"Paul. . .," Aggie squeeled, ". . .stop."

Paul laughed and made like he was going to tickle Aggie some more.  Aggie squeeled and giggled.  It was clear tidying the house was the last thing on Paul's mind.



"Aggie, were you serious. . .upstairs when we were putting the girls to bed.  Do you want another baby?"

Aggie's eyes widened along with his smile as he took Paul's hands in his.



"Yes," he replied.  "Don't you?"

Paul's own giant smile was answer enough.  Aggie giggled and did a little wiggling dance.



"Guess what?," Aggie's eyes slinted down and he smirked as he lifted his kilt and flashed Paul.

"AGAMEMNON POLLINATOR!," Paul gasped, laughing.  "Have you been sans underwear all evening?"  Paul playfully slapped at Aggie's rear.

"What?. . .," Aggie snorted then giggled at the sound.  "Paul, I was sitting with all the kids, I would have flashed them. . .what kind of father do you think I am. . ."  He grabbed Paul and kissed him before turning toward the stairs.  He flipped his kilt up again as he raced to their third floor bedroom.

Paul lingered on the first floor.  There were a few things he needed to tend to before going to sleep but the thought of an eager and underwearless Aggie was far more appealing.  He slowly made his way up the stairs, loosening his own clothes as he went.

Stripped to his underwear, he waited at the bedroom door, laughing at the sounds of Aggie reprimanding the dogs.



". . .you know better than to be on the bed.  Look at these sheets. . ."



". . .don't give me that cute look, you bad girl.  Yes, you are a bad girl."

Paul had to cover his mouth to stiffle his laughter.  Aggie and those dogs.



". . .and YOU, Peter, your'e a bad boy, too.  This is NOT a dog bed.  Now go get in your bed right now."

Paul opened the door and Jan trotted out.



"You making them sit in the corner now," he laughed, gesturing to the pouting Peter.

"No," Aggie sighed.  "I can't even get them to stay off the bed, I'd never get them to sit in the corner.  Peter's just such a stubborn brat."

"Peter," Paul only needed to speak the dog's name and he left the room without hesitation.  Aggie jumped onto the bed and then onto Paul.



"So," he took Paul's hand and ran it up under his kilt.  "You like it when I don't wear any skivvies, huh?"

Paul smirked and kneaded Aggie's thighs before taking hold of his hips and pulling him down against the bulge in his boxer shorts.  Aggie giggled and wiggled against Paul.  

"Guess what else I like," Paul sighed as he pulled Aggie's shirt tale free from the waist of his kilt.  

"Hmm," Aggie muttered, pulling his shirt off over his head and flinging it across the room.

"Rodeo," Paul answered, sitting up and kissing Aggie's bare chest.  Aggie laughed.

"Ooh," he giggled, reaching between them to stroke Paul free of his shorts, "me too."

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While the residents of Peculiar were plotting experiments and making babies, Percy Beaker was continuing his quest to become completely and totally drunk.



The secret to his success was to never get too far from the tap.  Unfortunately that also meant not getting too far from Lazlo and the girl he'd struck up a conversation with.







It was clear even to someone in Percy's intoxicated state that the pair were hitting it off.

Percy was in no mood for love.



"It's just like one of those bad teen romance movies," he slurred, laughing loudly at his own joke.

At first they tried to just ignore him.  But it quickly became apparent his commentary wasn't going to stop.

". . .or one of those cartoon movies where the lioness gives the lion the FUCK ME eyes. . ."



"So would that make you the farting warthog?," DJ playfully fired back.  Percy snorted and pawed the ground with his foot.  DJ laughed.



"Your friend is trashed," DJ commented to Lazlo without looking away from Percy.  Lazlo sighed.

"Yeah, I should probably take him back home."  He looked over at Percy as he stood swaying on his feet.

DJ arched her eyebrows and chuckled as Percy stumbled and spilled on himself.

"That's alcohol abuse, right there," she gestured.  "I can't have that.  I'd say he's definitely cut off."  She turned her gaze on Lazlo.



His heart raced as she stepped closer and put her mouth next to his ear.

"I'd like to see you again," she whispered, her fingers snaked into his sweatshirt pocket, depositing a small slip of paper.  "Give me a call."

She stepped back and laughed.



"Oh, yeah, I will," Lazlo smiled.  With his eyes still trained on DJ, he called over his shoulder to Percy.  "You ready to go, drunkard?"

Percy brushed at the wet spot on the front of his shirt and sighed as Lazlo left DJ and took the cup from his friend's hands.  



"I didn't mean to make you mad," Percy offered.  They had reached the remorseful stage of his drunkeness.  Lazlo hoped their wouldn't be any tears, at least not until he got him home.

"I'm not mad at all, Perc."

"Are you sure," Percy moaned and looked down at the ground.

"Are you going to get sick?," Lazlo asked.

"No. . .I don't think so. . .no," Percy gestured to a figure ahead of them.  Lazlo, noticing who it was, realized why they had stopped.  "Is he gone."

Lazlo watched Gunnar pass.  "Yeah."



"What did you ever seen in him?," Lazlo asked.  "He's such a douche bag."

Percy groaned.



". . .you'd better not heave in the cab.  I don't want to hear it from the driver. . ."

--------------------------------------------

Everyone was sound asleep when Lazlo finally got Percy home.



Percy stumbled through the door and made his way to his bedroom and, hopefully, a sleeping Pascal.  He looked forward to pressing against a warm body and falling asleep.



He gasped at the sight but it wasn't loud enough to wake either of them.  He shuffled back out the door and half fell, half sat on the couch.



He should have yelled.  He should have screamed.  He should have cried and demanded an explaination from both of them.  Instead, he just sat.  Sat and focused on the pound of the blood in his ears and the only thought he could muster.

He had become obsolete.



He lowered his throbbing head down onto the couch cushion and waited for his mind to fade to black.

 

-----------------------------------------

While Percy was falling asleep, Paul Tech 9 Pollinator was just rousing from a light, post coital slumber.

Sitting there, one the edge of the bed, he thought back to that first meeting.





He had sat across from them in his low ranking fatigues, the chair groaning under his weight, deliberately flimsy and uncomfortable and waited.  Waited for one of them to speak.

Paul shook off the memory and made his way down to the first floor and outside.  The night air was crisp but he didn't plan to be out there long enough for it to really matter.



He crossed the lot and stood, staring at the garden plot he'd bought for Aggie.  Aggie had been so excited when he'd told him about it, excited to build his dream garden with the cowplant centerpiece.

The cowplant centerpiece that, unbeknownst to Aggie, Paul was responsible for.



"We can guarantee your safety."  He'd been told.  And they were true to their word.  Paul had never been caught as he diverted supplies and funds to make sure Mortimer Goth's cowplants woud come to fruition.





Standing in front of the monstrosity, it was obvious his task had been far more than merely funneling supplies and funds to Mortimer.



"I don't understand what you want me to do."  It wasn't like Paul to question authority, but they hadn't been clear.  How could he agree to a job if he didn't know what it was?



They had argued in front of him, another thing he'd never witnessed.

"You trust someone who will question. . ."  The dissenter had been quickly calmed.



"Commander Pollinator, you merely need to give your dear husband a place to keep his new plant."  Paul remembered the General's forced smile and his eyes, deep and black, not unlike Paul's  He'd assured Paul all expenses woud be covered.  And in those deep, black eyes, Paul could read what wasn't being said.  Refusing was not an option.

The plant strained toward Paul, a sound like a rope being pulled taught, and snorted in deep breaths of Paul's scent.  And Aggie's, Paul thought, and shuddered.  

Staying close to the wall, Paul made his way to the far corner and set about his latest task.  He'd helped give birth to the monster and given it refuge.  He retrieved the box that had been delivered earlier that day.



Now it was time to feed it.

He opened the box and recoiled at the stench.  The creature lowed deep in its viney throat as if it knew the contents were soon to become its midnight snack.  Paul reached inside and took hold of the meat.  It was greasy and hard to hold.





Paul struggled to remain standing as it snapped at the meat, at HIM.



When he had proven himself a good soldier, completing first the task to help create the cowplant and then house it, they became more willing to share information with him.

". . .you needn't worry, Commander.  We understand you are a family man.  We would never tag you with such a dangerous task.  We have. . .outsourced that.  We merely need you for disposal."



. . .a family man. . .

Paul extended the gristly flesh toward the salivating cowplant.  With a toss of his arm, it was gone.



She was gone.

Paul's stomach churned and he belched up bile.  He put his hand to his mouth.


  
Instead of it helping prevent him from gagging, it caused him to wretch and nearly double over in a fit of vomiting.  He gulped air and blinked as his eyes watered.  

He looked down and realized he had to get rid of the box.  He couldn't put it in the garbage can and risk one of the dogs smelling it and upending the bin.  Not wanting the truth of what he'd done to ever be discovered, he fed the box to the plant.  It ate it greedily then emitted a noxious belch.  Paul wretched again.



His hands, tacky and coated in a greasy jelly, needed cleaned.  He gathered handfulls of sand and vigorously scrubbed.  With the majority of the large particles removed, he wrapped his hand in the tail of his undershirt and opened first the gate to the enclosure and then the door to the house before making his way upstairs. 



He washed his hands vigorously, taking great care to scrub under his nails.  On the fourth or fifth washing, he caught his reflection in the mirror.

. . .a family man. . .

 He changed his shirt and went into the next room where his girls were still sleeping.

  

Leaning over the edge of Jill's crib, he stroked his daughter's head.  From her crib, Jenny fussed in her sleep and then quieted.  Seeing his daughters safely sleeping in their beds, Paul knew his higher ups had been wrong.  Just like he had so easily agreed to everything else, he knew he would have agreed had they asked him to kill Mother XYZ.  

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