward Earth. There's a mere hundred miles before impact. The African continent is visible and there's no doubt that the ultimate evil is heading for Egypt.

Nobody's talking in the President's office, and the seconds tick away relentlessly on Carlson's stopwatch. " It'll be entering the atmosphere in one minute," says the professor, in a hushed voice.

The heat in the temple is unbearable. All the walls start to ooze the black, slimy liquid seen earlier at The Beav's. A drop of liquid falls to the temple floor and begins to smoke, eating away at it like acid. Rosey Rhedd has to dodge another drop of the stuff. Jared quickly straightens Jensen up and puts him back in the center of the beams.

"Jensen, if you don't get with the program we're all gonna die, and that really wasn't on my agenda for today."

Jensen wraps his arms around Jared's neck. "What's the use of saving lives, when you see what you do with them?"

"You're right," says Jared. "But there are lots of good things, beautiful things."

"Like love?" whispers Jensen, full lips trembling.

"Like love, yes, exactly like love," replies Jared.

"But I don't know love," says Jensen, sadly. "I'm like a machine, programmed to save other people's lives but never to have one of my own. Nobody needs me for me."

"I need you, Jensen, more than you can imagine." Jared's face crumples, and there's no doubt of his feelings.

"Why?" asks Jensen, his face paper white. "Why would you need me?"

"Because..." Jared stumbles to a halt, unsure.

"Tell him, for God's sake," whispers Kripke.

"Because..." Jensen has tears in his eyes. The heat is overpowering. Black acid is dripping everywhere now.

"Tell me," begs Jensen.

"Because I love you," says Jared at last. Despite his fatigue, a sweet smile lights up Jensen's face.

Carlson's stopwatch goes from 3 seconds to 2.

Permission or not, Jared can't resist any more. He wraps his arms around Jensen and kisses him like he's never kissed anyone before. The white beam, the Divine Light, forms around the two of them, and as the stopwatch hits zero a beam of searing white light explodes from the top of the pyramid and aims at the Ostroff, striking the horror between the eyes and slowing its progress. Jared and Jensen continue to kiss as their bodies fuse, and the white light bathes them.

In space, the beam begins to burn away the evil Ostroff. Inaudible screeches escape from the dying planet, screeches of terrifying pain as if a million souls were dying.

When the beam finally dies, it has finished its work. The Ostroff is no longer anything more than a dead planet, and it looks like it will become a second moon. Everything is calm around it.

President Lindberg opens his eyes and realizes he's not dead.

"The planet seems to have stopped at 62 miles from impact," says Carlson in a shaky voice. "Manns? Get out the cocktail shaker."

In the temple, the beam slowly loses its intensity. But Jensen and Jared remain entwined, lost to the world as their mouths cling and their hands smooth over sweat-dewed skin. Kripke drops to his knees, clasping his hands.

Rosey Rhedd slides along the wall with a sigh. He gives Kripke a knowing smile. "This guy is a killer with the babes. I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on him."

Kripke and Rosey Rhedd burst out laughing. Jared and Jensen keep right on kissing. Rosey takes out a joint and goes to light it from the fire Stone that is slowly losing its intensity. Turning to Kripke, he settles in and the two of them prepare to get toasted.

Back in the Nucleological Laboratory that gave birth to Jensen, President Lindberg enters the lab followed by a group of officials in ceremonial dress.

Carlson and Manns are congregated around a burner, all their attention focused on some kind of sauce they're brewing. Carlson starts as he looks around and sees the visitors. He dusts off his hands and removes his apron.

"It's an honor to receive you. Mr. President," he says, hastily racing to the fearless leader's side.

Lindberg beams. "Yes, well, where are our two heroes?"

"They were so tired from their ordeal that we put them in the reactor this morning," says the professor, winking at him.

"I have 19 more meetings after this one, Professor," says the President.

"Uh, of course. Let me see if they're revived," says Carlson, looking shifty.

An aide races up to Lindberg. "We go live in one minute, Mr. President."

Carlson rolls his eyes and crosses to the reactor, opening a small slot, which allows him to see what is going on under the blue shield.

Within, Jensen and Jared are naked, arms wrapped around each other, kissing, bodies undulating in a manner that leaves one in no doubt of what else they are doing.

"I... uh... they need five more minutes, Mr. President," he says, loosening his collar and mopping the sweat from his face.

The President is pressed for time. He looks over at his aide who's apparently struggling with a phone call.

"No ma'am... I tried... No ma'am."

"Who is it?" asks Lindberg, frowning.

"Some woman who claims she's Jared's mother," replies the aide, wincing.

"Give it here." The President takes the phone and crosses to the window as he puts it to his ear.

"Mrs. Padalecki, this is the President. On behalf of the entire Federation, I would like to thank..." He doesn't get to continue. Jared's mom goes on the air.

"Oh, please... Don't pull that crap with me. I know the President's voice, and it's stupid. You ain't him. You tell that worthless no-account son of mine he should plotz for the way he's ignored his mother. When I think of all I sacrificed for him..."

Quietly setting the phone down, President Lindberg tiptoes away.

In the reactor, Jensen and Jared are going for a second round, golden skin sliding over taut muscle as they worship one another with their bodies.

Out in the lab, Manns has broken out the cocktail shaker, and is mixing something purple and frothy under the direction of the professor.

Outside the building, high above the city of New York, two moons ascend side by side to gleam serene and silvery against the backdrop of space.

The End

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