Title: Maybe Author: J'Kitty Rating: R for language; G for actual sexual content. ;) Disclaimer: Don't belong to me, Kevin Smith made 'em, owns 'em, yadda yadda. "Can't Be Really Gone" is Tim McGraw's, and "We Don't Die" is Twizted's, and "The Fellowship of the Ring" is of course, courtesy of J.R.R. Tolkein. Series: You'll hope not when you finish this one. Feedback: jabinkle@unity.ncsu.edu Warning: It's my first time, be gentle! Archive: Sure, archive it as much as you like. A pity on those who feel they must. ;) Notes: As I mentioned, this is my first post to the list (and first story), be gentle. Sorry for the country, it's been rambling around in my head all day. So I threw in some Twizted to sort of balance it out. Also, italics are denoted by underscores (_for example_). One, two, three, four, start the fucking story! Four, three, two, one, forget the story, start the fucking! __________________________ A dull pounding in the back of his head woke him. It was the combination of too-loud base and too-much booze. Jay gripped his head and moaned. Then he sat up. He didn't know how or why, but Bob was gone. There was a Bob shaped hole in the immediate reality. Where (or more importantly, why?) had Bob gone? Like a tricky car which required several tries, his memory started patching through scenes. He remembered the steps (as did his bruised shins). Somehow getting into the apartment. Bob was there. Bob was angry. Why was he angry? He remembered yelling. Couldn't even remember what it was about... wasn't that some shit? When did that happen? Yesterday? He looked at the calendar. Two days ago. He'd been out for a day and a half. Bob hadn't been back. His keys were still on the table. He'd left them there. He'd left everything. What if he didn't come back? _Her hat is hanging by the door,_ _The one she bought in Mexico._ _It blocked the wind, it stopped the rain._ _She'd never leave that one._ _So she can't be really gone._ Yeah. Bob's old coat was hanging by the door. He got it somewhere on the other side of town. It wasn't much for stopping rain, but he'd never leave it. He can't be gone for good. He would never leave his favorite old coat. Would he? Wait, what was he thinking? Some crazy-ass hillbillies were blasting country outside, and he was thinking along with it? Besides, who blasted _country_? _The shoes she bought on Christmas Eve..._ _She laughed and said they called her name_ _It's like they're waiting in the hall_ _For her to slip them on_ _So she can't be really gone._ Bob's retired pair of tennis shoes were tossed in the corner. Not much good for walking, but still comfortable. Still his favorites. Who leaves their favorite shoes when they don't come back? Wait. This was a love song. _Why am I thinking about Silent Bob to a love song?_ His mind was strangely silent. _I don't know when she'll come back._ _She must intend to come back._ _I've seen the error of my ways._ _Don't waste the tears on me._ _What more proof do you need?_ He was going to have to try to kill that crazy redneck chick. He'd have to wait til Bob got back though; everybody knew them crazy honkeys all had shotguns. Til Bob got back. _What if he doesn't come back?_ _Just look around the room,_ _So much of her remains._ Bob's movies, stacked on top of the VCR. His beer bottles lined casually on the end table... which was also Bob's. Stack of Bob's magazine by Bob's chair. In Bob's apartment. _Her book is lying on the bed._ _The two of hearts to mark her page._ _Now who could ever walk away?_ _On Chapter 21...?_ _So she can't be really gone._ _The Fellowship of the Ring_ was lying in his chair. A wrapping paper poked from the top of the book, he hadn't finished it yet. He'd sworn he wouldn't watch a movie without reading the book. Bob had wanted to see that movie for nearly a year. Surely he would be back for his book? He wanted to see that movie. Jay's eyes were suspiciously watery. Bob was never coming back. _Just look around this room._ _So much of her remains._ Whoever wrote this damn song deserved to be shot. No one had any right to be this damn sad. Jay sniffled. _Her book is lying on the bed._ _The two of hearts to mark her page._ _Now who could ever walk away?_ _With so much left undone?_ _So she can't be really gone._ _No, she can't be really gone._ He opened the book. "I only hope you do not need rescuing before the day is out." He slammed the book shut. Even this damn Tolkein guy was wigging him out. What if Bob _couldn't_ return? That thought nearly panicked him. Jay burst into Bob's room, frantically glancing around for anything that might've caught his friend's eye. An ad for a bar was on the dresser. "The Salty Dog" Sounded like a dive. Just the place to go when you've had a fight with someone you l... _Live with!_ his brain frantically jammed in. Right. Roommate. Apartment mate. Whatever the fuck. Friends stick by friends, though. He went back into his room. The thought of Bob hurt was really starting to get to him. The country from next door was driving him batty. He jammed Twizted into the stereo and cranked the volume. _Freaks of the night / We don't die!_ _We get high!_ He suited up. Shorts, T-shirt, Jacket, Knit cap, Boots, Rage, Check. He felt bad for whoever had Bob. The bus ride to the club was uneventful. He was jumpy and on edge. If someone picked tonight to try and hijack the bus, they were in for a bad surprise. People on the bus glanced at him with concern. _No need to worry. Unless you've got my Muscle._ He launched himself from the bus in front of the club. It was a dive. It was dirty, loud, and blaring. Everything Bob looked for in a hangout. He straightened his jacket collar, and put on his game face. The bouncer at the door seemed unimpressed. He told Jay in no polite terms to vacate the premises or his fist would vacate Jay's mouth of several teeth. No problem, Jay had done his time sneaking into places he shouldn't be. He wandered into the alley next to the club, _should be a fuckin' door back here somewheres, then bicketybam, I'm..._ The thought died in his head. At the end of the alley there was a fight. There were four people. Three of them were on one team. The other one was Bob. White-hot anger blazed once inside Jay's mind, and he charged them. **** Bob was a good fighter. He knew this. He didn't believe in morals or rules. You were fighting. The winner walked away. Sometimes the loser didn't. He had no pride in battle. However, even he wouldn't stoop to a three on one. Bob was primarily good in fights because he handled pain well. It didn't distract him as it did some others. Pain was a feeling, like pleasure. But damn if it wasn't getting hard to concentrate with the burning in his stomach. Suddenly, one of the guys pounding his kidneys stopped. _Must've hurt his hand,_ thought Bob wryly. Then he heard a scream. _That's odd..._ **** Somewhere along the run towards Bob's assailants, Jay realized that all three of these guys rivaled Bob in size. This wasn't going to be easy. If Jay had anything, though, it was moxie. He hoped that'd make up size, experience, and lack of Bob. _Remember,_ his brain told him, _Bob always said there's no rules in a fight._ He hit the first guy he came to with all he had. He was on the man's back, kneeing into his kidneys. He gouged at his eyes, and then began choking him with both hands. The guy screamed. _Like a girl! Nootch!_ At least, the guy tried to scream... **** The guys stopped punching him. He saw a streak of blonde throttling their friend. Ricky? Was that his name? Like it mattered. Jay came out of the darkness like a damn wolf and jumped that guy. Jay. Jay who didn't know how to fight. _Oh shit, gotta save my l... living partner._ The guy next to him was reaching for a knife. Bob's ribs screamed as he kicked the squarely in the balls (_No rules in a fight!_) and then slammed his fist into the other's nose. **** This guy's two friends seemed to be at a loss. They'd stopped using Bob for a punching bag and were staring dumbly at the lanky man choking their friend. The first fell to Bob's knee in the groin. The second fell to Bob's fist. The last collapsed, pitching Jay headlong in front of Bob. Bob offered a hand, and pulled Jay up. They stared. "Why'd you leave, Lunchbox? I didn't mean to chase ya's off. Fuck, you should know I'm fulla shit. So's what did we fight about, anyway?" Bob stared through Jay as though he'd suddenly developed purple spots. He gave a puzzled look. "We fought, doncha remember? I's drunk or high or..." Confusion prevailed. "We did'n fight?" Bob shook his head in the negative, clearly more than a little confused. "You's mean I been waxin' fuckin' poetical over your tubby bitch ass and you weren't even mad at me? Ain't that a bitch!" A quirked eyebrow. "You's heard me bitch, waxin' poetical over your fat ass. Thought you'd left n'shit. Must'a dreamed us fightin' or somethin'." Bob's gaze softened. "Yeah, I knows you love my ass. Came and saved your pussy self. Nothin' like me's havin' to defend my muscle. Damn Tons of Fun, why don' you take a karate class or some shit. What if they'd attacked my ass? I'd be somebody's bitch." Bob rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure you was outnumbered. Some shitty excuse. Hell, I punked one of those mutherfuckers myself. Bitch." Bob shook his head in exasperation. "Why'd they jump you anyway Lunchbox, you been dealin' without me?" Bob shook his head negatively. "Yeah well, why the fuck did they jump your ass?" Bob looked innocent. "Tell me, tubby bitch. Were you's guys wearin' the same dress or something." Bob looked grumpy. "They put a run in your pantyhose? Try to move in on yer secret boyfuck?" Bob looked angry. "That's it, ain't it? You's got a secret boy down here somewhere's and you don't want me to know! You crazy bitch!" Bob slammed him into the alley wall. He spoke quietly. "I'll only tell you this once. They said some shit about you. No one talks shit about my l..." Bob faltered. Jay wasn't.... Jay kissed Bob. Mentally, Bob shrugged. Maybe Jay was. Bob suddently radiated puzzlement. Jay shrugged. "Tolkein told me you's was in trouble." Bob radiated more puzzlement. ___________ J'Kitty Ya know, writing for Bob is surprisingly like writing for the Luggage in Pratchett's books.