Slightly OOC on the young Havelock's part, but I really don't care xD! Let's pretend that he wasn't that calm when Downey and friends tormented him… and then it's almost believable. Right. That makes sense. –coughs-

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"Well, forgive me, Sergeant-at-arms Keel, but I'm afraid I must attend to my guests. They tend to get rather miffed when I don't attend my own parties, you see," Vimes watched as Madame stood, saying nothing but observing everything. He noted the elegant way she moved, and years of watching let him see the way she stood, like a coiled string, just waiting for you to say something wrong… Her arm moved abruptly and he had to keep from flinching as he saw her pointing at a small, nearly invisible door. "The way out is just there, Keel. Do not let me detain you."

Do not let me detain you , Vimes thought with a barely visible shudder as the strange woman from Genua padded out of the room. He could very briefly hear the diplomatic chatter of voices before the large doors shut with a muted thud. He twisted in the comfortable chair—his back protesting every inch—to gaze at the closed doors. She's spent time with Vetinari—no, that's not right, is it... He's spent time with her…

The watchman blinked hard as his eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn't alone… Unbidden, his thoughts continued as his body tensed. Where is that bastard, anyway? He should be around here some—

He was ready when the shadows shifted. He was out of the chair with unmatched speed as he spun towards the shadows, his truncheon already in his hands. He swung towards the surprised blackness and was rewarded with a solid hit, although not to what he expected. It was only instinct that saved his wrist from being cleanly broken from a sharp pull as he released the short length of wood. His hands struck out and met rough fabric, no, a neck— there!

The neck of the shadowy figure firmly grasped in the crook of one elbow, a madly grinning Vimes dragged the struggling figure into the weak pool of light. The lithe boy struggled with the strength of a bull and the speed of an agitated snake, but the hold on his neck was secure.

"Not bad, not bad, I'll give you that, but the thing is, I'm better. You'd think that the general would know that by now but—oh gods no…"

Eyes wide, Vimes released the future ruler of Anhk-Morpork and stepped away, hands open and up in a form of surrender. "I thought—I'm terribly sorry for that, I thought you were going to kill me," he said, nearly choking on the words. As the young man straightened and massaged his throat with a familiar, long fingered white hand, he managed to gather his shattered thoughts.

You are John Keel. That is Havelock Vetinari, not quite assassin and most assuredly not patrician . You are in no danger here. But as long as you're here and able to…

"Not many would have been able to see me there, Commander, I'm surprised you were," Young Havelock caught the look that the other man was giving him, one that he was impressed with and stored away in his memory. It said, quite clearly, that you have taken a guess, a not very educated guess at that, and you have proved to be most unfortunately wrong, and wouldn't you know it but that's not good for you.

Staring in fascination at the scarred man, the assassin had to keep himself from replying to his eyes. Instead, he opted to ignore the look, and the man Keel himself, turning his eyes downwards instead and inspecting the length of wood still in his grasp. "Sorry, did I say Commander? I meant sergeant, of course, but unless I'm mistaken it says here 'Protector of the King's Piece'. Isn't that what the official truncheon of office says?"

Vimes didn't even blink. He knew that the truncheon Havelock—he had to stop here for a moment, calling the Patrician, even the young one, by his first name was unerring—was holding so carefully was a plain wooden truncheon; he had had the 'official' one stolen off of him before he had even become John Keel. It had been an amazingly accurate guess, (Of course it was, he's the bloody Havelock Vetinari, even if he's still not even twenty), but it lacked any real evidence. Even though it was correct it had still been a shot in the dark…

"Does it?" Vimes said eventually, pulling out a cigar and stepping over toward the young man. "Must have picked up the wrong bloody truncheon… Wait, this doesn't say anything on it!" The watchman pretended to be outraged as he turned the length over in his hands. Havelock hadn't offered any resistance as it was taken from him, but he had—Vimes noted with inner glee—seemed rather put out and, possibly, apprehensive. "Now see here, Havelock Vetinari , I don't appreciate you trying to fool me like that. What have you got to say for yourself?"

Vimes almost clapped when he saw the fear in the lithe boy's eyes. It was so foreign there, it was the most human thing that Vetinari had probably ever had in his steely blue eyes; it made him seem so helpless … Vimes couldn't stop the urge to take advantage of the young man from possessing him.

As Havelock narrowed his eyes suspiciously and opened his mouth to question the other man's knowledge of his name, he found himself propelled rapidly backwards. His back hit the wall hard and he flinched and tried to duck away. At the last second he stopped, curiosity taking hold of him. Keel seemed to know a great deal about everything of importance, he had noticed, and the young assassin found himself wondering how much he knew about him…

He frowned slightly, however, realizing that the older man still had him pressed against the wall with one hand, apparently without effort. He strained for a brief moment against the pressure, but he rapidly realized that he—even with his uncommon strength for boys, even assassins his age—stood no chance against the bigger, bulkier, all around meaner John Keel. He couldn't shift the weight pressing on his chest, and doubt and a bit of fear clouded his handsome features before fading hurriedly.

It wasn't quick enough, however, and Vimes could practically read Vetinari's thoughts. It was frightening, in a way; the only time he was normally able to read the other man's thoughts was when he was getting firmly reprimanded, and they were usually along the same lines. Vimes, what you have done, and you know what it is I'm talking about, is absolutely unacceptable and will not be tolerated. I know I am understood. Vimes had almost mastered the ability himself—he had been practicing on Colon and Nobby—and suddenly a dark thought formed in his head. Rubbing his inner sadist's hands together in delight, he leaned forwards and moved until his eyes were level with his future boss's.

"Havelock," he drawled, twisting the name on his tongue and making it sound more like an insult than a name. "It has come to my attention that you have done several… unfavorable things." He was intentionally vague, letting the obviously confused and slightly shaken boy's mind provide the deeds.

"I am a busy man, Havelock," Keel continued, his voice calm, yet somehow sharp and full of threats without even changing tones. The boy dug his shoulder blades into the wall, attempting to get further away from the madly gleaming eyes boring into his own. "I don't like hearing about… such things. It makes my time so very unpleasant." He's getting closer. What is he going to do? From what I've seen he wouldn't hurt anyone unnecessarily, but what does he know? How much of the revolution has he—

And very suddenly, the stifling presence withdrew. The hand was removed, very carefully, and Keel took a step away. Even more confused than before, Havelock blinked before narrowing his eyes once more. Something wasn't right about the sergeant; he was suddenly radiating an aura of incredibly believable innocence, despite his tangled hair and eyepatch. He seemed to be able to switch moods with little effort, a most discontenting thing. The assassin had never dealt with anyone like this before, and it was oddly… refreshing. Enjoyable, even. Possibly satisfying.

Vimes watched the tableau of thoughts parade across young Vetinari's face, and he was reminded of the first time he had tried speaking for any length of time with, well, himself. It was somehow pathetic to see what you once were, and he hadn't expected, out of all people, Vetinari to be so godsdamn green. But something had changed him, thank gods, and back in the future he was that cold, distanced bastard—

Sudden fear gripped Vimes. He had seen the Patrician wearing the unspoken banner; he openly pinned the lilac to his robes. Perhaps he had a reason to remember Keel? Perhaps—oh gods no… perhaps Keel had taught him the basics that shaped his career? Had Keel done that? Did Vimes have to?

The Patrician had always been more than willing to do everything Vimes asked—and even didn't ask—for concerning Treacle Mine Road's Republic, the Glorious 25th of March… Why was that? As far as Vimes new Keel had never met Vetinari, but there was always that chance, wasn't there… And as he stared into the readable eyes of the young man before him Vimes had the horrible impression that the chance was more of a certainty. But what was he supposed to say?

Havelock watched the unmoving face carefully, watching for any flicker, any uncertainty. Keel heaved a sigh, resignation appearing on his battered features. "Alright, first thing, don't doubt yourself. Ever. And that's first for a reason, lad, so don't forget it. If you act like you're right, others are bloody well going to believe it. Don't give up on any ideas you have—like that commander bit. You had something going, but a stern voice and me believing I was right put you off of it," Keel reprimanded, glaring lightly at the inwardly bewildered teen. But then there was silence, a sort of silence that seemed to suck words out of the air, and the assassin felt the pull, drawing him forwards, telling him to say something…

"Are you saying that you're really commander, or are you just trying to make me… self-confident? Cocky?" Havelock smirked slightly, giving his inner-self a good shake. What was wrong with him? Stepping to the side and towards Keel, the young assassin positioned himself carefully between the other man and the door to the streets. "You know nothing about me, Sergeant-at-arms Keel, no matter how much you may flatter yourself. You know nothing more than me, or Madame, or any other urchin on the streets. You aren't from Ankh-Morpork. You know nothing . You are human, Keel, you cannot tell me honestly that you've… seen the city as it will be if Winder is no longer the Patrician. You cannot say that you have seen the future."

You'd be surprised, Vimes thought miserably. He eyed the young Vetinari, resisting the urge to smack the most definitely self-assured assassin upside the head. After a moment his logic turned—why not? The face the boy made would keep him warm on cold nights, and make him smirk when the Patrician was lecturing him… He'd hit Havelock. Part of Vimes's inner self laughed maniacally and went neener neener . As the teenager rubbed his ear with outraged shock written all over his face, Vimes suddenly found himself thinking that educating a young Havelock Vetinari wouldn't be quite so bad…

Ahah, they fixed the rulers! Yay!

Oh, the story? It was originally intended to be a slash Havelock/Keel thing... but I changed my mind... Writing my novel is so exhausting I'm surprised I could eke out this much oo

There might be a second chapter... in which the present day tyrant we all know and love (or loathe and fear, take your pick) confronts Vimes on that little whack there... Depends if anyone actually likes it xD

I'm a bloody feedback seamstress. Leave a review if you read?

HAPPY VALENTINES!