Okay - this is a story idea I had about a month ago, and due to other story deadlines and other events (we all know what THOSE were!), I never got around to working on it.

This is just a silly little thing I decided to have fun with - hope you all enjoy. It's mainly Quantum Leap, but it deals with several OTHER fandoms as well (and several in-jokes as well). Enjoy....

*****

Title: Wabbit Season
Author: Kylara Ingress
Feedback: Well, as you see, my plot bunnies feed off it. kingress@gmail.com
Category: Selfless humor
Fandom/Pairing: mainly Quantum Leap, Sam/Al; but also has Sports Night, Dan & Casey, and Lone Gunmen, Byers, Langly, & Frohike
Archive: Sure - just ask first
Rating: PG
Summary: Just a silly visual I had after reading someone else's 'inside the author's mind' story.
Warning: This is a story dealing with hot & heavy relationships between two (or more - grin) men. If you don't like it, well then, go watch PAX TV.
Spoilers: None that I know of. Heck, only a general idea of what these shows are about should suffice.
Disclaimer: Ohhhh, boy. Uh, Sam & Al (& QL) belong to Don Bellisario & Bellasarius Productions; Dan & Casey (& SN) belong to Aaron Sorkin & Imagine Productions; Byers, Langly, & Frohike (& XF & LGM) belong to Chris Carter & 1013 Productions. They're all too busy doin' other stuff now to worry about lil' ol' me....
Much Thanks: As usual, to my wonderful beta, J.D. Rush, for letting me steal, uhhh, 'borrow' Langly's weapon (among other things).


Wabbit Season
Kylara Ingress

<BANG!>

"Al! What the hell is going on here?"

<Click, click.>

"Oh, hey, Sam. What does it LOOK like?" <CLANK> "God damn bad rounds."

"Well, I don't know, Al. That's why I asked. I was back at our place, getting ready to set up a nice romantic evening for the two of us, when I started hearing all these gun blasts and got worried and felt an overwhelming urge to come find you and make sure you were okay. What ARE you doing with a double-barreled shot gun?"

<Clink.> "Ah, fresh rounds. What? Oh, the gun? I'm. . . uh . . . doin' some huntin'."

"HUNTING?!?"

<BANG!> "Ah, got one!"

"AL! That was a bunny rabbit you just shot!"

"Not just a bunny, Sam. That was a plot bunny."

"A . . . plot bunny?"

"Yeah - they're everywhere in here." <Click, click.> "And they seem to attack when we're least expecting it."

<VROOM>

"Duck!"

Sam did so, and watched as . . . WORDS flew overhead. "THAT WAS A GREAT STORY," he read.

"Watch out!" Al yelled, and pulled him down. Suddenly, the place was overwhelmed with bunnies.

"What the hell?" Sam asked.

"Positive feedback. Makes them breed like . . . well, like rabbits."

"You okay over there?" came a voice from the woods. "I'm sure I heard positive feedback coming in."

Sam turned, and saw a slim man with short dark hair and dark bittersweet-chocolate brown eyes walking out from behind the trees, carrying one of those 'whack-a-mole' mallets. As the bunnies started to breed, the man (and Sam was sure he recognized the stranger, but couldn't remember from where) started walloping bunnies left and right.

"Great job, Danny," Al said with an obvious leer toward the young man. "Or is it Dan this time?"

"And who is that?" Sam asked, trying to mask his obvious jealousy.

"Oh, that?" Al asked casually. "That's Dan Rydell. You may remember him from that sports show 'Sports Night' that was on CSC before they were bought out?"

"And what is HE doing here? Giving commentary on your hunting skills?"

"Nah," Al said, and leaned over to give Sam a reassuring kiss. "He and his partner - not quite sure WHERE Casey is right now - have been helping me out. They've been here for a little over half a year, and figured I had the right idea."

<THUNK> came the sound of an arrow from the woods as it shot through the air and hit a bunny.

"Great shot!" Dan said, looking back over his shoulder toward the woods. Walking out with a huge bow was a man Sam assumed was Casey McCall, Dan's on air (and apparently OFF air as well) partner. About Sam's height, he had a shade lighter blond hair, neatly trimmed as well, and a smile that would light up New York.

"Thanks, Danny," he said and sidled up to his lover, giving him a small peck on the cheek. "That put THAT one six feet under!"

"Amateur!" came a new voice from behind the group.

"Yeah, what do you think this is, a sports show?" came a second new voice.

"Langly, stop it. " came a third new voice. "You try bow hunting rabbits!"

Sam turned, and sitting on a set of bleacher seats were three men he KNEW he had never seen before. A living example of the there stages of man, he had to hold back a giggle as he observed these newest visitors. The youngest looked like the typical societal rebel, wearing a Ramones t-shirt and ratty blue jeans, his long blond hair stringy and his eyes hidden behind big black glasses. The middle appeared to be the 'leader', looking the most 'normal' in a charcoal gray suit and powder blue tie, his beard neatly trimmed and his brown hair short and neat. Pretty humpy, Sam thought. Finally, the eldest: a short, dark man with thinning hair and glasses, looking like the type of guy who would hole out in a basement waiting for the world to end, wearing more leather than a cow.

"Who are THEY?" Sam asked Al, stupefied.

"Ah, them?" Al clarified with a quick glance toward the bleachers. "They're the Gunmen: Langly, Byers, and Frohike," he introduced, pointing at the three. More talking to them, he continued, "Are you guys just gonna sit there and watch?"

"Why not?" asked Langly. "Hell of a lot more amusing than anything else in this place right now!"

"You should be helping," Dan said, grabbing the arrow out of the bunny and restringing the bow.

"Why?" Frohike asked. "They aren't attacking US."

"Not yet," Casey said. "Dan and I were in here for a couple of months before they started attacking us."

"You're lucky," Al said, and <BANG> took another shot. "You've had relatively harmless ones nibbling at you. Wait until the mean ones take a bite at you."

"Well, if we WERE to help out, we wouldn't be doing it with any wimpy bow and arrow," Langly shot back, sarcastically. "Now THIS is a weapon." And from behind him he pulled out the biggest, nastiest, most muthafuckin-est bad-asssssed gun that Sam had ever seen. Made the gun that Sigourney Weaver had in "Aliens" look like a pea-shooter.

"Ah, happiness is a warm gun," Frohike said.

"Wha...what is that?" he asked, when he could get his voice working again.

"I call it the Grand-Slam Bunny-Eradicator 2000," he answered, smugly. "My OWN personal invention."

"And how does it kill the little bastards?" Frohike snarled. "By shortin' out and setting the woods on fire."

"Oh, one little electrical fire and I never hear the end of it," Langly spit back.

"Yeah, and if we hadn't contained it, it would have taken out our headquarters," Frohike reminded him pointedly.

"Yeah, well, keep that in mind," Langly said. "Flames kill bunnies about as quickly as negative feedback!"

"Guys, please - stop bickering - otherwise I won't let you play with that Xena doll we found over at Doggett's." It was the one Al had called Byers, playing peace keeper (as it looked like he USUALLY did). Sam found himself enchanted by the soft, commanding tone, the richness of his voice - and those startling blue eyes. Definitely humpy.

The bickering came to a sudden stop, however, not because of Byers gentle plea, but by a cold chill that descended over the glade, and its inhabitants.

"What . . . ." Sam started, but Al cut him off with a gesture.

Entering the glade was a tall creature, wrapped in a cloak that wasn't black so much as without color. A frost radiated from it, and each individual felt their hearts wince as it walked past them.

Almost to the other side, it pulled out a club, terrifying in it's lethality. Wooden, with steel spikes on the end, it looked like something out of Conan the Barbarian or Dungeons & Dragons or like the Black Knight from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail", Sam concluded The monster drew the club out, and quickly smushed a bunny. It squealed out in its pain and fear, and the monster quickly hit it again.

The bunny, thoroughly beaten, just sat there; the creature, seemingly satisfied, let out a huge sigh filled with almost as much anguish as the bunny's cry, and walked off. As soon as the monster was clear, the bunny - almost like a character in a cartoon - propped itself up, and started to hobble away.

"Quick!" Dan shouted, indicating Al's gun. "Before it gets away!"

<BANG!> and <POOF>, with Al's lethal shot, the bunny quickly disappeared.

"Thank God," Al muttered to himself. "That could have really sucked if he had gotten away."

"What in the HELL?" Sam asked.

"Angst monster," Al, Dan, and Casey said as one.

"Those can get pretty vicious," Al continued alone. "Remember that time you leaped home, only to lose your memory of everything? That was a plot bunny, attacked by the angst monster."

"It was?"

"It was. One of the worse angst-monsters I've ever encountered - and you're talking to a guy who had to deal with that Beth/Dirk one."

"Guys, I'm confused. You're telling me that these cute, sweet, fluffy little bunnies are dangerous? I can't believe that for one second." An absolutely adorable white bunny, the soft, creamy fur glowing with innocence and love, hopped over to Sam. With a small purr, it started rubbing it's twitching nose against his ankle. He smiled, reaching down and picked it up. "I mean, how could this thing be harmful?"

"NOOOOO!!" Al bellowed. "SAM! PUT IT DOWN!"

"Yeah, Sam!" Dan and Casey both yelled.

"Put down the rabbit!" Dan cried out.

"Before it's too late!" Casey added.

But it already WAS too late. One minute Sam was cuddling the bunny, stroking its silky fur - the next, after a short nibble, he had a strange gleam in his eye. "I've got it!" he exclaimed, and began running off, still clutching the little animal.

"Sam! Come back!" Al called out after him. "Where are you going?"

"I've figured it all out, Al," Sam said excitedly. "I know how I can leap back and save JFK this time!"

"JFK!?!" Byers had jumped down from the bleachers and was running up to Sam. "You think you can save JFK?"

"Yeah. See, I have this machine, and I can leap back in time, and if I just make sure to leap into his chauffeur, I'm sure that I can drive AROUND Delaney Plaza, thereby avoiding the Book Depository."

"Make sure you convince him to put the hard-top on the convertible," Byers supplied, getting all dewy-eyed gazing at the hunky genius.

"Of course!" Sam found himself drowning in those deep blue pools Byers called eyes. Wrapping his arm around the handsome Gunman's waist, they started walking away, talking, "And then I can. . . ."

"SAM! SAM!! COME BACK!" Al was shouting. "Jesus Christ! What the hell just happened?"

"Byers! Where are you going?" Langly demanded. "What about that romantic get-away the three of us had planned this weekend?"

"Byers! Get yer ass back over here!" Frohike added. "Three-somes don't work if there's only two people!"

"And all three of them have to be interested!" Dan added, wrapping himself in his partner's embrace.

"Oh, God, that plot bunny got 'em but good," Frohike observed, watching the two walk away in a cloud of blissful desire.

"Crossover bunnies," Dan sighed sadly. "They're the worst."

"No saving them now," Casey agreed, shaking his own head out of sympathy, hugging Dan even closer to him, thankful that it was happening to someone else.

"No, I won't accept that!" Al declared. "Sam is MINE! And no amount of trekking about will change THAT!" He made a mad dash towards the bleachers, holding out his hand and asking, "Langly, where's that gun of yours?"

"Here, dude. And hurry up! I've got an overpowering desire to slather Byers in whipped cream while Frohike and I lick it off of him."

"Langly, we did that last week," Frohike whined. "Can't we do chocolate this time?"

"Could do both," Langly compromised.

"Can we join you guys?" Dan asked hopefully.

"Sounds like a lot of fun," Casey agreed. "We haven't gotten into the desserts yet."

"Just tell me how to use this freaking thing!" Al commanded.

Langly stopped fantasizing about a cream-covered Byers long enough to blurt out, "You just point it, look through this doohickey, and press this doodad here."

"Real technical, Hairboy," Frohike grumbled.

"SAMUAL JOHN BECKETT!" This time Al used his don't-screw-with-me-I'm-an-admiral voice, causing everyone in a two-mile radius to jump at attention, including his wayward lover. Sam turned guiltily, barely noticing Byers's left hand, currently resting on his shapely ass. "Put the bunny down, and back slowly away!"

"What are you going to do to it, Al?" Sam asked warily.

"Send it back to plot bunny hell, where it belongs," Al replied calmly, his words belying the fact he was pointing roughly 25 pounds of weaponry at the furry creature.

He drew a bead, checked the view away from the sight, then softly said, "Hasta la bye-bye, bunny!" And shot.

*****

Gee, all I wanted was to tell some sweet love stories. They weren't hurting anyone. Oh, well. . . . Hmmm .. . maybe I'll go visit that cute F.B.I. agent and his sexy bald boss-man. After all, Foxes LOVE bunnies. Yeah. THAT'LL work! They'll never see it coming!

<HOP, HOP, HOP>

The End

9/25/01


Archived: November 02, 2001