Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape, or form own Xiaolin Showdown or the characters it contains. All are the intellectual property of Christy Hui and Cartoonnetwork/WB. I do not make any profit off of this story, and write it only for enjoyment and to pass the time. However, I do claim ownership to the writing itself, and hope that those who read this can respect that as well.

Warning(s): Some foul language is used, and there are some light jokes toward Jack's dubious sexuality. These are teenagers, people. MAY CONTAIN SOME SPOILERS FOR SEASONS 1-3. So, if that's going to shatter your entire world, you might want to skip this.

(See Chapter One for further information)

Additional Notes: I'd like to thank those who took time to fill my day with unutterable glee: Chickens, Tietum, Daxo, White-Oreo, LilMis12, and Halfhuman123 for the reviews. I would hug you, but I'm afraid there's a glass panel in the way.

Sooooo…tired…aghWhy do you mock me, high school? Mock me with your reports and your differential equations?

This took a very long time. Several things did play a part – such as school and crazy things that I still do not understand the relevance of but apparently were important regardless, strangely enough – but mostly, procrastination and/or other projects. Sorry for the delay on this often god-awful story XD. I'll try to be more consistent in the updates.

This is a silly chapter, tossed in at whimsy to break the monotony. So it's rather brief – again, apologies. Sorry this took so long to get up as well; I was revamping quite a bit of the plot to make it legible and, uh, more plot-like.

Only three chapters left, I think. Oh noes.

Enjoy.

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As always, critique is always warmly welcomed. Don't worry – I'm not going to shatter into a million pieces with one little comment or anything.

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Part Four:

Real Men Don't Hug

My foul mood didn't last long.

The parents were out again; party hopping, no doubt. Being as it was such, and since there was a reason to celebrate, we commandeered the kitchen. The cooks did not seem very optimistic, but soon acquiesced to abandoning their posts. Long experience had taught them to not mess with a determined boy genius…or they might have just decided it wasn't worth the effort.

Regardless, I decided it would be a fun adventure to try my hand at cooking.

…Not one of my better ideas.

"Do I put the shells in too?" In bafflement, I held the cookbook in one hand, the said chicken produce in the other, glancing between the two. "I mean, it really doesn't specify. And it does say egg whites."

"Do it!" Gack was pulled up on a chair, leaning on the counter as he liberally doused the batter with chocolate chips. Flour was spread all over his vest, stark against the blue. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Shrugging, I flipped the carton over, all the assorted eggs falling into the mixing bowl. Hey, the more the merrier. "Pfft, I don't think we really need staff for this. It's so easy, an idiot could do it."

Previous attempts at cooking lay like broken soldiers all about the counters, in various states of readiness - the shattered shells of pasta, forgotten in the bottom of the sink where we had tried to soak them; the husks of various soups, aluminum edges glinting mournfully against the sterile white of the kitchen. Utensils, gory with the remains of the combatants, formed memorials to failed experiments, unknown substances coating their shiny forms. It was a graveyard of cooking horrors, a haunting, desolate abyss straight from a chef's nightmare.

I was pretty proud of it.

A few hours later, however, we realized we really couldn't cook worth a damn.

Thus, we crashed before the television, various sorts of take-out scattered around the room. An attempt was made to clean up, but all it seemed to do was make the problem worse, so we had given up within the first fifteen minutes.

As it turns out, Gack is very good at racing games.

"Why, how surprising, another high score." He made the roundabout gloat, idly flicking the joystick to superimpose his name over my previous score. I flicked out my tongue playfully, and darted forward, resetting the game.

I snickered at his slack-jawed expression. "Oh, would ya look at that? Must've been a power surge." I'm such a fair player. Almost smugly, I turned to revel in the moment of his loss. I had expected him to be angry – at least a little miffed – but he utterly surprised me by guffawing, and soon after curling into a ball, giggling. Immediately, warnings were fired off in my mind as I tried to reason out the strange behavior. Unfortunately, I've never been good a reading people; I deigned to question him on the matter. "Why are you laughing?" I was certain that he was going to mock me about something. That's the only reason anyone ever laughed around me. Ready for a put-down, I sat up straighter, frowning.

Catching my expression, his mirth stalled and died. He tilted his head inquiringly, baffled. "I just…found that funny."

"…Oh. Okay." I resettled into the couch, ambiguous about the response. It was a strange change of pace, in all honesty; too used to being consistently ridiculed, I was still tensed for whatever obscure punch line he had devised. There was an awkward pause.

"You're very…defensive," Observing vaguely, Gack began to set up the next round, going through the options with the air of an expert. "Cynical, almost. I mean…think about earlier. Absolutely everything out of your mouthwas an insult. Do you want to talk about it?"

What, was he a shrink now, too?

"I'm not defensive." I didn't entirely miss the irony of the statement, but didn't try to acknowledge it, hoping Gack wouldn't either. Unfortunately, he did.

"You just did it again." Pausing in his options phase, he turned to face me.

I squirmed, uncomfortable with being so directly put on the spot. "Where's your PHD, doctor Phil? I'd really like to see something along the lines of certification." Snorting, I hunched my shoulders, slouching over the controller.

"I'm just saying—" He began again, undeterred.

"It's just banter; it's what I do. The monks say exactly the same things." I plastered a trademark confident smile. "Throws everybody off, right? A little here, a little there, and bam, we've got an outlet for stress or whatever." The ruse was pitiable, really. Frankly, I'm a sarcastic, cold, calculating, cruel, and otherwise evil person. So what? To each their own and all that rot. It's not like I was hurting anyone—

Reminded of my earlier guilt, I flinched. Okay, so, maybe not that cold-hearted…but definitely evil.

He seemed uncertain, caught between assurance and suspicion. "Are you going to start or what?" I clicked the start button impatiently.

Gack smiled broadly, put at ease by my fallacious reassurance. "Prepare to be erased off the board."

I snickered. "You wish."

---

I was off the board.

"What are you on?" Incredulous, I watched his score climb steadily, the numbers ascending ever upward. Every game we had tried, he won, hands down. There were a few where I got damned close, sure; but he was just good. "Really, 'cause I want some."

The little abomination cackled in a poor imitation of my evil laugh (okay, it was pretty good - for an amateur), cradling the game controller like a baby. "Chalk up another one in the name of Gack! Fear my amazingly skilled…skills of…skillfulness." Trailing off disappointingly, the elation of winning fizzled, leaving him pondering over his little rant.

I sniggered at his poor attempt at a gloat. "You're as bad as the puffball."

"You are merely jealous of my angry competence in the ancient and fantabulous art of slang usage." He did the impression rather well; I found myself honestly laughing. Pleased, Gack exited the blue screen, assuming that wicked look again. "Want to go for another round?"

"Pah, I'm not risking my last little score. It's my baby, you know." Casually, I leaned back to look at the clock, and did a double take. "I think I lost a few hours back there. Marvelous. I'm never going to finish that stupid Doom-bot."

"If you think it's stupid, why do it?" Very reasonably, Gack asked, turning off the game.

It took a few moments for my sleep-deprived mind to catch up to what he was saying, a few neurons firing late. It was sound logic; I didn't care for this project, in all honesty. It was too straightforward, too simplistic. I liked being challenged in such technological aims; to be forced to finesse, to push the boundaries of the common mold. No, I didn't want to work on it any longer than I had to. But it had to be done; what else could I do with such parts?

I didn't say as much, instead scoffing at the question. "To prove I can," After all, how else could I show everyone what I was good at? Without continuous new, destructive robots, nobody would care anymore. No, I was trapped in an incessant loop; though dull and tedious it had become. Uncomfortable with the thought, I again redirected. "Besides, what else can I fill the spaces between Wu hunting with? Going to the community mall?" I sneered at the notion; never would I go to such a place, ever.

"Well…" He trailed off, realizing the futility, or maybe forgetting what he was talking about. "I guess."

There was a long pause.

Frowning up at the ceiling, something crossed my mind. It was strange and morbid and twisted, but hey, what wasn't these days? "You know what?"

"What?" Gack asked, uncrossing his legs.

"If I had a rabbit, and I cut off its foot," I said very slowly, carefully thinking out the wording. "I think you would be that foot." Pleased with my own brand of a compliment, I looked back down at him, gauging his reaction.

He looked somewhat horrified, to be honest.

"That's terrible," He tried to figure out if it was an insult or praise, uncertainly eyeing me. "Uh… thanks, I think."

"No problem," I beamed, sliding back off the couch. "Well, I'm off. G'night and all that."

"Good night," He called back after me, voice tilting into perplexity. He was probably terribly confused on the whole comment – and I decided to let him be. Couldn't let the little twerp think I was getting soft; a body can only take so many organ-crushing hugs before it breaks down, after all.

---

Utterly warm and comfortable, I snuggled right up against my pillow, curling into a tighter ball beneath the lovely weight of a comforter. It was blissfully dim, though morning sunlight filtered through between the slats of my blinds, seeking to wake all it touched. For a time, I was able to ignore it completely, until right around the time it struck in a straight line for my closed eyelids. In response, I groaned and rolled over, snorting, and pushed against the malleable, cushiony expanse of my wall, blocking out the light with a nuzzle.

Mmm…Soft wall. It took a few moments, but eventually the thought cut itself through a mental fog.

…Soft?

I flicked my eyes open a heartbeat later, bemused as I took in a color scheme that was definitely not my personal choice. It took but a moment for the cogs in my head to churn, and I realized this thing I was pressed againstwas breathing.

Warm. Breathing. Bright.

I screeched and flung myself off the bed, shrieking out a word that sounded suspiciously like the subject's name, hitting the ground in a tumble of blankets and pillows. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?" I would have scrambled to my feet in an indignant pose, but in all honesty, you can't be very authoritative wearing just your boxers – especially when you're as skinny as I am. Still, I tried with that imposing stare, half covered in blankets, my hair flopping in every which direction.

I'm so sure I looked badass. Really.

"Hello," My doppelganger yawned, blinking sleepily. After a suitably relaxed stretch, he seemed to notice the fierce glower coming from the vicinity of the floor, and sat up, genuinely puzzled. "Something wrong?"

I rolled my eyes sardonically, running my fingers through my hair to place it back in its customary position. "Oh, no, of course not. 'Cause, you know, I wake up in my skivvies to dudes in my bed every day." I snorted sarcastically, finishing with my hair as I trawled about for my goggles. Once they were found, they were promptly placed on my head with a rakish snap. Much better, I inwardly said, looking up at a rather questionable expression upon a familiar-yet-not face.

"Really?" I couldn't quite decide if he was intrigued or disgusted by the notion.

Drawing the blankets tight around me, I shuddered slightly. Creepy moment. Very, very creepy moment. Out loud, however, I snarked, "Sarcasm is a foreign language to you, isn't it?" and tottered to my feet, wincing as my spine crackled in protest. "Out you go. Jack needs clothes."

Strangely enough, he did a 'thumbs up' gesticulation, "Okie dokie," and he slapped his hands over his eyes, humming some asinine tune. On all counts, he didn't seem very gung-ho to exit the premises, despite the cheerful compliance of moments earlier.

I waited for a few heartbeats longer, wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets, staring blankly. He wasn't…he couldn't be so keen to be in the room whilst I changed…right? I mean, that's just…too weird. I shifted apprehensively. "Are you not going?" Drawling acerbically to cover the discomfiture of the situation, I jerked my head at the door, though he wouldn't see the motion.

He shook his head, grinning. "Well, I just thought that—"

"OUT!" I roared, pleased when he jumped straight up like an electrocuted kitten, scrambling for the door. It slammed hard behind him, quivering in its frame at the force exerted upon it.

After a long hesitation, satisfying myself that he would not be bursting back in, I let the blankets drop and rooted around my dresser, frowning at its sparse variety. "Laundry. Remember to do laundry." Muttering, I tapped my head, hoping that it would somehow pound the information required into my brain.

I tossed on a regular t-shirt, some of my usual jeans and socks, calling it good enough. After all, there was really no one to impress with my stunning sense of fashion.

Bolstering my courage, I reopened the door, quietly, and glanced up and down the hall. There was no sign of Gack. Thankful for the break, I slipped out, nearly tiptoeing down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. Some good, underpaid soul had already cleaned up our disaster from last night, leaving a sparklingly white arena to destroy.

However, since I figured the staff was on the verge of mutiny, I decided to take the easiest route, fishing out cereal and other essential ingredients for a bowl of aforementioned breakfast delight.

It was eerily quiet, but I paid it little mind, staring at the remarkably dim-witted, colorful puzzle on the back of the box. Honestly, it looked like a garish rainbow had vomited on it, then smacked it with an ugly stick. Did they really think that was entertaining? Oh, yeah, for like 1.5 seconds the color dazzled the retinas, shooting rays of stupid into the very core of your brain. But after that, all you were left with was a pained set of eyes and a few less active brain cells.

Oh boy, what fun.

Despite myself, I went ahead and finished the puzzle, and even did the so-called 'cryptogram' that a baboon fetus would have no trouble with (It said, 'eat right, stay bright.' Insert derisive snort here. Whoever writes that crap really should be dragged naked through a field of cactuses, then dunked in a tub of citrus juice. Honestly.), and huffily ate the cereal. As they say, don't judge a book by its cover.

Someone giggled right in my ear. "Oh, how cute," The titter that followed scared me right to the center of the table, spoon raised like some sort of shoddy metallic shield. "It rhymes."

After saying a Very, Awfully Bad Word, I sidled off the table, glaring daggers at Gack's smirk. "You so did that on purpose."

"Hmm," With an uncommitted grunt, he slid into my seat, fascinated by the slue of mismatched colors. "Ooo, swirly." He traced a finger around the rim of one, engrossed by the strange display of the pseudo-abstract designs. A sappy smile stretched across his features, childlike, almost, and he took a stab at the puzzle, following the path with his eyes.

I caught myself before saying something cruel, slouching over the table. It was just too easy a target, like tripping someone with a broken ankle or something. "So, any reason as to why you were snuggled up to me in the bed?" I groused, petulantly flicking the spoon to accent the question.

"As I recall, you snuggled up to me," he admonished, giggling. Still enraptured by the puzzle, he continued following it, not glancing up as he continued. "And I was just lonely, I guess. You didn't seem to mind last night."

Aghast at the notion that he had seen me when I was sleeping, I ducked my head low, embarrassed. "Is this going to be a habit?"

"Hmm," Again the ambiguous mumble.

This time he wasn't going to wriggle out of it. I damn well have a right to know if I'm going to be sleeping with someone every…wait. That wasn't at all right. Blanching at the horrible thought, I lost my momentum, blanking on what exactly I had been about to say in the first place. So, being a prodigy and overflowing with social tact, I very suavely compensated.

"Don't you have any other outfit?" I blurted, wincing at the bumbling turn in conversation. Oh, yeah, that was smooth there, Jack. Real smooth.

"Well, I've been trapped in a horrible dimension for the last few years so…" He glanced down, shrugging. "I guess not."

"No need to get sarcastic on me," With intentional hypocrisy, I guffawed. So he was finally learning the way it worked! Of course, it's hard to not pick something up when in the presence of the master of retorts.

Baffled, he at last looked away at that oh-so-complex puzzle. "What?"

After a moment, I deadpanned, realizing I had assumed too much of him. With a sigh, I asked the question I already knew the answer to. "…That wasn't a sarcastic little jibe, was it?"

He shook his head wordlessly.

Sighing, I stood up, figuring the cereal was soggy enough to warrant tossing it. "Well, I'll dig up something that'll fit you. Gah, I hadn't realized I had grown so much taller. Still, there's probably something around here."

"Oh, goody, new clothes!" He giggled, slipping out of the chair with a prancing leap. "Wee!"

In the next second he was gone, dancing about down the hallway. For good measure, I hollered after him, "And you're taking a shower, too!" Still, I was grinning despite my sincerest attempt to be stoic and cold.

The grin faltered. "Oh, God, I sound like my parents." Groaning at the horrifying thought, I trudged after, fighting back the urge to repeat some Very Bad Words.

---

Oil covered my arms up to the shoulders, splattered across my shirt and pants and face like blood at a surgery. The bared wires glinted dully under the stringent lights, gleaming morosely. For now it was a mass of junk; wires and metal and chips, but soon it would be greater than the sum of its parts, a hulking monstrosity of leviathan proportions, promising a cold, uncompromising death to all who dared to stand against it.

I gave it a week, tops.

The monks would probably trash it overnight, if the previous track record was any indication.

I sighed and made a motion to wipe the icky smudge off my face, but only succeeded in getting it everywhere else. But I supposed there are worse things to be covered in, like cow slobber, or month old garbage from a city district, or something like that. Still, it was a rather uncomfortable sensation.

Gack swung by on the chair, too-long t-shirt draping over his lanky frame. "Whatcha doin'?" He asked as he whirled by, clinging hard to the arms.

"Building something," I responded automatically in a bland tone, digging through my assorted implements with one hand. The coaxial cable was being finicky, frankly. It continuously was sidling to the left, which of course put it at risk of running into a conductor. Curious to see if it was the center conductor, I took out a section nearest the fore, cleanly sliced through the jacket, prying apart the metallic insulator shield and dielectric insulator. The copper wire was fine, but that was ever the case; just because it seemed to be didn't mean it was. Maybe it just had a bend in it somewhere.

Carefully, I felt along the paraffin casing, wondering if I should run a current through to see if it would go in and up cleanly. It could potentially do a lot of damage if….

"No touching," I grunted automatically, swatting away an invasive hand that went for a mass of colorful wires.

"What're these for?" He asked brightly, flicking himself back and forth on the chair.

"Stuff," I answered, as if it explained everything. Maybe it wasn't the coaxial cable – some could be easily pushing it from where the central systems in the back were. It would be damn hard to work past all that delicate wiring around it, however. Potentially, it could set me back by a few hours. "Curious." I said to the half-finished robot, tapping my hand against the hard heat-treated steel, perplexed.

Normally I would have gone with titanium, my favorite type of metal, for its lightness and strength, but this was not a 'mobile' type of robot. Quite simply, it was a wreaking ball of destructive technology; it swung around, but rarely moved. Thus, the heat-treated steel, of a good enough grade, would withstand harder blows and such. That can mean a lot if you're fighting people who can freaking drop mountains on your head.

Back to the wiring. Sometimes the insides are more important than the covering, really. One faulty system and BOOM! Bye-bye doom-bot.

Maybe it was the rubber joint. It had been a tad thicker than my calculations had called for, but I couldn't exactly wait around for the next time a shipment came. Lazy company, really. You practically had to scream it a dozen times that you want a 11.2 inch thickness to get it through their skulls. But no-o-o, they cut a foot, because it's 'easier'. Bah.

"What kind of stuff?" Gack, unknowing of my inner rant, spun around in a circle, drawing his legs up to add speed. Ah, centripetal force; lovechild of adrenaline junkies and scientists.

"Robotic kind of stuff," I answered, again vague.

Gack sighed, spinning around once more before placing both feet flat upon the floor. "I'm bored. How long has it been since a Showdown?"

"Three weeks," Thank goodness. I had no intention of ever going within a mile radius of the monks again. "Now shush." Soldering the wire to the main chip set, I slapped my goggles over my eyes, careful of the flame.

It was not long before Gack again began to fidget.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" He asked, voice just on this side of whining.

I grunted. "No." Ah, a little more that way…damn. Damn damn damn…oh, wait, no, that's fixable. No problem.

"I'm bored out of my mind," he explained, as if it would change my mind, though all the reiteration did was agitate me further. "There's nothing for me to do."

"Go feed the birds," I waved vaguely up toward the door, eyeing my handiwork. "The birds that live outside." Not to boast, but it was a pretty clean job. Nearly perfect, even. But of course there was the coaxial cable. That damn thing. I could probably replace it, but what would—

"I already overfed the birds," Gack moaned, slumping in the chair. "The got too fat to take off, and then a dog ate them. It was so sad." He sniffled, as if to emphasis his point. "Like a ball massacre or something. Except with birds."

"At least they died with full tummies," I shrugged, amused by the mental image. (Hello, evil?) Now, it would have been pretty easy to take it out, if I hadn't gone and done all that work afterward. You'd be surprised how delicate some of that machinery is, in such robots. Still, I could just pull it out along the….

"They weren't full by the time the dog was done with them. One was alive the whole…the whole—" Whimpering pathetically, he suddenly fell across my back, hands wrapping around my waist.

"Hey, watch it!" I tried to shield my precious robot with one arm, flicking back over my memory to recall what he was saying. Unfortunately, all I drew out was something about fat birds. "You choose the strangest moments to have breakdowns." Awkwardly, I managed to twist around, and guided him back into his chair. I think he took it as some gesture of comfort, because he sniffled bravely, giving a watery smile, and lunged up again, flinging his arms around me again.

I braced for the spine-shattering crush, but none came.

Instead, we stood in tableau, my shirt getting a wet spot under his eyes, his face probably getting absolutely covered with oil. Having never really done such a thing before, I didn't have a clue on exactly how long that sort of thing was supposed to last, and stood indecisively, half bent back, hands up and ready to shove him off. It was weird, being that close to someone; a real invasion of personal space…kind of.

Still, it was kind of nice.

I balked at the notion. Where was my evilness going? "Yeah, yeah, alright. Quit your blubbering." Gruffly, I patted him on the head, attempting to extricate myself from the overlong embrace. After all, I can't exactly afford to act any more effeminate, and last I checked, masculinity required one did not hug for this long. "What are you, four?"

Muffled against my chest, Gack laughed. Then, still with that tremulous, watery tone, "Thanks," and let go.

"Uh, okay." I replied eloquently, unsure of the proper conduct. So, to the fallback – humor. "Are we supposed to cuddle now? 'Cause, y'know, I'm a third-date kind of guy." Gack tried to stifle a sudden burst of disbelieving laughter, hands flying over his mouth. I smirked, pleased with the result, and turned back to the doom-bot with a sharp pivot on one heel.

"Jeez, you could at least get me some flowers before crawling into bed with me."

That resulted in a high guffaw. "Well, it's a little late for that." He sniggered, plopping back into the swivel chair. "I mean, really, you should have thought ahead."

Very serious, I turned back around, in the most somber tone I could dredge up, "I really can't afford to get pregnant at this point in my career."

For a moment, we stared at each other gravely, the very image of solemnity. Not a heartbeat after, however, we were curled up, laughing uproariously – robots and monks and good and evil forgotten, if just for a few minutes. For the first time in what seemed like a long time, things were looking up.

Because for right now…even if it was just for a little while, everything was okay. And that was enough, I guess. Enough was better than good.

…Good things never last.

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