Greetings and salutations! I am entirely too old to be writing fics for this category, but I just remembered this series a few days ago and now I really want to reread it and drown in nostalgia. Well, read it, anyway. I never got to finish the series. So this is a deviation occurring around books 2 and 3 where I left off. I honestly don't remember how strong the relationship between Suze and Jesse was at this point, so bear with me for the purposes of this brain fart of a story.

I didn't mean to overhear my project partner's phone conversation, entirely in Spanish. But once I did, I had a question for her. You see, I needed to know the meaning of a word. I'd been too lazy to look it up—well, lazy when I wasn't kicking ghost ass, anyway.

"Hey Dani?" I asked her when she returned to our table from the lobby. "Can I ask you something?" I hoped she wouldn't get too curious. I didn't like telling people about him—about Jesse.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"I just want to know—what does querida mean?"

To my dismay, she quirked an eyebrow. "Who calls you querida?"

I groaned. "A boy."

She hummed, balancing her pen on one finger and stalling. "Sounds like he likes you."

Oh, shit. I might have guessed. "So what does it mean?"

"It means 'dear.' That's kinda cute actually—unless he was being sarcastic."

"I don't think so," I replied, trying to keep a straight face. Mentally, I was grinning from ear to ear but reminding myself of the cold, hard facts regarding relationships between mediators and ghosts. It generally wasn't advised that they get together and—ahem—get their freak on. Jesse probably wouldn't be in for that anyway, what with his nineteenth-century notions of propriety and all.

And as much as I'd like to say it didn't, it bothered me for the rest of the day.

Jesse didn't materialize for a few days. It was getting kind of lonely without him. I was used to him popping up randomly, occasionally when I was asleep. I didn't appreciate those times all that much.

He appeared again one night when I was in the middle of doing homework. Or trying to, anyway, what with Dopey's annoying music blasting through the walls. I was surprised Andy hadn't yelled at him to turn it off yet.

"Hello, Susannah." Without even looking, I could tell from his voice that he was standing right behind me, leaning over my shoulder. "And what are you up to?" There was a smile in his voice.

"Well, before you so rudely interrupted me, I was working on a paper about the nonexistent 'symbolism' in Othello," I answered tersely. I was always a bitch to him, trying to hide—in vain, mind you—that there was definitely something between us. He knew it and I knew it. And it hurt like hell.

"Hm…" he smirked, reaching over to pick up my copy of Othello and flip through the pages. "There is symbolism in everything, Susannah. You just have to find it."

"Thank you, Professor de Silva. I wasn't asking for your input."

"Well, you're welcome for nothing, then."

"Oh, by the way…that word you call me? I found out what it means." I swiveled around in my desk chair so quickly that he took a step back.

"And?" he smiled. God, I hated him. No. I loved him. I hated that I loved him. Shit.

"So why do you call me 'dear'?" I snarled. I realized he could just disappear and leave me without an answer, and I really didn't want that to happen, so I softened my tone, but couldn't finish my sentence as angry tears suddenly sprang to my eyes. "You don't…"

"I don't what?" he asked, kneeling in front of me and taking my hands in his. I just as quickly drew them away. Jesse looked hurt. "Susannah…I call you 'dear' because you are. You're very dear to me. Do you have any idea how lonely I was before you came here? A hundred and fifty years of isolation is enough to drive anyone mad, living or not."

"What I mean is, do you like me? I mean, romantically."

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Dios mio…" he muttered under his breath. "I…I know what you told me is true, about mediators and ghosts. But still…oh, Susannah, if only I were alive!" The look he gave me was one of pure heartache. "And you…what do you think of me?"

Looking into the near-black depths of his pleading eyes, I answered in an equally pained voice. "The same. But what can we do? Nothing."

Jesse thought for a moment, then, coming up with nothing, stood and draped his arms around me. "I know, querida. I know."

And then he vanished, with me still in his embrace.

Confusion! Drama! Angst!

...reviews, por favor?