When this fic started, roughly 4k words of Mick talking to people seemed reasonable? Except now it's probably going to be 10k words of Mick talking to people so. You know. *facepalm* I hope you're down for talking iiiiiin spaaaaaaace!

"Ah, Mr Rory. Superb timing - I was just on my way to find you." Two glasses in one hand and dust-coated bottle of brandy in the other, Stein paused on his way out of Rip's anteroom. "Or should that be Chronos?" he asked, expression sliding from confidence into apprehension.

Mick raised an eyebrow. A master thief, Stein was not and didn't look like he had a getaway plan either; the tumblers clinked down on a display table fifteen feet from the scene of the crime.

"No recrimination intended, I assure you," Stein went on hurriedly as he wrestled with the bottle's cork, mistaking indifference for offence. "I just wasn't sure which you'd prefer after … however long it's been."

When Hunter had asked what name he'd answer to, Mick hadn't given it any thought. "Rory will do," he decided now. Seemed about right.

"Mr Rory, then," Stein agreed. "If you have a moment, I hoped we might converse."

That was Stein: he'd allow Mick to be dragged out and shot, or left to rot in a cell, but he wouldn't want to be uncivil.

The hypocrisy grated, but not like it used to. "No, you didn't."

"You're quite right." Stein's anxious, tight-lipped smile turned wry. "More accurately, I hoped we might have a few vaguely mumbled platitudes - perhaps some faint assurances - and then continue on as before, with the warm glow of having failed utterly to communicate meaningfully in any fashion whatsoever."

"Like men, you mean."

"Precisely. Then we could go on to avoid any further interaction for, well. Quite possibly the rest of time."

"Deal." Mick turned to go.

"Except!" Stein cleared his throat and went on less urgently as Mick turned back. "Except. With everything we've been through - everything we've seen - if any group of people were to be keenly aware of lost opportunities, it would be ourselves. As you appear willing to meet us half way, then I can do no less.

"And to aid in this endeavor, brandy." He held up the open bottle victoriously. "It's Captain Hunter's. I'm sure he won't mind."

"You have a habit of roofying people when things aren't going your way, Stein. Gotta say, waking up in a vacuum doesn't appeal."

"Once is hardly a habit," Stein objected, but without much heat. "I'm not proud of what I did - I've apologised to Jefferson many times. If he never forgave me, he'd be well within his rights. Fortunately for me, he did. His mouth twitched into a self-deprecating half-smile. "Thus I find my moral high horse several hands shorter than I'd assumed."

It was tempting to leave; there was no real reason to stay. Unless Stein had developed a Machiavellian streak, he obviously wasn't intending to cause Mick any trouble and that's all Mick needed to know.

Brandy looked good, though. And maybe he was a little curious what Stein had to say.

"Pour," he said, on impulse.

"Excellent!" Two generous shots were decanted; Stein slid Mick's glass over. "Jefferson told me about your training session. He was quite enthused, if heavily bruised. You do remember that injuries inflicted upon him are also visited upon me?"

Mick knocked his brandy back in one. It was a smooth-tasting Cognac, warm going down. The thought of how pissed Hunter would be made it all the warmer.

"Yes," he said. "I remember."

Stein nodded mournfully. "I thought you might. Well, that being the case, I wonder if I might make a request: softer mats? Indeed, any mats?"

"No. And with the Hunters coming for us, you should train too."

"Something better left to the younger members of the team, I think." Stein sipped at his drink, made a pleased expression and quickly drank the rest. "Honestly, even as a youth the martial arts were never a true passion. Although I am pleased to say that I have managed to hold my own when the occasion demanded."

"One pirate who wasn't expecting a fight," Mick pointed out. "You won't get that lucky again, you'll just get dead."

Stein shifted uncomfortably. "You heard about that."

"The kid told me. He's proud of you. Even if he shouldn't be. Pour."

The glasses were filled again, even more generously this time.

"We aren't friends, Mr Rory," Stein said slowly, hesitant as a man in a minefield.

"No," Mick agreed. "We aren't."

"And I suspect we never will be, at least not the kind who - who - "

"Sit around, drinking stolen brandy?"

"A good point." Stein took a breath and rushed on, probably hoping nothing would explode if he spoke quickly enough. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is that, while we may not embrace many of the same interests or philosophies, we are on the same team and, while a great deal of trust has been lost on all sides, I do hope that, over time, it can be regained."

Stein grabbed at his drink and drained it, swallowing thickly.

"Wasn't any trust to lose," Mick said evenly, and finished his own. "Not between us."

Without prompting, Stein poured again; amber drops slid down the sides of the glasses and pooled on the panel.

"I suppose so. But I want you to know that no one considered you extraneous. Or, whatever else Captain Hunter might have said in a moment of -"

"Honesty?"

"- exigency. Dangerous, unpredictable and quite possibly psychotic, certainly. I can't and won't pretend we were all comfortable with your presence, any more than I imagine you were comfortable with ours, but you were not irrelevant. I hope we can regain an equilibrium. With the standard caveats and promises we'll see you coming and so forth."

And there it was. Stein wasn't trying to make nice, he wanted in on the same deal as Jax. It might be a little of both, Mick allowed, but it didn't make any difference: friendly or scared, Stein wasn't a threat.

"Kid told you about that too, huh? Don't worry, Professor. Sara already threatened to kill me if I try anything."

"Something I would be inclined to take seriously, myself."

"Oh, I do." Mick nodded with total sincerity. "She'd be the first one I took out."

The problem with the Waverider - with most Time Master-built habitats - was that the doors slid. Hard to make any kind of grand entrance or exit when there was nothing to slam.

Mick had to concede that Hunter, trenchcoat snapping around his ankles as he strode in, gave it his best shot anyway. "Who the hell broke into my liquor cabinet? "

Stein turned from the display table and cheerfully raised a hand in Hunter's direction, listing at the shift in balance. "That would be me, and may I compliment you on your exquisite taste in Cognac?"

"Napoleon Bonaparte's exquisite taste in Cognac, actually," Hunter muttered sourly. "Professor Stein, I must say I'm disappointed in you."

"I fell into bad company," Stein said, unrepentantly. "Jefferson can be very convincing. I succumbed to peer pressure - if anything, I'm the victim here."

"Jax persuaded you to steal my brandy? You'll forgive me if I find that unlikely."

Mick ignored the look Hunter pointedly didn't send his way.

"Well, perhaps not in so many words. I'm dreadfully sorry," Stein said, pouring again. "I don't know what came over me."

"And yet you're still drinking."

"Well I feel I've somewhat committed to the part now. Besides, it would be a dreadful waste."

"Here." Mick swiped at at the rim of his empty glass and then pushed it towards Hunter. "All yours."

Hunter took the glass reflexively as Mick headed for the door. "Oh, I get to drink what's left of my own brandy. How kind."

Stein stepped away from the table, swaying dangerously until Hunter rolled his eyes and grudgingly caught his shoulder to steady him. "Mr Rory, I-"

"We're okay, Professor."

"But you won't make me the same promise you made Jefferson?"

Mick glanced at Hunter, then back. "You're a package deal," he said, and walked away.

Kendra and a horrible moral quandry are up next, yay!