Title: Hopeless And Devoted (2/?) Author: Flameboi Pairing: J/SB (who else?) Rating: R at the moment, language and angst, NC-17 in the future Archive: Yes! Feedback: Please Disclaimer: Own nothing, all Kevin Smith's and Miramax's. Summary: Part one of a 'Jay realizes shit' fic.. Read :) Setting: Sometime after `Dogma' Thanks for the feedback on part 1! More to come... --------------------------------------------------------------------- Hopeless And Devoted The hospital was a nightmare for Jay- Bob of course was in emergency surgery, and Jay could see doctors, nurses, orderlies, hurrying in and out, but know one could, or would, tell him anything beyond, 'we're doing everything we can', which just sounded fucking ominous; Jay filled out paper work, listing himself as next of kin, lying to say he was Bob's half brother, and figured he had about one more time of being told to wait before he exploded and started beating someone with an orange plastic chair. Dante and Randall tried to be helpful, at least at first, then Randall started in on Jay, saying he might as well have expected this, doing what he did and all, and then Jay did go off, yelling curses and nearly jumping on Randall except that he was restrained by security, while Dante dragged Randall off; they drove away. After that, a cute candystriper teenager offered to get Jay coffee; ignoring the fact that he didn't much like coffee, not feeling inspired to commentary by the outline of the girl's ass, Jay just nodded a few times, and found himself with a styrofoam cup in hand sometime thereafter, not realizing until after the first few gulps that he'd just boiled the inside of his mouth- he barely felt it. "Fuck," he muttered, then immediately felt a huge wave of guilt, because Bob was in that room being cut on, and it was Jay's fault, like Randall said, and here he was bitching about a burned tongue. Jay gulped down the rest of the hot sludge, as if torturing himself in such a tiny way was going to make Bob suffer any less. Jay pestered the nurse at the desk, who remained polite but about as helpful as tits on a duck, paced, toked up in a bathroom, punched the wall in said bathroom until he almost needed medical care himself, answered more questions from the cops who came to ask them, paced some more, pestered the nurse some more, and generally felt he was losing his grip, as the minutes stretched into hours into eternity in hell. Then Jay found the hospital chapel and prayed, really prayed, after all, its not like he had any doubts anymore about the existence of God- She'd kissed him, hadn't She. Jay promised everything, anything, and basically just begged for Bob to live. The doctor in charge of Bob's case found him there, and asked for a word; right then, if it had been a requirement, Jay would have given him head. Or a pound of flesh. Whatever. The ER surgeon, Dr. Gladstone of all the names to ordinarily make Jay snicker, though, seemed guarded, though not grim- Bob was alive, and he was stable for the moment, though he was still listed in very critical condition, and unconscious. Jay wanted to see him, and the doc demurred at first, then, seeing how important it was to Jay, agreed he could go in for just a minute. Jay walked like there were eggshells under his feet, though it struck him seeing Bob in the hospital bed, so damn pale, bruised, with a ventilator, it occurred to Jay that an explosion probably wouldn't wake Bob right now- that thought did not help, and Jay found himself touching Bob's hand, the thick, strong fingers, now limp beyond the tape and IV feeds, voice choked, "You listen to me, Lunchbox, you're gonna be okay, I fuckin swear, you just get better and get your tubby ass outta that bed, fuck, man, I can't do this shit without you." Bob's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly up at the corners, but his eyes stayed closed, and a moment later Jay was being ushered out of the room. Despite what the nurses and Dr. Gladstone suggested, Jay wasn't going home and going to bed, there was no way he could sleep, anyhow, and so he just hauled his butt to one of the orange chairs, and slumped. Jay did remember to thank Her silently in his thoughts, in the moment just before his eyes closed and he fell asleep sitting there, Bob's face imprinted behind his eyes as unconsciousness stole him away. In his sleep, Jay muttered something with the words 'Bob' and 'love' in it, but no one heard, not even Jay. No one, except a heavily drugged Bob, who dreamed for a morphine induced moment, a flicker of pale blonde hair and angry intense eyes: Bob's only definition of love.