Title: Scenario 2: Love Me Not
Author: J'Kitty
Fandom: Askewniverse, as always
Feedback: Read it on the list? FB it there! Read it in the archive? TOO 
BAD! Oh. Sorry. jabinkle@unity.ncsu.edu
Pairing: J/SB
Rating: R for language, mentions of romping, but nothing explicit.
Disclaimer: Kevin 0wns j00! Will Shetterly owns "Elsewhere" (and its 
sequel, "Nevernever", great books, read 'em!!)
Archive: Sure!
Type: Sunburst from "He Went Away"
Summary: Jay Sad, Bob Sad
Notes: Angst-o-Rama

Gate 15A, departing for Montreal will be boarding shortly. Will all 
passengers on flight 8672 heading for Montreal please make their way to 
Gate 15A?

The disembodied voice echoed through the terminals. Bob reclined sleeply 
in the chair. His flight still had another hour before boarding, but he 
had nowhere else to go. He'd been to all the stores in the mini-mall, even 
purchased a paperback of "Elsewhere", which he'd finished in about an hour 
and a half.

Bob tumbled over to one of the drink stands where he paid three dollars for 
a damn Mountain Dew, that was only luke warm. It seemed to foreshadow the 
rest of the day. He was hardly looking forward to the three hour flight 
with nothing to do. Somehow, he always ended up next to the fuck that fell 
asleep on him, or wanted to talk about 'where he was from'. Or some 
international fuck that was amazed by his 'Joisey' accent.

With half an hour to go, he saw Jay walking up through the terminal, and 
his heart sank. Jay had found him. And Jay was angry. The image of Jay 
storming across the terminal made him think of the classical paintings of 
Zeus riding across the thunderheads. Only Zeus had never been quite this 
pissed, he was sure.

No words were necessary. Jay's eyes were flinty and cold, and he simply 
jerked his head in the direction of the cab. Bob simply nodded and trudged 
towards the door. The ride home was silent. The cab driver looked back 
and forth between them nervously, the violence was almost tangible.

However, as soon as the door on the apartment had closed, Jay was 
incensed. When back at the apartment, Jay had raged.

"What the fuck did you leave for? What the fuck kinda right do you have to 
leave?"

Bob had snapped a little more.

"What do you mean what the fuck right do I have? I'm fuckin' free. I'm 
not your fuckin' pet, and I can leave whenver the fuck I please. Hell, if 
I was sticking my fuckin' dick into any nasty whore that came near me, 
maybe you'd be wantin' to fuckin' leave."

And for once, Jay had been silent. Bob stormed into his room, and slammed 
the door. For hours, he stayed there, until the fierce need for food drove 
him out. Jay wasn't in the apartment. Taped to the fridge was a picture, 
torn in half. Originally, it had depicted two smiling stoners cheezing 
into the camera at a local fair. It had been torn in two, deftly, so that 
each of the people in the picture now stood alone.

Bob guessed this was as close to an official break up as he was likely to 
get. And he knew Jay would immediately act as though nothing had 
happened. He'd watched it happen with girls before. Jay came home later 
that night with not one, but two girls. And when they had gone, and Bob 
lay crying in his bed, Jay silently lay in his bed and cried because he 
could hear Bob doing the same thing.

His insides were killing him. He felt like he needed to throw up, or die, 
or just cry forever. Fuck if he was getting tangled back into that shit 
with Bob, though. Bob who had, above all, told him that if he didn't want 
this, then things could go back to normal. Bob fucking lied.

He'd promised that this wouldn't affect their friendship. But as soon as 
the relationship started, what was Bob doing? Going all jealous and 
insane, trying to muscle in on every piece of ass he'd been banging. Hell, 
half the time he hadn't even fucked 'em, just laid there and talked for 
hours, about everything and nothing, and sometimes Bob.

&&&


The next few months were queer for them both. They still dealt 
together. Fuck if the customers knew the difference. Bob was quiet, as he 
had always been, and Jay was obnoxious, as he had always been. And 
occasionally Dante or Randal would look at them strangely, as though they 
knew. But no one said anything. But they both knew. Things were never 
going to be the same between them again.

Jay would party every night. He was never at home. Bob would watch movies 
and fall asleep on the couch. Jay would come home, and Bob would be dozing 
fitfully on the couch, tear stains down his face. Or he wouldn't sleep at 
all, sometimes. There'd been several nights when Bob had simply stared at 
the TV until the sun came up the next morning.

It was clear that Bob was miserable, at least to Jay, but this time he 
refused to leave. His shame at having run before, coupled with the loyalty 
he'd always feel to Jay bound him there as surely as any chain.

Jay hated it. He couldn't stand being the reason for one human being's 
intense sufferings. It was like Bob was trying to punish himself. He 
never went to parties or rented movies. He simply followed Jay during the 
day, protecting him, and at night, went into mental hibernation. It was a 
sort of purgatory, and it was a tangible force around him, his 
suffering. So Jay started avoiding Bob to get out of that stifling, dying air.

Months later, everyone was talking. Bob was wasting away, getting smaller 
and smaller beneath his trenchcoat. His eyes had bags beneath them, and 
his silence went from one of friendly concern to one of morose 
suffering. Rumors flew. Bob had taken something bad and had a stint in 
rehab, Bob's heart had been broken again (just like before with that Amy), 
people were after Bob, and he couldn't sleep.

And these? These cut Jay too, they were accusations as surely as anything 
else. One night, he finally said, "Look. Why doncha fuckin' leave? Yer 
miserable."

So Bob took off his trench coat, hung it on the peg by the door, and walked 
away from the apartment. Jay never saw him again. He heard bits and 
pieces from here and there. Someone had seen Bob in Boston, one had seen 
him in New York. It was worse than Elvis.

Someone had sworn they'd seen Bob in the Quick Stop talking to Dante one 
day. Jay never had the heart to ask Dante if it were true. At first, the 
apartment had seemed fresh with Bob gone. The despair of living that had 
characterized it for so long had gone. But when the despair had gone, all 
that lingered was the smell of Bob before. Murky and woody, but definitely 
Bob. And that was a hundred times worse than the despair, because it made 
Jay dream.

And remember.

It made him remember the good things, and the times that Bob had stood by 
him. Even when he didn't deserve being stood by. And what cops, tear gas, 
women, gangs, angels, and demons couldn't tear apart, he'd torn so simply 
with just three sentences. He had to find Bob, and quickly. But by this 
time, the Bob-sightings had trickled down to nearly nothing.

After the first few trips to Annapolis, Boston, and the City, Jay began to 
realize that the world is a very big place, with very many people. And 
that he as alone in it.