TS: I Never Told You What I Did for a Living
TS info post is located here.
A/N: This is teeny and really should have been included with Part Two. It required additional wrangling, however. Sorry.
~~~
This time, he is flat-out miserable in Chicago. For the first time since he left his mother's house for school in Florida, Bob feels adrift. He knows why; the truth is lodged against his breastbone, making it hard to breathe. It unfurls in his dreams, taunting him with the worse memories from Europe- the fights he couldn't defuse and Gee's increasingly erratic grasp on reality, blends with battles gone awry; the gargoyle somewhere in France that almost took off Bob's arm, that pair of women who sidled up to Ray in Barcelona, the snakes in their hair visible only in their shadows. Over and over, Bob wakes, shaky, to tangled sheets and a silent apartment. Over and over, he reminds himself that he killed that gargoyle, that he'd torn those snaky soul-suckers to pieces before they could harm Ray. But he always wakes in the night; unaccustomed to the perfect darkness of his bedroom, the lack of pre-dawn light is less than convincing.
He's careful to leave his phone in the other room.
Bob's dreams aren't the real problem.
~
He's never belonged to anyone; it’s not a comfortable feeling. As much as he loves My Chem, he doesn’t want to give them everything. But now he's back in Chicago and everything's wrong. His life is rote: a routine but worse. Bob can't even rouse himself enough to finalize details for his next gig. Most often, he just huddles on the couch, flips absently through the channels on his TV, letting the flicker of images soothe him.
Andy lets him wallow for six days before appearing up on his doorstep. He shows up on Sunday at seven fucking am, leaning on the doorbell until Bob stumbles out of his bedroom to let him in.
He stands in Bob’s doorway for a moment, staring at him; his glasses tilt, the glare hiding his eyes. Bob snorts; the scent of his friend's determination is thick in the entryway. Then Andy steps into the apartment, pulling the door shut behind him with a decisive click.
“Go take a shower. We're going to breakfast.”
Bob looks at him and sighs. He sees Andy's mouth twitch at the sound, and barely hides a frown. Instead, Bob pads down the hall to the bathroom.
~
They walk to a nearby diner, one they've eaten at before. They both order coffee. Bob doesn't comment- he and Andy long ago hashed out the rules of diner eating. Bob doesn't give Andy shit about the coffee or hash browns cooked on the same griddle as meat, and he won't get a lecture about eating meat. (The point's moot, of course. Bob's a carnivore who is a social omnivore. Though, okay, he really loves potatoes and cheese. Especially together. But friendships are made of pacts and solemn promises and exceptions. Bob's more than willing to give Andy culinary exceptions. The dude's too skinny anyway.)
They order and Andy curls his hands around the heavy white mug. He breathes in the steam from his coffee.
“Bob Bryar. I never thought you'd prove to be a coward.”
Shock alone keeps Bob from lunging across the table.
“What?!” He hissed instead.
Andy sipped his black coffee, eyes never leaving Bob.
“You heard me. They need you, you need them and instead you walk away?”
A/N: This is teeny and really should have been included with Part Two. It required additional wrangling, however. Sorry.
~~~
This time, he is flat-out miserable in Chicago. For the first time since he left his mother's house for school in Florida, Bob feels adrift. He knows why; the truth is lodged against his breastbone, making it hard to breathe. It unfurls in his dreams, taunting him with the worse memories from Europe- the fights he couldn't defuse and Gee's increasingly erratic grasp on reality, blends with battles gone awry; the gargoyle somewhere in France that almost took off Bob's arm, that pair of women who sidled up to Ray in Barcelona, the snakes in their hair visible only in their shadows. Over and over, Bob wakes, shaky, to tangled sheets and a silent apartment. Over and over, he reminds himself that he killed that gargoyle, that he'd torn those snaky soul-suckers to pieces before they could harm Ray. But he always wakes in the night; unaccustomed to the perfect darkness of his bedroom, the lack of pre-dawn light is less than convincing.
He's careful to leave his phone in the other room.
Bob's dreams aren't the real problem.
~
He's never belonged to anyone; it’s not a comfortable feeling. As much as he loves My Chem, he doesn’t want to give them everything. But now he's back in Chicago and everything's wrong. His life is rote: a routine but worse. Bob can't even rouse himself enough to finalize details for his next gig. Most often, he just huddles on the couch, flips absently through the channels on his TV, letting the flicker of images soothe him.
Andy lets him wallow for six days before appearing up on his doorstep. He shows up on Sunday at seven fucking am, leaning on the doorbell until Bob stumbles out of his bedroom to let him in.
He stands in Bob’s doorway for a moment, staring at him; his glasses tilt, the glare hiding his eyes. Bob snorts; the scent of his friend's determination is thick in the entryway. Then Andy steps into the apartment, pulling the door shut behind him with a decisive click.
“Go take a shower. We're going to breakfast.”
Bob looks at him and sighs. He sees Andy's mouth twitch at the sound, and barely hides a frown. Instead, Bob pads down the hall to the bathroom.
~
They walk to a nearby diner, one they've eaten at before. They both order coffee. Bob doesn't comment- he and Andy long ago hashed out the rules of diner eating. Bob doesn't give Andy shit about the coffee or hash browns cooked on the same griddle as meat, and he won't get a lecture about eating meat. (The point's moot, of course. Bob's a carnivore who is a social omnivore. Though, okay, he really loves potatoes and cheese. Especially together. But friendships are made of pacts and solemn promises and exceptions. Bob's more than willing to give Andy culinary exceptions. The dude's too skinny anyway.)
They order and Andy curls his hands around the heavy white mug. He breathes in the steam from his coffee.
“Bob Bryar. I never thought you'd prove to be a coward.”
Shock alone keeps Bob from lunging across the table.
“What?!” He hissed instead.
Andy sipped his black coffee, eyes never leaving Bob.
“You heard me. They need you, you need them and instead you walk away?”