Five Bobs that Weren't
by shoemaster

Five Bobs that Weren't

shoemaster

Summary

Bob could only ever be Bob, but if he wasn't....

Notes

None

Chapter One

1.
Lisa woke up from her nap crying, and Rob was on his feet almost instantly. He was a little sluggish, but that was to be expected of new parents, or so everyone kept telling him. At the moment, he wasn't sure how the world was in danger of over population. He loved his little girl, but he just didn't know how parents survived to do this more than once.

He picked her up and made the soothing noises that had become second nature as he walked with her around the room. She'd settled a bit when a blast of music came from the apartment next door. Lisa started whimpering and squirming in his arms, so Rob shifted his grip before reaching for the door and walking down the worn carpet.

The kid in 3B looked confused when he opened the door after Rob's aborted attempt at a knock.

"Hey, man, I was wondering if you could just turn that down a bit. She's not feeling so well, and-"

Rob figured he must look pretty pathetic, because the kid quickly agreed. "Yeah, don't worry about it, dude. Just, you know, new CD and all."

Rob relaxed. "Thanks."

By the time Lisa was back in her bassinette, Rob could barely hear the singer screaming that he wasn't okay.

2.
A college kid with no neck - and, god, she hoped that wasn't a fake tan - sat down on the stool next to her. "Hey, beautiful. Do you come here often?"

She shifted away from him slightly. "Nope. I'm with the band."

"Oh, yeah?" A grin grew on his face, one she'd seen a thousand times before, typical of frat boys who thought they knew what 'with the band' meant.

The bartender arrived with her beer, finally. "Yeah."

She chugged it quickly, ignoring the way he kept inching closer. "I'm Jason, what's your name?"

"Bobbi!" a voice near the stage shouted over the crowd, "show time!"

She slammed the nearly empty beer bottle down on top of Jason's hand and pulled her drumsticks out of the pocket of her jeans.

3.
The cake said, "Congratulations, Robert!", but the icing was smeared on the last three letters, and he knew there was a watch in the box that his boss thought she was keeping hidden behind her back. It wasn't like twenty-five years with McLaughlin Industries was anything to be proud of. He'd tried to take down the plaque they'd given him for best sales rep in the North Midwest section, but Terry had kept asking what happened to it.

He was thinking of retiring soon, and then maybe he and his cat could move down south, someplace warm.

4.
Bobby was the catcher for the varsity team. No one in the league wanted to have a close play at the plate when he was behind it, because he was a fucking wall. Nothing and no one got past him. His mom never missed a weekend game, and his girlfriend only missed games that conflicted with volleyball practice.

In the championship game of the West Suburban Conference, the short stop from North tried to score off of his teammate's single, but Sean made the play at first easily, and then fired the ball home where Bob was waiting. He made the catch and dropped quickly in front of the plate as the runner dropped into a slide. The collision was jarring as always, but it wasn't until he heard the umpire yell "Out!" that he relaxed and realized something was wrong.

It was a clean break, but he missed the rest of the game while his mom took him to the hospital. The Mustangs lost 5-3, and he nodded when she told him it wasn't his fault, but he never really believed it.

5.
The fire that killed Mr. and Mrs. Bryar left their son badly burned. He spent weeks in the hospital as doctors experimented with new grafting techniques paid for by a member of the board. The staph infection nearly killed him, but they finally let him go home with his grandfather.

"You're going to thank him," Benjamin said. "He saved your life, you know."

"The doctors did that," his grandson replied, crossing his arms.

"Well, they couldn't have afforded to do so without his help. Go on, boy."

He grimaced when his grandfather used his cane to push him toward the looming door. He only knocked once before a man as old as the one behind him opened it.

"Ah, Mr. Bryar, we've been expecting you."

The old man escorted him down a long hallway and into a small study.

"Master Wayne, you have a guest."

"Thank you, Alfred."

Alfred closed the door, leaving them alone in the dark room.

"Mr. Wayne, I- I'm supposed to thank you, for helping the doctors-"

"You're welcome, Mr. Bryar."

"Robin," he corrected. "I'm not a mister anything."