Lonely spectators and faceless imitators

[Pyro]

OOC: Midway through the party-that’s-not-really-anything-other-than-a-wake, some point not long before all hell breaks lose. Open to anyone who feels like stumbling in on the not-officially-a-couple, otherwise will roll until said hell breaking lose. Infer what you will from the timing

”Now do you see why this was such a fucking stupid idea?”

It’s the harshest John’s been with, well, anyone in a while, certainly the harshest he’s been with Rogue since they started on this… thing, but there’s no doubt in his mind she deserves it because shit, this is a whole new sort of idiotic. Having to go in the first place – Rogue, of course, had insisted, taken it as a sign that Bobby was coming back, and he’d gone along with it partly to prove her wrong and partly to show the world (and especially her) that he was totally over whatever issues supposedly existed between him and ‘Robert’ – had been bad enough, and he’d just known it was going to get worse. And maybe storming out and closeting himself with his new-secret-girlfriend in one of the numerous siderooms in this underground labyrinth isn’t exactly the best way to prove the lack of issues, and it’s all sorts of fucked up, really, absenting himself from his ex-best-friend-and-lover’s birthday to… what? No. This is Robert’s party, and ‘Robert’ doesn’t mean shit to him, and it’s not cheating or lurking or anything because Bobby’s dead and none of this means a damn thing except that the party is lame and he’s chosen to make a discreet exit and wait until they’re out of hearing distance of the party before letting anything slip. Not that there’s anything to slip because he’s fine.

It doesn’t mean a damn thing.

”He doesn’t care shit, Rogue, this ‘Robert’ you’re so fucking keen to make an impression on. He doesn’t know who you are. Bobby’s dead and this is a fucking wake in disguise and…” – he tugs her into the room with him, because she of course is far less eager to leave, slides the door shut behind them before continuing – ”we’re all pretending he’s not wearing Bobby’s skin and going through the motions and getting them wrong, and acting like no one knows it’s not him…” – sighing, he takes a minute, catches his breath because no, he’s fine, he’s not shaky or cracked or anything, he’s fine...

[Rogue]

”Now do you see why this was such a fucking stupid idea?”

…Okay, so maybe it wasn’t Rogue’s most brilliant idea, insisting that he come along for at least a while. Because even though the thought that Bobby’s recovering (the email, the party, it was like he was trying, showing some sign of heading back to normal, right? And he’s seemed mostly okay tonight, different from normal but trying…) is encouragement to her, and his constant insistence that Bobby’s dead is the opposite and she’d thought maybe he’d be able to see it the same way as she did if he was there… maybe it wasn’t the best thing for him.

Yeah, he’s firmly stated that he’s fine, more than fine, whatever – but …he can’t be, right? She’s perfectly okay with him not being okay, even though she wants him to be, doesn’t like to think he’s upset and hurting… But she can’t figure out what she should do – what she could possibly do, given the circumstances – to help without asking, which would undoubtedly lead to argument over if he is or is not okay…

And she’s not sure why she let him lead (well, really it was more like a nudging-prodding-tugging at her until she finally followed) her out of the room. She could have, and probably should have, stayed there….

Well, okay she knows why. She does still worry about him – not that he’s going to literally get hurt or hurt himself, not that sort of thing. It’s more the other things, the stuff he’d probably deny are even a problem, but she knows are there. Because if he’s alone, he won’t force himself not to think about it, at least not the same way, and then he’ll feel it, and, yes, it’s unconventional, wanting to be the cause of his mask, but it’s the only thing she knows works.

”He doesn’t care shit, Rogue, this ‘Robert’ you’re so fucking keen to make an impression on. He doesn’t know who you are. Bobby’s dead and this is a fucking wake in disguise and…”[/color]

She sort of cringes at his words as he tugs at her, but lets him pull her inside the room, only tugging free carefully once inside and he’s closed the door, watching him, flashing between hurt and concern, settling on the latter because his words aren’t really going to do anything to her, but just the whole way he’s acting, talking… it worries her.

”…we’re all pretending he’s not wearing Bobby’s skin and going through the motions and getting them wrong, and acting like no one knows it’s not him…” [/color]

“He’s tryin’, John – tha’ means he’s still there, somewhere. He’s not jus’ gone.” her tone is still quiet enough, still nowhere near anger and hinting at the worry instead.

She watches him a second, debating with the inclination to question how he is, because it'll either break or reinforce the mask - the shield? - that he's usually got in place. He doesn't look right, doesn't seem as okay as normal, though, and she reaches out to put a gloved hand on his arm, almost tentative as if he's going to shatter, even though that somehow feels strange.

“Are y’okay, hon?”

[Pyro]

< tha’ means he’s still there
”He’s not.” And maybe that response comes a little too quickly, and is a little too forceful, considering that there’s ‘absolutely nothing wrong’, but… well, it’s a fact. Clear and indisputable. Because he knows Bobby’s gone, even if the rest of them are blind.

He digs absently for his Zippo, sparks up, lets the flame play as it will, not paying it any heed as he plays idly with the lighter. It’s just something to do, not something he’s watching, and anyone else would have burnt themselves, the lack of care in it, the unusual clumsiness which renders this different from his usual nonchalant idle… but that’s the thing, isn’t it? This is John, and he doesn’t get hurt. Period.

And it can’t be the other way round, can’t be that he’s still there and John just can’t see that, because… fuck, no, he’d know if Bobby were still alive, same way he used to tell himself he’d just instinctively know if he wasn’t, and even now they’re over and he’s boxed all that up (which he has; he’s moved on, really. He has to have, or else this thing with Rogue is wrong and he won’t believe that) it hurts like hell to think that maybe he might have lost that.

So no, Bobby’s gone. For real, and forever. There’s nothing left, and no one’s coming back regardless of how much is willing them to. Part of him wishes he could still be as deluded as them, could ignore all the little signs no one else would pick up on, and pretend like that really is Bobby… but that means losing something, and maybe he’s trying to have it both ways, moving on and keeping that connection, but there’s nothing neat and clean-cut about this. Besides, delusion like that means facing up to another death, one he’ll have to watch play out and… no, he can’t do that to himself. It’s easier to accept that the death has happened and he missed it and let that wound heal rather than let the next act play out as anything other than a meaningless series of random events.

< He’s not jus’ gone
”Fuck, Rogue, that’s exactly what he is. Gone. Vanished without a trace… because he’s fooled the rest of you, but I’d know. I would. I’d…” – yes, definitely the wrong person to be emphasising that ‘special’ quality to, given how long he’s had to spend convincing her that he’s severed that and got something stronger, something better, with her, so he shakes his head, dismissing the thought and backing away from it – ”I don’t know what this is to ‘Robert’. Testing whether his ‘social parameters’ are ‘optimalised’ or something. Fuck, who cares. But it’s not Bobby.”

< Are y’okay, hon?
”Fine”

Sure, like he’d ever give any other answer.

Her hand on his arm is… not really comforting, but sort of grounding, pulls him back from wherever he’s wandered off to with his vacancy and his babbling, so he snaps the lighter shut and tries his best to just play this like it’s nothing out of the ordinary, like he’s his usual untouchable self, refusing to give a damn. ”I just fucking hate funerals.”

… not that he’s ever been to one, which is weird. Death he’s no stranger to, but considering it? Dwelling on it? Making the process something greater than some random occurrence is still new, and it’s inescapably wrong that he’s the one still standing. It’s not meant to be this way. He’s the one who burns out – live fast, die young, leave a pretty corpse and all that crap – and they’re the ones meant to stick around and… Fuck, no, that’s morbid, and has no place when he’s fine.

[Rogue]

Rogue watches the toying with the lighter, and it doesn’t help her worry go away any. It’s not the same sort of fiddling, it’s different, careless. Her eyes flick from his to the flame, then back up, scanning, almost, though she doesn’t have to, not really.

”Fuck, Rogue, that’s exactly what he is. Gone. Vanished without a trace… because he’s fooled the rest of you, but I’d know. I would. I’d…”[/color]

He stops and shakes his head, and she hesitates, waits. And what he’s saying sort of makes sense – and, while that should technically upset her (at least, her in this new ‘position’), it doesn’t because she understands more than most would. It doesn’t help the uncertainties that’re still there, though, the quick flare up tamped because right now she shouldn’t start to panic and question anything.

”I don’t know what this is to ‘Robert’. Testing whether his ‘social parameters’ are ‘optimalised’ or something. Fuck, who cares. But it’s not Bobby.”[/color]

It’s the same old argument, the same one they’ve been having over and over, and …it’s still hard (nearly impossible) to surrender that point to him, because she can’t accept that. Because the three of them aren’t supposed to fall like that, not now. Never, if she could have her way. And she wants him to want that, too, instead of just this closed-off sort of mentality, as if it’s already over and there’s no hope…

But protesting that won’t make him more okay, making the topic bigger will only make things worse. So she just drops her eyes, shakes her head a little – still protesting, because she can’t not, but not going to make things bad, make them worse.

”Fine”[/color]

She sort of flinches at the sound of the lighter snapping shut, tries to minimize that, though, by shifting a little, as if the flinch wasn’t that at all but just the start of her movement, turning a little to glance about the room, though she’s not really paying that close attention to it.

”I just fucking hate funerals.”[/color]

The automatic it wasn’t - there won’t be a funeral impulse it tamped down, if only because of the debate that would undoubtedly follow. Because, no, until she’s at the funeral, until …

“S’not a funeral. S’jus’ a party…” She says instead, looking back up to lock her gaze on him, careful not to sound argumentative, to keep almost-light, though it’s still tentative and almost probing. “We pro'lly shouldn’a left like tha’, withou’ sayin’ anythin’.”

[Pyro]

< S’jus’ a party
”Yeah, well, hate those too.” he shoots back, eyes locked with hers long enough to make the point (not that that makes him feel better about being the first to break contact, because that never happens, but it’s something) before snapping away to things elsewhere. He sighs, a sharp, short exhalation, not resignation to anything other than this is how it always goes and he’s fucking bored of the re-runs, and pulls away, words tumbling as he heads to the corner and perches on… what is this, a counter or something (he’s not sure where they are, really, except that it’s somewhere in the subbasement, something like a glorified cupboard… though to be honest he doesn’t really care beyond that it’s not the party)? ”S’a fucking weird party, everyone saying goodbye and just waiting for him to go into meltdown…” – and that’s another reason to absent himself, because MGH-flipout had been painful enough to witness when it was just a random stranger… which, he reminds himself, is what this is, of course. So yes, it’s sane and rational and decent to want to protect her from that. Mhmm…

His tone snaps from contemplative-absent to richly, harshly, callously sarcastic, his expression from darkly wistful to darker melancholic, the sly side smirk which isn’t born of anything like amusement, a silent bitter snicker at the one great joke of the universe (which is, of course, how incredibly fucked up everything is). And it’s nasty, but fuck, that’s how the world really is, isn’t it? Not his fault the truth stings. ”Canapés, confessional and a fucking once-in-a-lifetime-floorshow… shit, Rogue, what’s wrong with me, wanting to miss out on that? Sounds like an absolute blast.”

< We pro'lly shouldn’a left like tha’, withou’ sayin’ anythin’
”We shouldn’t have come in the first place” he retorts. ”But you were so fucking fixated on being ‘normal’ and ‘proper’…”

… and the not-really-a-grin darkens still further, because shit, that’s a fucked up thought, but really, he doesn’t give a damn; it’s something real, something that properly captures how incredibly screwed up this whole thing is with no pretence or apologies, something not masquerading as polite or easy to swallow. ”Maybe we should keep doing what’s expected; secret lovers sneaking off into a closet. You know how this one goes.”

He laughs, as if it’s a joke - which it is, part of the same big one no one likes to hear or understands the punchline to, but at the same time it’s somehow deadly serious as well, because what can they do except rail against the darkness, because at least the screaming’s better than the silence? It’s proof they aren’t dead yet, if nothing else. Proof they at least know how wrong this whole thing is turning out.

[Rogue]

“Yeah, well, hate those too.”

“Y’jus’ bein’ difficult now, Sugah…” she responds s lightly and playfully as she can make it, flashing a slight smile, though it fades slightly as he moves away from her.

”S’a fucking weird party, everyone saying goodbye and just waiting for him to go into meltdown…”[/color]

Rogue tilts her head slightly and watches as he hops up to sit on the counter-thing across the small room, crossing over towards him, but stopping short, arms folded absently and leaning against a shelf, watching him, instead of joining him on the counter.

Was that really all it had been, all it is? Everyone waiting, wasting time until the presumably imminent moment where he’ll keel over? She doesn’t want to think that’s what it was, what it is… Sure, it wasn’t the most comfortable environment, but …

”Canapés, confessional and a fucking once-in-a-lifetime-floorshow… shit, Rogue, what’s wrong with me, wanting to miss out on that? Sounds like an absolute blast.”[/color]

She frowns, eyes him a second, “Won’ happen like tha’ – s’not… S’just a party. He’ll b’fine...” Even if something does go wrong (which she won’t believe) it won’t happen today, right? Because he’s okay for now, seemed just fine, for the most part (aside from the ‘normal’ abnormality)… And it’s his Birthday (even though that’s not really a logical reason). Yes, the stubborn and the biting sarcasm is a good thing (sort of…), because it’s very John, but… It’s hard to handle, at the same time, when all she wants is to hear the opposite of what he’s saying; wants to hear that it’s fine, all okay.

”We shouldn’t have come in the first place. But you were so fucking fixated on being ‘normal’ and ‘proper’…” [/color]

“Well, someone has t’be.” She retorts, traces of her frustration slipping in through the almost-playful despite her best efforts to keep that part in.

”Maybe we should keep doing what’s expected; secret lovers sneaking off into a closet. You know how this one goes.”[/color]

…She’s really not sure how she should respond to that. She’s torn between assuming it’s a joke (because he wouldn’t suggest that, right?), or assuming he’s serious (because, well, he is still John…doesn’t do what you expect…) and …panicking, mostly, because… yeah, definitely panic, if he’s not kidding. She sort of looks at him a second, confused-startled sort of expression that’s simultaneously something like fighting off a blush.

”Since when d’ya wanna do wha’s expected?” probably isn’t the best comeback, really, mostly because it doesn’t actually help anything, but it’s far better than silent-meepage, or …whatever. So she flashes a small smile as if amused by a joke, instead of flustered and trying not to panic, and hopes it was a joke.

[Pyro]

< Y’jus’ bein’ difficult now, Sugah
Not many responses to that, really, beyond a slow eye roll and disparaging snort – no, really? How fucking revolutionary – because shit, has she forgotten who she’s dealing with? Must have, if she’s expecting anything else from him, because he doesn’t ‘do’ easy.

Her hesitance to join him gets another eye roll, this time of the oh come on… variety; surely they should be past this whole awkward-distant stage by now? It’s frustrating as all hell, the bungee-line she’s keeping him one – cosy one minute, flipping out and cold the next. At first he could put it down to acclimatisation, finding her feet… but now, shit, it’s been a month already and she should have settled into one or the other.

< Won’ happen like tha’ – s’not… S’just a party. He’ll b’fine
”No, he won’t” There’s no real force to the argument save a stab of frustration as John pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing, his tone the deadpan resignation to having to run through a bleeding obvious argument yet a-fucking-gain. ”It’s going to happen exactly like that; he’ll go into overload, and… shit, Rogue, you haven’t seen what this MGH shit does.” – it’s low, he knows, seizing onto that advantage in this sort of argument, but whatever. So he’s low. Like that’s a surprise – ”Seeing that happen to the guy I had been trying to fucking kill myself was one thing… can’t ask me to…” To what? He manages to stop himself adding the ‘watch Bob go the same way’, or whatever, that’s trying to force its way out, though to a certain extent the damage is done; he’s admitted that there’s something, that ‘Robert’ isn’t a totally alien creature he refuses to give a fuck about…

… has he shit. No, all he’s admitted is that it would hurt, which no one can judge him for; Robert’s wearing Bob’s skin, after all, so it would be insane to expect that not to hurt. And the point’s made, and Rogue, poor sensitive little soul that she is, can’t fail to miss that, and wouldn’t have the heart to try and force the issue now, would she? But just to make sure, he adds the kicker, all stoic refusal to be anything other than her fucking hero and subsequent sincerity laid on with a fucking trowel – ”And fuck, I don’t want you to have to see it either.”

… like he said, low.

< Since when d’ya wanna do what’s expected
Very low, hearing the slight panic in her tone… and hating himself more for liking it than for daring to cause it. Hating still more that he doesn’t hesitate to press the advantage, dropping down off the counter and heading over to where she’s leant against the shelves, effectively cornering her with a half-teasing in its perfect mimicry of her own words, half something nearer predatorily demanding ”Well, someone has to”, though he stops short of anything more than brushing a strand of fringe back from her face, letting his fingers linger on her cheek long enough to make the point, his eyes locked with hers, but not pressing any further, letting her be the one to make the move, whatever move that might be.

Which is… well, it’s fucking bizarre, isn’t it? He doesn’t do careful. What he should be doing is… something nearer what happened at Mimi’s. That would be quintessentially ‘John’, wouldn’t it, more so than this odd mix of wheedling and persuading and holding back and seeking permission? He tells himself it’s out of respect, or something, which is a good thing, and not that this isn’t ‘doing it’ for him… because it is, in it’s own way… it has to be, or else why is he still here?

[Rogue]

”No, he won’t. It’s going to happen exactly like that; he’ll go into overload, and… shit, Rogue, you haven’t seen what this MGH shit does. Seeing that happen to the guy I had been trying to fucking kill myself was one thing… can’t ask me to…”[/color]

Instantly the insistent-denying takes a backseat to the re-heightened worry for him – he’s not claiming he’s fine, now, and while she was pretty sure of that fact, knew something wasn’t right, it’s different if he’s basically admitting to it…

”And fuck, I don’t want you to have to see it either.”[/color]

…She hadn’t really thought about that. Hadn’t thought he was trying to protect her, anyway, which is sweet, but totally unnecessary because nothing’s going to happen and he’s going to be fine, get better, not worse, and…

Except what if he doesn’t get better? Gets worse, instead? She hates that she’s even thinking it, but… But it’s there, it’s possible, because everyone else is thinking it, and saying it, and maybe she’s just being naïve and too optimistic…

”Tha’ why y’wan’d t’get outta there? Y’think … somethin’ll happen this soon?”

He comes over towards her, moves in so there’s nowhere to go without either pushing him away or learning how to phase into the shelves and wall behind her like Kitty, both of which are probably about as unlikely to happen as the other, really, when it comes down to it, because she doesn’t want to end up really pushing him away from her…

”Well, someone has to.” She doesn’t flinch when his fingers brush her skin, but it doesn’t help the repressing the scared part of her any, because …yeah, touching. And for a second she’s not really sure what she should say, and then it’s a blurted-out “Why?”, which is probably not the best thing to ask, actually…It’s part timidly defiant, and part childishly curious, but all still laced with the panic underneath. And sure, she could push him back and everything, but she doesn’t know if she should or has to.

[Pyro]

< Tha’ why y’wan’d t’get outta there?
He nods in response, and instantly hates himself just that little bit more for playing it like this, not giving it words, just letting her take her silence as he will (which… no matter how he says it’s her own fault if she reads it wrong… there’s no real way she’d ever read it as anything other than being *too choked to talk*, is there?).

It’s not lying. It’s just… selectively omitting large parts of the truth. Which, on the scale of bad things John is wont to do, hardly even qualifies for inclusion except that it’s her he’s doing it to, which makes it feel worse than it is. Because that’s at least part of it, that he thinks Bob Robert is going to die and doesn’t want to watch… but that in itself it a symptom rather than the issue itself… Issues, make that, because there are enough of them, even if he’s refusing to think about most of them.

< Why?
Oh fuck, she’s scared, and fuck, he shouldn’t be enjoying that. Not even a little. Especially not when he’s basing his argument on wanting to stop her from being scared or disturbed… Shit, this whole arrangement’s so gloriously fucked up…

… and the best part is, that’s quite possibly the only thing that makes it worth bothering with. Because even on the level that it is noble and proper and co-dependent and all that bollocks which stops it being totally depraved and horrific and keeps near enough to ‘romantic’ and ‘proper’ and ‘a real relationship’… it wouldn’t work if they were whole and healthy and sane, would it? The slight tug that comes before her power kicks in properly, that stinging pins-and-needles attraction, is reminder enough of that… and tempting as it is to just let that do its work he pulls back to just the other side of the touching/not-touching line before she can start draining him.

”Because it’s how this works?” he shrugs, locking eyes with her, daring her to make the move, to be the one to stop things… because she can, no doubt about it, and it’s the fact that she hasn’t which is interesting. Because fuck, she knows how he works, knows he’ll keep pressing until someone forcibly draws a line and makes him keep to it. ”Because neither of us are dead yet?" He pushes forward ever so slightly, just enough to close the gap still between them without properly pushing her back. "Or, y’know, possibly because we’re supposedly a fucking ‘couple’ now. Whatever.”

[Warren Worthington III]

(( picking up from Bobby going comatose… ))

Warren isn’t exactly surprised, on opening the storage closet door, to find the two of them not-quite-touching like this… after all, actual-touching isn’t really in Rogue’s repertory, and Allerdyce is the sort to push everything right up to the edge, and Warren had already picked up from Josh that the two of them were now some kind of item (he’s fuzzy on the details, granted, but suspects that’s likely for the best), and really how many reasons are there for sneaking off with your girlfriend like this?

So no, he’s not surprised. On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly expecting it, either.

He’d hesitated before opening it, certainly. Ordinarily he’d have walked past and pretended not to hear a thing – he’s learned the hard way that privacy is a strangely negotiated commodity in a building full of telepaths, enhanced senses, and hormone-drenched teenagers, and no matter how well-behaved they are (in their case, not especially) or how well-soundproofed its construction (in his case, not sufficiently), he mostly tries to respect that.

But this wasn’t an ordinary situation, so he’d schooled his face into a neutral expression and opened the door. "Folks, sorry to interrupt, but, well, something’s happened, and we thought you’d want to know…"

Allerdyce’s glare makes it pretty clear that he doesn’t appreciate being interrupted, whatever the reason might be… and judging from their last conversation about Drake, Warren suspects that he won’t appreciate it more once he knows. "…well, he… collapsed, a few minutes ago. We’re not sure why, exactly, but there was a massive network malfunction at the same time, so we’re assuming it has to do with the MGH. Reed and Hank are taking care of him now, there’s nothing more we can do, really, but…"

He trails off, unsure what else to say, and his attention is distracted by a very faint high-frequency computer hum from a small security monitor in the ceiling. He’s noticed other such devices around the Institute over the last couple of months, but a very bizarre conversation with Drake – and really, was there any other kind these days? – had convinced him the kid really wasn’t using them for prurient purposes and was prepared to play by local pretense-of-privacy rules, so Warren let them go undisturbed. (Well, except for the ones in his room. Which was maybe hypocritical of him, but even he had limits.) Still, he hadn’t expected to find them in out-of-the-way places like this. Lord… that boy really has wired the whole building for sound!

He returns his attention to the conversation, finishing lamely "…well, like I said… we thought you should know." before turning around and starting back down the hall towards the medlab.

[Rogue]

She’s unnerved by the silent nod – yes, she knows he’s not really okay as he makes out to be. She knew that from day one, before there was even the supposedly-imminent death issue, that he wasn’t as okay as he wanted everyone to think he was. Still, that he’s ….he’s just agreeing, just letting her see it… That worries her, because he saw what happens firsthand and if he’s worried then…

No. She won’t accept that, because he could be wrong, they could all be wrong. (And, yeah, she could be too, but …maybe she’s not?)

…He always knows when to pull back – somehow knows the moment her skin tries to pull him under, tries to latch on; knows when to draw back, just how far he can go without danger… And it’s a chilling thought to realize that one day he won’t get away in time and he’ll be hurt and she won’t be able to do anything about it… But she doesn’t think about that, doesn’t want to and refuses to, at least right now.

”Because it’s how this works?”[/color]

It’s almost a challenge, isn’t it? The way he’s looking at her, it’s like he’s almost daring her to do anything – either to encourage him or discourage, to push him away, and she …just sort of stands in place, tensed and staring at him as he moves in closer, because it’s a challenge she can’t possibly take on, not when either option is this

”Because neither of us are dead yet? Or, y’know, possibly because we’re supposedly a fucking ‘couple’ now. Whatever.”[/color]

She tries to think of something to say – something that will divert this for a little longer, another tangent, perhaps, the way she drags everything out until there’s nowhere else to go with it… And, okay, she shifts a little, one hand on his chest – not pushing him away, but.. it’s there, it’s sort of like saying he can’t go much further, because there does have to be a line, but she’s still reluctant to push that line back, push him back with it…

"Folks, sorry to interrupt, but, well, something’s happened, and we thought you’d want to know…" [/color]

For a moment, she’s really glad for the interruption as the door opens and Warren speaks. Blushing and embarrassed, yes, but still relieved because that means she doesn’t have to answer, doesn’t have to deal with this right now…

…That lasts only a few seconds, until what he’s said, and what he’s saying next, sink in, and…

"…well, he… collapsed, a few minutes ago. We’re not sure why, exactly, but there was a massive network malfunction at the same time, so we’re assuming it has to do with the MGH. Reed and Hank are taking care of him now, there’s nothing more we can do, really, but…"[/color]

…And it’s like she’s lost all strength, shaking and reaching out, clinging onto John as if to keep herself rooted in place, but as soon as she’s got hold she’s holding too tightly, gripping his arm as if he’s going to disappear if she doesn’t, and sort of staring blankly at (or, really, sort of through) Warren, not really seeing anything except somehow the image of the moment is frozen inside her head…

"…well, like I said… we thought you should know." [/color]

Nononononoo…

…And this is the part she’s supposed to wake up from the nightmare, right? Because any second now it’ll fade out, it’ll all be okay and this’s a dream, has to be a dream, it’s not really happening because it can't be, he can't… Blinking back tears, she glances up at John, almost as if confused, and her voice is almost too calm for the moment, not shaking or broken or anything expected, but still carrying the ongoing panic under that, because she wants to wake up now...

“…Isn’ this where y’suppos’d’a wake m’up?”

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> "Folks, sorry to interrupt, but, well, something’s happened, and we thought you’d want to know…"

Sorry to interrupt? What the… Josh steps around the corner to where Warren was standing, door open to the subbasement utility closet. The other boy had apparently found John and Marie, but it was anyone’s guess what they were doing in there.

When he steps into viewing range things become blatantly clear. He hears Warren let them know about Bobby, but his mind is elsewhere, trying desperately to process Bobby’s impending death, John and Marie together, and how it all really just reeked of awful primetime television. Only one thought really comes to mind.

Bobby’s dying, and you can’t even wait until he’s dead to hook up?

As soon as he hears his inner voice utter the horrible words, he realizes that it wasn’t just his inner voice, and the others almost certainly heard the mental projection. Almost immediately, remorse for his not-words flood outward along the same route. Josh claps his hands over his mouth, despite the fact that he didn’t actually say anything.

He’d known that John and Bobby and Rogue had had some sort of complicated triangle going on. He’d thought, however, that things between John and Bobby were a little too serious for this to be actually happening now. John had seemed so incredibly hurt on Valentine’s, making the present scene almost surreal - but also twistedly understandable, and, well… John. Josh even thought that Bobby - the one buried beneath layers of nonfunctioning emotions - would be relieved that his two friends would find solace in each other after his death. Just… not so soon.

“Oh, god, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry…” Josh slowly steps backwards, a sick look on his face.

[Pyro]

… is that telling him to stop? Could be. Probably is. But not really, because there’s no fight in it, is there? And she knows full well there’d have to be something else, something more, to make him stop…

< Folks, sorry to interrupt
Something like that, probably… brilliant fucking timing, Wings. He glares, a snarl low in the back of his throat, glaring daggers… No, let Warren watch, fuck it; he’s almost tempted to take that as encouragement to put on a better show and…

… and then what he’s saying sinks in. Because there’s only one thing that ‘something’ could be, and though he listens coldly to the rest of the speech, stepping back from Rogue and turning to face Warren properly, he doesn’t need to hear it to know exactly what’s playing out. And it’s not a surprise, not at all, no way, and that cold feeling low in his stomach, and the shiver coursing down his spine, is nothing, not sadness because he’s reconciled himself to this fact months back and it’s about time the rest of the world caught up, definitely not guilt because he’s nothing to feel guilty about, not where they are or what they’re doing, not that Bob Robert’s met this end and definitely not that he’s not more affected by it all. No, he’s relieved, that’s all, because it’s about fucking time…

Now, maybe, he can finally let the bastard go… and vice versa. Hear that, Bob? You’re dead. Bugger off and act like it and leave me the fuck alone already

”So he’s dead then.” And maybe that’s a little too emotionless, and maybe it should be a question rather than a statement, but whatever. The facts remain, don’t they? And it feels like he’s been stating the obvious long enough that it’s only fitting he do it now.

He’s dimly, and then acutely, aware of Rogue clinging onto his arm, and it’s a relief to feel something, to know that that, what she’s doing, is pain and what he’s feeling about this isn’t that, it’s just empty nothingness… though it’s annoying that she’s so profoundly affected by it all when he’s just… not and he almost feels guilty next to her, and doesn’t like that at all and he pulls back with a ”Fuck’s sake, leggo. Y’going to break my fucking arm.” which is on the muted side of harsh but sharp none the less, a pull yourself together because… don’t any of them see? This is a good thing. Robert was never meant to stick around when Bobby died, and now things are as they should be and it’s neat and it should stop hurting rather than hurt worse…

< We thought you should know
He nods a curt, silent thanks as Warren moves off.

< …Isn’ this where y’suppos’d’a wake m’up?
”If that didn’t snap you out of it, then what hope’ve I got?” He snaps, frustrated. ”This, Rogue, this is what’s ‘real’. The place you want to go back to where Bob’s still alive is the fucking dream.” He doesn’t have to add the… ”Told you, didn’t I? Fucking told you. But no, you knew best.” … okay, maybe he does, because that’s who he is and yes, he did tell her so, over and over again, and time’s proved him right…

… this whole thing’s suffocating, making him sick. Not Bob Robert’s demise, of course, because that he’s fine with. But everything else is too fucking much, spinning him out, and he needs some space, somewhere alone where he can break without anyone seeing sort his head out without their insanity and hysteria and everything. ”I’ll be in my room. Come on up when you’ve woken the fuck up and…”

< Bobby’s dying, and you can’t even wait until he’s dead to hook up?
… what?

Fuck, Josh. And sure, he apologises quickly enough, but he doesn’t mean it maybe because he doesn’t need to, because on some level he’s right, just telling John what he already knows and just tries to ignore and maybe John should just make his exit as quickly and quietly as possible, but things slip out before he can think better of them and it’s like a little flood, not a total loss of control, far from it, but close, more like a fire maybe, a little spark which has been smouldering for a while, ignored and suppressed and starved, first nudged by Rogue and then nurtured by Josh, more and more fuel being added, the embers being poked at, until it finally flares.

”Fuck, no, Josh; clearly I’m the one who needs to fucking apologise here.” It starts off calm, measured, with only the usual sarcastic bite, escalating only gradually; to the untrained there would seem to be no real difference at all, only this being John it’s that which is a more dangerous rage, the slow boiling, smouldering sort, than if he just snapped - ”Clearly the fact I’m moving on is a great fucking insult to you lot. How the fuck dare I? Bobby’s only been dead since February after all…”

[Warren Worthington III]

> "So he’s dead then."

The comment – and more than that, the tone in which it’s delivered – jerks Warren around to face Allerdyce again, despite himself.

"No, you sou – " he cuts himself short abruptly before he says or does something he’ll regret. He’s never actually wanted to punch a student quite this much – well, that meteor-spawned duplicate of Jubilee doesn’t count – but he knows there’s no point.

So he leaves it at "No… he’s not dead yet." and continues walking.

> "Bobby’s only been dead since February after all…"

It’s almost funny, that Allerdyce seems to be counting from the night he turned up on their floor, rather than the Baxter Building incident in December. So he didn’t “die” ‘till you gave up on him, huh? In a weird, morbid way it’s even sweet, and Warren can feel sorry for the kid for a moment. That makes him turn around again, to try this once more.

"Look… I understand that everybody deals differently. That’s fine. All I’m saying is, if there’s anything you’ll regret not having done before he finally goes, this is a good time to do it. And if there isn’t and you’ve moved on, it’s a good time to be supportive of your friends who maybe haven’t yet. You get me?"

[Rogue]

”Fuck’s sake, leggo. Y’going to break my fucking arm.” [/color]

He pulls away, and Rogue draws back as well, pulling herself farther away and against the shelf, almost startled look crossing her face a second – she hadn’t meant to hurt him…hadn’t even realized she was holding that tight. She murmurs a quick ”Sorry”, pulling her arms in, almost like she’s trying to curl into a ball standing up, trying to pull herself together and not break and cry (though, really, she can cry – there’s no reason not to. But she doesn’t want to because that means she’s giving up and she can’t do that…).

”If that didn’t snap you out of it, then what hope’ve I got? This, Rogue, this is what’s ‘real’. The place you want to go back to where Bob’s still alive is the fucking dream.” [/color]

She flinches slightly (and she’s not sure if it’s his words or his tone that sting, but either option makes sense at the moment), dropping her eyes to the floor and keeping up the silent chant of nonono in her mind, almost like a kid with their hands over their ears refusing to believe anything…

”Told you, didn’t I? Fucking told you. But no, you knew best.” [/color]

…He’s not honestly saying ‘I told you so’, is he? Now, of all times? Sure, this is John and his tact has never been brilliant, but…

”I’ll be in my room. Come on up when you’ve woken the fuck up and…”[/color]

Nonononodon’tleave. Don’t --

Bobby’s dying, and you can’t even wait until he’s dead to hook up?[/color]

The mental words startle her slightly, push her panic over John’s leaving aside for the moment, and she jumps a little, then shifts down so she’s sitting on the floor, back to the shelves, finishing the curling-into-a-ball thing she’d started. And it’s not what he’s saying that startles, that doesn’t sink in for a moment... When it does, though, she’s almost surprised it came from Josh because it doesn’t seem the sort of thing he’d say, even if he did think it… Of course, the impression flashes across the same way that he didn’t really mean to say it, or felt bad about it, or something, she can’t really tell entirely…

“Oh, god, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry…” [/color]

And the apology, too, clears that up – he’s just upset too, obviously he would be. So it’s okay, and she shakes her head slightly, almost dismissing his apology as if saying it’s fine, understood, there’s no need to apologize, or as if she’s saying he doesn’t need to be sorry because he’s right though she can’t look up right now, can’t do much of anything, but she hopes he understands she’s not upset with him.

And she feels horrible, because she’d known that issue was there, she’d pointed it out but she hadn’t really done much of anything to press that point, to make it clear enough that it’s not right… and she’d sort of ignored it, hadn’t she?

”Fuck, no, Josh; clearly I’m the one who needs to fucking apologise here. Clearly the fact I’m moving on is a great fucking insult to you lot. How the fuck dare I? Bobby’s only been dead since February after all…”[/color]

“He’s not[/b][/u]--”[/color] She cuts herself off before she can finish, and curls herself inwards more, definitely crying now, and torn between fleeing the general area and going to see for herself what’s going on with Bobby, or just staying here like this until she wakes up because there’s no way this is real no matter what anyone says and it'll be better once she wakes up and the farther she gets into this dream the harder it'll be to wake up from it, so if she doesn't move, she'll be okay.…