Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines are property of Marvel and Fox. I lay claim to nothing but the compilation of the words. No copyright infringement is intended. I don't own MASH, either.
Author's Note: Yes, it's been a time since the last chapter. My apologies to those that were waiting, and my pure, unfiltered thanks to those who have given such kind reviews! I have been working on a new project, called Lighter Fluid: Pyro Fanfiction Archive, which has been taking up a lot of my time. However, I am finished, so new chapters will be coming your way more often! Here is Chapter Four! I hope that you enjoy it!
Breakfast had gone over pretty well, with you hanging in the kitchen with Gambit for quite a while. John had been quiet after you returned to the picnic table, and had quickly excused himself soon after. You had been curious, but didn't dare ask; after what Rogue had told you about him, and about his temper when he got into one of his moods, you had decided to let him be, without an inquiry. Even though you had wanted to know what had suddenly flattened his mood, you didn't pry.
Shortly after John had left, you had remembered some last minute things that you had wanted to get done before lunch, and excused yourself, as well.
"We're losing everyone," Rogue had said, with a laugh.
"Well," Gambit threw in. "It doesn't stop with her." He rose from his spot, and followed you in, again.
"Relentless friends," you thought to yourself. "Now, there's something that I hadn't planned on."
Gambit had walked you up to your room, and you got a kick out of his accent. You hadn't talked to anyone with such an accent in a long time, not since the third grade, when a new girl had come to your town from a small town in France. You found it amusing, then, but respected it, now. Just one of those things, really.
"Thanks," you said, smiling. "Thanks for being friendly today. I wasn't expecting someone like you to be down there to begin with, this morning."
"Someone like me?" he inquired, his smile matching yours for size and depth.
"A guy," you teased. "I don't really know how to put it."
"Alright, then," he nodded. "I guess that I will leave you to whatever it was that you needed to do."
"Okay. Thanks for walking me up here."
"My pleasure. I will see you soon?" he asked, and you caught a bit of hope in his voice.
"Definitely." You opened your bedroom door, and began to step inside. Closing the door behind you, you looked back. "Bye."
"Bye," Gambit said, and began to step back through the hallway.
You closed the door the rest of the way, and went to work on your last minute things.
...
Now, you sit on your bed, books spread out everywhere, thinking about the morning. You want to make it look like you are studying, but you really have no capacity for acedemic premises. All that you want to know about is what had happened to John between the time that you and Gambit had gone to the kitchen, and when you had returned. He had been silent, than he seemed upset, and he walked away. You don't know him that well, but, you can pick up on when something is bothering a person. It's really not that hard.
Tired of trying to do your work, you scoot off of your bed, leaving everything where it lays. Who knows? You might want to do some studying after.
"Sure," you think to yourself. "Then, maybe, I'll burn down the mansion."
You slide out of the room, and head for, where else, the kitchen, hoping to find someone specific down there to talk to. Sure, Rogue had said not to bother him, but, then again, since when did you become the girl to back away from someone, and leave them to their own misery? That is what you usually allow others to do to you, not the other way around. The look on his face is really getting at you, and you want to know if you can help at all. External images aside, you could really care less about how well he tolerated concern from others. He had had enough time to cool off a little, so it was time to go be a friend.
You reach the kitchen, only to find it filled with people, taking things from the refrigerator, putting things back in the cupboards, talking, and laughing.
No John.
Sighing to yourself, you turn back, and wander toward the common room, which you know will be empty by now; everyone is outside, having lunch, minus those in the kitchen, still preparing theirs. You cross the threshhold, and, to your surprise, find that the television is on. You let your gaze slide to the couch, and see a bit of dark brown hair peeking out from over the top of the cushion. Assuming that it is one of the younger kids, you round to the front of the couch, eyes locked on the television screen, which is currently on a rerun of MASH. You recognize the episode, one where Hawkeye crashes in on the Peace Talks in Korea, and ends up getting away with it.
"You seen this before?" you ask, not looking down. "It's a good one." You don't let your eyes stray from the screen, knowing that Hawkeye is about to ask everyone to join hands, turn to their neighbour, and say "howdy".
"I've seen 'em all at least once," the individual beside you says. "Same old story." His voice causes you to turn your head; somehow, you just had that feeling.
"Hi, John," you say, with a smile. "Had the feeling that it was you, there." So, it was a lie; you originally thought that it was one of the new kids. "Oh, well," you think to yourself. "What he doesn't know won't necessarily kill him, now, will it?"
John shrugs. "What's up?" His tone is flat, pretty much void of feeling in any direction. He doesn't seem genuinely interested, but, since he asked, you will tell.
"I was looking for you," you inform him. "I wanted to talk with you."
"What about?" he asked, still staring at the television.
"You cut out pretty quickly this morning." You sigh. "I just wanted to make sure that you were alright."
"Well," he begins, coldly. "I'm fine. So, you can go back to your friends or whatever the hell it is that you do."
Your mouth almost drops; what in the world is eating at him? All that you are trying to do is to be friendly, and he is already starting to bite your head off.
"I said that you can go." He looks up at you, for the first time since you entered the room. "You don't have to feel sorry for me, sitting in here."
"I'm not giving out pity, today, John," you say, quietly. "I'm just trying to be nice." You look down, but manage to catch his movement out of the corner of your eye.
John shifts in his seat, and stares at you. He leans in, just close enough where you can feel the heat of his breath. You inch back, against the arm of the couch, and he keeps getting closer. When you can't go any further, he stops moving, too, just a few inches in front of your face. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.
"Go sell it somewhere else," he hisses, and pulls himself up. He settles back in his seat, and fixes his eyes back on the television.
You are completely stunned; what did you do to deserve that? Nothing, that's what. You collect yourself, stand, and turn to leave the room. Before you walk out, you decide to have the last word.
"You know, John, I've heard enough about you to last me a lifetime. I've heard all about your image, and the fact that you don't like to let your feeling show. When it comes to me, I care, alright?" John looks up, and you can't help but notice that he looks a little shocked. You continue, not caring too much about what he thinks, at the moment. "I have feelings, too, just like you. I know what it's like to have my feeling hurt. It sucks, plain and simple. You have a way of making people feel bad, you know that?" By now, you are yelling, and have gotten the attention of several students in the hallway. "We are all human, to some extent of the word. So, don't act like you are the only one who knows what it's like to be alone. Get over it, get over yourself, and find some other way to vent your frustrations that doesn't involve making everyone around you feel bad. Bottom line, drop the angst, John! I've only known you for a few hours, but you cold, unfeeling attitude is already wearing thin."
You take a breath, and continue to look at John. His mouth is open, and he now looks completely shocked. You turn back for the door, and close your eyes. You aren't done, but decide to bring your voice down a little. Letting your head turn to your left, you absently look at the floor. As gently as possible, you continue.
"If you decide that you want to talk about whatever is bothering you..." you trail, from over your shoulder. "If you want to talk about anything, just, come find me."
With your final words, you leave John on the couch, mouth agape, and head up to your room, regretting every single word that you just said to him.
Author's Note: John can be so mean sometimes, huh? Well, that was, honestly, unexpected, until I got to it. So, what did you think? As always, I await your thoughts! Where do you want this story to go? Where do you think it is heading? I'd love to hear from you on that, too. There might be another chapter up tonight, though I am not sure what I will do just yet. Thanks for reading! Until the next chapter...