Title: In the Mind's Eye
Rating: PG for...stuff, I guess.
Notes: Okay, first things first. Yes, I'm aware that the title is horrible, any which way you look at it, and I apologize for not being able to come up with anything better. Also, I'm not entirely happy with the way it ended, but oh well. Stuff happens, right? Right. This was also started in a futile attempt to write Jono into a story that wasn't angst. It didn't work. I shall try again sometime, but this is what came out of it all.
Continuance Note: Not really sure where this one falls. Ev's still around, and I'm gleefully ignoring the whole Monet/Penance ordeal.
Disclaimer: Even though I'm a student who could desperately use the money, I'm not making anything off this. I'm doing it solely from the goodness of my own heart. This is free exposure, Marvel! Thank me! ME! Er...On with the story.
******
"He's been like this for days, Ms. Frost."
Emma sighed quietly, standing at the top of the stairs with Angelo, looking into Jono's immaculately kept room. She wasn't even sure that he was aware of their presence; being a telepath, one would be inclined to believe he could sense them behind him, but with the bizarre telepathic waves he had been sending out recently, Emma wasn't sure of anything the boy thought.
"It's drivin' me nuts." Angelo ran a finger along the banister, holding it up for emphases. "No dust. No dirt. Nothin'. This is Jono, for cryin' out loud! Mister 'I'm-too-wrapped-up-in-my-own-pity-to-worry-about-anything himself!" The confused and more than irritated Latino pointed down the stairs to where Jono busied himself in the basement-turned-bedroom, tidying up what had already been cleaned days earlier. "Jono's not supposed to clean anything. It doesn't suit him."
"I know."
Angelo, however, ignored her comment. He needed to vent to someone, and so far his teacher was the only one who seemed interested in hearing him, since he was simply repeating the same thing his fellow students already felt. "This is his room. I've never seen it clean. It's always had clothes and video games and magazines and CDs and...and who knows what else everywhere. I didn't even know the floor was concrete. I always assumed he'd had some kind of carpet put in," Angelo continued, referring to the freshly revealed floor of the room.
Emma nodded, wishing for all the world that her oldest student would stop doing everything he could to keep from talking about whatever it was that was bothering him. There was always the temptation to pry into his mind and steal the information directly, but part of being Generation X's guardian was a solemn promise to respect their privacy.
They had always thought the brooding, somber Jono was bad. That attitude had nothing on this new hyper one that strained to be friendly.
Jono turned abruptly to throw another batch of clothes into a basket to take upstairs and wash, appearing not at all surprised to find he was being watched. *'lo,* he greeted casually, flicking his hand in a slight wave. Angelo raised his eyebrows.
"See? It's not him. The Jono I know would've probably blasted us through a wall or something for coming in here without knocking."
Jono, on the other hand, seemed completely and happily oblivious to the conversation taking place before him. He tossed the clothes in the basket and walked back to the bed, stretching out on the floor beside it and pulling anything and everything out from underneath it.
"I know, Angelo, but there is little I can do for him other than stay out of it all. If something's bothering him too badly, he will come to us and talk about it. Until then, all we can do is put up with...this." She paused, forehead creasing. "And hide the dishwashing liquid. He's going to wear the designs off the china if he deep cleans the dishes one more time."
Angelo would have laughed any other time if his teacher hadn't been trying to make a joke about his best friend, one who was currently driving the entire student body insane by doing a complete one-eighty from his usual self-involved, bitter self. He hadn't stopped being social for the past five days. When he wasn't cleaning, or outside doing work around the building, or in the Biosphere training with the mind of a madman, he was wandering the halls in search of anyone to pal around with.
Angelo had always assumed that it would be a glorious day when Jonothon Starsmore saw past his own problems and decided to actually make an honest attempt at being sociable. This wasn't how he had always pictured it. It was awkward and unnatural, as if the Brit was looking more for someone to cling to rather than just another ear to unload his troubles upon.
"Do you think it'd be wrong of me to guide him to my room and have him clean that, too?"
Emma turned cold eyes upon her student. "It could be considered unethical by some, yes." She let her gaze fall to Jono, who had by then made his way to the closet and was digging out the shoe boxes full of personal belongings that Emma could only wonder at. "But if it keeps him quiet and away from the kitchen...Just don't let Sean find out."
Angelo grinned impishly. "Gracias."
Emma shrugged and walked back up the stairs, praying to anyone that was listening that Angelo would manage to occupy his friend long enough to have dinner made by someone who had a clue as to what they were doing. She was still reeling over Jono's well meaning but completely miserable attempt to be helpful the previous night when he tried to make dinner. There may have been a time when he could cook, but being that once one overlooked the gaping hole in his body he was still just an average teenage boy, his only prior cooking skills included the use of a microwave and perhaps a toaster oven. Suffice it to say that his dinner had been widely neglected by most of the students, even Sean and Everett who made a wholehearted effort to appreciate Jono's thoughtfulness. Emma had carefully restrained a grin at hearing Jubilee's remark after dinner that just because Jono hadn't eaten in well over a year didn't mean he had to turn everyone else against food.
"So," Angelo started, causing Jono to jump. "The room, uh...it looks nice."
Jono relaxed and went back to the closet. *Thanks.*
Angelo cleared his throat, shuffling his feet anxiously. What was he supposed to say to someone who didn't even remotely resemble his best friend and partner in crime? The same thing as always; he figured the only way to get to the root of the problem was to directly address it, not daintily sidestep it as everyone else had been doing lately. "What's wrong with you?"
Jono stiffened suddenly, back still turned to Angelo. *Wot? Nothin's wrong with me, Ange. I'm fine.*
"Yeah right. Something's up and you won't talk about it." Angelo seated himself uninvited on the older teen's bed, one that went mostly unused but had nevertheless been cleaned anyway. It was also surprisingly comfortable. "So are you gonna tell me or do I have to sit here all day and pull the info out?"
Jono took one look at his friend, grabbed the basket of laundry, and began to ascend the stairs.
"Hey! C'mon, Jono, I'm worried about you, amigo. We all are." Well, his little inspirational "please speak so I don't have to kill you for cleaning the school" talk wasn't going as well as he had planned. Jono turned abruptly, the glazed, hollow look that occupied his eyes recently giving way to the haunted expression Angelo had grown accustomed to.
*I don't have nothin' t'talk about, Angelo.*
"Liar."
*Nothin' I wanna talk about,* Jono corrected himself, taking a sudden intense interest in the basket of laundry he held. *Clothes are dirty. Just wanted t'go wash 'em, that's all.*
"You don't own that many clothes, hombre. You've already done laundry three times in as many days. What's going on?"
Angelo groaned as he almost watched as the empty look come back on Jono's face. The Brit gripped the bright red basket tighter and began walking up the stairs again. *Just doin' laundry. If you wanna talk, then come upstairs. I can't stand stayin' down 'ere.*
Sometimes, Angelo realized, it just didn't pay to get out of bed and face the day.