Random idea this one. I guess because I love Bobby and Fonz so much. Just go with it okay? And the timeline is all over the place in this as well. Same happenings on Dallas 2012 but Bobby's maybe in his 30's. So I just changed his age. Fonz is around the same I suppose maybe a bit younger.
In his younger days, Bobby would have pounced on the loud-mouthed fool in an instant. Would've given him a few good punches and one too many kicks to remember him by. He also easily could've gone too far and seriously hurt the man. Still, in his younger days, it would've happened in an instant, he wouldn't have cared, and there'd be no hesitation.
Age has come with experience though. Now he's all too familiar with the consequences of being hot-headed; all too acquainted with the way his mind becomes a prison filled with the voices of ghosts and demons that bare down on him with guilt, shame, and humiliation- a parallel to the physical prison he'd be held in.
Bobby doesn't have the same confidence he once held either. He used to be so sure of himself; sure everything he did was right. But in light of recent events, he's seen how things that seem right can be dead wrong and vice-versa. It's made him question past decisions, always wondering if the choice he made was the right one. It's a matter many people deal with, but to him it was a foreign concept until now, and it's quite a shocking- and humbling- realization.
And maybe that's why now he just stands there as the fool lays into him with insults carried on hot, vulgar breath, formed by a whiskey soaked mind. Even as the crowd gathers around them, Bobby doesn't move an inch, doesn't flinch.
His dark eyes search the faces of the crowd, all blank slates to him, none of them familiar. They all share the same hazy excitement though, egging on this fight between him and the inebriated fellow he doesn't even know the first name of. How many times did he fight in the past for the cheers of the crowd? How many times were actually because he needed to fight, because things needed to be done? And how many times did he let his overzealous-always-eager-to-please-insecure-attent ion-junkie attitude push things too far. Push things so freaking far he couldn't even see where it was, where it started, or what the hell was even going on. How much of all that was just to prove something?
Suddenly the sound of the crowd becomes distant- muted almost- as it's overpowered by a loud whine; A ringing in his ears as he falls backwards, recoiling from the straight jab to his jaw. Didn't think he was that coordinated, Bobby quirks his eyebrow as he muses that over from his place on the ground.
The enemy drags Bobby up by his collar, crumpling the well-ironed fabric. He keeps a tight hold with one hand as he delivers punch after punch to Bobby's gut. Bobby swallows hard, the pain's as distant as the crowd, in his mind he's already figured five ways to put this guy flat on his back- figures them out, but he has no intention of using them.
"That the best you got?" The man tosses him away like trash, obviously annoyed with the lack of a fight. Bobby's got enough sense to stay on his feet, and he easily recovers- regaining his footing. He can't help the indignation he feels at the other man's words though. The fact the stupid drunk could possibly think this was the extent of his skills was beyond insulting, infuriating even, almost enough to crumble his resolve of staying nonviolent- but still, it's an almost. Instead Bobby keeps his lips sealed; his feet steady, and works to keep his pride in another place.
"Keepin' quiet eh? Fucking pretentious prick." The drunk sneers at him, eyes buried beneath the caterpillar eyebrows.
"That's quite the alliteration you have there, 'pretentious prick'." Technically it's not an insult, just a statement of truth. Bobby knows it will be taken for the former though, and while that is what he was intending, part of him chastises him for provoking the other man, for giving him a reason to fight. It's this side of him that's acquired quite a huge mouth lately and- regrettably- rightfully so.
"Oh you think that's funny?" Another snarl and Bobby can feel the grin he didn't even know he had slip off his face.
The man charges him, channeling the most powerful inner bull Bobby's ever seen and when the man tackles him to the ground it feels as though a truck hit him and then decided to park on his chest. Locking eyes with the drunk Bobby can see, even through the haze of alcohol, the same anger and vigor he used to brawl with- the same hunger for it. It's what sends his mind into another plane and causes his body to go limp beneath the other man as he pounds on Bobby like a drum with fists the size of barrels.
The fact that other people have that same need for a fight kind of scares him. He's familiar with the extent of how bad things got in his own life, his own fights. And he's got a fairly good, explicit, clue of how things could have been had he not managed to slow it down a bit and remove himself from even the prospect of such occurrences. It's apparent however, that not everyone feels the same repulsion to fighting, or at least have yet to experience the harsh learning curve he did.
But mostly it just serves as a reminder, a reminder of how screwed up things are and how he did nothing about it. Ann's imprisonment- his fault. J.R.'s death- his fault. Christopher and John Ross continuing the very feud he swore to end - his fault. Let's not even add in the fact that Harris Ryland and Cliff Barnes are now teaming up to destroy everything the Ewings are, will be, and ever have been yet he's here in Milwaukee chasing old flames.
Doing great as head of the family aren't you Bobby. It's a bitter thought, one accompanied by a bitter, sharp copper taste in his mouth. His mind comes back to the fight at the thought of blood, just in time to see the gorilla being pulled off of him by a couple of leather wearing silhouettes.
His head is pounding, and though the drunk is gone Bobby still feels as though there's a truck on his chest, crushing him. He feels emotionally crushed as well. The long nights are finally catching up to him, as are the emotional trials of the past few weeks. He never dealt with any of his anger over the things with Ann, nor did he ever really grieve. He couldn't. Such emotions were pushed aside, seen as trivial in the face of the great challenges the family was facing- that he was responsible for getting them through.
Though now, as he slips into unconsciousness with someone's hands pressed against the sides of his face, Bobby wonders if maybe he should've taken the time to reflect and grieve and deal with things. Too late now...