House of a Thousand Chases
Part 1
Jack Spicer was a very tired eighteen-year-old.
He'd been at an all-night party, but it wasn't a rave or anything that a person his age would enjoy; wasn't something wild and exciting and rowdy.
No... He’d been at a business party.
The party had been in Chongqing, and had been scheduled at the last minute. With both Mr. and Mrs. Spicer out of the country, there was no way they'd have arrived in time for the party – yet, it had been quite the opportunity to schmooze with various business acquaintances and contacts, and set up new trading contracts, since Chongqing was the major inland trading port; transporting goods from the southwestern provinces to eastern China.
Jack, who had given up on the Shen-Gong-Wu hunt and had stopped screwing around years ago, had learned enough of his family's spice business to make an adequate substitute.
At around five in the morning – after an hour-long flight in a company jet back to the jetport where the Spicer limo had been waiting – Jack was finally on his way home.
He was tired, but he had no intention of dozing off in the car. The limo driver was new and he hadn't had time to vet the man's background. Since he had no empirical evidence that the new chauffer could be trusted, Jack wasn't about to leave himself vulnerable.
He spent the time tapping away on his Palm Pilot – first E-mailing his folks a report of the party, a list of contact numbers and possible new contracts, and then playing a few dozen games on his laptop.
As the sun began peeking over the horizon, the limo arrived at the Spicer estate.
Jack nodded his thanks to the driver when he got out of the car. Since the man worked directly for the Spicer family, Jack had no need to hand off a tip right then, but the man would find a small bonus in his next paycheck.
As he walked up the stairs to the front door, his laptop in its carry-case slung over one shoulder, Jack was already unraveling his tie, opening the collar of his dress shirt and deliberately mussing his hair, which had grown a little longer and thicker, so that it brushed the tops of his shoulders and framed his face pleasingly.
Or so that one, coy old dame had told him over her tenth drink of the evening.
The door opened before he got there, and he grinned tiredly to see one of his robots.
"Master Spicer," said the robot courteously.
"JB-30... have a good evening?" he asked casually as he walked through the front door of his house. He handed the carry-case to the robot as it shut the door, knowing that JB-30 would put it where it was supposed to go.
"Not entirely, Master. There's been a complication."
Jack went still with a frown. "Complication? It isn't my parents—?“
His concerned query broke off immediately as someone walked into the hallway.
"Chase? What happened to you?" Jack asked, horrified. The usually long, thick hair was cut short; shorter, even, than Jack's, and there was a scar going down diagonally through the middle of the man's face – from the left temple to towards the right cheek.
A cold smirk flicked across the warlord's face.
And then, to Jack's surprise, another Chase entered the hallway.
And then another.
And another.
By the time the procession had stopped, seven different Chase Youngs filled the foyer, and all of them were staring at Jack intently.
One of the Chase's – and this was his Chase, Jack knew it was him, because he was the only one of them wearing the familiar armor; had that precise smirk of recognition on his face – stepped forward.
"As you can see, Spicer," drawled the dragon-lord, "we are in need of your assistance."
Jack Spicer glared darkly at the group of subtly anxious men before him and said a Very Bad Word.
*~*~*~*
Jack sat on the bar stool of the kitchen island, clutching a mug of hot chocolate spiked with a small splash of butterscotch liqueur. He’d never had a head for alcohol and he wasn’t about to make himself sick and vulnerable now. He left the mini-bar in the kitchen open invitingly and glared at the seven Chases that filled his kitchen.
"Alright, what happened?" he grumbled even as a Chase dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and a black leather motorcycle jacket headed for the mini-bar and poured himself a bourbon straight.
Jack would have had the story by now, but after that first greeting, he'd sidestepped into the parlor and exited the door at the other end – neatly bypassing the group – and had gone straight for the kitchen.
Now, four of the Chases began speaking at once, only to stop and glower at each other.
Jack made a sharp whistle between his teeth and they all looked at him.
He pointed at the Chase that belonged in his reality. "You."
Chase raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless began speaking.
"I created a new spell that would allow me to draw power from my counterparts in alternate realities," said the warlord smoothly. "It works much on the same principle as the Sun Chi Lantern. I would borrow the energy and strength of my counterparts for a limited amount of time as needed, and then release my hold on the power."
"Transcendental power boost? Nice," commented Jack.
"I thought so. The monks are becoming stronger and I wish to have an edge. However... there was a glitch."
Jack looked around at the other six Chases, and then back to his own with an expression that said: Nooooooo... you don't say?
Chase scowled at the albino man. "I was experimenting with the spell, making the first full-fledged attempt to draw the power from the alternate realities. However, the monks had somehow managed to infiltrate my home and they chose that precise moment to attack. Omi tagged me with the Cube of Haniku."
"Creates an ironic situation for the person it’s used on." Jack looked again at the Chases. "Instead of drawing their power, you drew them, since the spell was still going when you were tagged."
Chase dipped his head in a silent affirmation.
Jack propped his elbows on the countertop of the kitchen island and scrubbed wearily at his face. Then, he folded his arms on the countertop, and looked at them all.
"And you expect me to pull a miracle out of my ass, is that it? There aren't any Wu that'll send you back – not even the Golden Tiger Claws – and so you're here to have me whip up some kind of trans-dimensional thingy to get you all back to your respective realities."
One of the more... gentler... seeming Chases frowned as soon as the word "ass" left Jack's mouth.
Chase nodded. "Yes. I was angry when the accident occurred—“
"We all were," retorted another Chase that looked exactly like Jack's except that the man’s attire was different: Black arm guards that clung closely to his forearms, and he was draped in a battle-robe of black and silver, lined with red, and open from the throat to the middle of the torso.
Jack was perversely enjoying quite a bit of Chase-skin being on display.
"Not all of us were angry," said a short-haired, soft-spoken Chase who was dressed in homespun blue. "Startled, yes, but not angry."
"So we noticed," growled the wicked-looking Chase with the facial scar. "We would have owned those blasted monks had you three not interfered!"
The Chase dressed in monk robes that seemed to be somewhere in his forties straightened slightly.
"We couldn't allow you to murder them," he said solemnly. "They were simply doing their duty to fight evil."
"You mean sneak up on it and perform the equivalent of popping a firecracker off to rattle 'em," said the jeans-wearing Chase, and it was this one that Jack focused on.
The man had short hair, but it was straight and slicked back against his head. His ears were human-round and the pupils of his eyes were human-round as well, instead of the slit-pupil that Jack was familiar with.
"What's your story?" asked Jack.
The "civilian" Chase shrugged. "Hell if I know, man. I was mindin' my own business, racing my bike, and bam! I'm here, with all of these other yutzes, all of 'em yellin' about some stupid glowing toys and might makes right and all that other shit. I don't care – I just want to go home, where everything makes sense. If you can do that, you're my fuckin’ hero. If not... then I might as well start lookin' up the want ads for an apartment."
Jack wanted to laugh. Not because of this Chase's so-modern way of speaking and behaving, but because of the horrified looks on the other Chases – as if they couldn't comprehend being someone who didn't know or care about the battle between Xiaolin versus Heylin.
He drank some of his chocolate, and then grinned at the civilian Chase.
"I can do it," he said calmly. "All I need to do is modify my old time machine. That'll take a day or so. Scan all of you to match you to your proper realities and then, zip! You're gone."
Chase smirked coldly. "Are you so sure you want to trust yourselves to a machine built by Spicer that sent Omi back in time – though the architect of the machine forgot to build in a return function?"
Jack straightened up in a flash and shot a dark, cold glare at the dragon-lord.
Both of Chase's eyebrows went up in surprise.
"First off, none of these guys want to return!" snapped Jack. "They wouldn't have been here at all if somebody around here hadn't decided to frig around with transdimensional physics!"
"He's got a point," said the alternate Chase that looked very much like the original.
"Secondly, you know what? If that's the way you wanna play it, I don't even want to play. You're so smart you can build a spell to transfer power, then you're smart enough to build an interdimensional bridge to get 'em all back where they come from – on your own."
"That will take months!" growled Chase as he stood up from the stool he'd been perched on, his body tight with anger.
Jack smirked at him. "Cry me a river, pal. You didn’t just shoot yourself in the foot – you blew your whole damned leg off, Chase. So stick that in your dragon soup and suck on it."
With that, he got up and stalked out of the kitchen, intent on heading for his suite.
He was just starting up the stairs when he heard a deliberate step behind him and his name being spoken.
Jack turned and found that one of the alternate Chases had followed him and was standing at the base of the stairs, looking up at him expectantly.
"This is a switch," laughed Jack humorlessly. "Usually, it's the other way around."
One eyebrow flicked up, but the expression on the beautiful face was amused.
"Oh, yes? It makes sense, doesn't it? After all, I am about to ask you to reconsider not helping us. I can imagine the rough handling you've received from your Chase—“
"He's not mine," snapped Jack resentfully.
The warlord paused for a moment, and then continued smoothly. "—from this world's Chase, but I would like you to consider what a disaster it would be to this world to have more than one Chase Young in it. No matter what side of the fence we're on – or simply straddling it, as the... ah... modern version indicated earlier – all Chases are pragmatic. Those of us who are evil wish to rule the world. That world will not exist if there's more than one of us here, even if it's a good Chase that remains, for both versions will reduce the world to a burned cinder before they'll cede one centimeter of it to the other."
Jack looked at the man standing before him for a long moment. Then, he looked away; over the head full of thick black hair to one of the tasteful art d' objets that decorated the hallway behind Chase.
"He'd have tried to glad-hand me with some stupid dig at my pride in my skills," said Jack quietly. "The ol' reverse psychology bit, y'know?"
The alternate Chase shook his head. "A stupid gambit. You have already proven, theoretically, that you know what you're doing and can get it done."
Jack laughed; a bitter, strained sound. "'Chase' calling himself stupid... if that doesn't beat all."
They were both silent, then: Jack thinking about it and Chase allowing him that time without interruption.
And then, the original Chase stepped into the hall; silent and ethereal and so beautiful he made Jack's body hurt just from looking at him.
The man said nothing – only looked up at Jack and waited without a clue on his face as to what he was thinking, his arms tucked neatly behind his back.
Jack came to an abrupt decision. "Fine. I'll do it. I'll get them all home. And after that... after that, Chase, I don't ever want to see you again, got it? Anymore clusterfucks you wind up in, you either go to the monks, or any of the other geniuses out there, or you fix it yourself, but you don't come to me. I've had it. I'm through with being your punching bag."
The alternate Chase glanced at his counterpart, waiting.
The original Chase continued to look up at Jack for a few more moments. Then, finally, he said, "When this is over, I will not harass you again, Jack Spicer."
"Thank you," said Jack coldly. "I'm going to go take a quick shower, grab a snack, and then I'll be in my workshop. It's a far cry from the leisurely soak, hearty breakfast and the nap I'd planned to take, so be appreciative of what I'm doing for you. Or the other yous, that is."
With that, he spun around and went stomping up the stairs, pulling off his suit jacket as he went.
The original Chase glanced over at his alternate counterpart in time to see the man's gaze fixated with warm intent on the sight of Jack's firm, round backside; the muscles flexing beneath the cloth of the albino man's trousers as long legs powered the irate genius up the stairs.
Then, Jack disappeared from view and the alternate Chase turned to meet the original's diamond-hard, ice-cold gaze.
A sweet, condescending smirk, and then the alternate walked away to get some breakfast of his own.
Chase made a low, horrid sound. He glanced up the stairs and thought, briefly, about cornering Jack in the albino man's rooms.
Instead, he uncrossed his fingers that had been hidden behind his back when he’d made his promise, forced himself to calm down, and decided to go exploring the Spicer mansion.
*~*~*~*
By the time Jack made his way downstairs again – dressed in a ratty old sweatshirt, his favorite jeans, and his favorite tool belt slung around his hips – the Chases had dispersed through the house.
He followed the sounds of classical music and found two of the Good-Chases communing with Mozart, and left them to it.
He next followed the sounds of animated conversation and electronic beeps, bleeps, and zapping noises. In the game room, he found that the Indifferent-to-Good-or-Evil Chase and the scarred, short-haired Evil-Chase had located his Playstation 4 and were playing some of his games. Jack’s mind boggled for a moment at the sight of Chase (in any version) playing a video game, but left it alone and moved on.
Stopping in the kitchen, he checked the fridge and found some left-over fried chicken drumsticks. He grabbed those, a 2-liter bottle of Cherry Vanilla Coke, and headed down to his lab.
Only to stop short at the sight of Chase and his Evil Twin poking around the room, investigating various projects.
"Nice of you to invite yourselves in without asking," he growled, still very cranky.
The alternate-Chase turned to grin at him. "You should know that we don't ask anyone's permission, Jack Spicer – we take what we want."
Jack snorted and put his food on the corner of his worktable. "I'm well aware of it."
"Then why are you so crabby?"
Jack's eyes widened. He looked to the man who was dressed in the black, silver, and red battle-robe.
After a moment, he snickered quietly. "I'd never have expected to hear you using words like 'crabby'."
The alternate-Chase smirked. "If the shell fits..."
Even as he rolled his eyes, Jack couldn't help laughing. This version of Chase looked very similar to the one he knew, but was far more playful and easy-going... nice, in a strange sort of way... than his world's Chase.
There was a low noise, almost too subtle to be a growl, and then Chase appeared by Jack's right arm and glared past the albino man at his doppelganger.
"If you're finished flirting with the boy, perhaps it's time to leave him alone so he can get to work on sending you back where you came from?" suggested Chase icily.
One eyebrow cocked up on the look-alike's face even as Jack whirled around and poked Chase's chest armor with a wrench.
Over the sound of metal-hitting-metal, Jack snapped, "I am not a boy anymore, Chase! If anyone wants to flirt with me, they can! I don't care if you're disgusted at seeing a version of yourself enjoying my company – if you don't like it, then get the hell out so I can get this done that much faster!"
Gold eyes narrowed dangerously. A moment later, Chase had a tight grip on both of Jack's arms and had flattened the young man down onto the worktable.
Leaning down so that his face was close to Jack's, he enjoyed the fast breathing borne of anxiety; the wide, crimson eyes.
"I am aware that you are angry at me for my callous treatment of you, Spicer," he murmured, and felt Jack shiver as his breath puffed against the pale lips, "but I will not tolerate you speaking to me so disrespectfully. If you cannot maintain pleasant tones when speaking to me, you will not speak to me. Am I understood?"
He knew Spicer had received the message loud and clear by the way the red eyes darkened with anger and narrowed slightly, and the way the white lips flattened into a thin line as Jack nodded once, shortly.
"Excellent," he growled amiably, and lifted away from the irritated young man. Tucking his arms at the small of his back, Chase wandered over to watch a live news video feed on one of the flatscreens in the lab.
The alternate-Chase made no move to help Jack up, knowing that the gesture wouldn't be appreciated. Instead, he watched as the albino genius stood straight once again and angrily began rummaging through tools and spare parts while barking at his robots to bring out the disabled time machine.
"Do you require any help at this time, Spicer?" asked the alternate-Chase courteously.
Jack shook his head, still narrow-eyed with anger. "Not right now. I'd actually appreciate it if the both of you would just get out of my hair for a while."
The look-alike tilted his head in a nod of acquiescence. Turning, he walked gracefully away without another word, climbed the metal stairs up to the exit, and let himself out.
Chase paused once to look at Jack for a long moment without speaking before he, too, disappeared upstairs.
Jack let out a ragged breath and began to get to work even as he dictated notes to his Jackbots.
*~*~*
Hours later, Jack was jolted out of his work by the smell of something hot, greasy, and wonderful.
Pulling his head out of the innards of the giant, computerized ring that was the old time machine, Jack turned in search of the source of the smell.
And found one of the Good-Chases standing by his worktable, holding a small plate with a few strips of bacon, and smiling.
The short-haired, blue-robed Chase smiled pleasantly and bowed. "Good morning, Jack Spicer. One of our brethren has displayed a talent for cooking a decent meal. We would like it if you'd join us upstairs."
Jack felt his skin crawling at the sight of a Chase Young being so... sweet.
"Oh, yeah?" he hedged belligerently. "Why should I? If I take time off to eat, this won't get finished that much faster."
"You will also not do yourself or us any favors if you pass out from manly hunger," the good-natured monk teased gently, with a gentle wave of the plate that didn't dislodge the bacon. "I brought a test sample of breakfast for you in the hopes it would convince you to join us."
"One: Is it really time for breakfast? And two: Stop being so nice. I'm not used to it and it creeps me the hell out, alright?" grumbled Jack as he stomped forward and snatched at the bacon. "I don't care how good this is; if I feel like eating, I'll grab a banayo sandwich and eat while I work."
A confused look crossed the Good-Chase's face. "What is... banayo?"
Jack smirked and crunched down on a piece of bacon. His mouth watered at the perfect texture and flavor, but he said around his mouthful, "Banana slices on mayonnaise-slathered bread."
Pale yellow eyes widened and a look of horrified revulsion washed over the youthful face.
"That is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard!" squealed the monk, clutching at his stomach.
"Not as gross as seeing Chase acting like a frigging pansy," groused Jack. "Just... go away, alright? If I come up, fine, if not... just piss off, already."
The monk frowned as he regained control of his squeamish guts. "I was under the impression that you were not allied with this world's Chase Young."
"So? Just because I'm not workin' with him doesn't mean I'm not on the bad guys' side," retorted Jack, and he smirked. "I'm the son of business leaders. Altruism is not in my genetic make-up."
The Good-Chase sighed. "This is true. Very well; I'll inform the others not to expect you."
"Who's doing the cooking?"
"The indifferent one among our group... the, ah, 'civilian', I suppose you could say. Your Chase has graciously shared his dragon-soup among his evil counterparts." The monk grinned. "It was most amusing to see the civilian Chase turn slightly green at the thought of consuming such a meal."
Jack laughed. "I can't blame him. Although, really, it's the onion and frog parts of it that gross me out."
The monk-Chase shook his head. "For me, it is the killing of an innocent, venerable creature simply to sustain one's own life."
“Really?” sneered Jack. “Tell that to the bacon you had for breakfast.”
“Pigs are not dragons. They are meant to sustain life!”
“For Chase, dragons are pigs.”
“Despicable!”
"And that is why I am so very, very glad that Chase was smart enough to take the offer when he did," said Jack meanly, "because the thought of Chase Young never becoming a grand warlord and martial arts master, surviving to this very day, is enough to make me want to curl up in a ball and cry."
"Oh? Because of your affection for him?" retorted the monk coolly.
Jack's eyes widened. "What affection? The guy pisses me off every time he opens his mouth!"
The monk grinned. "If everyone stopped loving each other the instant harsh words were exchanged, the human race would have died out by now."
"We probably should have," muttered Jack.
"Spicer—“
Jack shook his head. "Just... go away, alright? I'm very busy and important."
Good-Chase bowed. "As you wish." He silently departed.
Jack stuck the last rasher of bacon in his mouth and simply held it, tasting the rich flavor.
"Wish my Chase would do that once in a while," he mumbled around his mouthful, and went back to work.
*~*~*~*
Jack groped for the needle-nose pliers hanging from his tool belt. Just as he located them, though, he also touched on the fingers of another hand.
One resting on his right hip, over which the pliers were hanging.
Losing his grip on the red and blue wires he'd twined together, Jack straightened quickly and spun around, angry and anxious.
"Chase! What the hell are you—? Oh." He deflated, sighing roughly, and wiped his arm across his forehead in relief. "Sorry. Wrong one."
The Chase that so closely resembled the one living in Jack's world raised an eyebrow, and then gave a slow smile.
"Does that mean that had you known it was me, you'd have let my hand remain there?" the warlord murmured flirtatiously.
Jack snorted and grinned back. "No. But, you're not the one I'm pissed off at, so I'm not about to throw a hissy-fit about it." Snagging the pliers from his tool belt, Jack caught up the hanging, twined wires, and began tightening and crimping them together in preparation for laying them neatly in the machine.
"Oh, yes?" Chase shifted to stand so that his hips were braced against a nearby worktable, and crossed his right ankle over his left; his arms over his chest. "Do you want to explain why?"
"What's there to tell?" grumbled Jack. His arms were up over his head, the long and lean muscles corded with tension as he worked. It was testament to how often he'd performed such actions that his arms never trembled and his fingers never faltered in their quick rhythm of twist-splice-tuck. "He's spent the last three years ignoring me after he spent four years using and abusing me. I'm fed up with it. End of song."
Chase watched the young genius work. After a moment, he looked away; taking in the sight of Jack's workshop. He knew it would have been called an "evil lair." Apparently, that had gone the same way as Jack's affection for this reality's Chase.
"No..." he said slowly. "No, I don't think that's the end of it. All that you're willing to talk about at the moment, perhaps, but not the entire story."
"So?" growled Jack. He twitched slightly; clearly irritable. "You don't need the story to get back home."
Chase laughed quietly. "No, I don't, young Spicer. I was merely curious. I, too, had a Jack Spicer in my land."
At that, Jack stopped and turned to look at the alternate-Chase. "Oh, yeah? Where is he?"
The dragon-lord met crimson eyes unflinchingly. "He is dead, Jack."
As those lovely crimson eyes went wide in shock, Chase calmly strolled away.
Jack watched the alternate-Chase leave the workshop, and then turned slowly back to his project.
His fingers worked automatically as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that, somewhere in the universe, he'd already met his end.
*~*~*
"Is there any particular reason you're skulking about?" Chase asked with cool, biting precision.
He knew his closest counterpart was smirking behind him.
"Yes. I want some information."
"Really. You should know that I will not give up my knowledge so easily."
The alternate-Chase looked at his doppelganger, sitting in meditation several feet off the ground, and snorted.
"Cut the mystical omniscient dragon crap, Xun-Xue – it will not work on me," he sneered.
The alternate-Chase laughed openly, long and loud, when his counterpart toppled to the ground with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.
Chase, furious at the strike his dignity had taken, was up on his feet quickly and settling into a stance that would allow him to attack fast if he wanted to.
"And you think that mocking me is going to cause me to bare my—“
"—soul?" interrupted his doppelganger with a sinister shark-smile. "Hardly. I thought perhaps I might jolt you out of that stuffy rut you seem to have locked yourself into, Xun-Xue. What is the point of eternal life if you spend it as a grumpy old man?"
"I am not," snarled Chase heavily, "a 'grumpy old man'!"
"Really? Can't prove it by me – and I am you."
"You are not me; you are a version of me from another plane of existence."
"Semantics."
The alternate dragon-man considered the suggestion for a moment, and then inclined his head slightly. "Very well – given that you are the original of this world."
Chase curled his lip. "Thank you."
"Alright, then, here is my question: Why do you torment your Jack, rather than take him to bed and prove your mastery over him by reducing him to a panting, sweaty wreck that screams your name in ecstasy?"
Once again, the alternate-Chase gave into his hilarity and laughed at the look on his counterpart's face.
A few moments later, he got control of himself and hurried to catch up to the other Chase, who was stalking away as fast as his legs could take him.
"Wait... Xun-Xue, wait!" he called out, and wasn't surprised when the other man ignored him. "Chase, stop! I didn't mean to insult you!"
Chase whirled and came face-to-face with his doppelganger.
"Yes, you did," he said very, very softly. "You asked the question with honest curiosity, yet you did it in such a way as you knew would offend me."
"I did, yes," agreed the alternate just as softly. He leaned in so that their spiky forelocks twined and tangled together. "Because I cannot stomach the sheer idiocy I see before me."
"What do you mean?"
"Do not play ignorant with me, huài dàn!" hissed the visitor. "You know what I mean!"
"Pretend I don't and spell it out for me."
A low growl. "Very well, Xun-Xue – I am talking about Jack Spicer. I am speaking of the fact that there is a brilliant, beautiful, passionate young man who is ripe for the plucking, and you sit on your old ass doing nothing about it!"
Chase shoved away from the living copy of himself. "Do not spit vulgarities at me, Dragon! I do not have to take it from you!"
"That is the great thing about being Chase Young – we don't have to take it from anyone except us! How do you manage to meditate if you can't be honest with even a facsimile of yourself?"
Chase growled horribly.
"You stand there, evading the question and the answer! What is wrong with you that you do not appreciate the excellence that your Spicer is, even at such a young age?" roared the alternate-Chase.
"You don't know a thing about this world's Spicer!" snarled Chase in reply.
"As close in resemblance as we are, it is no stretch of the imagination that our Jacks were most likely very similar as well. Mine started out as a bumbling, incompetent fool. As he grew older and matured, his mind lost that chaotic hyperactivity, and he began to improve. More so as I took him under my wing."
Chase's eyes widened slightly. "You took him...? At such a young age...?"
The alternate-warlord snorted and stepped away, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Not as you're thinking, Xun-Xue. I knew that by accepting him, I would be setting us on that path towards such a thing. First and foremost came strengthening Spicer so he would be able to survive such a joining."
Chase's eyes narrowed as he, too, crossed his arms over his chest. "Did he?"
"...No."
A soft snort. "Then, it is pointless to ask me such a vile question when you know the outcome!"
Gold eyes narrowed and burned with an inner fire. "Idiot! It was not I who destroyed him."
Chase's eyes widened again. "Then, who...?"
"That doesn’t matter. What is, is. My Jack was taken from me before we could join together in bed. I will regret that to the end of time."
The alternate-Chase whirled, suddenly, and the original found himself flattened to the ground under the speed and fury of his doppelganger's pounce.
"This is why I don't understand your idiocy," the living copy hissed angrily into the other man's face. "You are wasting a precious opportunity to acquire a lover who has the capacity to admire you and adore you until the end of days, and you are doing nothing. I would not have believed Chase Young capable of such stupidity."
The alternate-Chase let go; wrenched up and away, and glared down at his counterpart.
"Not without having seen it for myself," he spat, and then, he was gone.
Slowly, Chase sat up from the flower bed he'd been pounced into. Fortunately, it wasn't the rose bushes, and only a few pansies had given their lives to the pseudo-wrestling match.
He finger-combed purple and yellow petals from his long, luxurious hair, and stared narrow-eyed toward the direction in which his doppelganger had departed.
You must truly believe me an idiot if you think I cannot sense your interest in this world's Jack Spicer, thought Chase quietly. His eyes narrowed. And you are even more foolish if you think I have none for him myself. I'll be keeping an eye on you, brother. No one is going to steal Spicer from me – not when he has finally matured enough to be interesting!
Deciding that the scent of the crushed flowers was pleasant enough, Chase decided to continue his meditation where he'd been knocked down. Closing his eyes, he crossed and folded his legs, curled his fingertips together, and concentrated.
A moment later, he was hovering neatly a few feet off the ground; immersed in the flow of his hot-lava thoughts.
*~*~*~*
“Spicer.”
“Mm.”
“Spicer…”
A low noise that didn’t really mean anything as Jack continued scribbling on a pad of paper.
“Spicer!”
The full-throated roar of his name right beside his ear startled Jack badly. He flailed, yowling, and fell off the stool he’d been perched on. Landing with a whump on his back, he barely kept his head from cracking off the concrete floor, and winced at the bruising he could feel already forming on his back.
He glared up at the Chase that stood over him; glaring back down at him. It was the Evil-Chase with the short hair and the ugly scar across his face.
“How close are you to being finished?” growled the scarred warlord.
“A lot less closer than I was, now that you’ve interrupted me,” grumbled Jack, and he started to get to his feet.
Only to find himself slammed back down to the floor by Chase’s foot stepping down hard on his chest.
Jack gasped, winded and in pain, and then went utterly still; trying to keep himself alive by using submissive body language.
“Do not speak to me so disrespectfully, worm,” rumbled the scarred man coldly. “I will not take such insolence from a Spicer.”
Jack stared up at the man pinning him down and felt a chill sweep through him at the pure and violent hatred in the man’s eyes. He swallowed roughly. “The Jack in your reality did that to you?”
The foot pushed down a little harder and Jack winced as he felt the threatening creak of pain from his ribs; a warning that they weren’t going to take much more abuse.
“He proved himself to be the most dishonest coward in existence!” snapped Chase. “I greatly dislike being forced to depend on you for assistance, so I will say this only once: Do not think to use this as an opportunity to harm us. If you do—“
“I won’t!” growled Jack angrily, baring his teeth. “I don’t know what you did to your Jack that made him lash out at you, but this Jack just wants all of you to get the hell out and never come back.”
Fangs were bared in a gruesome expression of intended murder. Jack tensed, ready to fight as much as he could—
“Brother.”
The scarred warlord froze. He continued to glower down at Jack, who glared right back – refusing to back down.
The Chase that belonged in Jack’s reality – whom he was beginning to think of as “Original-Chase” – slowly approached, his arms down at his sides; ready to fight if need be, but not inviting it.
“Is there a reason you are attempting to sabotage the return to your world?” murmured the host dragon-lord.
“I do no such thing, brother,” retorted the scarred man without taking his eyes from Jack. “I am merely warning this disgusting piece of trash that he had better be on his best behavior – or else.”
Chase’s gold eyes narrowed as they looked at the short-haired alternate. “I understand your dislike of Jack Spicer, but I must ask you to not abuse this one. I would have you all go home sooner rather than later.”
The alternate Chase finally looked to his host self and hesitated. Something in those gold eyes promised horrific violence if he continued his actions.
Carefully considering his options, the scarred warlord finally decided that not having this squealing worm beneath his foot injured was the more efficient choice to make in achieving his long-term goals.
Moving slowly, he peeled his foot away from Jack and set it on the floor. Then, he glared down at Jack and snarled, “You know what I expect of you. Try not to screw it up – as you always do!”
It was on the tip of Jack’s tongue to say something pithy, like “Bite me, Scale-rot!” but a quick movement to his right caught his eye, and when he looked over, the Chase from his reality was very definitely giving him a warning look to keep his mouth shut.
The scarred dragon-lord stalked past his host self and up the metal stairs. A moment later, the heavy door slammed shut with a loud bang. The few Jackbots that were hovering nervously about flinched and clapped their metal hands to the sides of their metal heads, creating a discordant sound.
Chase gave the robots an irritated look, and then turned his attention to Jack. He walked over just as the young albino man sat up, coughing lightly.
“Why didn’t your mechanical pets leap to your defense?” he asked curiously.
Jack gave the man standing over him a narrow-eyed glare. “Because I haven’t yet got around to revoking the order to not attack Chase Young.”
Chase’s mouth quirked into a half-grin. “How terribly sweet of you, Spicer, to put such an order in place at all.”
“What can I say? One too many kicks to the head.”
Chase laughed quietly. “I don’t doubt it.” He held out his hand to Spicer, offering a hand up.
Jack eyed it warily, but finally took hold of the offered hand and let Chase pull him up onto his feet.
“Thanks,” he grunted, and swatted the imaginary dust from his pants. There wasn’t anything on the blackest-black jeans; Jack was almost obsessive-compulsive about keeping his lab perfectly clean.
“Do you realize you’ve been working for nine hours straight?” inquired Chase conversationally.
Jack looked at the warlord – and was slightly startled to realize, for the first time, that they were the same height now. Coughing again, he cleared his throat, and then shrugged. “I’m not surprised. Whenever I get caught up in a project, I go until I drop.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. When was the last time you had refreshment?”
Jack thought about it and said, “Uh… one of the monk-Chases brought me some bacon.” Before he finished speaking, his stomach rumbled.
Chase cast a disparaging look at Jack’s belly. “That was six hours ago.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “What are you – my nanny? I’ll eat eventually!”
“Why not eat now? Seeing as how you’re on an unofficial break,” challenged Chase with a smirk.
The younger man closed his eyes for a moment; quite obviously struggling to control his temper. A heartbeat or two later, he squinched open one eye and glared at Chase. “If I agree, will you stop nagging me?”
“As you will have agreed, then there won’t be any point to continue the nagging.”
“Let me rephrase that: If I agree, will you leave me alone?”
Chase considered it. Finally, he said, “After you’re finished eating, I’ll leave you be for a while. I would like to join you so you may tell me what progress you’ve made.”
“I don’t report to you.”
A cold shark-smile. “Call it scientific curiosity.”
Jack sighed and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand briefly. “You are such a nuisance.”
“Call it payback for what you did to me years ago.”
A narrow-eyed glare. “It was only three years ago!”
Chase smirked silently.
“Fine!” Jack bellowed. He threw his hands up, spun to snag his notepad off the table he’d been working on, and then stormed past the warlord. “Don’t just stand there – come on!”
Abruptly, a hand buried itself in Jack’s hair and yanked him backwards. He cried out in pain and staggered backwards, dropping the notepad as his hands curled into fists; ready to fight back.
“What have I told you about the proper way to speak to me?” Chase asked coldly.
Jack growled, low and horrid. “If you don’t let go of me, I’m going to order the Jackbots to destroy everything related to the project.”
“Then the Scarred One will have no reason to restrain himself.”
“I don’t care.”
Chase blinked at the tone in Spicer’s voice. The younger man was absolutely serious.
Just as Jack was opening his mouth to give the order, Chase released him and he had to wind-mill his arms swiftly to remain upright. Once he regained his balance, he whirled to face the warlord angrily.
“I’m not that creepy little weakling you used to know, Chase! Not anymore,” he said viciously. “You are not going to be able to push me around!”
“Going to fight back, Jack?” asked Chase with a raised eyebrow.
“I already have,” snarled the younger man. He bent down to pick up his notepad and turned to walk away, but paused. Visibly struggling against his pride, Jack turned back to Chase and said stiffly, “I’m sorry for snapping at you so rudely.”
Chase grinned; a large, smug smile. “Thank you,” he replied in a tone that was purely gracious.
Jack made a strangled noise, but only turned again and walked up the nearby stairs.
Still grinning smugly, Chase followed silently after.
Once they were in the kitchen, Jack tossed the notepad onto the kitchen island and continued on towards the refrigerator. As he opened the ‘fridge door, he asked, “You want anything?”
“No, thank you,” replied Chase as he took a seat on one of the padded stools and pulled the notebook to him. “Hmmm… a dynamic model?”
Jack pulled himself out of the refrigerator, his arms and hands full of foodstuffs, and stared wide-eyed at the evil everlord. “You know what a dynamic model is?”
Chase smirked. “Only slightly. Magic is, after all, more of an exertion of will paralleling a petition of the supernatural energy field to part with some of itself. But for those of us who like to plan things ahead of time, rather than simply wing it, a little bit of theorem work doesn’t hurt anything. I have much better luck at keeping track of it all if I use my formulas rather than the ones used universally by you modern scientists.”
“So, are you able to follow the differential equation?” asked Jack, carrying his foodstuffs over to a long marble counter and setting them down.
“Not really. I might if you put it into what is known as Taylor coefficients.”
Over at the counter, as he put a sandwich together, Jack wondered to himself how unfair it was that Chase had actually increased his desirability by displaying a bit of knowledge about theoretical physics.
Chase continued looking at the scribbled equations. Finally, he set the notebook aside and watched Jack move at the counter. Sitting perfectly upright, no slouch present, he crossed his arms over his chest and his right leg over his left at the knees, and took in the calm, un-chaotic movements.
“You’re not as hyper as you once were,” he said quietly. “You seem more at ease in your own skin.”
“I am,” was the simple reply. “Ashley offered to change my pigmentation with her biogenetics knowledge, but I would rather be an albino. For one thing, I can’t trust her to do right by me and for another… I like being me.”
A small curl of a smile. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ve—“ He broke off as Jack turned and walked over to the island table, carrying a plate in one hand and a brown bottle of Yanjing beer in the other.
“What is that?” he asked, his tone horrified.
Jack sighed. “Please don’t get on my case about the Yanjing. I can handle one beer and besides, there’s no minimum on a drinking age in China.”
“Not the Yanjing – that.”
Chase was pointing at the candy-apple-red, thick, slightly curved food item on Jack’s plate.
Jack looked down and grinned. “Oh, that. That’s a Kool-Aid Pickle.”
Chase stared at Jack. “Excuse me? I don’t believe I heard that correctly.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” said the albino man with a smug tone. “It’s a Kool-Aid Pickle. Quite the rage in the Deep South part of the United States. Dill pickles marinated in Kool-Aid for a week!”
The dragon-lord made a face that suggested he was about to barf up four feet of long intestine. “That is revolting.”
“So you say until you try one. Look… I know you’re a candy freak. You must have had Jollyranchers candy, right?”
Chase nodded slowly with a wary look.
“Same principle here; Kool-Aid sweetness with pickle sourness. Sweet and sour. Get it?”
“You turned a pickle red!”
Jack laughed. “Yes, I did. Although the blue and the purples are the other eye-catchers. Yellows don’t do much except give the pickle a lemon-lime look and oranges only turn the pickle close to brown.”
Chase’s expression went a bit more horrified.
Heroically fighting back uproarious laughter, Jack managed to offer, “In fact, would you like a blue or purple? The blue comes from ‘Berry Blue’ mix and the purple is grape-flavored, and called ‘Purplesaurus Rex’. Kind of fitting, since purple is the color of royalty and a T-Rex is the ‘King Lizard’ and, well… there’s you being all half-dragon and lord of all you survey—“
“No.”
Jack paused and looked at Chase closely.
“Just… no,” said the warlord through clenched teeth.
Jack fell off his stool laughing.
When he finally dragged himself back up onto his seat, he nearly broke down into giggles again at the fuming stare Chase was leveling at him.
“Sorry, sorry…” he gasped, and wrapped his arms over his stomach as he fought down another round of giggles. Holy fuckeroonie, his face hurt from grinning so much. “I never in my life would have thought I’d ever see you grossed out by something – let alone that grossed out!”
“At least there’s no way you can top it,” muttered the dragon-lord coldly.
Remembering the reaction of the monk-Chase that had brought him bacon, Jack grinned slyly and said, “Unless I tell you about my sandwich.”
Chase gave the younger man a slightly panicked look.
“Banayo: Mayonnaise slathered on bread with banana slices squished between to make a sandwich. Bananas and mayo – banayo!”
Chase groaned a nauseated sound and dropped his face into his hands and shook his head slightly.
Jack was still screaming with laughter when the “civilian” Chase stepped into the kitchen.
“What’re you howling like a gin-chimp for?” he asked curiously, and then looked at the host Chase. “And why is he mooing?”
Jack choked at the description of Chase’s groaning and nearly suffocated trying to get his laughter under control.
The civilian Chase looked at Jack’s plate and his eyes widened. “No way! You guys have Kool-Aid Pickles here, too? Fuckin’ A, man!” He looked pleadingly at Jack. “Got anymore?”
Silently, unable to speak, Jack waved at the red pickles jar on the sideboard, and then the refrigerator.
The alternate Chase glanced at the jar of red pickles, made a face, and turned to the ‘fridge. “Red ones are too sweet for me. I don’t mind the strawberry-kiwi, but I want my KA Pickle to look weird, too.”
He opened the ‘fridge, hunted around, and let out a whoop. “Purple! Score!”
Jack was almost as red as his pickle by then and Chase was staring through slightly spread fingers; fascinated at the display this modern doppelganger was making.
The short-haired man in jeans and a motorcycle jacket backed out of the fridge and kicked the appliance door shut. He had one long, fat, purple dill pickle in one hand, and another in his mouth.
Just… sticking right out, obviously holding on with lips and teeth.
The civilian Chase sauntered out of the kitchen, waggling the hand-held pickle at Jack in a silent thank-you.
Chase, who had turned to watch his counterpart go, slowly turned back to face the albino man.
Jack, with tears streaming down his bright-red face, his mouth stretched wide in a grin, let out a ripping snort and said, “Guess… Guess this makes him—“
“—DON’T—“
“—a Purple Pickle Eater!”
“GRAH!”
Jack fell off his stool again.
Chase saw nothing wrong with banging his forehead on top of the island table’s surface repeatedly.
