We'll Always Have Seinfeld, a men in black fanfic

A/N:
Really quick: please make sure you've read the A/N at the beginning of Happy Endings before you read this; the same explaination applies. Thanks. :)

- Sparky

We'll Aways Have Seinfeld
a Men In Black II fanfic
by
C. "Sparky" Read

Scrad didn't say a word all the way home; not on the bus, from Battery Park to downtown; not on the twenty-minute walk from the bus stop to the tragic wasteland so misleadingly called an apartment complex. His silence was uncharacteristic and consuming, and it frightened Charlie.

But not until the door had been locked behind them, the backpack had been removed, and Scrad stood staring vacantly down into the cluttered sink, did Charlie try to break the awful silence.

"Scrad?" he prompted. Simple and direct.

But Scrad said nothing, and moved to the living room where he sat mechanically in the well-worn hollow of the couch, facing the apartment's largest (and most expensive) television set. He didn't touch the remote, conveniently wedged between the sofa cushions, which really worried Charlie. The apartment was apallingly quiet. Charlie couldn't take it.

"Scra-aaad!" he whined, panic in his voice. He couldn't stand it when his bodymate refused to talk to him - it had only happened once before, long ago, but the memory of not being spoken to for three whole days was a nightmare he'd never forget. "Scrad, dammit, say something already!"

And Scrad did. He said, "Shit," which, while not very pleasant, or explainatory, was at least something, and Charlie heaved a sigh of relief.

"What?" asked Charlie. "What's the matter with you? We did it, man - we didn't get Solitary, and we get to stay here! What are you upset about?"

"Shit," said Scrad again, in response.

Charlie snaked his head around, so he and Scrad were face-to-face. "What is it with you?" he demanded, starting to lose patience. "We're free! Serleena's gone - thank you very much - and we've got a job interview in the morning. Now what have you got to complain about?"

Scrad took a breath and opened his mouth to say "Shit" again, but stopped himself, and instead said, "I'm such an idiot."

Charlie stared at him. It was his job to call Scrad an idiot. This was against protocol. "Come again?" he said, just in case the comment had actually been intended for him and somehow backfired mysteriously on the speaker.

"I'm an idiot," repeated Scrad, dropping his gaze to his Doc Martens and scowling miserably. "Haven't you noticed that everything good that has happened to us has been your fault and everything bad has been mine?"

Charlie hadn't, actually. "Hey, what are you doing?" he prodded. "You're making us depressed. It's annoying. Knock it off." He didn't look as take-charge as he sounded, though. This might be a problem.

Scrad looked up then. "Well, think about it!" he sputtered. "Stay on Bi-Crania: my idea. Leave Bi-Crania: your idea. Run away from the crazy Kylothion at the starport: my idea. Become her spy and come to Earth: your idea."

"But - " said Charlie.

"Blow up MIB headquarters: my idea. Save the world: your idea. Basic cable my idea, DirectTV your idea - "

"Okay!" yelled Charlie. "All right! Point." He exhaled. "I don't see what difference it makes," he said placatingly. "As long as we - "

"But it hasn't been about 'we'," Scrad went on desperately. "It's always been about me. I always get to do everything, and you…you're just…a head, stuck in…a backpack."

Charlie blinked at Scrad. He was beyond worried now. "But I like the backpack," he insisted. "It smells like Twinkies in the backpack. Christ, man - what the hell is your deal all of a sudden? This stuff never bothered you before."

Scrad looked his Second in the eye. "I don't take care of you," he concluded sadly. He motioned briefly to the bruises decorating Charlie's face, the now-doctored wounds Serleena had inflicted earlier that night. "I let her do that to you."

Charlie shook his head vehemently. "No, man, the bitch was psycho, she just picked one of us and had a go - "

"Well I didn't say anything, all right? I let her do it and I didn't even say anything!" Scrad ran a hand over his face. "Shit," he said once again, this time in context.

"But…you couldn't have done anything." It seemed blaringly simple, to Charlie at least. "Hey, it was either me or you, right?"

But if this comment was meant in jest it didn't register that way with Scrad. "That's just it," Scrad exclaimed, smacking a fist on the couch and dislodging the remote onto the floor. "There is no 'either me or you'. There never was. I'm such an idiot."

The conversation had finally come full-circle. It was now Charlie who fell silent, stunned by his bodymate's argument.

"And…look at you," Scrad wearily added a minute later, studying Charlie's face. "Geez. You need a shave."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Like you don't," he returned.

Scrad acted like he didn't hear. "And you look terrible," he went on. "Don't you get enough sleep?"

Charlie didn't answer right away, and Scrad frowned at him. "What, do I…do I roll on you or something?" he guessed.

Charlie didn't answer again, and Scrad threw his hands up in disgust. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, genuinely upset.

"Well, hell, I can always sleep during the day," Charlie lied, knowing full well that a backpack on a person wandering the New York streets was in no way a good place to catch a nap.

Scrad leaned over and picked up the fallen remote. "You'll tell me, from now on, if I do anything else?" he prompts, switching on the set and the DirectTV.

"Well," said Charlie, leaping on the opportunity, "you read too slow. I always have to wait like ten minutes at the end of every page for you to turn it - "

"Okay, fine." Scrad started flipping through the stations.

"And you brush my teeth too hard - "

"All right."

"And maybe if you didn't drink so many liquids before we went to bed it wouldn't be so uncomfortable - "

"Okay, you know what? Shut up."

Charlie grinned broadly, embracing the old stand-by like a long-lost friend. He nodded at the set. "There's crap on," he commented helpfully. "Switch to cable."

Scrad obeyed. "Seinfeld."

"Sweet. Leave it there."

They'd seen the episode at least twenty times already. But it was even better the twenty-first.