DISCLAIMER: Names and places you recognize don't belong to me. I'm
making no profit from this.
NOTES: Written for amer_soeur's (LJ community) 'love without being obvious
challenge.'
-
2:30 AM
Rogue doesn't ask any questions when an inebriated John throws
pebbles at her window at half past two in the morning. She lets him in. She
listens to his haphazard story of throwing pebbles at another window for
"like, an hour, or... yeah, an hour or something" before he realized
it was the wrong window. Then she bitches him out.
Quietly, of course. Wouldn't want to wake the other girls up. John may or may
not be listening as he stares at the floor. John may or may not be staring at
the floor. In the dark it's hard to tell. John used to go straight to his room
after these late night excursions, but Bobby and Piotr aren't putting up with it
anymore. The window is locked and the boys are soundly, frustratedly, pretending
to be asleep as the pebbles go click click click on the windowpane. Click click
click until John goes off to find Rogue instead. There have been pebbles
clicking on her windowpane for three weeks now.
"I don't know why you do shit like this," she continues, walking to
the door. "I don't know where you go or what you do, and I don't want to
know."
"Where are you going?"
"Keep your voice down," she hisses, and consciously lowers her own.
"Where are you going?" asks John in a stage whisper.
"To the door, as usual, to show you out. You know, so you can go to your
room."
She opens the door and the light pools in from the hallway, stretching across
the floor to touch the bedposts, stopping millimeters in front of John's feet.
He doesn't move.
Rogue sighs. "Come on, John."
"People are boring here," says John, sauntering into the light.
"I mean, out there... that's why I go out, y'know? 'Cos here, people are,
like... I feel sick."
Rogue crosses her arms, waiting by the door.
"I'm serious," says John. "I mean, people here don't let you in
and pretend to sleep 'cos they're assholes and stuff, but seriously, I feel...
fuck. Fuck."
"John?"
--
Five minutes later she's rubbing his back as he vomits into the toilet. The
sound offends her and makes her stomach twist, and Rogue feels the bile rising
in her throat in empathy. "John, are you--"
"Fuck," he gasps hoarsely, and vomits again.
John grabs the edge of the toilet lid and Rogue watches his knuckles turn white.
He shudders and pants and lets his head hang forward into the bowl. She wonders
if his eyes are open or closed.
Rogue stands up--John makes a noise of protest--and wets a towel in the sink.
"John," she says softly, and offers him the towel.
He stares at her with bleary eyes before accepting it. John wipes his mouth,
wipes his face. Turns the towel over and buries his face within the terry-cloth
folds. Rogue flushes the toilet, and he pushes himself away at the sound,
pressing himself into a corner. Rogue replaces the lid and sits down.
John says something into the towel.
"What?"
"I'm sorry," says John, louder. He looks up. "I'm sorry. You
probably hate me."
"I think you're an asshole sometimes," says Rogue. "I don't hate
you."
"You must hate that you've watched me throw up more than once."
"I do."
He nods his head. "Okay."
There is a silence in which John studies the floor and Rogue studies John. When
he looks up suddenly, meeting her eyes, she says, "You're a smart boy,
sometimes."
"Thanks."
"Not now, though." She pauses. "Should I get someone to help you
to your room?"
"No, don't call Bobby."
"I didn't say it was going to be Bobby."
The barest hint of a smile appears on John's lips, and is immediately wiped out
by a pained "Fuuuuuuuck." John curls into a ball in his corner,
shutting out the world. Rogue is quiet as she waits for him to emerge once more.
A minute later, she can hear soft snoring sounds.
Rogue rolls her eyes, but doesn't leave. There is no way she's going to let John
spend the rest of the night on the bathroom floor, but there was no need for
action right away, not yet.
The sink drips. She tightens the faucet, protecting the silence, and waits some
more.