Scribe checked through the contents of the duffle bag on the floor near her chair. "Camcorder. Collapsible tri-pod. Extra tapes. Pop Tarts. Notepad and pens. Instamatic with extra film. Box of Miscellaneous Plot Devices. All check. Self-control?" She peered into the bag. "Nope--nowhere to be found. Everything as it should be."

A large tuxedo cat wandered into the room, noticed the bag, mewed excitedly, and crawled inside. Scribe hauled him out. "No, Snicky, not this time. I'm going to the Sentinelverse." The cat chirped. "Yes, I'm sure Blair's hair would make a great toy." She grinned. "I know Jim would agree. But you're forgetting--there may be a spirit wolf or jaguar roaming around. I can't vouch that they won't view you as a snack instead of a visitor." The cat hissed, and she put him down. He scampered away.

Scribe cinched the bag shut, then carefully inserted her left foot through the loop. Once satisfied that it wasn't likely to slip off, she turned her attention to her keyboard, cracking her knuckles. "You want a 'toys' story, Lisa? I'll give you toys! Now, how do I want to set this up?" She thought for a moment, then started typing.

Blair was bitching as he followed Jim to the front door. "But there's a program on The Learning Channel that I wanted to watch tonight."

"Whining isn't attractive, Sandburg. You know how to program the VCR--Daryl showed you last month." Jim picked his keys up out of the basket.

"We don't have any blank tapes, and if I tape over one of your Jag games..." The eyes Jim turned on Blair were an even more icy shade of blue than usual, "it doesn't bear thinking of."

"What's so all-fired fascinating that you've got your boxers in a twist over missing it?"

"It's a study of the representation of sex down through the ages--all the way from the orgy murals in Pompeii to 'Sex in the City'."

Jim hesitated, then said, "Crap. Oh, well... they do a lot of reruns on the cable channels. We'll cruise the guide when we get back from the stake out."

Blair grumbled, but kept it under his breath. It wasn't Jim's fault that they'd been handed this unpleasant little surprise, but as they got in the elevator, he said, "I think they need to make some sort of rule about partners not eating the same thing when they're scheduled for stake out. If we'd had that rule in place, H. and Rafe wouldn't have come down with the whoopsies from bad crab." Once on the street, they got into Jim's truck and headed for their designated stake out position, about a mile away.

They had no sooner turned the first corner than...

Scribe paused, frowning in concentration, tongue poking at her cheek. "Okay, how do I want to show up? Just pop in? Nah, too boring. Clap of thunder and flash of lightening? Too flashy. Jim might get suspicious and come back to investigate. I guess I'll go with the standard wind chimes and sparkles. Lavender this time, I think." She resumed typing.

...there was the sound of gently tinkling wind chimes, though the air was still, with no breath of breeze. Then there was a shower of lavender and silver sparks in front of 852 Prospect Avenue, and a woman appeared on the sidewalk.

She hit enter...

...and found herself standing on the sidewalk in what was obviously a pretty good sized city (a distinctly chilly city), waving away lavender and silver sparkles. This might have startled many people, considering the fact that she had moments ago been sitting in her bedroom, located in a rather rural area of Texas. Scribe, being a veteran fanfiction writer (and borderline insane, according to some), took it in stride. That is till she looked around.

Fuck! She slapped herself on the forehead. Why didn't I write myself into the apartment? Now I have to figure out how to break in. Oh, well... She unlooped the duffle bag from around her foot, hefted it up into her arms, and went into the building. While she rode up in the elevator, she opened the bag and dug down to the bottom. She came up with what looked like a cigar box that had been covered with bright red contact paper.

She went to the door to Jim's apartment, set down the bag, opened the box, and started to rummage. "Let's see... Half an amulet, proving that the bearer is the lost heir to a fabulous kingdom... Matchbook with mysterious phone number written inside... Handkerchief with lipstick smudge... Address book with one page ripped out... Diary with the same as the address book... Ah! Skeleton key!" She rolled her eyes and, in a deliberately stilted voice, said, "Oh! I can only hope that this works!"

It did.

She slipped into the apartment, shutting the door behind, then just stood for a moment, staring around, with an awe-struck look on her face. Then she squealed ecstatically, threw her arms wide, and cried, "It's Jim and Blair Land!"

She dug her Polaroid out of the duffle bag and immediately started snapping pictures from every angle, muttering to herself, "Oh, what the artists will be able to do with these." In the kitchen, she reverently placed the box of Pop Tarts on the counter. "For you, guys. Chocolate Fudge, with Sprinkles-an unopened box." Her fingers lingered. "You don't know what a sacrifice this is."

She snapped out of it. "Bathroom! Not nearly enough photos of the bathroom." She trotted into the bathroom and started snapping. Then she stared at the medicine chest for a long time. "What the hell." She opened it and sorted through the contents. "Herbal remedies. Go, Blair. Old Spice. Jim, you traditional thing, you. Ha! Flavored lube. Oh, I love you guys! If I had time, I'd take a shower, but... That would be wrong. So, on to the main event!"

She went back into the living room and stuffed the camera and photos into the bag, and removed the camcorder and tripod. She started to lean the tripod, considered how Jim would react to a rip in the leather, and balanced it against her leg. Then she checked to be sure that the lens cap was off, turned the camera on, and held it up in front of her, pointing at her own face.

"Hello, listsibs, and any others who may eventually see this. It's me--Scribe, and I've finally done what I threatened I'd do. I'm here--I'm on hallowed ground--in the loft apartment." She stuck her tongue out at the unseen future audience. "I told you guys I could do this! And if you don't believe me, if you're saying it's impossible--think. Which would be easier for me to do--write myself into the Sentinelverse, or scrape up enough money to fly to wherever the hell it was they actually filmed, locate a set that's probably been recycled by now, then sneak past security. If you'll think about it, you'll realize which scenario is more plausible."

She paused, as if giving them time to think, then nodded. "Okay, enough of that. On to the meat of this shindig." She cleared her throat and intoned, "Ladies and gentlemen..." pause "Hell with it, there'll be some guys watching this somewhere down the line. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the fandom video event of the year." giggle "Why limit myself? The event of the decade!"

She looked serious. "I'm talking to all you Jimbabes and Blairbabes out there. We love them--they love each other." She leered. "And we're all interested in how they love each other. There have been literally thousands of fictions written about our guys making whoopee, both plain and fancy. My Mongoose Ezine, of which I am a proud contributor (URL will be provided at the end of the video) has been responsible for a good bit of it. Well, the latest issue is going to contain a section of stories devoted to Jim and Blair and their 'toys'." The leer deepened. "And we all know that we ain't talking Legos here! I've already contributed one, but when the challenge came out for more, I rallied. I decided that I wanted to do something just a little special for the other Mongoosians.

"Girls, I am here to take you into the mysterious, hidden world of Sentinel and Guide playthings... marital aids..." She purred, "Sex toys. There have been stories about the fun things before, but I'm here to give you the ultimate tour of carnal contraptions. I will go where no fanfiction author has gone before--into Jim and Blair's Toy Chest!" She stuck out her tongue again. "Eat your heart out, Geraldo! Al Capone's vaults were for crap. You led us to expect Hurricane Andrew and gave us a poot. Well, I promise all my viewers--with me, you're gonna get something. I don't know exactly what, but you'll get it."

She shut off the camcorder. "If I have to, I'll crawl under the bed and interview dust kitties." She snorted. "Who am I kidding? As if Jim Ellison would allow dust kitties under his bed."

Scribe hefted the tripod and went up the stairs into the bedroom. She set the tripod up at the foot of the bed, fixing the camcorder on it, and fixed it till it was focused on the bed. She muttered to herself, "On the bed will be the perfect place to spread things out. Plus the viewers can imagine Jim and Blair doing beautiful, nasty things."

She sat down on the bed, (wiggling a little, because she just couldn't resist), then reached out and turned on the camera. "I'm here," she whispered. "Yes, that's right--in the loft, on the bed, on the sheets, where some of the most fabulous bonking in history has occurred." She closed her eyes and clasped her hands, sighing, then opened her eyes. "Sorry. Had to take a moment there. Now," she held up her finger, her smile feral. "We go on a hunt. First stop, the night stand."

She opened drawers. "Okay." She held up some items. "Condoms and lube. Yes, a little boring, but to be expected. Our boys are considerate and responsible boys." She put a hand beside her mouth and whispered. "Here's a secret--they keep the raspberry flavored lube down in the medicine chest." She wrinkled her nose conspiratorially as she put the condoms and lube back.

"Next stop would be the dresser." She dug. "I need to be as careful as I can, and try not to disturb things much. I mean, heck--Jim's a Sentinel. He probably knows exactly how he rolled his socks up when he tucked them away. Well, poot--there doesn't seem to be anything interesting here, except..."

She grinned, and held up a pair of black silk boxers, which were liberally sprinkled with tiny kiss marks. "You might think that these were Blair's but from the size--I'd say Jim. One second..." She buried her face in them, sniffing deeply. "Hm--Surf." sigh "What did I expect?" She folded them and put them away. There wasn't anything unusual--till she hit the bottom drawer. "Ah-hah! We have here a copy of Huggy Bears, and one of Slick Studs. I decline to speculate on who these belong to, singularly or collectively. I will remark that some of the pages are stuck together. Heh heh heh. But a question--these are two grown men--who the heck are they hiding their dirty magazines from? Next up--the closet."

She swiveled the camera so it could catch her at the closet, jerked the door open, then said cheerfully, "No one in there! Our boys are proudly out in my Sentineluniverse. Most of the time, anyway." She went rummaging. "Oh, so much flannel and denim! The testosterone is almost overwhelming. It's lovely. Hm, some shoes tossed in a pile, some lined up neatly, side-by-side. Guess which belong to who. Ah! There's a likely looking boot box." She stretched on tip-toe and pulled it off the top shelf. She brought it to the bed and refocused the camera.

"Is this it, friends and fangirls? Is this Jim and Blair's secret toy box? Let's find out." She lifted the lid and peered inside. "Hm. Well, it's a toy box." She poked at the contents. "Your standard variety butt plugs, vibrator, anal beads, nipple clips." Scribe stared, with a vaguely disappointed look on her face. "Somehow I always thought they'd be a little more inventive." She shook her head. "What am I saying? They're our boys--they're perfect." She put the lid back on the box. "It's just..." She trailed off.

A speculative gleam came into her eyes. "You know," she said slowly as she put the box back in the closet. She peeked around the camcorder, squinting into the lens. "There is one place I haven't tried yet-a very traditional place. Yes, I'm talking about the proverbial 'under the bed'." She nodded wisely. "Yes, I'll try there, then I'll bug out-because better safe than sorry. I know that I scheduled them to be gone for at least three hours, but it's a weird old universe."

Scribe got down on her knees beside the bed and gripped the edge of the cover. "Hold your breath, Mongeese. Here we go." She flipped the cover up, then bent down and peered under. A slow grin spread across her face, as she looked back at the camera. "Bingo!"

She reached under, stretching, and snagged a plastic storage box, dragging it out. She hefted it up onto the bed, then hesitated. "I know they're convenient, but I'll never get used to Tupperware for storage for anything but food. Kids, this could be a treasure trove--or it could be Jim's winter wardrobe. I don't know what we're going to find. If all there is are a few turtlenecks, you may not see this. If there's anything interesting," her eyes lit up, "I'll make a fortune selling copies at conventions, and become a legend among fangirls. Here goes."

She pried up the lid. Her eyes got big. There was a long moment of silence as her gaze darted to various objects. She swallowed. Her voice was hushed. "Friends... If it was possible, I'd be speechless. All I can think to do is just... lay it out."

She started removing items from the box, laying them on the mattress. "Edible body paint, in neon colors. How the hell do they do that? Water soluble magic markers." She frowned at one item. "What? This looks like one of my grandmother's clip on earrings. Maybe Blair likes to dress Jim up with one? I don't know--rhinestone chandeliers don't strike me as Jim's style."

She blinked. "Okay, I don't think I want to know why they have the pancake turner in there." Her hand darted into the box, and she drew out a gilt wooden cutlass. "Hey!" She swished it. "Ar! Ar! Lookit me--I'm Anne Bonney!" She giggled. "I smell role playing! There's also an eye patch, a bandana, and a stuffed parrot in here. Hey, and a plum velvet jacket, and a top hat! Blair must've read Medicine Man!" squeal! "I'm so honored! And there's a little stuffed bear dressed in bondage gear. So cute!"

"Let's see... There's an assortment of finely crafted fake phalluses. Wonder if any of these were Sentinel or Guide life casts?" She fanned herself. "Be still, my heart! Um, a string of anal beads... Wait a minute."

She lifted a string of white and red balls, each a little smaller than a ping-pong ball. She eyed them suspiciously, then leaned her nose toward it, sniffing. "I smell..." She shot a glance at the camera. "No, not that. It's pretty pleasant, actually. It's..." sniff sniff "Mint?" She looked closer. Her mouth fell open. "Oh. My. God. Kiddies, these are no ordinary anal beads. This is a string of Tom's Soft Sugar Peppermint Balls." She dropped them quickly. "That quite possibly might be more than I needed to know. I mean... Wouldn't it, um, smart a little? Wouldn't...?"

There was the sound of a door being kicked in, and she froze. A very familiar voice yelled, "All right, we know you're in there! I'm a police officer, and I'm armed. Come out with your hands where I can see them!"

"You shouldn't have guns here. Aren't we within one hundred yards of a school?" she said desperately. "Or is that just in Texas?" Scribe threw a stricken look at the camera. "Shit!" she whispered. "What the hell are they doing home so early?"

"The dumb ass perps ran their car into a phone pole right in front of us, and dropped a key of coke when they climbed out. God bless stupid criminals. Come down!"

Scribe winced. "Forgot the Sentinel hearing."

"Who are you talking to?"

Another voice said, "Jim? What's up?"

"I only hear one heartbeat, but she's talking to someone. She may be nuts."

"Escape time," Scribe whispered. "The neighbors will kill me for losing the tripod, but I can only carry the camcorder while I have the notebook and pen, and..." Her eyes flew open wide. "I left them both in the duffle!" squeak! "How am I going to get out of here?"

"I'm getting antsy, lady. I want to know how you got into the apartment, and I want to know why you did it."

"Jim, did you buy Pop Tarts?" Blair asked.

"What? No."

"Then she brought us Pop Tarts. There has to be some good in her."

"Will you stop eating those? When was the last time someone broke into the apartment with good intentions?"

"That bag must be hers."

"Blair, come back here!"

Scribe was frantically looking for something she could write with. Jim being Jim, there wasn't a dusty surface anywhere to sketch in. She began to wonder if she could use clothing to form letters.

"There's a note pad and pens, and a box labeled 'Plot Devices'. Female. From Texas. Pop Tarts. Getting in when she shouldn't be able to. Jim! Who does that suggest to you?"

There was a pause. Jim raised his voice. "Scribe?"

Pause. "May-be."

Blair nodded. "It's Scribe."

"How can we be sure?" Jim demanded. "We've only met her in our dreams. How can we be sure she even exists?"

"That was on the spirit plain, and you know it, and if you accept the fact that our two big, hairy, obnoxious carnivore guides are real, why is it so hard to accept Scribe?"

Silence while Jim tried to come up with an answer to that. Scribe began to unroll socks and try to form them into words. "Damn! There aren't enough socks to form a complete sentence."

"Tell me you aren't messing in my sock drawer!"

"Jim, buddy, you're missing the big picture here. We have a talented Dirty Minded Virgin trapped in our loft. Put away the hand cannon and get out your 'gun'."

"Hey..." There was a tone of dawning understanding in Jim's voice that worried Scribe. She started stretching a sock, trying to make just one work for an 's'. "Scribe, you still a virgin?"

"I refuse to answer on the grounds that I've heard that first times are messy and generally uncomfortable."

There was a whoop from Blair. "That means yes!" Blair raised his voice. "Lies! All lies, sweetheart! We can prove it to you."

Scribe stared into the camera and mouthed 'we?'. She cleared her throat, then whispered, "I begin to see possibilities here."

sniff sniff Jim's voice was thoughtful. "I smell peppermint. Blair, she's gotten into the toy chest--the special one."

"Naughty, naughty Scribe," Blair's voice was playful. "Have you located the silk scarves yet? You're going to get intimately acquainted with those. Jim? Don't you keep the padded handcuffs somewhere down here?"

"In the kitchen junk drawer, for when you want to play 'home invasion'."

"You guard the stairs--I'll go get them."

Scribe heard footsteps. She also heard Jim call, "As long as you're in there, grab some bottled water. She's going to get thirsty."

"Well, she could always..."

"Don't say that out loud, Darwin. If she spooks, she might just run over me. Oh, and grab that tub of Cool Whip while you're in there. And the maraschinos."

Scribe sat heavily on the bed, gazing into the camera with an expression that was a mixture of equal parts glee and dread. "I'm sorry, people, but there's no way you're seeing what I hope is about to happen." She reached out and turned off the camcorder as footsteps began to ascend the stairs.

*****

A Week Later

Lisa somehow managed to shut the trunk lid, then turned and stared balefully at the flight of stairs she had to climb to get to her apartment, muttering to herself. "Paper or plastic, he said. So I say plastic, so I can save the trees. And he says do you know how long it takes for plastic to degrade in the environment, and I say probably longer than my sense of guilt. So I take paper bags, and the damn things start to rip the second I start for the car, so I have to freakin' cradle them like babies if I don't want to give the sidewalk a milk-and-egg bath, or have 3 cans bounce off my toes. How the hell am I supposed to get the door open? Life is so beautiful."

"It's nice to know that Scribe isn't the only person who talks to herself."

Lisa, really not in any mood to mess with smart asses (the bank account wouldn't stand posting bail) turned sharply and snapped, "You have a problem?"

The young man behind her held up his hands in a 'peace' gesture. "No way, lady. I think it's cute."

Lisa peered at him more closely. He didn't really look out of place for the area. He was layered in flannel, with a thick sweater, a knitted neck scarf pulled up to his chin, and a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead. He was wearing sunglasses, so there wasn't much of his face on display, but what there was was pretty nice. Oo, especially the mouth. What a smile.

He tucked a long strand of curly, red-brown hair back behind his ear. "You're Lisa, right?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "May-be."

He laughed. "Gah, is that universal for fanfiction authors, or what?" Lisa blinked and started to say something. He waved. "Never mind, there's no time for a lengthy chat. We're on a tight schedule. She only wrote us fifteen minutes worth of time. Said something about we might get snagged if we ran into any fangirls, and she couldn't promise she could write us out of it, and we have to be back on duty by..."

"Hey!" The shout came from another man, a big one, leaning out the window of a nearby pickup. This one was also wearing shades and a low pulled baseball cap. He slapped the door and said, "Tick-tock, genius."

"Right." Lisa noticed the large, bulky envelope the young man was carrying when he offered it to her. "This is for you."

She took a step back, eyeing is suspiciously. "What is it?"

He waggled it. "It's a surprise from a friend."

"If that's a summons or subpoena, or something, you can just put it down, right there. I'll have my dog bring it in--he could use another chew toy."

"Would that be Wilson? He's in Texas, isn't he?"

Lisa gaped. "How did you...? Do I know you?"

"Better than most, babe." He shoved the envelope in the top of one of the bags. Before Lisa could do anything else, he looped an arm around her neck and gave her an enthusiastic kiss. "Love your work. The one with the bears? We re-enacted that one." He ran laughing back to the truck.

Lisa knew that 'gaping, wide-eyed and slack-jawed' was not a good look for her, but she couldn't help it. As her hottie delivery boy climbed in the passenger side, the driver tilted his shades down his nose for a moment. She got a glimpse of ice blue eyes, then he winked, shoved the glasses back up and slammed the truck into gear.

"No way!" Lisa squawked. She tried to point after the receding truck without losing her grip on her groceries. "I know damn good and well he cut his hair! Some of the fangirls almost needed counseling. That can't be... and that wasn't..."

The truck disappearing in a shower of lavender and silver sparkles accompanied by the sound of tinkling bells, pretty much shut her up.

She stumbled into the apartment, dumped the groceries on the table (she'd get a nasty surprise later when she opened that 2 liter of soda), and snagged the mysterious envelope.

It was addressed to her, Lisa, but what really got her attention was the return address. It, too, was a single name--Scribe. "I thought she said she was on disability," Lisa muttered, ripping the envelope open. "No way she could afford to get Jim and Blair out here. Something seriously buggy is going on here."

She removed an unlabeled video cassette, a floppy disk, and a single sheet of paper.

Dear Lisa,

I would have sent you an email, but Blair and Jim won't let me anywhere near the laptop. I couldn't convince them that it would work to send my last story in for the chapters ezine through their Internet. Come to think of it, I'm not sure it would work. They're just worried that I'll write myself home. I keep telling them that I'm not homesick yet, and I'll be happy to stay for another couple of weeks at least, and we can arrange visitation, and...

But I digress. They're watching me like hawks right now to be sure I don't write myself out of here. Suspicious boogers. Oo, Jim just said I get to spend the night in the scarves again for that one. I knew it would work. :)

Here is the story, and a very interesting video tape. Sorry about the abrupt end to it, but what can I say? They said no video, darn it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe later. Which is why I won't be around for awhile. I have to convince them. What a hardship.

Anyway, don't worry if you don't hear from me for a bit. Just think of it as a vacation in search of inspiration.

Love to you and all the other Mongeese,

Scribe

Lisa looked at the floppy disk. It was labeled The Opening of Jim and Blair's Secret Toy Chest. "Scribe, I don't know if you've finally slipped the surly bonds of reality, or if you're just completely crazy, and it's contagious.

She went to her computer, booted it up, and slipped the disk into the floppy drive, singing softly, "It's so nice to be insane, no one asks you to explain..."

The End

Acknowledgements: Thanks to Elaine for the beta, and whoever draws this nonsense for art. This story is dedicated to Lisa, the head Mongoose, who keeps us all together. Lisa, you're a great inspiration to keep writing the good slash, despite the efforts of certain Bovines Who Shall Remain Nameless. Scribe is now off to make a donation to fight Mad Cow Disease.