Title: Naomi; sequel to Kelly
Author: Gypsy
Pairing: Jay/OFC (Jay's unrequited love for Silent Bob)
Rating: R (naughty words, a coupla of m/f images)
Archive: If you want it, you can have it. Just tell me where you're gonna put
it first.
E-mail :gypsy_gray@msn.com 
Series/Sequel: This is the first story in a series. I don't have a tile yet.
Help me think of one.
Disclaimers: They're not mine, but I really wish they were. I'm not getting any
money for this. I am however getting tingly when I think about how this is
going to end.
Notes: See the end of the first story in this series if you want to be spoiled
for the rest of the series.
Summary: Jay's broken heart gets him thinking about the past.
Warnings: Angst, UST, Spoilers (for all the movies), A complete disrespect for
canon established in the cartoons or the comics.
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Pain. Pain coming from his hand. Sharp burning pain. Jay sat up with a
groan. He'd rolled over on his hand. Getting out of bed required much fumbling
with tangled blankets and nearly falling on his face when he managed to stand
up. The pain pills hadn't been strong enough to let him sleep through the pain,
but they made his head feel like it was wrapped in flannel. Sounds seemed
muffled, and his thoughts took days to complete themselves. 

Staggering to the kitchen, holding himself up with the wall the four times
he nearly fell, Jay grabbed one of the big towels from the folded stack on the
dryer. Filling it with ice was simple. He just laid the towel on the counter
and dumped the ice bucket from the freezer into it. He had to use his teeth to
tie it, but he managed. Back on the couch, hand propped on his chest, towel on
his hand. He was nearly asleep again when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Jay, go to the hospital."

"Naomi."

Naomi. Naomi of the ass length black hair and almond shaped blue eyes.
Naomi, who always knew who was on the phone. Naomi, who taught him how to lay
tarot cards. Naomi, who once had a dream of him fighting angels. Naomi.

"Have Bob take you to the hospital."

"He's not here."

"He's on the way. Jay your hand is broken."

"It's fine."

"Dulce, go to the hospital."

"Yeah."

"Goodbye Jay. Bob is coming soon."

"Bye No-me."

He had to twist his torso sideways to hang up the phone. Laying on his
back, he let his eyes close. If Naomi said Bob was on the way, he was on the
way. Naomi. Naomi was never wrong; shame he didn't listen to her more often. 

Naomi, who had lived in their building for two years. Naomi, who knocked on
the door of the apartment and invited him to her place. Bob was gone, he went.
The invitation to her bed had followed immediately, and to this day he wasn't
sure why she had chosen him or why it was on that day. But the invitation had
come. She was beautiful and willing, and he was craving Bob so badly. It had
lasted two months. Two months of sex and tarot cards, and stories about myths
and witches. And then in had ended. She had announced she was moving. A kiss on
his forehead and her new number. That was all.

Well, phone calls. Phone calls came every now and then. When he was
especially down. When she felt he needed to be warned about something...like
missions from God and psycho as fuck angels. (And you just couldn't tell Bob
that she said not to go to Shermer. Couldn't tell him because you didn't want
to disappoint him, and look how that turned out!) Shame he never listened.
Shame she didn't warn him about this. 

But she had. Laying in her bed, muscles aching from her demands, head
swimming from incense and some strange tea, and only half feeling her fingers
on his skin. Only half hearing the words she whispered over his flesh.

"You love him...you fear him...fear the pain to come. He heals you, he
hurts you..."

He'd kissed her to silence those words. She'd let him lose himself in her
body to quiet his fears. Naomi, who was in her thirties. Naomi, who was twice
divorced. Naomi, who was more a teacher then a lover. Coaching and coaxing him
to learn her body and his own. She made him learn to listen to her body. How
each of his touches made her react. She taught him how to be a lover, and then
she left. He'd helped her pack. Bob helped her pack. Bob helped load the boxes
into her car. Bob smiled and waved when she pulled away. Bob never liked Naomi.

The front door opens, pulling him out of his head. A familiar figure enters
the apartment. As soon as Bob sees Jay on the couch he's across the room and
examining the towel wrapped hand. Raised eyebrows and a frown ask what
happened. But Jay's already seen the tussled hair and smelled perfume. It
wasn't new. It was the same perfume he'd hated every night for the last two
months.

Two months of that sickening fucking shit. Two months of Bob being out. Two
months of some mystery woman putting her smell on Bob. Two months of cussing
and crying when Bob left. Two months...because this one was different. 

Bob wouldn't talk about her, didn't invite him to go out with them. Bob
didn't introduce her, didn't describe her to him, didn't tell him what she
looked like. Bob was keeping her away from him. Bob was in love. And Bob was
ashamed of him.

Jay rolls into the couch. Putting his back to Bob he pulls his hand away.
Bob's frown deepens. He stays next to Jay, on his knees...waiting for his
friend to tell him what happened. Jay closes his eyes and lets the painkillers
pull him down into a darkness...with no smiling smoking Bob.
tbc