A/N: Dean storms unarmed into Masters Inc. to retrieve the Pompatus Box...

The Pompatus Box (Chapter 25: Sex on Legs) by frostygossamer

The door bounces off of the wall with a satisfying crash as Dean bursts into Meg's private office, full of hell's fury.

Startled by the noise, Meg jumps up from her chair. When she recognizes Captain Dean, she masks her surprise with a naughty grin. Dean guesses she has to know about his involvement in the search for the Pompatus Box from Benny. But evidently Walker didn't have time to alert her that the intrepid captain was not as dead as rumour suggested.

"Why, Captain Dean. You shoulda called ahead, hun. I woulda worn my fancy panties."

Dean isn't in the mood for frivolity.

"Not a social visit, Meg. You know what I've come for. Hand it over."

Meg smiles coyly. "I don't know what you mean, Captain. What could a lady like myself possibly have that a dashing soldier of fortune like you might want?"

"Knock it off, Meg," Dean snaps. "I know you have the Pompatus Box. Got that from a little squealer name of Walker."

Meg makes a disappointed face.

"Oh pish! And he swore so he'd be true. You know what they say? 'Men are such big fat liars.'"

Dean flops into the ungenerous guest chair. Hard as hell, it was clearly designed to make underlings uncomfortable in the presence of the big boss. Speaking of which, he glances around.

"No Miss de'Mon?"

Meg answers him sweetly.

"I'm afraid I was forced to terminate her employment when she was inexplicably bundled into an unmarked van. I think you know why. But don't worry. I've hired a new Miss de'Mon."

She winks, sliding along to the end of her desk. Fondling her orrery, she perches on top with her pretty legs crossed. As she casually runs her hand from ankle to back of knee, smoothing the seam of her sheer black silk stocking, Dean's eyes can't help but follow. When their eyes meet, he tears his gaze away and coughs. Something wakes up downstairs and he fidgets in his uncompromising seat.

"Turn down the burner, Meg. I know about Benny."

Meg desists. "Benny? Benny who? Do I know a Benny?"

Dean stretches out his long legs and cracks his back.

"You know it's kinda funny, because Ruby - that's ex-Ruby - had this idea you and Cap'n Benny, the wascally pirate, had a hot little sumthin' going on."

Meg tuts. "Oh REALLY, Captain Dean, Jolly Roger and I? Hardly my style."

"You do know he never meant to honour your deal, right? He meant to END you. Not so romantic, huh?"

"I had my suspicions. The guy's a Neanderthal. Can you blame me for protecting my interests?"

Dean laughs mirthlessly. "No one would blame you for that, Meg. Conniving in and profiteering from a 'War on Terra', hell yeah. Or did you think that hanging on to the Pompatus Box would help you scupper his evil plan? Lady, that ship's already sailed."

Meg gets down from her desk and sashays around behind his chair, trailing one hand along the back. Dean catches a tantalizing glimpse of a purple lace brassiere peeking through the open buttons of her bodice, highlighting her alabaster breasts.

"Scupper? Hun, I never intended to scupper a thing. I mean to let those crazy Selenitists play their little games. When Benny crowns himself King of the Fairies, that's when my box will come into its own."

"Then Masters Inc. gets its 'by appointment to Tsar Benny'? Yeah, Benny'll make good on that promise. Sure he will."

"Oh, he will, hun. Because, if he doesn't come through, I bring out the box. Benny wants to make Terra look like the Big Bad. He wants that little olive branch gone with the wind. The masses will go crazy when they find out Terra was into serious peace talks before Luna screwed them up. Not only do I have the evidence, that baby is forensically sealed. It'll be a slam diddly dunk."

She smiles at Dean and wanders back to the other end of her desk, sitting prettily on the edge.

"So, uh, exit Benny stage right?" he grunts.

"Something like that. Tell me, Captain Dean. You're an intelligent man who knows the price of milk. You wanna be in this with me? I'm taking on new staff right about now."

Dean isn't interested. He's kind of insulted she would even suggest it.

"Sorry, Meg. I'm already on someone's payroll. Humanity's. We Winchesters are men of peace."

Meg arches an eyebrow at the mention of that illustrious name.

"Winchester? Don't tell me you're related to the sainted General John Winchester? The guy that died a martyr for intrasystem unity?"

"You got it."

Dean stands up and advances toward Meg. She's a small woman and he's a big guy. He could hold her bottom-side-up and shake the information out of her if he has to.

"C'mon, Meg, hand over the box. I've wasted enough of my freakin' life on this case. Not leaving here without that goddamn overgrown matchbox."

Meg sighs theatrically. "So what? You gonna drive me to the bank and cool your heels while I get the Pomp-whatever from my safety-deposit?"

Dean grins. He's not falling for that misdirection.

"Nah. Not the bank. Keep it in some lockbox? I don't think so. Not with the threat of war in the air. You're a superstitious miss."

He scans the room. "No, you're gonna keep it close, very damn close. Nuh-uh, I'd guess it's in this room right here, hidden in plain sight."

Meg makes an 'O' with her lips, twirling a shapely ankle.

"In THIS room, Captain Dean? So where is it, tell me? Is it in my desk drawer? My file cabinet? Maybe it's up on the wall disguised as one of those precious little shamanic carvings. Or maybe it's in a hollowed out book on my bookshelf. Come on. Point it out, whydoncha?"

Dean re-scans the room with narrowed eyes. There are so many places that could hide a 12 by 8 by 6 inch box. Where should he start? Well, with Meg, obviously.

He makes a rush at Meg, watching to see which object she tries to protect, but Meg steps out of his way and grabs the picture frame off of the end of her desk. It's the Colt etching.

Dean laughs and jokes, "In comic-book land maybe."

But Meg peels the paper-thin synthetic handgun, which has been masquerading as the mere an image of a firearm, from its mounting and aims it at Dean.

"Fires real bullets. Ultra-slim, ultra-deadly. A little something I had my tech boys run up for me. Give you the worst damn paper cut you ever had."

Dean exhales loudly. Trust a tricksy dame like Meg to pull something like that. She fires but succeeds only in winging him in the right shoulder. Bleeding unusually profusely, the wound doesn't slow him down, but it makes a nasty mess of his jacket. He has no alternative left but to tackle her and knock the lethal weapon out of her hand.

Dean grapples the tiny female to the floor and they roll around thrashing back and forth. She proves as difficult to pin down as an ornery quarterback, all arms and dangerous knees. They wind up rotating around on the rug like a human millstone.

Then the door opens again and Building Security belatedly comes to Meg's aid.

TBC

A/N: How is Dean going to find the Pompatus and get out of here in one piece? More soon.