Small notes. First part takes place... I'm actually not sure when. I want to say during Dark Side, but it could be post-DS, for all I know. It's ridiculously vague on that. A few hints on some of my rules on 'how to write Stork' are in here, if you pay attention. Yes, I have a list of things to keep in mind when writing him – it makes it a challenge, but it also keeps me from making plot holes. Also, this is for the people bitching about how non-canon DS!Piper is. A lot of shit has happened since they got to Farside, and not all of it is pleasant. I have already stated this, but you know how I like to repeat things when I really mean it...

xxxx

"You have got to be kidding me."

He chuckled, nuzzling the side of my neck. "You asked for it. And, I never jest. You know that."

"Except when you're being deathly sarcastic," I replied.

"Well, there is then." His hands wandered into my suit, the fingertips tracing the mud brown of my skin, kissing down to my breasts.

"Stork," I whispered, using his name, "When are you going to get a normal sleep schedule?"

I watched his eyes shimmer, and he smiled softly at me."Since when have I ever worked to your definition of 'normal', exactly?"

That tongue and those teeth made me gasp so I couldn't answer. His hands assisted mine to undress me, and finally he was between my legs, one hand running down my hip, around the curve of my bum, and then the edge of thumb tracing the scar that ran along the outer side of my left thigh.

I felt him sigh against me as he touched it. A mark that he would never share. A tangible sign that it wasn't something I imagined. His mouth took mine, then, and I was completely entwined.

xxxx

"Stay close to me."

I rolled my eyes. I knew Merbs were twitchy and paranoid, and yes, him coming back scratched up had scared me quite a bit, but I was pretty certain he was being a bit over-protective. Actually, it kind of reminded me of when we had to take the Condor to a proper mechanic – he didn't trust many people with his ship, but sometimes she needed help he couldn't provide. He would get twitchy and ask too many questions and be generally unsatisfied with any answers offered to him and be pretty unbearable until it was all over, and then he would mutter and sputter about how he could have fixed it just fine on his own... if he only had the right tools.

And yet... it always seemed we never had the right tools. That would be because we rarely had much money... Feeding a Wallop cut into your expenses by a lot.

Stork was wearing a long, black trench coat that I honestly hadn't realised we owned. He had it buttoned up all the way, but it floated around his thin frame like a silly parachute. His face was hiding under one of his cowboy hats, but he had it tucked down as far as it could go, and had even added a handkerchief around his mouth.

I was wearing my usual ship suit, and a brown jacket – if Cyclonis spotted us, it was true that we wouldn't want her spotting the Storm Hawks insignia, but that was as far as I was going to encourage him.

The town was crowded, but rather filthy. A lot of yelling and bickering, and some colourful language as well. Can't say anything about any law or order.

Stork's eyes were flickering about faster than I'd really seen them. The defensive posture I was so used to – him hunched over, a hand at the ready lest he be attacked – was replaced with this strange obsession to hold his head high, while still low enough to hide under his hat. As I watched him beside me, I had to confess it would have been comical if it weren't so weird.

"Stork... What are we going to do?" I asked him quietly. "I don't see anyone here that would be the type to help us." In fact, I watched an angry madam toss out a young man in the brothel up ahead. A number of harlots cursed at him as the lot of them drove him off. I wrinkled my nose at the entire prospect of the idea.

"Yeah... They really aren't the type." He propped up his collar, then, and cut to the right into an alleyway. I skipped a step, and turned to follow.

"Stay close," he hissed at me again.

"Hard to do when you slip off so fast," I growled back.

"It's be fast, or..."

But his eyes weren't looking at me, and they were widening. I turned as well, and a number of brutes – three of them, at least, though I spotted two more coming in behind them – stepped toward us, their eyes dark and threatening. I looked back at Stork as he let out a 'goik!', and found that the other way was likewise blocked.

"Right turn after the brothel," he said under his breath, and I felt my heart start to race.

"Stork?" I could hear my voice shake slightly.

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," he answered me, and I watched his eyes dart from one side of the alley to the other.

"You two seem lost," said one of the ones who'd followed us.

"Just a bit, yeah," I answered, smiling nervously. Hopefully they would not kill us if they realised we had just... accidentally walked through their turf.

"Piper!" Stork hissed. "We are not lost! I know exactly where we are."

I looked back at him and glared. "Who's got the bad bluff?"

"You do!" he answered. "I know where we are, and these guys don't care if you say we're lost, they'll still try and kill us!"

As I was arguing with my pilot, they got even closer. Within punching distance, almost. I took note of it with satisfaction, figuring Stork could probably take the ones on his side easy enough.

That was until they opened their jackets. Blades that shone with a variety of colours were unsheathed and glowing armour on their chests beckoned us to try a punch – and I remembered that we were in Farside, now. And even if we had the whole crew, they would crush us to a pulp.

Like they already had.

To my surprise, Stork shed his disguise – he threw off the hat, and pulled off the kerchief, and made a serpentine hiss at the fellow who had addressed me.

"Woah! What the hell is that?" cried one.

"Dude, that guy's green!"

Stork snarled and snapped at them, and they recoiled, disturbed by this strange behaviour. Not going to be caught off guard, he spun around and likewise threatened those on the other side.

"Holy crap, that's his face!"

"I'm warning you," he said, his voice turning dark and gravelly. "Thisss iss mine. I will kill any of you that come closser..." And he took a strange, serpentine pose that suggested he was deadly serious. Even I was rather disturbed by the sudden hissing and... well, strangeness of it all.

"Come on, you're scaring me..." I whispered.

And then he hissed at me.

"Ssilence! I'll deal with you later!"

And then he threw the jacket at me, and I hardly caught it.

He turned his attention back to the people around us, and I confess, I was mostly stunned. The quiet, almost shy pilot – who seemed almost allergic to leaving the vessel – was now trying to take on half a dozen of way-souped Farsiders? The shift from paranoid to... whatever form of madness had overtaken him was more than a little shocking.

I watched as the Merb took on a strange sort of dance, riding atop his toes like he hardly needed to touch the ground, his whole body moving in an unearthly rhythm. I think the fact that I was disturbed seemed to disturb them even more.

"Who'ssss firsst?" came a dark voice. I had to realise it was Stork as he let out another serpentine hiss.

It almost sounded like... a Raptor, actually.

The voice struck something odd in me. Sometimes, in the middle of a game of Catch the Sky Knight or Truth or Dare, Stork would get that really dark look in his eye... the kind that Finn took to mean a really good dare, or that he had a really nasty flying maneuver in mind that would catch you the first few times you faced it. It didn't pop up very often, but it always meant bad news for whoever was on the receiving end.

I hate tailgaters. Just before he slammed on the brakes to take out a small squadron of Raptors.

Unless... that's what you want. Persuading Junko to follow his map through the Black Gorge.

Crunch. The crushing depths of Terra Deep.

I get to have all their stuff... I had thought he was trying to be funny.

Now that I thought on it, Stork had a rather twisted sense of humour. But he also read a lot of pretty dark, gory fiction, and kept to himself a lot of the time. I liked to think I was a bit wicked myself in a way that made me interesting, but I realised that I had nothing on the quiet pilot.

Seeing the dark side of him come out again, I felt a bit apprehensive – there was no Condor to return to, to swoop in for a stunning victory with a blaring horn and guns, no clever traps or tools up his sleeve to get us out of this mess. There wasn't Aerrow with his dueling skills, Finn with his perfect shot, Junko with his muscle. Even I was pretty useless – I didn't quite have the energy for a fight, and my crystals were nothing next to these guys.

And yet... he seemed quite the opposite of afraid. It was our opponents who were more concerned.

Finally, a guy in the back decided he would take his chances, and came forward, holding his sword at the ready.

In a flash, the bastard was on the ground, face first, and the Merb had his sword. I don't know how he managed it, but Stork was on top of him, the most cruel and distorted face I had ever seen – I realised then what the Merbian crazy face truly was, and I found myself paralyzed with fear at the look of fire in his eyes as he just as quickly swept the blade under the grunt's neck, splaying red blood everywhere.

His suit wasn't spared. He let out an unearthly hiss, and I swear I saw him lick it from his lips as he turned and once again threatened the oncomers without words. This time they definitely panicked, and started to run away, but Stork was faster. Two of them were on the ground before he reached the end of the alley, and when he dispatched the last of them, he turned around, and the crazy face had turned into a look of the most perverse glee I had ever seen – and we fought the Dark Ace on a common occasion.

On all fours, he galloped to the other side of the alley, any human dignity gone as he turned the corner. It was a pregnant pause before I heard an outcry of screaming, not only from the bastards he had caught, but doubtless the locals who had seen them. A woman's shrill cry of terror tore me from my stunned place, holding the black garb, and running after him.

He was once again hissing, but this time people weren't fighting back. Like an ocean of fear, they withdrew from him as a collective, and he stood, that high, proud posture daring them to question him. He let out a last snap, and turned to look at me.

The ghastly dark eyes. Instead of the fear or annoyance I was so used to in them, there was almost a deathly calm to them. Like it'd all been a ruse, and today he'd just not to play weak anymore. That this was his true self – some kind of ruthless machine, and I was at last blessed with the revelation that so few had the privelege to know. I felt like my voice had vanished, and I couldn't quite look down to see if my hands trembled.

"Ssstay closse," he ordered again, this time the words almost indecipherable under the snake-like hiss that seemed to come out of the back of his throat. His ears were pinned back in defiance, and he kept the high walk as he stepped down a little ways. I looked to the building beside us and realised it was the back half of the brothel, but only by the empty windows garnished in thick, rich fabrics, and the underwear strewn about, because the whores were gone. He marched forward, and the people still withdrew from us, terrified at this thing that – I looked back and realised there were another four or five bodies there on the ground. And two of them didn't look like thugs at all.

I said nothing as I turned back to follow as commanded.

His hiss was softer, but no less dangerous as he snapped at a man. For his part, he fell over and hit the ground, shaking and moaning miserably to himself, and I think I heard a dark rumble from the cursed Merb.

I think he was laughing.

At the next door, he didn't bother knocking, but opened it, and there were some screams and shouts of panick as people spilled out the back doors and windows as possible. I scampered to follow, not wanting to get closer, but fearing my punishment if I strayed behind. There was almost rumbling sound coming from the pilot, that seemed like a low and steady growl, barely audible, but you could feel it in the air.

Stork centered on a man who was doing his best to stay in one spot, a determined scowl on his face, even if his blue eyes shook and glistened with tears.

"You," the Merb said, the word like an arrow through the air rather than an address. "I want your finesst ride. Now."

It was then I realised... it was a bike shop. Full of rides of all sorts – heli types, gliders, jet-powered, rockets, even a number of crystal-enhanced ones. For a moment, my eyes ventured all over the place, a hand not daring to touch the things I knew we couldn't afford, but I imagine that's because my mind was refusing to acknowledge was going on between my pilot and the proprietor.

"W-w-what–" The fellow cleared his throat, but it still sounded like a frog was stealing the growl from his voice – all that was left was the wet, fearful little boy. "What kind do you want?"

"The bessst you have," the Merb hissed. "Defense. Offense. Flight, maneuverability. And I want it with the worksss." I couldn't see his eyes, but I imagined they were just as terrifying now as they were when he was growling at mechanics who dared to deem themselves worthy of the Condor. And that was never fun.

The proprietor gulped. "Y-yeas, s-s-sar."

He hopped out from behind his counter, as far away from the pilot as possible – whose head turned in that inhuman way he had, as if his line of vision was attached to the man, and followed his every move – and finally hid behind a white steed with a rather pretty shade of blue decorating it. It wasn't a heliscooter, but a proper jet-powered glider, with a flighty, but solid build that had rather good coverage of the flier. The guns looked rather versatile, and an advertisement mentioned the varying weapons that you could customise her with.

"W-which guns w-would you like, s-sar?" he squeaked.

"I want the bessst one for taking out as many bassssss..." His head shook from side to side like there was a fly trying to get into his ear, and he just wasn't going to have it. " –tardss out of the sssky at oncce!" Fists rose in the air, one of which was still clenched over the amber-toned sword he'd taken from his first

The sight of it was enough for the man to move quickly, and he darted this way and that, picking up tools to disassemble whatever guns were presently installed, and put in the ones that would do the job best. Everything he did, the Merb watched, his eyes always following him, the head turning this way and that to keep up, but the rest of his body was perfectly still. And perfectly rigid, tall and proud.

When the deed was done, the fellow packed up a number of things as well – an entire repair kit, a catalogue for future purchases, three boxes of ammo, and a large case of fuel crystals. He scribbled a note and put everything in the apparently rather spacious storage space in the back of the ride. And then, he fished under his desk for a pair of jingling keys.

"Everything you need," he said. "Ammo, fuel, and a way to get more," he said, very slowly, and very carefully, his eyes on the desk, and not in the direction of the Merb that was still staying very still. I had a long while ago sat down, and now stood, though I didn't dare approach. "This is the key. There's a second, and you can go to most any proper ride dealer for another. The Ranchell is a very popular maker, so you shouldn't have much trouble finding repair parts." I watched him gulp before putting it on the far end of the desk, and then backing into a back door, his eyes fearfully watching me, but I had nothing I could say.

I hardly knew what was happening. I confess, my mind watched it all, but none of it really made sense.

I watched him stride forward and take the keys. He opened the back hatch as he'd seen the proprietor do, and seemed to check for something, but when he was satisfied, he mounted it. He inserted the key, and the sound of warm rumbling filled the place.

It was like a hot soup after days of being down in the dumps. I felt everything melt and my mind came to, and I saw Stork there, astride a shiny new ride, his eyes a bit distant. Kind of like when he was thinking of something else, and was the best time to ask him questions before he came back.

"What's that, then?" I heard myself say.

"Get on, let's go," came the hollow reaction.

Next thing I knew, we were aboard the Condor, and Stork shut off the ride. I was still sitting there as he closed the hatch and set on the alarm. He returned to the ride, where I hadn't moved, and didn't look to me as he said, "I'm going to go down to my room for a while. I don't want you to come after me. I want you to go up to Level 1. The sick bay, or your room, whatever." I think I turned to look at him. His eyes still had that distant look. I knew I could ask him anything, but my mind had no words to say. "Whatever you hear... don't come after me."

I don't know if I maybe nodded, or said something, but next I knew, I was sitting down in the sick bay. I remember blinking, curious as to why I chose that place, and looked up at the cabinets. They were closed, but I opened them, looking at the straight lines of bottles, each perfectly marked and labeled with their purposes and uses. There was a dwindling supply of certain things, but other things were quite plenteous. Allergy meds, for instance.

I thought I heard screaming from down below, but I honestly can't remember.

xxxx

Ooh... scary stuff, right? I know, this is the part where Thing With No Talent completely writes me off (if she hasn't already) and I scare off the last of my readers, MWAHAHA! Small note: Stork has a way of compartmentalising, willingly and not (usually not) – this has come into play from the beginning with Anatomical Differences, and is a part of his anatomy and psychology. Is it normal for Merbs, or just him? OOH, what a question! And if it's just him, how did it get that way? Mucho fun tiems, I assure you.

Also... I don't know if I'm being clear, but if pay attention, you'll see what kind of dark, creepy places my self-loathing goes to sometimes. But I shan't give specifics and spoil. /River Song. Also, I don't need a shrink – I self-medicate by writing torturous fanfiction (see 'Fortitude' for my first attempt at this) and wallowing in tragedy. And blame Dan Brown for giving me some fascination with the concept. Paul Bettany didn't help. (Let's see who gets it.) Because who needs Cyclonians? I got shit tons of angst and drama just in the Merb's head all by hisself!