Ok, Kia Ora everyone!

Heres the Plug:

This little oneshot was constructed for Stark Raving Lolly's "testosterone poisoning" competition.

You can find the whole competition on her "monthly Mediator Writing Challenge" forum.

My entry is about POKéMON, and I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it.

xox

Maybe I was developing a God complex.

The disastrous events of Wednesday night were certainly enough to suggest so.

It was an accident! I SWEAR, I never meant for any of this to happen! I really was just trying to do "The Right Thing".

. . . Guess I should have remembered how much "the Right Thing" seems to enjoy blowing up in your face.

Especially when testosterone is involved.

xox

There was a loud knock at the door.

"Shall I get that Susannah?"

Jesse extricated himself from the tangle of PlayStation controllers and pulled himself up off the couch.

I had no idea that Jesse was such a good "Need for Speed" player. Either he used to sneak downstairs and practise when he was a ghost, or it's just a guy thing to be really, really good at games with cars.

He was WAY better than me, and it was such a kick in the pants that Suze Simon, (the kick ass new Yorker, formerly of leather motorcycle jacket fame,) was getting her ass completely thrashed at "Need For Speed" by a guy who was DEAD when they invented it.

So, as embarrassing as this all was, I really wasn't all that disappointed to have to pause the game.

" . . . Susannah?"

Then I remembered who it probably was at my door.

"Actually Jesse . . ." I hesitated, wondering for the first time wether my plan might have been concocted a little too hastily.

Maybe I should have thought this through a little more . . .?

I mean, sure, I was loosing at Need for Speed but it wasn't THAT bad . . .

Ok. Yeah. It was.

" . . . I'll get it." I answered Jesse, "Give you a chance to gloat over how great you are at PlayStation and not feel bad for rubbing it in."

Jesse tried and failed to repress his grin.

I shook my head, laughing, and went to answer the door.

"Hi." My guest said when I swung the door open and invited him in.

"Hey," I replied evenly, pushing to the back of my mind all doubts I had about what I was about to try and do.

"Hey, Jesse!" I smiled brightly as I re-entered the living room, with my guest hot on my heels. "Look who dropped by!"

"Actually Suze, you invited me, remember?" Paul Slater said smoothly, walking over and sitting down in one of mum's cream armchairs.

"Uh . . . no I didn't."

Paul frowned. "What? You called me about twenty minutes ago—"

I cut him off with a nervous laugh, "Don't be silly Paul, I did not. You must be thinking of . . . some other Suze. Not me. No way."

Now there's a lame excuse . . .

And sure enough, when I looked over at Jesse, he was surveying me with one eyebrow raised.

He didn't look mad though.

So that's something I guess.

It told me that my plan of orchestrating Paul and Jesse's friendship wasn't hopeless before I'd even started.

And yeah, OK, I know it sounds DUMB that sounds, ("now you two kiddies just play nice now,") but the situation between them had escalated until it was beyond ridiculous.

When forced into contact with one another, they were painstakingly civil, all the while making their distaste perfectly clear.

It was FRUSTRATING and POINTLESS! I mean, Paul knows so much stuff about what all three of us ARE, and him and Jesse being able to hold an entire conversation WITHOUT any contemptuous undercurrents would make all our jobs just THAT MUCH EASIER.

So god damnit, they were going to get along!

Just like it says to on Barney.

And Barney KNOWS ALL.

"Um . . . Paul do you want a drink?"

"Sure," he answered, grinning hugely now. There's something about awkward situations that just seems to float his boat.

"Ok. I'll be right back." I went into the kitchen and grabbed a soda, and then brought it back out to him.

"Thanks Suzie," he acknowledged me. I grimaced, but ignored the 'Suzie' jab.

We'll save that one for another day.

"Say, Suze, would you like to sit down?" Paul asked me, getting up off his armchair. "Here, take my seat." Then he looked meaningfully over at Jesse as he added, "as a true GENTLEMAN, it's the least I can do to put a lady before EVERYTHING ELSE.'

Yeah, I thought sarcastically, but did not say. Like a BURNING BARN

SOMEBODY obviously has a small case of selective memory-itis, wouldn't you say?

Jesse just smiled superiorly at Paul, refusing to take the bait.

Paul opened his mouth—no doubt to provoke him further—when I intervened.

"Hold up," I said, spreading my arms in a gesture of peace. "Now this is what I'm talking about! Why can't you two at least make an effort to get along??"

I thought I heard a mumbled "he started it," but I couldn't be sure who had said it, so I decided to let it slide.

"Now," I said pleasantly, folding my arms across my chest and smiling at each of them. "What we are going to do is we are going to sit here, like the good little ghost-busters we are, and have a nice, calm discussion about our FEELINGS."

Paul snorted.

Even Jesse looked sort of sceptical.

And in the 1800's, they did lots of talking. It passed the time. Because they didn't have scrabble, you see.

Or contraception.

Or "Need For Speed".

"WHAT?" I replied defensively. "Its what they do on Dr Phil!"

"Susannah . . ." Jesse said coaxingly, getting up of the couch and taking my hand. "I admit that I can see your point a little. How about if both Paul and myself agree to try a little harder to get along? Would that make you happy?"

This mollified me. I beamed at him. "Yes! See, that's all I'm asking! That's all I want!"

"Oh, please." Paul scoffed from his place in the armchair. "You can't be falling for that shit, Suze. He just wants to get into your pants."

Jesse expression turned furious, and he swung back around to face Paul. I grabbed his arm, restraining him.

Now, usually I am ALL FOR a bit of the old "Wanna fight marmite" problem solving—especially when its two hot guys and the fight is more or less over ME—but I was already way broke from the LAST time these had engaged in fisticuffs.

Hello? Remember the china cabinet?

I really can't afford anymore "RAW" imitations.

"Oh, yeah, what are you going to do, puritan?" Paul taunted. "Pull scary faces?"

Jesse ripped his arm out of my grasp. "You know, Slater, you're really starting to annoy me . . ."

Suddenly I knew that this had all been really BAD idea.

Then and there I vowed that from then on, I would leave the "talking about feelings" stuff to daytime television.

I just wasn't worthy.

Paul got up from his chair as Jesse walked slowly towards him. "Come on then amigo," Paul challenged.

"OK, NO!" I said quickly, darting round the sofa and attempting to get between them, "No no no no no, I changed my mind, I don't care if you get along or not—"

"Susannah," Jesse didn't take his eyes off Paul. "Maybe you should go upstairs."

"Yeah." Paul threw in, winking at me. "Go on upstairs Suze, I'll be right up."

"Trust me, hijo de una perra," Jesse sneered. "You will not be walking out of this room."

Paul grinned and stretched his arms out. "Oh yeah? Watch me."

"NO!!!!" I yelled, stepping in between them and putting my hands out, restraining them. "You're being pathetic, both of you! No one cares how STRONG you are, least of all ME! People only care if your SMART and NICE and—"

I broke off as Paul started to grin.

"What?" I demanded, instantly wary of that grin. "WHAT?"

Paul grinned some more. "What do you say then, de Silva, to a game of wits? A little intellectual competition . . . where the best man—that's me, by the way—wins."

Jesse stared at him, unblinking.

"Come on Rico . . . You can only lose. And you will."

Jesse expression turned guarded as he said asked, "What sort of game?"

Oh no. Oh God no.

No games. NO GAMES!!!!!

"I dunno," Paul admitted. "Suze, what games you got here?"

"WHAT?????"

"You know. Monopoly. Go-Fish. Games." Paul looked at me like I was mentally retarded.

Which, you know, is probably a fair assessment, given that I must have been OUT OF MY MIND for thinking that I could ever convince these two knuckle heads to get along!

"NOTHING." I replied, "Because you're not playing any games! You're going to turn around and go HOME and I'm going to take some really big PAINKILELRS . . ."

I realised Paul was no longer listening to me as he casually walked around to the Cabinet that supported the T.V, and began to rifle through the contents.

"Paul, you are INSANE!" I yelled, my panic intensifying.

He looked up to me and grinned again. "Yeah. But you see dead people Suze, so don't be such a black pot."

. . . What?

Oh.

Pot calling the kettle black, I get it now.

Jesse reached out and put a comforting arm around my shoulders. "Don't worry so much, Querida. I'll beat Slater at his little game, and then we can go back to doing what we were doing before he showed up."

What, loosing at "Need for Speed?"

NO THANK YOU.

"Jesse . . ." I protested.

"Relax, mi querida. This is better than your friend Slater getting hurt, isn't it?"

My friend Slater is out of his bloody mind.

"In your fucking dreams, cowboy." Paul called.

"I guess. . ." I answered Jesse reluctantly, deciding to ignore Paul.

"Then what is the problem?"

WHAT IS THE PROBLEM????

YOU TWO HEAD CASES WANT TO PLAY BLOODY PAPER SCISSORS ROCK TO PROVE WHOSE THE BIGGER MAN!!!!!!!

THAT is the problem!!!!!!!!!!

And yet . . . Jesse had a point. It was much better this than them trying to knock one another's head off.

"But," I protested weakly, "Isn't this just the tiniest bit crazy?"

Jesse kissed my cheek for an answer.

"Whoa! What do we have here?" Paul stood up with a small case in his hands. A case I immediately recognised.

Oh no. Kill me now, please.

"Oh for God's sake Paul." I said, collapsing down onto the sofa. "You two SUCK."

"Well I dunno about the cowboy over there," Paul smirked, unable to resist throwing a gay joke at Jesse, "But I certainly DO NOT. That would be your job, Suzie-poo. And if I win this game . . ." he trailed off suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows up and down in a manner that reminded me a little of a desperate nymphomaniac.

Not that I know many of those.

Well . . . Adam doesn't count.

"Shut up Paul," I groaned, as the muscle in Jesse's jaw began to leap.

He pretended to be indignant. "Hey! I just thought I should at least OFFER—!"

"Shut up Paul." I repeated, throwing a hand over my eyes.

This was UNBELIEVABLE.

You know what was in the little case that Paul had selected?

Doc's Pokémon cards.

P-O-K-E-M-O-N cards.

Was I the only one who found this just that little teensy bit WEIRD???

Jesse and Paul had seated themselves on opposite sides of the little glass coffee table and were now preparing to play POKEMON.

I heaved a giant theatrical sigh and slid down to kneel on the floor beside Jesse.

"So, Slater," Jesse said his voice unusually sly. "You know how to play this "Pokémon" game, do you?"

"No." Paul said defensively.

I wasn't sure if I believed him, myself.

Jesse was grinning. "Of course you don't . . . "

"Yeah, lets see if you're still laughing once I kick your ass at this stupid game, huh Jolly Rancher?"

"I believe that would be a bit difficult," Jesse remarked mildly, "seeing as neither of us know how to play . . ."

"Oh for fucks sake." I growled, leaning over to snatch the deck of cards out of Paul's hands. "Gimme those. What we'll do . . . " I said, picking a card from random out of the pile and staring closely at it. "Is we'll—Aw . . . Look, these things are so cute . . ."

The card I held in my hand said "Poliwag" and the picture below it looked like a round little blue ball with a tail. It was really cute!

WHY HAVEN'T I PLAYED THIS GAME BEFORE????

"Yeah, sure, it's real cute," Paul grumbled. "Get on with it Suze."

"Right. Well, uh . . . See, look there's a little number in the top right hand corner. This card's number says 40. "40 HP" . . . Whatever that is."

"Health points." Paul supplied.

Jesse and I stared at him.

Then Jesse started to laugh.

"If you say so then Paul . . ." I gave him a knowing grin and then resumed my inspection of the card. "Ok . . . so you two can each have a stack of cards and when I say "DRAW"—"

"Hear that de Silva?" Paul interrupted, "She'll say draw. That bring back memories of the old saloon days, does it?"

Jesse just smiled calmly. "Careful Slater. Or I might start on your secret love of—what are they Querida? POKéMON."

Paul clenched his teeth and I tried really, really hard not to laugh.

I might not have been entirely successful, however. And that would probably account for the dirty look that Paul was giving me.

But it's his own damn fault. HE wanted to play the stupid game.

"—When I say draw, you pull out a card. The person whose card has the highest 'health points'. . ." I winked at Paul, " . . . Wins. Got it?"

Paul and Jesse both murmured their understanding and watched intently as I shuffled and then dealt them their cards.

Each player turned over their pile carefully and briefly examined their cards before turning then again face down and meeting their opponent's eyes.

And yes, I'll admit it. I was starting to get into it now.

"Ok," I said. "One . . . two . . . three—DRAW!!!"

Paul and Jesse both flipped over their first cards in perfect unison and I stared down at the "Pokemon" they had randomly presented.

Paul had a card that said "Torchic" and had a picture of a cute, chubby little orange and yellow chicken, while Jesse had a card that said "Zigzagoon" and had a picture of a furry little grey racoon.

. . . All in all, not the most masculine of creatures.

I giggled. "I love this game . . . OK, Paul, you're "Torchic" has . . ." I leaned over the table to get a better look at the cards, " . . . 40 thingie points, and Jesse yours has . . . 40 points too!!!! So you're equal!"

"Yeah, but how come I get the fat little chicken?" Paul complained. The he added to Jesse, "At least your racoon has BALLS, man. Mines all PINK."

"ORANGE." I corrected.

Really. Would it kill them to pick up a Fashion Quarterly magazine now and then?

"Well I think it suits you," Jesse offered.

Paul grimaced. "The games not over yet."

"OK! Next card!" I said brightly, really beginning to enjoy myself.

This was utterly hilarious. And SO testosterone free.

"One . . . two . . .three—DRAW!!!"

Jesse and Paul both laid down their cards with overly theatrical flourishes, and again I leanest forward to determine who had the superior Pokémon.

Jesse had pulled a card that said "Togepi" and had a picture of what looked to me like a starfish in an eggshell, while Paul had pulled out a "Rydon" which was a big beastly grey DINOSAUR.

"Rydon" had 100 of the health points.

"Togepi" was stuck with a measly 50.

Jesse cursed under his breath.

"Rough luck," I consoled him, patting him on the back.

"An egg?" he muttered. "I got an EGG? And he gets a DINOSAUR? What is this game?"

Paul wore a gloating expression.

"Next card." Jesse said shortly.

"Ok. One . . . two . . .three—DRAW!!!"

And on and ON this went.

Eventually I got bored, (like, HOURS LATER) and wandered over to the sofa, and read my Fashion Quarterly magazine.

They must have been at it for hours and hours. Really, I thought they'd run out of pokémon cards, but Doc must have been quite the little collector, because they just kept producing more and more cards! Occasionally either Jesse or Paul would find some treasure of a card and exclaim over that for a while— like when Jesse found a legendary pokémon ("Moltress"? I think?) I became a little worried that someone was going to cream their pants from the excitement

God. If I'd known that they were capable of playing nicely for THIS many hours, I would have brought out the pokémon a long time ago!

It was the small hours of the morning before either of them gave up.

"Oh, what, you're done? Finally get bored, did you?' I asked slightly acidly, as Paul got to his feet."

"Nah," Paul said, sounding regretful, "But its 4am. I probably should get home."

"Oh, no." I said sarcastically. "What a shame. No more Pokémon for you then.'

"What? No way! Jesse's going to come round to my house later and we're going to watch the T.V show! With Ash and Misty and Brock! And then we're going to try and start earning our Johto league badges!"

What? No! NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This wasn't how it was supposed to go!!! This was SCARY!!!!

It was SCARY and PATHETIC and SCARY AGAIN!

I was so terrified that my boyfriend and a guy that he used to despise were turning into POKéMON BUM BUDDIES!!!!!!

And yet . . . Neither of them had swapped threats for at least five hours.

That has to be record or something, right?

"Bye Suze!" Paul called as he headed towards the door. I didn't bother getting out and seeing him out. "Jesse, I'll catch you later, right man?"

"Yeah," Jesse said cheerfully over my grumbled "I hope you get hit by a CAR."

I heard the door shut and then I groaned loudly.

"Querida," Jesse came over to the couch, which I was still seated on. "You really should join in. Pokémon is a very fun, very challenging, very intellectual game."

I blinked.

. . . If you say so.

I'm personally just very glad that Paul hadn't found the dance dance revolution game. That would have been SO much worse.

"Jesse . . ."

"I no longer want to kill him, Querida. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I guess . . ." in mumbled ungratefully.

"Trust me." He said, stroking my hair gently. "Everything will be fine."

xox

Jesse was WRONG. Everything was NOT fine.

I made a stupid choice that night, inviting Paul around, and all so that I could play happy families.

And now I had to deal with the consequences of that choice. A boyfriend who preferred to play POKéMON rather than do stuff with his girlfriend.

. . . Stuff like kicking her ass at "Need for Speed."

Now I had to face facts.

My unexplainable compulsion to MAKE Paul and Jesse get along had basically eradicated any testosterone they'd once had.

. . . .What had I DONE???

Xox

Whadidcha think? Review and tell me, there's a good little reader.

Now I must go and put my little brother's pokémon cards back before he notices they're gone. Lol!

Love-yew-long-tym!

Mariah