A present was granted to me over at Youtube by WWP (WerewolvesProtector) and a request was asked for by Elizabeth Guest. I grant both a present back over from my side because I am pleased and feeling fat and happy recently. Enjoy.

Warm Water Under a Red Bridge-:-Paradox/Gwen-:-Alien Force-:-

It is a little annoying being in Paradox's presence for long periods of time (as perceived by the young lady with the red hair as she is studying on ancient Japanese ritualistic magic, mana and influence for her next term paper) when trying to work, so Gwen worked out, finally, that if he was going to spend any sort of time with her, he would have to keep his feet on the floor and not echo around her present existence like a freaky firefly.

For the moment, next to a river with reeds Gwen plucked out to examine for residue of an event Paradox said took place some hundred-thousand years ago ("A great blaze of fire that wasn't fire and burned without heat that had me rubbing my eyes to relieve myself of the sudden onset blindness that comes from a spark of such infancy and wild abandon. Horrible swirling spots to deal with, you know my dear," he grinned over and above her in quick succession; the reed in her hand being peeled open with more force than she intended as she counted to ten and tried to keep up with him and maintain a polite attitude at the same time that would have been plain impossible had she not spent a large portion of her time generally dealing with her cousin and a delinquent) he was being little more quiet as he sat on a knotted and overturned tree root that he actually said 'hello' to as he traced the lines of the plant and considered—probably—over eternity in biological creations of the Earth.

Gwen looked over her shoulder and stowed away the reeds in a little paper baggy (wrinkled from when she'd used it earlier to hold the sandwich she had made of plum blossoms and banana bread) for later on when she went back to her own mini-lab in her apartment with the broken window and a superintendant that had been too busy being away on business to fix it, leaving her to wear sweaters at night if she was to stay warm, because the heat certainly didn't stay in after the sun went down. Paradox seemed to be working his lips like he often did when he thought he was going to ask a question about something either awkward or that hadn't happened yet. It would have been adorable on someone else, but on him, until she got to know him as more than just the scientist that couldn't die and had a habit of dropping in on her when she was just waking up in the morning (or Ben, if the immortal was feeling really cheeky at any given moment) while slipping out of her nightgown.

"Something the matter, Professor?"

He blinked over at her with wide doe eyes that quickly shifted to light and froth in a whirlpool in his mind for Gwen to notice, but not to mention as he finally questioned, straining his vocals, "Before I take you back, I have to ask, since I'm not sure I am in the right place and it would be rude of me not to ask, even if I have before—"

"Yes, what is it?"

Paradox trailed and curved digits over the tree's skin again, a kink in his behavior that Gwen long ago connected with embarrassed fidgeting, "Have I fixed your window yet? You're wearing that garish sweater again after we agreed that you'd throw it out."

Gwen heard but didn't see some fish swish by under the little red bridge no more than thirty feet behind her and along further up the river; perhaps one jumped as she blinked at the immortal and tried to count to ten before he started rambling about chills and allergens and glass like he did the week before when he'd popped in on her at an art gallery that had opened around the corner street of her residence she had intended to observe for her own pleasure before he freaked out the curator and the guard.

The Last Castle-:-Vilgax/Gwen-:-Ben 10 (Original Series)-:-

Accidents aren't always what they say—what people say—that they are.

If she woke up in the dead of night, being where she was, she would probably freak out and explode like some delayed time bomb that he had thought he had fixed, dismantled, set aside to go onto something else. That was what Vilgax thought was the highest probable thing that could happen, anyway.

He was a mountain on the bed that was more like a Sultan's chamber room to the small girl that had been sleeping (comatose, this sort of thing was done by the body on purpose, as a way to cover up and spare pain and feelings it knew the mind couldn't handle if woken just yet) on it since the warlord had her fixed and laid out on the mattress like a doll that needed to settle before she could be properly held again. On his side and his head not resting on the pillow that held her head (bruising was finally leaving her right eye where a lucky marauder had landed a hit before she had shot him away to a wall like a fly with a spell of ancient Hebrew and Minsk in combination that left the attacker in near as bad shape as she was in by the time Vilgax found her bleeding and propped up against a wooden crate carrying rare gems in the cargo hold) he could feel her light breathing on his chin and lower neck near his collarbone. It felt hollow compared to the occasional times he had been allowed to wrap his monstrous arms around her and keep her warm on nights when the heating blinked out on his ship.

Vilgax would have held her; it just took slight movement in seconds on his behalf. Nobody was around to begrudge him if he were to take advantage of the situation and just use her like the doll she appeared to be. He could take a small comfort in just resting a clawed hand on her shoulder.

But he would wait. Looking was enough until she could give consent (something he could tell and knew in his gullet that she would do when she blinked awake a day, an hour, a moment from where they were and then look upon him in demeaning shock before shivering in pain and curling into him of her own volition and choice) herself.

He would not budge on this.

The Grey Zone-:-Ben/Kevin-:-Alien Force-:-

Respirators were not breathing for the boy and Kevin was thanking the God he didn't believe in for that.

He had it worked out a long time ago (when he had wandered into hospitals when he was eleven and on the streets and discovered that a lot of rooms were left open if a patient had a relative coming to see them; a lot of those patients sometimes slept on through the day thanks to the morphine drips attached to them and didn't notice when nurses brought in a full tray of food and just set it out on a folding table in case they did wake up and got hungry. Easy way to score a hot meal that didn't involve a soup kitchen) that if a person, like Ben at the moment, had a lot of machines attached to them, there was one sure fire way to know whether or not they were a lost cause and the doctors were feeding loved ones false hope or if they were strong sons-a-bitches and just needed a little help limping along in the healing department.

If there was a large air tube down his throat (not a hose, just something Kevin could fit his middle finger inside and wave around for fun if he was pretending his appendages were growing) then Ben was screwed, because a breathing machine was keeping his brain just alive enough with oxygen circulating into his blood system for the doctors to get the Tennyson parents to sign a waver and let them cut the boy up for spare parts that would be distributed around the country (cancer patients, heart murmurs, amputees, people caught in fires that needed nice skin tissue, some college kids that wanted to be able to see again since being in an accident that made the world a dark shadow and touch and sound) and only leave behind just enough to burn to ash and fit in a glass jar if they were really fortunate.

The fact that Ben was breathing on his own and only hooked up with the stuff to give him really good pain meds and monitor his heart and brain activity was really awesome, despite all the piping that had been placed into his bones to keep him at odd angles to help his broken limbs fix themselves in a way that wouldn't make him seem like one of those Halloween poster puppets that had arms and legs you could pin awkwardly to frighten kids. It would be fun rubbing Tennyson the wrong way when he woke up and it was totally okay, because the kid would be fine.

"Now for the waiting part, which is gonna such, so you're just gonna hear me read the scores on the latest Nicks game. No reading 'Goodnight Moon' for you. Not after getting into that doozy of a screw-up with Albedo, anyway, Benny," Kevin smirked in mock evil as he flipped open the sports column he'd brought in; the ink leaving smudges on the lining of his thumb.