A/N:

Okay so I swear I'm working on Sacrifice but I am so freaking done with the Blackout arc right right now.

So I thought I'd write a one-shot to keep my Secret Saturdays writing sharp. Have an AU: there's no Cryptids, Zak's parents are normal Zoologists, Fisk is a young adult (18-23) who doesn't speak much and is Zak's parents assistant/adopted son, Ulraj is from some obscure small country and human, Komodo is Komodo minus invisibility, and Françis is actually Absolom's son.

*By sheltered I mean inside a lot or not around people his age.

Anything I mention about Jaguars I have pulled from memory. They're my Special Interest you see. And I do have Asperger's and have had the whole "no-one-is-interested-in-what-I-have-to-say" thing happen often enough. I'm not insinuating either of them are on the spectrum too; rather, that similar things occur with those who are passionate.

I dunno this is just a funky idea run with it.

DISCLAIMER: Jay Stephens owns this wonderful show, I merely expand on ideas.

Empty House, Empty Heart

It was a little annoying, he'd admit, to have the same conversation circle and circle on repeat.

"But mom!"

"Now now, Zak; you heard your mother," Doc said without looking up from organizing his suitcase. "There's been another outbreak of Malaria in Africa and we don't want you around that."

"But why can't you guys stay here and wait until it dies down so I can go to?" Zak pleaded yet again.

"Because, sweetie," Drew chimed in, not looking up from the two bottles of shampoo she was trying to choose from, "our old friend Doctor — would really like our opinion and observations on the Pride he's been monitoring the last six months; this is the only time they're allowing us out there to help him for the next few years."

"But," the fourteen year old whined, "you always take me! And I don't want to stay at some stranger's house! Plus, you're letting Fisk go!" He pointed at said family member who just walked through the door, a box of some poor creature he had caught to show off (it was a Sparrow this time, though they weren't to find out before he released it) and a pack of chips hanging from his mouth. When he heard his name his auburn eyes widened and he backed out of the room slowly, making a soft crooning grumble in the back of his throat. Nope, nuh-uh; he was not getting involved in that.

Drew sighed, swiping a strand of hair from her face, and turned to face her birth child. "You well know that Fisk has better immunity than you, and I trust him to not cause trouble without you to look after." She gave her son a pointed stare.

She continued, turning back to her packings. "Plus, Absolom isn't a stranger; your father and I have known him for years. And I'm sure you'll get along well with Françis - he's around your age you know."

Zak made a strange face akin to a grimace, though neither parent saw; why did adults always think that "they're about your age" was equivalent to "you'll be pals for life" or "you'll like that girl"?

(Okay, so maybe he did have the smallest, ittiest bit of admiration for Wadi but that did not mean he liked her that way.)

(. . . Shut up.)

Anyways, he doubted he'd get along with little sir rich. Zak knew he was odd; he'd had a more sheltered*, isolated life and the few attempts to send him to public school had ended disastrously.

Well won't this be a fun month. He thought sarcastically, as his parents continued to pack.

Françis was not pleased.

It was bad enough that his father was absent (not from the house; oh no. Gone from almost every room his son occupied) but now some, some ragtag heathen would be in his space for the next month.

James - the butler - had just called for him to follow. They went to the front doors, the deep chime from the doorbell still echoing faintly in the air. When the great, polished oak wood doors were slowly creaked open, Françis caught his first glimpse of his houseguest.

The boy's appearance was even stranger than Françis had imagined it would be; he would have been taller than Françis himself if he stood up properly, but rather he had a slightly hunched posture, shoulders raised and tensed in palpable irritation. His outfit was an orange long-sleeve top with the sleeves themselves being black, a strange jagged 'S' on the center of his shirt (which actually appeared to be a little loose on him.) The black-and-white hair didn't really faze Françis as much as it should have. What really got him was when the boy shifted his head ever so slightly to cease glowering at the floor and instead flick his eyes up to look James and then Françis dead in the eyes.

Despite his transitional glasses being darkened as a result of the sunlight streaming in from the open door, Françis could feel those odd, orange-brown eyes burning into his. He quickly shifted his own eyes to look past the boy.

(Françis was, by all means an introvert and Zak was in the twilight between introversion and extroversion, but even though the stare was like that of an animal, it was entirely too human for Françis to meet.)

"Welcome to Absolom's Abode, Master Zachary. I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay," James quavered in his low tone.

The boy scowled in a way that flashed his teeth. "Zak," he corrected, then shifted his gaze back to Françis'. 'Zak' straightened a tad and extended his hand. "Zak Saturday."

Well at least he has manners, Françis thought as he accepted, and was surprised by the hesitance in it. "Françis Absalom The Twelfth."

Zak tilted his head, eyes widening. "Wow that's a lot of Françises." He dropped the handshake.

Françis discreetly wiped his hand on his green coat and said, "Well, it is the family name you know. Why don't we proceed to the library for the afternoon? Well, after we drop your bags - er, bag off in your room, of course."

It was probably not as discreet as he had hoped, for he saw the swift flicker of those all-too orange eyes. But then they were back up again and Françis was quickly looking past him, distorting the eye contact just enough, though he did catch the hint of a smile.

Saturday shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

. . . Françis really wasn't looking forward to the next month.

Zak kept to pleasantries as best as he could, although he could tell this Françis kid was irritated with the subtle accent (he thinks it's Californian but honestly even Zak doesn't know at this point) and informal twinges throughout his speech.

He grit his teeth at the underlying current of unamusement from Françis. I guess snooty-boy isn't happy with this arrangement either.

They dropped his single suitcase off in a room Zak was sure would have been fit for even Ulraj's Royal Kumari lifestyle (even if it would have been simple by his friend's taste) and made their way to the library. James left them to go fetch some snacks, though he didn't bother to ask the boys what they wanted. As long as it wasn't foïs de gras, Zak would be fine with it.

(He'd been around royalty and wealth before and wasn't all that taken with it. Though he tried caviar once and it was quite good.)

The room they entered actually wasn't all that big, and Zak stiffened in shock. Although he quickly slid back into motion, he caught Françis' glance at him, though no comment was given. Zak felt a little awkward with unease; most kids, and even some adults, weren't fond of what they deemed "animalistic" behaviors. He'd grown up studying animals and had found great fun in acting like them as a kid, though some mannerisms had stuck with him. His parents had no problem with it, and Zak always felt normal unless around other judgemental people.

Like kids.

He looked around the room, eyes flickering and head occasionally tilting or turning. The room was maybe the size of an elementary school classroom, with mostly low shelves shorter than Zak, and three tall shelves almost to the roof (two flanking either side of the tall doors they had entered and an extra alongside the left one). Everything was dark polished wood and dark in tone, but more in the homey feel than a somber one; various books lined the shelves, most of them older ones with yellowed pages, some crackling or hanging out loosely, and they all came in various sizes and genres; some picture and chapter; non-fiction and fiction. The only things missing were school textbooks, and in all honesty Zak was really jonesing for some Biology at the moment.

Instead he opted for a smallish mystery novel surrounding a zoo escapade and sat on the floor criss-crossed and hunched over the book.

Françis shook his head ever so slightly at his guest's rapid choice and seating, but then dismissed it as he started some dystopian trilogy and sat in an antique looking armchair.

"That what I was saying!" Zak exclaimed in frustration.

Françis glanced up from his own book (oh dear foolish girl you know he's going to leave you for the other one; you're only setting yourself up for heartbreak) and saw that Zak was now sprawled on his stomach, legs silently 'kicking' the air and his face on his fists as he looked down at a book more than halfway finished. Françis brow furrowed as he looked at his not-even-a-quarter finished book of roughly the same size and then back at Zak's. He shook his head with a sigh and instead asked, "What was that?"

Zak looked up from his book, his own expression dancing between amusement and irritation. He looked like he was about to answer but seemed to think better about it as the light in his eyes dwindled and he shrugged, looking back down and muttering, "nothin'."

Françis just watched him a moment, silent. Then, he took a bookmark and delicately placed it in his book, closing it. He had seen that look before, knew it all too well; the light of interest that dwindled when one was dismissed.

He'd had it occur with his father often enough.

"What was so aggravating about the novel you chose? Please; I'm curious."

He probably could have worded it better but Zak went ahead and sat up anyways, stretching to pop his spine. He flipped the book over so that its spine was in the air and it's pages were pressed against the floor (Françis was able to internalize his grimace at that) and Zak looked at him for a long moment, as though to be sure he was serious, then went ahead and explained.

"Well in this murder mystery they're trying to set up the murder as being by an animal - when the signs should be obvious if it was one - and what animal do they let out to sell it? A Jaguar. A freaking Jaguar. Panthera Onca is one of the least likely of wild cats to attack a human, especially among the four Pantheras. They do have one of the most lethal bites but they're known especially for their skull-crushing maneuver, not for ripping into the jugular. And besides that the wounds were in the ribs of the victim - even if we went with the idea of it being claws as opposed to fangs, the wounds are too deep and precise to be anything but a knife!"

Françis nodded along, making sure to diligently listen and ask questions when confused or needing clarification.

And he began to realize that maybe this Saturday boy wasn't so bad; that maybe, they weren't so different after all.

And though he didn't know it, Zak was thinking the same.

END