Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction / Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Once More, With Pirates ❯ Playing with the Boys ( Chapter 7 )

 

 

A/N: Oh, my! Can we possibly get any more testosterone-laden than to have Spike, Mustang and Fullmetal compete to see who blinks first over a platter of squirming Gagh? *snickers* Does that scene move the story forward? Probably not. But damn was it a fun plot bunny to play with.

 

That's okay, I think I got back on track at the end of the chapter.

 

Chapters: 7

Word Count, This Chapter: 3078

Word Count Total: 22,028

Words Left: 27,972

 

 

Playing with the Boys

 

I'm moving in slow motion; Feels so good; It's a strange anticipation; Knock, knock, knocking on wood; Bodies working overtime; Man against man; And all that ever matters; Is baby who's ahead in the game; Funny but it's always the same - Kenny Loggins (Top Gun OST)

 

 

 

Spike couldn't sleep. It wasn't that he wasn't tired. He couldn't even blame the accommodations, which were far more luxurious than he expected.

 

It was his “roommate”. Jet snored. Loudly. And he slept like the dead, on top of that.

 

Spike tried holding his pillow over his ears, but that didn't muffle the din. He even tried throwing the pillow at Jet, in hopes it would shut him up. All that succeeded in doing was to cause him to lose it to the other man when he wrapped his arm around it and rolled over. He mumbled something that Spike didn't want to contemplate too closely, and proceeded to snore even louder.

 

He groaned, and sat up. Dammit, he thought as he rubbed his face. Why'd Faye get the single? But he knew the answer to that one. It was as obvious as… well, it was damned obvious.

 

Spike gave up, grabbed the blanket from the bed, and stumbled into the common room of the suite. He petulantly complained under his breath that a ship this size should have more guest quarters, then he wouldn't be forced to sleep on what passed for a couch.

 

As he fell on said couch, he realized he wouldn't be doing any sleeping there, either. Not only was the damn thing hard as a rock, but it was curved to the bulkhead of the ship, and uncomfortably so. On top of that, he could still hear Jet snoring loud enough to rattle the ports, even with the door closed.

 

That's it, he thought. I don't give a damn how much she whines and bitches, she's sharing that bed.

 

Once more, Spike grabbed his blanket, and stumbled into the other room on the opposite side of the suite from Jet and his buzz-saw imitation. And immediately ran back out, ducking and covering his head as hard, heavy objects flew at him. Where the hell did she find things to throw? he thought, as he dodged to the right, and leaned against the wall.

 

“Fuck, Faye! I just wanted to get some sleep,” he shouted when she stopped screaming and cussing. “Get over yourself, you're not that impressive.”

 

That elicited more cussing, and more heavy projectiles through the door. After a moment, when she quieted down again, he asked “Can I at least have my blanket back?”

 

“Go to hell!” she snapped, and the door slid softly shut. He chuckled at that. At least she doesn't get the satisfaction of a slamming door, he thought. An instant later, something hard and heavy hit the door with a resounding thump. Damn, he thought, as he instinctively ducked again. She found a way around that one.

 

And through it all, Jet's snoring remained steady. And loud. Oh, so very loud.

 

Spike fell down onto the couch and leaned forward with his fingers laced behind his neck. He couldn't even have the pleasure of a cigarette in the suite. There was no smoking on the ship at all, apparently. As nice and slick and shiny as this universe first looked, Spike wasn't so sure he liked it at all. “Probably can't even get a good, stiff drink on this boat, either,” he complained.

 

“Alcohol and synthohol are available in the Ten-Forward Lounge,” said a disembodied female voice. Spike started and looked around, then remembered the computer system talked here.

 

“So where is this `Ten-Forward'?” he asked.

 

“Ten-Forward is in the forward section of deck ten.”

 

Spike threw his hands up and said, “Of course. It's all perfectly logical. Too bad I don't know how to get to the forward section of deck ten.”

 

Several red lights started flashing along the bottom of the panels, and they appeared to be pointing toward the door. “Please follow the directional indicators to the Ten-Forward Lounge.”

 

Spike shrugged and got to his feet. “What the hell, I'm game.”

 

“Games are available in the holodecks, or—“

 

“Oh, shut up,” he said as he went out the door. The computer obediently obliged.

 

0o0o0

 

Fullmetal sat down at the table with Worf, and waited on dinner. The Klingon had told him he was ordering a “warrior's dish”, and offered to share it with the boy. Considering the options for food were a little overwhelming at the moment, and Fullmetal was certain he'd waste away to nothing before he could make a decision, he agreed. He figured if it was a warrior's dish, then it had to be filling. Although why Guinan found it amusing was beyond him.

 

He felt a large hand land heavily on the top of his head, and someone behind him said, “Hey Pipsqueak.”

 

Fullmetal started to seethe, until the owner of the voice came into view. He smirked and said, “Well, if it isn't the mad bomber.”

 

“Mad Bomber?” Worf asked.

 

Spike shrugged, and Fullmetal snorted. “Yeah. Spike likes to blow things up.”

 

“Yes. I got that impression when I collected weapons from everyone, and he turned over two grenades.”

 

Fullmetal's brows shot up, and he looked at Spike with a mixture of disbelief and humour. “You carry grenades with you everywhere you go?”

 

Spike shrugged again, and said, “Never know when one might come in handy.”

 

Guinan arrived with an enormous covered tray, and set it down in the center of the table. “Your Gagh, Lieutenant.”

 

Worf grinned, and glanced up at the dark-skinned woman. “Bithool?”

 

Guinan smiled and said, “Of course. And Torgud, Filden, and Meshta.”

 

Worf looked quite pleased with the combination.

 

She nodded in greeting at Spike and asked, “Are you joining Worf and Fullmetal for dinner?”

 

“There is more than enough, Mr. Spiegel,” Worf said, with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

Spike sniffed, and eyed the covered tray suspiciously. He appeared to consider it a moment, then flipped a chair around and straddled it. “Sure. Why not.”

 

As Guinan set a plate in front of him, he asked, “So, what is this… Gagh anyhow?”

 

Worf lifted the lid, and said, “A Klingon delicacy. Serpent worms.”

 

At the sight of the writhing tangle filling the platter, Fullmetal slowly leaned back in his seat and asked, “Why is it moving?”

 

Spike just stared.

 

“Because Gagh is best served `fresh',” Riker said from over the boy's shoulder. He came around the table, and mirrored Spike by turning the chair, and straddling it.

 

Fullmetal glanced up when he felt a presence over his other shoulder, and found Mustang staring down at the tray of serpent worms with a mixture of horror and morbid fascination, and making no attempt at hiding it behind that smug mask he always wore. If nothing else, he thought, I have the satisfaction of seeing that.

 

Riker reached over to the tray, and nudged the top layer of wriggling serpent worms, and said, “Don't worry; they're safe for human consumption.” He picked a fat one out of the tangle and held it up. It twisted and curled up in protest, and Riker grinned at the three guests. He coaxed the worm to relax and uncurl, and added, “Although, the sensation as it goes down is a bit strange at first.” He tilted his head back, and slurped the writhing serpent worm down like it was spaghetti.

 

Fullmetal stared open-mouthed at Riker.

 

“This is some sort of initiation, right?” Spike asked; dead-pan. “See if the newbies fall for it, and get a good laugh afterwards?”

 

“Actually, no,” Riker said, perfectly serious. “That involves pain-sticks.”

 

Fullmetal lurched away from Riker.

 

“There is no dishonor in a human refusing to eat live Gagh,” Worf said, eyeing Fullmetal. “You could have it stewed, instead.” He paused, and his eyes crinkled. “It is usually served to Klingon children.”

 

The boy didn't miss that most obvious challenge from the Klingon. He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. His eyes narrowed, and a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. There was a long, silent stand-off between the boy and the Klingon, and no one said a word. Finally Fullmetal reached out, and plucked a rather active serpent worm from the tray, and went through the same process of relaxing the creature out of it's annoyed curl as Riker did. He stared at the face of the thing with a grimace for a hesitant moment; then took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slurped it down. His face pinched in disgust, and he shuddered. There was a moment when it felt like the Gagh would come right back up, but it passed as he gulped air.

 

Both Spike and Mustang goggled, and the boy decided that alone, would make this date worthy of celebration each year for the rest of his life.

 

Riker said, “I'm impressed. You picked a Bithool.”

 

“Eh?” Fullmetal said. Then he felt the worm squirming around in his stomach and shuddered. He could swear he felt it trying to climb back out.

 

“A true warrior of Gagh,” Worf said. “It is the only species to have feet.”

 

The boy's eyes went wide, and he felt the blood drain from his face. “F-feet?” he squeaked.

 

“Yes,” Worf said, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. “The Bithool species will keep trying to climb back out, even as its body dissolves in your stomach. It will not cease fighting for its life until it is completely digested.”

 

“Uh…”

 

Mustang found a seat, and wedged himself in between Worf and Riker. His mask had come back down over his face, and he was picking through the Gagh with mild interest. “Which ones have the feet, again?”

 

Spike gave the Colonel a narrow-eyed glare, then smirked and reached for the platter. He picked out a rather docile worm from the pile and held it up to Mustang. “This one.”

 

Mustang cocked a brow, and gingerly took the worm from the other man. “Are you going to pass, Mr. Spiegel?”

 

“Heh. Hardly,” Spike said. He picked through the dwindling mass, pulled out the most active one on the platter, and held it up.

 

There was a tense moment of silence as they both held each other's gaze intently, then as if in agreement, they both slurped down the worms at the same time. Then they both locked eyes again, and waited. The only reactions from either of them were a slight twitch of the eye on Mustang, and a barely perceptible shudder from Spike.

 

Fullmetal looked from one to the other in mild annoyance, then fished out another worm and downed it without the slightest hesitation.

 

The challenge was on.

 

0o0o0

 

Riker watched the three of them slurp down the Gagh, and chuckled. “Looks like you lost your dinner, Worf,” he said.

 

“Indeed,” he said, as he set back in his seat, and crossed his arms. But Riker noticed that the Klingon was insufferably pleased with the situation. And to one who knew the Lieutenant well, there was a definite rise in respect for the boy in his eyes.

 

He caught the subtle shift in the Klingon's focus, and turned to the entrance of the lounge. The quartermaster was gesturing to him, and looking a bit agitated. Worf got to his feet, which caused the competition to pause a brief moment. He bowed to the group and said, “If you will excuse me a moment.” They acknowledged him, and then went right back to clearing the platter of Gagh, throwing in good-natured jibes at each other in between slurping down wriggling worms.

 

Riker just watched in amusement. It was an exercise in flexing testosterone, and none of them wanted to allow any of the others to come out on top as the alpha. He found it hardly surprising that they rubbed each other the wrong way; they were all three very much alike in ways none of them would admit.

 

“Brother?”

 

Riker glanced up to see Alphonse at the head of the table, and if the armor could show wide-eyed shock, this one would.

 

Fullmetal was in the process of dropping a particularly rambunctious worm down his gullet, and snapped his head down like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be. Riker had to laugh at the image of the wide eyes, and the tail of the worm wriggling between his lips. He quickly swallowed the worm, and then grinned. “Hey, Al.”

 

The armor rattled as he took a step back in disbelief. “Are you eating…” He looked down at the platter; at the one remaining worm flipping and writhing in a puddle of brownish slime. “What are you eating? And why is it still moving?”

 

“It's Gagh,” Fullmetal declared with a grin. “It's a warrior's dish, and best served fresh.”

 

Riker could swear he saw Al look like he feared for his brother's sanity at that moment.

 

A small brown hand reached out, and snatched the last worm from the platter, and it was gone before anyone had a chance to react. Edward smacked her lips, and grinned. “Mmm, yummy!”

 

“Right now,” Al said, “I think I'm glad I don't need to eat.” He faced Riker, and bowed, “Commander Riker, would it be alright for Edward and I to explore the ship?”

 

Riker grinned and nodded. “Of course. You know how to use the computer to find your way back if you get lost, right?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

He waved a hand at the kids and said, “Go have fun, then.”

 

“Thank you, Sir,” Al said with another polite bow, and the two of them took off.

 

Spike cocked a brow at Riker and asked, “Is that wise?”

 

“They can't get into any of the restricted areas, if that's what you're wondering.”

 

“Commander Riker,” Worf called from the other side of the lounge.

 

Riker got to his feet, and said to the three still at the table, “Duty calls. If you'll excuse me.”

 

As he headed for Worf, he heard Fullmetal say, “I'm still hungry.”

 

“Me too. Think we can get more Gagh?”

 

“Both of you are insane.”

 

As he approached the Klingon and the quartermaster, he noticed the definite tension between the two of them. Not good, he thought.

 

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” he asked as he reached them.

 

Worf growled low causing the quartermaster to flinch. “Yes, Sir,” Worf said. “It appears that Scar and McKenna were placed in the same suite.”

 

Very not good, Riker thought, and scowled.

 

“I'm sorry, Sir,” the quartermaster said. “We didn't know, and there aren't any more guest quarters available.”

 

Riker considered it a moment. He had no worry that McKenna was going to cause a problem. He had a feeling she would jump at her own shadow. Scar was a different matter altogether, and he had a serious hard-on for spilling her blood. But the man gave his word that there would be no vengeance taken while on the ship, and he believed him. That didn't mean he trusted him, though.

 

“Nothing we can do at the moment,” Riker said. “Post a guard by the suite though. Keep Scar under close surveillance.”

 

The quartermaster glanced nervously from Worf to Riker, and stammered, “That's a bit of a problem, Sir. No one knows where Scar is, right now.”

 

Riker shot a look at Worf. His brow knitted in confusion.

 

“Because none of them were beamed aboard, we don't have any biosignatures in the system,” Worf said. “Except for Fullmetal, that is.”

 

Riker nodded. Because the boy had been taken right to Sick Bay, his signature was in the system. One down at least, he thought. “Okay, get someone from medical to collect bioscans on the rest of our guests, and have security search the ship for Scar, but don't engage him if he's not up to trouble.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let's just assume he's good to his word, and just wanted to get the hell away from McKenna.”

 

“It's already been ordered, Sir,” Worf said.

 

Riker smiled and nodded. He had no doubt about that. Then he felt a lead ball settle in his stomach. Shit, he thought. “Alphonse and Edward are exploring the ship. See if you can spare someone from Security to hunt them down? It can't be too hard to locate a seven foot tall suit of armor, right? Get a communicator on Al, too. He's not going to be able to give us the bioscan.”

 

The quartermaster looked up at him in confusion. “Armor, Sir?”

 

Riker felt a touch of sympathy for the Ensign. Some of the guests were a bit unusual; even with the diversity of this ship as it was. “Yes, Ensign. I'm afraid that any other information about Alphonse is on a `need to know' basis.”

 

The message was clear. The Ensign nodded, and took his leave.

 

When they were alone, Riker sighed and glanced at Worf. The Klingon was watching the activity at the table. Riker noticed that Fullmetal had more food in front of him, and was downing it with gusto. It also appeared to be of the quite inanimate and more familiar human type. Spike had his head resting on his arms, on the back of the seat, and appeared to be asleep.

 

Riker scanned the lounge, and found Mustang back at his spot in front of the ports. He was standing, staring out at the stars, and sipping his drink. “Interesting group, aren't they?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

He looked back at Worf, and smiled. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were growing fond of the boy.”

 

The Klingon faced him, and his eyes crinkled. Riker realized that he didn't know better, and had to smile.

 

“Fullmetal will grow to be a strong warrior one day,” Worf said. “If he can temper his… intensity.”

 

Riker couldn't help but relish the irony in that comment.