A/N - Releasing my chapters unbeta'd at the minute so sincere apologies for any mistakes I didn't catch. I'mtoo lazy and full of my own self importance to re read these chapters and am far too eager and keen to release them out into the big, wide world of fanfiction.


The Bodyguard
.o0o. Chapter Two - I'll Protect You (Hands Off The Goodies) .o0o.

Santa Monica - Suburban Home

Jesse Swanson absentmindedly stirred a large pot of Boeuf Bourgignon on the stove, in his non-descript kitchen of his non-descript house on his non-descript street.

He'd arrived home three hours ago, flicked on the television and unpacked his bags, squaring everything away where it should be within twenty minutes. He lit a fire in the small fireplace waiting for the warmth to seep through the small, two bedroom home he'd owned. he rubbed his hands together and held them over the spitting fire before rising to collect the mail that had collected by the door. Without looking at any of it, he stacked it neatly into a pile and carried to the fireplace, tossing it onto the crackling flames before turning his attention to dinner.

There was nothing on the television that he wanted to watch and he practically growled at the flickering channels showing commercial after commercial. He didn't want to watch useless celebrities fawn over each other at yet another made up award ceremony. He'd dug around in the freezer, not wanting to order takeout or leave the house for something to eat. He'd popped a bottle of beer and began to cook, using his mothers' recipe as a guide.

Testing a piece of the meat, he tucked the magazine he was reading under his arm before carrying the entire pot over to the small, rickety table with a place setting for one. He set it carefully down and sat, using the wooden spoon to eat directly from the pot. He cricked his neck a couple of times, popping the gas bubbles in his spine. The last job had been intense and Bainbridge had moved around the world a lot. He was happier now that his check was deposited in the bank and he had a few weeks' worth of free time to do whatever he wanted. He was officially off the clock and he was celebrating with a bottle of expensive red wine. Or two.

However, he hadn't anticipated a knock on his door at six o'clock the next morning.

Jesse opened the door with a face like thunder. The house was supposed to be his safe haven and he didn't want to be bothered with cold callers and people asking for directions. He stood with a set of sunglasses perched on his face, the after effects of two bottles of expensive Merlot from the night before taking their toll and he was face to face with a harassed but kindly looking lady with shockingly bright pink hair.

"Cynthia Rose Adams." She said, handing over her card. "I represent Beca Mitchell."

.o0o.

An old-fashioned lawn sprinkler lazily waved over the grass at the back of Jesse's house. The garden was unkempt and overgrown with a few random wooden posts poking out of the ground. Jesse sat in a lawn chair, sipping from a tall glass of something fizzy while Cynthia Rose paced about in front of him.

She knew the conversation was not going well and she was throwing every trick in her book to get the man in front of her to agree to her terms and what she needed him to do.

"So, you won't protect Beca Mitchell just because she's in show business?" She asked, slotting her hands on her hips and turning to face Jesse straight on.

"I don't do celebrities." Jesse said simply. "They are annoying and conceited, rude and demanding and I just don't need the hassle from those assholes."

"But the biggest money's in show business people."

"I don't care. I cannot abide their whiny attitudes and the 'all flock to me' personas."

"She's not like that. She's-"

"-Exactly like the rest of the clones in Hollywood."

Jesse shook his head and pushed the sunglasses further up his nose, signalling the end of the conversation. Cynthia Rose threw her hands up in the air in frustration before turning to walk away.

"Isn't she the one who collects ducks?"

Cynthia Rose paused at the back gate and looked over her shoulder. She was surprised to see Jesse not two foot behind her as she'd not seen or heard him move.

"Mr Swanson, Beca Mitchell is one of the most famous people in America. She's won every music award invented. She's got the number one song in the country right now and she'll probably be nominated for an Oscar in her very first picture. She's beautiful, smart, funny and let's face it, has a pretty impressive rack. But your only question, the only thing you want to know if she is the one who collects … Jesus, man, where've you been?"

"You mean, she doesn't collect ducks?" Jesse asked, his expression showing nothing.

"Yes." Cynthia Rose sighed. "Yes, she collects ducks."

"I thought I knew who she was." Jesse said, a hint of something resembling a smile threatening to post itself on his mouth. Cynthia Rose looked at him, trying to decide whether he was kidding or not but Jesse's face gave nothing away. Instead she nodded to the post on the other side of the garden.

"You're probably deadly with these things, aren't you?" She asked, indicating a set of throwing knives by the post.

"Deadly." Jesse stated, backing away slightly, heading back in the direction of his lawn chair.

"Show me?" Cynthia Rose asked and huffed out her cheeks when Jesse sat down instead. "Why are you resisting this job? It's two thousand bucks a week."

She paused while she let that figure sink in a little.

"Two thousand, five hundred?"

"Look, I just don't want the hassle. There are several good men available for that kind of money. Have you talked to Applebaum or Viruet? Saying that, that guy rides a unicycle so avoid him. What about Bryant?"

"Yeah. Applebaum was interested …" Cynthia Rose said, crouching down in front of Jesse. She could sense that he was wavering slightly. "... but we're told that you're the best."

"There's no such thing." Jesse deadpanned.

"Swanson, get your head out of your ass. We're talking about a very frightened lady. With a two young children. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think this was for real." Cynthia Rose said imploringly. "Look, Jesse, she begged me to get you; there, are you happy now?!"

"All right. All right. All right. I'll come and I'll look the situation over. If I take it, it's four thousand a week. Plus expenses."

He got up from the lounger and walked over to the post, picking up the knives one at a time.

"Okay. You must be very deadly for three grand a week."

"I said four." Jesse repeated, fitting the knives in between his fingers. He shot a look over at Beca Mitchell's personal manager as he strode determinedly across the lawn. He liked her persistence. He raised his hand above his head and flung the knives towards the post. Cynthia Rose felt the rush of air as they flew past her, missing her by no more than a foot. Each one hit the post, sitting neatly in a vertical line. Cynthia Rose whistled.

"I don't do celebrities which is why my usual price for those over achievers is ten a week. But you had to go and mention the children, didn't you?"

"See you at 'auditions'!" Cynthia Rose laughed out.

.o0o.

Hollywood Hills - Mitchell Mansion

Jesse pulled up in to the driveway and double checked the address on the slip of paper he had. Confident he was in the right place, he nudged the car further up the driveway so that he cleared him off the road. He looked around him, taking in the heavy vegetation, the crumbling walls and the run down guards post right by the solid but rusty mechanical set of gates.

He looked right and left; the constant vigilance an ingrained habit. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, a sign he knew well. He twisted in the seat of his beaten up Camaro, catching sight of a black Toyota 4x4, parked one hundred yards or so down the street. Jesse hadn't noticed it on the way in and as he began to turn fully to check the vehicle out, it suddenly sprang into life and accelerated past the driveway, causing the Camaro to rock slightly.

Jesse sat in the drive way for a good half an hour. He was usually early everywhere he went and took pride in his time keeping. Similar to his appearance. He had more suits and heavily starched shirts than a good sizes Neiman Marcus would stock and his shoes were always unnecessarily over polished. He checked his hair in the rear view mirror and started the engine, making a mental note that no one had come to ask why he was parked on the driveway for a length of time without announcing his arrival.

He pulled up to an old intercom, pressing the call button and waited. He heard a wave of static but no one answered so he pressed the button again, noting that the intercom, mounted onto a broken off pool cue was held together with bits of duct tape. The transmission was terrible but he soon heard a deep female voice crackle through the white noise.

"Yes?"

"It's Jesse Swanson to see Miss Mitchell."

"Wuuuuuut?" The voice drawled on the other end and Jesse bit down on his lip to hide his frustration.

"I said, it's the Dalai Lama to see Miss Mitchell."

"Um, do … *crackle* you have an *hiss* appointment."

"I have juice pouches and Rocky."

"Wuuuut?"

"A capella is my co-pilot."

"All right. Turn *hiss* left at the top *white noise* driveway."

The loud buzzing brought Jesse's attention immediately to the gates in front of him. He observed with interest the speed in which they opened, clanking loudly and groaning like an old lady doing yoga. Jesse's mind was working overtime as he slowly drove up the long, twisting driveway. He noted tall trees, more heavy landscaping and of course the large mansion on top of the hill. He counted at least thirty different places for someone to hide.

Without meaning to be, he was impressed by the size of the house as he pulled up outside what he assumed was the main door. He parked up next to a blonde wearing a squirrel onesie. She was hard at work, polishing and buffing a large, black limousine, paying extra attention to the mascot on the front of the hood. She turned to stare at him as he opened his door, putting down her cloth and almost dancing towards him.

Ignoring her, Jesse took in the rest of the landscape before him, spying a painters truck to the left where two men were emptying equipment from it.

"Can I help yoos?"

Jesse turned and saw that the blonde was still walking towards him.

"Are you the person on the intercom?" Jesse asked.

"No." She said, shaking out her polishing cloth, sending a shower of dust flies all over Jesse's impeccable suit. He noticed the thick, heavy bandage on her arm. "Can I help yoos?"

"My name is Chris Cringle. I have an appointment with Miss Mitchell."

"Oh, cool. And that was arranged by ...?"

"Miss Adams." Jesse said, impressed by the question.

"Go right ahead then Mr Cringle. Have a nice day."

"What happened to your arm?" He asked, watching her as she pulled her sleeve back over the bandage.

"A doll." She said, winking at him.

While Jesse was slightly confused by the last statement, he didn't let on. He simply turned from the chauffer and alighted up the three steps to the large porch area and the wooden front door with a large brass knocker in the shape of a treble clef. He quickly spotted that two of the lights were broken and the fake security camera aimed at the front door was fooling no one.

He reached out his hand to ring the doorbell, frowning as he realised the door was unlocked and open to anyone. He waited for a couple of minutes before the door was pulled open by a handyman who nodded to him as he walked past.

Jesse stepped, unannounced, into the foyer of the house and was immediately impressed. The marble floor held the grand oak staircase in all its splendour and he sneaked a glance up to the ceiling to see the custom made chandelier sparkling with the light bouncing in from all windows. The detail in the drops was incredibly, the musical notes held the small diamonds perfectly.

"Hello, can I help you?"

Jesse's neck snapped back to where it should be and he took in a tall, slim girl with long wavy hair in front of him. She stood, leaning heavily on one hip, filing her nails.

"Yes, Michael Mouse to see Miss Adams and Miss Mitchell."

"Sure, this way. I'm Stacie by the way."

Jesse followed Stacie off to the left. He caught sight of a couple of the rooms on the way through. There was an formal living room with a couple of large, high backed sofas and a coffee table, all decadent and plush. He passed a brightly coloured play room, filled with toys and a large, wall mounted television. Stacie popped her head into each room as they walked past.

"I'll tell you quite honestly, Mr Mouse, I don't know where Miss Adams is. Did she say she'd be here?"

"Yes." Jesse said, doing his best to keep his emotions in check. He took the time to have a good look around the house, noting all the points of entry, the open windows and the lackadaisical way in which he was just allowed to wander through someone's home.

"Then she'll be somewhere around." Stacie said, tucking her nail file back into her pocket. "Probably in the studio with everyone else."

They passed by three or four more rooms until they came to the kitchen. It was in here that Jesse could hear a cacophony of sounds and he instantly got a sensory overload as soon as they had walked through the kitchen, crossing the room and off to a discreet side door that lead into a large, open studio.

The room itself was flanked by a huge wall of televisions, some showing the football, others playing various music channels. The largest television in the middle of the room was showing video playback from the scene that was taking place right now. There were at least twenty five people in the room, some dancers, some production staff and a couple of people in suits. Bodies were moving everywhere, limbs flinging around in patterns that Jesse couldn't fathom and the music was so loud, it was hurting his ears; it simply served to remind him why he hated the lifestyle of the famous. Stacie indicated to a small seating area.

"Please make yourself at home." She said warmly. "Can I get you anything?"

Jesse shook his head and cast his eyes to the ceiling before taking in the abundance of equipment in the room. It was impossible to think in the crazily loud noise and hubbub. He cleared his throat and tried to steady his mind, taking himself back to a calmer place and time as he observed the semi naked dancers. He didn't recognise the style of music; it appeared to be a mash up of sorts and he couldn't understand why anyone would do that.

He stood for a good fifteen minutes before anyone even so much as looked his way. Jesse was aware of a very intense set of blue eyes watching him from across the room. Her hands were busy with notebooks, documents and a couple of children's hand drawn pictures and she had an expensive laptop perched on her knee. His eyes were drawn to a shock of ginger curls and a very warm smile that showed perfect white teeth.

He didn't return the acknowledgement.

Instead, his eyes floated over to the tall blonde who was clearly discussing something important on the phone. Her full concentration was on the tablet clutched tightly in her hand as she ran her other hand nervously over her stomach as she held the phone on her shoulder with her chin.

All of a sudden the music stopped and Jesse felt his ears send up a silent prayer. He saw a dark skinned man appear in the midst of the dancers, clapping his hands to the group.

"Playback everyone!" He said, twirling his hands around before pointing at the screen.

"Come here Donald!" A female voice rang out from somewhere in the room and Donald headed over towards a single seater sofa, pausing in front of it and talking to the occupant. There was an unwelcome sound of laughter and a big sloppy kiss being planted somewhere. Jesse flared his nostrils and felt his fingers twitch in annoyance. "Dude, that's gonna be awesome! I love the ending."

Jesse's eyes snapped to the right as Cynthia Rose entered the room, making a beeline directly for him. He tried to focus on her as the noise levels began to rise in the room again. Cynthia Rose turned just before she reached Jesse.

"Beca?" She said, quite softly. Jesse wondered why everyone seemed to be pandering to the 'frightened lady' that he'd been told about.

He didn't have time to wonder why he'd not yet met the infamous Beca Mitchell yet, despite this being her house, as she began to call out to the curly hair ginger girl on the other side of the room.

"Chloe, how'd you like the number huh? You like the end routine? Better than the choreography that you suggested from last year, right?"

"Beca?" Cynthia Rose tried again.

"Beca, you wanna see it back from the beginning or just the ending?" Donald asked Beca.

"It was just great Donald, really." Chloe answered for Beca who had already moved on to talk to someone else.

"I want to see it all." Beca said, shooting a look to Chloe that smelt of 'don't you know who I am?'. "Bumper? I'll bet Bumper loved it. Where is that weirdo?"

A stocky man with a face like a badger uncurled himself from the floor where he was currently having a nap.

"Meh." Bumper said, before scratching his backside.

"Don't worry Donny, Bumper doesn't appreciate great art when he sees it. Dude failed at launching his own brand of sports sandals."

Bumper stood and shrugged his shoulders before eventually catching sight of Jesse. He looked confused before walking over to the small bar area and helping himself to a can of soda. The music began to play loudly again.

"Lilly!"

A small, quiet Asian girl crossed the room, keeping close to the wall. She startled as someone called out her name and immediately pulled out a comb from her pocket and ran it through her fringe several times; a nervous habit that Jesse picked up on immediately.

"Costumes are awesome dude and just what we had in mind. We were really listening to each other. Where's Cynthia Rose? I need her opinion."

"Beca, Jesse Swanson is-" Cynthia Rose began to speak.

"Why are you back there weirdo." Beca's voice rang out across the room. Jesse was not impressed by the girl at all, especially since she hadn't moved from her chair. He'd yet to lay eyes on her. "What do you think of Lilly's latest costumes?"

"They're terrific." Cynthia Rose concluded and nodded to Lilly who scuttled away through a doorway. "Beca, Jesse Swanson is here."

"Who?" Beca called back as Chloe brought her over a tall glass of beer, hovering slightly until she was sure Beca wasn't going to hand it back to her.

"Jesse Swanson." Cynthia Rose repeated and waited for a response. "The bodyguard."

"I already have a bodyguard. He's shit but cheap."

"Beca!"

"What?"

"Get your butt out of that and come and meet this man."

"Urgh, okay, okay." Came the huffed out reply as an overly exaggerated display of someone getting out of a chair happened. Chloe shot a look towards Jesse as the volume in the room threatened to deafen everyone.

Jesse felt all of the breath leave his body as Beca Mitchell stood up. He felt his heart began to race as she turned towards him. All sounds disappeared from around him and all he heard was silence. His fingers went numb as she took a step towards him and as she came to within six feet of him, he felt a lump rise in his throat.

He swallowed hard to be able to breathe.

She locked eyes on him as she stood, crossing her arms in front of her. Jesse got lost for a moment as she stared into the swirling vortex that had become her eyes. He took in her tiny frame encased in expensive demin and a tight fitting shirt that showed off every perfect curve. He watched as a loose curl of her chocolate hair bounced and settled on her shoulder and he couldn't take his eyes off of her mouth as she spoke.

"Well ... I'm up!"

'I think I am too.' Jesse thought.

.o0o.


A/N - Thanks for reading. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know xx