Title: Dagger (3/4)
Author: Kelandris the Mad 
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general (post-Dogma) 
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob/Mercy (sort of)
Rating: PG-13 for (mild) language, some nudity
Status: New 
Archive:You must send an email to me and let me know where you intend 
to archive. Private archiving allowed as long as you don't intend to 
publish. Behave. 
Email address for feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequel: Sequel to the Feather series, which includes the first 
Mercy story, "Have Mercy". Disclaimers: All characters belong to 
Kevin Smith and the View Askewniverse. If I really get into this, I 
probably will too. Or at least go into hock when I walk into a video 
store, go into rut, and buy all the DVDs at once. 
Notes: This is now officially a quartet, and the rest of it will no 
doubt have nothing to do with Bob and Jay. Gaaah.
Summary: Mercy makes a decision.
Warnings: Some for language. Serious smarm. Nice shower scene. :>

"Dagger" by Kelandris 


As Mercy stepped into the steamy enclosure of the bathroom--Jay 
already having turned on the water and stepped behind the plastic 
curtain--she put her hand to her chest, wincing. Bob caught the 
hunch of her shoulders and stepped close, looking the question at her.

"Bone," she said softly. "Flesh heals, bone takes a bit. It's just 
pain."

The bearded man furrowed his brow, but pulled the curtain back, 
inviting her in with a quirk of his eyebrows. She quirked her own, 
but stepped gingerly inside. As it happened, Bob stepped in the full 
spray of the water and she stepped behind Jay. Hmm. Not an 
untenable situation�and he had mentioned wanting someone to wash his 
back, yes?

Well. Not precisely. **But,** she thought, smiling, **close 
enough.** Looking around, she saw a loofah glove, lying limp in one 
corner next to a bottle of conditioner with a border of kangaroos. 
It was a matter of only a few seconds more before she found a green 
sliver of soap, and lathered up the glove, turning to Jay and running 
it briskly over his back.

"Oh, yeah," he sighed, flexing his muscles. She scrubbed his back 
thoroughly, reddening his skin from the nape of his neck down his 
arms, up along his sides, and down to the curve of his ass, feeling 
greatly daring. He just hummed his contentment, stretching his arms 
over his head, for once nearly as silent as his larger partner.

Mercy sluiced the glove clean of soap bubbles and loose skin, and 
lathered it once more, pushing Jay gently forward.

"Oh, Lunchbox, I think she has plans for your ass," Jay whispered. 
Mercy fought back giggles as the blond slapped Bob's ass as he slid 
by, turning to face them to rinse his back. He began to soak his 
hair, wetting the strands and watching Mercy and his love.

Mercy ran her gloved hand over the broad, flat expanse of Bob's back, 
scrubbing in circular motions from mid-back up to his neck, scrubbing 
gently at the hairline. Then her hand descended to scrub his sides, 
his arms, and down to the base of his spine, the muscles in his upper 
thighs and buttocks jerking at her touch. Jay leaned forward, 
kissing him thoroughly, his hands reaching out to cup over his chest, 
stroking along the water-slick nipples.

Mercy, smiling, sluiced the glove clean a second time, lathering it 
up a third and setting it quietly on Bob's shoulder. He looked over 
at her, his eyes unfocused. Blinking, he turned, earning a sound of 
protest from Jay, and scrubbed her back gently. Occasional gasps and 
sighs told her that Jay hadn't given up. Still smiling, she waited 
until he was done, then stepped beside them both, moving to the front 
of the shower to wash herself clean of suds. A quick spurt of 
shampoo into her hand later, she was lathering up her hair as hot 
water laved her face, neck, chest and arms. She turned, rinsing 
down under the full spray of water, and then quietly stepped from the 
shower, leaving the boys to their play.

She wrapped a towel around her dripping self and twirled another one 
around her hair, feeling much less sweat-sticky and ill. Toweling 
her hair briskly as she crossed the apartment, she decided against 
sleeping on the couch. And she wasn't about to impose again on Bob's 
hospitality. She chose to go into to Jay's room, hoping he wouldn't 
mind, and slid between the sheets, falling asleep nearly as her head 
hit the pillow. Some time later, she heard Bob and Jay enter their 
room, the sounds they made ensuring that they hadn't noticed--or 
cared--where she'd chosen to sleep.

Some hours later, roused slightly from unconsciousness, she felt an 
arm wrap around her waist. She hummed something under her breath 
that even she couldn't properly hear, dropping a hand to the arm, 
lacing her finger's and the man's together's. Warm, wiry, and 
lightly haired, she realized a moment later that it wasn't Bob's. 

"Go back to sleep," Jay said in her ear. She felt another body climb 
in beside Jay's, and a larger arm trail down both clasped hands. 
Silent Bob murmured something, and Jay giggled, throwing a leg over 
one of Mercy's, hooking it closer towards his. She shook her head on 
the pillow, but was obscurely glad of the company. And she soon fell 
asleep again, feeling safer than she had in a long while.

Morning sun struck the white wall in front of her in the next 
instant, or so it seemed. The heat of it warmed the back of her 
hair. Moving silently she slid out from the entanglement of several 
legs furred with dark hair and light. Walking to the door, she 
slowly opened it, stepping outside, pausing only to grab a grey t-
shirt from an untidily folded pile near the door.

She threw it on as she walked across the living room, pulling her 
wrinkled silks off the floor. The grey shirt was already gone; she 
could smell the advancing rot of the blood through the fabric. 
Curling her lip, she dropped it. But the pants, even though creased, 
were still at least wearable, and she pulled them on, zipping the 
side shut. Then she sat on the couch, staring at the dagger darkly.

**Here we go again,** she thought. Leaning forward, she picked the 
dagger up, unwrapping it and staring at the baleful implement. **And 
what do I do with you, hmm?**

"You could give it to me," said a dry English voice. She looked up, 
startled, to see the Voice of God. He looked as if one too many 
sleepless nights had caught up with him, and he was debating between 
falling down where he stood or going and grabbing a pint somewhere to 
stave off total collapse. His black hair was rumpled, his skin more 
pale even than hers, and he wore no color of any kind--everything he 
wore was in drifting shades of dark grey. She bit her lip, peering 
up at him.

"Are you--" she began softly.

"All right?" he finished. "Oh, believe me, I've been better. No 
thanks to you, we now have an ongoing theological debate upstairs. 
Part of it's centered around that awful thing," he said, pointing his 
chin towards the dagger. "I've been sent to fetch it back."

Mercy looked down at the dagger in her hands, still partially 
shrouded by Bob's bloodstained shirt. She thought about an angel-
slaying dagger in the hands of Heaven. No safer than the hands that 
had held it last night, she reflected, but still, unnervingly close 
to a power she did not want to cede them. 

"And," Metatron continued, "we think it's best you not see the 
Prophets anymore."

She looked up at that, startled.

"You mean, I leave and never see them again? That's a touch 
melodramatic, don't you think?"

"Well, the way you put it, yes. But I meant more, you leave and I 
erase every memory of you in them, so they're not caught up in all 
this�" He gestured, trailing off, indicating something larger than 
the room he stood in.

Slowly, Mercy shook her head. "From the moment they were named 
Prophets, they have been walking in the worlds of magic. Taking me 
away will not remove them from that, and might, in fact, put them in 
the path of larger dangers."

"But you think it's a good idea."

She sighed, rubbing one temple with her fingers. Too much stress, 
too early in the morning�she reduced her senses of the world around 
her down to just her own beating heart, the sound of her respiration 
only in the sunlit room.

"Would that the world was perfect and we all in better places in't�
Yes, I do. If I thought I would be restoring to them their stripped 
innocence, I'd strike every memory of myself from their minds�"

"No," Bob said firmly. She whirled on the couch. He stood in the 
doorway, looking darkly at Metatron.

"No," he said again. "You're not taking her. She wants to leave, 
she can leave, but I choose to remember her." And he turned and 
walked back into the room, closing the door.

Mercy stood, looking for a long moment at the closed door. Her 
thoughts fluttered in her skull like scraps of paper, before settling 
into a pattern she felt she could live with. She turned to the angel.

"No," she said. "I stay, their memories of me stay. But I will 
compromise. I will destroy this terrifying thing. You are welcome 
to watch and see that I do."

Metatron's face was dark, and set, but finally he nodded. "Oh, we 
will, Mercy. Do not doubt it." And in a swirl of hematite sparkles, 
he disappeared.

**And Heaven against me,** she thought, her mouth twitching. **How 
many other enemies will I make before I leave this place?** She 
shook her head, rewrapping the blade, securing it with a scrap of 
torn grey silk from her shirt. She set a small trap spell on the 
knot so that no one would be able to touch the package she left 
carefully in the center of the table. Now she had to go to 
Sunnydale, and see if Giles would help her destroy something older 
than the town he lived in. How wonderful. Rubbing at her temples 
again, she decided to start the morning over, and go back to bed.

END
**************