Scene 4 Hotel Room in Manhattan
Rouge's face was calm and her demeanor composed as she leaned slowly closer to John. Her hand shot from her side quickly and slapped his face.
He gingerly touched the red handprint on his face, eyes wide with shock.
"You left us." Rouge said sadly. And walked quickly into the bathroom around the corner.
John sat in bed, stunned, rubbing the side of his face.
There was a knock at the door two minutes later and Rouge exited the bathroom with a damp towel in one hand, focusing her eyes on the door and not the bed. She checked the peephole, sighing, she opened the door just enough for Logan to fit through.
"Here," He scowled as he handed her the bus's tiny first aid kit, "I thought you might want this."
"Thanks." She says quietly averting her eyes from his gaze.
Moving almost guiltily towards the bed she kneeled, pressing the cool damp cloth against John's torn face.
He moved his hand on top of hers, keeping it pressed against his cheek for a few seconds longer than she'd planned.
Logan cleared his throat. "I got a call from Storm."
Rogue moved her hand quickly, letting John hold the towel himself. She looked at Logan, panic set deep in her features.
"Somethin's happened?" She said as more of a statement than a question.
"No," He leaned against the wall. "She got a call from a friend who was staying in D.C., he's flying back first thing tomorrow. She said it'd be good if we beat him back to the mansion. He's got some important information about all this."
Rouge nodded. "Tell the kids to set their alarm for leaving early."
"Eh, kid, not to overstep my bus driver bounds, but," he paused, making sure she was fully hearing him and not distracted by the torn body in her bed shifting uncomfortably.
"I think we should just let 'em sleep for now. They've already been told twice we have to leave early. It's best we don't panic them with urgency." He held up his hands like a general who had stated the end all attack for a battle. Logan never was one for pure comfort without a military feel.
Rogue nodded again and meekly voiced an, "ok," her eyes focusing on the blank television screen to her right.
"Kid?" Logan began, faltering on what exactly he should say next.
"It's fine, really, we got to New York, at least they got to see the museum before all of this happened." She kept her eyes on the television.
Logan opened his mouth, again searching for some comfort and wisdom he was all too uncomfortable with to correctly bestow on her when she spoke again.
"Logan," She said her voice sounding distant and slightly frustrated, "If they pass this bill, my name will be on that list. Bobby's name, your name, everyone we know will be listed like some item on a grocery list."
Logan tensed. John opened his eyes, more keen to listen to the conversation going on around him. Rogue continued.
"Bobby was at Alcatraz and you and Kitty, Poitr, Storm, Dr. McCoy…"
"Rogue," Logan had found his voice, and his cigar, which was twisting through his tense fingers, "I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. " he paused, "Or anyone in the mansion."
She looked away from the screen, up into his eyes, guilt deep in her eyes.
"But that's just it," she paused, her mouth opening before the words came out, "I wasn't at Alcatraz, they won't want me, they'll just want everyone else."
A few seconds, that felt like years, passed through the room. John's bloodied brow was furrowed in confusion. Rogue seemed uncharacteristically on the verge of tears. Logan spoke, his tone low and solid.
"If anything happens, I'll protect you."
He turned and walked towards the door. With his back turned and his hand on the handle he paused, "If you don't fix that kid up soon he'll bleed through the towels and ruin your sheets."
And then he was gone.
Rogue let her eyes hang on the desolate door before a wave of deep throated hacking brought her back to reality.
She moved methodically through the first aid kit, not making eye contact with John, who was intently watching her.
She wrapped the gash on his arm. Bandaged the one on his shoulder and cleaned the cut above his left eye. She didn't look him in the eye the entire time, and he didn't stop watching her.
She started to clean the gash on his hand.
"Whose room is this?" He asked.
"Mine." She answered just as business like.
He handed her the gauze. She placed the cotton ball in the bin and took it.
"Thanks." She said quietly.
He smirked knowing she wouldn't look up and notice it dangling on the corner of his lips.
"You can stay here tonight, we leave tomorrow morning, early." She tied the bandage gently.
"Why." He asked blankly, eyes still fixed on her.
Her fingers clicked the kit shut and her eyes darted to his.
"Uhm, why…" she faltered, her mind kicking its self for the faltering, "Am I letting you…."
"Why would the government put your name on a list?" He asked, briskly cutting her off.
"Uh, oh." She furrowed her brow, "It's on the news, here."
She opened the drawer beside the bed and pressed the little red button on the clicker. An instant later the television was humming with the news. She sat awkwardly beside the bed, beside John, as a story about a house fire in Brooklyn played across the screen. And then the Senator's face came up.
The story played on the screen for no more than five minutes, but it felt like hours to Rogue. Her pulse increasing as the uncertainty of her situation played out over and over again in her mind.
John didn't have fans at the school, he didn't have friends, it left him an outsider.
Rogue had friends and she dared to consider herself having a few fans. But she was an outsider; there was no getting around that. From the moment she set foot in the school it was apparent, she had found people who could understand feeling abandoned by society, by their family, but no one knew what it felt like to be truly cut off from everything living. She could never find solace in another living thing like the others.
Was that why she helped him? She didn't know. She knew she should hate him. He tried to kill Bobby.
John wasn't, in Rogue's eye, emotionally attached to anyone. Rogue knew what that was like. But she also knew what it was like to find people, she knew how care could grow and how strong the desire to keep that connection was. But she knew what it was like to need to do something, even if the people you cared about didn't agree with that something.
John's coughing brought Rogue out of her thoughts. She kicked herself again, this time for letting her mind ramble. What use was there to try and justify her helping an old friend?
She stood. Retrieving a glass from the hotel tray she filled it with tap water in the sink. John sank back down, taking the glass and drinking the water greedily, carelessly letting the overflow dribble down his cheeks to be sopped up by the towels.
Rogue clicked off the news, Senator Abrams was long gone from the screen.
John shut his eyes. His jaw clenched and one hand on his old zippo lighter. The tin was dented and scratched but you could still see the shark clearly.
"You're welcome," Rogue said, hurt by the lack of appreciation for her effort and the lack of an explanation she was hoping for.
That explanation had been one of the things she'd mentioned to Bobby, quietly late at night when the whole mansion seemed to be asleep.
She'd say, "Maybe there was some bigger reason for him leaving us."
And then Bobby would sigh and respond, "Maybe."
And that would be the whole of it.
She gathered the spare blanket from the closet and took the other pillow off the bed. Stretching out on the firm ground her eyes drifted shut and her mind off into a deep and uneasy slumber.