Summary: Short random scenes from the X-Mansion.

Disclaimer: Property of Marvel and Fox and Stan Lee and blah blah blah...


Laundry Room


She was just walking past the laundry room one day, the swinging door to the room was jammed open for some reason, and she saw him in there -- calmly folding his shirts and jeans. She rubbed her eyes and even pinched herself but nothing changed the fact that John Allerdyce was doing laundry.

What the fuck?

When she told Jubilee about it, she didn't seem as surprised as Rogue thought she would be.

Jubilee just said, "He does that every Thursday." Then went back to reading her magazine as if it wasn't that big of a deal.

So she just watched and waited and sure enough, he did -- every Thursday, right after dinner, he does laundry.

After watching him for a few weeks, she wanted to know more about this little ritual of his. She didn't know why she was so damn curious; it wasn't like they were friends or anything. She talked to him a total of six times -- five of those conversations (if you could even call them that) were about homework assignments and one time was about how Bobby's cologne was possibly made from real toilet water.

Just stop thinking about it so damn hard! If you're that interested, go find out and stop making up little stories in your head about why he does it.

She gathered up her clothes, dumped them in a basket, and went downstairs to the laundry room.

He seemed surprised when she got there -- she wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't expect anyone to be there with him or because of the loud bang she made pushing open the door and stumbling into the room.

"Hey," he greeted her.

"Hey." She tried to keep her gaze away from how he was leaning over the table that was in the middle of the room -- leaning over so that the white t-shirt he was wearing was riding up his back and the top of his boxers was peeking above the waistband of his jeans.

She would never be able to look at a shamrock print the same way again.

She set her basket on the table and started to sort through her clothes. She could feel him watching her, she just hoped he hadn't noticed when she inadvertently pulled out a bra from the basket.

"What are you doing here?"

She continued with her sorting. Dark clothing here. Whites here. In betweens here. "I thought it was obvious."

He doesn't respond. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug and went back to the book he was reading before she came in.

She put her clothes into the washers and tried to decide which detergent to use.

"Don't use that one with your dark clothes," he said over his book.

"Why?"

"It has bleach in it. It'll probably ruin your clothes."

"Oh... So what should I use instead?"

"Haven't you ever done laundry before?"

"I only asked since you seem to be the all-knowing expert."

He just chuckled. Now why did that give her goosebumps?

She watched him as he put down his book -- The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, she noted -- and walked toward her. He stood next to her and picked out the detergents she should use.

"That one for your colors, that one for your whites. If you're not sure, use that one. And don't forget to use fabric softener."

She just stared at him.

"What?"

"Seriously...when did you become such an expert?"

He grinned and said, "Anything worth doing is worth doing well."

She smiled back. "You've been dying to say that to someone, haven't you?"

"Was it obvious?"

"I won't tell."

He chuckled again -- a shiver went up her spine. "You always like this?"

"I guess you'll have to find out, sugar."

"I guess I will."