Title: Make Me Feel Alive Part 1c: The End
Author: CAB
Fandom: Askewniverse
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Category: Angst, Romance
Email: colinishere@aol.com
Series/Sequel: The beginning of a series
Disclaimer: Kevin Smith owns them and makes all the money off them.
Spoilers: Chasing Amy
Notes & Writer's Comments: See Chapters 1-2
Chapter 5: Business as Unusual
Banky awoke to a stinging sunlight in his eyes in a strange bed. Part of him expected to have a stranger beside him, but he was alone.
He stumbled, bleary eyed and achy, to the bathroom and remembered he'd spent the night at Hooper's, and taken up residence in the guest room. As usual, a brand new toothbrush and bottle of aspirin sat on the counter beside a fresh towel and bar of baby powder soap.
After brushing his teeth and washing up, he felt a little less hung over, but still wasn't looking forward to the day ahead of him.
The light knock on the door startled him as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
"It's not locked." Banky sighed, then hung up the towel as Hooper came in behind him.
"Morning." Hooper came in, dressed in fatigues and black leather. "Or should I say 'Afternoon' now?"
Banky shrugged. "Where you going? Some kind of pride march or something?"
"Gotta go work, hon." He primped a little as he pushed Banky out of the way. "Someone's gotta sell my book."
"Oh." Banky nodded to himself and smoothed out a wrinkle in his jeans.
"Why are you looking so dejected? Don't you have things you should be doing?"
"I just thought maybe you'd help me move." Banky began to feel a little uncomfortable in the cramped bathroom, so he moved into the hall.
"Yeah, sure, then we can get our hair done and spend all afternoon painting each other's nails in bed." Hooper rolled his eyes, "I got bills to pay, sweetie, and while I'd love to spend my day watching you pack your jeans...Rent's due next week."
"Oh, okay. No problem, I guess." Banky shrugged, "I...uh, I just thought we were in this together."
"Banky," Hooper turned away from the mirror and put on his beret. "I'm all over the emotional support thing, but like I said...a man's gotta eat. And, I can't earn a living if I don't show up at these appearances."
Banky paused for a moment, then leaned on the door jamb and smirked.
"Why do you look like the cat that caught the mouse?"
"Is this a money thing?" Banky licked his lips, "Or are you just trying to get away from me?"
"A money thing?" Hooper pushed Banky aside. "No, this is a 'Hooper has to sell his dream' thing. Maybe if I were to forfeit my artistic integrity like *some* people, I'd be up to my balls in cash..."
"Don't make this about me." Banky shook his head, "I was just asking a simple question..."
"With you there is no such thing as a simple question." Hooper gathered his things into a little black leather backpack.
"I was just wondering, a little curiosity never hurt, did it?" Banky paused, following Hooper into the living room. "It just strikes me as odd that your book doesn't sell that well, and yet...you manage to afford a two bedroom apartment in the city..."
"Drop it." Hooper took on a sudden serious tone and picked up his keys.
"Consider it dropped."
"Good." Hooper lit a cigarette. "Get your shit, let's go."
"Where are we going?"
"You're going to go pack up and I'm going to work."
"Oh, I just figured we were going to get breakfast first..."
"You can buy me breakfast tonight."
"Tonight?"
"I'll borrow a friend's truck and meet you tonight so we can start moving in your stuff."
Banky stood, a little stunned as Hooper went into the kitchen and took an orange from the fridge.
"What the fuck are you staring at?" Hooper looked back to where Banky stood, his jaw still halfway to the floor. "Go get your stuff before I do."
* * * * *
Chapter 6: Home, Less
Banky looked at the door to the place he once called home. Holden had already put black tape over the merging of their names, the company BankHoldup. Praying to any God that could possibly exist, he turned his key in the lock and hoped Holden wouldn't be around. Thankfully, the place was empty.
Very empty.
It looked like Holden had boxed up almost all the rest of belongings and moved the boxes out to the living room. Even his couch was gone and some of the stuff he'd had framed over the years taken down off the walls. After a moment of complete confusion, he found the letter sitting next to a manila folder on the coffee table.
-Banky,
"I thought I'd do the right thing and help you out of here. You made it pretty damn clear I can't make you stay. Your couch, bed and drawing table are all in storage down the block. Left the key in your denim jacket."
Banky put down the page and looked at the folder. After running his finger around the edge, he opened it up. All his records, birth certificate, apparently all the things Holden had locked up in the fireproof safe a while back. But, at the very bottom a plain white envelope. Inside was the one thing he'd asked for...the rights to Bluntman and Chronic.
Floored by the sight, he put everything back on the table and sat on the floor where his couch had been for years. After drawing his knees up to his chin, he covered his eyes and tried for once to get inside Holden's head. Why was he an asshole one minute, then giving up everything the next? Was signing over the rights just a ploy to get him to come back?
It could have been hours later for all he cared, but when the phone rang he just about jumped out of his skin. "BankHoldup." He answered quietly.
"You don't have to keep the name." Holden's voice came over the line.
"What?" Banky was more confused by the fact that Holden was calling than what he'd just said.
"I hope you don't mind me finishing up your packing. I'm...uh...I'm going to be moving pretty soon, myself."
"Oh, really?" Banky tried to sound casual, but failed.
"Yeah, a friend of mine is going to hook me up with a single." He paused, "You know, I can't expect to make rent for the old place on freelancing alone."
Trying not to cave into the guilt trip and played it cool, "I'm not really sure where I'll end up...but I'm really liking the city."
"I'm sure you've got a lot of ideas."
Banky felt suddenly very vulnerable and wanted to flee the place they'd built, to get as far away from Holden as possible. "I should go, I've got a lot to do."
"Sure, sure."
"Okay. Um, bye then."
"And, Banky?"
"Yeah?"
"See you at the convention." the line clicked and Banky stood silently as the dial tone blared.
"Fucker." The word barely crossed his lips, but it was the only thing he could think of.
* * * * *
Author: CAB
Fandom: Askewniverse
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Category: Angst, Romance
Email: colinishere@aol.com
Series/Sequel: The beginning of a series
Disclaimer: Kevin Smith owns them and makes all the money off them.
Spoilers: Chasing Amy
Notes & Writer's Comments: See Chapters 1-2
Chapter 5: Business as Unusual
Banky awoke to a stinging sunlight in his eyes in a strange bed. Part of him expected to have a stranger beside him, but he was alone.
He stumbled, bleary eyed and achy, to the bathroom and remembered he'd spent the night at Hooper's, and taken up residence in the guest room. As usual, a brand new toothbrush and bottle of aspirin sat on the counter beside a fresh towel and bar of baby powder soap.
After brushing his teeth and washing up, he felt a little less hung over, but still wasn't looking forward to the day ahead of him.
The light knock on the door startled him as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
"It's not locked." Banky sighed, then hung up the towel as Hooper came in behind him.
"Morning." Hooper came in, dressed in fatigues and black leather. "Or should I say 'Afternoon' now?"
Banky shrugged. "Where you going? Some kind of pride march or something?"
"Gotta go work, hon." He primped a little as he pushed Banky out of the way. "Someone's gotta sell my book."
"Oh." Banky nodded to himself and smoothed out a wrinkle in his jeans.
"Why are you looking so dejected? Don't you have things you should be doing?"
"I just thought maybe you'd help me move." Banky began to feel a little uncomfortable in the cramped bathroom, so he moved into the hall.
"Yeah, sure, then we can get our hair done and spend all afternoon painting each other's nails in bed." Hooper rolled his eyes, "I got bills to pay, sweetie, and while I'd love to spend my day watching you pack your jeans...Rent's due next week."
"Oh, okay. No problem, I guess." Banky shrugged, "I...uh, I just thought we were in this together."
"Banky," Hooper turned away from the mirror and put on his beret. "I'm all over the emotional support thing, but like I said...a man's gotta eat. And, I can't earn a living if I don't show up at these appearances."
Banky paused for a moment, then leaned on the door jamb and smirked.
"Why do you look like the cat that caught the mouse?"
"Is this a money thing?" Banky licked his lips, "Or are you just trying to get away from me?"
"A money thing?" Hooper pushed Banky aside. "No, this is a 'Hooper has to sell his dream' thing. Maybe if I were to forfeit my artistic integrity like *some* people, I'd be up to my balls in cash..."
"Don't make this about me." Banky shook his head, "I was just asking a simple question..."
"With you there is no such thing as a simple question." Hooper gathered his things into a little black leather backpack.
"I was just wondering, a little curiosity never hurt, did it?" Banky paused, following Hooper into the living room. "It just strikes me as odd that your book doesn't sell that well, and yet...you manage to afford a two bedroom apartment in the city..."
"Drop it." Hooper took on a sudden serious tone and picked up his keys.
"Consider it dropped."
"Good." Hooper lit a cigarette. "Get your shit, let's go."
"Where are we going?"
"You're going to go pack up and I'm going to work."
"Oh, I just figured we were going to get breakfast first..."
"You can buy me breakfast tonight."
"Tonight?"
"I'll borrow a friend's truck and meet you tonight so we can start moving in your stuff."
Banky stood, a little stunned as Hooper went into the kitchen and took an orange from the fridge.
"What the fuck are you staring at?" Hooper looked back to where Banky stood, his jaw still halfway to the floor. "Go get your stuff before I do."
* * * * *
Chapter 6: Home, Less
Banky looked at the door to the place he once called home. Holden had already put black tape over the merging of their names, the company BankHoldup. Praying to any God that could possibly exist, he turned his key in the lock and hoped Holden wouldn't be around. Thankfully, the place was empty.
Very empty.
It looked like Holden had boxed up almost all the rest of belongings and moved the boxes out to the living room. Even his couch was gone and some of the stuff he'd had framed over the years taken down off the walls. After a moment of complete confusion, he found the letter sitting next to a manila folder on the coffee table.
-Banky,
"I thought I'd do the right thing and help you out of here. You made it pretty damn clear I can't make you stay. Your couch, bed and drawing table are all in storage down the block. Left the key in your denim jacket."
Banky put down the page and looked at the folder. After running his finger around the edge, he opened it up. All his records, birth certificate, apparently all the things Holden had locked up in the fireproof safe a while back. But, at the very bottom a plain white envelope. Inside was the one thing he'd asked for...the rights to Bluntman and Chronic.
Floored by the sight, he put everything back on the table and sat on the floor where his couch had been for years. After drawing his knees up to his chin, he covered his eyes and tried for once to get inside Holden's head. Why was he an asshole one minute, then giving up everything the next? Was signing over the rights just a ploy to get him to come back?
It could have been hours later for all he cared, but when the phone rang he just about jumped out of his skin. "BankHoldup." He answered quietly.
"You don't have to keep the name." Holden's voice came over the line.
"What?" Banky was more confused by the fact that Holden was calling than what he'd just said.
"I hope you don't mind me finishing up your packing. I'm...uh...I'm going to be moving pretty soon, myself."
"Oh, really?" Banky tried to sound casual, but failed.
"Yeah, a friend of mine is going to hook me up with a single." He paused, "You know, I can't expect to make rent for the old place on freelancing alone."
Trying not to cave into the guilt trip and played it cool, "I'm not really sure where I'll end up...but I'm really liking the city."
"I'm sure you've got a lot of ideas."
Banky felt suddenly very vulnerable and wanted to flee the place they'd built, to get as far away from Holden as possible. "I should go, I've got a lot to do."
"Sure, sure."
"Okay. Um, bye then."
"And, Banky?"
"Yeah?"
"See you at the convention." the line clicked and Banky stood silently as the dial tone blared.
"Fucker." The word barely crossed his lips, but it was the only thing he could think of.
* * * * *