Title: Have Mercy
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, Dogma (post)
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob, Bob/Mercy
Rating: PG-13. No clothes come off for the most part. Sex, pain, and tickling part I.
Status: posted...2001?
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.
E-mail address for feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Shut Up and Kiss Me. Part II of III. (In actuality this statement is staggeringly wrong. This is the second part of the Tunnel/Dagger/Feather head-trip from hell.
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 the Mad


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."

He stared at her. The night was getting weirder and weirder.

"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 thought, 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 pics of Frank Langella and Christopher Lee.

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, poppet, 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
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
now with newly burgundy hair!


I'm watching.



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