Title:  Shit Has a Half-Life of Ten to Twenty
Author:  starlastumbleine (starlastumbleine@yahoo.com)
Fandom:  ViewAskewniverse
Pairing:  Pre-Jay/Silent Bob-ish
Rating:  R for language
Disclaimer:  I do not own Jay or Silent Bob or anything or anyone in the ViewAskewniverse, nor am I profiting from this in 
any way. It all really belongs to Kevin Smith.
Summary: Bob's shit day as lightly inspired by my own.  Fuck the police.

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

Silent Bob's credit record is fucking fantastic.  He could always
afford the shit he bought, when he bought anything.  Silent Bob's old
girlfriends either stayed far away or hung around on good terms.  His
attendance record in school was that of a hall monitor or teacher's
pet, always a subject of Jay's ridicule since the day Jay discovered
that life continued to happen when children were locked away in brick
buildings and Bob had chosen to play it safe and remain ignorant of
the fact.  According to his relatives, parents, grandparents, aunts
and uncles, he was a fucking goddamn saint.  And until the day he
left highschool with Jay, never to return, he had a spotless criminal
record.

It was when he entered that dangerous outside world with his more
experienced friend the he learned the world suited him quite a bit.
Life outside of cash raps, locked doors and surveyed hallways came to
him easier than studying hard ever had.  It came at one single price.

Bob thought of this as he stared at the sterile black ink on his
fingers and palms.  This was the fourth time his prints had become a
matter of public record.  All those As.  All those certificates of
achievement in chem lab.  All those chess meet wins.  All those
fucking bumperstickers for his fucking honor roll.

All those posession charges.

And this.  Big enough to possibly make trafficking.
A detective had already made his appearance.
He would require names for the charge to be softened.  Suppliers.
Growers.  State.  Federal.  Jay.

Jay, back at home, sweating fucking buckets, fingers turning puss
yellow from cigarettes staining his shivering, pale skin.  Jay ever
since the phone call and how the fuck would they recover that kind of
bail money or how long would he last in pen before the roommates
might break him or how fast would Ronnie come at them if they dared
to name drop....

And Jesus am I glad to see you, Silent Bob breathes at him when he
shrugs into view.

Their interview box is too small and Jay is too loud for what they
really need.  This place smells too much like cold, old lasagna for
Bob's sanity or health to hold up much longer.  He's still in his own
clothes, but his jacket is missing and so is Jay, an accessory in
himself.  Fuck it.  A limb.

"They set bail.  They set bail and I fucking have it."  He grabs his
bulging jacket pocket, and it only compresses as much as a huge
fucking roll of cash will.  Well.  "What do you want to do?" Jay asks.

Ah.  The ultimate out.  He should have and would have but he never
could have taken that money straight to the front office.  He's
giving Bob the option.  He's practically cuffing himself, an offering
to the gods of the War On Drugs, completely avalible for
rehabilitation.  Totally capable of handling the charges, the time,
the parole officer.  The inevitability of his future status as Shit
Smear on Society, lying on his application to Subway, Burger King,
the fucking Dollar Store.

And Bob thinks that if he could just grab Jay's wrist once more:

like they did when they near lost each other in a crowded-ass rave

or when he pulled him out of Jon's range as the man screamed and
pissed and swung his fists like a motherfucker

if he'd ever again know what it was like to stand up for them and
walk home together at the end of the night, he might not ever even
know his love better than he did right now.

Not if Jay staged a firefight and jailbreak right there.

Jay's eyes were very desperate and very heartbroken.

There was no way this would end well, but it would end better if he
didn't take anyone down with him.  To Silent Bob, shaking his head
sadly, this left only one option.

To Jay, this left two options.  And he could tell Bob was already
jumping to the stupid one and dismissing the one that involved
handguns.

.end.
fic begins:  2:59 a.m. / fic ends at:  3:46 a.m.