A/N: This is only my second time posting a story on here - the first was forgotten rather quickly (though if you like "Queer as Folk," look around for jilligor's "Glorious" and let me know if you'd like me to upload the remainder of the story - it's finished, though soppy wet with emotion and a bit too "fluffy" for my taste...though it does contain some graphic slashy scenes and such). I hope this one does a bit better, preferably that it just gets NOTICED! Please read and review! I have seven chapters written so far, and if others would like, I'll happily upload the following ones later. Yes, these characters - even the ones with "familiar" names - are all FICTIONAL. Despite what you may think if you recognize some names.... It's pure fantasy, AU, on another planet, and has nothing to do with any of the people/characters/creators of those characters or series and such. I get nothing from this except the feeling of having done something productive - and hopefully the sensation of others' virtual enjoyment.

Therefore, ENJOY!

Angel's Vigilante... "Agency": The Stone of Jarakhara

CHAPTER ONE

Spike

I watch furtively – no, make that with extreme exasperation – from the doorway to the Artifacts Room, arms over my chest and dust still lingering in my now slightly mussed hair. It's usually plastered down perfectly to my head, as I prefer, but after this ridiculous incident, it's gone all frayed and scattered on me – even turning my typical white into a musty gray, so I look closer to one of my brunette counterparts than I'd like to admit – though otherwise he's a rather dashing sort of fellow (nevermind that he's an exact replica of me, having been caught up in some fucked-up flux-warp thingy and ending up in this sodding universe – only to meet me, his double – basically what he would have been if he'd been created in this universe in the first place).

As the odd creature perches backwards on a rickety wooden swivel chair, skinny legs in tight-fitting...well, leggings, pulled up to his chest and dark eyes studying the object in his pale hands thoroughly, I take a gander at the other two: James (my alter ego personified) and Russell (the Gypsy whose hair had never seen better days despite the hell we'd gone through to find this bloody piece of nuisance that seems worthless to me). They're a bit different – Russell standing taller than most anyone I've ever seen despite his slender frame, which he garbs with random flowing – or sometimes tighter than necessary – half hippie-half tramp type of attire; looks like he crawled out of a dumpster, really; and then there's James, in a plain white (well, off-white now, after our escapade into dirty old caves and dirt-covered landscapes) tee shirt and simple brown leather jacket, torn jeans and plain black boots. Looks like any random person off the street – except, of course, the obviously striking facial features which render him a blatantly gorgeous piece of mankind.

Again, forget that he's my replica; I speak nothing but truth.

Russell, like me, is impatient as the raven-haired enigma continues silently turning the alleged artifact over and over in his hands, black eyes shining as he does his power thingy to "communicate" with it. But instead of lounging lazily against the door frame as I do, Russell paces back and forth rudely in front of the weird bird on the chair, hands on his hips and eyebrows raised in expectation. Dust still flicking off his already filthy-looking clothes.

James, meanwhile, stands just inside the dimly-lit room, leaning with one leg bent and resting a booted foot against the wall behind him, one arm over his chest and the other clutched perpendicular to it, so he can chew on his fingernails in anticipation of the verdict, eyes glued to the inspector of our so-called "prize."

Finally, after a few more tension-sopped moments, Russell heaves a sigh and halts beside Chris, the master of Light and Dark Arts – the strange Nispar who has better and more logical conversations with inanimate objects – like machines and rocks – than with actual people.

"Well?" Russell urges impatiently in his choppy, Cockney-esque accent. "Whatchoo reckon?"

The much smaller wisp of a man (whom we seem to have several of lurking about this place, except for this tall bloke with the crazy hair and the Brooding Bastard and his Retard Brother upstairs) crushes our spirits and confirms my previous notion as he hands the object back to Russell.

"It's a rock," he answers in his small, cryptic voice, his strong Utarian accent (basically compared to any European, especially British, with a twinge of another country in there, like his slight Germanic mix) just making it sound all the more preposterous – no matter how quietly he utters it.

Russell holds out his arms, eyes like saucers; James literally bites off a chip of nail and winces; I sigh heavily and look to the ceiling, arms dropped to my sides.

"A rock?" Russell repeats, bewildered. "A bloody rock?"

"Not so bloody, actually," Chris quips as he spins in his chair – still perched like a bird – and reaches for a book from the enormous shelf beside him, which is filled not only with books older than Angel's great-great-great-great-gran, but various objects in protective bottles and cases labeled with curious handwriting, some smudged and some crystal clear, some in English, some in Utarian, some both. He slips an enormous volume out and rests the spine on the top of the chair frame. "Just a bit dusty." And he practically winks up at me with that slight smirk he knows irks me so much – because it means he's bemused at our – my – expense.

"So what're you sayin'?" I demand harshly as I stomp over to Russell and snatch the block of useless crumbling rock out of his hand, brandishing it over the blithe Nispar as he pages delicately through the book which looks just about as old as that tyrannical bastard upstairs who ordered us on this stupid assignment in the first place. "You sayin' this ain't the effing Boulder of Jamakahollah we were s'posed to find!? After all that work!?"

Chris spins back to face us squarely, but demurely, and turns the book to our view, pointing out the picture with a dainty finger.

"What you found could be what you said, though I still think it's just a rock," he goes on in that voice just above a whisper. "But neither is it the Stone of Jarakhara you were sent to fetch. Funny that Angel wouldn't have thought to show you what it looked like first. The Stone you seek is..." And here he peers up at me, an uncharacteristic exasperation in his black eyes. "...a stone. Not a boulder – not a rock. But a stone. Small and delicate."

I feel like smashing the thing over his head, with the way he says it so condescendingly, even if he's the one looking up at us. But this one's not my problem – he's just a pawn. And with that nearly flippant remark about Angel not thinking to show us what we were looking for, as if it were an afterthought even to Chris... Well, that just sends my blood boiling even hotter. But Chris really has no connection to this, except that we were to check with him the validity of our findings upon our return.

The validity...

So I restrain myself – without needing the usual peep out of my "guardian" just over my shoulder if he thinks my reactions are... melodramatic, let's say.

No. I'll save my violence for its true recipient.

The other two let out groans of their own as I turn back to the open door, rock firmly in my hand like a mighty battle armament ready to take the life of the prick who sent us off on this pointless mission.

As I swagger irritably out the door, the others following behind me with utterings of their own agonies (Russell fussing about his "hair," despite my opinion that it's an improvement from usual; James pleading for me to tone it down a bit), Chris calls from the Artifacts Room, "You might want to look a bit closer next time. It's more like a gem stone. Hence the title `stone.' Take Noel with you – he has a uniquely keen sense for finding shiny things."

But I barely retain the advice as I climb the staircase in the middle of the lobby, plodding up to the Misery Guardian's looming office just at the top.

He wanted a rock? Well, he's gonna get one.

Noel

I ain't all into all this writing bollocks, but thought I'd give it a go. Julian keeps braggin bout the novels he's workin on between work – I've yet to see page one and he's usually mucking about with his guitar instead at home – but I still don't need him one-uppin me, yeah? So I thought, why not?

I narrowly dodge the sharpy-edge rock in Spike's hand as I cross past the door to Angel's office and duck, but there's no apology whilst I reel out the way and he kicks in the thing with his foot. Only glances I get are a sympathetic one from James and a wink and smile from Russell as they follow "the leader" inside. Before I reach Sendhil's office door there's sounds of shouting and chaos – till James has the sense to shut the doors to this "private matter."

So I pop in on Sendhil, whose hair's a bit mussed and eyes glazed from workin all night, and sit on the corner of his desk. We're alone cos James, who shares his office, is in with the others, probably huddled in a corner whilst Spike tries to rip Angel a new one and Angel snarls back, Russell standing there to the side making snide remarks.

But it's quieter in here, whilst Sen flits through papers and books, barely glancin up at me as I play with the ball-clunker thing on his desk.

Minutes pass after my initial "Aw'ight," and he still stays in that mad-paper-investigator stage whilst I sigh and twirl my hair.

Finally he jerks back in his chair and grins, face sweaty and eyes like a mad dog's. He's holdin up a sheet he's been scribblin on with glorious triumph.

"Yes! Got it!" he proclaims, like he's found the eleventh commandment which states we can all ignore the previous ten and just have a good time.

"Got what? The mange?" I pop some chocolate candies from a tin beside the ball-clinker into me mouth and raise me eyebrows.

"The formula!"

"For whu?"

This is when he stands up and, all feverish-like, whips his white lab coat on – he's goin down the lab straight away.

"To stop the process of Mevin's transition into a Firestarter."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, that – y'know, he may be scared n aw, but I seen him havin a few eager go's at flickin a spark for a fag--"

"He doesn't want the curse," Sen reminds me as he gathers some papers and rushes to the door connecting his office to the adjacent one shared by Ju and Zach.

"And what was it he did to make the old witch curse him again?"

Sen pauses, hand on the door, and mumbles somethin I can't make out.

I lean closer. "Wha's at?"

He sighs and glares back at me. "He violated her pet."

But I feel the need to clarify, "He raped her dog. Allegedly."

"Whatever," Sen groans, yanking open the door. "He'll get his punishment – just not one as potentially dangerous for others as being an out-of-control Firestarter." He turns and barks into the other office, "Ju! We got work to do!" He spins back as Julian pulls himself out of his eternal slump from his desk to follow his "leader," and Sen goes on, "He was cursed by a Purist, Noel. A Human can barely control dangerous powers Utars were born with, so he doesn't want to be out of control. He's perfectly adept at using a Zippo. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go make the formula to cure this kid before he does something horrible."

"Like setting fire to Fido's real boyfriend?"

Sen gives me a look, and he's off, Julian following behind like some loyal pup himself, speakin of dogs. Even goes through Sen's office instead of using his own front door.

As he passes, I quip, "An' you'll stand there 'n watch, will you? Take little notes that you won't understand later?" A cheeky grin on me face as I help meself to more sweets.

At my taunt, Ju's gotta pull himself up straighter and put on his smug face, straightening his suit jacket professionally. "I will be assisting the genius that is Sendhil. Not merely watching. If not for me, his career would be a mess."

"Line up his pens 'n pencils separately, do ya? So he don't mix 'em up?" My tone always seems to come out on the verge of laughter, especially around Ju – dunno why that is.

He looks away, fuming, and ignores me as he leaves.

Meanwhile I catch sight of the other cowering figure in the opposite office, head low but eyes like a lost puppy – no, too many dog references – how about a sweet kitten? A lost sweet pussycat. Anyway, he's peering into Sen's office with that curious but... what's the word? Comp... Complacent... No – contemplative look on his face.

I slip off the edge of the desk and lean against the door frame, still inside Sen's office.

"You could leave 'im a note," I suggest, downing another chocolate. "Just a simple one. `Dinner together tonight?' That sorta thing. I know you can't be anything but subtle."

There's silence behind me, but then Zachary's right beside me in the doorway – his frighteningly looming form only causing me to have to lean me head back to look up at him – ain't like I ain't used to him by now, even if that sauntering he does spooks most people. You should see him scare the shit outta Jen – fuckin hilarious.

"Do you... think that would work?"

His voice is so sweet, this one – wouldn't reckon it, from that enigmatic face with unreadable expressions, may be a bit scary sometimes. But he sounds soft and lovely all the same.

"Maybe a poem," I go on. "Suits you more."

He nods slowly, yearning eyes straying to the haphazardly paper-covered desk Sen's just vacated. If Ju's doin anythin to keep this "genius" organised, it ain't showin right now.

"Just don't let Ju know – he'll try to take over and ruin the whole thing. Make you sound like some sorta stalker freak."

Zach turns back, head bent down to catch my gaze. He looks very serious. Very determined.

I hold out a bit of chocolate. "Sweet?"

He considers, then accepts.

As he lets the sugar dissolve over his tongue (as opposed to my obnoxious chomping), I nudge his side with a fashionably attired leather jacket elbow.

"You're too lovely, y'know?"

He smiles shyly, tries to hide it, but I catch it anyway.

"You gotta have more confidence, mate. Here, you been workin on that paintin I suggested?"

He swallows thickly and invites me inside the office to unveil the cleverly hidden easel in the closet opposite the door joining to Sen's. Ju probably never even noticed there is a closet in here. Seems too distracted by something else to pay attention to most things, especially when I'm around – and I usually am. Probably cos I put him on edge with my insults. But it's better Ju don't know – better for Zach to utilise, as he's found his passion for painting but is too timid to share it with anyone but a bona fide Avaraura like meself. Guess he figures if anyone's got a valid opinion, it's me, purely by bloodline alone. Either that or he just likes me enough.

I nod approvingly as he flicks on the dim bulb overhead and pulls the black veil back.

"It's not finished--"

"Well, no, but well on halfway," I assure him. "Gorgeous, Zach – think it's lovely as you." I snag his collar and jerk him down for a peck on the cheek, startling him – dunno why, I do it all the time – and gesture to Sen's half-coloured, alluring (and quite realistic-looking) form.

"Better watch it with the lower half, though, eh? Go too far, might as well let Ju write the bloody rapist poem anyway." A thought occurs to me and I gape up at him. "Unless... you actually have been stalkin' 'im..."

Zach rolls his eyes – then sets them on me and admits rigidly, "Of course I have."

I blink, nodding again. "Oh yeah. I knew that."

Angelina

I'm not sure how I get talked into some of these things, but I can assure you that it has nothing to do with his sly little Szeduszair powers – he rarely uses them, he tells me, and he's not even interested in me (let alone any woman at all), so I know it's not that. It must just be because he's a genuinely sweet boy who tries to look at life and love everyone, despite teasing the majority into finding him charming. He has no Utar powers of persuasion either, so it must just be that charm that I'm not immune to that has me sitting with Noel in the tiny cafe set off to the side on the first floor for employees to have meals. And while he stirs his untouched tea and I sip at my straight black coffee, not even my (admittedly) naturally sultry eyes can sway me into the belief that he's the least bit interested.

Not that I want him to be, of course. Honestly – the kid's more like a little brother I always want to either protect or scold. Or just pull his immaculately beloved hair (the lengths that boy goes to is like a female to keep his hair just so – meaning "just so scattered and unkempt," really, but it's much nicer than most others' around here).

But he came to me quite urgently this morning to lure me into having a cup of tea (coffee for me, of course) with him in order to talk about some very important business. Interrupted my hard and steady work on a case wherein I am attempting to find some suitable temporary homes for three suddenly orphaned Utar children whose parents were horrifically murdered by Purist Humans just days ago, Purists who were intent on leaving their mark on this world – a gruesome mark of the ongoing strife and wars between the two races...

All the while, as Angel and anyone in this independent agency will tell you, there are plenty of other dangers and threats around to worry about whose race is superior. Personal opinion? We can both be exquisite in our own ways – as well as disgustingly vile at the same level. I am in no position to proclaim myself better or worse than anyone else.

Which is what I keep telling myself as Noel rattles on to me about this "very important issue," as I keep having that niggling feeling that I have more important things to do than argue with this... this... Oh, I might as well say it: this freak over something that could very well be as ludicrous as it sounds.

"But you see, the problem with the witches – nevermind they're not actual witches, putting down that true title by proudly accepting it from the idiots who call them that, I've met real witches, and they're nothing like these horrid wenches, these flakes are just female Utars who use their powers for evil and curse unsuspecting Humans--"

"Noel," I sigh into my coffee, "the man forced sexual acts on the woman's dog. I hardly think he expected no repercussions, so if you're trying to get the kid off the hook somehow--"

"I'm not! Really, I'm not! But he wouldn't expect anythin', though, would he? In that moment of bliss, you don't really think about that sorta thing--"

"Bliss?" I deadpan, glaring at him through thick eyelashes. "With a dog?"

"Let me finish! Yes, even with a dog! Even if he did expect somethin', it most likely wasn't bein' cursed by some old hag who takes the title of `witch' too far and twists it, playin' up the evil role, cursin' people left 'n right for stupid things like eatin' the carrots in her garden--"

I can't be so subtle anymore. I blurt out in exasperation, "He fucked a dog, Noel. Her pet."

But not even my stark and crude factual analysis manages to mystify him. "Yeah, I know, but what angle are you goin' for here, 'cos I'm quite confused, I am, 'cos you're whingin' on about the dog, but you're s'posed to be helpin' the people--"

"And that boy obviously needs help!" I exclaim, almost laughing as I say it. "After Sendhil removes the curse, he obviously needs severe psychiatric treatment--"

"But why?" Noel persists. "I mean, won't the witch get some kinda punishment for her involvement? That's a harsh reaction after just catchin' a boy bummin' her dog--"

"Of course the woman will be charged with something," I assure him, almost resigned to accept anything he says now, feeling too drained from stopping myself rolling my eyes at every word that tumbles from his lips to fight anymore. "Her actions did put the boy himself and others in danger, and it's pure luck that the boy thought to come to us instead of the police to handle this situation. Whereas she took the other route, which ended up getting her put in jail while we made the agreement with the cops to retain the danger."

"No, you're not getting it!" he continues passionately. "You're all on about the legal shit, yeah, okay, great. But there's a different angle here no one's pointed out yet, so I might as well be the one to do it, so shouldn't she pay a price for her overreaction to witnessing somethin' that could've been true love, though?"

At this, I stop cold, staring at him blankly, as if I haven't just heard the last several words to come from that mouth.

"...What?"

His great big blue eyes are set on me, genuine concern in them. Which worries me a bit. "I mean, really, everyone's on about the boy and the witch, but how's the dog feel about all of this? Anyone think to ask him?"

I can't help it; I slump in my seat and bow my head, holding it in my hands over my half-full cup of coffee, willing myself not to groan... but I do anyway: "...Noel..."

"C'mon, Ange, y'know I can do it, just let me have five minutes with him--"

I snap my head up to catch his gaze again, reminding him, "The dog is in animal custody while the boy's locked up here and the woman is in police custody."

"So?"

"So, if you truly think you can talk to the animal--"

He gives me a warning glance, narrowing his wide eyes, and says seriously, "You know I can."

I hesitate; in my mind, previous incidents flash by, and I have to admit to myself that there is no other explanation than what the kid claims – and why would it be so unusual? Utars can have multiple powers not even in the dozen typical heritages, such as telekinesis and, yes, starting fires with the power of the mind... Why would it be so hard to believe that one can speak with another species?

Fuck – the Nispar race can communicate with blocks of wood!

"Okay," I sigh after a long debate within myself, "so you can. If he lets you. But if you want to do that, you'll have to get permission from Angel first, then go to the Animal Recovery Center and get their permission – before you even reach the dog himself, who may not even want to talk to you."

He nods confidently – almost too cocky, really. "Oh, I'll get him to talk to me, all right, don't you worry about that..."

I lean in closer, pleading with him pitifully, "But Noel, why is it such a big deal to you? I don't see how anyone else will take you seriously--"

"Angel knows my ability!" he persists. "Maybe he doesn't want to admit it so easily, but I know he knows."

I shake my head, desperately wanting to get back to my orphan housing work now. "But the reasoning behind it is the ridiculous part."

"Not so ridiculous for creatures of different races to fall in love, happens all the time! How d'ya think Halfies are made!?"

"Races, Noel – yes. Species – I doubt it."

"But there's still the argument that Humans and Utars are separate species as well, y'know, and their breeding doesn't seem to have much of a bad vibe to it – unless you're a Purist who thinks one's corrupting the other, which has no proof--"

"They're both Humanoid, or Utarian, in physical, physiological nature, Noel. It makes more sense than two different... animals besides those two to procreate--"

"Who said anythin' 'bout procreatin'? Maybe they just like fuckin'!"

Now I can't hold back and let my gaze float to the ceiling. "For gods' sake..."

"No really!" he exclaims. "I read about it, a man marryin' his goat 'cos they were in love – an' that was from centuries ago!"

Startled, my attention flicks back down to him, eyes wide.

At the curious look on my face, Noel squints and curls in on himself. "What?"

I blink, shaking my head. "Uh, nothing... It's just..." I clear my throat, confessing apologetically, "I never knew you could read."

He purses his lips, saying sheepishly, "Well... takes a bit a' time, but... It was a magazine article I felt worthy of my attention."

I peer at him quizzically; I almost expected him to say it'd been from a pamphlet.

"Noel?"

He lifts his head again and gives me that sweet smile again. "Yeah, Ange?"

I glance away, sipping at my cooled coffee. "Next time you want to have coffee with someone, ask for other company."

I can see him wincing in my peripheral vision. "Oh... But... You don't like me?"

I turn back to him and offer my own dazzling grin, reaching across the table to pat his head. "I'm kidding, dear. You're just a bit... eccentric."

He furrows his brow. "Oh... That's good, though, yeah?"

I nod slowly as I stand to gather my things – to get back to some real work. "Yes... But some of us have our limits."

Angel

After dealing with Spike and his crew, which resulted in James taking him back downstairs to get get abrasions treated by Sendhil and my brother bringing me an ice pack for my black eye, Seely takes a seat in my chair as I pace and sigh despondently to myself. While Russell lounges carelessly by the closed (slammed) door, Seely starts playing with the knick-knacks on my desk – all left, mind you, by others, not myself.

"So what's the big deal about this Pebble of Jakarta anyway?" he asks, trying to untangle a metal puzzle by sheer force.

"No," Russell attempts to correct, "it's a stone. The Stone of Jackassola."

"The Stone of Jarakhara," I correct – correctly. "Why can no one else get it right?"

"Because we were all in special ed, mate," Russell grins. But then that creepy grin fades and is replaced by a cocky expression. "An' why didn't we get a formal introduction to the thing's picture before we left anyway? If y'knew what we were lookin' for, why didn't y'show us what we was s'posed to be lookin' for!? None of us are psychics, mate!"

I sigh again as I pass him in my pacing and explain, "I didn't know there was an actual picture of the stone, okay? And before I had the chance to ask Chris if he was familiar with it, as usual, Spike just took off without waiting and dragged you and James along with him. And what's so important about it – it's not so important that we get it, as much as it's vital that Bainbridge doesn't."

"Bainbridge?" Seely laughs, propping his feet up on my desk as he leans back in the cushioned chair. "That crazy old doof? What does he want with it?"

"Who knows?" I utter scathingly. "But whatever he wants it for, it's not likely to be a good thing. If it ends up in the wrong hands..."

"Aw, Bainbridge is just a wanker," Russell rolls his eyes. "Pain in the arse, yeah, but he ain't no danger--"

I stop abruptly and turn to him, my good eye narrowing to warning mode. "Don't underestimate our enemies, Russell. He has connections and power--"

Russell lets out a raspberry. "Connections? You mean that bloody horse-faced pawn broker down Emold Street? He ain't nothin' – in fact, let's just let ol' Bainbridge do the work for us findin' the thing, wait till he oversells it to the cock-off down the road, then nick it from him – he'll never know it--"

I cut him off again by pointing straight at him. "No, we will find the stone first, because Bainbridge's tentacles are reaching further than we suspect now. And I don't want to force anyone in my employment," I add poignantly to the sneering Gypsy, "to revert to old ways of thievery. It's not just bad for your soul, but it's bad reputation for our company – it's hard enough trying to get justified around here as it is, being an independent."

Russell makes a face, but no protest as he silently accepts my order.

On the other hand, Seely looks up at me quizzically. "Did you just say `testicles'? Wish I'd gotten that on tape--"

"Tentac—why am I defending myself to you!?" I blurt out irritably, starting to stomp around again. "Against Spike, against Russell, now you – I don't need this shit, I own this damn company, I started it! I tell you what to do and you do it--"

"Awright, Hitler Two," Russell quips in a Cockney voice. "Wha-evah you say!"

Seely smirks. "Or should we call him Gostly Junior?"

As the other two chuckle away, I whirl around and start to storm out of my office – no use trying to talk sense into idiots.

But just as I've slammed open the doors, there's a beep from my intercom – and that voice crackles through.

"Angel? Mister Angel, are you available?"

It's Jen, my secretary on the first floor. Gods know why I hired her – I forget now, probably a favor for an ex-friend – or losing a bet. I huff and drag myself back to the desk, but Seely's already on it, answering, "What is it, babe?"

I scowl at him; he knows she's got the hots for him, but can't tell us apart (even by the typical "wacky socks" and mismatching ties he wears and my eternally dark wardrobe).

Sounding a bit startled by the endearment, she stammers, "Oh, um, well... There – There's someone here to, uh, see you – he doesn't have an appointment, but he says you should be willing to speak with him--"

And in the background, I can hear the irritated holler of Julian, poor guy, arguing, "I work here, you bloody thick tart, I don't need an appointment to see my own boss! I've worked here five years now and you still act like you don't know me!"

As Seely leans back again and cackles, "Don't let strange freak set foot on the staircase, Jen, he could be a mass murderer--" I snatch the phone from the cradle of the intercom and hear Jen scolding Julian, "I'm sorry, sir, but you don't need to get so worked up, I really have no idea--"

He must grab the phone from her as well, because in the next instant, his voice is at the forefront of the conversation.

"Angel, it's me – Julian. I need to speak with you about something and this useless mannequin you put here to stand in for a real secretary insists I need an appointment to see you when I merely asked if you were busy--"

Jen gawking verbally in the background, I assure him, "It's all right, Ju, come on up."

"Thank you." And the phone slams down in my ear.

Before he makes it up to the office, through their giggles, Seely suggests, "You know, you really should get a real secretary to replace her. I mean, we all pretend to forget Julian as a prank, but I think she really doesn't know he works here."

"Last week she mistook him for a bin man," Russell guffaws. "Tried to shuck off her trash on him whilst he just walked by!"

As the two dissolve into their laughter, Julian comes through the open door and I lean back on my desk, ignoring them both. He pauses awkwardly in the doorway, glancing back and forth between the two schoolgirls.

"Okaaaay..."

"Don't mind them," I groan. "They've had too much coffee today. What's wrong?"

Clearing his throat, he steps inside and, wringing his fingers together timidly, tells me, "I, uh, have a favor to ask of you..."

"What kind of favor?" I reply warily; it's not like Julian to ask for favors, so this being his first time...

"It's, uh, really on behalf of someone else," he clarifies. "So just please take that into consideration before you mark me as the moron here..."

I sigh again. "Noted. Who is it? Sendhil? Chris? Angie? They're too busy to ask?"

He winces and turns his head to the side. "Not really..."

I nod at him expectantly to go on.

"It's, um, Noel."

I blink. "Noel?"

"Yeah..."

Another man – or "man child," more like – who rarely asks anything of me. Though I suddenly understand why he's sent Julian instead of coming himself, as Noel's rare requests are always a bit... well, rare. As in, stupid, or ridiculous, or pointless. But I need to hear this from Julian to confirm it.

"Okay," I urge him cautiously. "And why doesn't Noel come to me himself? He's not nearly as busy as most others here – though probably moreso than certain ones," I add sharply, glaring in turn at the still-giggly twits occupying my office space.

Also noting their remaining presences, Julian steps closer to me, speaking lowly. "He's, um... He doesn't like to admit it, but I believe Noel's a bit... afraid of you."

I gape at him. "`Afraid'? Of me? I've been nothing but nice to that boy from day one – he's never let me down in his assignments, and I've never degraded him. Even if he can be a little weird sometimes, I overlook that because he's been valuable to this company, and, yes, I like the kid. He has no reason to be afraid of me--"

"It's your demeanor, bro," Seely points out behind me. "It's in stark contrast with that kid's nature."

Russell nods in agreement. "He's right, y'know. You're all gloom and doom and despair, an' he's all `love life and get laid as much as possible.' Spread the love."

Julian regards him with obvious distaste. "And diseases, I assume, seeing as he must've picked up that nature from you. I believe that load of bollocks is more your bag, Gypsy. You're a bad influence on that boy, you know."

Russell shrugs, accepting it easily – but probably not even hearing, really.

Julian turns back to me and explains, "No, it's just – he knows how smart a man you are, and though he'll deny it – if he's paying attention – he knows he's nowhere near your intellect. So he elected someone of a higher level, let's say – though still nothing close to you--"

I sigh yet again, dropping the ice bag from my eye. "I just got a black eye from Enigami's biggest asshole. I've got my weaknesses. So let's cut the bullshit and get to the favor."

Julian blinks, startled by my appearance and admittance, then clears his throat. "Um..."

"Yeah," Russell leers at him, "quit makin' up lies an' get to it, 'cos we all know you're just Noel's bitch 'cos you fancy him."

At this, Julian stiffens, small eyes suddenly wide – but instead of denying the audacious claim, he blurts out, "He'd like you to write him a formal request to meet with the dog in the Firestarter case."

Seconds tick by of complete silence.

"What?" I ask finally.

The sheepish look on Julian's face proves he knows how absurd it sounds.

"Yeah, he, uh... says he wants to talk to the, uh, victim to find out if it was, um... a true rape."

I can't help it; even with my knowledge of Noel's affinity with animals, I can't believe my ears.

"And he's... not joking?"

Julian scrunches his eyebrows, looking pained. "Afraid not, this time."

Strangely, Seely and Russell are non-plussed. In fact, Russell puts in, "I seen him calm down a cobra once – bloody miracle worker, you ask me..."

Of all the drama, this is what these two take seriously?

"He did talk that cat down from the tree when she tried to commit suicide," Seely tosses in, stroking his chin.

I blatantly balk at them, back and forth, seeing the easy acceptance – no cynicism at all – on the their faces.

Julian, however, growls, "Miss Fuzzy was not suicidal – she was caught in a bloody damn tree, that's all!"

"Oh yeah," Seely grins. "She was your cat, wasn't she?"

Russell raises his eyebrows. "Talk about gloom – why does he hang out with you so much, especially if you can even drive a cat to attempt suicide?"

"You two live together, in fact," Seely points out. "Are you just balancing each other out? So you don't go jumping out of trees yourself and he doesn't go making best friends with every animal he comes across until he gets raped by a giant rabbit?"

Before I can even give my brother a weird glance, Julian bursts out, "It's a living situation based on pure economic logistics! We can only afford what we have based on what we earn! And she was not suicidal!"

"So you don't fancy him?" Russell teases. "If not, can I have a go? He's quite a catch, that one is--"

I see the figurative daggers in Julian's eyes and decide to end the squabble by whirling around and grabbing some official paper and a pen. I scribble out what I deem as an acceptable request letter and shove it at Julian.

"Here. Take this to Jen and have her type it up. It'll give him access to the Recovery Center and permission to meet with the – the dog."

Julian sighs wearily as he looks at the paper. "This means I have to deal with Jen again," he mumbles, then eyes me up hopefully. "Think you could let her know I'm expected this time?"

"I'll try." I reach for the phone. "But between now and by the time you get down there, I can't promise anything."

He bolts out of the office like a streak of lightning – and Russell and Seely are once more in hysterics.

"What is so funny?" I demand.

"Him," Russell answers, thumb jammed in Julian's direction.

"The only person I've seen as sexually repressed for another person," Seely adds, "is Zach and his stalking Sendhil."

I roll my eyes and kick the twats out of my office – like I have time to worry about romantic hearsay when there's actual work to be done.