Title:  Journey
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: G, it's so sad
Status: New (Aug '04)
Archive:  Drop me a note and it's yours.  And on that note...
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels:  Should be a one-shot.  But I have no idea anymore.
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:  I really doubt this is gonna sequel.  But I have the oddest 
feeling it's gonna *prequel* on me.
Summary:   Jay figures it out.
Warnings:  None.  I know.  I'm so depressed.  I'll have to write 
something *scorching* to make up for it.

==================


"Journey"
by Kelandris


Two weeks since Jay left, and Bob surveyed the house, sighing.  
Kitchen clean, no dishes in the sink, no sticky pools 
of...whatever...on the counter.  No unidentifiable greenish lumps in 
the refrigerator, decaying victims of yet another attempt to get Jay 
to eat better.  Instead, several plastic tubs of leftovers, because 
in the two weeks since Jay had been gone, Bob was still cooking for 
two.

He finished sweeping up the kitchen floor, really unnecessary save as 
a time-waster, and walked out to the living room, looking around.  
The coffee-table was empty of stray cigarette butts, the litter of 
candy wrappers and crinkled foil.  No seeds were scattered across the 
carpet, which for once, miraculously, had finally lost that bongwater 
smell.  In fact, he'd rented a steam-cleaner two days ago, and 
discovered that their beige carpet was, in fact, a pale blue-grey.

He walked to the closet, opening the door and leaning against it 
briefly, looking inside.  Neat, clean, the top shelf dusted; he'd 
even replaced the hangers with wooden ones (unvarnished cedar) 
finally.  He'd just never had the time before, and slowly, he reached 
out, setting the broom inside.  The broom, he thought, shaking his 
head.  They'd never even *had* a broom before.

Closing the door slowly, he looked around the place.  Well.  Unless 
he wanted to go over the bathroom again, the place was just about as 
clean as even his mother could want.  Not that she was likely to come 
over.  *Ever*.

Fuck, but he missed Jay.  He walked to the gleaming leather couch, 
slumping against the cushions.  They smelled of orange cleaner.  He 
reached for the phone, dialing a number by memory.

"Hello?"

He opened his mouth, blinked, rubbed his eyes.  The voice on the 
other end sighed.

"Come on over, Bob."

***

Past midnight, he feels a thin finger poke him in the ribs.  Pain, 
overly familiar, and he swims dizzily from dreaming.  He blinks in 
the shadows, trying to form them into recognizeable shapes.

"Bob."

He feels his ribs poked again, turning over slightly to face whoever 
it is.  He blinks, seeing only darkness, his vision blurry, objects 
indistinct.

"Bob!"

He finishes turning over, sees Jay sitting there.  Jay looks 
worried.  He blinks, furrowing his brow, trying to make sense of the 
poking.

"C'mon, fucker, wake up!"

"...'m 'wake..." he murmurs, rubbing his face. He sits up.  
Concentration, now, concentration might help.

"You were..." he murmurs, forcing the words out.  It's dark, Jay 
won't have the visual clues of his customary silence, the language of 
his body, to go on, he thinks.  

"Gone."  Jay shrugs in the darkness; he dimly makes out the pale 
shoulders move.

"Visiting," he says, rubbing his brow.  Yeah.  Two weeks ago.  He 
remembers now.

"Yeah," Jay says softly.  "I came back."

Everything falls into place.  He remembers Jay telling him two weeks 
back, his mom fell ill or...something.  Could it be he forgot?  No, 
his mom was sick, he knows now, Jay told him, Jay told him and then 
Jay...left.  And...he'd had two weeks alone.

Yeah, it was coming back now.  He told Bob...shit, what had he said?

"Your mom..."

"Fuck," Jay hisses, and Bob peers at him, cocking his head.  He 
listens to what Jay's not saying, and for once, it's not telling him 
anything.  Finally, he breaks the silence.  Again.  Makes him 
uncomfortable.

"Sick?"

"Well, yeah, but...that ain't it."

Bob waits. He realizes Jay's shivering.  Must be cold, because Bob 
hasn't bothered to set the heat at night; kept it the arctic cold he 
was used to, growing up, not Jay's more tropical heat.  And Jay's 
shivering.  Bare torso, black sweats, he must be cold.  Without 
thinking about it, he pulls the covers over Jay, leans back against 
the pillows.  Blinking.  The darkness is getting less dark.

"...Bob?"

"Mmm."

He hears Jay laying down behind him, and there's another long 
silence.  Then, Jay inches closer, slowly, drapes a tentative arm 
over Bob's chest.

"I can...stay here?"

"Mmm."

"Yeah?"

Bob thinks about it, feeling Jay trembling beside him.  He shrugs his 
head deeper into the soft pillow.  He reaches down, laching his 
fingers through Jay's colder ones.

"Tell me in the morning," he says softly, and feels Jay relax.  The 
last thought through his brain is, clean house or Jay.  Given the 
choice, he chooses Jay.  He always chooses Jay.

Then he shrugs internally, conflict resolved, and goes back to sleep.

END
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
drabble-o-matic but I'm on my way