A/N: So, this chapter references my One-shot Collection a bit. Chapters 10 & 11. :D If you don't know who Lisa is, you can go read that. I was busy with Ikkicon this weekend. I cosplayed Masayuki Hori (Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun, I had friends as Mikorin and Kashima) on Friday and then went steampunk (Well, more Dieselpunk, technically…) on Saturday. :D So I am wiped, but…I have a lot of days off work this week, so…maybe…more writing?

Also, I bought a print of my favorite Harvest Moon bachelor, Wizard, from Animal Parade. Random trivia: My favorite Rune Factory bachelor is Dylas. ^/^

Chapter #11: Jazz's Bad Day

This day has not gotten off to a good start. To begin, Jamie had thrown a surprise party for a friend and gotten herself locked in the bathroom before passing out. Angie had been nowhere to be found when Jazz had returned from the University Library to the spectacle.

"She must have seen the party coming," Jazz growls to no one in particular, fishing around in her glove compartment, "I should've gone to Cecil's place after the library closed. Did they really have to boot me out?"

His name still feels foreign on her tongue, some sacred word she's not allowed to speak casually even though she learned it approximately seven months ago. Ghosts hold their lives as closely guarded secrets, and he'd given her a small piece of it; his first name.

She plucks a stack of papers from within and begins to file through them. She takes a brief second to look up through her rearview mirror, at the shadow shuffling around in the other car – presumably for the same reason.

Finally, she finds her insurance information, scribbling it down on a notepad she keeps in her car, and steps outside. Her eyes turn to her bumper, which now sits with one side scraping the dirt. She resists the urge to fiddle with it for the moment – she'll do that in a second.

She turns her eyes to the other car, a silver Subaru with a crumpled bumper and a broken headlight – it's in better shape than hers. Then again, her car is old and full of rust, while the offender looks fairly new. Offender, she snorts, It's not actually his fault.

She'd been driving along the highway as usual, the Subaru in the other lane, a little ahead of her. A truck heading in the opposing direction swerved into his lane – for what reason, she had no idea – and the Subaru driver had swerved to avoid him, swiping her back bumper in the process.

He finally straightens and exits his car, jogging over, "I am so sorry about that," he crouches by her fender and inspects it with piercing grey eyes that he quickly turns on her, "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," she nods, "A little shaky from the adrenaline pumping through my system right now, but I handle that pretty well."

Those grey eyes scan her head-to-toe once again, and she returns the gesture, "What about you?"

"I'm fine," he shrugs, running a hand through his short, straight, clean-cut brown hair.

"Have you called the cops, or should I?" she frowns, "I mean, we'll need to file a report to our insurance companies and they'll probably want a police report."

He nods, "I called already," his serious mien falls to a grimace, "Man, the paperwork is going to suck."

"It always does," she groans, leaning against her car, "This is not my day. I should've known Danny's luck was contagious."

"Before we forget," he hands over a small paper, "Here's my information."

"Thanks," she places her own in his hand, "Jasmine. Jasmine Fenton. Call me Jazz," she offers her hand.

He takes it with a firm grip, "Darren. Darren Blake."

"Nice to meet you," she smiles wearily, and he returns the salutation.

"So…" he leans beside her, chewing his lips a little.

"…Yes, those Fentons," she chuckles, sensing the impending question.

"…I suppose you're heading back to Amity Park, then?"

"Yeah," she nods, "My brother's getting married and I have dress fittings to attend. I'll probably give his wife some therapy…normal family stuff."

"Think you'll have any ghosts there?" he grins.

"Oh, I'm sure," she nods, "Frostbite wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I haven't heard of that one," he almost questions.

"Sorry, Mr. Blake," she smirks, "But it's a really long story, and our cops are almost here," she cranes around him to see the road, where a patrol car approaches.

"You'll have to tell me sometime," he smiles.

They explain the situation to the officer, officially placing their corroborating stories into the system. He leaves more quickly than he arrived, and Jazz finds herself staring at her bumper again.

She'd tried to get into her backpack earlier, but she'd placed it in the trunk – which no longer opens.

"Is there something in there that you need?" Darren asks, leaning against his own car with his arms crossed.

"Not really," she sighs, "Not right now, anyway. I'll just have my brother help me out."

"He's good with cars?"

"He's good at helping people," she answers briskly, "I'm just trying to figure out what to do with this bumper," she kicks at it gently, "I can't just leave it scraping the ground."

He stares at it for a second before holding a hand up in a 'one moment' gesture and vanishing around the back of his car. He returns a second later with a neon-orange roll of duct tape, which he holds up with a triumphant and dashing grin.

"You really think that'll hold it?" she questions skeptically.

He looks at her in mock horror, his voice a whisper, "You doubt the duct tape? The very substance that holds the universe together?"

She massages at her temples with a sigh, "I suppose it'll work until I can get to Amity."

"Are you okay?" he asks again, his mocking reverence falling away in an instant.

"I've had a very long morning, okay?" she brushes a hand through her hair, "I just want to get home."

"I know the feeling," he laughs, beginning to secure her bumper, "I'll have this fixed up in a second. You can go relax if you want."

She stares him down for a second, doing her best to read his expression. He seems honest enough, but, then again, she hadn't immediately known that Vlad Masters was a super-villain who wanted to murder the patriarch of her family.

"You know," he coughs, tearing the roll away, "We're headed to the same place. Maybe we can get coffee?"

She stares at him for a second, "…coffee?"

"Or something…you know," he shrugs, "…to celebrate the fact that neither of us have died or totaled our car?"

"…I…uh…" she can feel the heat rising to her face, "I need to get going…fittings and all, you know?"

"Yeah," he scratches nervously at a cheek, "I forgot. Maybe later…you have my number. I'm staying at the Hilton Amity Park."

They wait in silence for a moment before he clears his throat and pats the bumper, "Well, that should secure you until you get home."

"Thanks," she smiles, "I'll let you know when I've filed the report with my insurance company…until then, have a nice day, Mr. Blake."

"Call me Darren," he smiles, "You have a nice day too…Jazz, right?"

"That's right."

He waits for her to get into her car and she doesn't see him climb into his again until she's started to drive away. Her heart calms a little.

"He asked me out, right?" she asks to the empty car, "Am I imagining things?"

-BREAK-

"Ooh, Ghost Writer might have some competition, huh?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not dating Ghost Writer, Lisa?!" she growls into her cell phone.

"But you like him, don't you?"

"I enjoy talking to him, if that's what you mean," she replies simply, "I'd like to think we're friends…"

"He was your date to my wedding!" she sighs, "And you looked so good together!"

She feels heat rise to her face. Lisa had gotten married eight months or so ago, and the appearance of a ghost at her wedding had caused a stir. Some photographer had gotten a photo of 'The Bridesmaid, Jasmine Fenton, and her spectral date'. Her visage, trapped within the ugliest dress she'd ever had to wear, was immortalized in print.

She prays every night that Danny will never find it. First of all, he didn't take it well the last time she dated a ghost – granted, he was trying to steal her body and she didn't know he was a ghost, but…nuances.

More importantly, she'd never live down that dress. Ever.

"Even if I did," she sighs, "I wouldn't date Mr. Blake. He's just a guy who swiped the tail of my car and is heading to Amity Park."

"A cute guy who crashed with you. I call that…fate," she sighs.

"I thought you wanted me with Ghost Writer," she teases.

"Jazz, I'm beginning to reach the point where I don't care. You need somebody."

"I'm fine. I'm busy with other things anyway."

"You'll understand someday, Jazz. Having a boyfriend is pretty awesome. You need to relax, which I know you won't do on your own. Don't you want someone to discuss…whatever you discuss regularly?"

"I can talk to someone without dating him," she rolls her eyes.

"But it's not the same. Come on, Ghost Writer can keep up with you, and maybe this Darren guy can, if you want something…you know…living, which I couldn't blame you for…would loving a ghost make you a necrophiliac?"

"Necrophilia is specific to corpses. Ghosts are…their bodies are living, if in a different sense. And he's a friend," Jazz frowns, "Remind me why I called you, Lisa?"

"You want someone to tell you to call up Darren and take him up on that date because accepting it yourself would be against your character," she sings sweetly, "Take him up on the coffee, or maybe take some to Ghost Writer. Either way, remember that your younger brother is getting married before you."

"He's known Sam for years," she snorts, "It's not like he's had to bother searching for his 'soul-mate'."

"Just do it. Love you, Jazzy," she hangs up abruptly, ending their conversation.

"…Maybe I'll ask Sam instead."