Title: Crossing the River
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob (angst, some kissing, heavy smarm)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: posted somewhen in 2001 like the rest of 'em
Archive: You must send an email to me and let me know where you intend to archive. Private archiving allowed as long as you don't intend to publish. Behave.
Email address for feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequel: Sequels "Not Just a River in Egypt", "Still Not a River" and "River Wide". Part IV of the, um, trilogy.
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the View Askewniverse. If I really get into this, I probably will too. Or at least go into hock when I walk into a video store, go into rut, and buy all the DVDs at once.
Notes: Smarm RULES! I swear this was a heavy angst piece, then at midnight I went downstairs, put on the DiVinyls, and watched Conflicted Jay mutate. It was fun. Also, the bit in here about Bob's bad experience with whisky, I have to thank my friends Shaun and Jenny. For Jenny, it's sloe gin. I think Shaun's is rum. Their bad alcohol just makes them mean and cranky. You can't fault me for wanting Bob's to be something that drops his inhibitions entirely. :>


"Crossing the River"
by Kelandris the Mad


"I close my eyes and see you before me
Think I would die if you were to ignore me
A fool could see just how much I adore you
I go down on my knees, I do anything for you"

It was dark where he was, and it hurt. No, wait, strike that. It was dark where he was, and *he* hurt.

No, wait. He opened his eyes.

Blinding, redshot light stabbed into his brain, and he made some small whimpering sound of protest. Silent Bob felt his stomach lurch in time with the sledgehammers beating on his head. All right, he had a hangover. He started to sit up and the world spun, the hammers picking up the beat. Okay, revise that. He thought it might be the mother of all hangovers. Every cell in his body felt abraded by sandpaper and mallets. Even his beard hurt.

What the hell time was it, anyway?

"It's past noon, Lunchbox--you wanna know exact?"

Jay bounced into the room, a mug of coffee in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Silent Bob felt his eyes bug out. What the holy hell...?

Jay was...neat, was the applicable word, and yet applied to Jay...it didn't apply. Let it be said the boy was always beautiful, the boy was always entertaining, the boy was always fun to curl up on the couch with and watch sentimental films he was no doubt sick of ever seeing again...but neat? Clean? Pressed? Not usually.

Today, though. Today he'd brushed out his hair until it shone, and tied it back in a long golden ponytail, draping over his right shoulder. He wore maybe the only t-shirt he owned with a pocket, a deep teal one that Bob had seen him wear maybe twice in all the time he'd known him. Actual jean shorts followed that, black and neatly hemmed, and his feet were bare and scrubbed. There was even a ring on one of the toes, a narrow silver band.

Jay walked over to the bed, placing both items he carried carefully on the side table, then held both hands out to Bob. For a moment, Bob just lay there, blinking, trying to figure the angle. Coffee. Water. Arms outstretched. There was a catch here. Wasn't there?

"I'm helping you up, stupid." One of Jay's hands flicked closed twice, gesturing him forward impatiently, but Jay's smile was still warm and open. Bob stared for a moment longer, then shrugged carefully and reached for Jay's hands.

Pulling himself upright brought his face very close to Jay's, and for a long moment neither man breathed. Then Jay smiled again, reaching out a hand to pull open Bob's mouth. Bob felt rather than saw two pills hit his tongue. He stiffened, eyebrows rising high.

Jay had the nerve to laugh as he reached for the water, wrapping Bob's hands around the cool glass.

"Aspirin," he said. "Just aspirin. Shit, you're jumpy this morning." He rose from the bed, stepping to the door before turning around.

"You drink alla that, okay? I'll bring another glass when you're done."

And he walked out of the room.

What the hell was this? Bob rubbed his forehead, trying to figure it out. Yesterday...yesterday. The movie. And Jay telling him he wasn't gay. That was what started this, he knew. And Jay saying he'd prove it. Yeah, this from the kid who fucked girls as easily as most men change clothes, he thought. It wasn't--

**"See, Lunchbox?" Jay said. "And you thought I was gay."**

The bearded man leaned back heavily against the headboard, hands clenched around the water glass. Okay. Breathe. Breathe. You can breathe. Just a line, a stupid Jay line, he says stupid shit every day. It doesn't mean--Holy shit, maybe it did. Jay had kissed him! Before that haunting line, Jay had--and--holy *shit*! Fuck Jay kissing him, Jay had *blown* him, rather expertly, if this wasn't all some insane dream. And then--

**"See, Lunchbox?" Jay said. "And you thought I was--"**

The glass jumped from his hands, splashing the bed and rolling to the floor. Some small sound escaped him again, and he curled, fisting his hands in his dark hair. Instantly it seemed, Jay was back in the room, uncurling him, folding him into those long, pale arms.

"It's okay," Jay said, sounding hushed and hurt at the same time. "It really is, Bob, I mean it."

What the *hell* had happened last night? He poured every ounce of questioning he had in him into his eyes, turning them on Jay and watching his face react. Huh. Shock, he expected. Surprise. Confusion, though. Confusion? Jay was confused? Why?

"You really don't remember, Lunchbox?"

Still that soft voice, that gentle smile, and the one epithet the boy had figured out didn't bug him that much. And Jay was still holding him. Jay was still--still--

Could you hallucinate from a headache?? He watched Jay shake his head, watched as he raised a hand to brush fallen hair from Bob's forehead. He was laughing softly again.

"You said you remember everything."

He said--Wait. Go back. Try that again. He *said* he remembered everything? Out loud??

A sudden memory flash made him shiver. **"Bob", Jay had said. "How much you remember when you're drunk?"**

**"Everything," he'd said. And he'd kissed Jay, on the thigh if he correctly recalled. And kissed his waist. And then--**

He reared back, breaking Jay's hold on him, the hammers in his head starting up again with the sudden movement. Damn, and they'd been dying down, too. Then he snuck a look at Jay. Had that sudden move-- offended him, somehow?

No, apparently not. Jay folded his arms calmly into his lap, still smiling softly.

"Hey, do what you want, I ain't keepin' you here," he said, but there was no sting to the words. Bob watched, stunned, as Jay left the room again. As he walked out the door, he called airily, "I made oatmeal, you want any. I can bring you some."

Bob leaned against the headboard again. No, this was some weird fantasy, none of this shit was real. Bob did most of the cooking, when he bothered, when they didn't just grab a burger or something out. And Jay couldn't make coffee to save his life. And--oatmeal?? He didn't even think they *had* oatmeal!

Which meant shopping. Which meant Jay had thought this out. Which meant Jay had bothered to think about something other than weed, beer and girls for more than two minutes. Which was, let's be honest here, is everyone on the same page, distinctly un-Jay-like behavior.

If he hadn't been convinced that Invasion of the Body Snatchers had just been a good film (well, and a couple of mediocre remakes) and not a real concept, he'd be tempted to check for the pod under Jay's bed. As it was...

Bob stood shakily, ignoring the water on the carpet and the still- steaming mug of coffee next to the bed. He made it nearly to the door before another memory flash smacked him between the eyes.

**"You know, most people I would've cut off at fourteen shots. What makes you think you rate two more?" Moll asked him, staring at him with her nearly colorless eyes. And he'd looked at her and thought of Jay saying--**

Jay saying something that it was now time to get over, *thank* you, begin to deal now before you lose it entirely--

**MOTHERFUCK!! SIXTEEN SHOTS?!?**

He sagged against the door frame, panting. Shit. *Shit*. Sixteen shots?!? It was a wonder he wasn't dead. It was *no* wonder he didn't remember anything. No wonder at all he didn't remember things like--

*tracing his hand slowly up Jay's chest to his face, caressing his lips softly*

*running his hands down Jay's bare legs, the hair soft as cornsilk under his hands*

*licking Jay's ears, hearing him whimper, hearing him gasp*

*tearing Jay's t-shirt off, tossing the halves onto the floor*

*Shit!* Bob fell to his knees, pressing his fingers against his temples. Yeah, he thought hysterically, things like that. Things *just* like that. Good fucking thing he didn't remember, huh? Remember--

**"You hurt me," he said.**

No.

**"You still love me?" he asked.**

*No.*

**"Don't forget this time."**

Oh, dear God, no...Too much revelation widened his eyes. Too much honesty. Way too much whisky, and he fucking should have known better by now, shouldn't he? Everyone had one alcohol they just couldn't take. Bob's was whisky, Bob's was *good* whisky, that loosened his lips and unwrapped his heart and dropped all those lovely controls he'd worked so hard and so long to keep in place. But the animal in pain goes to ground in familiar territory, doesn't he? And his familiar ground was whisky.

Haunted now, he looked up to find Jay, moving around in the kitchen. He was washing dishes. *Washing dishes.* He suppressed a hysterical giggle, pressing his hand so hard against his face he thought he might have bruised himself, and somehow Jay still heard. He watched Jay walk over, kneeling and peering at him.

Breathe. Breathe, Bob. Damn it, *breathe*!

Jay finally nodded, draping an arm elegantly over the upraised knee. Still smiling, oh God, still smiling.

"You do remember somethin', doncha?"

Oh, God, how much will it take, how much do I have to give you, how long are you going to make me suffer before you forget--

Jay leaned forward, removing his hand from his mouth and kissing him. Slowly, gently, his tongue softly pushing between Bob's lips, and Bob was too surprised to stop him. Wasn't this--wasn't yesterday- -wait, go back. Try this again. What *was* yesterday, exactly?

"Give it up, Lunchbox," Jay breathed into his ear. "You're fuckin' stuck with me. You're just gonna have to deal." And he stood, wrapping arms around Bob to pull him up off the floor.

"You want to go back to bed?" he asked, the look in his eyes making the simple statement mean much more. Bob bit his lip, staring at the blond, wondering. Reassembling. Was this real? Was this something he could count on, put faith in, survive with?

Of course, ultimately, did he care?

Slowly, carefully, Bob nodded, and Jay grinned, supporting him back to his room.

"First, we need to get you out of these clothes," he said softly.

Yeah, Bob thought. That would be good. And then. And *then*. How cool was that? Bob let out a long sigh of breath, and smiled. Okay. *Okay*. He could work with this.

END
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
tinfoil in the radar's and the radar's blown


If you wanna go back, go back. If you wanna read the first one again, , go read it then. If you wanna go somewhere else...hey, I ain't stoppin' you.

Or if you want, write me.