Title: Have Mercy
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, Dogma (post)
Pairing: Jay / Silent Bob, Bob/Mercy
Rating: Sex, pain, and tickling part I.
Status: New
Archive: wherever you want, full permission, just lemme know about 
it. No, I don't believe grabbing it from the list requires a note. :>
E-mail address for feedback: kel@crazysheep.net (as I'm having 
problems with Hotmail and I'm keeping Insub as clear as possible)
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Shut Up and Kiss Me. Part II of III.
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: Here goes nothing�
Summary: Bob entertains a late-night visitor, and has some 
entertaining ideas of his own.
Warnings: Language, some semi-graphic sexual involvement. Pain and 
angst.

"Have Mercy"
by Kelandris


Bob blinked fuzzily, hearing a noise that didn't fall into the usual 
category: cats yowling outside, dogs barking, sirens going off. He 
heard it again and turned over, flicking on the lamp. Jay still lay 
on his side, curled up against Bob, and he smiled, remembering last 
night. Lots of kissing that still made him blush, and hands moving, 
and tongues and mouths in interesting places. It had been far too 
stressful an evening to do more than that, but they'd accomplished 
quite a bit. He still didn't know what it was going to mean to the 
rest of their relationship, but things had definitely happened. He 
brought his hand up to touch the side of his neck, where Jay had 
fiercely kissed him, raising blood to the surface in a nearly perfect 
diamond shape.

There it was again -- pounding on the door. Shit, not again. 
Scowling, he got up, dug through his closet briefly for a t-shirt and 
some sweats, then looked around for the baseball bat. Placing it on 
his shoulder, he walked out to the living room. Hitting the switch, 
he prepared to open the door, raising the bat.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," came the voice from beyond the door. He 
stopped, bat at shoulder level. He looked around -- stereo system, 
carpet that needed vacuuming, beer bottles on the table, closed 
door. Was he dreaming?

"Would you just open the door? I'd like to talk with you, if I 
could."

It was a female voice, that he knew. But that didn't mean it wasn't 
Azrael --

"*Azrael*?" said the voice outside, shocked. "Denny -- go get the 
bag from the car, the black one. Bring it up, now!"

He heard another voice then, and he looked straight at the door, 
mystified. "Of course, my dear -- as ever, I am your errand boy." 
Then Bob heard steps go down the stairs. The voice had been a light 
tenor, sounding like all those film queens he'd seen in bad movies, 
breathy and sarcastic. 

"He'd probably agree with you, that's the amusing part," the woman's 
voice said wryly.

"**Would you stop that?**" he cried, raising the bat again.

There was a long pause. He heard the man walk back up the stairs. 
He heard some rustling -- cloth? Paper? -- and clinking of bottles. 
*Clink*, against the bottom of the door. *Clink* against the 
doorframe on both sides. One last *clink* at the top of the 
doorframe. Then a quiet, reserved double knock.

Shaking his head, he opened the door and his eyes grew round again.

Standing on his doorstep was the most stunning woman he'd ever seen. 
He'd seen prettier, without question -- from Trish the Dish and her 
sister, Alyssa, to...shit, name any movie queen. But there was 
definitely something here, and it was powerful.

She topped him by a good foot, maybe even a foot and a half. Even 
the dim light outside their door brought out deep, shimmering 
highlights in her glossy black hair -- purple, green, blue. She was 
pale, and thin, and wore a tight black leather corset over black 
jeans and pointed patent boots. A red silk duster sat easily on her 
shoulders, with what looked like Chinese ideograms painted on it. In 
one hand she dangled a black leather bag by one handle; in the other 
she held a clear glass bottle marked with a gold cross, and was just 
thumbing a cork back into it.

She looked up at him, and he was struck dumb. Her eyes *glowed*, 
there was no question. Iridescently purple, they gleamed in the dim 
light like twin amethyst suns. She cocked her head to one side, 
raising an eyebrow.

Bob stood up straight, raising the bat. He jutted his chin out, 
putting every ounce of intimidation he had into the gesture.

She just looked at him. "Impasse, is it? Would it help if I told 
you that this," she gestured with the bottle, "is holy water?"

Bob glanced down at his wristwatch briefly. Then he looked back at 
her, lowering the bat and shrugging.

"Man of few words," she said dryly. "My name's Wallis. Mercy 
Wallis." She flicked a card out of a case that appeared as if from 
nowhere, and just as quickly, slid back into a pants pocket. She 
handed it forward. 

He looked at it -- heavy stock, cream color, with a large seal on one 
side that bore a crown and two crossed keys, one solid gold foil, the 
other silver foil. There was a lot of writing in what looked like 
Italian at the top, then at the bottom, *Mercy Wallis, Vatican 
Special Investigator*, and two international numbers. Bob looked up, 
even more confused.

"May I come in for a small business proposition?" She stepped to one 
side and Bob finally saw the man behind her, holding a large silver 
case. He had ruffled honey-blond hair, and wore earth tones -- khaki 
pants, sage vest, cream shirt. His smile drew warmth into his grey 
eyes.

"What say, dear boy? It's three in the morning, and the longer we 
stand out here, the more time someone has to vandalize the limo."

Bob leaned out, looked down the stairwell. Sure enough, parked right 
in front of the entryway was a long black car. The massive guy 
standing by the side of the car looked up at him, blinked once, and 
dismissed him, turning his attention back to a folded paperback. Bob 
shivered briefly. Now *that* was Muscle.

He shrugged again, stepped back from the door.

"Sure," he said softly. The honey-haired man handed the case to 
Mercy, touched two fingers to his forehead, saluting them both, and 
started off down the stairs.

"Don't be too long, Merse, or I'll drink all the champagne," he said 
wryly.

"To that you're more than welcome," she said, walking in. She set 
the black case down by the door, dropping the bottle of holy water in 
and closing it, one-handed. Then she took the silver case from 
beneath her other arm and looked around for a place to set it. 
Sighing, she sat on the couch and carefully scooted beer bottles and 
various other debris away. The soft clinks the bottles made when 
they touched were practically the only sound in the room. He shook 
his head, closing the door, and set the bat down as he walked towards 
the couch. She obligingly slid over, turning to face him, and 
shrugging, he sat down.

"Why are you here?"

"A slight -- business proposition, I think I said," Mercy said. She 
peered around the apartment. "Dear gods, you need a maid," she said 
softly. Silent Bob looked at her for a long moment, blinking.

"Do I come to your house and insult your housekeeping?" He'd 
mastered that particular voice -- calm, not angry, but with hints of 
anger on its way. Mercy just smiled.

"Child, if I didn't want you there, you couldn't even find my house --
but your point is taken."

"It is this way," she said slowly. "I was informed you have, in your 
possession, a rather -- arcane article. I'd like proof that you have 
it, then I would like to buy it, if I could, then I would truly like 
to leave. Ideally, that's how things will go, but --" she glanced 
behind her at the door, shaking her head. "One never knows, does 
one."

He looked at her, his face set. Then he jerked his head briefly 
towards the door. **It's right there, lady. Don't let it hit you on 
your way out,** he thought.

Was it possible her eyes darkened in that moment, dimming to a 
midnight purple? He couldn't be sure. When she spoke again, her 
voice was low and resonant, powerful in the small room.

"Silence covers many things, child. Yours suits you well. Know 
this, though -- there are things in this world which would just as 
soon have you silent, and tear your throat away to keep you so. And 
they would not care how many of your pretty bones they break, or how 
much flesh they remove from your frame in doing so. They might even 
enjoy it. And in the meantime, they would have what we seek, and you 
would have far less recompense for it." She peered up at him through 
hooded eyes.

"Believe it or not, my dear, I'm one of the good guys." She leaned 
forward, clicking open the case by touch, swinging the lid wide.

Inside was more money than he'd ever seen, and he was by now 
accustomed to having lunch with Holden and receiving a few thousand 
every week.

"Now," she said firmly. "Can we begin negotiations?"

He was suddenly very nervous, remembering how her eyes had glowed on 
the landing, and the dark limo, and the driver who looked as if his 
sole purpose was tearing arms off people who got in his way. He had 
only her word that what she'd put around the door was holy water, and 
what could he do if it wasn't? Everything functions on intimidation 
and intrigue, and it occurred to him that all the intimidation was on 
her side.

He turned to face her, thinking all this through, and watched as she 
quietly folded up, eyes spinning back in her head, and fell towards 
him. Suddenly Bob had an armful of warm, angular girl. He tried to 
figure out what had happened, and tried to get her propped back up, 
when her head turned on his shoulder and he felt her lips against his 
neck. That was all -- she wasn't kissing him, she wasn't doing 
anything, just resting her lips there -- but an electric charge 
rocked through him, and he shuddered, blinking. Just the feel of her 
lips against his skin did funny things to his spine, and he felt his 
hand lifting, pressing her head closer to his neck.

She whimpered softly, sleepily, and licked her lips. Her tongue came 
into contact with his flesh and he jerked, gasping. He felt her 
hands moving on his chest, pushing herself away, and she was shaking 
her head, the fall of inky hair rippling with those peacock 
highlights. 

She turned to face him and he looked up into those brightly glowing 
eyes, and that was it. **Shit, like I need this complication,** was 
all he had time to think, then he reached up, pulled her head back 
and kissed her, hard. For a moment she was stiff, unyielding, not 
fighting him -- he felt she could have easily pulled away if she'd 
wanted to -- but not giving in, either. Then a shudder passed 
through both of them and she was kissing him back, her tongue snaking 
in to explore his mouth and make him tremble.

She tasted like honey and lavender, and clove -- all spice and 
sweetness. He found himself thinking of the way pavement smells 
after rain hits it, and somehow being reminded of that. Her long-
fingered hands came up to gently caress the sides of his face, and he 
shivered again, thinking of places those hands could be, places her 
agile tongue could be.

Then she stopped, pulling away from him again, sliding back to the 
far edge of the couch. She covered her face with her hands, shaking.

"I'm sorry, I -- I had no intention --" Swallowing, she took her 
hands away, and looked across the room, blinking. Bob's head was 
spinning, and he realized it had been well over two years, maybe even 
three, since he'd made love to a woman. Since last night, he 
realized why, but still, it stunned him. It stunned him further when 
he realized just kissing her had aroused him to no end, and if he 
left the couch, she'd see that.

Then he remembered the bit by the door, and looked down, chagrined.

**Shit, she probably knows now.**

Mercy looked at the ceiling, taking deep breaths and letting them out 
slowly. Bob watched her chest rise and fall avidly. She wasn't much 
for tits, just a bare handful each, if even that much, but he 
couldn't stop watching her. He shifted on the couch, shaking his 
head.

"Let's start again," she whispered. "The money's for you. I just 
want the feather."

"Why does it matter so much? It's just a feather."

"Just a feather? What, you see so many angel feathers, you can 
afford to dismiss them? You must run in interesting circles."

"You have no idea," he said, then looked at her, narrowing his eyes.

"So it *is* an angel feather?"

"It would seem so, yes. I have no way of knowing until I test it, 
but you mentioned Azrael was here, and looking around this place, I 
can feel *something* non-human was in your apartment, so I'm willing 
to accept Azrael as the one in question."

He stared at her for a long moment. She stared back until she 
trembled suddenly, and looked away.

"Let's not start that again, shall we? I think we were discussing 
compensation. Let's talk figures, yes?"

"For the feather."

"Mmm. I do believe we've covered that." She rubbed her forehead.

"How much do you have?"

"You are, of course, kidding. And I appreciate your sense of humor. 
Try again."

She looked at him, her eyes dimming slightly with every breath she 
took. Bob was fascinated, watching them dim and brighten, dim and 
brighten, and only stopped when she leaned forward, tapping his knee 
lightly. He looked at the ceiling, feeling confused and exposed. 
This whole situation was nuts, just nuts. Some woman pounds on his 
door at three in the morning, asks for a feather, offers an absurd 
amount of money in return -- he kisses her -- and meanwhile, Jay 
could walk out at any moment, and what if he saw them kissing 
again...God, he didn't want to further complicate things.

"As if that's possible," Mercy murmured in an undertone.

Bob swiveled his head back, glaring at her. **Fuck you,** he 
thought. **You think you're so superior, you try living with someone 
who's so afraid of the very *concept* of love that he won't tell you 
for the better part of six years that he *is* in love with you, and 
the only reason he told you now is that he was nearly raped and eaten 
by a demon! All right? I have about fucking *had it* with your 
attitude, lady!**

She knotted her hands together, then brought them to her forehead, 
those magnificent purple eyes closing.

**Don't,** came her reply. **Don't scream at me for things you do 
not understand, or infer motives that don't exist. I came to see if 
I could acquire something rare and precious that would get you killed 
as fast as a sword through the temple. I did not come for any other 
purpose, and I *assure* you, child, I had no intention of kissing 
you. Were it not that I'm so hungry right now --**

"Hungry?" he said aloud. He was still reeling from the fact that 
they could have conversations in absolute silence.

She looked appalled. "May the earth open up and swallow me," she 
whispered. "Instantly."

"That's a quote," he said.

"Bright boy." She was trembling in earnest now, and looking towards 
the door. She licked her lips again.

"I tell you what," she whispered, leaning close. "Get me the 
feather, let me see if it's actually from an angel, and I can remove 
enough of its properties that no one will be able to use it -- 
against you, or for any other purpose. Do that for me?"

He felt himself nodding, and walking away, then he stopped, turning 
towards her.

"No," she said, "I just asked you. I didn't compel you to do 
anything. You have some distinctly odd ideas, child."

And he had just about had it with this 'child' shit, he grumbled as 
he walked into Jay's room, opening and closing the door as quietly as 
he could. By the bedside table, there was a bong, and underneath it, 
a white envelope. He grabbed the envelope and left the room. 
Sitting back on the couch, he tossed the envelope to Mercy. She 
nodded once, taking out the feather and looking at it.

By the yellowed light in the room, the feather glittered even more, 
as if the edges had been dipped in powdered glass. The opalescent 
shaft gleamed, oilshine rainbows running up and down its length.

"Well, that's fairly obvious, but let's be sure," she 
murmured. "Could you hand me the black bag near the door?"

He looked over, grabbed it and passed it to her. Quickly she turned 
her attention to the bag, rummaging through it.

"Ah. Here," she said, bringing out a bubbled green glass bottle, with 
arcane symbols written on it. She carefully opened it, bringing out a 
long glass rod covered in clear green fluid of some kind. She 
carefully touched the end of the rod to the feather tip.

Just like that, the sparkle died. It was still a magnificently white 
feather, with a strong white shaft in which pearl highlights were 
still seen. But it didn't give off its own sparkle, it didn't look 
so much like -- well, like a feather from one of God's angels.

"Well. That was absurdly anticlimactic. End of problem." 

She put the feather back in the envelope, laying it on top of the 
money in the case. Then she handed the bag back to Bob. Bob reached 
out to take it; Mercy's fingers grazed his in the transfer, and they 
both shuddered even with that slight contact. They looked at one 
another, Bob's eyes round, Mercy's despairing

**Shit,** he heard his backbrain screaming. **Shit, SHIT!** And he 
brought her into his arms again, kissing her. She moaned into his 
mouth, a sad, trapped sound, but her tongue eagerly fenced with his, 
and her hands had begun to move, pushing up his t-shirt and stroking 
over his chest. Her long fingers splayed over one of his nipples, 
just flicking over it with the tips of her nails, and he bucked 
against her, gasping.

She trailed her lips down his jaw, kissing along the line of stubble, 
and then down to his neck, where her lips grazed over the patch she'd 
touched before. He felt as if he'd been hooked up to house current; 
everything buzzed, and he was twitching. Her hands wrapped around his 
waist, the fingers curling into the hollow at the small of his back, 
warm and comforting. He heard her speaking.

"Go, if you're going," she murmured into his neck. "Run, boy, 
*please*..." Her lips trembled, and he felt her teeth graze over his 
skin. A shudder ran through him, and he smiled.

"Where would I go?" he asked softly, and she whimpered again, raising 
her head from his neck. He felt her cheek pressed against his, then 
she licked his ear, biting the earlobe softly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, then moved her mouth back to his neck. 
And bit.

He cried out, feeling sharp needle-thin teeth sinking into his flesh, 
and the pain was immense. Then he gasped, and his eyes rolled back in 
his head. A silvery pleasure swept through him, like mercury fire, 
and he flushed. God, it felt good. She was drinking from him, 
drinking his blood, the pointed tip of her tongue catching any drops 
that she missed, and he didn't care. He didn't mind in the least. It 
felt so *good*. *She* felt so good.

He also felt as if he could carve diamonds with his dick, and heard 
her muffled laughter at that thought. **Fine, laugh at me,** he 
thought hysterically. He reached out, stroking his hands over her 
leather corset, feeling her gasp and twitch as well. How did this 
work...? 

His hands dipped around the back, where he found a set of ties. But 
before he gave up, his fingers discovered a zipper pull behind the 
ties, and he smiled. He undid the top of the bow, and unzipped, and 
the corset felt forward. He pulled it aside, and pushed part of the 
duster off her shoulders. Her skin was as soft as the brushed silk 
under his hands, and pale - shit, she was pale. He blinked, swirling 
patterns over her shoulder, over her chest, around her small 
breasts. He smiled, listening to her gasp against his neck, then 
froze.

Scores of monster movies cascaded through his mind, each of them 
ending with the fire of sunlight, or the cross, or the stake. He 
suddenly saw himself standing in shadow, sunglasses on, watching Jay 
leave the Quickstop. He watched the blond cross to him, making some 
comment about fat vampire wannabes being afraid of the sun, before 
pouncing on him, wrapping his arms tight around Jay and pulling him 
close. Jay reached up, removing his sunglasses to reveal bright red 
eyes, glowing in the dark alley, and Vampire Bob smiled then, 
exposing his bright new fangs. Promptly, he pushed Jay's hair back, 
sinking bright fangs into his neck, and drinking, and drinking. Jay's 
hand wrapped around his back, and he moaned into Silent Bob's long, 
dark hair, and he drank, hearing the heartbeat loud in his ears.

And just that suddenly, in his mind he held a dead Jay, limp and 
boneless, and inside, he shrieked.

Mercy pulled back, shaking her head. She set one hand against his 
wounded neck, and he felt a pulse of heat. Wonderingly, he raised 
one hand to his neck, and ran a hand over the unmarred flesh. Both 
his eyebrows rose.

"Sweet gods, you have a vivid imagination," she muttered. She ran a 
hand through her hair, sighing.

Bob looked at her and nearly shrieked aloud. Her eyes *were* red, and 
whirling, swirls of red overlaid with vivid orange, no trace of 
purple in either one.

"Would you *relax*? Did it occur to you that I'm trusting you 
greatly, on minimal acquaintance, or were you too busy thinking, now 
where did I put that stake again?"

Oddly enough, he had one, he thought -- on the shelf next to the 
signed pic of David Boreanaz and Sarah Michelle Gellar.

He watched her blink several times, shaking her head, and every time 
a little more purple crept in, bleeding through the red like wine 
through water, until her eyes were entirely amethyst again. She 
shrugged entirely out of the duster, turning around, and lifting her 
hair. He was afforded a nice look at her bare back, her shoulders 
proud and high, her skin nearly translucently pale. He noticed now it 
had a slight pink tinge to it, and was radiating a bit more warmth, 
and he gulped, thinking, **That's from me...**

"I don't suppose you'd zip me up again?" she asked.

He shrugged, picking up the corset, wrapping it around her slender 
form. Then he stopped, his hands still on her skin, and the shudder 
ran through him again.

"*No*," she said firmly, turning to face him. "I can't afford to do 
anything else. In my current state, as much as I am not *that* kind 
of vampire, I think I'd kill you. And I truly don't want to do that."

She turned away again, and he zipped her back into black leather, 
wondering. **There are different kinds of vampires?**

**No, pet, there are vampires, and then there's me. *I'm* the 
different kind of vampire.**

He looked at her as she rose from the couch, picking up her duster 
and sliding it slowly up her arms.

**I don't understand,** he thought.

She sighed. "If I thought explaining would help, I would, but it 
would only confuse you. It confuses everyone. It confuses *me*. 
Still, I'm not leaving you entirely without resource, am I? You do 
have that lovely little blond number you were thinking so ardently 
about, yes?"

Bob half-grinned, thinking of Jay curled up in his bed. He nodded.

"Then that is that. I'll go off, see if this small place has any 
gathering of pretty things, and you'll go back and torment your boy 
with that frightening implement you planned to use on me."

He burst out laughing, and she smiled. "Well, but it is true, is it 
not? Besides, for the most part, I do not...indulge in men."

"I'm just special," he said wryly. She stepped close, kneeling, and 
brushed his cheek with her fingertips.

"Ah, love, it's more of that wrong place at the exactly right time, I 
think. Had I possessed more self-control, this never would have 
happened." She made to rise, and he grabbed her hand.

"Mercy...I'm glad it did."

"Well, thank you for that, at least," she said. She sounded self-
pitying, and he shook his head.

"Don't."

"Ancient habits, my kit. But I shall try."

"And don't -- kill anyone, okay?"

"Poppet, what do you think me? I haven't killed anyone -- anyone 
*human*, at least -- for nearly fifteen years! Goodness, the Vatican 
would fire me for certain sure, then."

He watched her walk to the door, then glanced back at the case on the 
table.

"But --"

"Keep it. For the indulgence of your sweet self, if nothing else. 
Let it ease the money worries for a while."

And she was gone, closing the door so softly he never heard it click 
shut. He found himself alone in the room, with an uncomfortably hard 
erection and a million dollars. Struggling to his feet, he closed 
the case, walking softly to his room. For a long moment, he just 
stared down at Jay, wondering what the hell else was going to happen 
tonight. Demons, vampires, what next -- ghosts?

He knelt to slide the case under the bed -- he'd tell Jay later, but 
for right now he wanted everything that had happened to just settle 
in -- then paused, thinking.

**Oh, yeah. It's too good!**

He opened the case quickly, plucked the envelope out, closed it again 
and shoved it under the bed. Then he went to his side of the bed, 
crawled in, and got undressed. He turned to Jay, removing the 
feather, and tickled his nose with it.

Now all he had to do was wait.

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