Title: One Cheese To Bind Them All 1/1
Type: FPS
Author: Hare (harefic@yahoo.com)
Rating: R
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel (LOTR), Bodie/Doyle (The Professionals), Spock/McCoy (Star Trek – TOS), Macleod/Methos (Highlander), Beckett/McKay (Stargate Atlantis), a few guest appearances.
Warning: Crossover, silliness, bad puns, and character death.
Disclaimer: These characters don’t belong to me in any way imaginable nor am I profiting from this story. They are the original creations of folk I don’t know, but I’m forever grateful they invented them.
Beta: Eldheni: Lover of nekkid elves, fellow survivor of the Trekkie to Trekker changeover, ogler of long-haired immortals, snarky to the core, and all around talented gal. All errors are mine.
Timeline: The timeline is exactly the problem for these characters. Where’s Dr. Who when you need him?
Notes: Humor attempted. Not sure there is anything more difficult! P.S. If you see mention of your story please know that it’s mentioned because I found it clever and interesting enough to actually remember it above the hundreds of other slash stories I’ve read. Thanks for the memories!


“Have you read this Glorfindel,” Erestor ground out the words through clenched teeth.

“I have not, love,” he examined the stack of paper closely. “What is it?”

“She is at it again. We are going to be hurt or humiliated! This cannot be allowed to continue!”

Erestor stomped around the room black robes flying, caught up in his wind of madness. His raven hair crackled with static as he pulled at his tresses.

Glorfindel rose, took a deep breath and followed his agitated lover around their rooms but no amount of soothing seemed to work tonight, and he had special plans for this evening. Firmer measures were called for so he took Erestor by the elbow and commanded him back to the table.

“I took great risk in spiriting this out of the kitchen. The skill, cunning and daring required were enormous. You know as well as I that cook swings her spoon with vicious intent. But for you, love, I am willing to incur her wrath when she finds this missing”, he jabbed his finger towards the large, orange, hole-filled wedge occupying the middle of the table. “But I swear upon every Throne of the Valar that my effort will not be wasted, so sit down and enjoy!” Glorfindel wiped the sweat from his brow. Balrogs, he decided, were easier, a simple fight to the death and one could move onto the Halls of Waiting or the halls of one’s home. Either one or the other. Simple.

With a great sigh and dramatic flourish, Erestor fell into his chair, snapped his napkin open and placed it on his lap. “If you insist but certainly I have little appetite for cheese knowing the evil, vile plots She is concocting! Really Glorfindel, I understand not how you can take this so lightly.”

Glorfindel poured the wine before sitting opposite Erestor trying to decide how he would salvage the romantic night he had planned for his love. Their first night in months without duties, together and alone, and it was all being ruined by the appearance of another one of “those” tales.

Too late did he remember how that he had commissioned Lindir for this evening. He had slavishly written a poem and Lindir had graciously agreed to put it to music. As the song, wafted up from the ground below their window he froze watching Erestor’s face contort into a red, scrunched up fury.

*singing from below*
Ebony hair with the texture of fine silk
Skin alabaster, so soft, tastes like smooth milk
Porcelain features and wit slung with slings
These are the pleasures my Erestor brings.

“What is that caterwauling?! She is doing it again,” Erestor shook his fist at the ceiling and shouted, “You are no Bard I tell you! Are you listening to me you great fool?!”

Glorfindel, red faced with embarrassment decided that this night She would take the blame for his attempt at romance and stumbled to find a diversion.

“Ah but love, listen to that sweet tune. The melody is light and gay and a perfect balm to your mood.” He moved behind Erestor and started a vigorous massage to the beat of the song.

Erestor reluctantly relented and was caught in the sway and distraction and eventually hummed along. “This tune is unfamiliar. Do you recognize it Glorfindel?”

“Hmmm, no love. It is strange to my ears also.”

*Pop*

“It’s a show tune, that is. Innit Bodie?”

“Yeah sunshine. Something about whiskers and kittens. Can’t think of the proper name now can I? I mean it isn’t every day that we get transported somewhere. Where the hell are we? And WHAT are those two?”

Erestor stared stunned and wide-eyed at the two intruders who were obviously human and very male. Unruly curls framed the wide-face of the rail-thin male who sat sprawled on the chaise looking as if he had just returned to his own home. The other male - larger, dressed in all black, and seemingly more menacing was currently contending with the large sword Glorfindel had shoved against his throat.

“How did you gain entrance? Speak swiftly ere I lose my grip and accidentally render you permanently unable to breathe,” Glorfindel grumbled with menace as he pressed his advantage.

Putting his hands up in the air, the curly headed male rose.

“Now hold on there mate. We aren’t here to start trouble. Matter of fact, it seems like we are just as confused as you are. So just put down that big sword and let’s talk this out like gentlemen. I’ll start. Hallo, I’m Ray Doyle and butch there with the sword pressing on his throat is Bodie. Nice ta meet ya.” With that he extended a hand to Glorfindel who continued to stare at the stranger as if he had sprouted horns.

Erestor, quick to recover and ever the ambassador and diplomat decided to accept the carrot unlike Glorfindel who always went first for the stick…a big stick. He was also acutely aware that this sprite of a man was just as dangerous as his partner, so he stepped in to intercept the hand while swatting Glorfindel with his other hand to put down the sword.

“Welcome to Imladris travelers. I am Erestor Chief Counselor to Lord Elrond and this brut,” he swung his head towards Glorfindel, “is Glorfindel, Captain of those who guard our borders.”

“Speaking of which, I will personally whip those who let you two slip past them. We cannot afford lax security in these perilous times.” Glorfindel started pacing, worry chasing him back and forth across the room.

“Cool your jets blondie! No one let us slip by. We were transported here. Christ this is like a bad episode of Star Trek,” Bodie started pacing where Glorfindel left off, “I could use a pint right about now. I’m parched from all this time travel and that bloody great sword cutting off my oxy…..Oooo is that cheese?”


“Watch out! He’s got a hollow leg he has. Will eat you out of house and home if you don’t keep an eye on him.”

“Shut it angelfish! Now Erestor about that cheese.”

Grateful for the easy diffusion of the situation but still confused Erestor led Bodie to the table. It was obvious that Bodie had already determined that their current predicament could not be muscled away and instead opted for tucking into a large hunk of cheese.

Doyle rolled his eyes skyward, and started prowling around the rooms as he realized it was up to him to look for clues. He lifted books, and trinkets, examined the contents of the closet, but he stopped in his tracks when he spied the large, ornately decorated bed. Letting out a very low and appreciative wolf whistle he turned back to Bodie.

“Bloody hell Bodie. Getta load of this thing. Wanna christen it?”

“Naw mate not when there’s cheese to be eaten. Ta very much.”

“You’re slipping old son. Getting too old to get it up.”

Bodie just harrumphed and continued eating his cheese. He’d show Doyle how old he was, just later, when the cheese was gone.

Doyle continued to roam the rooms snooping around, investigating while a silent Erestor and Glorfindel watched both intruders warily. Erestor jumped to attention when Doyle picked up the stack of papers which had earlier caused such uproar.

Thumbing through them Doyle’s eyes lit up reflecting his mirth. “Well, well, well what do we have here?” Green eyes glittering with mischief he turned to his unwilling hosts. “You two get up to this often?”

Fuming, Erestor ripped the tome from Doyle’s hand and turned from the laughing face. “This is none of your concern stranger.”

“Ah but mate, it is! It’s one of “those” stories innit? That one looks tame though. Bodie ‘n I’ve been through it all.”

“Tame? Are you mad as well as lascivious? She is determined to portray me as a 60’s Flower Child! I do not know what that is, but I do know that I am an elf and deserve more respect.”

“An elf,” cried Doyle. “It’s Tolkien, Bodie. Don’t recognize the names of these two but I KNEW Elrond sounded familiar. We’re in a bloody book! Thought we’d been through it all mate but this is weird.”


Incensed Erestor lined up toe to toe with Doyle. “You have no idea what I…we, have been through with Her and Her kind. Do you see my black robes? I wear them all the time. Can you see the cat hair? I love cats apparently. I am eternally covered in animal hair!”

“Too right that! Bodie and I are always stuck with a moggy,” looking around conspiratorially Doyle continued. “Truth be told, we prefer dogs but being in CI5 it just wouldn’t work, would it?”

Exasperated Erestor continued, “I am consistently feminized.”

“Ditto,” answered Doyle.

“Brutalized.”

“Ditto.”

“Raped.”

“Ditto,” came the resounding cry from all present.

“Portrayed as a large cat.”

“Ditto. Except I was specifically a panther, and I fucked Bodie through that entire story. Even got ‘em preggers.”

“Sod off Ray!”

“I am a lion,” Glorfindel asserted though somewhat cowardly.

“Be still Glorfindel,” Erestor howled at his mate. “This is NOT about you. I can count on one hand the number of “those” stories where you are anything but gorgeous and exasperatingly honorable, albeit priapismic.”

Glorfindel successfully put in his place Erestor turned back to Doyle and resumed the litany of offences against his good character.

“Fine. I will list that next. Forced to bear children.”

“Ditto”, everyone, including Glorfindel answered.

“And raise them,” Erestor fumed.

“Ditto,” they all cried in unison.

“Catamite.”

“Ditto,” Doyle answered alone.

“Deaf.”

“You got me on that one mate.”

“Blind.”

“Ditto,” crowed Bodie.

“Maimed and disfigured.”

“Ditto,” he was answered again by a full chorus.

“Unable to speak.”

The sound of silence followed that statement and Erestor smirked.

“Unable to effectively communicate except with flowers!” Silence. Again. Erestor’s smirk continued as victory seemed his with this last entry.

Doyle, however, looked at Erestor blandly. “Is that all?”

Frowning and puzzled Erestor nodded his agreement but then held up his hand.

“There was one story where it appeared I obtained nutrition from drinking blood from living beings.” He paled at the mere remembrance.

Doyle leaned close to Erestor and whispered, “Ditto.”

Leaning away from the distraught elf Doyle shook his head. “Still you reckon you’ve been through the wringer eh? Well just sit tight and let me add a bit to your list. Mind you, I’m just giving you a short version otherwise we’d be here all night.”

Ticking off the list with his fingers Doyle began.

“I’ve been sold to a desert tribe as a sex slave, been killed off more times than I want to think about, forced into service on several ships at sea, and I do mean service. Oh you’ll both appreciate this! I’ve been an elf in more stories than I can count. Even Bodie here was an elf once but seems I have the looks for it, or so They say. Anyway, been caught in flagrante delicto…”


“You’re good on your knees sunshine so it only stands to reason.”

Doyle sniffed loftily at the compliment and glared at Bodie. “Stop flapping your lips sweetheart. Now before I was so rudely interrupted…. Lifted my shirt for a ghost, been through more kink than Catherine the Great, was imprisoned, a librarian, a paranormal investigator, AND been in several space stories.”

“Space,” queried Glorfindel.

“Yeah, space. As in The Final Frontier. To Boldly Go Where No Man Has Gone Before.”

*Pop*

“My God! It’s unnatural having your atoms scrambled over the universe. Where in hell are we and what happened to my cheese?

“You assume Doctor that we have been transported. That is an illogical assumption based on the evidence.”

“Illogical? You’d try to find logic in a blow jo..” The rest of his words were muffled by a large Vulcan hand over his mouth.

“We are not alone Doctor.”

The newcomers slowly turned to face their audience and were greeted by the sight of four humanoid-type creatures with mouths agape and eyes wide-open surrounding a prominently displayed large hole-filled cheese wedge.

Dr. McCoy was the first to break the silence. “I recognize the cheese but the faces are…My God Spock!” Pointing at Erestor, Glorfindel and Doyle he turned to Spock. “Looks like we’ve dropped in on some of your ancestors.”

Outraged, Doyle jumped to his feet. “I’m not an elf dammit!”

Bodie sat stunned. “No, this isn’t right. You’re the wrong two blokes. Where’s Kirk?”

A cool emotionless gaze bored him to the spot. “Logic dictates that Captain Kirk is still aboard the Starship Enterprise.”

McCoy laughed and winked at Bodie. “Don’t worry son. You’re not the only one to get it wrong.” He turned to the Vulcan. “I’m basing this on pure speculation, an educated guess, but I don’t think we’re in the 23rd century any longer. Plus, these two seem to know who we are.”

“You’re in a book mate. Tolkien,” Doyle graciously volunteered. “Or in one of “those” stories. Haven’t figured it out yet. ‘Course now that Mr. Spock’s here I expect it’ll be a bit of alright. He’ll turn on that Vulcan mind, figure out a solution, and Bob’s your uncle!”

“Don’t count on it. He’s getting more and more human every day.”

“I see no reason to stand here and be insulted.”

“Oh really, Spock. And where do you think you’ll go? Down the hall to your quarters? Your science station?”

“Your point is taken, Doctor. Please control your emotions as I attempt to assess the situation at hand.”

“At hand? Oooo…how we got here. Alright I’m all ears.”

“I have narrowed the possibilities based on my calculations of probability. A time portal to another time or dimension. A wormhole. A replicator malfunction. None of this is real. One of “those” stories.”

McCoy stiffened. “A time portal? Are you out of your Vulcan mind? I can’t go through that again.”

Spock approached the doctor and raised two fingers and McCoy responded by touching his fingers to Spock’s. “Be at peace Leonard.”

*Pop*

“….and so the second mouse says, ‘What I do is get on the trap, grab the piece of cheese, and then flip over onto my back, and when the steel bar comes swinging down I grab it and do bench presses with it.’ The third mouse says, ‘You guys are a couple of tough mice, and I’d love to keep hangin’ out with you here, but I gotta go fuck the cat!’** Get it Macleod? Not too shocking for a boy scout is it? Oh shit, immortals!”

Both newcomers, experiencing the awareness that came in another immortal’s presence, whipped out swords to fend off the enemies. But the enemies already had their hands up in defeat. All except Glorfindel, of course, who had managed to bring his big sword to the ready, and Spock who had calmly palmed his phaser and set it for stun. Oh and Bodie - who was still eating cheese. It was a big wedge.

Duncan Macleod was the first to start laughing and Methos joined him shortly. “We’ve popped into TV land, old man.”

Erestor, finding the entire situation less than amusing, stepped forward. “You said immortals. How did you come by this knowledge as you are obviously not from Middle Earth?”

The laughing stopped immediately and in harmony Macleod and Methos silently mouthed, “Middle Earth.”

Bodie speaking around a mouth full of cheese helped them out, “That’s right, as in Tolkien. J.R.R.”

“Elves, immortals,” he faced Duncan, “Well there you go Macleod. The other four I recognized, now we can identify all six.”

“What do you mean you recognized us,” Doyle asked suspiciously. “I don’t remember meetin’ you, mate. Did we haul you in?”

Duncan was laughing again, a bit near the edge of hysteria. “What he means Ray Doyle is that we’ve seen you and W.A.P. Bodie, and Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock on TV.”

Doyle snorted, “Pull the other one, mate. Those two are TV characters but not me and Bodie”

“You really don’t know do you? You’re TV characters. You and Bodie are CI5 operatives in a show called The Professionals which ran from the late 70’s to the early 80’s. George Cowley is your boss and in private you frequently refer to him as The Cow, you drive Capris, you’re the moody excitable one and wear jeans so tight they put your balls in a vice! And yes, that’s Dr. McCoy, he’s a cranky southern doctor who hates the transporter and only finds amusement arguing with Mr. Spock. They traveled around on the starship Enterprise in the 60’s.”

“Fascinating,” declared Spock lifting his patented eyebrow.

Glorfindel gasped, “Did you see the eyebrow, Erestor? The way he raised it he looked just like Lord Elrond.”

“It’s like I always told you Spock, you’re an elf. A green-blooded, pointy-eared elf.”

“That is a redundant statement Doctor, as all elves have points on their ears.”

Erestor stepped over to examine Mr. Spock more closely. “Do you have a name other than Spock?”

“You would be unable to pronounce it.”

“Oh come on Spock, play along,” prodded McCoy.

“I do not play, Doctor.”

McCoy purred, “But I know better Spock, you do play doctor. Now tell the nice elf your name before I feel the need to discuss your fascinating double ridged pen…,” and his mouth was covered, for the second time that evening, by a large Vulcan hand.

An amazed group watched as the tips of Spock’s ears tinged an even darker green.

“I will comply with this request t’hy’la but you must promise to reveal nothing further.”

McCoy peered up at Spock giving him his best innocent puppy-eyed look and nodded his head affirmatively.

Assuaged, he turned to Erestor. “My paternal name is Xtmprszntwlfd.”

Erestor thought for a moment before answering. “You are most correct I cannot pronounce your name. Do you have another name perhaps?”

“I do not.”

“Has all this attention scrambled that perfectly logical Vulcan mind? What about your mother? Your human mother,” prompted McCoy.

“Her name is not my name, as you well know.”

“True but you are half-human and your mother is from Earth, and well here we are in Middle Earth. This might be your chance to prove me wrong! All these years I thought your elf-side came from Sarek but maybe, just maybe it’s the other way around.”

Spock, knowing full well his th’yl’a would not let go of the matter, complied. “My mother’s name is Amanda Grayson.”

Silence, deafening, lengthening.

“Did you say Grey Son?”

“I did.”


“This cannot be a coincidence Glorfindel. His eyes, the eyebrow, and he is a Grey Son. The resemblance is uncanny. Sweet Valar we are gazing upon an offspring of Lord Elrond, a peredhel.”

“True my love, but this peredhel is part elf, human, and Vulcan.”

“This long lost family reunion is touching but let’s get back to the problems at hand, shall we? Why are we all here and what are we going to do about it? Oh and let’s not forget the tough situation Macleod and I are in,” said Methos.

“What tough situation?”

“Think about it. They are ALL immortal. The game is over Macleod. There is no way we can kill all the TV, book, and movie characters. I can’t believe this! Five thousand years of There Can Only Be One and it’s all a farce!” Methos took up the pacing.


*pop*

“…they’re all vegans Carson. Vulcans would not eat cheese!”

Suddenly Rodney McKay caught sight of his idol and dropped to his knees, an adoring worshipful look in his eyes as he gasped out, “Mr. Spock.” And then promptly fainted.

Dr. Carson Beckett knelt beside Rodney, checked his pulse, pushed him on his back, and lifted his feet. Dr. McCoy, being trained in quick response stuffed a pillow underneath his feet. Carson gave him a quick smile. “Thank ye, Doctor. Rodney here has a wee problem with low blood sugar. All we need is a little food to bring it up. Do ya have any?”

Glorfindel pulled the cheese wedge away from a resistant Bodie, and managed to tear off a hunk for Rodney…who just struggled to get into a sitting position, with help.

Handing the cheese to Carson, Glorfindel asked, “Is he pregnant?”

“No you idiot I’m just bloated for my age. Geez,” snarked Rodney.

“You fainted again.”

“I’ve told you before. I don’t faint. I pass out from manly hunger.”


“And I’ve told ye before that faint is a proper medical term now eat this,” said Carson as he stuffed the cheese into Rodney’s mouth.

Spitting and hacking, Rodney pulled the chunk from his mouth and immediately started whining, “But it’s orange, Are you sure there’s no citrus in here?”

“Are ye serious man? It’s cheese! There’s no citrus in cheese. Now eat your cheese before ye fai..pass out again!”

*pop*

“Let’s go somewhere where there’s cheese, Gromit! A nice Winsleydale. Look Gromit! A crackin’ good cheese right here.” The newcomer’s sausage-sized fingers wriggled in delight.

Bodie stood and placed himself between the cheese and the newcomers.

Doyle applauded. “The cheese stands alone, finally! ‘S ‘bout time Bodie.”

Bodie smirked. “Hi-ho the derry-o Ray!” Amused but not deterred from his original intent he addressed the newcomer.

“Whoa right there mate. Is that a dog with you?”

“Yes,” Wallace drawled eying Bodie suspiciously.

“Well you and the dog have to go. This is not “that” kind of story.”

Their conversation was cut short when a deafening shout split the relative silence of the room as Glorfindel swooped down with his big sword and sliced off their heads.

No one moved except Dr. McCoy. He sauntered over and checked Wallace for any signs off life before he turned to the crowded room. “He’s dead, Glorfindel.”

“And his little dog, too,” Rodney questioned with a shake in his voice.

“Yes”

“He killed Wallace and Gromit,” shrieked Rodney and promptly put his head on Carson’s shoulder and cried.

“There, there now luv. It’ll be all right. Just a bit of clay and they’ll be right as rain. Isn’t that right, Dr. McCoy?”

“Don’t look at me. I’m a doctor not a pottery maker.”

Looking over Rodney’s head while gently patting Rodney’s distended belly, Carson addressed the captive audience. “He’s been a bit weepy since this new story started.”

Rodney’s muffled voice cut through his explanation, “Hello! I’m still here!”

All faces in the room showed their sympathy, except Glorfindel who was prowling near the dead bodies. They’d all experienced the dreaded mpreg story. Erestor looked particularly pale.

“They were the spawn of Sauron,” ranted Glorfindel. “Only he makes beings from mud and clay and they must all be destroyed!” Luckily his ravings were cut short by a faint knocking at the door. Rushing toward the door he readied his fierce sword once more. Rodney cried.

Bodie, now up, cheese-filled and ready for action, was on the move with gun cocked and loaded while Doyle joined him as backup. Whipping open the door they were presented with a young dark-haired, bespectacled, human male. A blond male stood arrogantly behind him with a wand of some sort at the ready.

Still poised for action though feeling less blustery by the sight, Bodie decided to question first. “Who do we have here? What’s your name old son?”

“Harry sir, Harry Potter.”

“And you boy?”

“I am no boy, you Muggle cow! I am a Malfoy….arrggghhh.”

Malfoy was crushed against the far wall and his wand flung down the hallway by a raging Bodie while Harry valiantly tried to fight off a restraining Doyle.

Bodie hissed in Malfoy’s face, “No one talks that way about the Cow but me and Doyle!”

“Please sirs! We’ve just come to join the gathering,” pleaded Harry.

Doyle laughed and all the struggling stopped. “Now hold on a tic. How old are you lads? 15? 16?”

“We are 17 this year.”

Erestor burst from the room. “No, no this will not do at all. You are too young.” He grabbed the youngsters and forced them down the hall screaming at them to, “Flee! Run as fast as you can and hope that years from now when you ARE old
enough She has forgotten about you! And rid yourselves of the black robes now or they will forever haunt your existence. Go swiftly!”

And they did, straight down the hallway and out of sight.

The door was closed and securely latched. Rodney’s tears had ceased and he was finally turning to the problem at hand.

“Why are we here surrounded by a bunch of TV characters and who are these two elves?”

Erestor, the unwilling host, introduced all those present. “I am Erestor and this is Glorfindel. We are under the employ of Lord Elrond here in Imladris. How you came to be here is as mysterious to me as how these others arrived. Although you all seem to know each other as TeeVee characters I only know them by name. This is Ray Doyle, Duncan Macleod, Dr. McCoy..”

“Bodie, Methos, and Spock! If we only had Cher, Madonna, and Fabio here! Wow! What an orgy of one-named wonders we’d have,” cut in Rodney in his typical fashion.

“No, you’ve got it wrong. We aren’t all TV characters,” corrected Methos.

Carson stepped in. “But ye heard him name ye Methos. Ye are from the TV show “Highlander”. Early 1990’s. Ye had the best theme music and the show revolved around the immortal Duncan..”

“Macleod of the Clan Macleod. Aye, that I am.”

“And I am Carson Beckett of the Clan Stewart. My mum is a Cook.”

“A Stewart ye say! My aunt was a Stewart and a canny lass she was. Ah, I remember her little ditties; she had a million of ‘em.”

***Pussie at the fireside
Suppin' up brose,
Doon cam a cinder
An' brunt Pussie's nose.
"Eich!" cried Pussie,
"That's nae fair!"
"It's a haet", said the cinder,
"Ye sudna been there".

Carson and Duncan finished it together with a flourish!

“All these reunions are so touching,” yawned Methos before he faced Rodney.

“He only has the accent when he goes back to the Highland or he meets up with a fellow Scot.”

“Mine has it all the time.”

“How nice, but does he wear a kilt,” Methos asked with a leer.

“Of course!”

“I do love my skirted devil and of course we know the secret of what they wear or don’t wear under the kilt,” he added with a wink. They smirked and exchanged the secret handshake.

Conversation came to a grinding halt. Nervous eyes skittered across the gathered faces. Anxiety grew but not about Glorfindel’s next wielding of his sword. The weapon had been efficiently confiscated by Erestor and put away. The dead clay figures had conveniently disappeared. They all contemplated Her next move.

McCoy cleared his throat. “I expect if She was going to have us put that large bed to use She would have us there already.”

Several faces turned red as McCoy voiced the unspoken concern. The bed was large, very large, but fitting ten males, several of whom were considerable in size, one of whom was pregnant, in various positions, would be complicated.

“Agreed Doctor. The permutations are sufficiently numerous as to be onerous. I calculate exactly--”

Doyle butted in. “Naw mate! She doesn’t have the stamina to write a scene like that. It’d be like a game of Twister on testosterone. Bacchus was a bit of alright but I don’t think there’s enough wine here for a full scale orgy.”

Duncan took up the conversation. “So, if She is not going “there” then where are we going?”

Rodney snapped his fingers. “This is why I’m here! God it’s so easy. She brought me here to figure it out. Of course she would. Me and,” his facial expressions changed from arrogance to adoration, “Mr. Spock.”

“Well I certainly have no idea how to remove you all from my rooms although I have considered allowing Glorfindel to chase you away with his sword. However, I decided Middle Earth would be much safer without all of you loose.”

Rodney snorted. “I’ve read Tolkien Erestor, and I wasn’t impressed with your idea or Glorfindel’s suggestion for getting rid of the Ring. Give it to Tom Bombadil for safe keeping? Drop it in the ocean? Puuuleeze!”

“Considering you are all immortal, the game demands I take your heads, though I consider that a risky proposition at the moment,” Duncan eyed Glorfindel as he spoke.

“And don’t look at me. I’m a doctor not a miracle worker!”

“That I am here to assist in our return is inevitable though I am uncertain of your qualifications,” Spock directed to Rodney.

“Astrophysicist. Smartest man in the Milky Way and Pegasus galaxies and any other galaxy where intelligent life exists.”

Spock raised his eyebrow in disbelief but let the statement stand without challenge. He addressed Rodney. “Let us examine each possibility on its merit.”

“Fine.”

“None of this is real.”

“If you prick us, do we not bleed****,” quoted Bodie.

“Only the first time, sweetheart,” piped in Doyle.

Ignoring the literary reference and innuendo, Rodney answered. “What evidence do we have to the contrary Mr. Spock? Existence is assumed. Unless you have some argument for nihilism I strongly suggest we move to the next possibility.”

“Agreed. This is one of “those” stories.”

“Well of course it us. Duh! But it’s obvious She isn’t just going to *pop* us back home like She *popped* us in here!”

Spock continued, ignoring the outburst. “We have all been transported, unwillingly, through a time and/or dimension portal.”

“Ah yes, “City on the Edge of Forever”. My favorite episode but just another example of voodoo Star Trek science. It defies Einsteinian theory of relativity and you know it Spock. Theoretically the laws of nature do not prevent us from going forward in time but not backwards and we most certainly have not traveled forward. Oh My God! If this is true we’ll never get out of here!”

“Rodney, calm down luv. Your blood pressure is up and it’s not good for the wee baby.”

“Don’t you see? She’s messed with the laws of nature and screwed it up. We could be trapped here forever!”

“That is an illogical assumption.”

“What did you say,” Rodney’s voice had raised an octave in response to the insult.

“It is quite clear that you are highly emotional and in a state of hysteria. Let us move to the next supposition which is that we were transported here by one or several wormholes. There is a 0.32678% possibility that several minute wormholes, at the quantum level, opened and allowed our travel here. If this is the case the question awaiting an answer is whether these wormholes are still open.”

“Cheese! It’s the cheese,” Bodie jumped up. “Don’t you see it? We were all either eating cheese or talking about cheese.”

“By Jove he may be onto something,” said Methos.

*pop*

A large magnifying glass preceded the two males into Erestor and Glorfindel’s rooms. The first man with a prominently displayed hawkish nose, capped with a Deerstalker, and cloaked in a large cape was followed by a shorter male sporting a large mustache.

“Ah yes Watson. There is nothing like first-hand evidence.” Not bothering to address the room’s occupants Holmes began his meticulous examination of the room fingers flying this way and that. Touching, and feeling, and sniffing as he went. Intently checking each occupant with a faraway look in his eyes. He stopped at the cheese.

“It is as I suspected, Watson. My mind is entirely made up about this case.”

“Let us hear your hypothesis then, old chap.”

“It is all quite elementary once you realize it has all been done before. Nothing new under the sun. And there will be no arguing about it once I tell you it is so.” He paused for dramatic effect.

“This is the product of an overactive imagination.”

Walking back to the large hole-filled cheese Sherlock summoned Watson. “Our work here is completed. Come along, my dear Watson.” As his lips engaged in a lingering gentle kiss with Watson, Holmes stuck his finger in a cheese-hole and they disappeared.

“By Jove, wormholes it is! Come on Carson let’s go home.” Rodney dragged his mate toward the cheese, stuck a pregnancy-swollen finger in a cheese-hole and they were gone.

Macleod grasped Methos in a strong hug. “It’s over Methos. We are free to stay together forever since we now know there CAN be more than one!” While keeping a strong grip on Methos, Macleod slipped his pinky in a cheese-hole and they faded from sight.

Spock and McCoy calmly stood by the cheese. Spock raised his hand palm forward, fingers straight but separated and spoke his good-bye. “Live long, and prosper.” He then held out two fingers for McCoy.

McCoy stretched out to touch his two fingers to Spock’s and spoke his salutation. “Bye y’all.” A long Vulcan finger slipped into a cheese-hole and they were transported away.

“Well, I guess that’s it then. And here I thought I was goin’ to be able to put on my red pumps and click my heels. There’s no place like home, eh sunshine,” Bodie noted drolly.

“Bodie mate. I always knew you liked that black lace panty story just a bit too much.”

Bodie laughed, hoisted Doyle over his shoulder and marched back to the cheese. Doyle lifted his head for one final comment. “Remember mates. Just ride out the stories and when They type ‘The End’ pick yourselves up, brush yourselves off, and get back to your life together. AND, if you’re smart, you’ll save those stories you like and experience them over and over and over and over…”

And Erestor and Glorfindel were alone once more.

Erestor shook his head vigorously as if to clear away the lingering effects of a strong wine. “What exactly happened here, Glorfindel?”

“I know not love, but I do know that we are once again alone.”

“Alone, yes. Finally. Thank the Valar. That was an experience I hope to never repeat.” Erestor spun about to face Glorfindel. Lust shown from his dark eyes.

“Although there is one experience I do care to repeat.”

“Let us make haste then, love. Ah, but wait! She is still here.” Glorfindel’s eyes strayed upward.

“Will She never let us be? I desire you this evening Glorfindel. If only She would write--”

THE END.