Title: Plausible Deniablilty
Timeline: After "Goodmorning, Sunshine"
Author: Dean Caeryn
Rating: GDS (General Depravation Syndrome)
Archve: If you can pry your fingers of Bob's Gold Card long enough, Darry...
Disclaimers: Do you *really* want this george? And I don't even mention your characters so :-p~~~~~~~~~~

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Yawning, the still half asleep Dean clumped down the stairs of the sumptuous vacation house. Clutching the faithful and everpresent Paddington by one paw as he trailed at her side, Caeryn groggily rubbed her eyes with her free hand, trying to clear some of the inevitable morning grit.

Her soft flannel pajamas fluttered around her in the warm alderaanian breeze as she ambled into the empty study. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she shuddered. Noon...what on earth was she doing up so early. Oh that's right...they weren't on earth anymore...must be some sort of intergalactic jetlag...

With a half hearted sigh, she plunked down in the chair behind the massive oak desk, ruthlessly quelling a sharp pang of homesickness. She missed her desk...she missed her office...she missed her computer...and although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, she missed her General. Not that she had forgiven him for wrecking her weeks of hard work. Definitely not! It was just that her hormones were apparently not checking their brain mail and so didn't realise that she was still angry with him.

Sifting despondently through the stack of snail mail on the desk she humphed slightly when she saw nothing from the General. So what if it had only been a couple of days...Sniffing petulantly, the mopey Ho set Paddington on the desk in front of her and set about the important morning task of changing her beloved companion out of his adorable flannel night wear (that matched her own) and back into his yellow rain coat and red wellies.

A muffled thud from the hallway followed by a slight crash reached her ears, rousing her attention from her longtime confidant. Tilting her head slightly, she listened attentively for a few seconds.

"What do you suppose that was, Paddington? It sounded suspiciously like a multiple thud." She paused a moment, mulling over Paddington's response.

"Yes, you're right...we only have one master chick here."

Before she could say anything else a loud crash reverberated throughout the hall outside the door, sounding suspiciously like the 8th Century Ming Dynasty vase meeting the unyielding marble floor.

"What the...???" Jumping from her seat, absently grabbing the wellie clad but otherwise undressed bear from the desk by one paw, the displaced Dean scurried over to the study door, swinging it open to search out the source of the potentially expensive ruckus.

Only to stop cold in her tracks as she caught site of the perpetrator staggering past one of the hall mirrors, reaching out a hand to brace himself as he walked.

Her brain barely registered the affirmation of the vase's distruction as evidenced by the shards of blue swirled white pottery laying on the floor.

The fact that there were several thudded--not swooned...thudded--obi chicks laying in the kitchen doorway didn't even blip on her radar.

Can't Breath.

Long blond hair framing that face...but not that face...

Blood Draining from face...can't breath.

Those eyes, but dazed and unfocused...not teasing and twinkling...

Going into shock...must breath.

Those hips without the prowling swagger...

It. Could. Not. Be.

From the lips of the chief administrator arose the classic wailing response of all true Star Wars geeks faced with the impossible. In a voice that would wake the dead (or at least every still sleeping Ho in the building) the distraught Grrl gave vent to her horror...

"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Clutching the bewildered Paddington to her chest protectively, she stumbled back, slamming the door shut forcefully as she did so. Gasping in desperate hiccuping, hyperventilating breaths she stared at the door, her eyes wide with panic.

One thought managed to register on her numbed brain.

Without pausing to think about it she spun wildly. With a few running steps, she was behind the desk. Grasping the remainder of Paddington's clothing from the desk top she did the only rational thing anyone could do.

She hid under the desk, alternately sobbing and hiccuping as she burried her face Paddington's fur.

"Nonononononononononono....general...not general...bad general...."

Paddington said little as his fur became decidedly soggy.