Title: Quartet
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, Dogma (post)
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob/Mercy
Rating: NC-17. Language, sex and gore.
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
Series/Sequel: I guess this is part IV of the trilogy-this happens 
after Feather.
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: Oh, what havoc an innocent little angel feather has wrought. 
Jay and Bob get kidnapped, Mercy has a Bartleby moment, Metatron gets 
lost. And if anyone can come up with a better title...
Summary: Bob and Jay are kidnapped, and Metatron must find help to 
set them free.
Warnings: Tons, instability abounds. Graphic sexual situations, 
including m/m sex and HET sex; graphic descriptions of death and 
violence; adult themes (suicide, child abuse, kidnapping). Enter if 
you dare-here there be tygers.

"Quartet"
by Kelandris


"Now, boys, it's nothing against you personally," the man said, 
gesturing them inside with the gun. "I'm just going to have to hold 
you for a brief while. You do understand, don't you?" Smiling, he 
closed the door, leaving them in the dark. They heard the click of 
the lock, and the man's steps walking slowly away. He had the nerve 
to whistle.

"Shit, Bob, what do we do now?" The blond's voice held only fear, 
all attitude stripped by the blackness.

"We wait," said Bob grimly. He pulled Jay close, leaning his head 
against his shoulder. "We wait."

Some patterns start small, unfurling themselves in tiny spaces just 
beyond vision. Even the simplest pattern becomes complex, though, 
given the right amount of time. This pattern started unfolding the 
day Jay found the feather. Or maybe before; maybe they'd been marked 
ever since Bethany found them, and told them they were prophets. 
Maybe before that, from the very moment they were born, the very 
second they were conceived. It made Bob's mind reel, but he had 
nothing better to do than try to figure out where, exactly, things 
went so horribly wrong. From these small things oaks arise, furling 
great branches to the sky. From these small collections of dust, 
planets form.

Bob thought he started seeing the pattern growing large about a week 
after he'd first met Mercy...

***

"Hey, dude, who's that guy?" Jay asked, nudging him out of the comic 
book. He looked up, scanning the mall. He picked out the man Jay was 
referring to instantly--tall, jet-haired, a vague Oriental cast to 
the eyes, black collarless suit. He was staring at him just as 
intently. Bob cocked his head, shrugging, narrowing his eyes, and the 
man across the mall from the comic shop burst out laughing, turning 
away to walk towards the escalator.

"Okay, that was fuckin' weird," Jay said in an undertone. The 
proprietor of the shop drifted over, staring at them. Bob saw him, 
nodded, and walked to the counter, buying the comics they held, and 
they walked out of the store, still reading. He had nearly managed to 
forget the guy staring at them when he saw him again, looking down 
from the upper levels. This time, as soon as Bob looked up, he walked 
away. But it nagged at Bob.

Over the course of the next week, Bob caught him several times. 
Sometimes Jay saw him first, sometimes Bob was the only one, but 
always, he never got close enough to talk to the man. They started 
taking alternate routes home, staying at friends' cribs, leaving the 
area-and he always tracked them down. Never speaking, outside of that 
first initial laugh; just there. Perpetually, naggingly, *presently* 
there.

Then one day, an entire day went by without seeing him once. They 
were both still twitchy over it, but as much as they looked, they 
didn't spot him. That night they were supposed to stay with Trish, 
but being creatures of habit, got on the bus for home, realizing it 
as soon as they got off the bus. As the bus pulled away, Bob shrugged 
at Jay, then froze. Over his shoulder was the man in the black suit. 
And eight of his friends.

He had to hand it to his blond boy--Jay fought like three guys twice 
his size. Four of the men went down, but four were left, four who 
didn't seem to care how much they hurt either of them, or for that 
matter, *were* hurt themselves. They were more than enough, in the 
end, to conk them both cold. And when they woke up, they were alone 
with the man in black, who now held a gun trained unerringly on them.

"It's like this, dear boys. We've taken some of your blood, and..." 
He kept talking, but Bob tuned out in shock. He looked down, and saw 
a small slash across his index finger. He grabbed Jay's hands, 
turning them over. Same slash, right across the pad.

"What the hell?" Jay asked weakly.

"Let me restate," the man said. "Your blood was necessary. We're--
cloning you, let's say. I won't bother to detail the mechanics of it, 
you wouldn't understand them anyway."

Both Bob and Jay looked up, insulted.

"Meanwhile," the man said, "we have to make sure they--turn out 
properly." He pointed behind them with the gun. "Be good boys and 
open that door."

They turned, looking around them for the first time. It was small, 
this room, and the door they'd been told to open was smaller. Solid 
metal, going slightly to rust, stenciled across the top with two 
words that had faded to unintelligible streaks of olive.

Jay turned. "You think I'm gonna open that fucking door, you got 
another--"

Still smiling, the man fired at his feet, the shot chipping through 
the floor.

"I can just shoot you now."

Bob opened the door, barely breathing. It swung open with a creaking 
groan.

"Now, boys, it's nothing against you personally," the man said, 
gesturing them inside with the gun. "I'm just going to have to hold 
you for a brief while. You do understand, don't you?" 

***


Bob did, now, or as much as he understood any of this. He even saw 
how it would go from here. For whatever reason, they were being 
cloned, and then the man would come back and kill them, and that 
would be it. Bang, bang. End of Bob. End of Jay.

Jay whimpered, and Bob held him closer, letting his lips rest on the 
top of Jay's head.

"Rest now," he whispered. "You're safe for a while."

"Yeah," Jay said. "At least until that fuck comes back with the gun."

To that, even Bob could say nothing, and just leaned back against the 
wall, closing his eyes.

***

**I've lost track of the days again...**

Mercy Wallis sat up on the window seat in the library, then, before 
she could talk herself out of it, stood and took several steps back. 
She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that she'd begun depriving 
herself of oxygen as well. She took another, enjoying the feeling of 
full lungs; starving tissues suddenly getting their fill...then 
closed her eyes in exasperation.

**Good idea, you dismissing the staff, you idiot. How long has it 
been since you've eaten?**

Frustrated with herself, she stalked out of the library to the back 
of the house, where she walked into the still, silent kitchen. She'd 
dismissed everyone for two weeks, and look at what happened-she 
hadn't entered this place once, save for drinks of water. Just 
water. Grimacing, she jerked the chrome fridge open and peered 
inside.

**Of course. No staff, no shopping. No big surprise there, Mercy-my-
girl.**

The woman stood for a moment, captured by a rare shaft of English 
sunlight glancing through the window. She caught her reflection 
staring puzzled back at her and gave a short laugh. She looked at a 
wraith-thin woman with long black hair, cascading in tangles, pouring 
down her back, standing in a black top that had seen better days, 
dust-covered jeans and bare feet. She had that wan and useless look 
about her now, as if she'd spent too many days with too many 
cigarettes waiting for her turn on the runway.

It wasn't that she was beautiful; she was spare and angular from 
forehead to feet, and at her best, her long face could be called 
handsome. But she thought she possessed a certain grace of feature, a 
certain charm of line and plane, which combined to give the whole a 
sense of elegance. From her arching black brows to her deep violet 
eyes to her long-fingered hands, she caught and held the eye, at 
least for a few moments.

Save for now. Now, she thought, she just looked haggard. Shaking it 
off, she went to the cupboards. She pulled down a tightly sealed 
black canister from the top shelf, marked with arcane gold printing. 
Cracking the seal, she dug for a spoon in a side drawer, then looked 
around for a glass. She grabbed one off the counter, filled it with 
tap water, and stirred several spoonfuls of rusty-dark powder into 
the glass. The water took on a brownish, opaque tinge, and the smell 
of the dehydrated blood hit her senses. All at once, both hands were 
around the glass and she was drinking in huge gulps, downing the 
glass in three swallows.

**Hmm. Somehow it tasted good this time. Maybe you should make 
another glass?**

Then the spasms hit. She dropped like a stone to the tiled floor, 
curled protectively around her center, gritting her teeth. It felt 
like some large spidery appendage had curled tightly around her 
stomach--she was alternately starving and nauseous, and wracked with 
pain. She fought back moans, staring out at the back of her English 
estate at eye-level--if she'd been a snake or a mouse, that was. She 
fought to keep her breathing even, and slowly, the feeling of being 
gripped and broken passed. Shaking, she rose from the floor. Hands 
trembling, she fixed another glass of the rusty blood powder. She 
drank it more slowly this time, and as a result only had to bend 
over, resting her head against the counter while she concentrated on 
keeping her breathing even.

It was in this position that Denny found her.

"Sweet God, girl, I leave you for a week and see what happens!"

She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned her head to the side. 
Of all the people who could have found her, face down in the kitchen, 
she was obscurely glad it was Denny and not, say, the cook or her 
chauffeur.

"Denny," she whispered. "Come by to check up on me?"

He scowled. "No, you silly git, I came by because I knew you'd pull 
something stupid like this." He walked up and threw something that 
sloshed nicely on the counter.

"Fresh stuff for you, my lass, since I know you won't have gone out 
recently." His voice dripped with irony, but she took it, took every 
word of it, because what was lying on the counter was...

"Blood," she said, knowing the truth of it. Wondering, she raised her 
eyes to his.

"Oh, don't look so shocked." He waved a hand in dismissal, then used 
it to brush back a fall of his dark blond hair. "You think I don't 
know where I can get you what you need? I've lived here five 
*years*, love--be sensible!"

"I try..." Her hands curled reflexively over his gift, and she 
stroked the plastic, blinking.

He grimaced again, but followed it with a smile.

"Oh, by all means, do indulge. I'll just be in the library if you 
need me. Do call if you need help out of the kitchen." And he 
walked out the door, popping in only one more time to waggle a stern 
finger at her.

"I *mean* it, Merse---you call me if you're having trouble walking!"

Well, she'd have to be half-dead to have trouble walking, but she 
appreciated his gift nonetheless. The warmth of it filled starved 
tissues, and she turned to the sink, drinking glass after glass of 
water. Then she stood there, forearms braced on the counter, hanging 
her head.

**All right, let's analyze this. Charis is gone. She's not coming 
back. You threatened her life, so let's just say she's officially 
left you and let's move on, all right? People break up all the time 
and they live through it. You can too.**

Sighing, she plunged her hair under the tap, running warm water 
through the black strands until the whole silken mass was saturated.

**Next. Going to New Jersey half-starved was not your wisest move. 
And you could have killed that boy.**

She slid her hands through her wet hair, wringing it out. Moving 
faster than the human eye could follow, she bent at the waist and 
swung her hair out and back, drying it instantly. Then she clung to 
the counter.

**Wooh. Dizzy.**

Splashing more water on her face, she pressed a towel to her face, 
sighing into it. **Not that he wasn't more than agreeable about 
helping me. Dear gods, yes. Such a mouth on him, too.**

Carefully, feeling steadier now, she washed out the glasses, threw 
away the empty plasma bags, wiped down the counters.

**Last. I really need to go into town, get more blood. I need much 
more than I've been getting.**

Putting the towel down, she nodded. **Everyone agreed? Wonderful. 
I'm so happy.** She poured one last glass of water, turned to go, 
and there was a knock at the door.

Frowning, she walked past the library, seeing Denny rise from his 
chair.

"Don't bother, Den, I'll get it." She walked down the short entry-
hall, opened the door, and stared.

"What, you expected your dear departed love?" came the slightly 
slurred reply. A man stood there, black hair trailing over his high 
forehead, wearing a black sweatshirt top and jeans.

"Come on," he said, "we have to go."

She didn't move. She trusted her house protections--after all, she'd 
set them up-but what stood on her doorstep, ruffled hair and all, was 
not human. She cocked her head, smiling wryly.

"And you would be?"

"Metatron."

The glass slipped from Mercy's suddenly nerveless fingers, shattering 
and spraying her feet with water and shards.

"What," she said slowly, distinctly, "does the Voice of the One True 
want with me?"

He scowled. "You might be the only one to save the prophets. We 
can't find 'em."

"And where do you usually keep prophets, then?"

He stepped closer to the door. "Not *prophets*, my dear. *The* 
prophets. I b'lieve you've met Bob."

If she could have dropped the glass again, she would have. She 
turned away from the door. "Denny, I have to go," she yelled, and 
turned back to face God's Voice. "Just let me grab a--"

"There's no time," he said, and leaned forward, grabbing her hand. 
The universe dissolved around them.

When it reformed, they were standing outside Bob's apartment. She 
looked around, naming the place, then thought. "Can you get me 
inside?"

"Nothing simpler," he said, and they were standing on the rough 
carpet. She nodded, walking into the kitchen, getting a glass of 
water. She walked back to the living room, sprinkling water on the 
carpet in a circle just big enough to stand in. She stepped in, 
looking narrowly at the Voice.

"Don't expect anything, it's been a long time since I've done this." 
Mercy took a deep breath, and then began to chant. It started out as 
understandable Latin, then moved back into hierotic Egyptian while 
Metatron looked on, amazed. At the end of it there seemed to be more 
voices than just hers, intoning different words, and as she finished 
the last one, breathing out through the final syllable, she tossed 
the glass of water in front on her.

Instead of falling to the ground, it hung in the air, suspended by 
her magic. Colors rippled over the surface, dim and indistinct. 
Then it went black.

"Wherever they're being held," she said, her voice distant and 
monotone, 'it's dark. They can't see anything."

"Well, I could have told you that," Metatron muttered.

The colors swirled again, moving together, blending. There were 
traces of yellow and orange, and a few swirls of bottle-green. They 
formed half-lit box shapes, piled haphazardly against what looked 
like a wall.

"They're underground...Old military bunker? There are boxes--numbers-
-everything's old, I can't read what they say." The colors swirled 
again, and Metatron stared, waiting.

"Paramilitary," she said crisply. "Outside of town. Turn left, 
drive for twenty miles, turn at the mailbox painted black. It's 
under the garage." The water sheeted to the floor, and she stepped 
back. "Let's go," she said, heading for the door.

"No, no, old girl, this way," he said, grabbing her hands, and the 
universe dissolved again. When it reformed the second time, she was 
standing behind a stack of olive and matte-black crates, the Metatron 
beside her. Chanting filled the air, and she closed her eyes, 
listening for a moment. Then she knelt, pulling him down as she went.

"That's the third section they're in," she said softly, knowing he'd 
hear her. "They're making host bodies. Where the hell did they get 
paut in this day and age?"

"That's not what should concern you," he said. "They're making them 
from the prophets."

"*Sekhmet*," she hissed. "I have to find those two-"

"Actually, I have to find those two. You have to stop the ceremony."

Her eyebrows rose, hovering around her hairline. "Have you gone 
*stark*? Have you *seen* how many people are out there? Not to 
mention the thugs ringing the hall. Or the people standing next to 
the--"

"Yes, I know. And I'm sorry. But it is the will of God that you--"

She silenced him with a look that could have burned through steel 
plate, but her voice, when it followed, was soft. "I do nothing for 
the will of the One True. You forget, or you were never told, that I 
have seen what the followers of your God do, when they feel they are 
in the right. I do what I do out of my own desire, not God's."

"Oh, and your gods are that much better, are they?"

"I did not say that. But at least they never declared that their 
desire to kill off the competition and consolidate their real estate 
holdings was the will of a higher power."

He stared at her for a long moment, seeming as if he wanted to say 
more. Finally he sighed.

"We can save the religious debate for later. Will you do it or not?"

"Was there any doubt? But please, tell me they fall into the realm 
of an evil cult."

Metatron thought for a moment, and nodded. "I'd say so. They 
certainly plan evil for the Last Scion."

"Then you make sure your 'prophets' are out of the way. And I'll 
stop them from finishing the hosts." She slipped away into the 
shadows and was gone.

***

The door creaked open. Jay had managed to sleep for a while, with 
Bob holding him and stroking his hair, but both snapped awake at the 
sound of the complaining metal.

Metatron poked his head in. "Anyone want to leave?" They heard 
screaming in the background and stood.

"Fuckin' a, man, it sounds like Armageddon out there!"

Metatron's face fell into an expression somber even for him. "Trust 
me, it very nearly is. We need to get you out of here, somewhere 
safe, so Mercy--"

Bob was instantly alert, stepping out of the small dark room. His 
hand was holding Jay's so Jay came with, and once outside they still 
stood close together, hands clasped tightly.

"Mercy's here?"

"Who the fuck is Mercy?" Jay asked, staring from one sober face to 
the other.

"Friend of mine," Bob said softly. He turned his attention to 
Metatron. "I want to see her."

Metatron shuddered. "No, my boy, you most definitely do not."

From the direction of the screaming came low, throaty laughter, and 
the sounds of crunching bones. All three stood still for a moment, 
frozen by what they heard.

***

As soon as she was out of Metatron's view, she slipped into 
invisibility, tallying heads. There were a good thirty standing in 
the open floor, and ten more in the circle around the bins of paut. 
Which were now bubbling--she didn't have much in the way of time. 
She looked around, wishing for a sword, and realizing all she'd 
probably find in the crates were guns. Guns, grenades, 
missiles...and all of it old.

**Still**, she thought, her eyes slowly turning red, **they are the 
bad guys...** She tilted her head back, her fangs running through 
the channels in the top of her palate, and locking into place. Ohhh, 
yes. **'Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave',** she thought, her 
fingers clenching. She took two steps forward, grabbing the man 
standing nearest to her position and sank her fangs into his neck. 
Before he could utter a sound, she'd drained him, stopping his heart 
and dropping him to the floor. She grabbed the next one, draining 
him before anyone noticed. The third had a long knife, nearly a 
short sword. **Mine,** she thought happily, and slashed open three 
more on her way to the dais in the front.

People started to stir, sensing something in their midst. Six more 
went down, three to the blade, three to her. She whirled, lunging in 
a snap kick to break someone's neck, and drained another one, and 
gutted a third, walking up the steps to the tubs of paut. She 
knocked one of the chanters over, stabbing him through the heart with 
the blade forcefully enough to embed the knife in the platform, then 
stood, lifting the tub nearest her with a scream, tipping it over to 
pour down the stairs.

Someone howled, staring at her. His hands were clenched fists, his 
eyes almond-shaped. Lovely, really. Pity she was going to have to 
ruin him. She stepped out of invisibility, smiling.

"You threatened one of mine," she purred. She glided towards him, 
staring into his eyes. "You won't again."

"Who are you?" the dark-haired man said. His eyes were nearly all 
whites, reminding her of a rope-shy horse.

"Something you're a pale shadow of," she whispered, and punched her 
hand through his chest. Tearing out his heart, she whispered a 
single Egyptian phrase under her breath, and tossed it in the second 
tub of paut. It caught on fire, and people began to run, screaming. 
She laughed, tossing her head back, intoxicated by the fear, the 
pain, and the blood running rich in her veins. She plucked the knife 
out of the corpse on the floor and ran into the room, swinging with 
precision and dark joy. Dozens fell, splashing her with crimson, and 
still she moved on, drinking them dry, bisecting them in pairs, 
snapping the necks she didn't tear out. It took hours and minutes, a 
forever and never span of time.

And then she was standing alone, in a room full of bodies, and the 
long knife dropped from fingers gone numb. Staggering, she stepped 
gingerly over the mass of the slain, walking towards the row of 
crates where she had first entered. She noticed a set of stairs to 
the far left, and as she rounded the corner of the crates, Metatron 
entered, with Bob and a fearful blond boy in tow.

"Bugger," Metatron whispered, and she privately agreed. She reached 
them, weaving on her feet, and then quietly folded up like a paper 
doll, and fell forward.

***

It took them a little time to wend their way upstairs. Metatron 
actually got lost, grumbling while Jay laughed. Finally, he located 
the stairs to the upper level, and they climbed the treads, running 
into Metatron when he abruptly stopped.

"Bugger," they heard him say, and Bob stepped forward, around the 
angel, to see Mercy. Or, at least, he thought it was Mercy--she was 
covered in blood, in streaks and patches, and one of her hands looked 
as if she'd dipped it in a puddle of the stuff. From mouth to 
breasts, she was solidly red, patches just now starting to dry on her 
skin. Her hair was a mass of tangles; her clothing was slashed 
nearly to ribbons; and, in at least one place, looked as if it had 
been set on fire, though the skin underneath looked unharmed.

Worse, she looked a good twenty years younger. Her face, blood-
daubed and unlined, looked fifteen at best. Her eyes were wild and 
disconnected, and slowly her gaze wandered up to his face. He 
thought she was trying to smile, and caught bare glimmers of her pale 
fangs. Then all expression left her face and she fell forwards, so 
gradually it looked like slow motion. He stepped forward, catching 
her and swinging her up into his arms, and turned to Metatron.

"Take us home," he said softly.

Jay was shaking his head. "Fuck no, man, we leave her here! I don't 
care if you know her, she looks like she's been eating people!"

**Considering who she is, he's probably right.** But he didn't 
care. He stared at Jay until he realized that, and backed down, 
though he still looked upset and unhappy. Metatron sighed, and took 
Jay's hand. 

"This is not your wisest idea," he said, looking down at Bob. Silent 
Bob just shrugged, holding the girl tighter.

"All right, all right." He reached out, taking Bob's hand. "That's 
it, I'm going back. God is not going to believe this, even from 
me." And in the middle of their dark living room, he disappeared.

Jay ran for the light switch as Bob walked back to the bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing, bitch? You can't just--"

"She needs our help, Jay. Go find something she can wear."

"Something she can--now I know you're kidding, man."

Bob just looked at him, toeing the door open. Jay threw his hands 
up, frustrated.

"Fine, but it's gonna be your shit, man, I'm not letting some 
cannibal wear my duds!"

That would be interesting, seeing as how he was easily twice her 
size, if not bigger. Still, they'd deal with that when they needed 
to. Now, he started the water running, and carefully propped her up 
on the side of the tub. He had just pulled off her shredded top when 
Jay walked in, carrying some clothes under his arms. They dropped to 
the floor.

"Shit, man!" He turned away. Then he turned back, caught in spite 
of himself. "Y'know," he said softly, "she might be cute, if she 
wasn't all gunked up."

"Yeah," Bob said, carefully digging out part of her sleeve from a cut 
in her arm. He looked over, wondering if Jay could handle doing 
this. Then he shrugged. Might as well ask.

"You want to help?"

"Help what?"

"Hold her up."

Jay reared back, looking offended, but whatever he was going to say 
leaked out of him with his next breath. "Yeah, dude, it means that 
much to you...sure." He walked over, curling his lip at the state of 
her. Finally, he stripped to the waist, lifting her up and holding 
her while Bob stripped her. Then Bob leaned over, starting the 
water. While it warmed, he took off his clothes, and held out his 
arms for Jay to hand him Mercy.

Jay looked at Mercy, then at Bob, and quirked an eyebrow. "Y'know, 
with the right girl, this could be really hot. Remember Fingercuffs?"

Bob gave him one of Those Looks, but couldn't help staring 
appreciatively when Jay shucked off his pants. To hide it, he leaned 
over slightly, flicking on the shower, and slowly got in, Jay helping 
him get Mercy in and positioned. Then Jay pulled the curtain closed, 
and for a moment, he just stood there, letting the water do most of 
the work of sluicing Mercy clean. After a few moments, he picked up 
a washcloth, and began the work of removing dried blood, soot, and 
cleaning out the wounds which were even now closing before his eyes.

"Fuck me," Jay breathed. "Am I seein' this shit?"

Bob just nodded, pushing her back against Jay for a moment as he 
knelt to get her legs clean. When he looked up, seeing where else he 
needed to work, he saw Jay's hands cupping her slight breasts, 
playing with the nipples. There was a curious, almost little-kid 
look in his eyes.

Bob hissed sharply, and Jay's hands dropped. Mercy's head rocked 
back, tilting onto the blond's shoulder.

"What? Like this is ever gonna fuckin' happen again, man! You know, 
we're missin' out on a huge-ass opportunity here--"

Mercy moaned. Both men froze. She blinked, a shudder passing 
through her, and then tilted her head. Looking down, she saw Bob 
kneeling at her feet, and one arched eyebrow arched higher.

"Did I miss something?" she asked dryly.

"Uh, we were, uh--"

She swiveled her head, looking at Jay for the first time. It was a 
long, measuring look that made the other man squirm.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," she said softly. "My name's 
Mercy."

"Jay," he squeaked, then coughed. "I mean, my name's Jay. So, uh, 
you all done with the eating people bit?"

"Jay!" Bob cried out, standing up.

"What? It's a reasonable fucking question!"

"You can't just--"

"No, he's quite right," Mercy said. "I understand his apprehension. 
After all, it's not every day--"

Just like that, she dropped out of Jay's arms, clinging to the rim of 
the tub, shudders wracking through her gracile form. Bob shifted his 
weight, and one arm wrapped tightly around his leg, the hand gripping 
his upper thigh.

"Just...give me a minute, I'll be...fine." Her voice sounded thick, 
and shook terribly when she spoke. After a few moments, Bob glaring 
at Jay the whole time, she stood back up.

"I'm going to hate myself in the morning," she said brightly.

**You did what you had to,** Bob thought at her, hoping she heard it.

**Ah, no, I went below and around the call of duty. I had to stop 
them from taking your essence, and killing you in the transfer. I 
didn't have to kill them all.**

Suddenly she froze, her mouth falling open. Bob peered over her 
shoulder to find Jay dreamily running his hands through her hair, 
over and over. Bob gave him another of Those Looks.

"What?" he said defensively. "I have an appreciation for nice hair, 
all right? And it's tangled." He reached a tough patch, not even 
noticing what it was matted *with* in his desire to unmat it, and she 
shuddered, her eyes closing.

"Jay," Bob said warningly. Jay didn't seem to notice. He ran his 
hands under her glossy black hair, lifting it over one shoulder while 
he worked on the side patch, and Mercy's hands shot out, grabbing Bob 
by the arms.

Her eyes opened, piercing twin violet suns, starting to swirl with 
orange in the center.

**If you don't want something happening for which your friend may be 
*decidedly* unready, you should tell him to stop caressing the back 
of my neck,** she thought frantically.

Bob nearly burst out laughing, thinking of the times he'd braided 
Jay's hair in the first years they were together, wanting so 
desperately to do more. Apparently, Mercy's neck was just as 
sensitive.

Then his eyes widened. Oh, *shit*. If that was true...His gaze 
flicked up to Jay, single-mindedly working at that tangle. The blond 
sighed in exasperation, bringing his mouth close to the strands, 
biting through several at once so the main mass would release. Mercy 
whimpered, and spun in his arms, pinning him to the back wall.

"What the--" he yelped, which was all he had time for before her 
mouth came down on his, kissing him in sheer desperation. Bob 
watched them, feeling an odd stirring of jealousy as Jay's arms came 
up around her, holding her close. He had to tell himself, she wasn't 
a threat, there wasn't a way in the world she'd take his Jay from 
him...but it was hard to watch. He bit his lip, picked up the 
washcloth, and began to wash her back, concentrating only on that.

She pulled away, breathing hard, and shook her head. "I don't want 
to be the lynchpin of an argument, children," she said. Jay looked 
as if she'd stunned him with a mallet. He was also getting hard, Bob 
noticed, and bit his lip again, turning his attention to Mercy's hair.

**Oh, don't *you* start,** she thought, with a mix of despair and 
affection.

**I have to do something,** he thought back frantically, and at least 
now Jay's work had paid off, because the tangle loosened in his hand, 
and he combed the strands back straight.

She looked at Jay, emerging from the daze. He reached for her again, 
and she danced back--into Bob. Without thinking, one arm rose to 
encircle her waist, and Jay smiled wickedly.

"Now, that's what I'm thinkin'," he said softly, and stepped forward, 
kissing her again. She undulated against Bob, one hand rising to 
caress the line of Bob's jaw, and he groaned into the dark silk of 
her hair.

"Oh, yeah," Jay said when he surfaced again. "Though I was thinking 
about your hand here," and he grabbed Bob's hand and placed it on his 
ready cock. Then he leaned forward, licking up Mercy's neck to her 
ear while she shuddered against him. His eyes opened, staring into 
Bob's wide ones, and he raised his hand to bring Bob's face close 
enough to kiss.

Mercy, trapped between the two men, looked at the ceiling. **Dear 
sweet gods, I could find my bliss just feeling you want each 
other...**

**Really?** Bob sounded a little hysterical.

**Poppet, you have no idea. What you feel is equally matched, if not 
quite surpassed, by your golden beauty here.**

"Umm," Jay said, moving his mouth back to her neck as Mercy sharply 
inhaled. His hand worked its way between her legs, fingers soon 
becoming slick with water and her juices. She arched, sighing. Jay 
lifted his head. 

"Water's getting cold."

And it was. Disentangling themselves, they proceeded in an unsteady 
fashion out of the tub, and for a few merry moments, it was a free-
for-all of towels and clothing and laughter. Then Mercy's eyes met 
with Bob's, and the laughter died in both of them.

Jay looked between the pair. "Wha'd I miss?" he asked.

Mercy looked down at the towel, stretching it around her slim 
frame. "You know," she said lightly, "while I do appreciate your 
hospitality, I'm sure it's late, and you're tired, and if you'd let 
me use your phone, I could arrange for transport from here--"

Jay's arms wrapped around her, bringing her close. "Hey, I thought 
we were doin' pretty good in there, makin' with the love. What 
happened?"

"I don't want to come between you."

Jay leaned in, laughing low in his throat. "I'd *love* if you came 
between us," he said. Then he looked over to Bob, all pretenses gone.

"*You*, I love. *Her*, I want. You understand that? If it still 
bothers you, then she's still sleeping on the couch, 'cause she's had 
a hard fuckin' day."

There were times, Bob thought, amazed, when Jay's unalloyed 
intelligence shone through all the bullshit. He smiled, brushing his 
hair back.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I get it."

"Okay, 'cause I don't want this to come back and bite me in the 
balls; I ain't leavin' you without a fight, tough stuff. Realize 
that shit *now*." Then he lifted Mercy into his arms, swinging her 
off her feet and yelling.

"Now wench, to bed!" He strode out of the bathroom, making strange 
pirate noises, while she shrieked happily. Bob stood in the 
bathroom, laughing silently, until Jay poked his head back in.

"Come on, you fat fuck! You gonna stand in the bathroom all night, 
or you gonna come in so I can fuck that pretty ass?"

He thought at times, he should just staple that one eyebrow up, 
because he raised it enough. But he happily followed Jay back to his 
room, where they found Mercy, sitting stiff on the edge of the bed.

Once again, it hit Bob that it looked like a case of statutory rape 
in action.

"How old are you?" he asked, before he could censor the question. 
She shook her head, silent, running a finger over the lumps in the 
covers.

**No, I'm serious,** he said. **You don't have to answer, but I want 
to know.**

She looked at him, her eyes large and dark in her still face. 

**You've seen the Pyramids, yes? In Egypt?** Her mental voice 
sounded tentative.

He nodded, watching Jay get settled in behind her, rubbing her 
shoulders, kissing them.

**I watched them being built. When I was a small child.**

**Holy fuck...**

Jay's mouth moved to her neck, sucking lightly over the vein.

**Something...like that,** she said. Growling, she turned and threw 
Jay down, straddling him, her eyes wild and starting to shift.

"*Fuck*," Jay breathed. His hands paused on her hips. "You ain't, 
uh...I mean, I like my brain where it is, okay? And all my other 
meat."

"You're thinking of zombies, pet. I'm not one." She leaned down, 
licking Jay from sternum to neck, moving to his ears until he 
squealed. Bob stood by the bed uneasily, wondering where he should 
sit down, and Mercy turned, looking at him.

"Oh, St. Sebastian of the arrows, how you love your martyrdom. Come 
here, poppet, you look absolutely dismal." She pulled back from Jay, 
who made some noise of protest, then proceeded to pull him closer to 
her--not incidentally making more room for Bob in the process.

"Now," she said, raising his chin until his eyes met hers, "I am 
essentially the interloper here. So you should tell me what I should 
do. I don't want you feeling as if you should go grab a book from 
the next room, *n'est-ce pas*?"

He laughed ruefully, looking down, and she grabbed his chin again.

"I mean this," she said. "Your lovely boy here has his fine points, 
but you are breathtaking, my dear, and it's time you realized it. I 
am not here strictly on the behest of your Jay." She dropped her 
hands into her lap, leaning back on her knees. "In point of fact, 
I'm being rather selfish at the moment, and I'm desperately hoping 
you don't mind."

He stared at her for a moment, filing away what she said for later 
obsessive recollection. Then he leaned forward, kissing her 
tentatively. She responded with similar reserve, and it was as if 
they were back on the couch--that electricity touched him again, 
making his nerve endings tingle, and suddenly Jay was giggling 
underneath him. He broke off the kiss, looking down at the blond, 
who was inching off the bed, looking at him.

"Hey, don't mind me, I'll be back in a minute," he said, vaulting off 
the bed and going through the connecting door. They looked at Jay's 
naked form bending down after something, then looked at each other.

"Nice to know he doesn't mind, hmm?" she said. Bob shrugged, 
nodding. They heard foil ripping, then Jay came back in, wearing a 
condom that gave off a strange green light. Mercy leaned back.

"I am...not entirely sure about that," she said slowly. Jay grinned 
hugely.

"Well, good thing it ain't for you, huh babe?" He knelt behind Bob, 
placing the other thing he'd brought in on the bed--a bottle of 
lubricant. He squirted some onto his fingers, and ran the other hand 
up Bob's back.

"Lean forward," he said. Bob swallowed, but did as he was told, and 
Mercy folded like a reed underneath him.

"Well," she said, fighting back laughter. "This is not precisely 
what I'd intended."

"And what did you--" He gasped, breaking off; Jay had slowly pushed a 
finger inside him. Mercy ran a hand down one of the arms bracing her.

"Well, poppet, you are going to have to be very careful with me, or 
you'll split me in half. I do not think I exaggerate." 

Jay snickered behind him, and he blushed slightly, then gasped 
again. Jay had worked in two fingers. The blond was humming behind 
him. One of Mercy's legs slowly rose up Bob's side, and she pulled 
his weight down on top of her, kissing him slowly and thoroughly 
while Jay poured a bit more lube into his palm, working three fingers 
in and out of Bob. The heavier man whimpered, and Mercy unfolded her 
other leg, snakelike, sending it up Bob's other side.

"Ah, love, I take it this will be your first time, so to speak?" Her 
eyes danced with light, purple and orange and red and wraithglow 
lilac, swirling together.

'Something like that," he gasped, his hips thrusting forward. Mercy 
bit her lip.

"A little above the radar there," she said shakily. "Unless you just 
wanted me here for moral support."

He looked down, slowly losing the ability to speak cohesive sentences.

**I thought you were scared of me?**

She laughed silently, kissing the base of his thumb, next to her 
shoulder. **Well, that one part of you, yes, does fill me with 
dread. But never underestimate the power of intrigue, poppet. Or 
the intrigue of a challenge.**

Bob felt Jay sit up a little, and then felt Jay slowly sliding 
inside. He and Jay moaned in the same instant, and his eyes 
fluttered closed, as he bucked back against Jay's slow thrusting.

"Uh, yeah, uh, fuck yeah," Jay was whispering. His hands came up to 
grab Bob's hips, pulling him back, hips pumping. "Oh, God, yeah, 
Bob..."

Bob took a shuddering breath, looked the challenge down at Mercy. 
Mercy pursed her lips, sending it right back. Biting his lip, he 
wrapped his hand around his erect cock, guiding it slowly into her. 
He slid the first inch in and they both gasped, Mercy twitching 
beneath him, Bob nearly frozen. He remembered the first time he'd 
slid into Jay, how tight he'd been, how overwhelming it had felt. 
Mercy was tighter.

**How...long...** he got out, feeling as if his brain was slipping 
gears. He moved forward another inch and whimpered, not sure whether 
it hurt or felt fantastic.

**Has it...been, do you mean?** She closed her eyes, panting. 
**Five...years. And...twenty-five before that...**

Bob tried to wrap his mind around the concept of twenty-five years 
without sex, and failed. He moved forward again just as Jay slid his 
entire length into Bob, burying him to the hilt in Mercy. All three 
screamed, and Mercy arched off the bed, for a few moments supporting 
the whole of Bob and Jay's weight combined. Tears sprang to her 
eyes, running down her cheeks in crimson trails, and Bob momentarily 
forgot to breathe.

"I--am I...hurting you?" he managed to gasp out, and she opened her 
eyes, bringing a hand up to her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He thought if she'd been able to run 
from the room, she would have. He shook his head, looking around, 
and spied a t-shirt half-wedged under a pillow, leaning forward to 
dig it out. He handed it to her and she wiped her face clean, 
laughing breathlessly.

"So proud to hint yet keep thy secrets," she said, reaching up to 
touch his face tenderly.

It was hard to think. His world was spinning. Every inch of skin 
ached with desire. It took him a while, but he managed to shake his 
head. "I don't--"

"Ah, you have all of mine, now, what will you do with them? Who 
*are* you, that I tell you, show you everything, like this? I've 
only trusted one other soul on the planet with all that you know--why 
is that?" Her eyes sparkling with dark tears, she pulled his head 
down, kissing him with all the passion within her. He began to 
tremble, thrusting into Mercy with abandon as she filled the air with 
sweet cries.

Jay was trembling behind him, thrusting as hard as he could, crying 
Bob's name over and over. Bob leaned down, putting his forehead on 
Mercy's shoulder, shuddering. Jay was gonna come soon, he could feel 
it, and he was...he was...Just at the moment when he would have 
filled the room with his ecstatic cry, she planted her lips on his 
again, and he screamed into her mouth, thrusting in time with Jay 
twitching behind him. Both men collapsed for a long moment, until 
brains returned to bodies and breathing slowed.

Jay recovered first, pulling out slowly, making Bob gasp and twitch. 
Then Bob pulled out, and Mercy rolled over on her side, staring at 
him provocatively.

"If I cannot walk tomorrow, it will entirely be your doing," she said 
seriously, and he fought laughter back. She leaned towards him, 
reaching out and tweaking his chin, and that was all it took. He 
howled with laughter, Jay joining in, and Mercy's lips twitched with 
repressed hilarity, watching them.

"You two," she said affectionately. Then she sat up, looking 
surprisingly alert.

"So, is it the couch for me, or do I take the other bed?"

Bob looked around, looked down at the bed, looked up. He shrugged. 
She patted his cheek.

"And you have been very sweet, but I think if I am here you'll be 
compelled to do something other than rest, and I may be the reason 
why, as if I'm here *I* may be compelled to do things other than 
rest." She rose from the bed, stretching languorously, and pulled on 
the t-shirt Bob had tossed to her earlier.

She leaned down, kissing Bob gently on the lips. Then, turning, she 
kissed Jay gently on the lips.

"Sleep," she whispered. "It will do you both good." And she walked 
out into the living room. Bob looked at Jay, shrugged, and held out 
his arms. The blond cuddled into them, and Bob reached up, turning 
off the light.

Several hours later, Bob walked out into the morning, fairly content 
with life. He saw Mercy in the kitchen, and walked in to say hello. 
All thought of greeting ran from his head when he saw her standing by 
the sink, a long cutting knife in one hand, her head hanging still.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Her head tilted. Hair fell back from her forehead, and one eye 
stared at him. He realized she was trembling, all over, little 
muscle jerks and spasms from head to foot. Her voice was hoarse when 
she spoke.

"I am contemplating the uselessness of suicide," she said. "It never 
matters what I do, I'll just heal. It has ever been thus, and so 
will ever be." The knife twitched in her grasp.

Silent Bob was shocked to his core. "Why?" he said, the words a plea.

"Last night. Not your part of last night, love; before you were 
rescued by the wing�d stranger. All those people..." She shuddered 
again, shoulders hunching, and brought the knife up. He stepped 
forward, his hand on her wrist.

"You had to," he said. **Why can't you see that?**

The knife clattered into the sink, and she turned, sinking to the 
floor, pressing her hands to her eyes. He knelt, watching her. And 
then she turned, grabbing his wrists, holding them tightly.

**I had to?** her mental voice said hysterically. **I had to stop 
them from killing you! That is *all* I 'had to' do! The rest...** 
Her mouth trembled, and she shook her hair over her eyes again. 
**The rest, I did because I wanted to. Killing them, hurting them, 
drinking them...** She looked up. **Taking the two of you to 
bed...**

He looked at her, suddenly thinking of Bartleby, winging proudly 
overhead, centuries of repression coming out in one gluttonous 
festival of destruction and spattered flesh. She picked up the image 
from him and laughed, sounding on the edge of tears.

**Oh, yes, it was *so* much easier when I could just kill any slave I 
happened across. I used to have stables of people, did you know 
that? They fed at my tables, cleaned my houses, slept in long 
barracks...and the end of every day, one or more would disappear, and 
no one knew where. Before that I had a whole clan who would ride out 
and hunt down victims at my whim.**

He was afraid to know, but he was also afraid not to. "What 
changed?" he asked softly.

"I fell in love...Her name was Eugenie. She was a painter." She 
trembled again, releasing his wrists and sitting back. "When I lost 
her, I wanted to die. I nearly managed it. But this too, too solid 
flesh prevented me." She sat for a moment silently, then brushed her 
hair back from her face.

"The last time I indulged in widespread destruction, it was the late 
seventies," she said crisply. "And I had been accidentally given 
something which led to hallucinations and cell damage. I killed 35 
people that night," she said wonderingly. "But last night I killed 
more."

She looked over at him. "And now you wonder how you're going to get 
me out of the path of this particular oncoming bus, yes?"

He shrugged. **Crossed my mind, yeah.**

"Mine too. Maybe we should just keep her."

Both looked up, startled, to see Jay leaning over the breakfast bar. 
It still startled him when he did that--seemingly picked Bob's 
thoughts out of the ether. Meanwhile, Jay stepped into the kitchen, 
flopping to the floor bonelessly.

"I have this idea," he said seriously. "You don't stress over the 
people eating and I won't stress about how fucking much I knew about 
sex when I was six. Is it a deal?"

Mercy's mouth trembled as she looked at Jay. Bob's mouth went dry, 
thinking of it. Jay had never said anything to him. He impulsively 
swept him into a hug, and Jay's arms wrapped around him tightly.

**Fuck, I never knew,** he thought, over and over.

"Dude, it's okay, it's not like I said anything."

"And it's not as if you had to, either; that, I understand," Mercy 
said, standing. She brushed off her hands and deeply inhaled. 
Silent Bob and Jay stood, watching her. She smiled at them, 
tremulous and shaky, like the sky seen through rain, but a smile 
regardless.

"Do you know, I feel up for a bite?"

Jay backed up, laughing as he shook his hands and head.

"No, you young idiot, I mean breakfast. Did you want to join me?"

"Yeah, I could eat." Jay looked at Bob. Bob, as usual, shrugged. 
He slid out of his trench and handed it to her. Her smile looked 
less watery by the moment.

"Good, then." She wrapped Bob's leather trench closer about her and 
moved towards the door, the boys following closely. At the head of 
the stairs, as Bob was locking the door, she turned to look at them.

"How do you feel about Paris? I know this wonderful little sidewalk 
caf�..."

END
(The line "Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave" is from James 
Thomson, from the poem "The Seasons: Spring". The line "So proud to 
hint yet keep thy secrets" is from a William Wordsworth poem, "Guilt 
and Sorrow, or, Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain") 
*****************