Title: Dense Author: Kelandris the Mad Fandom: View Askewniverse, Chasing Amy (post) Pairing: Banky/Holden Rating: PG-13 for language. No sex... Status: New Archive: wherever you want, full permission, just lemme know about it. No, I don't believe grabbing it from the list requires a note. E-mail address for feedback: kel@crazysheep.net Series/Sequel: Sequel to Holden/Silent Bob fic called "Shall We Dance?" found at http://www.dreamwater.net/kelandris/shallwe.html 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: Wanted to write more of a "I forgive you, come into my arms!" kind of piece, but I guess Banky's more resentful than I thought. Song-fic. And if anyone can think of a better title, do suggest it! Summary: Holden returns to the con to try to explain his feelings. Warnings: Language, heavy angst =========================================== "Dense" by Kelandris "My eyes are closed and I've nothing more to say But I was so willing to give it all away And what a show, I've loved you all I could When will I see you, is nothing understood?" Banky Edwards tallied up the boxes left at the end of the con. He'd done pretty well--taking back a box and a half of various comics he'd brought in nine boxes to sell, and taking back half a box of `Baby Dave', which he could just as easily drop off at one of his local hang-outs, see if they'd cut him a commission on signed copies. And of course, more folding money than he'd seen in a while?well, at least since the Bank-Hold-Up days. He fought down the prickle in his eyes, the catch in his throat, bending under the table for the lockbox. Hey, that was pretty fucking good, he thought; got it down to thinking about Holden once a day again. Which was pretty good--once a day of having his heart crushed in that vise of disappointment was more than enough. The only time in recent memory it had shot over that solid total was the day Holden had stopped by the con. Fuck, that had rocked him. Seeing him again. Having to deal with all that shit again. What he'd said...and Alyssa, just soaking it all up, being so goddamned fucking understanding about it all...Fucking *Holden,*, so smart, so witty, so completely together in every other aspect of his life save this one. And it didn't help that he'd looked like?shit. Hurting. Tortured. Angelic. None of which were words he wanted to apply to Holden at this precise moment in time. He shook his head, standing up with the lockbox, and saw Holden standing in front of his table. **Shit,** Banky thought hysterically. **There goes the fucking brain, now he's popping up everywhere!** "Hey," Holden said. "You thought I was stupid But now I stop (stop!) at nothing (I stop at nothing) I thought you were better But love's gonna take a man Yeah, love's gonna take a man" When he offered to help him carry the last of the gear out to his car, he shrugged, figuring Holden's help was better than doing everything himself. He was struck by the morbid irony, though...Holden helping him carry comic boxes, full of comics he hadn't drawn, out to the car, so Banky could return them to a place Holden had never been. When, in the bad old days of Hold-Up, Holden would do virtually anything to avoid lifting a box. It was rich. Nearly made him laugh out loud. Or cry, he was never sure which later. Out by the car, he peered at Holden, suddenly taking in the attire. Crisp suit coats were more his style, or t-shirts with artistic logos. This was a shapeless, faded baggy sweatshirt, the kind with the hood that flipped up at the back. He owned a few, but somehow, he couldn't see Holden still having anything he'd owned. Still, he felt abraded somehow, as if Holden had appropriated something of his without permission. He stored the last of the boxes in the trunk, flipping the lid down with a satisfying click, and asked casually, "So why'd you come back? Alyssa left this morning, you know, had another con in Dallas to get to." He only knew that because Hooper had asked him to play dumb white-ass again, and he'd heard her speak before Hoop had stood up. But the shot struck home; Holden looked out over the nearly empty parkway behind the hotel, shaking his head slightly. Then he looked back, and his eyes were wet with unshed tears. "I came back for you, Bank. We need to talk." Banky laughed under his breath, tossing the lockbox in the car and closing the door. "We did the talk. We did the phone call. You still don't understand." "I'm trying, Bank. Give me a chance." Banky sighed, running his hands through his hair. "How many you want, Holden? How many you think I have? How many times do I get to see you go after Alyssa before you decide that part of her life--*your* part of her life--is over? And how many times are you gonna come after me before *that* part of it sinks in?" "You thought I was nothing Before you stepped (stepped!) into my life (stepped into my life) I thought you were clever But love's gonna take a man And you haven't got it in ya" Now Holden looked truly miserable, and Banky didn't blame him. It wasn't easy being told the chemo wasn't working. He was still dealing with that day after day. Every time he drew an attractive male in his new comic, he had to pause and work it through--was it because he wanted a guy who looked like that? Did he still like women? Did he ever? They weren't questions he liked asking himself. And being confronted with Holden again, and Holden's big, hurting puppy-eyes, it was hard to say what he wanted, without letting the noise of everything pressing up behind it get in the way. "Can we just--go somewhere, Bank? Talk it out? Over coffee, maybe?" And fucking Holden, Banky thought--how often had he practiced that small wounded voice? How many women had fallen for it in a heartbeat? Alyssa for sure, he thought. Seemed right up her alley. "Sure," he said caustically. "Come back to my place, we'll have coffee and lube. Maybe some hot gay-porno sex. I even know the pizza boy to call," he said. He swung his keys, listening to the heavy clink, before looking back at Holden. And he froze. Holden was crying. Holden was...*actually*...crying. Shit. Now what should he do? Don't say your love is killing me You know how much it means to me I too have feelings deep inside That would not hurt your foolish pride... "Holden," he sighed. He walked over to the guy, hands twitching. He wanted to hold him, just let him cry it out, but did it mean anything? Could he trust him? He looked around, seeing traffic slowly increasing, but this section of the parkway was still sparsely populated. **And I was in such a good mood earlier,** he thought resentfully. **I didn't have to think about any of this shit, and now he's here, and all of it's gonna come out, and?** He shook his head. **Shit.** Conflicts kept him in place, trembling, until Holden looked up. Then, cursing under his breath, he stepped forward, folding him into exasperated arms while Holden wept heartbrokenly against his shoulder. "For a smart man," Banky said softly, "you are one *dense* motherfucker, do you know that?" I too have feelings deep inside That would not hurt your foolish pride... END (Song is Erasure's "Don't Say Your Love is Killing Me")