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She wakes from another restless sleep, half-convinced the universe somehow righted itself while she was unconscious. Unthinkingly, her hand skims over to the opposite side of the bed, seeking a warm familiar body, but instead there is a cold empty expanse under her palm.
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A little bead of sweat trickles slowly down between her breasts, leaving a sticky trail like a slug. The heat of the desert is stifling.
She pauses on the steps of the old church, hand poised to push open the door, but she’s gripped by a sudden doubt that pierces her chest.
Jesse is stubborn man, nobody knows that better than her, and he’s determined to sacrifice everything he had for this futile cause, everything they had. What if he can't be swayed?
She cranes her neck to glare up at the weathered crucifix atop the church as if it is to blame, projecting all of the spite inside her at it. No fictional toga-wearing fuckbag in the clouds is gonna steal her man.
Her heart begins to gallop as she steps inside, breathing in the scent of recent cigarette smoke that hangs faintly in the air like a familiar ghost. He must be here.
She steps carefully on the scuffed wooden floors, moving as silently as possible. That’s something she’s good at. She wants to catch him off guard. Maybe it will give her the upper hand, or maybe it will piss him off. Heck, both, if she’s lucky.
She glances sideways at a bulletin board plastered with religious pamphlets and posters as she moves through the entrance-way.
‘Cleanliness is next to godliness’, one of them reads. Beneath it, on the floor against the wall, an empty beer bottle filled with cigarette butts - the perfect picture of Jesse’s hypocrisy. She rolls her eyes.
She places a hand on the door frame and peeks tentatively around the corner.
Her heart sinks.
She can’t see his face from this angle, but the man before her definitely isn’t Jesse, and she resents him for it immediately. He’s too skinny, that’s apparent even despite the baggy bathrobe, and the shock of dishevelled hair on top of his head is the wrong colour.
He sits cross-legged on the floor with his back to her, hunched over an air conditioning unit. A mess of small metal parts and empty beer bottles surround him like shrapnel.
Unaware of her presence, he continues to yank angrily at something inside the appliance with a pair of pliers, muttering under his breath. When it doesn’t come loose, he slams his fist down on the top of it with a loud bang.
“Who the hell are you?” she asks, taking a decisive step toward him.
His back straightens and he drops the pliers to the ground with a clunk, head whipping around to face her.
He’s good looking, although in a way that defies convention. His face is etched with a few subtle lines that make her second guess his age, and bristling with a day or two worth of stubble.
His dark brows are arched with surprise, and his expression would be comical if she were in a better mood.
“Jaysis, where the fuck did you come from?” he exclaims.
“Through the front door, obviously.”
“Yeh can’t jus–”
“Where is Jesse Custer? You a repairman or something?” she asks, glowering down at him with a hand on her hip.
He rises clumsily to his feet, taken aback by her assertiveness, and the unfastened bathrobe falls open to reveal a pair of goofy-looking patterned boxers that exasperate her further.
He squints at her.
“Jesse. Where is he?” she repeats slowly, as if talking to a moron – which he may well be, for all she knows.
“Not ‘ere, luv,” he shakes his head. “Somethin’ I can help yeh with?”
Noticing his gaze begin to roam appreciatively over her body, she crosses her arms.
“Doubt it. Unless you can tell me where he is,” she replies.
She glances impatiently around the room for any signs of him… a smoldering cigarette in an ashtray, an open prayer book, a jacket draped over the back of a pew, but there is nothing. It’s just her and this idiot.
“And you are?” he asks, scratching the hair on his chest lazily.
“Name’s Tulip,” she introduces herself curtly. She doesn’t have time to waste on this fool.
“Cassidy. How’re yeh?” he extends an eager hand to her.
She stares at it for a moment, noting the tattooed knuckles with half interest, before giving it a brusque shake. His strong grip and unusually cold skin catch her off guard, but she doesn’t let it show.
“So, you work here or somethin’?” she asks, eyeing the mangled air-conditioner skeptically.
“No, no. I’m Jesse’s best mate,” he laughs dismissively, shoving his hands into the pockets of the dirty-looking robe.
His head follows the direction of her gaze to the air-conditioner.
“Oh, ‘tat. Yeah, I help out ‘round here sometimes too,” he nods.
“No offense, but it doesn’t look like you know what you’re doin’,” she tells him.
He blinks at her, un-phased.
“Aye, well-“
“You look like you’re making it worse, actually.”
He shrugs and turns to take a seat on the pew behind him. He slumps into his seat, legs spread brazenly.
“So yer an expert on these bleedin’ ‘tings, are yeh?” he challenges her. “Got some tips for me then?”
“Yeah. Call a professional.”
“Right, thanks.”
“When’s Jesse comin’ back?” She sighs.
“Should be along soon, I imagine,” he says, bending forward to grab a half-finished beer from the floor.
Her ears perk up at the word ‘soon’.
“What’s ‘soon’ mean exactly?” she asks.
He bites his lower lip and raises both palms in a helpless gesture.
She decides she may as well wait, if there’s a possibility he could be back right away. She strides over and takes a seat on the pew near him, making a point of crossing her legs.
“What kind ‘o business do yeh got with him anyway?” he asks, turning to face her, suddenly suspicious.
“The unfinished kind.”
“Ooooh. Love or money…?” he asks, throwing an arm over the back of the pew like he’s waiting for her to regale him with a juicy story.
Her eyes narrow at him.
He takes a long swig of his beer without breaking eye contact, still expectant.
“That’s between us.”
“Love,” he smirks to himself, like he’s got it all figured out. “Tulip, yeh said? Never heard him mention yeh, to be honest.”
He’s playing her game now, trying to get a rise out of her, she feels certain of it. Perhaps he’s not as dumb as he looks after all.
“That’s funny, never in my life heard him mention a Cassidy either.”
“Guess he’s not the type to kiss and tell.”
She pretends not to hear him.
“What’s with your accent?” she demands.
“Irish. Girls ‘round here seem to find it charming.”
“I’m sure they do."
“It workin’?” He asks with a wink.
“If you're Irish, how the hell did you end up in this butt-fuck town then?”
“A very long story, ‘tat is,” he mutters. He takes the final sip from his beer and sets the empty bottle on the floor by his feet.
She waits for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. Instead he stretches his long legs out in front of him and wiggles his toes, staring at them distractedly. The thought occurs to her that maybe he’s high or something. Certainly looks the type.
She can’t quite figure him out. There’s something off about him.
“You always work in your pajamas?”
“Jus’ woke up,” he shrugs, as if it were perfectly common to wake up just before supper hour. “’Sides, wasn’t expectin’ no company or I woulda put on somethin’ sexier. Jesse never told me–”
“He’s not expectin’ me neither,” she replies quickly.
“Hm. Well, yeh can stay and wait if–“
“Oh, I fully intend to,” she cuts him off.
“I see,” he nods, running a hand through his messy hair thoughtfully. “Well, fancy a bevy then, in that case?”
She considers his offer for a moment, and concludes she might as well if she’s stuck with his company until Jesse returns.
“Alright.”
He jumps up from the pew with unexpected vigor and lopes over to the kitchen, bathrobe trailing behind him like a cape.
She hears a fridge door slam, contents inside rattling with the impact, and the hiss of two beers being opened in the other room. He returns with one in each hand, a jovial bounce in his step. He seems unexpectedly delighted by her company, despite her best efforts to put him on edge.
“There yeh are,” he grins, holding one of the beers out to her.
“Thanks,” she replies begrudgingly. She takes a small sip and then presses the cold drink to each of her flushed cheeks in turn.
“So, how is it that yeh know our man?” he asks, settling back onto the pew and adjusting his boxers.
“Was ‘bout to ask you the same thing. How exactly does someone like you fit in with Jesse’s quest to save the world?”
She expects him to become defensive, but he doesn’t.
“Not sure me’self,” he replies, brow furrowing as if the thought troubles him.
“You don’t strike me as the typical churchy type, that’s all,” she adds, taking another sip of her beer.
“Oh, far from it. I’m surprised God hasn’t tried to smite me just for settin’ foot in here,” he replies, making a circular gesture at the room surrounding them. There is a note of amusement in his voice, but she gets the sense it’s deliberate - intended to mask something else.
“You believe in that shit?” she asks.
“No. Not at all.”
“So where’d he pick you up then, if not Sunday school?”
He chuckles.
“We met in a bar fight, actually,” he admits, scratching his chin. “The preacher man started some shit with some local wankers, and I decided to give him a hand for the fuck of it. I crave a bit of action sometimes, it’s a character flaw.”
A genuine laugh erupts from within her before she can help it.
“Now that sounds like the Jesse I know.”
“Yeh sayin’ he wasn’t always into this God shite then?” he asks, hazel eyes suddenly alight with curiousity.
She laughs again, more at ease knowing he isn’t one of Jesse’s pathetic sheep.
“Oh, fuck no. Jesse Custer is a bad man. Done some bad things. That I know ‘cuz I was there when he did ‘em. And that’s how I like him. He ain’t foolin’ me with all this preacher bullshit. He ain’t foolin’ the townspeople neither, by the sounds of it, so he may as well give up the act.”
“Interesting,” he replies, lips stretching over his teeth in a mischievous grin.
“I suppose there’s some hope for him left, if he’s recruiting friends like you,” she muses, looking him up and down. “No offense.”
His eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh, none taken, luv,” he shakes his head emphatically. “I don’t kid myself ‘bout who I am. I’ve done some bad things too. A lot more than a few, actually, and I doubt I’m through yet.”
She feels her hostility toward him soften some more at this admission.
“I like that,” she tells him earnestly.
“What?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.
“That you are who you are. You just own it. That’s a good thing.”
“If only the preacher knew the half of it,” he says softly. “I dunno what he’d make of me then.”
His shoulders hunch forward and she is struck by how suddenly vulnerable he looks in contrast to his earlier cockiness.
“So he doesn’t force you to do confessions and all that shit? Make you spill all your terrible secrets and beg God’s forgiveness?”
“Oh, I’d be right fucked if that were the case,” he laughs darkly.
She hums sympathetically.
“Jesse knows all my sins already. That’s why he’s pushin’ me away,” she admits.
“Hm.”
A shadow passes over his features, and she’s willing to bet he’s considering the fate of his relationship with Jesse now, given this new information, but he quickly changes the topic when he sees the way she’s looking at him.
“And you, then? Where’d yeh come from?” he asks. He rests his chin on his fist and studies her with genuine interest.
She isn’t sure why she feels compelled to be forthcoming with him all of a sudden. Perhaps she sees a bit of herself in him.
“Jesse and I were… We were lovers,” she tells him, lowering her gaze. It pains her to use the past tense, but she truly isn't sure where they stand now.
“I see,” he says, nodding sombrely.
She can tell he wants to prompt her for more information, but he doesn’t, and she is grateful.
“Seems we’ve grown apart as people. But I intend to fix that,” she says, quickly downing the last of her beer.
“Yeh come to steal him away from me then?” he asks, expression suddenly hard to read.
“No, Jesse’s not the kind of man who can be stolen. He doesn't do nothin’ he don’t wanna do. I just wanna remind him who is,” she concludes, gripping her knees.
“Well, I ‘spose I’m okay with that then. I’d like to get better acquainted with the old Jesse too, by the sounds of him,” he grins, all traces of melancholy suddenly tucked away.
They freeze in unison as they hear the front door of the church slam shut and heavy footsteps clop toward them.
Jesse appears in the doorway, clad in all black save for the small strip of white at his throat that she's still not used to. There’s a disappointed frown on his face when he spots the partially disassembled air conditioner, then he realizes he’s not alone. His expression goes blank when his eyes meet hers.
“Ye’ve got a visitor, padre. Jus’ keepin’ her company while she waited for yeh,” Cassidy offers, rising from the pew quickly.
“Tulip?” Jesse blurts stupidly, too stunned to pay much attention to Cassidy. Several emotions flicker across his dumbfounded face, unable to settle on just one.
“Surprised to see me?” she asks, savouring his discomfort. She rises from the pew, folding her arms.
“What... what are you doin’ here?”
He looks so dumbly innocent and confused that half of her just wants to crush him lovingly to death in her arms, but the other half of her won’t forgive so easily.
“Just thought maybe we could have a little chat, maybe over some tea, and talk about why the fuck you abandoned me.”
“No, you can’t be here,” he says, bracing an arm on the door frame as if it’s all too much.
“What’s new, aside from your friend here?” she jerks a thumb at Cassidy.
Jesse’s eyes dart between her and Cassidy worriedly, as if their proximity to each other could cause some sort of volatile chemical reaction.
“Cass, can you, uh… can you give us a minute?”
“You got it, boss,” he agrees quickly, as if he’d been anticipating this inevitability, and saunters out of the room.
As soon as Cassidy is gone, Jesse lowers his voice to a strained whisper.
“I don’t want you gettin' to know him.”
“Why not?” Tulip replies, at regular volume. “‘Cuz he’s your little project now and you think you’re gonna save his soul? Think I’m gonna mess it all up?”
“There’s plenty of people in this town that you can drag along on your crime sprees. I’m not one of them, and neither is he. Stay out of our business.”
“Oh please, we were just havin’ a friendly drink. ‘Sides, you don’t own him. He can do what he wants,” she smiles mock-sweetly.
“Why’re you trying to fuck with me, Tulip? Why’re you here then?”
Her expression sours.
“You think you’re above it all? Think you’re all high and mighty ‘cuz you wear that stupid thing on your neck? Well guess what – we’re all fucked up Jesse. Me, you, him. Quit actin’ like you–.”
“I’m trying to fix things, Tulip,” he interrupts, dark eyes shining with desperation.
“Well you’re doing a shitty job. Name one thing you fixed,” she scoffs.
“What do you want?” he sighs, rubbing his forehead tiredly.
“I want you to cut the shit,” she replies, trying to lock eyes so she can get through to him, but he won’t meet her gaze.
“What’s so wrong with tryin’ to make the world a better place? Tryin’ to be one of the good guys?” he asks, shaking his head.
“That’s not who you are, Jesse. Look at you, still startin’ fights for no damn reason, still getting’ fucked up all the time, still hangin’ ‘round people like Cassidy. I know the real you is still in there somewhere. Come back to me.”
“Cassidy needs my help, much as anybody. He–”
“You just see him as somethin’ broke that needs your fixin’. Seems pretty selfish to me, actually. This ain’t friendship, it’s –”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he sighs, sliding his thumbs into the belt loops at the front of his pants.
“Your ‘best mate’, who you barely know…” she eyes him critically.
“He said that?” He breathes, taken aback. “I… I mean, I only met him pretty recently. I’m tryin’ though. He seems like a good enough guy. Little weird, sure, but – ”
“And what happens if you can’t ‘save’ him? Huh? What happens if he don’t even want that? You gonna toss him away, like you did me?”
“I’m sure he’ll open up to me when he’s ready. And when he does… everyone can be saved, no matter what they done.”
“Except me, right? I’m not worth it."
"No, that's not what I-"
"I was open with you! More open than I’ve been with anybody, ever, and now you treat me like I’m some… some-”
“You don’t wanna be saved, Tulip.”
“Well neither does he! He’s just afraid to lose you!” She can feel tears beginning to prick her eyes, and she tries to turn her head before he sees them but it’s too late.
“You sure you’re still talkin’ ‘bout Cassidy?”
“Fine! I’m afraid to lose you! Is that what you wanna hear? Feels like I already have.”
It's taking all her willpower not to fall apart, and she knows she isn't succeeding.
“This is the way it’s gotta be. You can join me, if you want. I wish you would.”
She can tell he means it. She can tell he's hurt and confused by her refusal to just give in and follow him.
“Fuck your God,” she breathes, hating herself for how her voice quavers. “I love you, Jesse, but not him. Come back to me, please. Let’s get the fuck out of this stupid town!”
Jesse’s gaze softens, and his tongue flicks over his lower lip in preparation to speak, but then Cassidy’s head pokes out from around the door.
“Uh, Jesse?”
“Huh?”
“We’re out of beer…”
“Cass, I told you gimme a damn minute!”
“M’sorry, I was just–”
“Fuck, get out of here!” he shouts, turning to glare at him. Cassidy immediately turns on his heel to leave, muttering under his breath.
“Seriously? What the fuck does he have that I don’t, huh?” she hisses at him.
“It’s not like that,” he mumbles, raising a hand to try to quiet her.
“Keep fuckin’ kidding yourself, I guess,” she snarls, and turns to leave. “See ya.”
“Tulip, wait!”
She wants to, badly, but she fights down the urge to turn around because she doesn’t want him to see her crumble.
“Shite, looks like yeh fucked that one up good, padre,” she hears Cassidy comment as she storms out of the church.
“Fuck off, Cassidy.”