Fandoms:Gargoyles/Hunchback of Notre Dame

Disclaimer:Gargoyles and HoND (c) Disney

Pairing:PuckXClopin

Rating:T-M Strong sexual themes and strong language(sometimes)

Manhattan, 1997

Owen Burnett stopped to shuffle a stack of papers strewn across his employer's desk before exiting the newly cleaned room. Marking a final check on the list in his hand, he smiled. His work was done for the evening. When he looked at his watch, however, he frowned. Only eight o'clock. Normally he would be working into the wee hours of the night, but as the Xanatos' were away on vacation, Alexander was not there for Owen to care for, or for Puck to train. Though Owen felt it was terribly cliché'd concidering his personality, he had to admit that he felt, well...bored. He pushed up his thin-framed glasses, noticing a tick layer of dust on his fingertips as he did so. Dusting David Xanatos' living room had proven to be dirtier work since the return of Goliath's clan.

He walked down the long hallway, heading for the second kitchen that Xanatos had had constructed after the chef and Broadway had started getting into arguements about who could work where and who could use who's flour. Even now he could here someone of gargoyle nature opening and closing the vast refrigerator. Mental note; soon he would need to go shopping. He walked into the empty kitchen, which was much neater and cleaner than the gargoyles'. Making his way to the large double sink in the back of the room, he turned on the cold faucet and rinsed his hands in the cool water. He looked up at the mirror hanging over the basin, staring at his bland, square feature as he washed his hands. Turning off the faucet, he took of his glasses and, tucking them into his shirt pocket, rubbed his still wet hands, one flesh and one stone, over his tired eyes.

"I grow weary of this form," he mumbled as the room was lost in a glowing light, his body shrinking slightly to fit the shape of the elven trickster known as Puck. "Ahh, that's better." Puck smiled, drawing his hands from his face and flexing the fingers of his left hand. "Oh, shoot," he pouted, noticing his hands were still wet. He searched for a rag of some sort, but seeing none he walked out of the room, holding his hands out in front of him.

He poked his head into the doorway of the opposite room. "Hello, anyone know where a towel might be?"

Goliath looked up from the couch he was reclining on. "I'm afraid not, Owe-oh, Puck." Sourness sank into his tone. "Were you aware that Owen's voice lingers a bit when you transform?" Puck raised his fingers to his lips, as if he might be able to touch such a thing. Goliath rolled his eyes. "Why have you chaged forms? Alexander is not here for you to teach."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say; you can never never have too much Puck in your life."

"Hmmm." Goliath grumbled, annoyed.

"So, I suppose there's no towels in here then?" Goliath glared at Puck for a moment. "I'll take that as a no," he said, stepping out of the den. "Perhaps there's some in the bathroom," he mumbled to himself. He turned to face the end of the hall.

He walked to the end of the passageway, going by a bedroom on his way. His eyes widened when he heard the sounds emanating from behind the closed door, and he quickly covered his pointed ears. "Oh!" he exclained, his long, white hair now damp. Hearing the revolting sounds again, he decided that having wet hair was better than hearing that. Running to the bathroom now, he quickly jerked open the door and slammed it shut behind him. Mental notes were more of an Owen thing, but he made one to himself then and there: never pass by Angela and Broadway's room without earplugs again.

Grateful for the silence, Puck looked around the small room until at last he found a towel. Drying his hands on the blue fabric, he tried to get the voices of the two gargoyles out of his mind, ignoring the disgusting images that were filling his mind. Two beings joined in such a way...the thought made him want to vomit. Sex had never appealed to him. In fact, it disgusted him. He had never even had romantic feelings for anyone. And females in general...they just seemed too airy and light. Elves were all too perfect. Too unattainable, in a sense. And the thought of chasing a little white haired tike that would scarcely be more of a child than him-no. Alexander was plenty enough for him.

He was contemplating whether to stay until he heard the next door open or to make a quick dash back to the study when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shiny glittering from behind the toilet. Curious, he bent down, grasping the golden edge of the hidden object with his fingers. "Well, well, well," he smiled, turning the crest-shaped object over in his hands. "What have we here?"

A golden-ridged artifact glittered under the dim light. Puck stared bitterly at the golden phoenix crying against the blue background. He traced his fingers over the four points of the beautiful object. "The Phoenix Gate," Puck's voice dripped with sardonicism. "Would've been helpful to have you around here about a year ago."

"Let's see," Puck thought aloud. "If Goliath threw you into the vortex of time, how'd you end up in Xanatos' bathroom?" He snapped his fingers. "Of course! You were practically swimming in Avalon'd magic. You must have been sent where you needed to be." He smiled at his good luck. "Now, the question is, why were you needed here? Well, it certaintly wasn't for my sake." He grinned mischieviously. "But, no one else knows you're here, so who would miss you if just decided to use you for my own benefit?"

Still smiling, he stood up. Holding the talisman above his head, he whispered, "Deflagrate muri tempi et intervalia!"

The room began to spin. Brilliant colors swam around the trickster, the light nearly blinding him, and he began to feel dizzy. Time travel always did leave Puck feeling a little travel sick. He reached down to lean on the disappearing sink, but his hand slipped, sending him tumbling to the floor. Holding tight to the Phoenix Gate, his forehead hit the shifting ground hard. As the colors continued to dance around him, Puck's eye's closed as the darkness clouded his spinning mind.

Puck rubbed his aching head, blinking at the painfully bright sun. He could taste the ground against his lips on the warm ground beneath him, and with much exertion pushed himself up onto his knees. Where am I? He eyed his surroundings, which consisted of a tree behind him, sparce grass about his legs, and a small cobblestone path stretched out in front of him. He stood and started down the short path, which led to the edges of a large town. Buildings sprung up where there had been trees just moments before. Children ran about barefoot, dashing in and out of alleys, just beyond the reach of their mothers. A fruit stand was constructed in front of a bakery. A man at the other end of the street claimed to be selling fish for just two pounds per dozen. A well sat in the center of it all.

He recieved a few stares from the villagers. He looked down at his red and purple tunic, then back at their modest aprons and trousers. The people dressed as though they had walked straight out of Alexander's Beauty and the Beast tape. He now realized that the question wasn't where was he; it was when was he.

He turned upon hearing the jovial chatter of children and the jingle of silver being throw into a hat. At the far end of the square, a caravan covered in exoctic looking rugs was set up and surrounded by children and a few adults. A dark-skinned woman was dancing for the crowd as a similar man played a flute outside the caravan, while inside, another tan character was putting on a puppet show for the children.

Puck watched all this with confusion. How did he end up here? He had intended to go back to about a year ago to see if he could change Oberon's relinquishing of his powers, so how had he winded up in France? Seeing a wrinkled paper under the toe of his pointed boots, he reached down to grab it. On it there appeared to be an article of some sort. It was a newspaper. Puck skimmed along the edges of the dirty parchment until he found what he was looking for in the bottom-right corner.

It read: In this parish of Paris, France 1482

to be continued...