Title: Dancing with Myself
Author: J'Kitty (Hah! Thought you'd be rid of me!)
Disclaimer: All characters originally belong to Kevin Smith, as well as 
the rights, useage, yadda, whatever, I'm getting no money anyway.
Series: Well. I might be seriously mangled if I don't finish the 
story... so I'll say yeah. But not promising any set number.
Feedback: jabinkle@unity.ncsu.edu
Warning: Hmm. Few bad words, so that gets a R rating, but no horizontal 
dancing, so that guys a G rating. Confusability factor: 5 stars, you'll 
feel like your mind has given up life.
Archive: If you must. :)
Notes: Well. I haven't quite got the words to describe 
this. Paranoid-Bob I guess? I really didn't have any intentions of 
writing it, but it presented itself and said, "Write me!" This is 
basically exposition (although I forthrew in a fight scene for Starla).

~~~

He'd known for a while. It took a while for the realization to hit 
him. However, when it did, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Had he known 
Jay a little less well, or had Jay not trusted him quite so much, he didn't 
think he would ever have known.

Jay was acting. And he was good at it.

When he first consciously realized it, they'd been in a club, 
somewhere. He couldn't remember its name. Some Italian sounding 
word. Anyway, they were there for pleasure. At least, Jay was. Bob took 
his job very seriously. When Jay was with him, he didn't just let go.

So he was quietly chain-smoking in a dark corner of the club, watching Jay 
dance with chicks. Life wasn't too bad. He was nursing a couple of 
shots. Nothing serious-- certainly not enough to get him drunk. He 
checked the exits every half hour or so, scanned the faces in the crowd for 
one that'd set off his memory, and nodded his head to the music. Watching 
Jay dance, he'd noticed something strange. Jay was checking out the exits.

He would've put it off as some part of the dance, or just Jay's random 
spastic nature, but Jay was definitely checking the exits. Including the 
one in the back. And he was doing crowd sweeps. Why would Jay be doing 
these things? That's when Jay noticed him noticing. After that, he 
stopped checking the exits.

Only muscle, and people in the "person protection industry" as other Muscle 
sometimes referred to themselves, would be doing such a thing in a 
club. Well, muscle and fugitives. Jay was doing a muscle's job. And he 
wasn't doing it in a way that was to make Bob seem inept. It literally 
seemed as though Jay couldn't help himself.

Had Jay continued as usual, he could've attributed his strange behavior to 
one of his flights of fancy. Hell, he could remember an entire day when 
Jay had insisted that they refer to the toaster as "her". But when his 
long-time partner did something on whim, he stuck with it. If it was 
noticed, he didn't drop his inanity.

Bob stared at the glass in front of him, and sipped some of his liquor, 
gingerly. His mind had this piece of information, and was turning 
it. Like a puzzle piece. Then it clicked. He'd seen Jay acting like this 
before.

~~~

The first time, they were in a fight. Well, not precisely a fight. The 
word "fight" implies that both parties are participating in the 
aggression. The vernacular would refer to it as "being jumped". There 
were a lot of them. And Bob himself was being punked out pretty 
badly. Not that he was worried. These guys he'd seen before. He knew 
they'd be roughed up and then left. No serious damage, just a little 
tenderizing.

Actually, Bob couldn't remember a time when they'd been _seriously_ 
attacked. Jay was a likable little fuck. His ineffability protected him 
well. Even other dealers liked him. Any beatings were "strictly business".

Anyway, a couple of these thugs were beating Bob. He figured struggling 
would be counterproductive at this point. They were obviously 
outnumbered. And rolling with punches was a talent that he had plenty of.

So in the middle of this business meeting, he looked up, expecting to see 
Jay already lying on the ground. What was the saying? _If you assume 
things, you make an ass out of u and me both?_

There were three guys around Jay. He was momentarily panicked. Then he 
realized that Jay was quite expertly beating all three of them 
shitless. Like some sort of damn Xena, he was calmly and methodically 
beating them within an inch of their life. He was even using a trashcan lid.

This wasn't the normal panicked-Jay fighting either. Jay wasn't 
panicked. Jay knew exactly what he was doing. His movements were fluid 
and sure. Can lid to the first one's face, elbow into the stomach of the 
second, knee to the third. It was like some sort of bizarre ballet. Then, 
it was over. Jay dropped all three of them, almost as a second thought.

Afterwards, he'd methodically started in on Bob's two guys. Bob himself 
was dropped to the pavement (face first, he noted annoyedly). However, it 
didn't sound as if Jay-kie Chan was having much trouble with the remaining two.

When Jay had noticed him noticing, he'd quickly taken a few punches, and 
was dropped. The guys had gone their own way, and they'd both gone 
home. Silent Bob had, true to his moniker, had said nothing. Truly, 
hadn't thought anything about it. Occasionally people would just sort of 
wail on other people. Yes, his mind explained it perfectly. It just sort 
of randomly happened. And Jay had never again displayed such proficiency 
at fighting.

Then again, they'd never again been losing that badly.

The second time this non-Jay behavior had surfaced, it was perhaps even 
more bizarre. Jay had been sick all week. Nothing serious, just a stuffed 
up head. He'd refused to let the boy deal. So he'd been going out every 
day. Out on the streets at ten in the morning, back into the apartment 
around nine at night. And he'd been doing pretty good that day. He 
decided to come back in early. At four in the afternoon, he eased the 
doorway open and tiptoed in, afraid of waking Jay.

The place was quiet, except for a quiet sound in Jay's room. Sounded like 
music. He figured Jay must have a movie on. When he peeked in the door, 
he stood, aghast.

Classical music was playing and Jay had a book in his lap. Mozart's 
Moonlight Sonata, if he heard correctly. His brain twitched 
painfully. _Jay, Clasical, and Book. Three words which were not mean to 
go into a sentence. Well. No sentence except, "Jay does not like 
classical music and books."_

He tiptoed across the room and peeked into Jay's closet. The back wall was 
lined with books. Good books. J.R.R. Tolkien, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Anne 
Rice, Tennyson, McGaffrey, even some Shakespeare. For a moment, Bob felt 
as though his entire sphere of existence had imploded on itself. A quiet 
noise, and he turned around. Jay was watching him. Bob shrugged and 
walked away.

A week later, when he'd come back into the room, the bookshelf was gone 
from the back of the closet. And all the CDs in the room were punk rock, 
rap, and heavy metal.

~~~

So sitting in this club, in this time in place, the pieces finally fit 
together. The whole picture was revealed. Jay was acting. Jay was acting 
like he was bad at fighting, non-literate, and carefree. The bigger 
question was why. Bob was going to find some answers.

Bob raised an eyebrow at Jay and nodded towards the back. A quick jerk of 
Jay's head relayed that he understood. Bob headed towards the back of the 
club (where the bathroom was convieniently located) and noticed a couple of 
other dealers. They were known around the place as being long 
lived. Around longer than he and Jay, which was really all that mattered.

The one known only as Pink was concluding a deal. Bob stared at him 
pointedly. Pink glanced up, nodded, and finished his deal. He sauntered 
over to Bob and quirked an eyebrow, "You guys running that low, you've 
gotta buy from me?" Bob shook his head.

"I need some answers."

Pink seemed startled to hear him talk, but nodded. "Ask the questions. If 
they're not ones that'll get me arrested, I'll fill ya in."

"What did Jay do before Leonardo?"

Pink nodded as though he was confirming something to himself. He glanced 
back out towards the throng of bodies dancing on the floor, and slouched 
against the wall. "Jay dealt. But not here. Jay worked the big 
cities. He was one of the top suppliers."

"Why'd he quit?"

There was a pause. "Nobody really knows. He took a summer off to visit 
his family, here in Leonardo. And afterwards, just sort of announced that 
he'd be staying. Everyone was happy to let him. He had the rep for being 
an honest guy, and not the type of send thugs in to whack people." Pink 
paused for a moment and continued, "Not that he ever needed any. Jay used 
to be his own muscle."

Bob's eyebrows were nearly in his hairline.

"Yep. You heard me. Even in the city where everyone has a knife. He was 
tough, too. Nobody sent less than five guys after him at once."

He nodded absentmindedly and began to wander off. Pink watched him go and 
wondered what'd brought on all the talking.

Bob stalked back over to his table and resumed his glass of... whatever that 
was. He couldn't remembered what he'd ordered. The picture was getting a 
lot more clearer.

He'd met Jay a few years ago, in the summer. They'd both been at a local 
punk band festival. They hadn't even spoken. But when he'd taken his seat 
next to Jay, something had just kinda clicked. They went from being Jay 
and Silent Bob to being JayandSilentBob. One entity. Jay had seemed to 
pick up on this too. After a couple of weeks of hanging out with each 
other, Jay had asked if he wanted to be his Muscle.

Bob had shrugged and assumed his place next to Jay.

Why had Jay been living this lie for nearly six years now. Why? He didn't 
need Bob. Bob was good at fighting, but apparently, Jay was better. Bob 
listened to punk rock and loud music, while apparently Jay liked classical 
music. Jay read, Bob watched movies. There was no need for Bob in Jay's life.

Which lead his mind to perhaps an even stranger conclusion. Jay didn't 
need him. But maybe Jay wanted him. He glanced out at the dance 
floor. Jay grinned at him. Bob chugged the remnants of his drink and lit 
another cigarette. The puzzle pieces were starting to fit now. Jay had 
changed to adapt to Bob.

Jay had obviously seen their pairing as some sort of destiny. And had 
enough trust in that to give up his entire business, move to a little town 
in Leonardo, and play the weakling stoner. It was almost as if...

Jay was afraid that Bob would leave him if he wasn't needed.

Once he realized it, it seemed absurd to think otherwise. It should've 
been obvious to him. Everyone else seemed to know it. Now, the 
dilemma. What to do? Should he confront Jay?

He knew Jay hated to guilt people into staying with him. Jay had lost 
plenty of girlfriends that way. His inability to go for the weakness. Jay 
wanted to think that people wanted him for his own virtues.

And Bob did.

When Jay took a dancing break, covered in sweat and looking ragged from his 
exertions, Bob stared at him. "I know."

Jay went pale. He looked at Bob, and then walked over to the bar. Bob saw 
the bartender hand him a pint. From across the room, he watched as Jay 
looked at him, uncapped the pint, and chugged nearly the entire thing.

"At least he's taking it well," thought Bob, sardonically, and sighed. It 
was going to get interesting in about a half hour.

~~~To be continued...~~~