A/N: Hiya! Long time no see, eh? Didja miss me?

Don't answer that.

So I've been uber-busy this past MONTH. But because I've been so busy, I've been writing my chappie slowly...which means it just keeps on growing and growing... which is good. I swear. Also, I have 2 other stories going on that are NOTHING to do with Mediator, so they're kinda taking up a lotta time too. Not to mention all my COURSEWORK. And tests. Man, teachers suck ass.

Enough of my whining. AND ON WITH THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (you know you lub them...):

My Divinest: Aw, shucks, ma'am, thanks kindly.

Sandra Rose: Mooowahahaha!!!! Power to the Converter (moi)! The Converter of Jesse fans to Paul fans. You can't believe how much of an ego boost it is to hear stuff like that. Even I'M beginning to want this story to be a P-S... so who knows???

Athena884: Seattle sounds so cool! Me and my friend are moving to America when we're finished with Uni in Engerland, and Seattle is on our list of 'maybes.'

Oenone: You've made it sound like I've made Paul into a split-personality psycho! I like it... :)

DancinSweethart: You rock my socks aussi, my dear. You rock my socks aussi... My socks are blue. YOU THINK MY PAUL IS YOUR FAVE PAUL??? AAAAAWWWW!!! That is sooooo NICE! THANK YOU!

Acidic-Lover: Sweetest Reject.... I shall TRY and remember tis you. So many names... Lol. Everyone wants Paul and Suze to get together now!! I'm gonna hafta add some Jesse and Suze action. Trouble is, I don't wanna make Suze seem like a slut (and trust me; that might happen once you read what goes on in THIS chappie...)

x0SweEtkIssEzx0: Omigod, you played tackle footie with hot seniors?? You lucky dawg. You shoulda made 'em kiss your broken finger better.... Heh heh heh... And thanks for the MAJOR compliment! My ego almost burst. YOU'RE FROM NEW JERSEY??? Omigod, as mentioned above to Athena884, that's another place my friend and I wanna visit when we move to America. Probably won't live in New Jersey, but we'd visit. SO BEWARE....

Mystique Angelique: You are such a moron. Like I have more talent than you. HEL-LO! You just posted - what? - 3 AMAZINGLY articulate and hilarious and moving and emotional poems - FREAKING POEMS! Only the HARDEST thing in the whole of mankind to write - and you did it SPECTACULARLY!!! I think you need to get your head outta that Aussi loo, Lolly, before you flush ALL your sanity away. Gawd. :) Hahaha - so true about Paul wanting to marry Suze being hot. When I wrote it, I was practically melting into my bed sheets. By the way, I think you may like this chappie, judging by your review - "I just wish that you'd do ONE THING, at least, where Paul just totally comes onto her, and she kind of responds..." - HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

Naomi: I always kinda got the feeling that Suze was a dreamy gal, and seeing as she was pretty spaced out with the whole Stiff-suddenly-appearing incident, and the whole Paul-is-not-a-virgin surprise, I thought maybe she'd let go of a few of her reserves and maybe let us - and Paul - have a little insight into what she's really like. Accidentally, of course. Because we all know Paul is not to be trusted... Doo doo doo doo

Anna: You're so odd. Merci for beta-ing. Next time, don't ASK if you can make corrections or changes, you moron. JUST DO IT. That's what I'm hiring you for. I'm TRYING to boost your confidence because you have AMAZING talent when it comes to writing - you fully made me cry with that St. Sepulcre's project thingy - but you are too SHY to spread your glory and love. Too shy... Such a waste... You sicken me. (Thank you)

UnangelicHalo: Hahaha, I seem to be making all the Jesse fans vair vair conflicted. It's quite beautiful. I can picture you Jesse fans all running round like headless chickens in your Jesse fan arena, while all the Paul fans and lounging about and being all suave and... Paul-like. I picture a lot of things in my head. None of them are normal. It's what makes me so special.

xxreixx: I think a more considerate Paul is a more...human Paul. And a more human Paul is a more HOT, GOD-LIKE CHARACTER.

Gen. Kenobi: HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!!!! So, you were the one who popped Paul's cherry, eh? Thanks for clearing that up - Suze will be devastated, lol. I know in my previous chappie I said Father D drank Jack Daniels, but I can fully picturing him serving himself a Cosmopolitan... or a Florida Sunrise... while dressed in a French maid's outfit.... with bright red lipstick...and an old-fashioned feather duster... oh, God... the images...the images!!!! I LUB your description of hormones: "They're like little nazis invading my life." - SO TRUE!!! When I'm writing and picturing Paul I just wanna jump into my laptop screen and... Well. Let's just say once I find Paul, there will certainly be no need for clothes... except maybe a French maid's outfit... Anyhoo, that new quote you gave me? "Your powers are weak, old man?" I TOTALLY used that LOADS, and I got a really great reaction to it each time. Hehehehe. I almost used it on my maths teacher when he was explaining powers to me (there were only 3 of us in that lesson - JUST 3 PEOPLE!!! Usually there are about 30).

Metallicfire: Hahaha, I lub my cliffies!!! When you said started talking about the sexual tension between Paul and Suze, and you said, "Come on Suze, it ain't that hard." I just about cracked up. I'm guessing you didn't mean it to be such a grande innuendo... BUT. Because, frankly, it is that hard. At least, when it comes to Paul and certain aspects of Paul...

moovalous3: I see you are a truly faithful Jesse fan. And for that, I applaud you. Hehehe.

Nice Hayley: Hahahaha, oh man. Imagine if I did killl Paul. I can just imagine waking up, opening my curtains, and finding you standing in front of my big window with your axe raised, your teeth bared, hair mussedand your eyes glinting manically. HAHAHA - it's so graphic in my mind. HAHAHAHAHAHA, oh man. I need to get something to eat...

Ellen: Je suis glad you enjoyed it...

Alenor: That's the one thing I don't like about the Mediator series - the fact that if Suze ends up with Jesse, she won't be able to lead a full life, if you get what I mean. I haven't read Twilight though, so I guess circumstances could change, or something...

Qui tacet consentit: Halloooooo! I'm vair mucho pleased you are liking my story so far! Please.... do go on...

Kit: Thanks, doll!

AmethystHannah: Lol, I never really considered the fact that Maria was Suze's arch nemesis when I was picking the kiddies' names. Suze just strikes me as a Maria kinda person... Your idea for Suze and Paul being best friends - but still with Paul trying to jump Suze's bones - is a really good idea. I will actually consider it deeply...

SwEeT-sHoRtEy: Hahaha, no one can get over the fact that Paul is as pure as Snow White... Hehehe

Pens in potatoes: I just went on your online journal...why is your nickname Peeps? Lol. I have pondered this for quite a while, but I am still in a state of much confuzzlation....

Thank you for all your support (still) - I was a wee bit worried about Chappie 17 and making Paul a v-v-v-v-VIRGIN. So merci for not blowing up in my face and screaming obscenities at me... Well, typing in capitals, anyway. I hope mucho you like mucho this chappie.... mucho.

AND THANKS FOR THOSE STILL REVIEWING Jesse's VPL - your reviews make me laugh.


I woke with a heavy mind.

I woke with a torn mind.

I woke with a mind to kill.

Kill who, I didn't know. But I knew that, if I had the energy, I would have definitely killed someone. However, something inside me felt as if it were dead, and that was acting like a lead weight on all my other emotions, pulling them away from the surface and deeper into the swallowing river.

And then I realised it was a school day, and I was late, and if I didn't hurry up I would get a detention from Sister Ernestine.

I made it into the car just as Dopey revved the engine. He shot me a look, I shot him a look, Doc sighed in desperation from the depths of the backseat, and we took off for the Mission.

There was no mention in assembly of any break-in, so I figured I had gotten away with that. Though when I remembered why I had broken in, the weight that had been lifted promptly fell with a ker-plunk back onto my already drooping shoulders.

Today was gonna be one of those days.

To be honest, I was a little pissed off at Paul.

Okay. To be totally honest, I was very pissed off at Paul. There he was being all nice and chummy and actually human, and then he goes and says...you know.

And do you know why I was so pissed off at him? Because what he said was human. What he said was true and he knew it and he was sad when he had no right to be sad.

He was sad and sorry because he knew what I wanted more than anything was Jesse and a normal life. He knew that I couldn't have both.

Talk about a mood killer.

I was kind of sort of pissed off at myself too. I was kidding myself and telling myself the impossible. Not facing up to my responsibilities and all that stuff that Mr Miyagi was always going on about. I would have made a very poor Karate Kid.

"Boo," whispered a voice behind my ear as I made my way to the loo during French (no, I wasn't skiving, I really had to pee. Sort of). I flattened a hand against my chest to calm the flutterings.

"Jesus. How come I never hear you come or sense you?" I hissed, making sure there was no one else to see me talk to thin air.

"I come in like the fog on little cat feet," Paul said, grinning ear to ear and looking very pleased with himself.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Carl Sandburg," he shrugged. "More or less."

My eyebrow remained raised. "What are you doing here?" But Paul just ignored me and looked around thoughtfully.

"Being here brings up a lot of memories," he said dolefully. I rolled my eyes so far back I almost fell over. Then he turned glistening eyes on me and took a threatening step toward me. I took one back and found myself crowded up against a pillar, Paul's arms trapping me there. "Like this. This brings back a lot of memories."

"Whatever. I have to go pee."

Paul's smile remained and he ducked his head next to my ear, nudging some hair behind it. "Stop, you sweet talker, you."

"I'm not even joking. I really have to pee. Like, now." With a heartfelt sigh, Paul hefted himself off me, his chest leaving a sudden lightness on mine. "Thank you," I said. In the safe confines of the ladies' room, I gave a sigh reminiscent to Paul's and thumped my head against the big mirror.

When I came out, Paul was still there. Leaning against the pillar, hands tucked into his pockets and looking like he just came off the cover of GQ. I had to bite my cheek at the injustice of it all.

Paul took a step forward but I held my hand out feeling the power of Diana Ross flow through my veins. Or not. "I have to get back to French," I said by way of explanation.

Paul's eyes flashed with something but he merely nodded his head and stepped to the side. Being semi-dead must have given empathetic powers because he didn't push it and seemed to sense that I wasn't in a talking mood today. Something for which I was eternally grateful.

I plonked myself back down at the desk in French and refocused on Mademoiselle Vautour. I had just started concentrating on my French irregular conditional verbs when Paul fizzled into view...strewn across Mademoiselle Vautour's desk.

A snort of laughter burbled out of my throat.

Paul was lying with one knee perpendicular to the desk, and his other pointed out toward the front. He had propped his head on his upright hand and his other arm was draped languorously over his vertical leg. He looked Julius Caesar who'd just been told the 'ides of march' weren't coming to kill him. If he had grapes – and a couple of servant girls – he'd look right at home.

Vautor turned to me with dangerous glint in her eye and a deadly raised eyebrow. "Is there something you find amusing about conjugating conditional tense verbs, Miss Simon?"

I choked on my laugh as Paul switched positions – he was now doing the breast-stroke on the desk. "Nothing, Mademoiselle Vautour. Frog in my throat." This earned me a couple of snickers from the class. I sent glares in their general direction and they promptly stopped.

Oh, the power. It could really do things to a girl's head. Not me, though.

The class re-settled.

Oh my God...oh, my God. Paul was still doing the breast-stoke...but he was actually doing the breast-stroke. He was swimming across the classroom. In the air. All the while miming whatever Mademoiselle Vautour was preaching.

My whole body was shaking with suppressed laughter as Paul floated up to the ceiling and began doing seriously good impersonations of Spider-man, creeping across the ceiling on all fours.

"Miss Simon? Miss Simon?" I turned my eyes back to the front.

"Pardon?"

"Est-ce que tu trouve quelque-chose amsuant, mademoiselle Simon?" (A/N: Pardonez-moi pour mon francais terrrrrrible)

"No," I said. And got an annoyed eyebrow raise in response. "I mean; non. Rien." I gave a big phoney smile and she turned away.

Something tugged at my hair and I looked up. Paul was leaning over me and grinning inanely. I rolled my eyes and stopped when I felt light headed. Turning my attention back to the lesson in hand, Paul began to massage my neck.

No seriously.

Massage.

And he was gooooood. My tense muscles were melting away like butter and I feared my insides were going that way too. His touch was feather-light, then deep and probing but no less sensual or caressing. I was in heaven in French class.

"MademoiselleSimon, maybe if you kept your eyes open during my lessons you wouldn't keep getting those Ds on your assignments. Hmm?" I stifled a blush but Paul's hands didn't stop moving.

Now this was a compromising situation. Old Vautour wanted an apology, but I reckoned if I opened my mouth, all that would come out would be a big fat long groan of pleasure from the beautiful havoc Paul was wreaking from my neck onwards.

"Sorry," I said, my voice course and strained.

"Pfuit," Mademoiselle Vautour said, and turned back to the board.

"Man, looks like someone ate a dodgy frog this morning," Paul whispered into my ear and a bark of laughter escaped me.

Before Vautour could even impale me with her sharp tongue I was out of the room, gasping out a feeble excuse as I fled. Mentioning 'puke' and 'socks' and 'Dopey's feet', or something like that.

I ran through the breezeway and escape outside like I sometimes did to visit Jesse's grave. Once in the soothing, warm air I let it out.

I laughed until I had tears running down my cheeks, until I had to clutch my the stitch daggering into my side, and until my jelly-legs forced my to slide down the wall. Once I had calmed down minimally, I began gulping for air. Gulping around the baubles of laughter that were still escaping, but in less urgency.

It wasn't pretty.

And I'm fairly sure Maybelline 100 Waterproof Mascara wasn't waterproof for these...less than majestic causes. I don't think it would sell as well if it had me on the commercials trying to project just how effective and waterproof it really was...whilst laughing my very red head off.

Like I said, it wasn't pretty.

I acknowledged Paul crouching down next to me, but in my inebriated state I couldn't make any move to let him know I'd acknowledged him. Which appeared fine by him. I could feel the heat from his grin.

And then his hand was rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles while I tried – I swear I tried – to stop laughing. But every time I came even close to bottling up those snorts, a picture of Paul gliding across the classroom doing breast stroke – puffed out cheeks because of his imaginary breaths included – I just cracked up again.

Finally, though, finally, I managed to stop.

Sniffling somewhat and wiping my eyes I turned to look at him and...I don't know, either thank him or scold him. But when I turned my head, my nose bumped his.

And he had that look in his eye.

The look where his eyes were no longer cool oceans, but molten lead, ready to scorch anything. Or, in my case, anyone.

The eyes that told me he meant business, and nothing was going to stop him.

The eyes that got me every time.

I involuntarily gasped at the raw passion that simmered in them before Paul was rocking his mouth over mine, hard and warm.

It was his take-no-prisoners kiss that always managed to melt a spot in me I never knew I had.

The thing that always got me, though, was that for someone who appeared so tough-as-nails and who was so inerrably cool; his mouth was anything but. His lips were soft and warm, and they cushioned and pressed and suctioned with a lack of poise differentiating from his usual composure.

It was exciting, endearing and filled me with such curiosity that I wanted nothing more than to kiss him some more. It was like seeing the real Paul.

Or rather, feeling the real Paul.

So sue me if I kissed him back. I was curious. You could say this was all done in the name of education. You know; learn the ways of your enemy, etc. Of course, if you did say that you'd have to be fully prepared to be ignored or scorned. And with good cause.

Paul made a noise of appreciation in the back of his throat and before I could say smudge-proof lipstick, he had me pressed up against him and the wall. Standing up. I blinked and the haze of arousal dissipated from my eyes.

"Wow. Now that was smooth," I said. I hadn't even felt myself being hauled to my feet. I was impressed.

Paul grinned a feral grin at me and I was glad he was holding me with his body because my legs just about melted underneath me at the sight of those blinding-white teeth and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"I know." He gave a phoney sigh of hardship. "I've had to practice time and time again to get that move perfected," he said, as if he'd sacrificed an arm and a leg.

I raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "How big of you," I muttered.

The grin returned full blast. "That's not the only thing that's big of me, sweet cheeks," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Even as the blush seared across my skin, I still managed to retort, "Tell me about it. I'm surprised you can walk with the weight of that huge ego you've got."

If anything, Paul just grinned more. "Ouch," he said. Then his lips were back on mine and I was liquefying all over again.

At the time, my mind was blissfully blank of emotion and thought. My sole purpose was to kiss Paul back with the same ferocity that he was executing on me, and to cling to his lips as they danced and tangoed over mine.

Looking back on it, I feel guilt, embarrassment, and a whole lotta other emotions make me blush six shades of red. I was a modern-day Scarlett O'Hara for all the wrong reasons.

It wasn't until I felt a particularly strong breeze buff me from the side that I remembered where I was... and what I was doing.

I unclenched my nails from Paul's posterior (how had they gotten there?) and let my arms drop to my side. My thighs tightened and would have snapped together if Paul hadn't insinuated himself there (when had I let him in there anyway?). My tongue returned to my own mouth (same question as the nails) and my lips stopped unglued themselves from Paul's.

Who didn't take a hint. Apparently the fact that I was lifeless under him didn't matter as he continued to have his wicked way with me.

After a while, I kinda got annoyed.

I don't like being ignored, okay? With a not-so-gentle nip to his bottom lip, I think I got my point across.

His lips left mine slowly, adhering on to the very last moment and letting go with an audible pop. He drew his head back and tilted it into his neck so he could look down at me.

His eyes were still dark and heavy with unbridled passion and their intensity left me a little unsettled.

"Something wrong?"

I swallowed a sigh and straightened up but Paul didn't leave his place from standing between my legs. If anything, he stood straighter and more determined.

He bent his head and applied his lips to my earlobe and I almost succumbed to waves of pleasure that were threatening to topple me over and drown me. But I didn't. I turned my head away.

Paul once again straightened up, and this time I met his demanding gaze. "This is wrong."

Something hot flicked through his eyes but it was gone in an instant. He took a step back and my thighs snapped shut. The heat he took with him was phenomenal and I felt like a cat being denied his place by the hearth.

Paul's eyes had lost any heat they might have held and were now cold and uncaring. "Then why does it feel so right?" He demanded.

"Because it's lust," I said strongly, trying to make myself feel as confident as I sounded. "And anything that's a sin feels right and good. Come on, Paul. You know the story of Adam and Eve."

"Indeed," he said flatly. "And what, pray tell, gives you the impression that us fulfilling our needs is wrong?"

Okay, so I blushed a little at the 'fulfilling our needs' bit. Because, honestly, I didn't really have that many needs in that area, thanks to having a certain dead boyfriend doing his best to get rid of them. The needs, I mean.

"It's wrong when it's not honest and it's not real," I replied hotly.

Paul stared at me for a moment with seeing eyes. "Fine," he said. "Fine. I'll be in touch." With one last inscrutable glance Paul shimmered from view and I was left with a light head and a heavy weight in my stomach.

Pressing a hand to my tingling, swollen lips, I tried to figure out just where exactly I'd gone wrong with my life. And then I realised; I'd never been going right in my life.

It was like at every junction and crossroad in my life, I'd taken one route and at the beginning it had felt like the direction I was meant to be taking, and then suddenly I was at a dead-end, or I'd arrived at the wrong town.

What I needed was bus.

Or a tour guide.

"You called?" Sang a voice from my left. I whipped round and saw Jim perched up against the wall.

"Um...no."

"Sure you did," he said. "You wanted a tour guide. Here I am." He was leaning against the wall with his ankles crossed and hands tucked into pants' pockets.

"Oh," I said intelligently. Then I cleared my throat, "Nah, I'm good. But thanks anyway!"

With a shrug of his lanky shoulders, Jim disappeared with a pop.

I gave a heartfelt sigh. Why couldn't all my troubles disappear as easily as that? I ambled slowly back to the breezeway , really. My mind wasn't really all there at that moment. Yeah, like it ever was most of the time. When I almost walked into a breezeway column, I decided now would be a good time to break myself from my reverie.

I tapped my head. "No grass growing up here," I said sarcastically to myself.

"Of course not, silly. That's where your hair grows." A tiny giggle echoed from behind the column and I tentatively looked round it.

"Bethany! What are you doing here?"

She shrugged up at me, eyes wide, ankles crossed and deft fingers fiddling with the ends of her hair. "I like to watch you. Whenever my mommy had to work, I used to watch her too." Bethany reached out an arm and I crouched down to her height. She stroked my hair like it was golden thread. "She had pretty hair too." Slowly retracting her hand, she put her thumb in her mouth. "Mommy said when I was older, I would be just like her, and look just as be-a-u-tiful as her, too."

I sort of stared at Beth for a little while, wondering where the annoying brat from only a day ago had gone. Then I recalled my manners and smiled. "I bet you will." I didn't feel the need to mention that she wasn't going to be getting any older. And the realisation twanged something in my heart, something I usually kept deeply buried when dealing with the dead.

But Bethany nodded and said, still speaking round the thumb in her mouth, "Do you look like your mommy?"

"I look more like my daddy."

Bethany's eyebrows furrowed and she stared hard at the top of my head. Then, as if reaching a conclusion of some sort, she brought her eyes back to mine. "Does your daddy have long hair then?"

I let out a snort of laughter at the image of my dad – the ruthless, bulldog lawyer – with hippy, flowing locks. I know disrespecting the dead is bad but... come on, it was funny. "Nah," I said, "he didn't have long hair. But he did have the same color as me. And we have the same eyes, too. And the same stubborn streak."

The thing I got from my mom was my faultless taste in lipstick shades.

That was probably about it.

"I'm going to go now," Bethany whispered.

"Okay then," I whispered back, and with a little finger wave Bethany disappeared.

If she were alive, I'd be finding the nearest child psych any day now. Then I felt guilty for thinking that; Bethany was probably just lonely. Wouldn't you be, if you only had lousy me for company?

Don't answer that.

After school finished I wandered down to my favourite place in the whole wide world; aside from my bed. As always, Jesse's grave was waiting for me at the end of the path, the fresh wild flowers splashing tiny mottles of color against the cool pale gravestone.

I stood there for a while just reading the words and picturing Jesse playing with his sisters on the ranch he's so fond of. Don't ask my why that image popped into my head. I guessed today was just my not-all-there, philosophical day.

Well, I've gotta have some sometimes. One can't always concern one's mind with the latest fragrance Tommy Hilfiger is gracing us with.

I felt something slip around my hand and clasp it gently, and sure enough Jesse was standing next to me, smiling down at me, then smiling down at his own headstone.

Talk about creepy.

As I was gazing up at Jesse, guilt washed piercing and cool across my skin like a harsh winter's breeze. I loved Jesse. I knew I did.

But where were all these feelings for Paul cropping up from?

He was changing; that much was obvious. But just how honest and selfless was it? And how temporary was it?

Jesse ducked his head and bestowed a sweet, soft kiss on my lips. "What was that for?" I asked, my voice pitching several octaves higher. Why couldn't someone invent something useful like a breath-freshner that prevented any embarrassing voice-breakings?

Jesse continued to smile placidly at me. "You make everything seem so much simpler and brighter."

Affection, warm and tender as it is, still managed to sucker-punch me hard in the gut. But in a nice way, I guess. A goofy grin seeped across my face and even the gods would have had a difficult time in trying to stop it.

"Yeah, well. To quote the Dashboard Confessionals: This is easy as lovers go."

Jesse frowned but kissed me anyhow. Sometimes I thanked my lucky stars for having a boyfriend who didn't fully comprehend just how much of an idiot I really was. It made things so much more uncomplicated in the long-run.

"Come, querida. Let's go home." Jesse tugged at my hand and we both turned to walk down the path.