Title: "Broken Promises"
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, post-VA5
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Songfic. R, definitely. Some brief references to 
homosexuality, language. That's about it.
Status: New
Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note...
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels: FUCK THIS SEQUELED! There's going to be at least 
one more, damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!
Disclaimers: All parts of my fannish being are enriched by the 
presence of Kevin Smith, Jason Mewes, Jason Lee, Ben Affleck, and all 
the merry characters at View Askew Productions (including their 
current master, Miramax,) save for that pesky financial part of my 
being, which receives no compensation whatsoever for these tawdry 
little tales.
Notes: Having a rough time with the series set of "Silent" 
and "Barely Breathing". Can't seem to find a third song that goes 
with the other two. Looking through my back lyrics, I found 
diFranco's "Untouchable Face" and remembered how this was once a 
breakup song for me. Fuck, but it works.
Summary: Bob goes away for a bit after the return from Hollywood.
Warnings: Bob leaves, Jay with Justice, what else do you need? Make 
Bob cry again. Send him to a new bar. Jay being dementedly clueless 
in this one. Angst all around with extra helpings for the little 
ones.
Dedication: for .starla, that bastard, for making me work this 
hard. :> Dear little shit that you are.

"Broken Promises"
by Kelandris


*"think I'm going for a walk now
I feel a little unsteady
I don't want no one to follow me
except maybe you"*

"Babe, I gots *everything* you need right here..."

Jay lay back on the couch, grabbing his crotch rudely and moaning 
into the handset.

"When you gettin' out, tell me tell me tell me...I'm *dyin'*, here!"

Bob looked up from his book finally, his eyes narrowing. Justice 
again. Fucking...Justice. He swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly 
tender, and tapped the blond's outstretched foot with his book. Jay 
looked up, irritated.

"What the fuck you want, fat ass? What, you gonna blow me while I 
tell her how long an' strong I'ma bone `er when she gets out? 
Fuckin' fag..." His attention turned back to the girl on the other 
end of the line.

"Yeah, baby, you *know* that shit, you know I gots the stuff for 
you..." He cradled the phone like it was her flesh, and Bob shook 
his head, standing up.

Blinking, the larger man walked to his room, carefully putting the 
book away on his shelves with hands that only slightly trembled. The 
knot in his throat meant they'd be trembling more soon, and he wanted 
so badly to break down and cry.

But not here. Not here. Not after what Jay had said.

*"I could make you happy, you know
if you weren't already
I could do a lot of things
and I do"*

It was a work of a moment to walk out the door. His hands were 
empty, swinging at his sides, and Jay looked up only as he was 
closing the door.

"Hey bitch," he yelled, "where the fuck *you*--"

And Bob closed the door, cutting off the rest of it. Cutting off all 
of it. Walking downstairs.

It took a moment for him to breathe, and decide where to go next. He 
had no hopes of Jay pounding down the stairs after him. He checked 
his watch, nodded, and walked to the bus stop. Two minutes later, 
right on schedule, the bus arrived five minutes late. Bob got on, 
paid his fare, started to walk to the back and stopped as if punched 
halfway down the aisle. Avoiding the glances of the other passengers 
he swung into a bench in the middle row of seats. Shit. He couldn't 
even sit on a goddamned bus without thinking of Jay.

He leaned his head against the steel railing for a moment, hands 
clenched around its smooth and tubular surface. What now, what now, 
was the phrase beating inside his head. What now.

What now?

Bar, he thought. Bar we don't normally go to. Bar I don't normally 
go to.

When he reached the Red Bank terminal, he switched to a rural line, 
and rode it until he saw something come up on the left. Scabby, 
patchy grass surrounded it in tattered fields, and rusted cars of all 
descriptions filled the small parking lot. He pulled the cord, 
getting off, and strolled quietly in.

"Bourbon," he said to the bartender, before he had a chance to look 
around. "Three inches." He flipped a ten on the table, watched as 
it disappeared, and nodded once, carefully.

"If you say," the bartender said. He had a definite English accent 
and Bob's eyebrows went up. The man just shrugged, smiling, and 
walked off down the bar to help another patron.

*"tell you the truth I prefer the worst of you
too bad you had to have a better half
she's not really my type 
but I think you two are forever
and I hate to say it but you're perfect together"*

He drained half the liquid in the old-fashioned glass, letting it 
burn its way down his throat�*damn,* next time he'd name a *brand*!�
and looked around the bar. It was dim, it was smoky, it was full of 
men who looked like they just finished harvesting the fall wheat 
crop, or just drove back in from the city and the docks. A lot of 
his family were dock workers. He could fit in. Shit, he might 
actually know some of these guys.

All save for the one in the back, cursing at the video game he was 
losing. It was the only video game in the place, and he absently 
flipped his long, blond hair out of his eyes.

"Fuckin'--" he heard a man say. The rough, guttural Jersey twang 
washed over him and he nearly smiled. He lost all pretense of a good 
mood when the man gestured angrily towards the gamer.

"C'mon, Jay, you're fuckin' up!"

The blond turned. His face was lean and careworn. A small scar 
nicked the skin just below his right eye. It wasn't his Jay. 
Absently he tucked his hair back, and strolled to the pool tables in 
the back room.

Bob watched him go by, smiling politely when the man looked over, 
catching his eye.

**Okay. Calm down. Breathe.**

He could breathe again, but only shallowly. It wasn't his Jay, but 
the resemblance stabbed his heart. He gestured the bartender forward 
again.

*"so fuck you
and your untouchable face
fuck you
for existing in the first place
and who am I 
that I should be vying for your touch
who am I 
bet you can't even tell me that much"*

After the next glass, he walked over to the pool tables. There 
weren't any free, so he set a pile of quarters carefully on the table 
the man named Jay and the other man were using. He watched as they 
bantered their way through a game, Jay winning. He looked over when 
Bob stepped out of the shadows. He glanced back at the man behind 
him, unaccountably looking nervous.

"Uh, yeah," he said, swallowing. "Sure. C'mon."

Bob shook his head. What the hell was it now? But he picked out a 
cue, chalking the end reflectively, and took the first shot. Balls 
clinked together out of the triangular pattern, 8 hitting 13 hitting 
2. A solid yellow ball thunked into the right corner pocket.

"Solids," he said softly.

"Yeah," said Jay, just as softly. And they began to play, quietly 
and earnestly, while half the bar looked on.

*"2:30 in the morning 
my gas tank will be empty soon
neon sign on the horizon 
rubbing elbows with the moon
safe haven of the sleepless
where the deep fryer's always on
radio is counting down the top 20 country songs"*

It had been a long night. Hard and steady drinking. He'd actually 
enjoyed himself playing pool, trading games with the rough-voiced man 
and his blond companion. After they relaxed, it had been nearly fun.

Men drifted in and out of his perspective, some speaking Russian, 
some speaking Italian, some just mumbling in some dialect he could 
not understand. He kept his attention on the tables, and the bourbon.

"Y'know," the bartender said once, pouring another round, "it might 
be cheaper if you just bought a bottle and went home."

Bob looked up, drunk enough to be truthful. Drunk enough to speak 
that truth.

"True," he said, "but I don't have half this ambience at my house." 
They both looked around at the flyspecked posters on the walls, the 
hacked surfaces of the heavy wood tables, the mirror behind the 
bartender that seemed to reflect only smoke and distortion.

Unbelievably, the bartender chuckled. The sleeves of his grey shirt 
were pushed up over his elbows, and he wore a once-white apron tied 
at his waist. He shook his head, his bald pate gleaming under the 
neon glow of beer signs behind the bar.

"Never let it be said I let any Rus footsoldier drink himself under 
the bar here, though. Last drink, boyo. And then you go home. I'll 
call you a cab."

Bob shook his head, standing slowly to his feet, and the bartender 
sliced the air in front of him.

"I mean it. You're done after that glass." Then he leaned in.

"You don't want me to actually say a name in this bar, do you? Think 
just because we're out in the sedge we're idiots? "

Bob blinked slowly, shaking his head.

**Da, you'd be so fuckin' proud. People in the strip are scared of 
you. You've made it.**

Fucker.

*"out on the porch the fly strip is
waving like a flag in the wind
you know I really don't look forward
to seeing you again"*

He waited outside, the moon bright on his face, listening to the 
sounds of heavy trucks one road back, and the whisper of the grass 
moving. The bar wasn't close to closing, but with the cab coming, 
and the drinking over, there hadn't been much point. And he was 
still sober enough to stand, damn it.

The problem was...He sighed, tapping out a cigarette, lighting it 
with a practiced, even move. The problem was, Jay had promised him 
something. And he'd broken that promise tonight. Because of Justice.

Long ago, near the beginning of their sleeping together, he'd asked 
Jay to promise him that, whatever he said in the world outside, in 
their home, in their apartment, he wouldn't make the gay jokes. 

"I can take sleeping with you a lot better if you aren't calling me a 
fag 24/7," he'd said softly. And Jay had hugged him, and kissed him, 
and promised him.

And he'd broken that promise without a single backwards glance, for 
Justice. Just to impress a girl. Just to impress a girl he hadn't 
even had once.

Bob swallowed, grimacing. The knot that closed his throat was back, 
just from remembering. He saw the headlights of the cab approaching, 
watched as it pulled to a stop in front of the bar, and fought to get 
himself back under control.

By the time the cabbie asked for his address, his voice barely 
trembled.

*"you look like a photograph of yourself
taken from far far away 
I won't know what to do
I won't know what to say"*

And when he got out of the car, Jay was waiting on the bottom step. 
He looked angry.

**This should be interesting.**

Slowly, he got out of the cab, tossed him some folded bills, and 
walked towards the apartment.

"Bitch, where the fuck you been? I been callin' half of Jersey 
lookin' for your sorry ass, and you, you, what, you go off and get 
laid or some shit, you wouldn't think I worried or nothin'? You 
think you can just waltz fuckin' off any time you damn well feel like 
it--"

Bob considered responses carefully, chose the most appropriate one, 
and whispered it onto the wind.

"Fuck you, Jay."

Then he walked past the poleaxed blond and rose slowly to the level 
of their apartment, climbing the stairs with serious intent. It was 
all of five full seconds before Jay whirled, pounding up the stairs 
behind him.

"What the fuck you on, man, tellin' *me* fuck you? Fuck *you*, man, 
leavin' me and makin' me all worried an' shit! You got any fuckin' 
idea what time it is? You got any idea what--"

The tirade continued as he walked into the house, slowly took off his 
black coat, slowly hung it up. He ignored most of it, until finally 
the buzz of Jay's voice in his ears got to be annoying. Then he 
turned, still slow, and grabbed Jay's collar, fisting it in his hands 
and pulling him forward.

"Do you," he asked softly, "remember what you said to Justice?"

"Bob--kinda--hard ta breathe here--" His eyes bugged out a little, 
and Bob stared at him. Sighing, he released him, walking to the 
couch.

He folded his arms, staring at the clueless blond.

"Do you remember?" he repeated.

Jay just blinked, rubbing his throat.

*"except fuck you
and your untouchable face
fuck you
for existing in the first place
and who am I 
that I should be vying for your touch
who am I 
bet you can't even tell me that much"*

"Tol' her I love her," he finally said, looking puzzled. "Joked 
around with her a bit. Ya know, where she is sucks, so I try an' 
make it a little better for her in there...Shit, man, I'd go fuckin' 
nuts if I was trapped inna cage every day--"

"So, nothing then. You don't remember calling me a fag."

"Callin' you a--" And then, like tubes slowly warming in pre-amps, 
he watched comprehension flood Jay's changeable eyes. Figures. The 
boy gets this *now*. Not when he said it, when it really would have 
mattered. Gets it *now*, when...there's nothing...he could say--

And then, for the first time that night, Bob was crying. Just like 
that. Shit. Shit and fucking shit again. He rose carefully, 
turning away, walking to his room.

But not fast enough. Never fucking fast enough. 

*"see you and I'm so perplexed
what was I thinking
what will I think of next
where can I hide"*

Jay's arms wrapped around him and he tensed. Jay's arms dropped as 
if burned, and he didn't turn around.

**God, Jay, just get it. Just fucking get it and get the fuck away.**

"'m sorry," came the small voice behind him.

**Shit you are.**

Aloud, Bob only swallowed, trying to clear room in his throat for a 
voice.

"You promised."

"I, I know, and I'm sorry, man, it was, it was just, BooBoo an' all, 
an' I ain't tol' her yet, and it was...just..."

Bob clenched his fists, gritting his teeth even as the tears poured 
down his face.

"You...fucking...*promised*!" he nearly yelled, and then stalked into 
his room. He slammed the door behind him, laying on the bed face-
down, his memory caught in pained recollection: images of Jay, his 
eyes closed, his head thrown back, and the feel of him, hard on Bob's 
tongue. Feeling of Jay's hair slipping over his bare skin. Hearing 
Jay moan his name.

Fuck. This was *torture*. And then Jay opened the door.

*"in the back room there's a lamp
that hangs over the pool table
and when the fan is on it swings
gently side to side
there's a changing constellation
of balls as we are playing
I see Orion and say nothing"*

"Bob?"

He reached out, grabbed the pillow, pressing his face into it. All 
night long he'd been fine, and now he had to break down, cry like a 
little kid, in front of the one fucking person he did *not* want to 
cry in front of...Shit. This was just...shit.

**But you always cry when your heart is broken.**

**Shut up,** he told himself, clutching the pillow tighter. The bed 
sagged with the additional weight of the blond. He felt Jay reach 
out, touch his hair lightly, and he shivered.

**Go away. Go away, go away, go away.**

And finally, Jay did.

*"the only thing I can think of saying 
is fuck you
and your untouchable face
fuck you
for existing in the first place
and who am I 
that I should be vying for your touch
who am I 
bet you can't even tell me that much"*

END
(Song is "Untouchable Face" by Ani diFranco)
*****
Kelandris the Mad
no holes barred for my endless fall (chocolate genius)