Title: Bob; sequel to Banky (1of 2)
Author: Gypsy
Pairing: Jay's unrequited love for Silent Bob, Banky's heartbreak over Holden.
Rating: R (naughty words)
Archive: If you want it, you can have it. Just tell me where you're gonna put
it first.
E-mail :gypsy_gray@msn.com 
Series/Sequel: This is the fourth story in a series. I don't have a tile yet.
Help me think of one.
Disclaimers: They're not mine, but I really wish they were. I'm not getting any
money for this. I am however getting tingly when I think about how this is
going to end.
Notes: See the end of the first story in this series if you want to be spoiled
for the rest of the series.
Summary: Bob states his feelings about the new living arrangement.
Warnings: Angst, UST, Spoilers (for all the movies), A complete disrespect for
canon established in the cartoons or the comics.
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The phone ringing was annoying...and never ending. Jay lifted an uncombed
mass of hair out of his eyes with his cast covered hand. The phone wasn't
beside his bed. It took a minute to work up the energy to frown, and by the
time he had the phone was quiet. A familiar voice drifted in from the other
room and Jay remembered where he was.

Banky's. One night in the hospital was more then enough for him and the
staff. Bob hadn't come back until a few minutes before he was released. Just in
time to hear the doctor telling Banky to make sure that Jay didn't get his cast
wet while he was staying with him. Bob had frowned and looked directly at Jay.
But he couldn't bring himself to look at Bob. He knew what he would see.
Bewilderment and hurt. And seeing those things would make him feel guilty. And
then he would get pissed off, cause why should he feel bad about Bob when he
was dying inside?

"Hey, you want something to eat?"

"Bleah."

"Nice to see you're still a morning person. Come on man it's gettin'
cold."

Untangling himself from the sheets was familiar even if the sheets
themselves weren't. Shuffle to the bathroom, piss one-handed, shuffle to the
kitchen and drop into a chair. He managed to grunt something like a thank you
when Banky gave him an omelet. And he was relieved as hell when he was able to
manipulate it from the plate to the fork and into his mouth without help. 

"Who was on the phone?"

"Hooper. I'm filling in for him at a club tonight."

"Doin' what?"

"Bar, it's strictly a bottle beer, draft beer situation. No skill
and/or brains required."

"Want some company?"

"Sure, you can decorate a stool."

Jay watched Banky clear the table and do the dishes. Then he watched him
duct tape a garbage bag around the bright orange cast (and what the fuck drugs
had they put him on to make him pick out that color?) so he could take a
shower. Stripped and standing under a blast of water as hot as he could stand
it, Jay couldn't stop his brain anymore. It drifted away from him like always.
Returning to the same place every fucking time...Bob.

Only today there were things his mind normally avoided. Bob risking his
life fighting insane Angels, Bob's shocked (disgusted?) face when Rufus had
revealed that he thought about guys when he jacked off, Bob covered in
Bethany's blood... And no. Oh please, sweet, holy fuck no...what if Bob got
hurt? What if while he was here playing the broken hearted pussy, Bob got
hurt!? Shot!? Stabbed!? Beaten up by some asshole out to make a rep by taking
on The Silent Bob!?! That was rare, but it did happen. And Bob was a badass,
but he was human. And what if he was somewhere right now bleeding and in pain
and nobody was there to help him cause he was too busy crying in Banky's shower?

"Fuck!!"

"Jay?"

Banky was strong and warm and Jay suddenly realized that the water was ice
cold and he was crying. On his knees in the shower and Banky was holding him
and getting soaking wet. 

"Gotta go. I gotta go home Bank. I gotta."

"Shh, I know. I know. It's okay.

"Don't wanna, gotta."

"I know. You made it longer then I figured. I was sure you wouldn't
make it through the night."

And he opens his mouth to say something, not sure what. But there's noise
in the room and he looks up. Fuck how it must look. Him naked and wet and
wrapped around Banky like he was some kind of snake. And Banky in jeans and no
shirt, and hold him close to his chest while hot water pelted them both. And
Bob is standing in the door and he looks so fucking pissed. And Jay just has
time to realize that Bob hasn't heard what they were saying. Then he can't see
or hear anything anymore.

The bed is lumpy. And it smells like cigarettes and pot. Nothing unusual
about that. But the bed is moving. That's not unusual either. Only generally
the bed spins and rolls, this time the bed seems to be...climbing steps. 

Jay fights a fog of pain, percadin, and exhaustion to get his brain back
under control. His mouth tastes like a dirty ash tray and his eyes are burning.
And his hand. Sweet Holy Fuck!!! His hand is singing choruses of pain up his
arm and into his clenched jaw and throbbing skull. And when h's aware enough to
feel the pain his brain also informs him that he is being carried up the stairs
by Bob. They are in the stairwell of their apartment building and Banky is
following them. Lifting his head off Bob's shoulder to look at Banky is like
swimming in quicksand full of razor blades, but when he finally gets a look at
him, the cartoonist is wearing a black eye and a busted lip. 

"Bastard." His voice is an old man croak, but Bob hears him. He can't
see the face looming over him. He can see the tilt of the head and sense the
raised eyebrow. "You hurt Banky." And how fucking childish soes that sound? But
Banky is a good friend. And he's been hurt too much already. 

He's being lowered to the couch gently before he even realizes they've
stopped climbing. Bob fusses over him and he knows Banky's watching and
smirking. There's a whispered conversation, and he wishes his head was clear so
he could hear Bob's voice. He tries to sit up, but his partner's in full on
mother mode. He's gonna end up carried to Bob's bed. So he lies back and
wonders if Bob finds it odd that he never minds being sick. 

tbc