The One and Only Jessie Bannon – A Jonny Quest: The Real Adventures Fanfiction

by Akane-Rei


Chapter Ten: A Ghost From the Past

He pulled the trigger.

And the moment he did it, as Shakespeare so eloquently put it, all hell broke loose.

Perhaps he had been too focused on his target that he missed the effect of the environment around him. Perhaps he had been too impatient for his client to answer his query that he made a lapse of judgment. A lapse of judgment that's going to cost him a hefty amount of francs, that's for damn sure. He watched as the two targets have ducked for cover, at the same time trying to shield some little kid from further attacks.

Stupid kid!

Just when he pulled the trigger, the kid's ball had bounced over to the target and the target had leaned down . . .

"God dammit!" he said as he took another aim. The moment, however, had been lost. The prey is aware of the hunter and he couldn't get a good enough aim to finish the job he started.

"Merde!" spat under his breath.

Trying to contain his frustration he swiftly began packing his equipment, knowing it won't be long before a crowd would gather to investigate a gunshot wound.

"What's going on?" he heard on his receiver.

Ignoring his client, he continued to on his way to disappear into the streets. He would talk to his client later, after he has cooled down a bit.

"Siann!"

Siann had galvanized into action the moment she heard Michèl yell out her name. She turned to her back, in time to see one of the two men -- the blond one -- assaulting Michèl and doing his best to rub his face to the ground. With a cry of rage, she launched herself at his attacker, intent on doing bodily harm.

"Let him go!" she shrieked, incensed, as she landed on top of her victim. She then started hitting the tow-headed idiot—americain by the sound of him—with anything she can get her hands on. Cups, glasses, eating utensils, and her fists went flying as she tried to make her fury known. Tables were overturned and customers backed off as they watched the tableau before them.

Suddenly, she felt herself being restrained from behind, being dragged away from her victim and pushed down the ground herself. Swearing vehemently, she struggled furiously against her assailant when she heard him shout in her ear.

"Stop it!" he screamed. "My friend is only trying to protect him! There is a sniper out there—"

"And you really expect me to believe that piece of —"

"Look at him!" he persisted, his voice insistent and loud against her left ear, as he twisted her arms behind her, turning her body to face the blond and Michèl. "Can you not see the bleeding in his shoulder?" He tightened his grip. "Look closely, mademoiselle! Someone took a shot at us and —"

His voice faded in the background as Siann finally looked and saw. She saw as the blond man tried to shield Michèl with his own body and at the same time, search his surroundings for the source of the threat. She saw as he winced when Michèl's struggling arms pushed against his left shoulder where a red stain began to soak through his white shirt.

"Mon Dieu," she gasped, as she tried to crawl towards them, only to remember that her arms were held by the strange man behind her. She renewed her struggle only to find herself facing the ground again, with the man's heavy weight keeping her there. "Let me go," she gasped at her captor. "I have to help him . . . he's bleeding--"

"Quite right," said the man who's accent she can't quite place. "However, it is perhaps wise that you stay down, too. For now at least. Unless, of course, you would like to be the next available target?"

"That's not funny," she snapped, trying to glare at him from her position and failing utterly.

"It was not meant to be," he calmly replied.

"Fine," she retorted. "I'll stay down. But would you please kindly let go of my arms and . . . get off me!" Again, she tried to twist her body to make her point. She blew away the strands of her hair that escaped her cap and made their way across her face. Frustration at being unable to get out of this man's grip was getting to her.

Not receiving any response from him regarding her demands, Siann decided to try a different approach. Taking a deep breath and a few seconds to collect herself and to calm her pounding heart, she said in a more serene voice, "Would you mind getting your weight off my back, please, monsieur? You are crushing me."

Immediately, she felt his weight shift and her breathing became easier.

"I am most sorry," she heard an apologetic voice in the vicinity of her ear.

For several seconds, she remained in her position, waiting -- whether waiting for him to actually release her or waiting for the sniper to take another shot, she didn't know. She stayed still for awhile, trying to collect her thoughts, assessing the situation. She was lying face down on a gravel suffice with a strange man on top of her, 'protecting' her from some . . . some lunatic.

"This day is just going from bad to worse," she muttered under her breath. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the rough surface. "I should have stayed in bed this morning," she berated herself. "Yep. That's probably the wisest choice I could have made. Damn! What good is hindsight if you can't do anything about it, anyway?"

"What was that you said?" asked Monsieur 'Would-You-Like-To-Be-The-Next-Available-Target.'

She scowled. Although she understood that the man was only trying to protect her with his own body, she cannot help but resent the fact that she is put in a helpless position in the first place. The thought of owing her life to some stranger did not sit well with her at all. The thought of herself as a damsel in distress was even worse.

With determination written in her face, she twisted her arms, intent on making her 'captor' release her. She felt him tighten his grip in response, only to loosen them again.

"Sorry again," he mumbled. "I did not mean to restrain you quite so hard."

Rubbing the wrists of her now free hands, she tried to raise herself from her current position while carefully trying to avoid any broken glasses in her path. She looked around at the mess she had made in her attack of the blond man.

"Perhaps it is better to stay down for the time being, yes?" the voice behind her asked in a reasonable tone.

"I do not need for you to protect me," she said stiffly. "Now please, perhaps you should watch your own back instead of playing the white knight. After all, it was not me who was shot at, but you and your friend."

"There is always the chance that it is a random shooting, mademoiselle," he returned. "And since we do not know which, is it not better to err in the side of prudence?"

Siann waited for a couple of seconds before answering.

"I don't see how this is erring in the side of prudence," she bit out. "Forgive me for stating the obvious, but this man . . . hmmm . . . or woman actually, could be shooting at you instead!"

"You are quite right at that," he responded. She could almost see the smile in that response.

Fuming at his nonchalant answer, she yelled, "I am not a damsel in distress!"

"I never said you were," he stated calmly. So calmly, she believed she might actually choke on it.

"Then why don't you stop treating me like one and get off me!" she growled.

"In a second, mademoiselle," he replied in a distracted voice.

In a second?

I don't think so, she thought. She tried to budge him again by trying to get to her knees -- without doing bodily harm, of course -- but to no avail.

She's going to have to hurt him. Yes. That's the only answer.

Let's see, she thought. What would be the best way for her to inflict enough pain for the man to let her go, but not enough to do any lasting damages? It's such a good thing that Pierre and Zechariah were quite insistent on her learning some self-defense moves. Otherwise --

"You know," she heard him say casually, interrupting her thoughts, "I think maybe our sniper is quite finished with us for the time being."

This time, she succeeded on turning her head and looking at him . . . and proceeded to keep on looking. The man was of Asian descent, probably Indian or around those parts. He had the thickest black hair, a strong jaw line . . . quite handsome actually, but that wasn't what had held her attention. She had the vaguest feeling of dejà vu . . . Shaking her head at her musings, she finally observed what exactly it was he was doing. She watched as he perused their surroundings, their position, the buildings around them. Apparently, he was satisfied with what he saw because he raised himself from her and stood up.

Free of his oppressing close proximity, she turned on her back and was surprised when she found his hand in front of her, offering to help her up. Peering at the man from beneath the rim of her cap, she slowly placed her hand on his and he pulled her to her feet from her prone position.

The abrupt movement of his helping the quite spirited girl up to her feet succeeded in dislodging the cap from her hair. He stared at her as a cascade of fire fell past her shoulders. He watched as the fire moved in waves while she shook the dust off her clothes. He gaped as her hands tossed the living fire behind her shoulders before she turned to look at him in the eye.

And Hadji Singh found himself looking not only at a familiar set of green eyes, but a familiar face altogether. The face of the girl—woman, really—was older and more mature, but it had the same features. For the first time in his life, Hadji Singh stared to the point of rudeness at another person.

"I suppose I should thank you," she declared, looking at him with those piercing eyes, her voice slightly begrudging.

Words failed him and he continued to stare. He watched as a frown marred her brow when she received no response from him. He watched as she struggled to say something.

"S-so, thank you," she said, as if the words were forced out of her mouth. "Je regr -- I mean, I am sorry for thinking badly of you and your friend," she continued. "It is just when I heard Mic--"

He saw the moment she realized that her . . .child? . . .no, it cannot be. The child had called her by her name . . . what was it? Sheena? No. Siena? No.

What was her name, dammit!

He saw the moment she realized that the child is still with Jon. Her eyes had widened and their green became more pronounced than ever as she looked back at their figures near several overturned tables and chairs.

He observed as she crouched and slowly touch the back of Jon's shoulders as she asked him if he was well. He watched as she carefully extricated Michèl from Jon and comforted the child in her arms.

He could not say a word, afraid that if he did, she would disappear.

He watched with almost something akin to envy as she soothed Michèl with crooning words before sending him off to his friends across the streets. He saw as she watched the child arrive safely in the circle of his friends. He continued on staring as she turned her attention to Jon.

He started to approach her and soon he too was crouched beside Jon's prone and gasping figure. Instead of paying attention to his friend, however, he stared at the back of the woman's head as she talked to Jon.

Her voice. How could he have forgotten the fact that her voice had reminded him of . . .

He raised her fingers to touch her hair and just when it would have made contact--

"Jessie."

He stopped. For a second, he thought it was he who had said the name that had the power to bring him to the brink of . . . He closed his eyes in confusion.

Hesitantly, he opened them again, half-expecting the vision to be gone only to find her still in front of him with Jon. Finally giving Jon a more thorough look, he watched as his friend stared in wonder at the face from their past.

I'm dead, he thought.

Yes. That's the only explanation.

He had died and gone to heaven. What other explanation could there be for her to be here if not for the fact that he was dead?

Funny. He could have sworn that the bullet only succeeded in giving him a minor flesh wound. Painful as hell, but nothing to die over about.

Perhaps he got shot again. Yes. That's it. He more than likely got shot again and that shot killed him instantly.

And now he's in heaven.

With her.

He had never considered himself to be a religious man, but this latest development has him thanking whoever it was up there that granted him his personal heaven.

He stared at her face, memorizing each feature, drowning in her emerald eyes. She looks older than he remembered, but then, who really knew what happened when you get to heaven?

He basked in her care as her hand touched his brow and she smiled softly at him.

My own angel of mercy, he thought. "Jessie," he breathed softly.

He winced when she applied pressure in his shoulder.

God! That hurt like --

Wait a minute.

Pain? In heaven? Heaven wasn't supposed to—

She started probing his shoulder and the sensation of pain was amplified.

He gasped. Maybe he wasn't in heaven. Maybe he was in the other one down below.

By the time she has succeeded in peeling off the layer of his shirt from his skin, he was sure of it. For some reason or another, God had decided to send him to this place and appoint her as his punisher. Nothing more than he deserved, really, but—

"Ouch! God dammit!" he yelped as she applied pressure at his shoulder again.

"Stop acting like a baby," she said firmly.

Oh God. Oh God. Her voice . . . her voice.

He shut his eyes, unwilling to look at the face haunted his nights and brought the torments of the damned at his door.

- - FLASHBACK - -

"Stop acting like a baby, Jonny," she said, anger evident in her voice.

"I'M acting like a baby," he gasped in indignation, "I'M acting like a baby? What about you! YOU were flirting like a junior high student with that . . . that . . . that idiot--"

"You take that back, Jonny Quest!" she yelled as he saw the fury in her eyes escalate. "You take that back!"

"That you were flirting or that he was an idiot?" he asked, smirking.

"Both!" she bit out, an angry red flush staining her cheek.

"Oh, doctor!" he imitated in a falsetto voice, "Can you do anything for this bird?" He bats his eyelashes for effect. "Doctor!" he began again in his rendition of a high pitched voice, "you are a miracle worker!" He started to make gagging noises.

"Oh, you jerk!" she screamed in the top of her lungs as she lunged at him, obviously intent on doing bodily harm.

He was spared, however, when Race entered the room and stopped her just in time before she reached him.

"Ponchita?" he asked. "Jonny? What's going on here?"

He watched as she visibly tried to calm herself down, her efforts evident by the choking sounds behind her throat. He can see the tears of frustration building in her eyes and for the first time since he did it, he felt a twinge of guilt.

He didn't know what came over him, but the moment he saw her eyes light up at the sight of the good campground doctor, he had been feeling . . . annoyed. Actually, more than annoyed. He had felt . . . irritated. He didn't know what she saw in him anyway, but it had bugged the hell out of him that she let her obvious admiration of the doctor show for all the world to see. To top it all off, the doctor seemed to enjoy her company too.

So he had started teasing her. Unmercifully. Not that she didn't give it back as good as she got, but then, he wasn't in the presence of someone he was trying to impress. Unlike her. The vet was definitely present when he started his attacks. In fact, the good doctor had been present just when Jonny was doing an exaggerated delivery of his interpretation of Jessie's mannerisms around the doctor himself.

His goal? To embarrass her enough to start acting like the regular Jessie he knew, the Jessie that was his friend. But apparently, judging from her expression, he had gone too far.

He watched as she struggled to regain control of her emotions.

If there's anything he knew Jessie hated, it's losing control in front of others.

He watched as she clenched her fingers, her knuckles turning white with the effort. He saw her shake herself from her father's grasp and approach him slowly. His body tensed, ready for her to deliver any blow she might inflict. Only the blow didn't come.

Instead he stared in her tear-filled eyes as she softly said, "I can't believe you did that."

She turned from him and headed out of the house.

"Where are you going?" asked Race.

"I'm going back to our camp," she replied in an unsteady voice. "I think I'll make it an early night tonight." She walked slowly towards the exit.

Jonny saw Race shake his head and go back to talk with Estella in the other room. He continued to watch Jessie as she made her way towards the door.

Call her back.

Yeah right.

Call her back.

And say what? Huh?

Tell her you're sorry.

No way.

Can't you see how much you've hurt her?

He remembered the look in her eyes.

"I can't believe you did that," she had said.

Still, he hardened his heart.

You hurt her.

What about me?

What about you?

She . . . she . . . hurt me.

Oh yeah?

Yeah! . . . Yeah.

So you hurt her back?

Yes . . . I mean NO! No.

He remembered her tear-filled eyes.

Go to her. NOW.

He looked at where her figure disappeared into the night and began to follow her when he felt someone restrain his arm.

"Perhaps, my friend," said Hadji, "you should allow her to cool down a little."

He looked at his friend's eyes and saw understanding in them.

"You know what happened?" he asked.

Hadji nodded. "Jealousy in an ugly thing, Jonny," he said quietly.

Jonny looked at the exit again, all his righteous indignation drained from his body.

"I am sure she will be receptive to your explanations tomorrow," added Hadji. "Perhaps you should take a break yourself and give yourself time to think about . . . everything. Things will look better in the morning."

Reluctantly, Jonny adhered to his friend's advice. Taking one last look at the exit, he muttered, "I'm sorry," under his breath and followed his friend to the other room.

He had been talking to Hadji and his father for quite some time when the night exploded.

- - END FLASHBACK - -

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her, hoping she'd understand. He opened his eyes and looked back at her. "I tried, Jessie," he said pitifully, "I really tried."

"Jessie?" she asked, confusion evident in her features and her voice.

He brought his hand up to her face, touching the soft skin.

"Jon, are you alright?"

He whipped his head to the side and saw his friend.

Hadji? In hell? What the --

"Are you alright?" he asked again.

For the first time since believing he was in heaven, Jon finally took the time to look at his surroundings.

Paris. Café. Ground.

"I'm not dead," he stated.

"Certainly not, monsieur," she said.

He looked back at her.

"Did I lose a lot of blood, Hadji?" he asked his friend, but not taking his eyes of her.

"Quite a few," replied Hadji with an edge in his voice.

Jon sighed with relief. "You're a figment of my fervid imagination," he said to her. "I'm in shock and that's why I'm seeing you."

He saw her frown in confusion.

"Jon," he heard Hadji call. He turned to look at his friend.

"Yes?" he asked in reply.

"I am afraid I do not have your excuse for seeing her, my friend," he stated.

He turned back to look at her and rub his hand against her cheek.

"Do not move," she said in her soft voice. "You will only aggravate your --"

Her voice . . .

"Jessie," he said gently, looking deeply into her green eyes. "Jessie."

Revised October 10, 2004