Arg, what the hell am I thinking? Writing a Xiaolin Showdown fic? Damn, I am totally going to hell for this, whatever… What you see here today is the result of reading too many JackxRai and JackxChase fics.

Disclaimer: I don't own it, if I did… I wouldn't admit to it… Omi's eyebrows scare the HELL out of me… oh, and this is YAOI! (or in other words: Some hawt boy on boy action, y'alls!)

I figured I's mix things up and make Jack more mature, so OCness is meant to happen.

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I'm going to Hell for this.

That is what Jack Spicer decided as he stalked around his workshop at three in the morning. Two days in a row he had dreamed of him—two days. Each dream had become more and more graphic than the last. They both had ended similarly: with Jack waking up, covered in a layer of sweat and looking down to find a rather unseemly bulge in the covers.

Cold showers were god in Jack's eyes.

Running a pale hand through damp hair he exhaled. There's no sense in worrying about it. He tried to tell himself.

A little voice in the back of his mind told him differently, though. Oh no, of course not—you only have the hots for the most wanted man in the country—no, make that WORLD!

"Okay, so maybe I should worry a little…" He mumbled.

"What are you doing up?" A ghostly familiar voice sounded from behind him. Usually, Jack would have jumped around and screeched in mock surprise; but he didn't care enough to keep up with his appearance of the wimpy, loud-mouthed fool he had created so many years ago.

"This better be good, I have a lot on my mind, Wuya." Jack rasped and put his forehead to the cool metal of his worktable.

"…" The spirit regarded him for a moment, then spoke, "A new Shen Gon Wu has made itself known."

"Is that so?" Jack didn't make suggestion to move from where he sat.

---Wuya's POV---

Something's wrong here… Very wrong… I can't put my finger—erm… tentacle-looking thing on it.

Just another drawback to being a spirit: you don't have hands and therefore many of the great sayings and puns are forever lost to you.

Usually the fool spazzes out whenever I even look at him wrong. But now, this is just weird. Jack's body just kind of radiates despair—well, I don't mind the despair so much, but still... his hair's not even spiked…

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Jack turned his face on the table to find a cooler spot and stared at the purple spirit. "What is it?" He finally asked, not bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

"Well, to be honest…" the being fidgeted uncomfortably, "I forgot…"

"Lovely." Jack's mood went from depressed to angry. Standing, he strode through Wuya, repressing a shudder as he did so.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Wuya followed him.

"I'm getting on some clothes." Jack droned and closed the door to his room.

"Oh… Okay…"

The seventeen-year old rummaged around in his sock drawer and pulled out a rumpled, white t-shirt and put it on. He liked the shirt because it was a size too large for him and it did a nice job of concealing the muscles he had worked for over the years.

Jack has one philosophy: double cross everyone else before they double-cross you. If you're strong, everyday is new battle, a new struggle, a new opportunity to be hurt.

But not me, Jack thought, I don't want that.

So he put on the mask of a coward and weakling. He has automatically tricked everyone he's come into contact with into believing his masquerade.

But…

I don't want that either… Jack mused as he pulled on his leather pants and untangled his boots from his closet.

What did he want? To be accepted as the genius he was? To be praised for his scientific accomplishments? Or maybe to be acknowledged as something other than a coward and a sneak…

Well, to be honest, he wanted Chase Young. If Chase would accept him as at one of those things, he would be happy.

Yeah, Chase was the him mentioned earlier.

No time for such thoughts now, though. Jack glanced in the mirror. His reflection was a drastically different; his usual gravity-defying hair was softer and strands of red kept getting in his eyes. The eyeliner he usually wore was washed off for the night, and he hadn't the patience to reapply it at three-thirty in the morning. As for his goggles, they were hanging loosely around his neck. His reflection's bloodshot eyes glared at him.

As Jack exited his bedroom and departed into the sub-basement below his workshop, he couldn't help but think that maybe he could let the monks have this Shen Gon Wu. A whined order in his left ear told him differently, though. He revved up one of his many off-road vehicles (for lack of a better word) and punched in the coordinates of the Wu as Wuya rattled them off.

ARG… Okay peoples, you gotta help me out here, do you want more? Or was that just too painful to read?