QUALITY TIME

AUTHOR: Robin Nance

STORY TYPE: Parody

RATING: PG

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Since Icequeen is having fun re-introducing the Self Insertion Fic into Fanfic.Net, I figured I'd join in and post one of my earlier versions (also smutless, so you non-Skewed types can breathe a sigh of relief now. *G*) This was born of equal parts guilt over neglecting my 'Profiler' fics, curiosity about what it felt like to do a self-insertion fic (am I truly that annoying in real life?), and a general EWWW factor over seeing one of my fave 'Buffy' characters in drag. It festered in my little mind, and wackiness ensued....

DISCLAIMER: NBC owns Jack, despite the fact that they don't deserve him after 'Reunion.' Joss owns Giles. The Internal Medicine Department owns Robin.

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"C'mon, you've been reading for two hours. It's time for a break."

A grunt came from somewhere behind the medical journal, accompanied by the sound of a page being flipped. Jack frowned and drummed his fingers on the computer desk. He hated her noncommittal mumbles.

"It's dangerous to ignore me, you know," he growled, leaning into the journal and making the pages crumple toward her face.

She lowered the journal and glared right back at him over her eyeglass frames. "I got a half hour of sleep last night and my intern threw up on my new shoes. Don't mess with me."

Jack grumbled but wisely sat back down at the computer.

"Some writers like to talk to their characters," he muttered just loudly enough for her to hear. "Of course, some writers actually care about spending quality time. Other writers would rather sit and read the umpteenth article on how to deal with patients with diarrhea. Wow, that's incredibly exciting compared to masterminding the humiliation of the entire VCTF. Jack's Game versus outpatient flatulence -- whoo-hoo, which to choose?"

The pages rattled dangerously and her foot began to twitch in irritation. Jack grinned sadistically and launched his secret weapon.

"ROBBbbinnNN, I am SO bored!! Can't we DO something? Can't you play YET??!"

Robin made a sound resembling a howl of agony and crushed the journal in her fists. "Enough, enough!" she moaned, holding her hands over her ears. "God, I hate when you do that -- do you have any idea how irritating it is to be whined at by a 40 year old fictional serial killer when I'm post-call?"

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea," Jack snickered.

His writer sighed. "It's a good thing that you manage to combine cute with annoying. All right, you win, like that's such a big surprise. I'll give you quality time. What the hell, I've had enough diarrhea for one day anyway -- oh, you know what I mean!" she amended crossly when Jack gave her a strange look. "I don't know why you keep torturing me, though. There are other Skewed Believers out there. And even the non-Skewed need a good fanfic villain now and then."

Jack snorted. "Oh please, if I didn't come around to insist you play with me you'd never pull your head out of those journals and the real world. We have fun together and you know it. Even if you don't finish half the fics you start." He ducked as a well-aimed Cheeto narrowly missed his head and bounced off her scanner. "Oh, that's mature. You're giving me much confidence in the future of American medicine."

"Bite me, Serial Boy."

"My, aren't we testy when we're sleep deprived? You know, I was going to give you my ideas on the perfect romantic ending for that Otis smut scene you've been begging me for. But after that little comment you can figure out what to do with Ed Post's fake stomach all by yourself."

"Ewww, you had to remind me." Robin shuddered and glared at the same time. "You should be nicer to me, you know -- I have the power to write you into a bondage scene involving Donald Lucas and lime jell-o just like that." She snapped her fingers.

Jack laughed. "Cute, but you could never get through it -- you'd be going 'ick' and hitting the delete key in no time flat. Face it, Robin, you like me too much to really be mean to me. Even when you abuse me for ten chapters in a row, you always let me come out on top."

Robin chuckled wickedly. "Hmm, actually as I recall there was one fic where you were on the bottom. I think it involved Frances, a computer chair, a camera and --"

Jack choked on a Cheeto and turned bright pink. "Stop that -- there's no need to bring that episode up again."

"Heh heh, speaking of bringing things up --"

"OK, truce!" Jack picked up a piece of fax paper and waved it over his head like a white flag. "How about this: just for today, I don't whine at you and you get your mind out of that gutter you call home. Deal?"

Robin grinned triumphantly. "OK, deal," she snickered. "Although it never ceases to amaze me that you can use knives, orange cord, and the occasional home improvement tool without batting a lash, yet you're still uncomfortable with the idea of being our Skewed Stud-Puppy. It's sort of cute and endearing."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, every fictional killer dreams of the day he's called cute and endearing, it does wonders for the ego, not to mention one's reputation." His writer looked hurt and he hastily added, "It's not that I don't appreciate all the, ahh, enthusiasm in that area. It just takes a bit of getting used to. Besides, would it kill the Skewed Believers to not all write smut simultaneously? I am approaching mid-life, Samantha and Sharon are a good bit younger, Frances is outright jailbait...geez, even evil geniuses need to rest once in awhile!"

Robin muttered something under her breath about him already breaking the "no whining" promise. Jack repressed the urge to go look for some orange electrical cord, or at least to toss a Cheeto at her head.

"I don't know why I even bother to talk to you," he growled. "Of course, pretty soon I'll be lucky if I'm remembered at all, so what does it matter anyway?"

She frowned in surprise. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jack collapsed onto the computer chair with a long sigh, and Robin could swear that he actually looked forlorn.

"You know very well what it means," he snapped. "I've become yesterday's Skewed news. Being shot through the heart tends to do that to a character, you know -- nobody thinks about me anymore. In no time at all there'll be pages and pages of Rachel fics and not even a memory of Jack fic."

"Trust me, Jack, I have no intention of doing Rachel fic in this lifetime. Unless you want to cooperate with a new smut idea...." Her eyes lit up in an alarming gleam.

"Don't you dare," snarled Jack in his best locking-Sharon-in-the-closet voice. "I'd rather do the jell-o bondage with Lucas -- stop it! That was sarcasm, stop that drooling now!"

Robin stopped drooling and started pouting. "Party pooper. And here I was selflessly suggesting more fic just so you'd know the SB'ers still think of you."

"Hah! Admit it, the SB'ers are on the verge of abandoning me too."

"That is absolutely untrue!" Robin responded indignantly. "We think about you a lot. It's just that the real world has been so busy lately that there's no time to play. Anyway, you need to give the Australian SB'ers a break -- they're about one season behind, which means that they just suffered through 'Coronation.'"

Jack had the grace to look a little remorseful. "I keep forgetting that."

"Well, if you'd stop tormenting me so much and go visit them for a change, you'd remember it. Give them some time, once 'Otis' and 'Las Brisas' are on the fanfic will pick up again."

He peered at her suspiciously. "Oh, I don't think so," he retorted. "I have access to your files, remember? I know you've all been interviewing for my replacement."

It was Robin's turn to blush. "I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered vaguely, not quite able to meet his eyes.

"Mmmm-hmm, you're the picture of innocence. Does this jog your memory?"

Jack turned back to the monitor, opened a file and began to read. "'Buffy's stakes and crossbow clattered onto the floor as Giles pushed her roughly onto the bed'...Oh, and here's another one: '"Oh, Rupert!" Cordelia moaned as Giles lowered her onto the bearskin rug.' God, you have a one-track mind in this fanfic universe too, don't you?"

Robin had turned bright red by this time and was looking wildly around for an escape route. "Really, Jack," she stammered, "this is not what it seems."

"Admit it, Robin, you're just like all the other SB'ers -- oh, don't think I haven't looked in their files too!" Jack added at her surprised stare. "You're all cheating on me. And quite a few of you are cheating with this Giles character."

Robin gave him what she hoped was her most disarming smile, the same one that tended to work on irate surgeons. "Jack, I think you're overreacting. Technically those aren't even fics, they're just little unfinished snippets I was playing with. Anyway, who says that writing for another fanfic universe constitutes cheating? Most writers I know have several favorites and their characters don't throw hissy fits. I think you're acting a bit possessive."

Jack blinked at her. "Hmm, I'm acting possessive." He offered her a mock handshake. "Hello, my name is Jack and I thought we'd met but apparently you're new here, or else you didn't pay any attention to Seasons One and Two since it shocks you that I'm acting possessive!!"

Robin winced. "Stop shouting, you're giving me a headache. You know, you might even like Rupert Giles if you gave him half a chance. He's funny and bright and good with sharp objects -- a lot like you, come to think of it. Plus I'd think you'd have a grudging admiration for anyone who earned the nickname 'Ripper' in his wild youth." She paused, then added tentatively, "In fact, I was sort of wondering if, um, a little crossover fic would maybe be a Good Thing...."

"Absolutely not!" snapped Jack, folding his arms across his chest and turning his back to her. "Go ahead, write novellas starring your new Fanfic Boy Toy, but you'll do it without me. I absolutely refuse to play second fiddle." He glanced back at her and added: "Unless you give me a drill to greet old Ripper with."

Robin groaned. "You give new meaning to the concept of not playing well with others. Giles is not a Boy Toy, I don't lust over him, I just like his character. And I'm hardly writing novellas -- I have the same trouble that I always have, none of my ideas survive beyond the first couple of paragraphs anyway."

Jack muttered something that she couldn't quite catch, but it sounded a lot like "multi-universe fanfic tease."

"Watch it, Psycho Boy," she warned. "You're a good one to talk -- you come around and torment me, shoot down all my fic ideas but don't do anything to help. It's a wonder I ever finish any 'Profiler' fic at all, and it's definitely no thanks to you. In fact it would serve you right if I ignored you entirely from now on and concentrated on Giles smutfic."

She assumed the same arms-folded, back-turned position as Jack, and writer and character spent the next ten minutes in Full Pout Mode, occasionally glancing over their shoulders to see if one of them was on the verge of giving in. Finally Jack sighed and threw up his hands.

"Fine, I give, I give. This is getting boring anyway. I'll just go now and give you your space so you can play with Giles. But I'm a sentimental guy -- in memory of all our good times, I want to leave you with a parting gift."

Robin wavered between guilt and suspicion. "It's not a News-Stand Louie type of gift, is it?"

Jack grinned nostalgically. "No, as appealing as that might be, body parts would probably just remind you of a funny work story, and I'm tired of hearing those. This is a website. I think you'll find the pictures inspirational for your new fanfic hero...."

He pointed and clicked for a minute, then stepped away from the computer and snickered as Robin shrieked at the image.

"Oh. My. God."

Jack was struggling to keep a straight face. "I've heard that lots of people got their show business start in the 'Rocky Horror Picture Show.' You must feel pretty special -- you picked a character that had the starring role."

"I -- it's -- Oh. My. God."

"I think old Ripper looks pretty hot in those fishnet hose, don't you? I'm not sure that's the right shade of lipstick for him though. I'd have chosen Rose over Coral, but that's a given, isn't it? Of course, I've never dressed up as Dr. Frank N. Furter, so what do I know?" Jack lost the battle over his self-control and dissolved into the serial killer equivalent of a giggle fit. "So, Robin, what smut scenes do you have dreamed up for your sweet transvestite from transexual Trans -- ow!"

He rubbed his arm where she'd smacked him. "That was charming," he grumbled, still snickering. "You should be a little more grateful, you know. I did this for your own good. It wouldn't do to start getting all obsessed over a fanfic hero who wears more makeup than you, now would it?"

Robin glared at him. "You're a mean, vindictive, spiteful, evil man. And I hate it when you're right." She glanced at the screen again and shuddered. "Eww...God, it's like a train wreck, you want to look away but you just can't. We'd heard rumors, you know. Several of us had discussed it before, but we just weren't sure it was true. I really doubted it until -- ick." She had a sudden thought and looked up at him hopefully. "But hey, this doesn't necessarily change things. I could just have a good laugh over this and go back to envisioning Rupert in his tweeds and jeans -- "

" -- but you can't," Jack finished for her. "That's just not like you. Face it, you form a couple of really strong mental images of characters and you can't help but base your fanfic on them. Old Ripper is now checking into his room in Robin's Memory Hotel wearing fishnet stockings and platform boots, and there's nothing you can do about it. It's the same way you keep envisioning Frances in slinky black clothes, or John in that god-awful shiny purple suit. Or a certain blonde killer in tight leather jeans." He leered at her.

Robin blushed. "Oh, stop gloating. You've had your share of odd costumes too, you know. If you keep being mean to me I could always whip up a little parody piece about you in the bus station sporting that Merle Haggard look."

"That was Elvis."

"In your dreams. I might even write you as having to strum a guitar and sing off-key country songs for bus fare."

Jack gave her a sidelong glance. "You just threatened to write for me."

"So?"

"So where does that leave your new stud-boy?"

Robin sighed. "I keep telling you he was never my stud-boy. And you're right, that lipstick shade is from hell." She grimaced once more at the picture on-screen and hit the delete key.

"And don't think this means you've won permanently!" she snapped as a triumphant grin spread across Jack's face. "I'm just putting Giles on fanfic hiatus right now. I might come up with ideas to complete those little snippets. I might even decide to do a Jack/Giles crossover one day, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Well, I could suggest that old Rip gets a makeover at the local mall first...." Jack looked perilously close to Giggle Fit Mode again.

"You know, there is such a thing as being a gracious winner," Robin grumbled. "Well, hell, so much for alternate fanfic universes then. We appear to be stuck with eachother for the time being."

"Admit it, Robin, you'd miss me if I went away."

Robin rolled her eyes. "Oh, OK, I admit it. But you'd miss me too."

"Oh, I suppose," Jack muttered. "Although I could catch up on a lot more rest if I didn't have to chase after you all the time."

"Hey, you're the one who keeps whining at me to play," his writer reminded him. "And so far I've yet to hear a good fanfic idea from you today. You've had your fun with me, how about cooperating a bit?"

"I guess you've earned it today," Jack snickered. "Anyway, it's safer than letting you come up with ideas on your own. If I did that, next thing I'd know Ed Post would be starring in his own series and going undercover as a male stripper or -- stop that! That was more sarcasm! Stop it!! Oh, no...."

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