"An Illicit Interview"
DISCLAIMER: This universe does not belong to me.
SPOILERS: Endgame. And possibly some offhand conversations in Season 5.
RATING: Um, let's say R for naughty language.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I am a religious person. This story is not meant in any way to be blasphemous or disrespectful to Lord God. It's just a bit of fun, taking Kevin Smith's cue. No infringement or horrid consequences intended, so don't sue, okay? In any case, let's all blame Peggy for the scaring the plot-bunny my way. ;-) Cheers, darling.
FURTHER NOTE: The end plaque, bar a slight but obvious difference, is actually up on the wall of the general office of Brentford Magistrates' Court - to 'inspire' us. ;-)
Part 1
I was reading the morning paper when they brought him in. Quite a busy night it had been, too; we had a serious rush to show for it today. Looked like tomorrow was going to be even worse, I was just thinking as I reached for my water glass, and looked up. And there he was. The bloody front page.
The glass was knocked off the table and shattered on the floor, slivers embedding themselves in the hard oak. Hearts were broken that night because of my carelessness, no doubt. But I wasn't even paying attention. Because he was there. Standing in line.
The people in front of him were squirming in place from nervousness, trying to gather the courage together to speak to him. I noticed that the people behind him seemed torn between muttering about the expected hold-up and basking in the knowledge that they would be able to overhear everything.
And me? Well, I was suddenly finding the gravel dusty and the gates tarnished and... suffice it to say, my paper was hidden swiftly and my attire was straightened. Well, okay, it was overkill, but--
It was him.
You know, I expected him to be taller. Or-or something. I don't know... maybe clad in white armour? Or perhaps wearing a crown of thorns? Something.
Nothing. Nyet. Nada.
Dark hair falling in waves around a too-pale face, blue/green eyes set too deeply and ringed with purple bruises, a pouting red mouth hidden by a beard... a pleasant face by human standards, perhaps. Too wounded-looking for me to judge, really. He was too thin, though, anyone could see that -- his fingers were long and slender, tapering up to a bruised wrist and sharp wrist bones. That's the one thing I learned from working here - the sharper the bones, the thinner the body. I mean, stuff like that comes in useful when you saw some of the getups worn here. At least he isn't swathed in silk from head to foot, but, bloody hell, he comes close. Look at that - they call that a uniform? Looks like a dress to me. How are you supposed to fight in that thing?
Ah, who am I to judge -- I'm literally wearing a dress. No, sorry, a robe. Semantics.
Shit!
Curiosity killed the cat, they say... I stared too long, I guess, and he noticed. Looked up. And then it was like being hit by a ten-ton truck. I've no idea if he's this impassioned about everything - he'd be insane if he was, in my opinion - but, man, he looks sure enough to have actually done it...
What do you mean, done what!
Haven't you been following the news? What kind of interview is this? Do you even know what I'm talking about? The challenger! HIM!
Okay, let's recap for those not paying attention - no one, and I mean NO ONE, ever challenged a decision.
Until he walked in and just - did it. Easy as pie.
D'you know, that's why I was so shocked he looked so ordinary. I mean, I half expected him to be armed, but - no. Just those eyes of his.
He scared the living daylights out of me. Quite literally. I half wanted to run off and hide somewhere - but, hell, I wasn't going to miss the fireworks!
So, anyway, I waited along with everyone else, my wrists hurting from all the writing, waiting and waiting until it was his turn. It doesn't take as long as you think, you know. It's one of two decisions - up or down.
This one, though...
They wanted to send him back. Can you believe it? No one has been sent back. Some say they have, sure, but all that's happened is that they've been sent adjournments. The hearing hasn't actually taken place, and no judgement has been made - it's not a reprisal, it's an adjournment.
For him, there was talk of a conditional discharge.
Yeah, you heard right.
The boss man, the big G, the Almighty himself was considering a conditional discharge.
I never, ever, thought he stood a chance against Him, you know? Never in a million years. But then he pinioned me with that self-sacrificial gaze of his, and I'll be thrice-damned if I wasn't rooting for the underdog.
Anyway. Enough waffle. He hit the gravel down hard, and things got underway. I made myself comfortable.
"YES?"
Oh, I forgot. He speaks in capitals. Don't ask why.
"Sorry?"
Crisp, British, cultured... nice voice. Doesn't quite go with the face, but what do I know. He squinted at Him as if trying to see a form in all that light. Laughable, really. I mean, they all try it, and either give up real quick or go blind; I, myself, have looked and looked, and there's no form there.
"I SAID, YES?"
"Yes what?"
Oh God, he's lost his mind, be merciful. I swear, at that moment, I was petrified for him. He blinked those green eyes again, real lazy-like, and then - Christ on a crutch - yawned.
In His presence.
The man has a death wish. I was convinced of it then, and I still think it. I glanced at Him, half-awaiting the smiting. He has a thing for smiting infidels, you know. And, trust me, there isn't much worse a thing you can do than to not pay attention to him when's doing the judging thing. But - nothing. He was -- what? Smiling? Smirking? I nearly passed out. Was He smiling?
"WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH YOU, YOU DISOBEDIENT WHELP? YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE."
"I'm not?" It's only then that he started to look around, taking note of his surroundings. It doesn't take a long time, seeing as there's not much there besides white light and a bloody long queue behind him. He looked puzzled for a moment, looking at the paper hidden behind my desk quizzically. Oh, yeah. Of course. My desk is there. Well, I can't write in mid-air, can I?
So, anyway, he's looking, and almost smiling as he realises that he's a hell of a lot closer to me than to Him. Which, okay, isn't saying much. But then - and I'm telling you the complete truth here - he turned back to Him. "And where is it that I am, exactly?"
Okay, I was convinced that He was smiling now. He loves this bit. "YOU'RE NOWHERE."
"Oh."
They fall for it every time, they do. This line of questioning will get them nothing and they know it, yet still they try. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his knuckles white as they clenched into fists. I was struck, again, by how thin he was. I mean, most of the ones passing through are pretty thin, but this one really has a monopoly on it. Looks like he's been drained. And they want to send him back like this? He wouldn't last another day.
Then again, you didn't see his eyes... Damnit, they sacred me. At least they were shut as he tried to remember, because I don't think I could have stood watching them change when he eventually did it. And it was obvious what he was thinking by that little twitch in his mouth. They're usually tight-lipped for a long time at this point, trying to decide which question to ask next. Invariably, the choice falls between, "Why am I here?" and "How did I get here?" They don't seem to understand that since they are nowhere, neither of those questions really matters.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled, then, because I knew what he was going to ask was going to scare me. It wasn't going to be one of those two; it would be too pat, too cut and dry, you know?
And it wasn't. I waited. And waited.
And then his eyes opened finally, and he seemed to be looking around again, drinking things in as if he was seeing them anew.
He remembered.
Silence.
Eventually, he asked his question. Everyone was so silent, waiting for this, it sounded kind of hollow in the echo. "It worked, then?"
It's not what I expected, I must confess. It's not what anyone - even Him, although I don't purport to know how His mind works - expected. There was a small delighted shiver rippling through the masses watching - they knew, then, that they were going to get a good show.
Vultures. Eager for their pound of flesh. But, then, what was I, with the pen clutched in my hand so tightly I thought it was going to snap? Semantics.
It think He knew what we were all thinking then. Hell, of course he knew. It was His job, right? But still, he savoured it. "YOU DARE ASK THAT? AFTER YOUR DISOBEDIENCE, YOU DARE ASK ME THAT?"
It was like thunder. It was thunder, rolling over us. My eardrums are still tingling. I can't stand hearing Him speak for any great length of time, and this one - well, it was a doozy, to say the least.
And the defendant - lanky, dark-haired, thin as a rake, looking like you could snap him with a breath - actually thought about it. Most would cower and beg forgiveness. He just stood there, thinking. Then, "yes," he said, and smiled.
You could have knocked me over with a feather.
"WHO ARE YOU?" He asked, a little surprised.
The defendant shivered, and so did I, I think. Bad memories, I guess. I watched that question being asked and got real angry for a while at the nerve of them. Then I forgot about it, like all the rest. I guess he hasn't, or maybe it was too recent for him, because he thought that one over, very carefully. "My name is Marcus Cole," he said at last, slowly. "Although I doubt that that name will be used by me here."
More silence at that. The answer sounds a little rehearsed, and I wondered if he'd been asked the question before. By the look in his eyes, I'd say he had. It's sad, I guess, that you'd have to think about this before you got here. Real sad. And scary, too, in a way. I wondered, then, who would have been so interested in our Mr Cole.
Now? Now I just try and forget about it all. Look, d'you want to hear the rest of this or not?
Okay, then.
So, Cole blinked lazily again - I think he was half-asleep, to tell you the truth - and thought some more. Everyone was waiting, but no one expected his next question.
"Who are you?"
Was my mouth open? My jaw aches a lot, so I guess it must have been. It feels like I've dislocated it. I think everyone who was there - including Him - must feel the same. He asked that...
No pause from the G-man, though, he's always on the ball. Forget surprise, takes him an instant to recover. Besides, he gets to say the best line ever. "I'M GOD."
What a delivery. I sneaked a peek at Mr Cole. He didn't seem petrified, see, and I wanted to know... well, okay, the dead rarely show much emotion.
Ooops, my mistake. Special case, special case. He's not dead yet. Okay, well, there were no panicky looks, no involuntary shivering - he was smiling.
What do you mean, "huh?" Oh, I get it. Yeah, my reaction too. Smiling? I thought. Smiling my ass. I bet he's just having a seizure or something. But - nope, nothing. It started a smile, and spread into a full-blown grin.
"Oh, good. So, did it bloody well work or not?"
I swear, I am going to quit this job. Too many shocks, and that one was the topper. I nearly had a heart attack.
And what happened from it all? Just more amusement from the Almighty. "I HAVEN'T DECIDED YET."
Okay, mate, it's been swell, but I gotta run. I go on duty in about five minutes. Oh, yeah, the rest. Well, see, I can see ya same time tomorrow, if you want, and get some more down. Just remember to bring extra cassettes. Their conversation was humdinger, and I'd hate for you to forget stuff and get the details wrong.
Yeah, sure, whatever. Cya tomorrow.
