Title: This Is Not My Fault
Author: Kelandris the Mad 
Fandom: View Askew/Mercyverse crossover 
Pairing: Mercy/Dante, some hints of Jay/Bob
Rating: G, at the moment, shading ever so slightly to R by inference,
and language. 
Status: posted to the list 19 December 2004
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: One-shot.  May we all dearly hope.  Though it does not
end well.
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the View
Askewniverse, save for Mercy, who properly belongs to me, but at this
point, I think she's just stringing me along to meet guys.
Notes: Drunken weirdness all around, I guess.  Though not much else in
this tale.  This entire idea I lay at the feet of starla, as well. 
'Cos she *begged* me to write it.
Summary: Dante meets Mercy.  I know, six friggin' pages of 'Dante
meets Mercy'.  I could *not* get them to *do* anything!
Warnings:  Makes reference to a story I haven't written yet, "Shots".
  But it's in progress.  Bad language, reference to heavy drinking,
attraction to people...that's sadly it. I make Dante say 'fuck-ass'
maybe *one* too many times.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"This Is Not My Fault"
by Kelandris


From the moment Dante had arrived, he'd had the feeling something was
up.  He just wasn't sure what it was.  For one, there was a long coat
in the closet, too long to be Bob's, and trimmed in some sort of
lavender-dyed fur that even *Jay* wouldn't wear.  On a bet.  Stoned
off his ass. 

But he didn't ask, he just hung up his leather jacket and turned back
to the living room, where Bob was calmly laying out the Star Wars
Monopoly board he'd bought after the shots game at his place.  Jay was
chattering animatedly about some fuck-ass thing, he wasn't so much
listening as listening where the pitch of his voice rose and fell, and
making interesting noises.  That's when he heard it--typing,
from...sounded like Bob's room.

"Someone else here?" he asked casually, wondering if the night was
going to get weirder than it already was.  Sure, he'd invited them
over to his place once or twice, and Jay and Randal went *way* back,
but for the most part, they didn't so much *socialize*, as drift in
the same circles, circles which occasionally led to each other's
apartments.  Life in the big city.  Or, well, the fuck-ass little one.

Bob looked up, eyes wide, and looked at Jay.  Jay stopped talking. 
Okay, now he was getting concerned.  He raised an eyebrow, and watched
Bob shrug, making some indefinite gesture at the door.  It could've
been 'Go back there and find out', or 'Get me another drink' or hey,
even 'Sit on this and spin', depending on how one wanted to interpret
a lazily circling hand in the air.  

He looked at Jay.  Jay shrugged, bringing out three beers in one hand,
three shot glasses in the other, with a bottle of pepper vodka tucked
under his arm.

"Bob has this thang," Jay explained.

"What?"

"Weekend guest," Bob said softly.

Wow, didn't *that* bring up some questions...save that *neither* of
them really wanted to talk about it.  And about then the typing
stopped.  So he stopped asking, though he didn't stop looking at the
door once every ten minutes or so.

Couple hours later, his head was spinning just a bit.  They'd had to
break into a new bottle, something...reddish...raspberry?  Something?
 He was losing pretty bad--he'd traded Bob Tatooine for his piece of
the Death Star, only now he was pinned in on both sides.  And he kept
rolling low.  The game was beginning to *suck*.

Jay snickering every five seconds wasn't helping.  Then the door to
Bob's room opened.

This...*tall*...woman walked out.  Or maybe that should have been,
tall *woman*.  He felt his mouth drop open, and she barely noticed. 
It would have been insulting, save that the brief flicker of attention
in his direction was encompassing, her sideways glance meeting his
eyes, traveling the curves of his body, rising up again to meet his
glance, and was gone.  He flushed, and Jay snickered again.  Shit.

He was intensely aware of her, and didn't know why, as she walked by.
 He smelled sandalwood and amber in the wake of her passage.  He heard
a cabinet door open in the kitchen, and then close.

"Robert," she said, and he melted at the sound of her voice.  Damn. 
If he'd still been dating Caitlyn, it would have been an entirely
different thing, but as it was, he was finding himself really, really
interested.  And kind of unnerved, because she seemed *miles* out of
his league.  Tall, thin, dressed in clothes he wasn't sure he'd be
able to find in *New York*, silky draping things in green and black
and grey.  Hair fell to her waist, bound at the back in several loose
gathers, looked kind of like shimmery black fans when she turned
around and he saw the back of her.  Face was eh, he'd seen better, but
that quirk of a smile on her lips drew his eye, and her *eyes*...oh,
man, the eyes suddenly explained the fur coat in the closet!  Lavender
went with violet, right?

"You've drunk all the merlot."

Jay snorted, and Dante turned to look at him.  

"Bitch, is that what that was?  That shit *sucked*, man!"

"Jason," she said, her voice a whip.  "If you come to my home, I
should then feel free to insult what *you* bring?"

"Bitch, we come to your home, you're most likely flyin' our broke
asses *over*, so I don't think we'll be bringing *shit*!"

She laughed, low and liquid, and Dante closed his eyes for a moment. 
**Okay, breathe already.  This is no big deal.  You're just...lonely,
or something.  No big deal.  Man.**

"Hmm.  And who is your silent friend, dear ones?"

If Dante's eyes had been open, he thought they would have crossed at
that point.  'Dear ones'?  Who the fuck did she think she was?  And on
the heels of that came a more disturbing thought...was she *dating*
one of them?  Shit, was she dating *both* of them??

"This silent motherfucker is Dante, Dante Hicks," Jay said.  "He's a
fuckin' *clerk* at the Quik Stop, can you b'lieve that shit?  An' he
*had* a fuckin' voice 'fore you walked in.  Maybe you got him all
twitchy or some shit."

"Jay," said Bob, and Dante snapped his eyes open.  What the hell was
that?  He looked at Bob, staring Jay down, and he looked at Jay, eyes
bright, kind of...shivering a little.  Grinning just a bit.  He
watched Jay furtively lick his lips, and turned in time to catch a
smile from Bob, quickly concealed.  What the fuck--?

"Sorry.  Didn't mean nothin'," he said.  He reached out, clapping
Dante on the back hard enough to stagger him forward.  "Your fuckin'
turn anyway, dude."

"Mm.  How...banal," that rich-cream voice said behind him.  Somehow,
he knew her attention was directed at him again.  "Dante...would you
like to join me in the kitchen?  For...something warm to drink?"

Dante looked up from the table, over his shoulder.  She was standing
in the shadows of the kitchen, and he could have sworn her eyes were
fucking *glowing*.  Shit, glowing purple eyes, and that curving mouth,
those dark red lips...Shit.  He blinked, swallowing.  She moved
forward a bit, into reflected light from the living room, and leaned
against the wall confidently, one side of her mouth quirking. An
eyebrow arched as she tilted her head.

"Uh..." Dante whispered, swallowing. Man. She was...something. He
didn't know what, but...something.  Responses danced through his head,
everything from 'See you guys, I'm gonna take your friend somewhere'
to 'No, ma'am, thank you, think I'm safer here'.  He literally *did
not* know what to say.

He started at a touch on his arm. It was Bob. Bob slowly shook his
head, tapping out a cigarette and lightning it.  Dante's eyes followed
the motion.  Flip.  Click.  Flame.  Click.  Efficient as hell, smooth
motion, effective as conversation.  He blinked, shaking his head
clear, looking back up at Bob.  That was when he realized Bob was
still watching him, and the woman was, too.  It was slightly unnerving.

"Err...uh.no, uh...but thanks," he stammered, and watched her shrug.

"Pity. How dreadfully boring you're making things, Robert..."

He shook his head at her, half-smiling himself, and tapped the dice on
the table.  Dante shook himself again, picking them up.  Game.  Right.
 Shit.  Keep your mind on the *game*...He listened as she walked back
into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, though.  Efficiency of
motion seemed to be her forte, too, judging by the sounds...pity it
wasn't his.

He rolled the dice and he was back to thinking about the game,
thinking if there was a way out.

***

An hour later, the guest having gone back into Bob's room--'Robert'? 
What the hell was with *that* shit?  He'd seen Bob *dismantle* fuckers
who called him 'Robert'--he'd lost, and he decided, between one thing
and another, he really needed to get home.  Didn't want to stay
here--shit, where was their 'friend' sleeping?  And did he really want
to know?  And did he really want to find out if it was with one of
them?  Did he want to know which one?  Did he--

Shit.  He didn't.  So he had to go home.  But when he stood up, the
room swayed dizzily, and Jay was weaving next to him.  Wait.  No.  He
was weaving.  Only a little, but...shit.  He couldn't drive like this.  

**Shit!**

"I shall drive him home.  That is, Mr. Hicks, if you can inform me how
to get there," their friend said, lounging against the open door of
Bob's room.  Shit, he hadn't even heard her open the door.  He *must*
be gone.

"Mercy," Bob said warningly, shaking his head again.  She laughed.

"I promise you, I shall be on my best behavior.  Which, I grant you,
is not that far from my worst behavior, but still."

**What did she just--**

She went to the closet, taking out her coat, where indeed, the fur
ruff matched her eyes impeccably, and his leather jacket, and...how
the fuck had she known it was his?  She'd been in Bob's room when he'd
come in, so...oh, he thought, grimacing.  She knew because she knew
which ones were *their* coats.

She came over, coat draped over her arm, and arched her head, peering
down into his eyes.

"Hmm.  Yes.  I believe I shall be very gentle with this one.  Many
scars upon that heart, eh, Mr. Hicks?"

"Call me...Dante," he gasped.  Had some of the oxygen left the room? 
Or was it just him?

"Mm.  Yes.  From the Italian, means 'lasting'.  My, there's a myriad
of places I could take that."

Bob snapped his knuckles, and the woman--'Mercy', Bob'd called
her--rolled her eyes.

"Oh, do rein it in, poppet--nothing will happen unasked.  Have I not
told you this?"

Bob just blinked, looking at her.

"Yes, I understand, he is precious to you.  He also does not want to
stay here.  Therefore, home he must go.  *Si*?"

"Yeah," Dante said, blinking at Bob.  "I'd like to go home.  Can she
take me?"

Jay fell down laughing, literally--he bent down, made to sit in the
folding chair again, and sat on the floor instead.  Didn't stop him
from giggling, and pointing a shaking finger at Dante, before falling
into hysterics again.  Bob only glared, like he'd said something
horrible.  Whatever it was, it hadn't been intentional.  He'd just said--

Oh.  He'd just said...shit.  He snuck a peek up at her, and she was
shaking her head, the movement making all the fans down her back
rustle like wings.

"Heavenly lords and all manner of small creatures," she sighed. 
"Spare me from the broken-hearted."  Before he could react to that--or
even figure it out, in his pepper-vodka-soaked brain--she handed him
his coat, tucking him into it before he even realized her hands were
on him.

"Come, walk with me, sodden one.  We shall endeavor to get you home
reasonably intact."

She turned towards the door, ushering him out.  He turned to say good
night to Jay and Bob, and caught them in what looked suspiciously
like...an embrace?  She stepped into the doorway, closing the door
behind her, blocking his view.

"Never mind," she said brightly.  "They're a tad...busy at the moment,
they won't even notice you're gone."

"But--"  He paused, blinking.  Her hand on his arm, guiding him down
the steps, was making it a bit difficult to think.  "They were--"

"Here we are," she said, overriding his slow march towards
understanding.  He looked over, and saw his little blue Dart, and
watched as she blinked at it.

"Oh.  My."

"What?"

She shook her head, placing one dark-nailed hand up to her face.

"I never considered...Please, wait but a moment."

Dante, confused, watched as she pulled a small loop of wire from her
pocket, sticking the end of it into her ear.  He realized it was an
earpiece, and saw it was attached to a small mike at the same time. 
He looked down, watching her hand moved, and saw a small keypad
clipped to her waist.  Without looking, she dialed a number, and
waited, her eyes unfocused.

"Yes, hello, I know I said I wouldn't need the car before morning, but
would you mind coming back to the residence and picking me up?  I'm
needing to take a...new friend home, and...I don't think I adequately
trust myself with a manual transmission, as *well* as the backwards
roads in this country."

She laughed lightly, looking at him.  He looked around.  They were
leaving his car here?

"Yes, fine...ten minutes?  Wonderful.  We'll be here."  And she took
out the earpiece, coiling up the wire again.

"That's a cell phone?"

"Satellite phone, actually...More expensive, but they come smaller,
and I rarely lose signal.  That's...on occasion desperately important
in my work."

"What do you do?" he asked, and she just smiled.

"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that...Currently I'm in acquisitions."

"Acqui--"

"I'm a finder, you might say.  I'm hired to track lost items, and
return them to their rightful owners."

"You're a private eye," he said.

"Only on occasion," she answered.  She watched him shiver, and stepped
close.

"Are you cold, Dante?" she asked.  He blinked.  He looked up.  Shit,
she was *right there*...she was *right* there, close enough to...

The body gave in before the mind fully thought it out.  He slipped an
arm around her waist, pulling her close.  She wrapped him in long
arms, one hand combing through his hair, and he had a moment of panic
wondering if he'd washed it this morning.

"You, my Dante, worry entirely too much," she said softly.  

"Am I?" he asked.  He inhaled the scent of her again, amber, cloves,
sandalwood, something deep and dark.  Greatly daring, he leaned his
head on her chest, and listened to her breathe.

"Are you what?" she whispered, the words heard as much as felt.

"Your Dante," he murmured.  Her hands tightened for a moment, then she
leaned back, tilting up his chin with a finger.

"Do you want to be?"

He swallowed.  He looked at her.  God, he could *drown* in her eyes,
they went on for fucking *ever*...

"I..." he said.  He swallowed again.  "I, um...I..."

*Flip.  Click.  Flame.  Click.*

He jerked, startled, and turned to see Bob standing on the stairs. 
Mercy stepped back, folding her arms across her chest.

"This mistrust of my motives is quite distressing, Robert.  Besides, I
thought you were...otherwise engaged for the evening."

"Things change," Bob said softly.  Dante's eyes hit the roof of his
head.  Talking...aloud?  She made Bob talk aloud.  Jesus, what *else*
could she do?

"I can take him home."

"I don't believe that will be required--" Mercy began.

"No, it's okay, I'll be fine, just walk around a little, I can drive
home myself--" Dante started.  

Both were interrupted by a long, black limousine, windows dead-black
smoked, pulling up at the curb.  A man got out, wearing a simple dark
suit and a chauffeur's cap, grinning at Mercy.

"Your carriage," he said, holding the door open for her.

"Thank you, Anders," she said, stepping to the door.  She turned.

"Dante...Are you...coming?"

He blinked at her.

**Shit, I have no idea,** he thought, but he stepped to the car, and
she waved him inside.


END
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
shit oh shit oh shit this is gonna SEQUEL!!!!