Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Looking out this window, you can see a beautiful view of Toontown, USA. A quiet little town, much like yours or mine. A city where ordinary people (and animals, robots, aliens, poorly drawn unidentifiable scribbles, etcetera) live in peace and harmony.

OR IS IT?

Most of the citizens think so. Happy and carefree, they go about their daily business—unaware of the earth-shaking conflicts occurring right under their noses!

Yes, this is a town full of danger. Supervillains are crafting insidious plots at every turn. Monstrous (but secretly lonely and misunderstood) creatures seek to rampage, wreaking havoc. Seemingly respectable, straightlaced businessmen run red lights.

And who protects the innocent from these dastardly deeds?

Why, none other than that winged warrior, that noble seeker of justice, that ever-vigilant super-est of superheroes—BIRDMAN!

Hark! The Bird-Phone!

"It's . . . really just a regular phone," protested Harvey.

"It may look like just a regular phone," declared Judy, who had built up a head of dramatic steam and had no intention of stopping now, "but that ordinary-sounding buzzing is a call to JUSTICE!"

"Right. Well, could you keep the narration down while I take this?"

"Of course! Right away!"

While his assistant turned back to the window and continued muttering dramatic introductory phrases under her breath, Harvey put the phone on speaker. "Yes?"

"Mr. Birdman? A Jon Stewart here to see you."

Judy broke off her monologue with a strangled squeak. Harvey decided to ignore it.

"Send him in."

—

The office was relatively normal, at least as far as Jon could tell. Sure, there were a lot of primary colors, but the law books and the paperweights and the degree in its frame on the wall were official enough. You had to be willing to let go of some assumptions in this town.

Case in point: the giant purple eagle, gold collar around its neck, perched at a typewriter on the desk.

"Mr. Birdman?" asked Jon cautiously.

"Caw," replied the bird, shaking its head.

"Mr. Stewart! Hello! I was just sending my assistant out to get some coffee," exclaimed a refreshingly non-squawky voice. "Harvey Birdman. Glad to meet you. Please, sit down."

Except for the huge off-white wings, the figure was human. The bright yellow cowl was a bit of a distraction, but the suit was reassuringly dark. Subdued. Professional. Non-cartoonish.

Jon sat.

"This is my stenographer, Avenger," said Birdman, indicating the eagle, as he took his own seat behind the desk.

"Of course," said Jon. It wasn't any weirder than the anthropomorphic purple hippo who had joined him in the elevator. "Nice to meet you, Avenger."

"Caw," said Avenger politely.

"Now, Mr. Stewart, what can I do for you?"

"Call me Jon."

"Will that be all?"

He chuckled at his own joke. Jon tried not to wince. "No. Listen, one of my employees is suing me for sexual harassment, and I was hoping—"

"You're being sued?"

"That's right. By Stephen Colbert. You might have heard of—"

"Jon, you realize I'm a prosecutor, right? What you want is a defense attorney."

"I know, I know. It's just that he's hired one of your arch-nemeses to represent him, so I thought you might—"

"Who?"

I sure hope I'm pronouncing this right. "Uh, Reducto."

"REDUCTO!" shouted a voice behind him. "That fiend! He won't get away with this!"

Jon turned. Standing in the doorway was a young woman with a pinstriped suit, a red bob, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a glare that looked like it could cut steel. For all Jon knew, it actually would.

"My assistant, Judy Ken Sebben," said Birdman. "Um, Judy, we don't—"

"—allow innocent people to be victimized by supervillains!" finished Judy, striding forward like a one-woman army. "It's against the Bird-Code!"

The mask made the lawyer's expression hard to read, but Jon had the distinct impression that this was the first he'd heard of "the Bird-Code."

All at once the dramatic overacting switched off, and Judy set the styrofoam cup carefully on the desk. "Your coffee, sir." She turned to Jon. "You are innocent, right?"

"Yes," said Jon firmly.

"Great!" Judy struck a pose right off of a comic book cover, voice ringing with enough confidence that she could've made a mountain reconsider its position. "We'll take the case!"

Then she smiled eagerly down at Jon. "Mr. Stewart, I just want to say, this is a huge honor. I love your show."

—

"A-and then h-he—he—"

Stephen dissolved into tears for the third time in fifteen minutes, sobbing on his lawyer's shoulder. Or rather—since Myron Reducto had very thin shoulders, and a very large head—on his lawyer's bald green pate.

"There, there," said Reducto cautiously. Nothing in his career either as a supervillain or as a lawyer had ever involved comforting a (fully grown) adult male who was wailing like a (tiny) baby. "It's all right. No need to make a big scene out of this. Just tell me the facts, one little step at a time. One eensy beensy little bitty teeny weeny baby step at a time."

"A-all right," sniffled Stephen, letting go of Reducto and blowing his nose on a court brief.

Muttering darkly about germs, Reducto held out a gleaming trash receptacle containing a (miniature) incinerator. He tried not to scream when Stephen crumpled the makeshift tissue and tossed it over his shoulder.

"It's like this," Stephen continued, then paused, tears welling up in his eyes. Again.

"Let's try something different," broke in Reducto. "I've got a plan. I'll describe certain situations, and you tell me if they happened. That way I'll do all the talking, and you just need to say 'yes' or 'no'. Just one little word. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Yes," said Stephen tremulously.

"All right. Has he ever . . . " Reducto twitched. ". . . forced you to engage in . . . carnal acts?"

Chapter Text

The door at the head of the courtroom swung open of its own volition. A cloud of purple smoke, glittering with a weird internal power like a swarm of violet fireflies, poured through. Outside, a clap of thunder rumbled in a cloudless sky. Somewhere in the distance, an ancient wolf let loose its final howl and expired.

As the smoke engulfed him, the bailiff didn't so much as blink. "All rise for His Honor, Mentok the Mind-Taker."

"That didn't sound awed," complained Mentok as he materialized at the head of the purple cloud. "I'm not seeing enough awe here, people. Let's try that again. All rise . . . for Mentok! The Mind-taker! Oooo-eeee-ooo!" He made a series of vaguely mystical gestures with his hands, then grinned and floated to the bench.

Mentok already knew everyone in the case, either from former cases or late-night channel flipping. There was Harvey's assistant, Judy Ken Sebben; Harvey Birdman himself; the defendant, Jon Stewart; the plaintiff, Stephen Colbert; and Colbert's lawyer, Myron Reducto. In spite of Mentok's own impressive introduction, he needed none in return.

Not that he would have needed introductions to unfamiliar people, either. (Mind-taking. Oo-ee-oo.)

Still, as a precautionary measure, he did a quick sweep of the minds before him.

"Oh," grinned Mentok, "this is going to be fun."

—

Jon wasn't sure how much more of this his nerves could take.

It wasn't that the case against him was particularly strong. So far it had been composed mostly of trivialities, like the time he had done a segment opposite Stephen without pants on.

It wasn't like he had planned that! His pants had met with an unfortunate accident, and it was going to take some time to hunt down a new pair. It wasn't like anybody in the audience could tell, with him behind the desk. They'd done the same trick on The West Wing, as Jon had tried to explain the first time he did it.

"Is that before or after the pot-fueled orgies?" Stephen had demanded.

"There aren't any pot-fueled orgies, Stephen," Jon had attempted to explain.

"And how would I know that? I've never watched that bleeding-heart show," Stephen had snapped, and refused to speak to Jon off-set for the rest of the day.

(None of it would have happened if Stephen hadn't spilled coffee on Jon's pants in the first place, but there was no point in trying to explain this nuance to him.)

So, okay, the case wasn't nerve-wracking. The lawyer, on the other hand, was more jittery than anybody Jon had ever seen. And that included the fans who nearly fainted when he pointed to them during the pre-show Q&A.

Reducto jumped. He hopped. He jolted. He whipped about. He threw himself to the ground. He couldn't get through a sentence without pointing that shrink-gun of his in three different directions. He shouted "Back off!" at people who hadn't moved.

And was it Jon's imagination, or did Reducto's furtive, haunted glances flicker towards him more often than anybody else?

You're being paranoid, Jon scolded himself. It's nothing to do with you. He's just quirky. He's a cartoon. This is probably perfectly normal behavior for him.

He had almost convinced himself of this, too, when Reducto stuttered to a halt altogether, then yelped, "Your Honor! Requesting a recess!"

"On what grounds?" asked the judge, in the bored tones of somebody who already knew, and was much more interested in the golf game he was foreseeing.

For some reason, though, Reducto himself seemed far less certain. He stuttered for a moment, twitched, let out a kind of squeak—then juggled his sci-fi weapon frantically. There was a flash of light, and suddenly the jury box was the size of a loaf of bread.

"Accidental jury shrinkage!" shrilled Reducto.

"Sustained," ordered Mentok. "This court will resume session in twenty-four hours. Dismissed!" He thumped his weirdly-squishy gavel on the bench, then vanished in a puff of smoke, glitter, and that sock you couldn't find after last week's laundry.

—

"Barkeep!" cried Reducto, aiming his shrink-gun. "Another of these very tiny shots! And make it snappy!"

He was one of the last people remaining in the bar. Harvey had been in earlier, warning him that he was in for a massive hangover tomorrow if he kept this up; Reducto had flinched at the word "massive", but downed another shot anyway. Eventually Harvey had drifted out, and Reducto was left on his own with a tower of emptied shot glasses. A tiny, tiny tower.

Normally he and Harvey could discuss their cases after hours, sometimes working out deals that made the ride smoother for everyone. Not this time. This time, he was already arguing the case so badly that a hangover could hardly be worse.

"I can't do this!" he wailed.

"Sure you can!" said a cheerful voice from beside him.

"Phil?" Reducto looked up, then did a double-take. It had sounded like Phil, but it looked like . . . "Stephen?"

"Hi there!" replied the man on the next stool, offering his hand. "Colby Krause. Pleased to meet you."

Reducto took the hand and shook it gingerly, wondering how he could have mistaken this man for his client. Stephen wasn't yellow.

"As I was saying," continued Colby, "of course you can do it. You're a winner."

"How could you possibly know what I can do? You don't know me," retorted Reducto morosely.

"No, but I know me! I'm a life coach. Making people into winners is my job."

"I still have standards," grumbled Reducto. "Another shot!"

"Tell you what," offered Colby, blocking the glass with his hand. "I'll give you some generic advice, on the house. No charge. And you see if it helps. Deal?"

"I will shrink you."

"Shake yourself out of that funk. Figure out what you want, and go for it. No looking back. No regrets. Seize life by the throat and throttle it like a bratty ten-year-old. Whoops, did I say that out loud?"

This was actually setting wheels turning in Reducto's brain. He zapped the man anyway.

"Not every problem can be solved by shrinking things!" cried a fun-size Colby Krause.

Reducto was already out the door.

Chapter Text

"Our client has mysteriously vanished! He could be in mortal danger at this very minute! And meanwhile, we ourselves are in graver danger yet—of losing our case! We'll have to stall for time—but how?"

"Uh, Judy?" cut in Harvey. "This might not be the best time."

Judy looked sheepishly around the courtroom and climbed down off of the table. "Uh, right. Sorry."

The door flew open, and mystical purple smoke poured out of the darkness beyond.

"If he's not here, does that mean I win?" called Stephen from the far side of the aisle.

"All rise . . ."

"No," said Harvey, trying to sound more certain than he felt.

". . . for His Honor, Mentok! The Mind-Taker!"

"Say, you're one to talk. Where's your lawyer?"

"Oooo-eeee-oooo!"

"He'll be here any minute," said Stephen defiantly.

"Are you guys paying attention?" demanded Mentok.

"Sorry, Your Honor!" replied Judy quickly. "We're distracted by the fact that the victim and the villain have mysteriously disappeared."

"I think you mean the villain and the hero's sidekick," put in Stephen.

Harvey decided it was high time to retake control of the situation. "Your Honor, I move that the case be dropped, on the grounds that we cannot possibly reach an appropriate verdict under these . . . ."

"Nonsense!" interrupted Mentok. "I already know what the outcome of the trial will be. I wrote it down before we started, remember? Bailiff! Where did you put—a-ha! Harvey, read that, there's a good man. Bird. Whatever."

Harvey tore open the sealed envelope and unfolded the piece of paper within.

—

The secret base hadn't been used for years, and for good reason: it was ten miles away from the nearest convenience store. If you had a sudden craving for a midnight Happy Meal, you were simply out of luck.

Still, steel-lined caverns deep in the heart of abandoned volcanoes had their charms. The thick, heavy doors, for one. And the fact that nobody knew where to find them. For a supervillain, or a simple man who valued his privacy, they were hard to beat.

The place needed a bit of tidying up after so many years of disuse, and Reducto hummed as he dusted off equipment, imagining the decorations he would add. A nice vase here. Some new wallpaper there. All chosen to match the room's new centerpiece, which at first glance looked like an exquisitely detailed dollhouse on a stainless-steel table.

A very little noise reached Reducto's ears, and he stopped humming to listen.

Then, ever so silently, he tiptoed over to the dollhouse and put his eye to one window. The miniature pane of glass was blocked by a set of dainty venetian blinds; Reducto waited patiently, and a minute later they were drawn open.

Reducto bounced on his heels in delight as he heard an itty-bitty scream.

—

With an embarrassingly girly shriek, Jon launched himself away from the window.

He had figured it was going to be a bad day when he didn't wake with his alarm, meaning he had probably missed his court appearance. Then he had realized that he was in an unfamiliar room altogether. And now there was a giant eyeball outside his window.

As he got to his feet, Jon reflexively rubbed his tailbone, then realized that it didn't hurt. That was odd. He had fallen awfully hard . . . .

The eyeball pulled away, and then somebody outside crowed, "You're awake! Oh, goody! Would you like some breakfast? A miniature egg? Tiny toast?"

The voice sounded familiar, and for a crazy second Jon thought it was Stephen; but then he recognized the accent of Stephen's lawyer. That would explain why the eyeball and everything around it had been purple. "Reducto? What did you do to me? Why are you a giant?"

"Don't say 'giant', I beg of you," implored Reducto. "I'm the same size as I ever was. Small. You, on the other hand, are now fun-size."

With some trepidation Jon walked back over to the window and looked out. The view that greeted him was the interior of a sparsely decorated mad scientist's laboratory, and sure enough, either there was something wrong with Jon's vision or he and the house in which he stood were drastically not to scale.

"This is some trick you're pulling," he remarked. "I'm pretty sure this counts as misconduct. Legal grounds for throwing out a trial."

"Oh, I'm not doing this for the trial," trilled Reducto. "I care no longer for such petty things. What sense lawyering, when there are such exquisitely tiny proportions as yours in this world?"

"Hey, I know I'm a short guy, but—"

"'Short'? Oh, sir, 'short' does not do you justice! No word could capture the minute perfection that is your form!"

"Uh, thanks?" said Jon hesitantly. "Listen, you may not care about the trial, but I'd kinda rather not be held in contempt of court for skipping out, so if you could just let me go, no harm done—"

"Let you go?" shrieked Reducto. "And allow the possibility that you might be sullied by the great wide world out there? Certainly not! You've been in far too much danger already, you magnificent creature. Never again!"

"'Never'?"

"Precisely!"

"In that case," said Jon slowly, "I think I'll have that breakfast now."

—

Chapter Text

Judy Ken Sebben was in fine form. She was a monologuer at the best of times, but it was during serious crises that she truly shone.

Nobody else on the trip back to the office paid her much attention until she got to ". . . a job for the world's greatest heroes!"

"The people who watch my show!" exclaimed Stephen.

". . . sorry?"

"No, no, it's a brilliant idea, but it won't work. The Heroes are mostly useful for things like spamming websites. A rescue mission is a little bit out of their league."

Narrowing his eyes, Harvey put on his most interrogating voice. "Mr. Colbert, if my client is truly, as you contend, a menace to your security, why are you helping us rescue him?"

After ten minutes of denial, anger, rationalization, and loud insistences that Jon was not the one who needed rescuing here, Harvey was fervently wishing he hadn't asked. Still, he had to admit a glimmer of admiration for someone who could out-talk Judy.

—

Jon was beginning to discover that there were advantages to being (by his best estimate) less than a foot high.

After breakfast (miniature bacon and miniature eggs) he had found that he was bursting with energy. Maybe the shrink-gun had given the metabolism of one of the various small twitchy creatures that could now take him in a fight.

Whatever the cause, he felt as though he could run a mile.

Half-walking, half-skipping down a flight of stairs, he was so excited that he tripped over his own feet, and after tumbling a few steps to the landing he realized that it didn't hurt to fall. Something to do with the weight loss, maybe? Did it matter? It was cool.

He jogged in circles for a few minutes, literally bouncing off the walls, until his breath began to hitch and he was struck by the realization that an inhaler would be about the size of a garbage can.

Unless Reducto had shrunk him one.

"Okay then," he said out loud, "time to do some exploring."

—

While Harvey rang up the Hall of Justice, Stephen explained the whole situation to his hot young assistant. How Jon was dangerous. How he must have seen the guilty verdict coming, and panicked. How Reducto was an innocent victim of Jon's twisted schemes.

"Mr. Colbert!" interrupted the girl. "I cannot stand here and listen to this! Jon Stewart is a kind, polite, witty, brilliant, handsome gentleman—"

"That's just what he wants you to think!" cried Stephen. "You have no idea the terrible things he's done! The things he wants to do!"

"I won't believe it! I—"

"Judy! Daughter!" interrupted the cheerful voice of Phil Ken Sebben, the firm's boss. "Run along and get us some coffee, there's a good girl. It's about time us men had a little man-talk."

"Yes, Daddy," replied Judy through gritted teeth, and stalked away.

Phil slung an arm around Stephen's shoulder. "Mr. Colbert, has anybody ever told you about the facts of life?"

Stephen frowned. "Does this have anything to do with birds, and that filthy disgusting thing they do with bees?"

—

One of the bathrooms had a fully stocked (miniature) medicine cabinet. No inhaler, but if Jon should happen to be cut, bruised, poisoned, feverish, or stung by a miniaturized bee, he was covered.

The antibiotics made Jon wonder how exactly this shrinking thing worked. Had he actually been shrunk at the cellular level, so that bacteria would be too large for white blood cells to handle? Or did he just have fewer cells, like a graphic at a lower resolution?

And what would happen if you shrunk somebody to the size of an atom? Would you be able to get them back, or would they only end up horribly pixelated? Was he still high-res enough to be restored to his proper size?

All this thinking was starting to give Jon a headache. He contemplated the (tiny) tube of HeadOn, then headed for the kitchen to see if there was any (very light) beer.

—

An impossibly shiny phone in an impossibly clean kitchen began to ring. The sound was clear, melodic, and beautiful—impossibly so.

From the next room over, the resident of the house stretched one arm into the kitchen and snagged the phone, carrying it back to his ear. "Hello?"

"Professor Impossible?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out. What's up, Mr. Birdman?"

"Hey, you recognized me!"

"That's right! Impossible, you say? Perhaps, but—"

"—you have impossibly good caller ID, yes, yes. Professor, all the first-string heroes are busy, and I need a favor."

"If it involves moving furniture, I'm afraid I'm not your guy. Still under house arrest for killing all those people, you know."

"Can you help me track down a missing supervillain?"

"Am I impossibly brilliant?"

". . . yes?" ventured Birdman.

"Precisely! So, who do you need to find?"

—

The doors and windows on the first floor were sealed; the second-floor windows opened, but not far enough to crawl through; and the third-floor windows could be spread wide enough to jump from, if you were willing to put up with the landing.

Jon decided not to risk it. He knew a little something about cartoon physics. Small or not, at this height he would almost certainly put a Jon-shaped hole in the table, followed by one in the floor below.

—

Stephen was hanging on to Phil's every word. This was partly because Phil was a captivating speaker, and mostly because Stephen had no idea what any of it meant.

Chapter Text

"Daddy will never realize it," muttered Judy under her breath as she changed, "but he's given me the perfect cover. All the time he thinks his daughter is out getting coffee, he won't realize that she has in fact returned—as BIRDGIRL!"

Once fully dressed in her homemade cowl, tights, and fake wings, with her pinstriped suit on top (it never hurts to look professional), Birdgirl made her dramatic appearance. "Hark! There is no need to call on other superheroes, for we have the world's greatest superheroes right here in this office: the Bird-Team!"

Nobody paid any attention. They were all gathered at the window.

Although she wasn't thrilled with them for ignoring her, Birdgirl's curiosity got the better of her. "What's everybody looking at?"

—

A strange vehicle flew high in the skies above Toontown. Its engines throbbed with power as they thrust it through the air. Its firm, rock-hard exterior gleamed. Its tastefully upholstered interior rang with the sounds of ABBA.

The men behind the wheel were not the Dynamic Duo, but they were a Duo nonetheless.

"Gosh, Ace," said the younger of the two men, a well-muscled blonde. "What do you suppose the trouble is?"

"I don't know, Gary," replied his companion, a well-muscled brunet. "All we know is that we got a code-red from our fellow hero Birdman. Something must be getting him down."

"In that case," declared Gary, "it's our duty, as concerned citizens, to help him get it up again!"

"Too true, old chum," agreed Ace, and brought the vehicle to rest.

Because of a slight kink in the engines, the DuoCar didn't so much "land" as "crash". Ace and Gary had never bothered to fix this, as they maintained that any kink which didn't hurt anybody was okay, and the car could always be started up again with a little bit of pumping.

—

"That's their super-vehicle?" exclaimed Phil. "God! It's disgusting! I'm just glad my dear innocent daughter Judy isn't around to see this. Oh, hello, Birdgirl."

"I don't see what's wrong with it," replied Stephen stubbornly. "It's probably very aerodynamic." He barely glanced at the new hero who had joined them. "Hello again, Ju—

"—Birdgirl!" cut in Harvey. "My sidekick. Whom you have never met before. Birdgirl, this is Stephen Colbert. Stephen, Birdgirl."

"Um, right," said Stephen, shaking her hand absently, his gaze still focused out the window. "Are we going to invite these guys in, or what?"

—

"Golly!" exclaimed Gary, as Harvey finished explaining the situation. "We heard about the trial, but we didn't think anything like this would happen!"

"We have to rescue Mr. Stewart quickly," declared Ace. "After all, if he's missing, who will host his show?"

"John Oliver?" suggested Gary. "He's pretty cute."

"That's true."

"Um, right," said Harvey. "Anyway, I had Professor Impossible hack into your vehicle's automatic navigation system and fed it the locations of all of Reducto's last known bases."

"Hacked the DuoCar?" cried Gary. "But that's impossible!"

"Yeah, that's sort of his trademark."

"No, I mean, it's impossible because the DuoCar doesn't have an automatic navigation system."

"That's right," agreed Ace. "Gary and I still do everything with our hands."

"And mouths!" put in Gary cheerfully.

"Voice-activated GPS," Ace explained. "It's a wonderful thing."

"Ace likes it, anyway. I'm not so good at it. In fact, I suck!"

"That you do, friend of friends," chuckled Ace. "What's everybody looking at?"

"Nothing!" chorused Harvey, Judy Birdgirl, Phil, and Stephen.

—

When they actually checked the DuoCar, it became apparent that the GPS had turned into an impossibly friendly OnStar knockoff with impossibly precise directions.

"Best not to ask too many questions," said Harvey. "All right, the two of you can pilot this, while Birdgirl and I follow on the wing. Phil, can you find someplace to keep Mr. Colbert occupied?"

"Oh, no you don't!" cried Stephen. "I'm coming with you! When you find out that Jon has been the evil kidnapper all along, I want to be right there to say 'I told you so'!"

"You're not coming."

"I am too!"

"Aw, go easy on the man, Harv," said Ace kindly. "He's so eager, I think we should all let him come."

"He's a mostly-innocent civilian," declared Birdgirl. "As superheroes, it's our responsibility to keep people like him out of danger! Also, he can't fly, and I'm not carrying him."

"Oh, that's no problem!" exclaimed Gary. "He can ride the DuoCar!"

"Don't you mean ride in the DuoCar?" asked Harvey.

"Nope! There's only room for two in the cockpit, and it's a tight squeeze as it is!"

"He's right," put in Ace. "Gary and I are practically on top of each other!"

"But Stephen can ride on the front!" continued Gary. "He can straddle the hood, and wrap his hands around the pipes!"

"But your seats are protected by the windshield. I'll have to ride it without protection," complained Stephen. "I mean . . . won't it hurt?"

"Don't worry, citizen," said Ace, putting a friendly hand on Stephen's shoulder. "We'll go slow. It's going to hurt a little, but if it gets to be too much, just let us know and we'll stop right away."

He blinked at Harvey and Birdgirl, who were staring in disbelief. "Now what are you looking at?"

"Ignore them," advised Stephen. "I'm coming, and you're taking me."

There could be no arguing with a statement so unambiguous, so it was four superheroes and one Hero who soared into the air.

Chapter Text

Stephen hunkered down close to the body of the DuoCar, wrapped his legs tightly around its length, and clamped his thighs together.

He wasn't scared. It wasn't like he'd never flown before. And besides, he was in the company of four bona fide super heroes: the kind you called on when regular Heroes just didn't cut it. If he did happen to fall, they wouldn't let him hit the ground.

Still, better safe than sorry.

Stephen's train of thought was interrupted by a sudden realization. He had figured the greatest difficulty of traveling this way would be the wind resistance; but having something large, powerful, and thrumming between his legs was starting to take its toll.

What to do?

He was not going to lift himself away from the car. Ace and Gary seemed nice enough, but Stephen had a sneaking suspicion that they just might be gay, and he wasn't about to let the DuoCar crash because its drivers were enjoying a prime view of his—not to put too fine a point on it—throbbing man-meat.

And he wasn't about to let himself fall off, either. It was a long way down. No, Stephen would just have to suck it up—metaphorically speaking—and wait until the ride was over.

Shake it off, Col-bert. You can do this.

The DuoCar chose that moment to hit an air pocket.

Stephen said a silent prayer of thanks that his whimper was lost in the wind.

—

"I feel shrinky . . . oh, so shrinky . . ."

Jon stuck his head out the bedroom window. Reducto, wearing his regular outfit topped with a frilly pink apron, was singing as he dusted a huge machine, the kind that did something scientific and undoubtedly mad.

"Hey!" he shouted, as loudly as he could. This was still not very loud.

Reducto scurried over anyway. "Yes, Jon? What is it? Can I get you anything? A snack? A movie? Fluffier pillows?"

A one-way ticket out of here, Jon thought but didn't say. Instead he said, "I have asthma. If I'm going to stay here, I'll need an inhaler. If you don't have one, you'll just have to let me go."

"Wait right there!" replied Reducto gleefully. "Just the tiniest little moment!"

Skipping back to the machine, he pressed some of its many glowing buttons. Gears ground; lasers hummed. It was actually a very long moment before he used a tiny pair of tongs to pull something out, but when he put it on Jon's windowsill, sure enough, it turned out to be an itty-bitty inhaler.

"That machine, there," Jon called. "What is it, exactly?"

"Oh, it's very simple," said the supervillain, and launched into a description so full of technobabble it would have made a Star Trek writer's head spin.

"Can you give me the short version?" asked Jon hopefully.

"I would love to," trilled Reducto. "It turns things—such as ordinary rocks—into other things—such as whatever you want."

"So, in other words, you never need to leave this cave to get anything."

"Exactly!"

"Unless, of course, you run out of rocks."

"True, true. But that's not likely. We're under . . ." He shuddered. ". . . a big mountain."

—

Harvey and Birdgirl landed gracefully outside the frost-coated iron doors of the icy secret lair. The DuoCar just rammed into the ground, with its poor rider clinging to the body for dear life.

As Ace and Gary hopped out of the cockpit and approached the doors, Harvey slipped over to the car and put a hand on Stephen's shoulder. "You all right?"

"Fine!" snapped Stephen, quivering very slightly. "Hurry up and break in, already."

"Sure thing." Rolling up his sleeve to reveal one of his power bands, Harvey aimed his fist and unleashed The Power Of The Sun^TM. Birdgirl did the same.

"Come on, Gary!" exclaimed Ace. "Let's shift into roll mode!"

And then they were wrapped around each other, teeth anchored on each other's belts, tumbling against the door.

—

"This can't last."

"I don't see why not," snapped Reducto. "I have everything I need to take care of you. You'll never need to dirty your exquisite little hands again. You've seen how well my machines work. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Uh, maybe the fact that my lawyer's a superhero?" countered Jon. "He's gonna come looking for me. He has a mandate to do good, and a case to handle."

"Oh, I wouldn't wait for Harvey Birdman if I were you," cackled the supervillain. "He'll never find us here. You might as well get used to it. Let me bake you some cupcakes! They're just like cakes, only much smaller."

—

As the door finally began to wear thin under the assault of the superheroes, Stephen eased himself carefully down from the DuoCar, feet crunching in the thin layer of snow. He didn't approve of secret bases being stashed in locales that were so cold, but at least the chill had taken care of his . . . discomfort.

With a spectacular explosion, the door blew inwards, and the superheroes charged through. "What do you think you're doing?" shrieked a voice from within.

Stephen gasped.

And then he was running, leaping through the remains of the doorway, shoving the other heroes aside, a cry tearing itself from his throat: "Jon? Jon!"

"Time to am-scray," murmured Harvey, ushering the others backwards.

"You're a supervillain?" repeated Stephen, ignoring Harvey. "How come?"

"Are you kidding?" exclaimed Zeebad. "I'm a talking spring who shoots ice from his mustache! It's not like I have a lot of career prospects, here!"

"I guess you have a point."

"Although I haven't tried to freeze the sun or anything recently," the sorcerer continued, "so I don't see why you felt the need to blast a hole in my door. I mean, you could have just knocked."

"Yeah, sorry about that," interjected Harvey. "We were actually looking for someone else. We'll just be on our way now." With that, he grabbed Stephen around the waist, dragged him to the DuoCar, and plonked him down on its already revving engine.

"Dude!" cried Zeebad. "There's still a big hole in my door!"

"Send the bill to Sebben & Sebben!" called Harvey. "Bird-team—and company—on to the next base!"

"He sounded like Jon!" protested Stephen, shouting over the engine.

"It's just a regional thing!" Harvey shouted back reassuringly. "In England, he sounds like Doctor Who!"

Chapter Text

—

As Reducto prepared the cupcakes, Jon studied him carefully.

It wasn't clear whether the little green man was actually insane, or just very selective about the reality he chose to accept. Insanity would probably make Jon's job easier. If his captor was completely aware of everything and deliberately ignoring most of it, then all of this was riding on Jon's acting skills, which was a dangerous place to put anything.

When at last Reducto shrunk a finished cupcake and offered it up for approval, Jon took one bite, then made a face. "Eugh!"

"What is it? What's the matter? Is something wrong?"

Putting on his best Arthur Dent voice, Jon flung the offending pastry away. "Listen, you stupid man, it tastes filthy! Take this cupcake back!"

The look on Reducto's face was so heartbroken that Jon nearly confessed the whole thing. Somehow he managed to hold firm as the other man stammered, "But—but I made them just for you—I thought you liked—I—"

"I like cupcakes," confirmed Jon sternly. "But not just any cupcakes. I only like the ones made by Amy Sedaris."

"I can simulate them," stammered Reducto. "The matter converter can—"

"No! They have to be Amy's. No others. Or I won't be happy. You do want me to be happy, don't you?"

Reducto sighed, defeated. "Where do I get them?"

"Dusty Food Cupcakes," said Jon triumphantly. "Ask for the Jon Stewart Special."

—

—

Once he was well and truly alone in the secret base, Jon scurried around the house, stripping the beds. Probably should have done this beforehand, he admonished himself. You're wasting time.

Cut me some slack, he countered. I've never had to execute a daring escape before.

This was a lot harder than it looked in the movies. Sheets weren't actually designed to be tied together. And when he finally started easing the makeshift rope out the window, it reached the table, but not the floor below.

Not that you know how to get out of this room once you reach the floor. Geez, Jon, you really didn't think this one through, did you?

Doing his best to ignore his cheery internal voice, Jon grabbed two fistfuls of cloth and eased his way through the window frame.

—

—

"The Jon Stewart Special, please," said the very small man in the trenchcoat and broad-brimmed hat.

"Sorry, the what?" asked Amy. "Dusty, careful, not the sprinkles!"

"Your cupcakes," replied the man irritably. "Your delicious miniature pastries. You do sell delicious miniature pastries, do you not?"

"That we do."

"Well, I would like to purchase some. Specifically, that subset which are known as 'the Jon Stewart special'."

"We do sell cupcakes, sir, but I'm afraid I haven't invented a Jon Stewart Special yet," said a very puzzled Amy.

The customer went very quiet.

"If I could interest you in something else? Maybe . . ."

"No, no, that will be all!" squeaked the man. "Thank you for your time, dear tiny lady. I really must be going now."

—

—

Reducto raced back to the secret base in a panic.

How could he have been so stupid, falling for such a ruse and leaving his brilliant little charge alone? His only consolation was that Jon was too small to reach the phone.

Sure enough, when he burst into the base, there was a little chain of handkerchief-sized sheets hanging down from one window of the house that had been specially shrunk just for Jon. Reducto felt his heart sink.

And then it rose again as Reducto spotted the beautifully tiny man himself, lying flat on his back almost directly below the rope of fabric.

"Hi," said Jon sheepishly. "You got any itty-bitty painkillers? I think I might've thrown out my back."

—

As he pulled the DuoCar gently out of the hole in the back of Flatpoint High (which, if you think about it, makes a lot more sense as a former supervillain secret base), Ace rolled down his window. "Mr. Birdman? I'm afraid the computer isn't showing us another destination!"

"What does that mean, Ace?" exclaimed Gary. "Is it broken? Do we need to have it fixed?"

"Nothing's going to get fixed, Gary," replied Ace gently. "I think it just means we've visited all of Reducto's secret bases. We've thrust the DuoCar into every private place he might have had."

"And we didn't get lucky in any of them!" lamented Gary.

"Oh no!" cried Birdgirl. "The fiend has avoided returning to the scenes of his old crimes! He must be far more clever than we anticipated! How will we ever find our lost client now?"

"Yes, thank you for the recap, Birdgirl," said Harvey absently. "Let's see . . . if I were a shrinkage-obsessed supervillain-turned-lawyer-turned-supervillain-again, where would I go?"

"I have an idea!" chimed in Gary. "Let's go to the Fortress of Privacy!"

"Brilliant, friend of friends!" enthused Ace.

"Of course!" cried Harvey. "The powerful computers at your secret fortress will be able to come up with much better possibilities than we would on our own!"

". . . that too!" said Gary.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" demanded Stephen, slapping the DuoCar's hull. "Let's get this thing up!"

Ace frowned at Birdman and Birdgirl, who were openly gaping. "Now what are you looking at?"

Chapter Text

The Fortress of Privacy was refreshingly cold, leaving Stephen the most comfortable he'd felt all day.

This fortress followed the traditional giant-cavern model that had served well for so many secret bases, both heroic and villainous, although the motif was certainly unique. It consisted of a whole lot of long thick crystals, in tasteful shades of blue.

"Work it, Ace!"

The ancient alien technology that operated here was also crystal-based. Specifically, it was controlled by taking baseball-bat-sized long crystals and thrusting them in the appropriate holes, usually located between bowling-ball-sized round crystals.

"I'm almost there, Gary! Don't stop!"

Stephen wasn't sure why Birdman and Birdgirl kept twitching as Ace and Gary worked the computer. Sure, they were probably gay, but Stephen's mental sports metaphors ensured that what they were doing was perfectly manly.

"Keep thrusting, Ace! Harder!"

This perfectly innocent dialogue was interrupted when somebody crashed through the ceiling.

—

The painkillers had knocked Jon out good. For how long, he didn't know; but as he drifted back awake he realized that his back felt fine, even though he was lying on something uncomfortably hard. On the other hand, there seemed to be something wrong with his vision. Everything looked grey.

"Oh, goody, you're awake!" trilled Reducto's voice, and Jon rolled over to see the relatively giant head leaning over him. "How do you feel? Better, I hope?"

"Yeah," said Jon, blinking as he sat up. Okay, so his vision was fine. It was just that he was on a grey floor, surrounded by high grey walls. "Where am I?"

"This? This is just a tiny little something I cooked up to keep you busy. We can't have you getting bored and jumping out another window."

The surroundings did look familiar. Jon got to his feet and walked along the wall, trying to take his adjusted perspective into account, trying to imagine how this would look from above. He turned a corner . . .

"A maze," he said. "You put me in a maze."

"Exactly! I always said you were clever."

"If you think I'm so clever, why are you treating me like a rat?" demanded Jon.

Reducto pouted. "Oh, Jon, don't be like that! It's the only thing I had in your size on such short notice. Well, I'm going to take a tiny nap. Ring the bell if you need me."

"What bell?"

"It's at the end of the maze. Ta-ta!"

—

All five heroes looked up, stunned. Hovering in the now-open sky, silhouetted against the sun, was an imposing figure in red and blue.

"Hey!" shouted Ace. "What we do in our fortress is our own business! You can't just break in like this!"

"Now you know how the victims of your reckless building-crashing feel!" said the visitor, in a deep and authoritative voice. "For wanton destruction of public and private property, as well as defiling historic national landmarks, I've been sent to bring you in."

"But we're the good guys here!" protested Harvey.

"Tell it to a judge."

"We just came from a judge!"

"Look, if you'll just come quietly—"

"Please, do what he says," stammered Stephen, as Harvey, Ace, and Gary took defensive stances. "You don't stand a chance against a hero this . . . heroic!"

—

"Reducto? Hey, Reducto! You still there?"

No response. He was alone.

Well, at least this was a trick he already knew, although he had never expected to use it in a situation like this. Taking a deep breath, Jon put a hand on the wall and began to walk.

—

"While Birdgirl negotiates with Tek Jansen in one of your private rooms . . ."

"Extra-private!" corrected Gary.

"Extra-private rooms," amended Harvey. "While she's doing that, get back to that computer! Have you found anything yet?"

"Just one police report," replied Ace. "It's from earlier today. And it mentions Jon's name!"

"Well, what are you waiting for? Let's see it!" ordered Stephen, reaching for one of the control crystals to shove it in the appropriate hole.

Ace caught him around the waist. "Easy there, cowboy! Slow down! Have you ever used a computer like this before?"

"No! But how hard can it be?"

"Very hard!" replied Gary earnestly. "Hard as a rock! So you need to be gentle, especially if it's your first time!"

"I'll be fine! Just show me how it works!"

"Sure thing." Releasing Stephen, Ace guided his hand to the crystal. "Now, you wrap your hand around it—just like that—don't squeeze—just slide it in, nice and easy—you might have to pump it a little—yes, that's exactly right—you're a natural at this! And what are you looking at?"

"Nothing!" stammered Harvey.

—

—

Stephen stared at the report in disbelief.

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. And yet there it was, in black and white, and in a police report, which meant that there was Authority to back it up.

"I know that woman!" he exclaimed. "We've tumbled together!"

(Behind Stephen, Gary leaned over and whispered to Ace, "'Tumbled'? But I thought he was—" He broke off as Ace shushed him.)

Chapter Text

"What does that report say about Jon?" asked Birdman, joining Stephen at the console.

"Oh, right, Jon! Let's see . . . somebody came in asking for 'the Jon Stewart special.' The proprietor got suspicious, especially when she heard that Jon had been kidnapped by someone matching the description of the customer: short and green."

Ace and Birdman started talking about what this meant for Jon's location. Stephen wasn't listening. His own thoughts had suddenly demanded a lot of attention (more than they usually did, anyway).

Jon was forcing Reducto to buy him cupcakes? No, that couldn't be it, or Reducto wouldn't have mentioned Jon's name.

Unless it was a cry for help. Or Jon's way of taunting them.

But he didn't actually buy any cupcakes! So Jon couldn't be controlling him!

And if Jon wasn't controlling Reducto, why did he let Reducto leave his clutches to buy cupcakes in the first place?

It didn't make sense . . .

Oh, it makes sense, all right, said the nagging little voice of wisdom in his head, the one Stephen usually did his best to ignore. Jon didn't kidnap Reducto. It's the other way around.

You were wrong.

—

One hand tracing the wall beside him, Jon turned into a new branch of the maze.

This path led to a dead end. Jon walked all the way down, turned a half circle, and started moving back up, his hand now on the opposite wall.

It was a slow method, but it would get him to the end of the maze. Eventually.

—

"Hang on!" exclaimed Harvey suddenly, leaning over Stephen's shoulder to scrutinize the security camera footage. "What's that—there—that shiny thing Reducto has?"

"How dare you?" hissed Stephen. "Jon's been kidnapped, and you're worried about shiny things?"

Harvey wondered vaguely when Stephen had gotten a clue, but his mind was more preoccupied with the shiny thing. "I recognize that! It's a key!"

"A key?" echoed Ace. "That isn't much good unless you know where the keyhole is."

"But I do know where the keyhole is! That's my spare key! I gave it to Reducto when I went on vacation in the Caribbean a few years ago, and asked him to keep an eye on . . ."

He looked up at the others in shock.

". . . on my old secret base."

—

Scrambling to put on her clothes, Birdgirl jogged after Tek. "Couldn't I distract you just a little bit longer? I'm sure this can wait a few more minutes! . . . half an hour! . . . one night!"

"I'm afraid not, fair lady," said the wearer of star-suits, who had also revealed himself to be an expert taker-off of star-suits. "Duty calls."

When they reached the computer room, Ace and Gary were climbing into the DuoCar, with Stephen once again astride its length.

"We're going, Mr. Jansen, and you can't stop us," said Harvey defiantly. "We've figured out where the captive is being held. Your issues are just going to have to wait until we've rescued him."

"Of course they will!" snapped Tek. "Solar Plexus, why didn't you tell me you were trying to save Jon Stewart? His broadcasts have already saved this planet eighteen separate times! He's the second greatest entertainer the human race has ever known!"

"I'm the first, right?" asked Stephen quickly.

"Uh . . . sure, let's go with that." The galaxy hero pressed a button on his space-belt, and his hover-boots lifted him into the air. "The point is, of course you have to rescue him. And I'm coming with."

"Oh," said Harvey. "I guess that's all right, then. Birdgirl, you up for this?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Birdgirl hastily, attempting to button her jacket inside-out.

"If you want a more comfortable flight," added Tek to Stephen, "you're welcome to ride with me."

The DuoCar's engines revved.

"Uh, thanks," stammered Stephen, "but I think I'll stick with this."

—

After walking for what felt like hours, Jon turned the hundredth corner and found himself face to face with a (relatively) giant bell. He rang it a few times, then collapsed against the nearest wall. A moment later, Reducto appeared.

—

Chapter Text

Stephen clung to the length of the DuoCar as it soared towards its final destination. He was not enjoying the ride in any way, shape, or form. Certainly it wasn't sending little shockwaves of pleasure through his body every time the vehicle bucked.

They were coming out of a bit of particularly severe turbulence when Tek Jansen soared up next to Stephen and matched his pace with that of the vehicle. Stephen tried not to faint.

"So," said Tek (THE Tek Jansen omigodomigodomigod), "you work for Jon Stewart?"

"With," corrected Stephen weakly. "I work with Jon Stewart."

"I see. So what's that like?"

"Um . . ."

Horrible.

"It's great!"

He torments me. He harasses me whenever we're together, and he haunts me whenever we're apart.

"We talk almost every morning."

When I have to put up with him undressing me with his eyes. I might just as well strip and get it over with.

"And we have lunch together at least once a week."

It gives him a perfect cover to show me the dirty, dirty things he can do with his tongue.

"And, well, he never bothers to compliment me . . ."

Except all the times he said "Hey, Stephen, good job." Or "Great show tonight, Stephen. Knocked it out of the park." And it doesn't count when he says "You look nice, Stephen," because that's an obvious come-on.

". . . but that's okay, because I know he's just jealous that my show is doing better than his."

"Oh, you have more viewers?" asked Tek.

"Um, no. Not as such."

"Awards, then? You're racking up the Emmys?"

"Well, not yet. But we got a Peabody."

"And he didn't?"

". . . if you must be technical about it, he has two."

"So you have a bigger staff? Larger studio? More—"

"No!"

"Then by what measure are you—"

"I have a species of spider named after me!" shouted Stephen. "With impressive mating claspers! Jon Stewart can't say that, can he?"

"Fair enough," replied Tek, and broke away from the DuoCar to soar ahead, leaving Stephen to silently curse Jon for ruining his chances to talk with (the one and only) Tek Jansen (omigodomigodomigod).

Still, he thought charitably, it isn't entirely Jon's fault. Anyone who didn't have a spider named after him would be jealous of me. He's only human.

And once he had boarded that train of thought, Stephen began to remember the other good times. The time Jon had said "Good morning, Stephen," without the lascivious undertone. The time he had insisted that Jon apologize for something, and Jon had given in. (Okay, times. That happened kind of a lot.) The time they had run into each other at the office late one night, and Jon had not pinned Stephen to the wall with that crystal glare of his, so that no matter how much Stephen wanted to, he couldn't run, he couldn't move, he was trapped, like some helpless woodland creature . . .

Pressing his forehead against the car's hull, Stephen choked out a sound that was definitely not a sob.

Oh, Jon, I'm sorry! I was so busy being mad over the things you did to me, I forgot to be grateful that you weren't as bad as you could have been! If we can rescue you in one piece, I'll drop the lawsuit, I'll let it all go, I promise! Just let me have you back!

—

Night was falling as they approached the old inactive volcano that Harvey had once known so well, and the headlights of the DuoCar caught two very familiar figures standing on the rim. One of them was green.

"Mentok! Phil! What are you doing here?" exclaimed Harvey as he landed.

"Waiting for you, of course!" replied Mentok. "Wouldn't miss this for the world!"

"But how did you know we would come here?" demanded Birdgirl, coming to rest beside him.

Mentok sighed the sigh of the very, very long-suffering. "Mind-taking, remember? Ooo-eee-ooo? Anyone? Anyone?"

"Speaking of taking," chimed in Phil, "looks like somebody came straight from a roll in the hay!" He nudged Birdgirl jovially with his elbow. "So who's the lucky guy?"

"That would be me," replied Tek, joining the group. The DuoCar remained above them, flying in lazy circles.

"You dog! And here I've been trying to get under that skirt for months now. Well, you win some, you lose some. I can handle it. Just as long as you never lay so much as a finger on my daughter Judy. Then I would have to get out the shotgun. Ha ha! Double standard."

"I understand, sir" said the hunter of quasars, voice dripping with space-gravitas. "And now . . . to make an entrance!" Pointing an oversized bioplasma disruptor pistol at the seal that covered the mouth of the volcano, he fired; there was an explosion, and a shower of blue sparks.

"You didn't have to do that!" coughed Harvey, waving away the swirling grey smoke. "I still have my key! We could have just walked in!"

"Oh," said Tek. "Well, the important thing is that we can get in now."

"Since I can't fly," added Phil, slinging an arm over Birdgirl's shoulders, "maybe you'd like to carry me down?"

"A little help here?" hissed Birdgirl through clenched teeth, shooting a desperate look in Harvey's direction.

With a nod, Harvey scooped up his boss. "I've got you, Phil. Bird-team, go!"

And they dove down into the volcano.

—

Jon had just been drifting off when the explosion came.

Wide awake now, he leaped out of bed and ran to the window, just in time to see a blue-and-gold blur slam Reducto across the room.

In an instant the supervillain was being assaulted by enough heroes to form their own Legion. There was Birdman; a miniature female copy of him who could only be Birdgirl; that infamous Duo, Ace and Gary; and—could it be?—Tek Jansen! (The Tek Jansen! The super-awesome spectacular ultra-spy! The one whose exciting exploits would sell millions of books!)

Sound effects flew back and forth like tennis balls. BIFF!

SOCK!

WHAP!

KA-POW!

AND SO ON!

"Hey!" yelled Jon, though he was sure it would be lost in the commotion. "Hey, I'm over here!"

"Hi there, Jon," said Mentok, appearing in front of him.

Only two days earlier Jon had thought that voice was creepy. Now, as the judge held up Reducto's shrink-gun and said "Let me just put this thing in reverse," it was the most melodic sound Jon had ever heard.

Chapter Text

—

"You should go inside. Your friends are celebrating without you."

"Not even you can talk me out of this," declared Birdgirl firmly. "I'm staying right here until you get beamed up for this super-secret mission of yours, and that's final."

Tek sighed. "It's like the old saying goes: never argue with Sylerian Ultra-Yaks or women."

Birdgirl's composure held out for about thirty more seconds. "Do—do you really have to go back out there, Tek? Couldn't you stay on Earth? With me?"

"If only it could be so, Birdgirl," said the super-awesome spectacular ultra-spy gravely. "Alas, the call of duty cannot be shirked for one woman. One very beautiful, very intelligent, very flexible woman."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. The galaxy is a big place, full of evil to fight . . . quasars to hunt . . . paternity suits to avoid . . ."

"What?"

"My point is—we'll always have this." And he drew Birdgirl into a vigorous, tongue-tangling kiss.

When he pulled away, he was beginning to fade, sparkling with the energy signature of a teleporter at work.

"Wait!" cried Birdgirl. "If I'm never going to see you again, I want you to know! My real identity—my most closely guarded secret—it's—it's—!"

"Shhh, Judy," replied Tek, now entirely see-through. "I know. Everybody knows."

And then he was gone.

—

Ace and Gary managed to keep their composure through the whole ride back to the Fortress of Privacy; but no sooner had they had closed the door behind them than they cracked up, toppling into chairs as they convulsed with mirth.

"Oh, man," exclaimed Gary, "that whole speech you gave about how to use the computer? 'Just slide it in, nice and easy,' that one? That was masterful!"

"Did I say that?" laughed Ace. "Did I really?"

"Yes!" crowed Gary. "And then you turn to Birdman and do the thing, the 'What are you looking at?' thing, with a straight face! I don't know how you do it! I could never do that! I can barely keep it together just listening to you do it!"

"Don't sell yourself short, mister," ordered Ace, mock-sternly. "Don't forget that you're the one who got someone straddling our giant penis-car in the first place!"

"Oh, come on, that wasn't hard, Colbert was practically salivating over the thing. Do you think he knew why, or . . ."

"Didn't have a clue. Haven't you ever seen his show? That man really is as oblivious as we pretend to be." Ace arched one eyebrow and put on a voice. "'Nation, the greatest threat to America is homosexuals. But only the ones that get me hot and bothered. Trouble is, that's pretty much all of them.'"

"That's fantastic!" cackled Gary. "You sound just like him!"

Then, pitching his own voice low and inviting, he added, "Hey, 'Stephen' . . . want to take a ride on my DuoCar?"

Putting on a suspicious look, Ace replied, "It—it isn't a hybrid, is it?"

Gary smiled innocently. "Why don't you check under the hood and see?"

—

Everything was back to normal. The case had been closed, Reducto had been sentenced, and it was almost time for lunch. This was going to be a little nerve-wracking, but Stephen figured he could handle it. He was in his office, and all was right with the world.

"Jon! Hi!" he exclaimed as his visitor entered.

With a smile, Jon pushed the door closed behind him. "Hello, Stephen," he replied, turning the lock.

Stephen gulped. "You don't have to do that!" he said quickly. "I dropped the lawsuit, remember? And I won't start another, I promise. So let's just go back to the way things were, and . . ."

"Oh, it's far too late for that." With slow, deliberate steps, Jon approached the desk, his smile never wavering. "You've put me through a lot of headaches over the past few days, Stephen. How did you think you were going to make it up to me?"