NEM-1:What the hell am I doing here?
***
Late June 2007
Dublin
***
Liverpool lay miles or kilometers behind him, Dean leaned over the white steel pole railing of the seacat ferry, gazing pensively at the calm blue waters of the Irish Sea. Rupert Giles warned Dean the water could get choppy but Dean’s motion sickness band worn around his wrist proved unnecessary so far.
He’d done it, reached Dublin to rejoin Faith, almost. Perhaps the last great con of Dean’s life, persuading the folks in Cleveland, Ohio, that he, Sam and Jo wanted to become watchers. Which meant fake ID for Dean and Sam rustled up by the bruja on the payroll at the Cleveland base and a free flight to London for the interview.
Dean suspected he might have been knocked off the pedestal Jo put him on after she witnessed Dean’s flight phobia in a British Airways economy class cabin during mild turbulence.
Unlike the Winchesters Jo really did want to become a watcher. The day she met Andrew Wells in Mexico and found out exactly what a modern watcher’s duties entailed proved life changing for her. She could kill demons, help humanity and get paid for doing so. Alright! Jo hoped to get allocated a slayer in the Caribbean, once trained - golden sands and voodoo priests you couldn’t get a more exciting combination than that. Plus she’d be close enough to Ellen to fly home for every Thanksgiving and Christmas celebration.
His brother reluctantly went along with Dean’s devious scheme finally persuaded with the ultimate carrot of finding some way to get Dean out of his pact with the crossroads demon with the resources of the New Watcher’s Council library available to Sam for the next three months. The previous years of training needed to become a watcher thrown out the window due to the massive influx of slayers in the world.
Dean out of curiosity legitimately went through with the screening interview. Rupert Giles impressed with him, said Dean possessed the ruthlessness, ingenuity and experience needed to be a watcher as well as a clear sense of responsibility. Dean flunked the written test on purpose. Although Latin could be learned on the job people needed basic reading and writing skills to be watchers and Dean thought his paragraph on what do teenage girls need: Luv, kare, and kindness and a heck of a lot of guydence, quite masterful in its faked illiteracy.
Dean could see Sam every second weekend for the next three months. Dean and Faith could decide at the end of the time period if there was any point Dean sticking around further. If it didn’t work out with Faith he could go on to Amsterdam and smoke grass in comfort with a long black in a sidewalk coffeehouse like he’d always wanted to and then fly home.
Not that Dean had a home unless you counted his Dad’s Impala now stored safely at Bobby’s. Bobby had written Dean a reference saying Dean worked in his scrap-yard for the past two years and also forged him an auto mechanics certificate. Qualifications - tricky, Dean didn’t have any and Ireland needed nurses, IT specialists and construction workers not demon hunters.
Dean squared his conscience with not telling Faith about the fact he only had ten months to live (as they made mundane practical immigration plans over the telephone for him during the last two weeks) with the fact they might not work out together so no harm done. By the end of three months Sam surely would have found a way to save Dean so what Faith never knew wouldn’t hurt her.
The ferry crossing took eight hours before it disembarked in Dublin at six o’clock. Dean carried his bulging backpack through customs and went out into the arrivals terminus.
Faith wasn’t there to meet him. Dean didn’t have a cell phone on him anymore to contact her so he waited.
And waited.
He used a public phone booth buying a phone card at the kiosk with the unfamiliar currency now occupying his wallet. Faith’s cell phone switched to automatic answering instantly. Okay.
She did want him to be with her didn’t she? Or was this a subtle hint as to how unimportant he would be to her here.
Dean waited some more.
A crowd of people flooded the terminus disembarking from a ferry from France, they cleared. Still no Faith. Dean was on the verge of buying a fricking Clive Cussler book from the news-stand when she finally showed up.
“Dean!” Faith sprinted towards him dressed in black leather like some biker chick, her hair all mussed and scratches down her face. “Shit, I’m so sorry, baby. Werewolves.”
Dean wrapped his arms around the leather clad missile flying into his arms. Their mouths met in a relieved kiss of love and joy and all Dean’s fears disappeared.
***
“This is Siobhan and her watcher Craig.” Faith introduced Dean to the curious and battered looking occupants of the Volvo waiting outside the terminus for them. “Dean.”
“Welcome to Dublin, mate.” Craig Montgomery leaned his hand over his car seat and shook hands swiftly. Craig was stocky, in his early thirties and originally from Sydney, Australia.
“Thanks.” Dean became aware of Faith gesturing for him to put on his seatbelt. Oh yeah, an 800 Euro fine for Craig if Dean didn’t. Ireland seemed worse than Canada, as far as seatbelt laws and other petty restrictions on people’s personal freedoms went. Getting hold of a shotgun here would require a lot of paperwork.
“So did you meet Buffy Summers while you were in London?” Siobhan twisted around and asked Dean excitedly.
“Uh yeah, once in passing.” Dean couldn’t believe how much the famous woman looked like his mother of all people.
“Isn’t she fecking amazing?” Siobhan enthused. “Her clothes, her motivational speeches, I listen to them on tape before I go to sleep every night.”
“Must cure insomnia better than a prescription downer.” Faith couldn’t resist commenting. She wondered how hot Dean found B., hotter than Faith?
“I didn’t hear her make a speech.” Dean confessed to a disappointed Siobhan. Buffy Summers didn’t seem the type to cat fight. Dean believed Faith’s account of what happened to put her in a coma less and less.
“You were only in London for half a day weren’t you?” Craig pulled out into the main traffic of Dublin.
“Yeah.” Dean tried not to flinch at everyone driving on the wrong side of the road, it was difficult to escape the feeling they were going to have a head on collision any minute.
“That’d be why.” Craig pronounced mysteriously. “I’m dropping Siobhan off home first or her Dad’s going to hit the roof again.”
Siobhan started to excitedly point out famous landmarks to Dean and he responded with pretended interest. Dublin appeared a confusing mass of gray stone and red brick to him in the street light lit darkness.
Faith loved Dean in a regular mainstream hearts and flowers way, the guy made her heart race when he kissed her, made her come like a freight train often, made her laugh, blah, blah, woof, woof, but she couldn’t work out why Dean wanted to be with her. Faith knew she was a good fuck, had a good body, could be entertaining when she put her mind to it, but why did Dean love her enough to drop everything and come be with her?
***
“And this is it, home sweet dump.” Faith unlocked the door to her third floor apartment. “I didn’t get a chance to clean up today. There’s the bedroom through that door, there’s the bathroom through that one,” Faith pointed to two closed doors. “And this, in case you couldn’t work it out by the couches and coffee table, is the living room.”
Dean had seen worse, she was messy but then so was he. The second thing that immediately caught his eye was the lampshade she’d purchased when they were in the furniture warehouse in Michigan; the first was the salt lining her living room window and the ward of protection charm nailed up over her doorway.
“What gives?” Dean dumped his backpack down in the middle of the living room.
“I have a vamp that wants to kill me, above and beyond. Phillip? I told you about him, huh?” Faith removed a pile of folded washing off the couch for him to sit on. “He’s still sending zombies around to try and freak me out from time to time.”
“Thoughtful.” Dean watched her walk over to her kitchen area. He nodded as she held up a beer from the fridge.
“I explained the last one away to my new neighbors as a stalker ex-boyfriend.” Faith brought him over his beer and sat down beside him. Phillip’s mind games were something else. Did he want her dead or not? It was easy enough for Faith to destroy the zombies but real inconvenient to keep disposing of the bodies before her neighbors came across the decapitated corpses in the communal lobby.
Dean put his arm around her shoulder. “I can take out any zombies for you from now on in. Least I can do seeing you don’t have any lawns for me to mow.”
“Thanks for the offer, be wicked useful.” Faith rested her head against his shoulder. Dean was here in her living room, sitting on her couch, bizarre. She never believed he’d follow through with what he promised, so few guys did. “Do you want dinner, shower, sex, a tour of the city? It’ll have to be on foot ‘cause I haven’t got a new car yet.”
No car… public transport: catching the train from London to Liverpool frustrated Dean used to his own schedules not giant corporations. “I ate on the ferry.”
Dean rummaged through his backpack and produced a black zip folder with his personal documents. “Speaking of sex I got this.” He held out a piece of paper to her. “A medical clinic printout clearing me of all gifts that keep on giving.”
“Let the good times roll.” Faith took off her jacket and flicked through Dean’s folder. Dean looked aghast at the bruises on her bare arms. No wonder she ran late tonight.
“This reference is great, Dean baby.” Faith skim read Bobby’s job recommendation letter, “A work of freakin' fantasy that’d make J.K. Rowling jealous.” Would Dean adjust to living here with her?
***
“Yeah, sweetheart so friggin’ good.” Dean moaned deliriously as Faith’s pussy clenched tightly around his cock. He hitched her ass up with his hands, her legs were wrapped around his waist, her body arched back against the tiled wall of the shower. He sucked on her throat the hot streaming water ran over them.
Faith felt sure at that moment everything would work out fine between them.
***
“You’ve no TV?” This was the first thing Dean noticed in horror about Faith’s bedroom.
“Uh I did have one, but it got broken in storage.” Faith came in to the bedroom naked apart from a towel wrapped around her wet hair. Was this a problem? “There’s the TV in the living room. I don’t have cable.” She couldn’t afford it, Dublin was an expensive city to live in.
No cable. Dean didn’t mind.
“So no American Sport, sorry lover.” Faith showed him the drawers she’d emptied for him in her dresser. “You’ll have to get into Gaelic football or take up watching British soap operas.” She was joking about Dean but Faith was quite partial to the evening serial Coronation Street herself and its sensational depiction of Manchester working class life. She taped it regularly after her previous boss hooked her onto it. Faith couldn’t see Dean enjoying the program it surprised Faith how much she’d got drawn into it.
No American Sport… it didn’t matter. Dean put his clothes away in the empty drawers.
***
The radio alarm clock went off. ‘I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo, I don’t belong here, what the hell am I doing here.’ Radiohead sang cheerfully to Dublin’s early risers.
Faith slammed her hand down on the alarm’s silence button and leapt out of bed. She scrambled into her underwear and pulled on the synthetic uniform for her job in a chain store florist’s in a city shopping arcade.
Dean opened his eyes blearily and looked at the time. Six thirty.
“Help yourself to whatever ya want. See you at six this evening.” Faith snatched up her purse and took off to the bathroom.
Was that it from her? No - ‘I love you’? Dean stretched out in bed. He needed to look for a job today. Oh joy. It should be a walk in the park right? He was personable, clean shaven once more, he got on well with everyone when he put on his charm act.
Faith ran back into the room and planted a firm good-bye kiss on his lips. She grinned at him and ran out again.
***
Early July 2007
***
The grease would never entirely leave his hands with soap alone. Dean’s hands were clean enough to eat his lunch. He walked over to the café opposite the auto mechanics where he worked and ordered a toasted sandwich and coffee for his late afternoon lunch.
He sat down on a white plastic chair and picked up somebody else’s discarded newspaper left on the white plastic table. He checked for mysterious deaths out of habit.
“There now, Dean.” The red headed café attendant leaned over him with his lunch. Megan wore a low cut top under her apron and no bra.
“You going to join me again? You’re not that busy.” Dean hooded his eyes and watched her melt.
“I’m flat off me feet.” Megan blushed, collected dirty plates and wiped down an empty table with furious energy. “Did you catch the news on telly last night? The price of bloody petrol’s going up again they say.”
“Yeah, bummer.” Dean hoped he wasn’t going to be subjected to another anti-American tirade about the Gulf War pushing up gas prices. Did Dean tell George W. what to do? Dean never voted in his life so how could he be held responsible for anything to do with American foreign affairs?
“Still wanting to buy a car? Because my flatmate’s flicking his cheap.” Megan batted her thick eyelashes. “I’ll give you a lift to our flat tonight, you live near me.”
“Thanks.” Dean tore apart his toasted sandwich. “I’ll take you up on it.” The car could be freaking Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or Herbie the Love Bug for all Dean cared by this stage, Dean just needed his own transport again instead of catching a bus to work.
***
Mid July 2007
***
Dean had company at the dinner table. Unlike Dean, Siobhan and Craig weren’t eating they were waiting for Faith.
“You eat like a kid like Faith does.” Siobhan propped her hands on her chin fascinated and stared at Dean forking food into his mouth.
“Jesus, Siobhan let the man eat his dinner in peace, yeah?” Craig turned around the screen on his laptop. “See, it’s that vampire I tell you.”
“Well you eat with your knife and fork together fecking normal like.” Siobhan told Craig not taking her eyes off Dean chewing his beef sausage resolutely.
“I’m an Aussie, darl of course I’m bloody normal. Focus,” Craig stabbed his finger on the screen. “This vampire, it’s the one you saw.”
“No it’s not, idiot.” Siobhan watched intensely Dean eat his boiled peas using his fork like a spoon. “Don’t you know how to prong them, Deano?”
“I’m gonna prong you.” Dean wished the hell Faith would finish getting ready and depart with Siobhan and Craig, leaving him to watch TV in peace. There was this evening English Soap Opera called Eastenders about blue collar joes and lowlifes in London that was kinda entertaining and it started soon. He didn’t think Faith would understand it’s appeal to him. He couldn’t explain Eastenders appeal to himself it was truly addictive however.
Faith came out of the bedroom without clothes on. No - Faith wore clothing, how dumb of him Dean just found it hard to see the miniscule slip of material she called a dress against all her exposed flesh. Why maybe he needed glasses.
“Night clubbing?” Dean smiled at Faith warmly, he didn’t want to come off as an insecure jealous jerk.
“Uh huh, brat’s gonna stake them as they exit through the fire escape tonight after I’ve lured the vamps outside.” Faith retrieved and hooked into her earlobes heavy silver earrings from the china odds and ends bowl on the table. “So your friend Megan gave you those sausages from her old man’s butcher’s shop to try? Nice of her.” Faith didn’t wanna appear a paranoid bitch.
***
Late July 2007
***
Sweet tooth about to be satisfied both Faith and Dean pushed their way out from the crowd mobbing the ice-cream van, continuing their discussion as they walked among the manicured greenery of the Irish National Botanic Gardens..
“The check’s in the mail, I won’t come in your mouth. Two of the great lies, Dean.” Faith licked her dripping ice-cream cone as they walked across the soft grass together in the sun.
Dean bit into his double scoop ice-cream cone. “I’m from the government I’m here to help, I’ll call, this won’t hurt a bit. That’s five.” He halted to allow a Border Collie race past him chasing a Frisbee.
“I’ll respect you in the morning, six.” Faith’s sunglasses were acting as a temporary hair-band or else her hair would be falling in her ice-cream due to a sudden warm gusty breeze.
Dean grinned at her struggle to keep her hair out of her ice cream. “I love you.” Dean deposited a fond kiss on her chilled mouth. “Seven.”
***
Early August 2007
***
Faith shoved Dean’s grease and ectoplasm stained overalls out of the way (she was happy for him he discovered a nearby haunted house but couldn’t he ever locate the fucking laundry basket too?) and sat down on the couch to watch her latest taped episode of Coronation Street.
She pulled out her knitting bag and needles, dropping numerous stitches in the vicarious excitement of the half hours viewing of the clothing factory workers walk out in a wild cat strike, and the married corner shop proprietor having an affair with the pub barmaid, asshole.
She heard the door unlock and quickly switched off the TV set, turning the stereo on with the remote controls. XFM 107 Dublin’s alternative radio station played ACDC’s ‘let there be rock.’
“Hi honey we’re home.” Dean walked in the door with Sam. “Hey, new sweater?” God, how freaking hideous her latest creation was gonna be. "Looks uh warm."
***
The local supermarket was like any supermarket back in the States, apart from every grocery item being in metric measurement.
“Dude, get this brand of tuna, it’s cheaper.” Sam grabbed the can off the shelf and placed it in Dean’s shopping cart.
“It’s not dolphin friendly. Faith cares about that crap not me.” Dean lied he put the can back on the shelf and replaced it with the brand that promised it didn’t use driftnets. Dolphins were the only species apart from humans that screwed for fun. Dean nursed a secret soft spot for them.
“And you’re whipped.” Sam crowed in triumph.
“No. Faith doesn’t care what I do. We had a blow up fight when I put my tools in the dishwasher but apart from that its been smooth sailing.” Dean grabbed three cans of baked beans. “I think she musta had PMS she went nuts.”
“Morning Dean.” A neighbor walked past him with a wave.
“Hey Rita.” Dean jerked his cart a front wheel kept jamming. Rita was a nice lady, very friendly.
“So it’s been worth it, coming here for you?” Sam probed. “Giving up hunting and leading an honest life?”
“I haven’t given up hunting.” Dean answered shortly. “I keep my hand in, help Faith, Siobhan and Craig occasionally. Kill a zombie nearly every damn week.”
“Yeah, Phillip. The New Watcher’s Council think he’s in Central Europe.” Sam kept pushing, “But working for the man everyday, Dean that’s got to be killing you.”
“Everyone else manages it, Dad used to. Only way to stay in Ireland as a permanent resident - have a job.” Dean leaned over the frozen goods aisle, tossing in frozen TV dinners. “So I hope you can find a freaking solution quick Sammy because I can’t tell Faith the truth in case it causes you to drop dead on the spot and I’ll still go to Hell. I hate lying to her but what else can I do?”
***
Mid August 2007
***
Dean sat in a roomy booth in a crowded pub on a Friday night with a group of Faith’s friends. They were almost his too by now, Dean had been invited separately by the guys to do male bonding crap with them from time to time. The long daylight hours of Dublin’s summer made vamp numbers very seasonally low. Faith didn’t need to patrol tonight. Siobhan holidayed in France with her family.
“And you all have unnaturally white teeth and talk all the bloody time.” Craig thought that finished summing up nicely why the rest of the world hated Americans.
“And don’t forget… Jaysus, can’t remember.” Fenian a young plumber, fretted sozzled. “Whose round is it?”
“Yours, dude.” Dean drained his beer back. God, it got old fast hearing how crap America was by people wearing NYC baseball caps back the front. Dean missed so much about his homeland except being a wanted fugitive. “Don’t let us stop you crawling up to the bar.”
“Don’t mind them.” Caitlyn a kindergarten assistant soothed Faith and Dean concerned their feelings might be hurt. “They talk out of their arses half the time.”
“They couldn’t find their asses with a flashlight to begin with.” Faith twirled her beer mat around on the wooden table reminding herself she had given up smoking for good.
“Christ Faith, isn’t that your ex up at the bar?” Craig whistled surprised.
Seamus? Oh fuck! Marcus Sullivan Faith’s ex husband. Why wasn’t Marcus safely in Thailand? And why was Fenian that retarded dick, bringing him back to their booth?
Dean finally got to meet Faith’s mysterious ex-husband back in Dublin, for a family funeral.
The guy was not how Dean imagined he would be. He was slightly shorter than Dean, same build and coloring. A chef by trade, Marcus was (Dean hated to admit it) okay. Marcus stayed for a quick civilized drink (Marcus and Faith were oh so civilized) and then left them to rejoin his other arriving friends.
Faith ‘borrowed’ one of Craig’s cigarettes later that evening but otherwise did or said nothing out of the ordinary, except commenting Marcus was water under the fucking bridge as Faith and Dean walked home from the pub at closing time.
Dean wished he knew just why the guy left Faith the day after their wedding. Why the hell would you do that to a woman?
No zombie lurked outside their apartment building tonight.
Faith launched herself on Dean in a frenzied sexual attack the minute they were through their apartment’s front door.
Dean also wished he knew what went on in her head sometimes. He loved Faith completely but felt she always held a part of herself back from him. Man, he hoped Sam could save him maybe she picked up on Dean’s terrible secret.
But Dean was to gain fascinating unwelcome insight into what went on in Faith’s head. The next Monday at work he received an anonymous letter which he should have screwed up but he didn’t. On the computer printed A4 sheet were the words. “Download America’s Most Wanted: Episode December 06/03."
So when he got back home to his apartment Dean found the website on the computer and Holy Shit there was an article about an escaped convict named Faith Lehane. Faith - the most evil psychotic bitch a guy could possibly come across, or have been sleeping with for the past two months.
Late June 2007
Dublin
***
Liverpool lay miles or kilometers behind him, Dean leaned over the white steel pole railing of the seacat ferry, gazing pensively at the calm blue waters of the Irish Sea. Rupert Giles warned Dean the water could get choppy but Dean’s motion sickness band worn around his wrist proved unnecessary so far.
He’d done it, reached Dublin to rejoin Faith, almost. Perhaps the last great con of Dean’s life, persuading the folks in Cleveland, Ohio, that he, Sam and Jo wanted to become watchers. Which meant fake ID for Dean and Sam rustled up by the bruja on the payroll at the Cleveland base and a free flight to London for the interview.
Dean suspected he might have been knocked off the pedestal Jo put him on after she witnessed Dean’s flight phobia in a British Airways economy class cabin during mild turbulence.
Unlike the Winchesters Jo really did want to become a watcher. The day she met Andrew Wells in Mexico and found out exactly what a modern watcher’s duties entailed proved life changing for her. She could kill demons, help humanity and get paid for doing so. Alright! Jo hoped to get allocated a slayer in the Caribbean, once trained - golden sands and voodoo priests you couldn’t get a more exciting combination than that. Plus she’d be close enough to Ellen to fly home for every Thanksgiving and Christmas celebration.
His brother reluctantly went along with Dean’s devious scheme finally persuaded with the ultimate carrot of finding some way to get Dean out of his pact with the crossroads demon with the resources of the New Watcher’s Council library available to Sam for the next three months. The previous years of training needed to become a watcher thrown out the window due to the massive influx of slayers in the world.
Dean out of curiosity legitimately went through with the screening interview. Rupert Giles impressed with him, said Dean possessed the ruthlessness, ingenuity and experience needed to be a watcher as well as a clear sense of responsibility. Dean flunked the written test on purpose. Although Latin could be learned on the job people needed basic reading and writing skills to be watchers and Dean thought his paragraph on what do teenage girls need: Luv, kare, and kindness and a heck of a lot of guydence, quite masterful in its faked illiteracy.
Dean could see Sam every second weekend for the next three months. Dean and Faith could decide at the end of the time period if there was any point Dean sticking around further. If it didn’t work out with Faith he could go on to Amsterdam and smoke grass in comfort with a long black in a sidewalk coffeehouse like he’d always wanted to and then fly home.
Not that Dean had a home unless you counted his Dad’s Impala now stored safely at Bobby’s. Bobby had written Dean a reference saying Dean worked in his scrap-yard for the past two years and also forged him an auto mechanics certificate. Qualifications - tricky, Dean didn’t have any and Ireland needed nurses, IT specialists and construction workers not demon hunters.
Dean squared his conscience with not telling Faith about the fact he only had ten months to live (as they made mundane practical immigration plans over the telephone for him during the last two weeks) with the fact they might not work out together so no harm done. By the end of three months Sam surely would have found a way to save Dean so what Faith never knew wouldn’t hurt her.
The ferry crossing took eight hours before it disembarked in Dublin at six o’clock. Dean carried his bulging backpack through customs and went out into the arrivals terminus.
Faith wasn’t there to meet him. Dean didn’t have a cell phone on him anymore to contact her so he waited.
And waited.
He used a public phone booth buying a phone card at the kiosk with the unfamiliar currency now occupying his wallet. Faith’s cell phone switched to automatic answering instantly. Okay.
She did want him to be with her didn’t she? Or was this a subtle hint as to how unimportant he would be to her here.
Dean waited some more.
A crowd of people flooded the terminus disembarking from a ferry from France, they cleared. Still no Faith. Dean was on the verge of buying a fricking Clive Cussler book from the news-stand when she finally showed up.
“Dean!” Faith sprinted towards him dressed in black leather like some biker chick, her hair all mussed and scratches down her face. “Shit, I’m so sorry, baby. Werewolves.”
Dean wrapped his arms around the leather clad missile flying into his arms. Their mouths met in a relieved kiss of love and joy and all Dean’s fears disappeared.
***
“This is Siobhan and her watcher Craig.” Faith introduced Dean to the curious and battered looking occupants of the Volvo waiting outside the terminus for them. “Dean.”
“Welcome to Dublin, mate.” Craig Montgomery leaned his hand over his car seat and shook hands swiftly. Craig was stocky, in his early thirties and originally from Sydney, Australia.
“Thanks.” Dean became aware of Faith gesturing for him to put on his seatbelt. Oh yeah, an 800 Euro fine for Craig if Dean didn’t. Ireland seemed worse than Canada, as far as seatbelt laws and other petty restrictions on people’s personal freedoms went. Getting hold of a shotgun here would require a lot of paperwork.
“So did you meet Buffy Summers while you were in London?” Siobhan twisted around and asked Dean excitedly.
“Uh yeah, once in passing.” Dean couldn’t believe how much the famous woman looked like his mother of all people.
“Isn’t she fecking amazing?” Siobhan enthused. “Her clothes, her motivational speeches, I listen to them on tape before I go to sleep every night.”
“Must cure insomnia better than a prescription downer.” Faith couldn’t resist commenting. She wondered how hot Dean found B., hotter than Faith?
“I didn’t hear her make a speech.” Dean confessed to a disappointed Siobhan. Buffy Summers didn’t seem the type to cat fight. Dean believed Faith’s account of what happened to put her in a coma less and less.
“You were only in London for half a day weren’t you?” Craig pulled out into the main traffic of Dublin.
“Yeah.” Dean tried not to flinch at everyone driving on the wrong side of the road, it was difficult to escape the feeling they were going to have a head on collision any minute.
“That’d be why.” Craig pronounced mysteriously. “I’m dropping Siobhan off home first or her Dad’s going to hit the roof again.”
Siobhan started to excitedly point out famous landmarks to Dean and he responded with pretended interest. Dublin appeared a confusing mass of gray stone and red brick to him in the street light lit darkness.
Faith loved Dean in a regular mainstream hearts and flowers way, the guy made her heart race when he kissed her, made her come like a freight train often, made her laugh, blah, blah, woof, woof, but she couldn’t work out why Dean wanted to be with her. Faith knew she was a good fuck, had a good body, could be entertaining when she put her mind to it, but why did Dean love her enough to drop everything and come be with her?
***
“And this is it, home sweet dump.” Faith unlocked the door to her third floor apartment. “I didn’t get a chance to clean up today. There’s the bedroom through that door, there’s the bathroom through that one,” Faith pointed to two closed doors. “And this, in case you couldn’t work it out by the couches and coffee table, is the living room.”
Dean had seen worse, she was messy but then so was he. The second thing that immediately caught his eye was the lampshade she’d purchased when they were in the furniture warehouse in Michigan; the first was the salt lining her living room window and the ward of protection charm nailed up over her doorway.
“What gives?” Dean dumped his backpack down in the middle of the living room.
“I have a vamp that wants to kill me, above and beyond. Phillip? I told you about him, huh?” Faith removed a pile of folded washing off the couch for him to sit on. “He’s still sending zombies around to try and freak me out from time to time.”
“Thoughtful.” Dean watched her walk over to her kitchen area. He nodded as she held up a beer from the fridge.
“I explained the last one away to my new neighbors as a stalker ex-boyfriend.” Faith brought him over his beer and sat down beside him. Phillip’s mind games were something else. Did he want her dead or not? It was easy enough for Faith to destroy the zombies but real inconvenient to keep disposing of the bodies before her neighbors came across the decapitated corpses in the communal lobby.
Dean put his arm around her shoulder. “I can take out any zombies for you from now on in. Least I can do seeing you don’t have any lawns for me to mow.”
“Thanks for the offer, be wicked useful.” Faith rested her head against his shoulder. Dean was here in her living room, sitting on her couch, bizarre. She never believed he’d follow through with what he promised, so few guys did. “Do you want dinner, shower, sex, a tour of the city? It’ll have to be on foot ‘cause I haven’t got a new car yet.”
No car… public transport: catching the train from London to Liverpool frustrated Dean used to his own schedules not giant corporations. “I ate on the ferry.”
Dean rummaged through his backpack and produced a black zip folder with his personal documents. “Speaking of sex I got this.” He held out a piece of paper to her. “A medical clinic printout clearing me of all gifts that keep on giving.”
“Let the good times roll.” Faith took off her jacket and flicked through Dean’s folder. Dean looked aghast at the bruises on her bare arms. No wonder she ran late tonight.
“This reference is great, Dean baby.” Faith skim read Bobby’s job recommendation letter, “A work of freakin' fantasy that’d make J.K. Rowling jealous.” Would Dean adjust to living here with her?
***
“Yeah, sweetheart so friggin’ good.” Dean moaned deliriously as Faith’s pussy clenched tightly around his cock. He hitched her ass up with his hands, her legs were wrapped around his waist, her body arched back against the tiled wall of the shower. He sucked on her throat the hot streaming water ran over them.
Faith felt sure at that moment everything would work out fine between them.
***
“You’ve no TV?” This was the first thing Dean noticed in horror about Faith’s bedroom.
“Uh I did have one, but it got broken in storage.” Faith came in to the bedroom naked apart from a towel wrapped around her wet hair. Was this a problem? “There’s the TV in the living room. I don’t have cable.” She couldn’t afford it, Dublin was an expensive city to live in.
No cable. Dean didn’t mind.
“So no American Sport, sorry lover.” Faith showed him the drawers she’d emptied for him in her dresser. “You’ll have to get into Gaelic football or take up watching British soap operas.” She was joking about Dean but Faith was quite partial to the evening serial Coronation Street herself and its sensational depiction of Manchester working class life. She taped it regularly after her previous boss hooked her onto it. Faith couldn’t see Dean enjoying the program it surprised Faith how much she’d got drawn into it.
No American Sport… it didn’t matter. Dean put his clothes away in the empty drawers.
***
The radio alarm clock went off. ‘I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo, I don’t belong here, what the hell am I doing here.’ Radiohead sang cheerfully to Dublin’s early risers.
Faith slammed her hand down on the alarm’s silence button and leapt out of bed. She scrambled into her underwear and pulled on the synthetic uniform for her job in a chain store florist’s in a city shopping arcade.
Dean opened his eyes blearily and looked at the time. Six thirty.
“Help yourself to whatever ya want. See you at six this evening.” Faith snatched up her purse and took off to the bathroom.
Was that it from her? No - ‘I love you’? Dean stretched out in bed. He needed to look for a job today. Oh joy. It should be a walk in the park right? He was personable, clean shaven once more, he got on well with everyone when he put on his charm act.
Faith ran back into the room and planted a firm good-bye kiss on his lips. She grinned at him and ran out again.
***
Early July 2007
***
The grease would never entirely leave his hands with soap alone. Dean’s hands were clean enough to eat his lunch. He walked over to the café opposite the auto mechanics where he worked and ordered a toasted sandwich and coffee for his late afternoon lunch.
He sat down on a white plastic chair and picked up somebody else’s discarded newspaper left on the white plastic table. He checked for mysterious deaths out of habit.
“There now, Dean.” The red headed café attendant leaned over him with his lunch. Megan wore a low cut top under her apron and no bra.
“You going to join me again? You’re not that busy.” Dean hooded his eyes and watched her melt.
“I’m flat off me feet.” Megan blushed, collected dirty plates and wiped down an empty table with furious energy. “Did you catch the news on telly last night? The price of bloody petrol’s going up again they say.”
“Yeah, bummer.” Dean hoped he wasn’t going to be subjected to another anti-American tirade about the Gulf War pushing up gas prices. Did Dean tell George W. what to do? Dean never voted in his life so how could he be held responsible for anything to do with American foreign affairs?
“Still wanting to buy a car? Because my flatmate’s flicking his cheap.” Megan batted her thick eyelashes. “I’ll give you a lift to our flat tonight, you live near me.”
“Thanks.” Dean tore apart his toasted sandwich. “I’ll take you up on it.” The car could be freaking Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or Herbie the Love Bug for all Dean cared by this stage, Dean just needed his own transport again instead of catching a bus to work.
***
Mid July 2007
***
Dean had company at the dinner table. Unlike Dean, Siobhan and Craig weren’t eating they were waiting for Faith.
“You eat like a kid like Faith does.” Siobhan propped her hands on her chin fascinated and stared at Dean forking food into his mouth.
“Jesus, Siobhan let the man eat his dinner in peace, yeah?” Craig turned around the screen on his laptop. “See, it’s that vampire I tell you.”
“Well you eat with your knife and fork together fecking normal like.” Siobhan told Craig not taking her eyes off Dean chewing his beef sausage resolutely.
“I’m an Aussie, darl of course I’m bloody normal. Focus,” Craig stabbed his finger on the screen. “This vampire, it’s the one you saw.”
“No it’s not, idiot.” Siobhan watched intensely Dean eat his boiled peas using his fork like a spoon. “Don’t you know how to prong them, Deano?”
“I’m gonna prong you.” Dean wished the hell Faith would finish getting ready and depart with Siobhan and Craig, leaving him to watch TV in peace. There was this evening English Soap Opera called Eastenders about blue collar joes and lowlifes in London that was kinda entertaining and it started soon. He didn’t think Faith would understand it’s appeal to him. He couldn’t explain Eastenders appeal to himself it was truly addictive however.
Faith came out of the bedroom without clothes on. No - Faith wore clothing, how dumb of him Dean just found it hard to see the miniscule slip of material she called a dress against all her exposed flesh. Why maybe he needed glasses.
“Night clubbing?” Dean smiled at Faith warmly, he didn’t want to come off as an insecure jealous jerk.
“Uh huh, brat’s gonna stake them as they exit through the fire escape tonight after I’ve lured the vamps outside.” Faith retrieved and hooked into her earlobes heavy silver earrings from the china odds and ends bowl on the table. “So your friend Megan gave you those sausages from her old man’s butcher’s shop to try? Nice of her.” Faith didn’t wanna appear a paranoid bitch.
***
Late July 2007
***
Sweet tooth about to be satisfied both Faith and Dean pushed their way out from the crowd mobbing the ice-cream van, continuing their discussion as they walked among the manicured greenery of the Irish National Botanic Gardens..
“The check’s in the mail, I won’t come in your mouth. Two of the great lies, Dean.” Faith licked her dripping ice-cream cone as they walked across the soft grass together in the sun.
Dean bit into his double scoop ice-cream cone. “I’m from the government I’m here to help, I’ll call, this won’t hurt a bit. That’s five.” He halted to allow a Border Collie race past him chasing a Frisbee.
“I’ll respect you in the morning, six.” Faith’s sunglasses were acting as a temporary hair-band or else her hair would be falling in her ice-cream due to a sudden warm gusty breeze.
Dean grinned at her struggle to keep her hair out of her ice cream. “I love you.” Dean deposited a fond kiss on her chilled mouth. “Seven.”
***
Early August 2007
***
Faith shoved Dean’s grease and ectoplasm stained overalls out of the way (she was happy for him he discovered a nearby haunted house but couldn’t he ever locate the fucking laundry basket too?) and sat down on the couch to watch her latest taped episode of Coronation Street.
She pulled out her knitting bag and needles, dropping numerous stitches in the vicarious excitement of the half hours viewing of the clothing factory workers walk out in a wild cat strike, and the married corner shop proprietor having an affair with the pub barmaid, asshole.
She heard the door unlock and quickly switched off the TV set, turning the stereo on with the remote controls. XFM 107 Dublin’s alternative radio station played ACDC’s ‘let there be rock.’
“Hi honey we’re home.” Dean walked in the door with Sam. “Hey, new sweater?” God, how freaking hideous her latest creation was gonna be. "Looks uh warm."
***
The local supermarket was like any supermarket back in the States, apart from every grocery item being in metric measurement.
“Dude, get this brand of tuna, it’s cheaper.” Sam grabbed the can off the shelf and placed it in Dean’s shopping cart.
“It’s not dolphin friendly. Faith cares about that crap not me.” Dean lied he put the can back on the shelf and replaced it with the brand that promised it didn’t use driftnets. Dolphins were the only species apart from humans that screwed for fun. Dean nursed a secret soft spot for them.
“And you’re whipped.” Sam crowed in triumph.
“No. Faith doesn’t care what I do. We had a blow up fight when I put my tools in the dishwasher but apart from that its been smooth sailing.” Dean grabbed three cans of baked beans. “I think she musta had PMS she went nuts.”
“Morning Dean.” A neighbor walked past him with a wave.
“Hey Rita.” Dean jerked his cart a front wheel kept jamming. Rita was a nice lady, very friendly.
“So it’s been worth it, coming here for you?” Sam probed. “Giving up hunting and leading an honest life?”
“I haven’t given up hunting.” Dean answered shortly. “I keep my hand in, help Faith, Siobhan and Craig occasionally. Kill a zombie nearly every damn week.”
“Yeah, Phillip. The New Watcher’s Council think he’s in Central Europe.” Sam kept pushing, “But working for the man everyday, Dean that’s got to be killing you.”
“Everyone else manages it, Dad used to. Only way to stay in Ireland as a permanent resident - have a job.” Dean leaned over the frozen goods aisle, tossing in frozen TV dinners. “So I hope you can find a freaking solution quick Sammy because I can’t tell Faith the truth in case it causes you to drop dead on the spot and I’ll still go to Hell. I hate lying to her but what else can I do?”
***
Mid August 2007
***
Dean sat in a roomy booth in a crowded pub on a Friday night with a group of Faith’s friends. They were almost his too by now, Dean had been invited separately by the guys to do male bonding crap with them from time to time. The long daylight hours of Dublin’s summer made vamp numbers very seasonally low. Faith didn’t need to patrol tonight. Siobhan holidayed in France with her family.
“And you all have unnaturally white teeth and talk all the bloody time.” Craig thought that finished summing up nicely why the rest of the world hated Americans.
“And don’t forget… Jaysus, can’t remember.” Fenian a young plumber, fretted sozzled. “Whose round is it?”
“Yours, dude.” Dean drained his beer back. God, it got old fast hearing how crap America was by people wearing NYC baseball caps back the front. Dean missed so much about his homeland except being a wanted fugitive. “Don’t let us stop you crawling up to the bar.”
“Don’t mind them.” Caitlyn a kindergarten assistant soothed Faith and Dean concerned their feelings might be hurt. “They talk out of their arses half the time.”
“They couldn’t find their asses with a flashlight to begin with.” Faith twirled her beer mat around on the wooden table reminding herself she had given up smoking for good.
“Christ Faith, isn’t that your ex up at the bar?” Craig whistled surprised.
Seamus? Oh fuck! Marcus Sullivan Faith’s ex husband. Why wasn’t Marcus safely in Thailand? And why was Fenian that retarded dick, bringing him back to their booth?
Dean finally got to meet Faith’s mysterious ex-husband back in Dublin, for a family funeral.
The guy was not how Dean imagined he would be. He was slightly shorter than Dean, same build and coloring. A chef by trade, Marcus was (Dean hated to admit it) okay. Marcus stayed for a quick civilized drink (Marcus and Faith were oh so civilized) and then left them to rejoin his other arriving friends.
Faith ‘borrowed’ one of Craig’s cigarettes later that evening but otherwise did or said nothing out of the ordinary, except commenting Marcus was water under the fucking bridge as Faith and Dean walked home from the pub at closing time.
Dean wished he knew just why the guy left Faith the day after their wedding. Why the hell would you do that to a woman?
No zombie lurked outside their apartment building tonight.
Faith launched herself on Dean in a frenzied sexual attack the minute they were through their apartment’s front door.
Dean also wished he knew what went on in her head sometimes. He loved Faith completely but felt she always held a part of herself back from him. Man, he hoped Sam could save him maybe she picked up on Dean’s terrible secret.
But Dean was to gain fascinating unwelcome insight into what went on in Faith’s head. The next Monday at work he received an anonymous letter which he should have screwed up but he didn’t. On the computer printed A4 sheet were the words. “Download America’s Most Wanted: Episode December 06/03."
So when he got back home to his apartment Dean found the website on the computer and Holy Shit there was an article about an escaped convict named Faith Lehane. Faith - the most evil psychotic bitch a guy could possibly come across, or have been sleeping with for the past two months.