Of Plumbing in the Boathouse and Other Parts of Married Life
				 by Falstaff
			(gratton@worldnet.att.net)

Now, this story describes events that never happened in the mainstream
Marvel universe--couldn't happen, in fact.  So, just to keep my lies
consistent--as it were--let's just say that this story is part of my
Arleccino Timeline, although removed from the Gen-X crowd.  As I meant to
state--I honestly don't remember if I did or not--when I started this
little romp, the Arleccino Timeline encompasses a lot more ground than Snow
Valley.  There are differences all over the place.  And this is one of
them.

	"Yeah, this is the problem here," the plumber said, holding the plastic
tube aloft.  "Y'see here, sir, this tube burst on you.  That's where the
leak came from."
	"Ah," said the slender man, brushing an errant lock of straw-colored hair
from his eyes.  
	"Uh-huh," the plumber nodded.  He gestured to the long stretch of faded
pink tubing.  "Y'see here--" a quirk of a thumb at a loop of duct tape at
one point below the rupture--"it's happened before.  But then, you have to
expect that when you're using plastic or bronze where there should be a
nice copper line.   Whoever lived in this place before you was sure a
cheapskate."
	The man shrugged.  "Well, Westchester property's hard to come by.  But as
I recall, he was pretty uptight about things like that."  A strange
expression crossed his face.  "Actually, he was pretty uptight about
everything in general."
	"Mmm," the plumber said.  "Running a school like you do, it must be hard
to keep everything in tip-top shape.  By the way, speaking of running, do
you mind if I use your phone?  Need to give the wife a call."
	"Sure," his host said, gesturing to the phone on the boathouse kitchen's
wall.
	"Thanks."  The plumber picked up the phone and dialed.  "Say, are you
married?"
	"Matter of fact, yes," the slender man said.
	"Thought I remembered that!  Must've been your wife who called us up last
summer about the lines in the bathroom.  You were off someplace, and she
was all hot to get out there--wherever 'there' was--and couldn't hardly
wait for me to get done."
	The slender man's eyes were sparkling.  "Well, she _does_ have a bit of a
temper."
	A grin quirked on the plumber's face as he snorted.  "A _bit_ of a temper?
 She 'bout filleted me for not moving fast enough.  Oh," he said, holding
up a hand, "I don't mean anything by that, sir, it's just that--well--" he
threw his other hand up, as if in defeat.  "Redheads, huh?"
	The slender man nodded ruefully.  
	"Has an accent, doesn't she?  She's--what?  Irish?  Scotch?"
	"She's Scots, yeah."
   	"Well, y'know, I always thought that--oh, hi, honey.  Just me.  Hate
these damn machines--anyway, I'll be home a little late--I got to finish up
the rest of this job here in Westchester and then I'll be on my way.  Hold
dinner for me, huh?  Love ya.  Bye."  He hung up the phone.
	"You have another job here in Westchester?"
	"Yeah, as a matter of fact I do.  Place called Harry's up in town.  You
know it?"
	A nostalgic grin spread across the slender man's features.  "Know it? 
Hell, I was practically _raised_ there!"
	"Yeah, so anyway, their sinks all backed up on 'em.  I'm gonna go out
there and fix it up for 'em."
	"So I'll just write you a check, then?"
	"Yeah, sure."  The plumber winked.  "The old lady lets you handle the
check-book, huh?"
	The slender man raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he filled out the
check and ripped it from the pad.  
	"Uh, by the way," the plumber said, "is there something wrong with your
dog?"  He gestured at the large, russet-colored canine sitting on its
haunches by the door, glaring at him with its luminous greenish eyes.  "He
doesn't bite, does he?"
	"Wolf, actually," the slender man said.  "And no, she doesn't."
	As if in defiance, the wolf beared her teeth in a challenging feral grin. 
	"Well, not most of the time, anyway."
	The plumber made it his business to be quickly gone from the house.  If he
had not been in such a hurry, he might have seen the wolf transform into a
small, redheaded woman in a vermillion jumpsuit.  
	"The ol' lady indeed!" she muttered.  "An' 'Scotch!'  An' ye!" she
grumbled, poking a finger dead-center at the slender man's chest.  She
suppressed her natural brogue, producing a surprisingly good imitation of
his voice.  "'She doesn't bite most of the time.'" Rolling her eyes, she
allowed her voice to return to its typical intonations.  "Honestly,
Douglas, I'm surprised ye didnae offer me a biscuit and pat me on the
rump!"
	He quirked an eyebrow, deadpan.  "I'd be perfectly happy to pat your rump,
if that's what you'd like."
	She fought it, but the corners of her mouth finally lifted into a radiant
smile.  "Oh, yui're the right-an'-proper rascal, aren't ye.  Don' make the
mistake of thinkin' that you'll be gettin' out of this so easily, Professor
Ramsey."
	He swept her up into a loving embrace.  "So I can't win you over with
promises of eternal love and fidelity?"
	"Ye already did that.  The day we married."
	"Hum," he murmured.  "Damn.  Guess I'll just have to come up with
something else then."
	"I suppose so," she smiled, pressing her lips to his.  He kissed her back,
of course, and--
	And that was when the phone rang.  
	"Oh, _Christ!_" he groaned as he broke the kiss.  And then, "Ow!" as his
wife slapped him lightly on the cheek.  
	"None o' that around me, husband," she said, arms folded.  "I won't stand
for it, and you know it well, too."
	"Sorry," he said, ducking his head in bemusement as he grabbed the
telephone's receiver.  "Ramsey residence.  It's your quarter, so talk
quick."
	"Um . . . . Professor?"
	Oh, God.  It was one of the children.  Lillian Wisdom, his god-daughter. 
Well, that was a good sign; Lil took after her mother (thank God for little
miracles!) in the responsibility department.  Even at nearly five, she was
the picture of precocious poise and capability.  But she was calling him
'Professor,' not 'Uncle Doug.'  That was a bad sign.  "Yes, Lillian.  What
is it, sweetie?"
	"Um . . . ."  He heard her take a deep breath.  "Aunt Siku says you have
to come up here right away.  The twins and Leong are fighting again."
	Of course.  Of course they were fighting.  Put the 'Battling Guthries' and
Leong Coy Mah in the same room, and the fights broke out like stomachaches
the day after Halloween.  
	[Why can't Leong be more like his sister?] he wondered. [Karma would've
gauged out her eyes before she picked a fight with anyone.  Her kid
brother, on the other hand--]
	He stopped himself. [--is your student.  Period.] He cleared his throat. 
"Okay, Lillian.  Tell Aunt Siku I'll be right up."  Hanging up the phone,
he kissed his wife's cheek in one fluid motion.  "I'll be back in a few
minutes, firetop."
	"An' pigs have wings," she murmured, but she was smiling.  "Great puffy
ones.  With spots on them."
	He grinned at her, and dashed out the door.  A New Mutant alumni's work is
never done.  

'There came gliding in the black night the walker
 in darkness . . . . from the moor under the mist-hills   
 Grendel came walking, wearing God's anger.'
	        ---the Lay of Beowulf
Yours,
Falstaff
(gratton@worldnet.att.net)