Crazy Rogue!
3/18/2007
Consciousness is fleeting for a few minutes before Rogue is finally, painfully awake. Her eyes crack open, the rough break of sleep buildup around her eyelids making it a little hard to see for a moment. She blinks at it, a hand lifting the rub it away. The hand does not get far. Rogue makes a small hum of alarm, eyes now wide and down on the straps around her wrists. Her movements are loose, weak, the medication keeping her from using any real force. After a moment she sinks back down into the bed with a muffled little whimper.
Swoosh. Swish. Is it not one of the comforts of an X-Man existence that some things always function as they should? Everything else might change, but the medbay doors will always evoke Star Trek. It's something. Bobby comes through them, erratically. Imbalance to his steps . . . mild. Normally, Bobby would just keep striding in with fearless, confident mein. This time, he pauses by the doors. To get his bearings. And to look. All right.
One bed over, shielded by a curtain pulled between the beds, Jubilee has been more or less awake for the past hour, staring at the curtain in a mindless stupor. Bandages wrap over the side of her head, the most visible of the injuries. a light sheet pulled up to her neck cover those on shoulder and back. She's not restrained, except by a similar set up of drips, one for pain medication, another for a glucose solution.
Rogue's eyelids flood down, her hands test the straps with a sleepy curiosity. Her legs move; same situation. The girl stills for a moment, only to start wiggling again. "What the hell is--" she starts to complain, eyes locking in on the opening doors. "Bobby?" Rogue asks, catching a glimpse of him between a crack in her curtains. She leans to the side, only to pull back with a dizzy groan.
"Bobby," Bobby confirms. "Don't move," is swiftly, worriedly added and no sooner has Bobby said it than he's moving forward again. If his steps are still erratic. Cautious, even. As he draws closer to the bed, he slows yet again, his features slackening soft and shocked at once. He says, "Glad to see you two," his expression says, "Wow. You look like crap."
"I can't really... anyways," Rogue murmurs with a soft intake of air. She fights to really keep her eyes open, head focuses on her boyfriend. "Can you," she begins, mind and voice trailing off before she regains herself. "Can you get these things off of me?"
The muscles in Bobby's neck tighten. This, at least, destroys the slackness of his expression. Now it's just tense and sad. Improvement. Maybe not. "I want to. I wish I could."
Rogue doesn't approve of this answer. "Why not?" she asks slowly, groggily. Her fingers splay and wiggle before collapsing against the arm of the restraining bed.
"I . . . listen." The tension in Bobby's face releases in a brief dip of the head. "I'll be back later. And I'll keep coming back. But I need to go get something for you. I will be back." Bobby will just keep and keep reiterating this as he turns toward the door. "Very soon." And he's gone. Swoosh.
Jubilee shifts in her bed, tucking her hand under her cheek, causing a swishing sound of bandages on cloth from the other side of the curtain.
"What?" Rogue asks unhappily, not understanding. She pushes against the straps, feverishly trying to sit up. "Bobby!" Rogue calls out as the doors swish closed, voice breaking. "Oh mah gawd," the southern draw lingers as she slumps back against her bed. She glances over at the curtain, eyes narrowing. "Hello?"
Jubilee moves her hand to scrub at her eyes, then stills as even that bit of movement tires her to exhaustion. "Hi," she replies finally, tone glum and sullen.
Rogue stares up at the curtain, willing her eyes to focus a little more than the sedation drugs will allow. "Jubilee?" she whispers, testing the name with carefully. "Oh-- oh, oh. /Fuck/. Jubes."
"Yeah. That sounds about right," Jubilee snorts, her voice carrying the same stupor-like qualities of Rogue's. Her eyes drift closed, but there is an itch underneath the bandage on her shoulder that refuses to let her sleep more at the moment.
Rogue opens her mouth, willing to say something but not exactly sure what. Several minutes past by, more maybe, if Rogue's pressed eyes lapse into sleep. She stirs again, unsure of the passage of time. "Jubilee... please. That wasn't--" Rogue stops herself, her jaw clenching despite the pain of where a Logan-punch landed. "Did Ah hurt you too bad?"
"Hnnh?" Jubilee stirs and focuses in the question. "Dunno. You you?"
"Me," Rogue agrees somewhat hesitantly.
"/Good/," Jubilee responds vehemently. "What the /fuck/..." she trails off on a thought tangent, going quiet for a few seconds before returning and picking up, "is goin' on with ya?"
Rogue presses deeper into her bed, attempting to shy away from the questions posed by the girl behind the curtain. "Nothin'!" Rogue attempts to protest. "Just got a fair good chunk of Pyro powers in me." She sounds unsure. "More'en usual, is all."
"/Bullshit/," Jubilee retorts bluntly, burrowing down into her bed.
Rogue grunts out something akin to a whimper. "Jubilee..." There is a long sigh. "Ah dunno. People'll been pesterin' me lately, Ah guess. 'Bout somethang being wrong. Maybe there is."
"You freakin'..." Jubilee gasps angrily, then slumps and exhales. A minute later, "you didn't know me, Rogue. You didn't even /hesitate/. You've /never/ done that 'fore."
Rogue cringes, tucking her chin down to her neck as she presses her eyes closed. "Ah knew you," she starts, fighting off the headache that even the heavy medications will not dull. "Ah knew you as John knows yah. Damnit, Jubilee. Ah coulda killed you."
"Yeah, I eventually figured that out," she sulks in response.
Rogue is silent for a long time. "They're gonna kill me," she decides miserably. "Mah powers, Ah dunno. They're off an'-- an' they're too dangerous. /Shit/. They got me strapped to the bed over here."
"Yeah, so they're patchin' you an' lettin' ya wake up 'fore they do it to ya." That is, in case it's /not/ obvious in her voice, extreme disdain and sarcasm.
Rogue frowns down at her lap, not bothering to pull against her straps anymore. There is a small, helpless little noise from the sedated Rogue.
Jubilee growls, sleepy irritation stripping even her normally minimal tact from her. "Shit, Ro. Either somethin's wrong, or ya meant ta kill me. Cause you weren't even tryin' ta fight 'em in yer head yesterday. So figure out which ya'd rather be the truth and deal with it."
"Ah didn't /mean/ to try an' kill yah, Jubilee." Rogue interjects quickly. She breathes deeply, squeezing her eyes back shut. "Gawd, you /know/ that."
"Do not. Not as long as you keepin' sayin' nothin's wrong. Cause I /do/ know what's normal for yer powers, and if nothin's changed, then you /weren't/ tryin' ta fight 'im." Jubilee squeezes her eyes shut and wipes weakly at the tear that emerges.
"Ah /couldn't/ fight it, Jubilation!" Rogue protests through a small sob. She starts struggling again, the straps keep a fast and easy hold on the drugged woman. "Why would you think Ah meant to do this?" her voice pleads unhappily.
"That's why somethin's /wrong/!" Jubilee barks back.
"What if there's not?" Rogue wonders back, miserably. "What if this is just what mah powers've formed into?"
Jubilee refuses to answer that one, and the silence from the other side of the curtain is smothering.
Rogue falls into the silence, only breaking it to let a single sob out into the smothered atmosphere.
3.18.07 - Morning after.
3/18/2007
Medicine educed sleep as finally claimed Rogue. She's back among the world of whatever dreams her battered mind is cooking up. Once in a while she stirs, the binds on her wrists and ankles not allowing much movement. Occasionally she reawakes for a second or two, only to drift back.
A tranquil scene for Xavier to enter, which he does with less than his usual dramatic (always tasteful) flair. The door slides open; the wheelchair glides in, and little more than a whisper from one and a hum from the other heralds his arrival. Bald pate gleaming, expensive attire subdued in dark, somber tones, he steers himself into the infirmary with a frown already in place.
Enthroned in her usual bed (isn't it sad when that is not at all tongue in cheek?), Jubilee drifts too, though perhaps a little more on the awake side due tot he damned itch under the bandages. The curtain is drawn between the beds so she cannot see who enters, but she shifts her wandering attention to the sound the doors make.
Rogue is in a fit of wakefulness, just about to fall back into murky depths of sleep with the hiss and familiar hum wake her. Eyes peer out the pulled back gap where Bobby had been, though this is no Bobby in the infirmary. Rogue nearly sits up at the sight of the professor. She winces back into the bed, pain jabbed hard in the back of her mind.
Both patients are awake.
Oh, goodie.
"Good day," the Professor greets, his voice ripe with somber dignity. He steers his chair to a convenient location within comfortable line of sight to both beds, his high brown corrugated with that aforementioned frown. "I see you are both doing -- adequately. 'Well' seems a touch optimistic, given the people and place."
Brown eyes flare open as the wince lifts from her features. Her jaw sets, firmly, drawing back against her pillows while managing to put up an aggressive front. "You do seem to appear at the most appropriate of times," Rogue comments to him with a dead seriousness.
Jubilee tilts her head down to cast a wan, sleepy smile at the professor. The white bandages wrapped around her ear are the only immediately visible physical signs of yesterday's rampage, but it's enough. Rogue's words surprise her glance back to the curtain.
A slightly startled glance jumps to Rogue, the small spark of recognition briefly lighting Xavier's face. "Ah," he says, carefully neutral. "I see." And perhaps he does. "It is something of a gift," he tells the personality behind the girl, more deadpan than serious in turn. "I suspect a byproduct of my particular mutation. More cynical people might suggest it to be a legacy of teaching at the school for so many years."
"Crap. Who are ya now?" Jubilee asks, not nearly as familiar with the personality speaking through Rogue, but catching on to the 'what is happening'?
Rogue's hands curl up into fists, the clenched jaw losing none of it's vigor as she watches him. "I would daresay that much of late would be considered cynical if not for your ridiculous optimism." Rogue takes a deep, steadying breath. Cold takes her chest, dull fear nipping at her on the inside. Not a sign of this is seen on the outside as she holds a long look to Xavier. Jubilee is all but ignored. "And yet you keep me here, with less than adequate company."
"In point of fact, I would say that Jubilee is the ideal companion," the Professor says, inclining his head towards that other young woman with a touch of mental reassurance. Power ghosts lightly across Rogue's mind as well, an apologetic question posed before small tendrils slip past the outer personality to find the one hemmed inside. "Energetic, intelligent, articulate, inquisitive--"
"Mad!" Jubilee chirps helpfully, as cheerfully as she can be.
"A foolish child," Rogue snaps soundly, barely letting her eyes graze the curtain between them. Her neck bends up, the familiar mental tickle coaxing a grim smile to Rogue's lips. In the skimming depths there is more than one personality swirling around. Jubilee, Jean, Logan, Piotr, and countless others churn. Each bubbling to obtain a grasp, each fighting for power. Her voice drops, dark amusement twisting over the simmering anger. "What are you looking for, Charles?"
The Professor sits back, hands curling around the arms of his chair. His face barely shifts from habitual serenity -- though the signs of unease are there, for those few, rare eyes familiar enough to see them. One of them lives ascendant in that tangled mind. "For the girl whose body you have peremptorily taken possession of," he says, eyelids drooping. "Uncivil, even for you, Erik. Had I known you enjoyed being a young female, I would have had more entertaining conversations with Sabella."
"For all your mind sees, Charles, you know nothing of these matters." Rogue hisses with a deadly tint to her voice. "I am as much Marie as she is herself. You know this," she says with a knowing lift of tone. "It has been not her alone which has walked your halls the last six years." Her head turns, mind pushing up walls as fast as it can. "Fight me and you will be fighting one your precious little X-Men."
Erik. Oh. Jubilee starts to push over onto her back in the bed, but winces and pauses at the first pressure of her weight trapping burned skin against the bed. "Professor...?" she asks quietly, a dozen unspoken questions bouncing around, trying to insert themselves into that slot. 'Will she be ok? What can I do? What's going on? How did this happen?'
"Needs must," the Professor says, with less heat to his voice, if with no less implacability. "It appears, Jubilee, that your friend has some unwelcome company. Southern hospitality has proven a little too welcome." His spine straightens, the personality that informs that stern face fading somewhat, retreating into the mind that explores troubles waters. The walls of a flatscan, however talented, can do little against Charles Xavier. The tendrils already insinuated into Rogue's mind tighten their grip, like ivy that has found its purchase on old stone walls. << Where are you, my child? >>
Rogue presses forward, shoulders squared up despite the aches from yesterdays chaos. "You will destroy her, Charles!" The gruff voice of a Magneto-influenced Rogue warns loudly with angry fright not far from the surface. Rogue is in there, the dregs of her mind holding her in. Personalities above her seem content to keep Rogue down, darkness enveloping the girl who's fear is reflected by Erik's own. Uncertainty clouds the remaining threads of Rogue. There is a still over her mind as Rogue tries to responds. << No. >> comes the forceful voice of Erik echoed though a mind not his own.
The Professor spills comfort where he trespasses, empathy like oil across the waters of her mind. << Enough out of you, old friend. This place is not yours, for all you've made yourself comfortable here, >> he tells Erik, a foreguard thrust while undercurrents slide underneath, finding their way through darkness to search for the Rogue imprisoned and drowned.
Rogue shifts, pressing against the bonds as the weight of her medicine lifts. Her brow folds down, stark wrinkles on the young face. << You speak of acceptance, /old friend/, but perhaps young Marie's powers are not covered within that kind gesture. This is what they have made her. Made me. This is not yours to fix like a broken pipe. >> The words cease, stifled into silence as Xavier's presence in her mind grows. "This was not my choice, Charles!" Rogue growls, her breaths getting ragged and short as that Rogue deep down is found. She is curled, mentally into a small ball of concentration. There are traces of her loose, others tied down which have not seen the light of day for many years.
"No," Charles says aloud, regret sharp and bright in his voice. "I am aware, Erik. But you do not belong. And my duty is to Rogue, not to you." << Come, child, >> he adds in silence, feeding the invitation through the muddle of other minds. Telepathy spins out and sinks like a lifeline through the depths, reaching towards the tight clench of Rogue: the substance of her, incomplete and hampered though it may be.
Rogue lets out a noise of anger, hissing and tensing against her binds. "Blind love for these pathetic children will be the end of you, Charles! She is much better off with--" Erik does not get to finish. Rogue is attached, clinging to the strings of hope that Xavier provides. She is caught up in the current, floating up and taking a shaky hold of herself. Erik falls back, anger burning brightly before he is drowned back into the caverns of Rogue's mind. In the physical world Rogue twitches, violently squirming for a moment as her eyes press closed tightly and reopen. She pants into silence, eyes turning and darting around.
"There," Charles says with some relief, eyes fluttering fully open to steady a careful inspection of Rogue, inside and out. His hands ease on the arms of his chair; rueful amusement coasts across his voice, an easy sham that covers the graver concern of the tethering mind. "Much as I enjoy Erik's /charming/ company, there is a time and a place for everything. Really, when he decided to become a terrorist, the UN missed out on a spectacular diplomat. --Rogue?"
Darting eyes finally land back on Xavier, wide and nervous. She is balancing for power, though where she stands is barely the surface of a needle tip. Underneath the threats are close, all waiting for that balance to tip even a miniscule little bit. Rogue trembles, fingernails biting down into her palms as he fists clench tighter. "Professor," she gasps out with some effort. Sweat beads at her forehead.
Jubilee remains quiet, aware of something going on in a realm she has enough awareness of, if no control over. In her silence, she drifts on medicine and injuries tide, weaving to and from sleep, curled into a worried and pained ball on her side, her knuckle pressed to her lips. Her eyes flick from watching Xavier to considering the curtain between her and her best friend.
Xavier holds up a hand, physical accompaniment for the work that goes on in silence. He weaves a platform of power under Rogue's tightrope stance, thickening an artificial floor to steady and muffle the other voices. Temporarily, at any rate. "It is the best I can do for the moment," he says, the words stilted through distraction. "As a short-term solution, it will suffice. However, it appears that we have a problem."
"What's wrong with me?" Rogue asks in a hushed whisper. As balance grows she starts to breathe a little more comfortably. Voices and odd smatterings of feelings flood her mind in protest of the platform, but with a long practiced talent Rogue is able to ignore them and focus in on Xavier. The focus isn't long held. Eyes shift over to the curtain that blocks her vision of Jubilee.
"The personalities that you have absorbed appear to have -- shall we say, made a bid for independence." Xavier frowns a little, fingers drumming an arrhythmic pattern on the chair's arm. Picture of a man in thought. His glance turns to Jubilee, half-lost behind the curtain's barrier. "It would explain more than a few things of late. I am uncertain as to the cause, however. Perhaps you have a quota of personalities beyond which you should not go. I heard you had an encounter with Cassy; perhaps the addition of her overwhelmed your natural defenses."
"Cassy'd overwhelm anyone," Jubilee murmurs sleepily.
Rogue seems a little comforted at the sound of Jubilee. She swings her eyes back to Xavier, letting out a long sigh. "It... it was before Cassy, Professor." she pauses, a choke stifling her voice. "With Bobby an' Jubilee. Ah-- Ah think. Ah can't really tell what's me an' what's not."
"Yes," Xavier says, and frowns impartially at both Jubilee and Rogue. "It appears as though the problem is more deep-seated than I originally thought. I will have to consider the matter," he adds with a pedantic firmness to the words, articulating each one with fussy care. "I believe what we need is a long-term solution, but what that solution is, I'm hard-pressed to say."
Rogue remains silent, head bowing at the news. She controls herself, though a snuffle or two slips past before they can be stopped. "An' if it can't be fixed?" the southern twang asks quietly.
Xavier hesitates. It is only the tiniest of pauses: the fraction of a breath; the splinter of a heartbeat. "A bridge we will cross if and only if it is necessary," he says firmly. And, with a mock affront that rings deliberately false, adds, "My dear child. I am, after all, the world's most powerful telepath, not to mention the most humble. The thought of failure is inconceivable."
Rogue is stubborn, as anyone that's met her even for the briefest of moments could tell. She does not seem convinced and suspicion lingers heavily. It is likely an emotion that is not all her own. The voices underneath echo this. She simply nods, looking up to him and rising her head. The platform threatens to wobble, but it does not. Not yet.
Doped up on drugs, Jubilee giggles. "That word. I do not think it means what you think it means," she carols, dispelling Rogue's gloomy stubbornness. At least on /her/ side of the curtain.
"And then there is Jubilee," Xavier says, and turns his gaze up to inspect the curtain with a slow and pensive regard. << Would you prefer that the curtain remain drawn? >> he asks in Rogue's mind, tactfully.
<< No. Please, Professor. I need to see her. >> Rogue's cheeks redden as she remembers her binds. << Please. I have control right now. Can't I... can't you take... Just long enough for me to go over there? >> Her arms tug at the straps.
Jubilee offers Xavier a warm, if muddled smile, content with his implied assurance that Rogue would be fine and totally ignorant of Rogue's mental plea for freedom.
Xavier measures the stability of that platform, and murmurs regret back. << I believe it may be safer for you both if I do not. Your supremacy is not assured, and the presence of your visitors is disturbingly strong. I do not believe it would be entirely advisable for you to be free if Erik gains control. However-- >> "I shall draw back the curtain, shall I?" he asks aloud, steering the chair to do just that. "Then at least you can engage each other in civilized conversation. Or an approximation thereof."
Rogue audibly whimpers, disappointment heavy on her shoulders as she nestles back into the soft folds of the bed. "Jubilee?" she asks quickly, bending her neck tightly to see her best friend as soon as the blocked view is cleared.
The view is probably not the most immediately comforting, with the bandages in place across a good swath of the side of Jubilee's head. But her eyes are open, if dull and she's kind of vaguely smiling. "Hi, stupid." We have mentioned drugs, yes?
The rattle of the curtain's runners is quiet, as behooves a state of the art medical facility. Xavier reverses his chair to draw out of the aisle between the two beds, and turns his face towards the medbay's exit with a small flick of fingertips. "--Or not," he concludes dryly. "I'll leave you two to each other for the time being. If you'll excuse me?"
"Hi," Rogue breathes back, unable to keep her eyes from widening. She glances back to Xavier, taking a deep breath. "Thanks, Professor." There is a soft release in her mind, comfort almost, that has not been felt in a long while. Attention is angled back on Jubilee. "You gonna be all right?"
The door hisses open and takes Xavier off into the wild world beyond the medbay. Good-bye, small and squashy children. Hello, deep thought. The door closes.
"Bye, Baldy," Jubilee calls after him, the tone as affectionate as she can muster, and the phrase easy with long (usually private) association. "Yeah, sure. Told ya so." That is lobbed lazily at Rogue.
There is silence, Rogue finally getting a good look at what she caused. "Ah'm so sorry," the girl says after the long pose. "Oh, Jubilee." Perhaps the curtains should have stayed. Moisture springs to her eyes, unchecked by bound hands.
3.18.07 - Xavier comes to call!
3/18/2007
Swooosh. Can a swoosh be more emphatic than a swoosh? The moment Xavier's vacated, Bobby's shoving himself in the medbay. He has a few mismatched books held in his arms and his step is no more stable than before. But it is, perhaps, more earnest. "Rogue, sorry I--" He stops.
Rogue jerks as Bobby enters, the tears in her eyes dislodged and bouncing down her cheeks. She clams back up, emotion allowed for Jubilee being reeled back in and away from Bobby. "What? No. Ah just... Ah think this medication makes mah eyes water," Rogue excuses ever so lamely.
Jubilee shoves her knuckle harder against her lips and flicks a slow look at Bobby. "Hey, Popsicle. I knew your head was a block o' ice."
"It is right now," Bobby says, dully. He takes in his breath, pulls a broad, close-lipped smile, and continues into the medbay proper. "I didn't want to interrupt the Professor," he explains, Rogue-wise, as he walks. "Which is why I'm late." Bobby is not going to call her on the crying, man.
Rogue looks a bit uncomfortable. "You didn't eavesdrop, did you?" she wonders, glancing over to Jubilee with hesitance as she realizes that the other girl was witness to everything that's passed in the last hour.
Everything verbal, which wasn't as much as it seemed. In any case, Jubilee's eyes flutter shut for the moment.'
"Have you ever tried to eavesdrop through those doors?" Bobby gently dismisses. (He probably tried.) He settles himself by Rogue's bed. He almost misses the chair. "Do you . . . feel at all better?"
Rogue looks back to Bobby. "Ah've felt better," she admits. There is still an embarrassed color in her cheek over the whole situation. Still, that familiar Rogue flare is not far away. "Your ex-roommate is an /ass/."
"Pyro? /Yeah/." Bobby, normally a wee bit tolerant of Pyro's foibles, does not sound so tolerant now. "Yeah. He is. Did he hurt you?"
"No," Rogue admits, dropping her gaze from Bobby. "Not exactly."
"Well, no doubt he /would/ have hurt you." Bobby's emphaticness is back in his voice. "I'm just sorry you ran into him."
"/Don't/," Rogue begins irritably. "Don't say you're sorry." She avoids looking at him, concentrating down on her lap. "Just don't."
"I won't say I'm sorry." Bobby looks down at the books. Now in his lap. Laps. "I'm not much of a reader, but I thought you'd be likely to get very, very bored down here. So."
Irritability remains. "How am Ah supposed to read when man hands are tied to the bed?" Rogue demands, almost testing in tone. She quickly backs down, gulping down a breath. "Bobby, Ah didn't mean-- thanks. I'll get Doc Tag to flip the pages for me. That's sweet o'you, really."
"I'm going to read to you," Bobby clarifies. He quirks an almost abashed smile. Better than sad. "If that's all right. I'm going to take a few days off."
"That's fine. It's really nice o'you." Rogue's fingers spread out, turning the wrist in the binds as much as she can to coax him closer. "What did you bring?"
"I wasn't sure what to bring," Bobby admits, a little hastily. He half shakes his head. Concussion. "But the library's close. I started simple." He lifts the first book. "Dinotopia. Pictures. Um. Got Huck Finn and some random science fiction-- Ender's Game?"
Rogue doesn't answer at first. She checks over to Jubilee's bed. Asleep. Perfect. Her fingers reach a little more. "C'mere," she pleads.
Bobby sets his books down. This requires stooping over and gently letting them fall from his fingers. Thunk. Somewhat gentle. Then he rises from his seat with that staggered awkwardness. It's not far too the bed. "I'm here."
"I'm me," Rogue assures him. "Don't worry. It's me." Emotion bubbles to the surface as she directs all her attention to him without actively looking up at the boy. "Ah need--" Pause. "Ah want--" Another pause. "Ah just need to know if you're okay. If /we're/ gonna be okay."
"Rogue." Bobby places his hand on one of the soft restraints. One of the arm soft restraints. "Of course. You-- whatever this is, you can't help it. And I'm not afraid." He gives his head a half conscious mild-shake. "Besides. I cracked my own head open."
Rogue's hand curls up, instant relaxing as the pressure through the restraint is felt. "You're stupidly stubborn Bobby. Ah--" there is a passing cringe before she perks back to him. "/Pyro/ was gonna let you get away without gettin' hurt." Her smile is fond up on him. "We got a lot to talk about when Ah'm outta this mess."
"I know. But Jubilee was there. I couldn't run." Bobby's hand tightens on the restraint. Not too tight. If his touch perhaps comforts Rogue, touching Rogue comforts him. And he smiles down at her, his eyes a bit too bright. "We have so much to talk about. And it /will/ be over soon."
Rogue's smile half twists with a knowing sarcasm at the bight eyes. "You couldn't," she agrees. She shifts, snuggling more comfortably into the bed. "Uh huh," the girl hums as her eyes start to fall shut. "Huck Finn, please. An' don't get offended if Ah fall asleep pretty fast. Ah want to, anyways, to your voice."
Bobby squeezes Rogue's arm through the restraint. Tight as he goes. He releases her then and withdraws clumsily back to the seat. "Huck Finn," he repeats, and leans over himself to retrieve the book. He opens it with careful finger and clears his throat. "By Mark Twain. 'Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.'" So it begins.
Rogue melts back down into her bed. Sleep is fast coming, not halfway through the first chapter she's already dozing, head lolling to the side. A smile remains on her lips.
Bobby is not, indeed, a good reader. He stumbles over the dialect. He pauses. He shakes his head every so often as if to dispel the fuzz that will not dispel. But he's dogged. He's still reading, even after Rogue's eyes are long closed. Just in case.
3.18.07 - Bobby's back! Jubilee sleeps.