So, on the walkman shuffle, I got 'Ballroom Blitz' as one of the songs. At first I thought 'what the hell can I do with this'. Then I actually looked up the lyrics. THEN my problem was deciding which lines to use as inspiration for the chapter (EVERY line works for well for the Clone Wars) So... I decided to use all of them. Then I decided to break the chapter up, because you would have been another 6 months getting this if I hadn't.

None of these characters are mine. I still blame Evenmoor for this fiction. It's all her fault. HOWEVER, I would like to thank her for wonderfully offering to be my Beta on this. Thanks to her, you will now have proper grammar.

Oh it 's been getting so hard

Living with the things you do to me.

"You can't be serious… I mean, this is just all a sick joke, right? Thousands of Jedi to choose from, and you elect to send me as the official representative of the Jedi Order?!"

It wasn't that Methos objected to getting out of the overly stuffy temple. And he honestly liked the people and planet in question. (They didn't care what you did as long as you cleaned up the mess, and the local brew was practically nostalgia-inducing.)

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that you've all managed to finally develop a sense of humour…"

But the truth was he had no intention of getting involved in this damn war. Bad enough to stand here knowing it was a sham - therefore rendering victory pointless - without actually having to play a bloody part in it. (The first time a Clone Trooper ever called him 'sir,' he'd jolted in horror and told the man to never do that again.)

"...but is now really the time to be giving it a test run?"

The council just started at him. Intently. The kind of stare that only people who spend most of their lives sitting around bickering at each could achieve. The kind that burrowed through into the back of one's skull and whispered of worse assignments. (Like scrubbing bathrooms or- heaven forbid- being forced to transcribe the Council meeting minutes.)

Methos whined, making sure to stamp his foot a little. (Because if it was worth doing, it was worth doing in a way that would irritate the hell out of these people).

"Do I have to?"

Mace Windu narrowed his eyes, either annoyed at the fact that he was arguing with them over an 'all important' mission (that, apparently, had to be secured at all cost lest the Republic burn to the ground overnight. Never mind the fact the trade route would probably be irrelevant in a month when the war shifted to another system)

Or he could have been annoyed at the 'whiny brat up two hours past his bedtime' tone Methos had asked with. More than likely, it was a magical mix of both those things, tossed in with the fact that Mace, shockingly, didn't seem to like him… then combined with the discomfort with whatever stick the man had up his ass today.

Windu ground his teeth and glared.

"Yes. You do."

"Fine. But, for the record: you people suck," Methos huffed.

The damn little green troll had the audacity to look smug.

My dreams are getting so strange

I'd like to tell you everything I see.

Obi-Wan was being stared at. He was sitting in a corner of the mess, looking over reports and casually sipping his morning tea. And he was being stared at.

He looked up and almost jumped out of his skin upon seeing Master Methos seated in the next chair, leaning towards him and looking at him as if his face held the deepest secrets of the universe. Obi-Wan leaned back and blinked.

"Yes?"

Master Methos narrowed his eyes studiously.

"Don't ever shave your head… I mean, you'd be fine with short hair, and the beard could go without too much fanfare- but a buzz cut should never grace your head. The look ends up somewhere between 'terminally ill' and 'addict,'" Methos insisted with apparent and total sincerity.

Obi-Wan blinked, utterly baffled by the total non-sequitur.

"What...?"

"Now, the tattoos work. Not necessarily the Hello Kitty tat on the ankle, but the skull wearing a polka dot bow on its head was cool. And the etching of 'Sith Happens' on your left butt cheek was awesome. You should definitely get them. I know a guy on Mandalore who does fantastic work with pearlescent dyes that could do both of for a very reasonable price."

Obi-Wan blinked. Thought a moment, then blinked again.

"...What?!"

"But, seriously, I know this war is taxing everyone to the breaking point, and if shaving your head and getting a few tattoos helps you to keep it sane, well, I understand. But there's got to be a line and I think the public strip tease routines on your R&R is a desperate cry for help. At least do it in one of the classier joints."

Obi-Wan attempted to speak, but Methos cut in.

"-I have to say though, I would have never thought you could pull off a sexy pole dance to 'Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap,' so points given where points are earned."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, only to have the other Jedi jump in again.

"But no, the real elephant in the room was what happened after. It doesn't matter what someone like that offers, Obi-Wan- you've got to keep your pride. And engaging in that kind of behavior with an Askervarian?! Kenobi, you're better than that."

Obi-Wan didn't even blink this time; he just stared. Hard.

"...What?!"

Methos held up his hands placatingly.

"All I'm saying is that if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

Obi-Wan watched him walk out, still staring.

Methos chuckled to himself as he exited the mess hall, bumping into Sever in the corridor. Before the clone commander could speak, however, he was jolted as Obi-Wan shouted from the room.

"WHAT?!"

Methos turned and grinned at Sever. His commander simply rolled his eyes and sighed.

"You went and broke another Jedi, didn't you."

The Jedi slapped the clone trooper's shoulder with false sincerity.

"Sever, I'm telling you, when you happen to have a dream as ridiculously stupid and bizarre as I had last night, and when it also happens to center around a person you know, there is a fundamental responsibility to share that dream with said person, while being sure to include absolutely no context whatsoever."

"Worth it, sir?"

Methos's grin widened.

"Better than therapy and a hell of a lot cheaper."

Oh, I see a man in the back as a matter of fact

And his eyes are as red as the sun.

The damnable part was he just wasn't sure. Not completely. Politicians weren't shining examples of morality at the best of times, so standing on the outskirts of the gathering contemplating that one of them might not entirely have the Republic's best interests at heart was redundant at best.

Still. Kenobi was sensing it too.

Oh, not in any direct way, but it was there and evident for Methos to see.

He'd joined the boy and his padawan on the first mission they'd had as a pair and it hadn't taken long for Methos to see the measure of the man now that he wasn't under Qui-Gon Jinn's figurative- and literal- shadow. He'd been impressed.

And disheartened; but that was a reflection for a different day.

Afterwards, Methos told Kenobi he fully intended to make sure all his future missions were assisted by the duo. The young Jedi Knight had one of the best 'early warning canary' senses he'd ever seen.

Still not altogether secure in his role as a newly-minted knight, Obi-Wan seemed to think he was being teased and reacted passively defensive. Methos didn't press further, but the statement remained true: Kenobi had a natural instinct for incoming threats. But unlike the canary in the coal mine, he didn't just lay down and die. No, this young knight rushed headlong in, taking the brunt of the threat in an attempt to protect.

Case in point: the current 'meet and greet' hosted by the Senate, who had asked the Jedi to be there both as representatives and as guards against potential threats

Obi-Wan was clearly a good choice and had a knack for convoluted conversation (the only kind offered by members of Parliament), so he and his padawan had begun to mingle. Then they were approached by Him, and Methos watched as Kenobi stepped slightly in front of his padawan in a mildly protective gesture as he did everything to keep the attention away from the boy and on him.

The canary had sensed a threat- and was acting on it unconsciously.

It only took a few minutes before the knight was gently leading his student away, putting distance between them and the danger. Methos watched them retreat from his corner on the balcony before turning back to the man.

Who was looking up at him.

Methos had once been bitten by a Corellian coiled-grass snake. It was small, looked harmless bordering on 'cute,' and its fangs were tiny. This snake also has a highly potent, high volume, slow-releasing toxin that had taken two agonizing days to flush from his system, even Immortal as he was.

Methos offered the man a tight smile and a nod. The man smiled back and turned as another political figure demanded the man's attention.

The man didn't have green scales, he had pale, wrinkled skin and gray hair. His eyes weren't red, they were a bleached blue. He didn't slink around on his belly, but walked upright and proud. He didn't hiss, he spoke softly and shaped the fabric of politics.

No, Chancellor Palpatine didn't seem dangerous, but every time Methos heard him speak, or saw him in a crowd he couldn't help his immediate reaction.

Snake.