Title: Tunnelling Under
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob w/Mercy implications
Rating: PC-13 to NC-17. Slight het sex, intoxicants, slight language.
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.
Email address for feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequel: Sequels: In order, this sequels ren's "Tunnel Vision" and my "Light at the End", and may end up with one more section--at least. :< [Note from future daze: This lays in the middle somewhere between the four stories in the "Feather" saga, followed by "Descent", and then ties back in because I fucked up to the "Dagger" series. Whoof.]
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: Drunken weirdness all around, I guess. Het sex mentions. Slight vampire action. Hangovers. Illegal intoxicants.
Outline: The morning after, Mercy-style.

"Tunnelling Under"
by Kelandris the Mad

Mornings after were never less than interesting. Mornings after certain nights before were nothing short of problematic. Mercy awoke, feeling as if every single one of Hannibal's elephants had expired in her mouth. Messily. Also, that Hannibal himself was kicking furiously at the base of her skull. Her joints ached, the bones in her head seemed as if they were grating together, and her throat was drier than desert sand. Even breathing hurt.

Blinking took more effort than seemed possible, and after evaluating for a moment, she came to two conclusions. First, she wasn't going to die of this--more's the pity, there was a cure for hangover and overwork. Second, she was in the living room, lying halfway between the couch and the floor, as it happened. One hand scraped against the unbelieveably rough carpet--and she'd spent some time lying on it a few months back, so it had to be her senses ramped up to ridiculous levels, not the carpet suddenly altering into steel wool.

She lay still, reconstructing the shreds of last night into some cohesive whole. She knew she and Silent Bob had laughed themselves nearly hysterical--silent, but still hysterical--at Jay, at themselves, at everything that had happened. Weakly leaning against each other, they had barely the energy to remain upright. Everything had happened so quickly with that mystical whatsit--infestation--Dailenth?--that at first she didn't understand why she was so drained.

Then she factored in all the healing she'd done, plus staving off the Dailenth long enough for Bob to reach Jay--and oh, how fortunate they all were that Bob merely touching Jay was enough to satisfy the maddeningly vague clause of the poison! And she knew why she was so tired.

She turned her head, expecting to hear the creak of the hinge. No one in the kitchen. She expended a little effort, closing her eyes, and heard heartbeats, dim through the closed bedroom door, which meant the boys were still here. Aching, suppressing the groans, she rose painfully from the couch, staggering into the kitchen. Glass. Sink. Water. That's all she wanted right now. Even filthy parasite-ridden American water was better than the ache in her head, in her limbs, down her spine.

A sudden flash of memory startled a whimper out of her, and she nearly dropped the glass. Jay. Jay and whisky. What the hell...

**Jay had found the whisky, that was it. And she, she and Silent Bob, still recovering in the bedroom, had looked at each other, startled and a little afraid. A week of deprivation and insanity and now the boy wanted hard liquor. Not a good combination.

**She remembered Bob rising first, and tottering, fetching against the doorframe with a thud. She rose next, supporting the bearded one over to the couch, where he more fell against the padded back than sat down. She could imagine how he felt, for she was drained to a wraith of her former self, choosing simply to fold up in place on the floor rather than stagger her way to couch or kitchen.**

She pressed the glass to her forehead, relishing the cold. Where was the rest of last night? Alcohol, all right, she could see that; neither Jay nor Bob had any experience with mystical poisons, she understood that. But why was--

She did drop the glass this time, hearing it thunk into the metal sink. A sensory flash of Jay licking her skin, amber droplets running down her neck, and Bob murmuring something unintelligible to Jay as he poured whisky down Jay's neck, down his arms, over his bare, flushed chest...

She shook her head, dazzled. All right, maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe something had happened. But then, why had she been out on the couch? She drained the glass of water, filling it again and carrying it carefully back to the couch. She set it down on the clean table, raising an eyebrow at seeing the table bare of any clutter. Odd. She sat back against the couch, thinking. Whisky, something to do with the whisky. What?

**"You need to be protected," she said, her voice a broken vessel. She was lying on her stomach on the floor, her ankles neatly crossed and her feet in the air. Jay was downing a beer--at least he hadn't stayed with the hard stuff--and shrugged, pointing to Bob on the couch.

**"Merse, I'm already protected, I got
*him."" He smiled over at Bob, who nodded, barely smiling back. "I don't need no one else."

**"Not that kind of protection," she croaked. She sat up. She opened her mouth and--**

She blinked. Whatever it was, was gone now. What the hell had she said? More to the point, what the hell had happened? Shaking her head, she finished the second glass of water, leaning back against the couch and closing her eyes.

**All right, old girl. You are this grand mystical thing, so what say you arrange last night in some semblance of rational order?** Humming softly under her breath, she cast a simple memory enhancement spell, breathing in and out quietly.

**There, that should wor--**

She gasped, sitting bolt upright and holding her head.

**"C'mon, let's go to bed," Jay said, waggling his eyebrows in a very comical fashion. Mercy looked at him upside-down, from where her head hung over the couch.

**"Darling boy, you're assuming I can move," she said, laughing. She watched the upside-down Jay shrug, smiling.

**"Your loss, babe," and he staggered off, closing the door completely by accident when he fell against the other side.**

**The three of them on the carpet, the bottle of whisky tipped over on its side, and they were kissing, kissing as if they couldn't get air without their lips pressing against skin. Mercy grabbed Bob, turning his head to one side and lightly nicking the skin open with the tip of one fang. He screamed, arching forward, and she and Jay both watched as Bob's formerly limp organ rose like a flag, bobbing with desire and need.**

**Silent Bob shook his head violently when Jay brought him a whisky, and Jay smiled quirkily, nodding and pressing it into his hands. Bob bit his lip, looking at Jay, and Jay shrugged, and Mercy just smiled, draped over the couch like a throw as she marveled how much these two communicated without words.**

Mercy staggered to the bathroom, bending over the tub and turning the faucet on. Icy water hit her head and she yelped, but it took the sting away from some of the images.

**Mercy's arms were loosely thrown around Jay's shoulders, and her eyes were reflecting orange glow into his silver-blue ones, and he just watched her, smiling faintly, kneeling on the carpet and filling her with long upward thrusts, his hands clasped to her hips. She heard a bottle drop to the counter in the kitchen, and she turned, looking at Bob standing there, one hand on the glass he hadn't dropped, one hand still cupped around the neck of the bottle that was no longer there.

**"Poppet," she said, her voice rich and accented and cracking in steady waves, "I'd rather you didn't shatter anything we might have to summon the energy to clean." She looked down at Jay, smiling, her fangs shining like stars.

**"Actually, dear boy, I'd rather you come here just now. I think our Jay has designs on your edible flesh."**

Her head was saturated now, and she was starting to shiver. She turned enough hot water on so that the stream was no longer arctic, but stayed in place, breathing heavily.

**"Oh, no, dearest, up's *that* way," she said, trying to point Bob in the right direction. Jay hummed something caustic in the distance. She couldn't make out the words but she was fairly sure, were he to put the original on to play, it would feature overdriven guitars and a drum solo. Suddenly Jay rose to his feet and staggered off to his room, saying "yeah, yeah" under his breath. She stared up at Silent Bob, weaving on his feet, and he shrugged. They both watched as he brought out this contraption and a bag of green flakes out to the living room. Her eyebrows rose. She hadn't seen a water pipe since...oh, goodness, the 1800's or so. Which meant the green flakes in the bag were--

**"Ah, no, gentlemen, this is where I opt out." She rose unsteadily to her feet and Bob put an arm around her waist, looking the question at her.

**"I believe," she said dryly, "the operative word is 'allergic'. " Actually, she thought, the operative word was, she wasn't sure how she reacted. The last time she'd played with marijuana it had been in an environment laced with kif smoke and opium, and someone had shared an interesting laudanum/brandy mix around as well. It could have been any of those substances that had caused her odd reaction.**

She shut the water off, shaking. Standing, she reached for a towel, squeezing the water out of her hair and hearing it drip into the tub. So, whisky at least, possibly some pot as well, but neither substance before had ever caused amnesia--

The dagger. With a sudden flash, vivid as blood on white tile, she remembered the dagger, the dangerous thing Heaven was hunting her for. Was it possible? Well, she didn't know, she'd never been stabbed with it before, and besides--

The clean table. Flipping her hair over her head, she turned, looking out the open door at the table. No bottles. No dagger. No debris from the bottles Metatron had shattered--now, *that* she remembered, so why could she not remember the rest of it? Her gaze turned towards the closed bedroom door.


**"Don't touch that," she said softly, reaching one long arm around Jay to pull him from the table. "Please, that thing is dangerous even when wrapped."

**"What the fuck is it?" the boy asked. She traced fingertips over his forehead, down his cheek, and he shivered, leaning back against the broad expanse of Bob's chest. Bob protectively curled an arm around him, both men looking at the table.

**"It's the Merikit dagger," she said bleakly. "A thoroughly vile item that has the ability to slay angels."

**"Who would want to kill an angel?" asked Jay.

**"The inventor of the blade," Mercy said darkly. Bob's gaze, which had drifted to the table, locked with hers again, and he slowly shook his head. She turned her gaze away, leaning back on the carpet. Some things were not meant to be understood, she thought. And others--**

Alone again with the shreds of memory remaining, she sighed, and walked into the kitchen. She filled one sink with hot water and soap, and began to clean the glasses scattered on the counter, waiting for Bob and Jay to wake up. If they remembered any more than she did...it was bound to be an entertaining morning.

Kelandris the Mad
damn, this could end up a four-parter

go back
wanna start over
tired already

I'm watching.
I Watch over Spike and Angel

Write me

pseudofluff 2.0 blue spiral button ghost of a smile blue spiral button the space between

Flaming Text

Brainy Betty's Graphics and Education Center