A/N I like this idea, but I'm not sure how it will be received. I'm desperate for a well-liked Mediator fic! If I get enough postitive reviews then I'll continue and make time for this fic, because I like it, but if the response is low, I'll leave it for when I have time and less WIPs to work with!

Please read and review!

I decided to expand on the Suze we saw pre-Jesse. The one-time smoker, slightly rebellious one. She looked like fun.


Daddy's' Little Girl

Chapter One

It was time to dump Paul Slater.

I saw Meghan's face fall before I'd even entered the room. She knew as well as I did that it was time, but she wasn't as happy to see him go.

"Not Paul!" she cried, as I sat beside her on my bed, and handed her a Bacardi Breezer. "He was perfect for you. He's rich, handsome-"

"Arrogant, self-centred," I continued, and Meghan frowned, taking a big gulp of her rum. She sighed, and ran a hand through her long, dark hair.

"Bye-bye, Perfect Paul," she said, gloomily. "Another one bites the dust."

I said nothing, but instead fixed my gaze on the beach only yards away from my bedroom window. Meghan was always blissfully oblivious to the darker side of relationships, she always had been. In a practically marital relationship with her boyfriend-since-tenth-grade, Kenny, her date nights consisted of soppy rom-coms in front of the TV, and feeding each other take-away pizza. Personally, it grossed me out, seeing the sickly pair together.

"Anything from your Dad this birthday?" she asked, and I noticed her bottle was already half-empty. There's my girl.

"No," I replied, without a hint of sadness. I had left my Dad back in New York, 15 years ago. My mom moved us out of the state and right over to the other side of America. Here in California, where I had been since the age of 3, I was happy, and unaware of my father's current affairs. I didn't even know if he was alive, and even more, I didn't care. If my Mom had thought we could live without him, I didn't give a damn.

"Oh well," said Meghan, and she drained her Bacardi. "Happy 18th, Suzy." She leant over sleepily and gave me a big hug, before wandering out into the kitchen to find herself another alcoholic beverage, no doubt. "Jeez, Suze, this whole house reeks of cigarette smoke. I thought you'd quit!"

I shrugged my shoulders, though I knew she couldn't see me. I was edgy. It had been my 18th birthday, and I needed a way to relax. It wasn't like my Mom was around to talk to, and Meghan had been at work. It was just me, and the hidden packet of smokes in the cookie jar, all alone. It doesn't take a whole lot of imagination to figure out what happened next.

I too emptied my Bacardi Breezer, just in time for Meg to bring in another two. She was here for the night, for a slumber party, like we had at the beginning of my teen years. It was like marking the end of the era. With booze. Lots and lots of booze.

"So, you haven't actually dumped Paul yet?" she questioned, and she sat – well, more like drunkenly fell, and landed alright – on the floor, crossed-legged in front of me. "You've just planned this?"

"Yup," I said, beginning my third – no wait, was it my fourth? – drink of the night, a strawberry Schnapps. "I figured I'd do it tomorrow. He's planning on taking me out for my birthday."

"You're going to dump Paul Slater, at the Pebble Beach Golf Club," replied Meghan, looking at me in awe. "Wow. Suze Simon, you are such a hard-ass." I matched her stare, and she looked away, taking a sip of her light beer. "Wait, you're going to do it after he's giving you your present, though, right?"

"Of course!" I answered, and the duh went unmentioned. "I'm hoping its something with diamonds."

"It will be," Meghan assured me. "I mean, come on. This is Paul Slater we're talking about."


"Hey, gorgeous." Paul greeted me warmly, with a deep kiss on the lips. I had been waiting on the porch, in my new yellow sundress that Mom had left on my bed yesterday morning – my birthday present. I wasn't normally one for yellow, but it was a perfect contrast against my skin.

"Hey, Paul," I replied casually, as he took my arm and led me down the steps and down the driveway to his gleaming Mercedes. It sparkled in the hot CA sun, and the metal was hot as I pulled the passenger seat door open.

"I had it cleaned, just for this occasion," he told me, proudly, and I ignored the guilty lurch in my stomach. I wasn't using Paul for my birthday present, I told myself. I was just waiting for the opportune moment.

We drove swiftly across the coast, the cool zephyr whizzing through my hair as we sped past the sea. The Pebble Beach Golf Club was in one of the most breath-taking locations. It was one of Paul's favourite date-spots, I'd learnt earlier on in our relationship, back in January. It was now June. Five months was almost a record for me.

Paul stopped the car outside the resort, expertly moving his hands to the handbrake and the gear-stick, before reaching inside his aristocratic Chanel suit and pulling out a neat, shop-wrapped parcel. It was small, no bigger than the palm of my hand, and the paper tore away to reveal a velvety box. Jewellery!

I snapped open the box to see a small, white-gold band, just small enough to fit around my ring finger. And it the centre, even more dazzling than the surface of Paul's car, was a diamond. All of a sudden, the wind went from out of my sails. Because I wasn't going to be able to keep this piece of jewellery. It was an engagement ring.

"Before you say anything," Paul said, hurriedly, obviously reading my expression of unease. "I just want to say that, although we've only been together 5 months – and that we're young, I know that – you're amazing, Suze. You're beautiful, and you're quick-witted, and you make me laugh…"

He trailed off, looking at me pleadingly. But it still didn't make it any harder to snap shut the box and hand it back to him, which I promptly did. "I'm sorry, Paul," I said, as he took it with a crushed look. "I just…." Now was the time to break up with him. "I just…." Do it Suze, do it! "Wait. What are these?"

I lifted up, on my pinkie finger, something that had caught my eye during my last muttering of "I just…". It was red, and lacy, or rather, they were, and with black trim, and they were tucked into the side pocket of the passenger door. I dangled them in front of his face, which was slowly turning red, to match the panties. He gulped.

"They're – they're not yours?" he asked, though I knew he knew the answer already. I dropped them in his lap. I was slowly regretting giving Paul back the box. It would have been handy to throw at his face.

"No," I snapped, and I got out of the car in a hurry, slamming the door behind me. "I do not wear a piece of string, Slater." Paul gulped. "How long?" I asked him. "How long have you been sleeping with somebody else behind my back?"

"Suze, I can explain-"

"I don't want the gory details," I snarled. "Just tell me: how long?"

"A…. a while," he admitted, and I nearly exploded.

"I'm leaving," I declared, and I began to stomp away as fast as my Manolo Blahniks would carry me. I travelled an impressive distance by the time Paul caught up with me, and he grabbed at my arm, desperately. I retaliated by dealing him a sharp slap that turned his cheek even redder.

"Leave me alone," I ordered, and he remained stationary as I walked away again, now feeling like I could spectacularly combust any second. I made it into the lobby, and spoke calmly to the maitre d'. "Do you have a payphone?"

"It's out of order," he told me, and he scuttled away to deal with a particularly argumentative customer." I exhaled, heavily, trying to control my now fiery emotions. I turned around to see a jostling gang of guys about my age enter the lobby and stand behind me. I waved my hand, surrendering.

"I'm not waiting," I said to them, and they moved past me. "I just want a stupid pay-phone that isn't out of order. Is that too much to ask?"

Most of the guys ignored me, but one in particular looked at me concernedly. I recognised him as Jesse, and the guys around him as his band, Dirty Bunch. They had a sucky name, but they played some good music. Word was Jesse was planning to go to medical school, and he was in the band doing weddings and bar mitzvahs until he had enough money to go. It was a sweet story, really, but I didn't really care. He had hung out with the Kelly Prescotts and the Debbie Mancusos back in high school, and it was always us against them them being the Jesses and the Kellys, us being Meghan and me. Jesse had never said a mean word to me throughout high school, but even after graduation I was still a little cautious.

"You need a ride?" Jesse asked me, to my surprise. I narrowed my eyes at him, not quite believing his sincerity.

"What's the catch?" I said, carefully.

Jesse looked taken aback. "No catch," he promised me. "Just a ride home. Maybe a gas-stop along the way." He looked behind him to confirm with his band members, who nodded, bored. "We're just here to pick up Willem – he's our drummer, he's got a summer job here as a lifeguard – and then we can go."

"OK," I replied, softening. "Thanks, Jesse." He looked astonished.

"How do you know my name?" he enquired. See, didn't I tell you? Different social circles: jocks versus burnouts. I rolled my eyes.

"Did you think I'd accept a ride off a total stranger?" I challenged. "We went to school together. We just graduated?"

"Class of 2007…" he muttered, and I nodded.

"Different social circles," I told him, out loud. He returned my nod. A tall, gangling boy with blonde curly hair appeared at Jesse's side, looking exhausted but relieved.

"Shift's over," he grunted, and I followed Dirty Bunch outside. I was greeted by an off-white (and grimy) van, with a dodgy paint-job reading "Dirty Bunch – available for all occasions" and a telephone number.

"Hop in, stranger," Jesse said in my ear, and I jumped. I climbed in after Willem, disgusted at the sweaty leather seats. I said nothing and sat in silence, until the van screeched to a halt, somewhere other than Pine Crest Road.

"Gas-stop," Jesse explained, turning around from the passenger seat.

"Yeah, so we're gonna need your share of the gas money," joked Willem, and I obviously looked horrified, as the rest of the guys laughed.

"He's kidding," Jesse assured me, and I sank in my seat, repulsed by the jeers being thrown my way. "Hey," he told them. "Give her a break. She's not used to you jerks like I am."

"Anybody want anything from the shop?" asked Jake, the driver, fishing for dollars in his pocket.

"Beer," grunted Willem.

"Diet Pepsi?" Jesse offered me. I shook my head. "M&Ms?" I asked.

"What flavour?" questioned Jake, as he shook off the dollar I was handing him.

"Peanut," I told him, and looked sheepishly at my unwanted dollar. "And thanks."

Jesse leapt out of the car and sorted out the gas for the van, whilst I made as much minimal chatter as I could with the remaining members of Dirty Bunch – Adam, Willem, and Dean. Adam had dreads so long I couldn't see his mouth, which made conversation pretty much impossible – something I was grateful for; and Dean was reaching inside his leather jacket for a packet of cigarettes. I looked at the cardboard, hungrily.

"Dude, those things wreck your vocal chords," argued Willem, and Dean shrugged, the way I had last night when Meghan had challenged me.

"God job I play keyboard and don't do the singing," he said, as Jesse jumped back into the vehicle, and sniffed in disgust as blue plumes of cigarette smoke flew to the front of the van.

"You couldn't wait till we got back home and you could smoke outside?" he demanded, angrily. "You know I hate smoking." I gulped. Dean offered me a cigarette, politely, ignoring Jesse's outburst.

"I don't smoke," I lied, though I ached desperately for one. I didn't know why I felt the need to impress Jesse – I could get plenty of other guys who smoked too, my reputation during school had made sure of that.

Jake got back into the van and handed me my M&Ms – almost a reserve for nicotine. I nodded in thanks, and teased open the packet, offering them round. Dean declined, happily sucking his cigarette, though Willem and Adam took a handful each. Jesse took a few for Jake, but left me with half the packet for myself. I chewed, pondering about the new "friends" I had made.

"So, where do you live?" Jesse asked, keeping his eyes on me as Jake stepped on the accelerator.

"Pine Crest Road," I answered, and Jesse nodded. "Nice estate," he said. "My grandmother used to live there."

We soon passed houses I recognised, and I undid my seatbelt as I saw my house come into view. "Here," I told Jake, and he braked. Willem let me past him and I hopped out of the van, met by Jesse, who was smiling his dazzling smile. I wondered how many groupies this guy had. He stuck out his hand.

"Nice to… meet you," he said, as I touched his palm reluctantly. "I'm sorry; I don't know your name."

"Suze," I replied.

"Short for…" began Jesse, and I could see him thinking. "Susan?"

"Susannah," I corrected him. "As in, 'Don't you Cry for Me'?" Jesse grinned.

"I know the song," he answered. "It was nice to meet you, Susannah." I cringed at the use of my full name. "I have a feeling we'll be meeting again soon."

I laughed, humourlessly. "Oh, I don't think so," I said, and Jesse shrugged.

"Suit yourself," he said, and he leapt back into the van. With a wink through the window to me, Jesse then said something to Jake, and the van drove away with a loud vroom.