A/N: Man it's been awhile! Sorry for the wait, but between a busy school schedule and particularly bad case of writers block this story sort of slipped into a rut. Anyway, I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who has left reviews, it's greatly appreciated and is definitely a motivator to write more (even if it may not seem like it). Just a side note to itsmyownlife, thank you so much for your critique :) I apologize profusely for absolutely butchering the French language, and should have mentioned that what I used in the previous chapter came from an internet translator, not exactly an ideal reference but since the only language besides English that I'm at all educated in is Latin, quite useful I know, it was the best I could do. As for all the other mistakes, well they are to be attributed simply to my own laziness and lack of an editor ;). Anyway, I'm glad you like the story and please continue to tell me what I can do to make it better. Enjoy this chapter, even if it's hardly worth the epically long wait.

Reason's POV

It was driving her insane. Conner, Conner, Conner… His name echoed in her mind, completely unfamiliar and yet the moment she had seen him approaching from the other side of the bar she had been sure she knew him from somewhere. She mused briefly that perhaps her memory issues stemmed from the drinks she'd consumed, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Instead she let herself again be distracted by the blaring music and flashing lights of the club, having found herself once more on the dance floor. The hot, sweating crowd seemed more overpowering than before, as if everyone and everything had sped up since she'd left. But rather than being overwhelmed by it all, Reason was kept easily gliding along to the music with Conner's help. His warm body was pressed against her back, and his strong hands gripped her hips, keeping her steady as they danced. Song after song rolled by, and though the two were surrounded by the shifting, grinding mob of bodies, Reason had little concern for anyone but herself and the young man with whom she danced. Conner...Conner…Conner… He seemed so familiar, the memory on the edge of her consciousness but just out of reach.

"Thirsty?" His voice was suddenly in her ear, his lips so close she could feel his breath on her skin. Turning in his arms so they were face to face, Reason smiled and nodded and allowed herself to be led out of the crowd. Her skin was glistening from sweat and her cheeks were a light pink from the heat of the crowd as Conner gently tugged her through the dancing mob, and then guided her onto a barstool.

"Careful," The young man warned with a chuckle as she swayed in her seat. Once more his warm hand came to rest on her lower back, keeping her balanced. Reason mused absently in her unfocused mind what sort of accent colored his pleasant voice. When he had first a approached her, greeting her in French, she had been sure was a Paris native; however when he switched to English for her benefit, hints of both an English and an American accent worked their way into his speech, leaving her questioning her first assumption. "Water good for you, love?" He asked politely enough, though it was clearly implied that he thought she'd had too much. Reason couldn't bring herself to take offense, knowing his assessment was correct.

"That'd be great." She responded, her speech not slurred but noticeably slower than normal. "So, Conner, where exactly are you from?" She asked after he had spoken with the bar tender.

"I travel a lot." He replied with a sort of smirk she couldn't explain. "Originally though, Great Britain. You?"

"I was raised mostly in South Africa, but I move around quite a bit nowadays too." She responded easily, taking the water from the bar tender when it arrived. "And what brings you to Paris? Work or play?"

"A little bit of both." He grinned slyly, leering a little closer so only a few inches separated the two. Despite the flirtatious nature of the action, Reason couldn't help but feel it was almost…predatory. There was something in the way his eyes seemed to catch her every move that caused her to hesitate for a moment. "You?" He asked.

"Tonight's my last night of play." She replied, pushing down her suspicions, a hint of suggestion in her voice.

"Sounds like I met you just in time." The sly grin remained in place on his handsome face, making clear his intentions mirrored her own. "If you'd like, my place isn't far from here…" He trailed off, sharp brown eyes gauging her response. Taking a deep drink from her water, Reason slid carefully from the barstool.

"Lead the way."

Griffin's POV:

It was easy. Almost too easy…but not quite. Suspicions still lurked as to whether or not she truly had failed to recognize him but they faded with each passing minute. After all, it was clear that she was plastered, so drunk it was almost pathetic. Almost, but not quite.

"Lead the way." She responded at last, as he'd hoped she would. Hell, he hadn't even dared to hope it would be so easy. His first plan had simply been to keep an eye on her, follow her when she left, and take whatever opportunity he got to take her down. But the more she drank, the more confidence he gained until he decided to chance confronting her in the club. Imagine his surprise when she greeted him as a stranger, and eventually invited him to dance. And then, less than an hour later, he'd convinced her to leave with him. Almost too easy.

"Right this way." He smiled, taking her hand and guiding the drunken girl to the club's exit. Fresh air assaulted them once they had escaped, a pleasant change from the smokey atmosphere of the club. It was almost four in the morning, and the crowds on the streets had dissolved to small, scattered groups. The pair walked at a leisurely place, Griffin informing his companion that it would only be a short walk to his place as he released her hand in order to place his arm around her waist. And though he told himself it was because it would make the jump smoother, he secretly found himself enjoying the warmth of another human being against him. He kept a close watch on the foot traffic, waiting for a good opportunity to jump, though finding excuses to prolong the walk.

"Hey, mind if I stop for a cigarette?" She questioned suddenly, emerging from the drunken stupor which had left her up until then content with silence.

"Not at all." He replied, though suddenly growing impatient with himself. Hurry up and jump you idiot, before you lose the chance. He thought harshly to himself, deciding to do it immediately once they resumed walking. Reason fished idly through her handbag until a cigarette and lighter were produced.

"I don't usually smoke," She excused, blushing slightly though her cheeks were already pink with intoxication. As she fumbled with the lighter, Griffin took the opportunity to study her more closely. Her eyes were a pale blue, almost silver as they caught the moonlight. For an instant her light complexion was warmed by the glow of the lighter, and the flame illuminated the natural, sunny highlights in her blonde hair. Her features were softer, more delicate than he remembered them, then he had portrayed in his drawing of her. As the flame vanished again, and her skin appeared almost to take on a silver shine, he found himself almost doubting that she was the paladin who'd had him on his knees barely a week before. She didn't look like a vicious, ruthless killer, but rather all too innocent, trusting and naïve with her pixie-like features drenched in the Paris moonlight. "Actually, I usually don't do any of this." She smiled nervously, taking a small drag from the cigarette and blowing it away without inhaling. The smoke curled away into the early morning air.

"And what do you mean by 'this' exactly?" He asked smoothly, trying his damnedest to suppress his own second thoughts. She fucking shot you! He thought with failing resolve.

"Getting hopelessly drunk, picking up strange, handsome English men at Paris night clubs and going back to their place at four in the morning." She chuckled a little, Griffin unable to tell if it was from nerves, embarrassment, or drunkenness.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't make a habit of taking home hopelessly drunk, beautiful South African girls either." He smiled a disarming smile, taking a step closer. She seemed to relax at this, unhurriedly finishing her cigarette, Griffin accepting a drag here and there when she offered. Once it had been put out and disposed of, Reason looked at him expectantly. "Are you sure you still want to come?" He asked, unsure where the question had come from. What if she said no? Did he actually intend to let her go?

"I just need to know one thing." She responded, seeming slightly more lucid than before.

"What's that, love?" Rather than receiving a response to his question, Griffin was surprised to abruptly feel her lips pressed firmly against his. Her hands clasped his shirt in gentle fists and pulled him to her while she'd gone up onto to her toes to connect their lips. It wasn't forceful or sloppy or aggressive as he might have expected, but rather soft and gentle. He found himself unable to break away from the pleasant kiss, unable to find a reason good enough in his bitter, untrusting mind to deprive himself of a few seconds of harmless pleasure. He could always kill her later. He found his hands grasping her hips with the same gentle firmness with which hers had taken hold of his shirt. The kiss continued with a sort of gentle desperation, a pleasant urgency that Griffin could only contribute to the isolated lives they both lived. The moment was a departure from the harsh reality of his life, an escape to normality. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Griffin had long before learned that pretending to be normal when he wasn't only ever led to someone getting hurt. Sometimes it had been him, but most of the time it was the people he cared for. Memories of E.V. and his pseudo-foster parents both brought him back from the comfortable fantasy of the kiss and, somehow, undermined his determination. Because while he had originally planned to very much hurt this girl he was kissing, something in his mind refused to allow him to soil the pretense with a bloody ending. His mind raced in the moment he broke away from the girl's- from Reason's soft lips: Her chosen profession. Her sadistic demeanor upon their first meeting. The look on her face when he broke her wrist. Her shooting him. Her nervous, almost cute, laughter. Her eyes in the moonlight. Her lips against his.

And with an angry, frustrated, violent shove he made his decision.

He jumped.

And left Reason, wide eyed, mouth partially open, staring at the empty space which he had previously occupied. Her fuzzy mind instantly was cleared by the sensation of the jump and the realization that her handsome, charming supposed-to-be one night stand was actually a Jumper. And not just any jumper as she remembered where she knew the young man from, but the infamous paladin-killer that had ample reason to want to not only kill her, but to do it slowly and painfully. And she stood there for a long time, thoughts in turmoil, thinking of the notorious jumper and how strangely nice it had felt to kiss him.