Title: Irresolute
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse AU from "Dangerous Territory" on
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: R for language. Songfic.
Status: New
Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note...
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels: Sequels "Somewhat Damaged", which sequels "Ten 
Minutes over the Line", which sequels "Dangerous Intentions", which 
sequels "Dangerous Territory", which lives in the house which Jack 
built. And yes, the horror continues, there's another friggin' story 
in this endless cycle.
Disclaimer: Nobody makes money off this but the people who deserve 
to. Hopefully that's still mostly Kevin Smith, Jason Mewes and View 
Askew Productions.
Notes: Jay on Special K is fun. Bob is not so much fun in this one.
Summary: Bob gets to star in the Jersey version of The English 
Patient.
Warnings: More in the vein of PAIN. Still bad for brains to read. 
Warning you now. Talkative Bob; Psycho Jay; and no resolution. 
Serves me right for naming a story with the word that's the heart and 
soul of indecision.

"Irresolute"
by Kelandris

*as black as the night can get
everything is safer now
there's always a way to forget
once you learn to find a way how*

"Stupid fool," Bob whispered. "Stupid, stupid fool."

Trish locked eyes with him in the rearview mirror, shaking her 
head. "You said it, not me. Have *any* idea what he might be on?"

Bob just shook his head. He looked down and Jay's eyes were moving 
underneath the lids, which were an odd shade of dusty rose-blue. He 
knew Jay wasn't wearing makeup; whatever he'd taken had made him 
slightly cyanotic. He had no way of knowing for how long, but he 
couldn't worry about that now. They'd know more once Trish got them 
home.

"He's breathing, right?"

Bob nodded.

Trish clicked, scanning the traffic ahead. "Junkie Jay strikes 
again," she murmured, and Bob's head shot up. He started to shake 
his head, then looked down. He fought the words that wanted to spill 
out, but that didn't stop him from hearing them.

**Don't you call him a junkie, he's off that shit,** his mind 
snarled. And **You don't know what he's been through, you don't know 
what drives him.** Which depressed him; outside of a few comments 
now and again, some stray white noise he'd picked up on occasion, 
*he* didn't know everything about Jay's past. It had been bad, he 
knew that. He and Jay had been on-again, off-again friends since 
they were very young, but the more they aged, the more they seemed to 
move apart.

Somewhere between Bob's discovery of how bad it *really* was at Jay's 
house, and Jay discovering that the way he grew up was *not* the way 
Bob had, Jay had snapped. When he was thirteen, fourteen, he'd 
split, and it had taken Bob years to track him down. It had finally 
taken a New York trip--the East Coast semi-finals for that year's 
Science Fair--to dig him up from where he'd gone.

Jay had been eighteen then, Bob twenty-two, and a Mentor for the 
Fair. Oddly enough, it hadn't been far from the Fair that a skinny 
pale kid, hair tied back off his face, had tried to take one of his 
group home, and he'd turned, and his shocked eyes had locked with 
Jay's. The blond had given a startled yelp, turned to run, and Bob 
had taken off after him.

It was a struggle. There'd been a fight in a back alley, that had 
nearly gotten them both arrested, but finally, Bob succeeded in 
pulling Jay back to the hotel. Warmth and food and hot water seemed 
to derange the boy, and he'd thrown himself at Bob with an utter 
contempt and despair. Bob had turned him down. Back then, he 
reflected sourly, he hadn't been interested.

Besides which, it was just a survival thing. He tried not to sleep 
with people he didn't at least feel something for. Jay was... Jay had 
always been the `fuck first, ask questions later' type. 

And it wasn't that he *didn't* feel something for Jay, even back 
then. But Jay was so... it was like he expected the world to rape him, 
and wasn't satisfied until they made the attempt. Like all the 
fights he got into; a good 80% were him goading people on, because it 
seemed he didn't have a point of reference for people who *didn't* 
hit. Sometimes, he wondered, if that wasn't exactly why he stayed 
with Bob--because Bob had a known violent streak. Just like a lot of 
the men in his family, one reason why so many of his uncles worked in 
various protection rackets. 

Like him, he supposed, only his employer was a foul-mouthed, fuck-
anything, thorn-covered tripping menace. Former boy whore on 
special. Toy for the highest bidder. Punching bag for everyone 
including his mom, and most of the time, she'd been too high to see 
straight. Hit him anyway. Everyone did. 

He repressed a sigh, repressed another urge to stroke Jay's hair, 
remembering back to when the boy had left. He'd watched him leave, 
feeling more enraged with Jay than he'd ever been in his life. More 
for what had happened previously than for that last parting salvo, 
but his parrying return had been accurate, as well. He knew 
*exactly* where Jay had been. Gone over to Highlands, most likely, 
wandered through the bars for a couple shots, a couple chair-tossing 
contests to vent some of that deep-seated rage, then off to Dylan's 
place for a skin-pop and some nifty convulsions. 

*in the blur of serenity
where did everything get lost?
the flowers of naivete
buried in a layer of frost*

He was 90% sure the convulsions were an unintended side effect, but 
having heard Jay speak of Dylan (and his feral little bodyguard) he 
might have added something just for that. Bob would never be sure, 
because he was going to take Jay home and pound some sense into him 
once and for all. One way or the other. Or he'd leave.

Because he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take all the shit 
tossed his way *without* knowing the little punk loved him. If he 
was loved... as he still loved Jay... then he could take it. Toughen his 
outer skin and grit it out and maybe, just maybe, manage to wear Jay 
down on the digs a bit, over time.

If Jay didn't want him in his love life, though, he'd have to 
seriously contemplate vanishing from Jay's day-to-day reality, as 
well. Taking the constant dunning was becoming increasingly 
difficult to do.

But he was irresolute. Could he truly leave without damaging some 
part of himself, leaving some part of his soul lodged in Jay's blue 
eyes, in Jay's gangly junkie frame? He wasn't sure. He just knew it 
had to be decided at last, one way or the other. No more fights. No 
more screaming. No more of Jay having to half-kill himself just to 
get a break from thinking, he thought, looking down at the blond. He 
shook his head. 

**Stupid. So very stupid. How I fell in love with someone so stupid...
**

*the smell of sunshine
I remember sometimes*

Trish helped him get Jay out of the car, and would have stayed to 
help, but he sent her home. He carried Jay up the stairs, trying to 
avoid the unmistakable comparisons when he carried him over the 
doorstep, and laid him carefully on the couch. He stared at Jay for 
a moment, then took off his trench, walking into the bathroom. He 
drew a warm bath, tossing some clove powder in to numb the skin, a 
handful of salt to draw out toxins, and a couple of chamomile tea 
bags he'd found on a shelf. He let that steep for a bit, filling up, 
and walked back to the couch. Carefully, he began to strip Jay, 
peeling back each layer as gently as he could.

"... whrr ...nin?" Jay tried to blink his eyes, succeeding only in 
fluttering the lids, the eyelashes curving up like feathery antennae.

"Bath," Bob murmured.

"... .nin... nah ah," Jay whispered.

"Bath," Bob repeated more firmly.

"...fuh ...oo, mmm... .fahn."

"So stop me."

Silence for a longer moment than Bob thought he'd get, and in that 
time he removed the remaining clothes Jay was wearing, carrying him 
into the bathroom. Jay began to shiver, and Bob soothed him, sliding 
him into the nearly overfull tub carefully. He leaned forward, 
turning off the water, and picked up a washcloth, dipping it in the 
dark water.

*thought he had it all before they called his bluff*

"...fuh ...er, `us... aneh meh... nah ed," Jay whispered.

"Oh, yes," Bob said sarcastically. He lifted one of Jay's arms, 
washing it carefully, lowered it while he lifted the other. "I dream 
daily of seeing you naked." Sponging water across Jay's chest, he 
reached in, lifting one leg to repeat the process. Jay's eyes slid 
over to his, blinking.

"...oo ...oo," he said.

Bob looked at him, placing the leg back in the water and leaning on 
the lip of the tub. He stared at Jay for a long moment while Jay 
looked back at him. He sighed. Some things, he reflected, are worth 
breaking the silence for.

"Do you have any idea how much I care for you?" he asked. Jay 
blinked rapidly.

"...fuh... oo."

"How many people in your life would take all this shit from you? How 
many people take *any* of your shit for your sake?"

Jay looked away, trying to shake his head. Bob could tell because of 
the infinitesimal trembling through some fine floating hairs on the 
crown of his head. Not good enough.

"And how many would stay with you, help you kick the hard stuff, 
support your ass when you wanted to start a business of your own? 

Jay clenched his eyes shut, or tried to. They fluttered closed, the 
muscles trembling, then slowly drifted open again.

"And what the hell did you *take*, Jay? My God..."

The bath ended in silence, broken only in one place. When Bob 
drained the water, lifting Jay to rinse him off under warm shower 
water, Jay tensed as much as he was able. But Bob's hands were 
quick, never lingering on any part of him. After a few moments of 
expecting Bob's hands to slow, to change, stroking him here, fondling 
him there--he began silently weeping.

It tore at Bob's heart, but he said nothing. And soon he was turning 
off the water and gently toweling off each limb, the length of honey 
hair, wrapping him in a fluffy robe and taking him to the couch. He 
went to his room to strip out of his sodden clothes, and then stepped 
into Jay's room to fetch a blanket and a pillow. As he walked back, 
Jay made some great strangling noise, snapping his head back on the 
couch. 

*found out that his skin just wasn't thick enough
wanted to go back to how it was before*

Bob dropped everything, running to Jay's side. Jay turned red-rimmed 
eyes towards him, making horrible sounds. His lips weren't moving 
well, nothing was distinct, and Bob finally stopped trying to calm 
him down and just gathered him into his arms, holding him close. 
Somehow, that seemed to make the sobbing worse, but he didn't know 
what else to do. Lightly rocking him, he murmured things too low for 
either man to really hear into that shining fall of hair, and after 
several minutes, he was holding a sleeping Jay. Gently, he lay him 
back on the couch, moving into the kitchen to make some weak tea and 
soup.

*thought he lost everything
then he lost a whole lot more*

The next day Jay had a little more control of himself. His voice was 
weak, thready, and he wasn't inclined to use it. But he could move 
around the apartment slowly, and he even managed to snarl an insult 
at Bob on his way to the bathroom. Bob just shook his head, washing 
the dishes, thinking about how best to approach the next talk. When 
he heard the glass shatter in the bathroom, he almost didn't connect 
the sound with Jay.

Then he was racing to the bathroom, flinging the door open, and he 
stopped the broken waterglass from sliding into Jay's neck by inches.

Jay just stared at him. 

"Why?" he weakly questioned.

Bob just shrugged.

"Fuck you," Jay hissed, and slid bonelessly to the floor.

*a fool's devotion
swallowed up in empty space*

The days following were a blur. Bob spent one entire day turning 
away every dealer they knew from their door. Jay had called them 
all, asking for pills. The day after that, he walked in on Jay 
knotting an extension cord like a noose. After that he stayed home, 
wondering if something in Jay had been broken over at Dylan's. He 
couldn't take him to the hospital, and he thought Jay might kill him 
if he took him to a priest.

The day he walked in on Jay randomly burning his arms with the heated 
flat of a knife blade, he marched him into his bedroom, closing the 
door.

"What the hell is *wrong* with you?"

"Like you even fuckin' care!" Jay cried. "Couldn't just let me go, 
could you, fat ass? No, you had to come *save* me! Rope Trish into 
drivin' you, even! March in like a fuckin' rock star, throwin' your 
weight around... mother*fuck*, man, you coulda got *killed* there!"

Bob just stared at him. Jay shrieked, fisting his hands in his hair 
and pulling until tears sprang to his eyes. He looked up at Bob 
again, the look more than slightly unhinged.

"You don't fucking *get* it, do you? I *never asked* you to fall in 
love with me! Like *anyone* needs that kind of fucking 
complication! I never wanted to love you, I never wanted to be your 
special friend, I never asked for *any* of it--"

Bob clapped his hand over Jay's face. He leaned in, looking intently 
at the blond, shaking his head. Jay squirmed away, stepping back.

"No! Fuck it! I don't *need* you all concerned about my ass! It's 
been a hard fuckin' few days, leave me the *fuck* alone!" 

Jay pushed at him, pushing him away, and nearly got Bob all the way 
to the door before Bob threw up an arm to brace against the 
doorframe, stopping him.

*the tears of regret
frozen to the side of his face*

"What do you really want, Jay?" His voice was soft again, but the 
pain in his eyes made them sting and blur. Jay turned away, his 
shoulders knotting.

"I just want it to be over. I don't want all this. I don't want 
*any* of this. I don't wanna love a fuckin' *guy*!"

Bob reached out, putting a hand on Jay's shoulder, and grimacing, he 
shrugged it off. Bob pulled him around, and Jay tensed again, 
swinging a wild punch towards Bob's face. Bob seized his wrist, 
holding him effortlessly. Then he leaned in, brushing his lips 
quickly and moving back.

And Jay collapsed again, the blond sliding to the floor, sliding out 
of Bob's grasp, wailing like his heart was breaking. Leaning against 
Bob's legs, he rocked back and forth, shaking his head. Bob slowly 
sat on the floor next to him.

*the smell of sunshine
I remember sometimes*

"Don' wanna," he sobbed, "don' wanna, don' wanna be..."

"Don't want what?"

"I don't wanna..." He lifted his tearstained face, rubbing his eyes 
roughly. 

"Fuck, you wanna hear it? Here it fucking is, then, the goddamned 
truth. I ain't smart Bob, not like you; only reason I got as far as 
I did in high school was `cause of you raggin' on me alla time to do 
good, get the grades, get the fucking homework in on fucking time. I 
ain't got nothin' anyone wants but a mouth and a hole and some good 
moves. An' when that's gone, you gonna be lookin' for some younger 
meat, and I'm gone again. Maybe gone for good, `cause I can't live 
on the street again, I can't take it, not after this." He gasped, 
his chest hitching. "Not after you."

**Saint Andrew, I've found another of your lost**, Bob thought 
faintly.

*I've done all I can do
could I please come with you?*

Bob hung his head. Kissing him didn't convince him. Talking sure as 
hell didn't. What the hell was left? If he took him to bed, it 
might end up another fucking repeat of that scene in the alley, and 
he didn't think his heart was strong enough for that.

Full circle stop. Where the hell did he go now? He sat on the floor 
and watched Jay cry, feeling absolutely out of his depth. He could 
program a VCR by looking at it; he could code a software patch for a 
double handful of specialty programs that needed to talk together; he 
couldn't fix his friend. He didn't know what to say.

He'd never known what to say. Maybe that was the problem.

*sweet smell of sunshine
I remember sometimes*

END
(Song is Nine Inch Nails' "I'm Looking Forward to Joining You 
Finally")
*****
Kelandris the Mad
in the end it's only this and the smell of sunset