A/N: Hiya! I will be posting TWO chappie tonight -bows to rounds of applause- Thank you, thank you. I was stuck at my grandparents -nods knowingly to boos from the crowd- I know, I know. I almost committed grandpatricide. But I didn't. I remained strong! -cheers erupt- FOR YOU GUYS -cheers escalate and roof blows off-
Thank you. Thank you. And now....ON WITH THE SHOW!
Metallicfire: Go! Go on your Jesse rant! Be free, young lion. Prowl...rant...chomp...
xxreixx: I think I've made everyone hate Jesse... Ooooh, the POWER!
UnangelicHalo: Nifty is a nifty word...non? Lalala. Is this gonna be a J/S? Who knows...
Naomi: Jimmy has already come into it...Will he appear again? Nobody knows. No, seriously. Nobody knows. Ask anyone. They don't know. Ask me: I don't know.
SweetestReject: HAHAHA. "PAUL GOT A HARD ON!!! Only you could pull that off eloquently." EXCUTH ME??? Pull what off??? Lol. Very graphic images in my mind...
tt: You want a happy ending? OH MY GOD. Bless.
Nice Hayley: Aw, man! Sucks about still not getting alerts -hands over £50 to head of Fanfic alerts. "Good job, head of Fanfic Alerts Man." "No problem, Del." heh heh heh-
Oenone: Hahaha, deary me. What do you get up to? Getting poor unsuspecting boys horny. Tsk tsk. Back in my day, if a boy even looked at a girl he would be carted off and made to marry her! None of this faffing and flaunting! I tell you, if I were President of the world there'd be changes...mark my word; there'd be changes...
KristannaSpirex: Yeah, I did wonder about inventing a Guardian Angel being a bit too...you know. But I did it anyway. I didn't intend to in the beginning, but it kinda happened. Plus it means I can incorporate him into other stories I may give birth to. Cos, I tell ya, it's getting hard to find snap solutions to Suze's troubles! All these people who turn up at just the right moment? I hate when that happens. It always seems way too...unbelievable. So I thought if I invent one main fixture to be there with the sole purpose of bailing Suze outta difficult jams, then I wouldn't need to invent lots of convenient characters, if you understand? I don't. Lol. Plus he makes the story a wee bit more interesting. Moowahahaa.
Pens in potatoes: Hehehehe, merci beaucoup, espesh for the points on the Jesse/Suze make out. I think it's just as fun writing those sessions as it is reading them. Which may sound dodgy, but who cares?
Anna: Oh my God, you are way harsh. :) Hehehe. You say potato, I say potahto. You say moron, I say oh-my-God-you-are-way-harsh. God created us as equals. But me more equal.
moovalous3: Lol, the dents were meant to be metaphors for Suze's life. Sorry for the confuzzlation.
SwEeT-sHoRtEy: Omigod, I had EXACTLY the same problem when I began writing! I was like, "What does A/N mean?" "What does AU mean?" "What does OC mean?" A/N means Author's Note. In answer to you "Why did the pan have dents in it?" Look above at moovalous3's acknowledgement.
Sandra Rose: Hahahaha, so many inklings you have... All will be revealed.... Unless I forget. In which case, uh-oh.
DancinSweethart: Oh man. I feel so guilty about dragging this all out. Making you wait for the solution. And yet...the little red devil on my shoulder poking his pitchfork into my flesh is making me feel...almost...evil. Mowahaahahahaa.... Or maybe it's just me?
x0SweEtkIssEzxO: Aw, you broke your finger and STILL reviewed. I bless you. I bless you.
Athena884: You come from Seattle?? HOW COOL!!! You must describe it to moi!
On with the main feature...
The ride to the Mission was pretty quiet and serene, considering the doom that lay at the end of my journey.
Or what sure felt like doom, anyway. Call it Mediator's Intuition.
I rode with the wind whipping my hair in a very Baywatch way, for that all important wind-swept look. I wanted to look good for my death. Can you blame me, when I had one heck of a hotté waiting for me in the afterlife?
Don't get the wrong idea. I don't want to die. I'd much rather live a meaningful and fulfilling life. But I wouldn't be too shocked if I were to suddenly, I don't know, drop dead in the middle of the Mission Academy or graveyard or wherever the heck else.
Then again, I wouldn't be too shocked by a lot of things. I'm a mediator and I come from New York - I've practically seen the world. From cops eating salads to women in hoop skirts threatening my life. Trust me; the only thing that would shock me now would be a normal life.
And I wasn't expecting that any time soon.
I rolled the bike to the large iron gates and hopped off as elegantly as a girl on a guy's bike can. What is the point in that crossbar? Surely that's gotta be even more painful for the guy? Whatever. I slipped under the gates (had my bum gotten bigger?) and ambled calmly up to Father Dom's office window.
I knew which one it was thanks to my first day at the Mission, when I'd first gone there and had immediately liked the view out onto the car park.
I tapped the window gently – checking subtly for any alarms or guards – yeah, right – and softly called out Paul's name.
"Paul. Paul." After no response, I tried whistling like I did with Max. "Come here, boy. Come on. There's a good boy." I patted my thighs for good measure. "Suze's got a nice big bone-y..."
"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Said an amused voice from my left. I turned round and found Paul smirking at me through Father D's window.
"Don't flatter yourself, you leave a lot to be desired in your Biology lessons, as I recall." And I did recall. It still made me blush when I remembered just how coarse and terse Paul's voice had been as I'd inadvertently wriggled and...applied pressure in his 'sensitive area'.
Paul rolled his eyes wandered away from the window.
"Where are you going?" I hissed, cupping my hands round my face as I leaned into the window. Faintly I could make out Paul's outline as he riffled through Father D's personal drawers and I felt a twinge of...what? Guilt?
"Paul, for God's sake. We're going to hell as it is, can we at least try to keep the sentence to a minimum by not poking our noses in where they really, really don't belong? Just find the damn book, okay?" I was feeling antsy and touchy. Father Dom was a friend.
An old, nice friend. With high connections.
Connections with God.
I learnt from the Godfather that you don't annoy a person with connections with the Man upstairs.
I heard Paul mumble something, but through the glass it was lost on me. I had a feeling it was better that way, for Paul's sake.
There was a faint rustling sound, and I pivoted to face the world behind my back.
And almost lost all control of my bladder functions.
"Nice night fer a stroll, ain' it, swee'heart?" Stiff growled in what I faintly recollected as his 'friendly' voice.
The dark, masochistic glint in his shark-eyes said otherwise. In fact, they said loud and clear to me, "Run little girl, or die."
I'm no dumb broad, I ran.
Or rather, I tried to run. After taking one large, cartoon-like stride, a porky fist grabbed the back of my collar, and yanked me unceremoniously off my feet, back through the air a few yards, and onto the cold, rough ground. Hard.
I had a half, fairly hysterical hope that all my black clothes would just blend me into the very forbidding ground.
That maybe I'd just sort of...blend into the background and melt away from his memory.
I must have hit my head harder than I thought. "Ow," I moaned and struggled to push myself up, my butt aching portentously. Stiff leered and his spectral light fell on me as he pitched forward over me, hovering like a slobbering pit-bull. Somehow, that ethereal glow seemed to adapt to the personality of its...glowee.
On Jesse, the glow was the kind you see portrayed on angels in stain glass windows. On Paul, the glow was... well, it was wary; kind of warm, kind of cold; kind of bright, kind of numb.
Stiff's glow was like that of a white, winter sunbeam, streaming in through a crack in a shuttered window of an abandoned hunting hut in the middle of a creaky forest. And as it lit me up, sprawled inelegantly and painfully on the asphalt, I had the overwhelming urge to stuff a sock into that shutter crack and snuff out that light.
"At least you know where you belong, girly. On your back, underneath me in the subservient position," he lewdly crowed. I placed my hands either side of my head, lashed out my right leg across my body – thereby clipping Stiff on the side of the head and knocking him away – then I threw my legs, and sprang to a standing position.
I was like Jackie Chan, but better looking and with more flip-worthy hair.
"I prefer to go on top, actually," I growled as I round-housed Stiff again in the head. Of course, in my inebriated state and my moment of 'feeling the Force' (Star Wars much?) I had momentarily forgotten how quickly ghosts bump back.
Literally. Stiff was thrown against the building wall, only to use the recoil force (go Newton's third) to lead his own assault on me.
Not nice, really.
I had just dodged one of Stiff's ham-fists when two strong arms wrapped themselves around me and threw me very much off-kilter.
A deep, commanding voice rumbled in my ear, "Run."
I fell a couple of feet forward when those arms released me then turned around.
Paul was now dodging a nasty looking left jab and using his defense stance to get in a powerful kidney-hook. As Stiff doubled over and Paul cut a clean punch to Stiff's eye socket, I resisted a cheer. Stiff was lucky Paul drew back, otherwise he'd be a goner, I couldn't help noting with relish.
Although I think Paul did it for his own self-preservation; if he'd followed through his knuckles would have been on the other side of his hand.
I stood there until Stiff suddenly got the upper hand. He'd grabbed Paul's incoming fist and had twisted it sharply, resulting in a few cusses from Paul that turned my ears to cinders. Stiff was just about to land what I knew would be a knock-out (literally) punch, when my legs burst into action.
Seriously, that is how I would describe it. One moment I was standing there with my mouth agape wondering what cover-up I could lend Paul for the bruiser that would color his face, the next; my legs were pumping madly and my upper body was twisted round as my fist drew itself back. And then I was there. Throwing my entire weight into my fist and watching it collide with a sickening crack and sharp snap up my arm into Stiff's already-fixed-thanks-to-his-ghost-powers right cheek.
He span round and dropped like a Red Oak. And then he just lay there, eyes closed and swiftly swelling, nose gushing blood out like it was Niagra Falls, and a loose tooth cupped between the corner of his top and bottom lip while the rest of his mouth hung open, and slightly askew.
It was actually a rather beautiful sight. "Still got it," I congratulated myself as I blew on my knuckles.
Paul's arm suddenly snaked into view and before I could even grunt in protest, he had grabbed my wrist – albeit with startling tenderness – and was inspecting it clinically.
"Damn, Suze. That's gonna hurt in the morning." Actually, it was hurting now. He brushed his thumb over my knuckles, tickling them with the barest contact. "You alright?"
I was high. That was happens when I get into fights. I get this huge adrenaline rush and bam. Suze is high on power. I could feel the jittery sensations sparking from my toes – making them twitch and curl in my sneakers – to my knees. And the tips of my fingers were starting to get tingly too.
"I'm good. You?" I heard a snap and saw Paul wince. He glanced down at his index finger.
"I am now." I gave him a questioning look and he flexed his finger at me. "Broke it when Stiff grabbed my fist."
Ah. And his very own ghost powers had fixed that. Now that I'd noticed, I could see the swelling around his lip dying down.
"You make such charming acquaintances, Suze. What do you do, go to a weekly book club with VIP guests of pure, indomitable evil?"
I gave him my PMS look and he shut up. "Thank you," I grumbled reluctantly.
He raised an amused eyebrow. "Oh? What for?"
I waved my hand in a vague gesture. "You know," I said.
"I do?" He cocked his head to the side, a picture of pure innocence. Yeah, and Britney Spears is the new Virgin Mary.
Man, Paul was a pain in the ass. My teeth were involuntarily grinding. "For the whole white-knight-on-a-fiery-steed stunt you just pulled," I admitted. "Although not very effectively, considering I ended up saving that cute butt of yours."
Paul's face split into a wide grin and I knew I had said something wrong. "You think my butt is cute?"
Yes. "No." I turned round and stalked off to Father Dom's office window, peering inside. "You get the book?"
"I got distracted pulling my 'white-knight stunt'," he said with a shrug then added, "milady," with an over-exaggerated bow.
With a scowl, I said, "Well go get it, then." Suddenly I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. I glanced over to Stiff and gave a start when I realised he wasn't even there. Okay, I wasn't too worried. Good ol' Stiff wouldn't be coming back here any time soon. Although he would be back, Terminator-style and everything.
Paul bowed another dumb bow and dematerialised. I saw a glow emanate from Father D's office and then Paul's soft glow as he continued his thorough examination of the room.
Too thorough. Seriously, all he was looking for was a big black book. Big, black book. I doubt it was going to be stored into Father D's mediocre-sized desk drawers.
Paul suddenly straightened and turned to the window with a grin. He whisked his hand back and forth and I saw what he was clutching.
A bottle of Jack Daniel's.
From Father Dom's desk drawer. The one with the lock on it. I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face.
I honestly couldn't blame Father D for his choice in...relaxation method.
It took Paul five more minutes until he disappeared from view. All I could see where the shadows created by his moving glow.
And then the shadows were gone, and Paul was materialising next to me, looking like the cat that got the canary. Under his arm was a big black book. Dusty, with gold plated leaves and a title-less front cover.
"Where'd you find it?" I asked, eyeing the book. Were those spider legs, squished onto the cover?
"Top of the book shelf, behind all the books."
"Huh," I said. "Why would Father D keep it behind all his books?"
Paul gave me a dumbass look. "Well, if it's the book you think it is, I'm pretty sure our Padre didn't want just anyone browsing the pages. People would take one look and cart him off to the Nut House."
I cast a scowl at Paul for ruining my Nancy Drew moment. I wanted to treat this whole ordeal as one clandestine mystery, where good always conquers evil and Nancy always makes it home in time for dinner.
"So...where do we go now?" He asked. We couldn't go to my house, for obvious reasons. I didn't particularly want to go to Paul's house... But I had a feeling I had no choice.
"Your house?" I asked with a lot more nonchalance that I was actually feeling.
Paul gave an ironic smile. "And how, exactly, would we get there?"
Did Paul enjoy putting my bright ideas down that much? At least, I thought, he's decided to get his cheap thrills by some other means than sexually harassing me. "Well where do you propose, oh wise one?" I snapped. It was actually kind of cold out and my fingers were literally itching to grab that book and reveal all its secrets... or the story of Huckleberry Finn, depending on what book we had actually grabbed.
But weirdly, I didn't want to open it now. I didn't want to read it here, somewhere so...plain and secular. Which is just stupid, seeing as we were stood right outside a Catholic school with it's chapel near us. True, though, I have heard parking lots aren't the most spiritual of places.
Paul looked off into the distance as he thought. He looked good thinking, I decided. Then quickly berated myself. No was not the time for dilly-dallying on cute butts and faces.
He snapped his eyes back to me and I hastily looked away, raising my eyebrows up and peering round as if there was something very interesting creeping around us. "How about we go inside."
"What do you think I've been saying we should do? Go to your house but just sit down on the doorstep? Or camp out in the driveway?" I gave an exasperated groan and brushed a stray bang off my forehead.
Paul's smile grew tight. "I meant inside the school," he said, and strode off in that direction.
"'I meant inside the school,'" I mimicked. "Then why didn't you say inside the school in the first place?" My grumblings carried on as I followed Paul around the Mission building, all the while picturing stabbing my nail file viciously and with malicious delight into his broad upper back, all the way down to the lower half where his hips narrowed.
I smiled faintly at the image of my nail file puncturing what I knew would be smooth, supple, resilient skin where his spine dipped at the base.
"Stop it," Paul said.
I started and looked up in perplexity. "Stop what?"
Paul's frown increased. "Stop staring at my back like that. You're creeping me out."
"I wasn't staring at your back," I quickly defended myself.
"I could feel your eyes burning into my flesh. I don't know what you were thinking, but I sure was getting a heckavu lot of dark vibes." He cocked his head thoughtfully to the side. "You'd make a good bodyguard. Or Mafia member." With his trademark I'm-so-hot-I-sizzle sneer, he turned back round and carried on inspecting the Mission.
So what if it was immature that I flipped him the bird while he had his back turned? He was a nuisance. And he thrived off knowing he was a nuisance.
"Here," he suddenly said. I looked at 'here'. It was a window. As dark as all the other windows. Except...
"The latch is broken," I noted. Paul gave an almost imperceptible nod. "This is the one I used when I dealt with Heather. I remember Jesse yelling at me to run and then me getting really worried that he was hurt by the giant floating head and then him being okay and me running into him and us having a 'moment' and then him ruining the 'moment' by telling me I was bleeding and I was and then he gave me his hanky and helped me and that started off all these other 'moments' we had in the future and all those 'moments' being ruined invariably by him. Why do guys do that?"
Paul, eyes wide and mouth agape asked, "What?"
I gave him my look that I reserve only for guys. The one that said, "You're being dumb." The one I used a lot. "Why do guys always have to ruin 'moments'?" I spoke slowly, so he could catch every word.
Paul still looked like someone had just tried to shove Spike up his ass. "I can honestly say I don't know."
I made a disgusted noise and shook my head, then strolled over to the window and slowly and carefully opened it.
With one last scan of my surroundings, I climbed onto the sill, and heaved myself through. 'Elegant as a swan and stealthy as cat' didn't even come into it. After dusting myself down inside one of the classrooms, I nodded to Paul – who had instantly materialised – and took seat, perching on the end of one of the desks.
Breaking and entering a place of God never made me feel particularly comfortable or relaxed. Visions of lightning bolts and smouldering, frazzle-haired, crisp Susannah Simon's kept on slamming into my mind.
Paul hopped up next to me and snuggled a lot closer than necessary. The length of his long, hard thigh was pressed up against mine.
He plonked the big, ominous book on our adjoining thighs, and opened it up.
Inspired by SwEeT-sHoRtEy, anyone with any SENSIBLE, or ACTUAL questions on anything, post 'em in your reviews and I will post 'em at the end of every chappie, and peeps shall supply the answers or I will! At the end of every chappie. If you wanna. If you don't, THEN LEAVE ME ALONE.
Seriously. Questions on anything. But ones that you are genuinely curious about. I think this is my 'counsellor/shrink' personality coming through. Doo doo doo doo. Take cover!!!
No silliness, you silly boys.
