(no subject)
It's an early night in April, and Wesley's in a good mood, no a great mood. And why not. Spring is in the air. He practically bounds up the stairs toward Jubilee's apartment, rapping out a cheery little pattern on the door when he arrives.
Un-huh. Spring /fever/ is more like it. Jubilee uncahins the door and pulls it open to glare at Wesley. "I thought you'd /forgotten/ where I lived or somethin'."
"Hey, babe," Wesley greets with grin, sweeping in to attempt a kiss. Completely ignoring the accusation. "Yer not busy, are ya? We should go do somethin'. See a show or somethin'"
Jubilee leans back out out of the way of the kiss and frowns. SEE HER FROWN? "'course not. I'm /never/ too busy ta sit around and wait for you to decide ta show up."
"Well good," Wesley appears unperturbed at the foil. He straightens, leaning against the doorframe, looking in with a grin. "Whatcha feel like? 300 is /really/really/ good. Kinda bloody, but in the awesome kinda way. Have you eaten? Wanna grab a bite first? Or after."
Apparently he doesn't. "No, I haven't seen it. Had other things ta deal with," she grouses and turns around, heading away from the door.
"Well cool. How's that sound, then?" He asks, slipping inside and closing the door behind him. "I wouldn't mind seeing it again. "Oh. How ya feeling, by the way?" he asks. The tone leaves no doubt that it was an afterthought suddenly occurring to him."
The kitchen table is covered in official looking notices and school work that bears dropping grades. She passes it without a glance, though she does hunch at the casual inquiry after her state. "Fine. Enjoy it. I'm just /peachy/."
"Man, what's eating /you/?" he asks, crossing the room and flopping across the couch. "Catch you at a bad time? You totally need to get out more. Oh..." he says knowingly. "That time of the month? Should I have brought flowers?"
Jubilee turns on toe and stomps back, agog at the statement. "I'm surprised you caught me at all considering you've stood me up /twice/ now!" she snaps back. "What's you're excuse? You've been a jerk a lot longer than a /month/ now."
"Twice, what? You're not...going crazy on me again, are you?" Wesley asks, mildly concerned. Or at least the appearence of such. "How've I been a jerk? Cuz I didn't come to see you /every single day/ when you were in the hospital this time? I mean, I've gotta have a life too. Filled up a half dozen of those little frequent meals cards in the cafeteria."
Jubilee is dumbfounded. There's nothing else to really pose here because she is simply standing there, gaping.
Wesley takes the silence as a sign of victory. And the fact that he's right. He smiles up at the gaping face for a bit, then adds, "Got something to drink? I'm parched."
"Drink /this/," she snaps, scooping up a pillow and smacking him in the face with it. Hard. "You egotistical, selfish, patronizin' little /prick/!"
"What the hell's gotten into you, Jubes?" Wesley asks, once he finally squirms his way out from under the pillow. "Just trying to cheer you up. Get you out of here. Have a good time."
"No you weren't. You've gotten so wrapped up in /whatever/ it is the hell you do out there, that you're totally leavin' me behind," she accuses, leaning over the couch bak and panting, flushed to an angry shade of red.
"Yah, well, you can't say I've not /tried/ to bring you along," Wesley rolls his eyes, totally cool-even bored-to match her anger. "All kinds of stuff. My place. Yours. The /school/. Nice meals. Movies. And no matter how carefully I planned it out, you still somehow managed to screw it up."
Jubilee launches the pillow at him. "You /bastard/. You /do/ think I did it on purpose! I /knew/ you still did!"
Wesley is ready this time, one hand leaping up and snatching the pillow just before it hits him. Then drops it aside, a cocky grin on his face. "Yeah, well /I/ wasn't doing it on purpose. And once or twice, maybe coincidence. As many times as it's happened? Hardly."
"Oh, yeah, because at the school, without a /lock/ on the freakin' door is such a sure fire recipe for /success/," she spits back.
"You seemed to like it pretty well at first," Wesley says, something almost a snear appearing on his lips.
"How would you know? That'd mean you'd actually have to be payin' /attention/ to me." The bravado of the words is marred somewhat by the choke in her voice.
"So I should pay more attention like you? So much attention, maybe I," he headbobs, a small shrug, "Oh, say, FALL ASLEEP?"
"I... It was... I mean!" Jubilee's face crumples and her fists ball tightly at her side. "Get out. Just go... go find... get /out/!"
"Psh," Wesley sniffs. "You don't really mean that."
Jubilee flings her hand out toward him, skimming a small paff against his chest to explode against his shoulder. It's not painful, but there is force there. "You sure about that?"
There's a faint shlooop sound and a translucent blue peeks out from the sleeve of said shoulder, creeping down Wesley's arm. He waggles a set of blue fingers at her and smirks without saying a word.
Jubilee emits a high-pitched sound that is too short to be called a scream, and too loud to be called a squeak. She climbs over the couch and grabs his non-blue arm. "GET OUT!" she growls between clenched teeth.
Non-blue for just a second, then it turns to gel too, slipping from her grasp and he runs a finger gently along her arm. "You /really/ don't mean that," he says softly. "You're so cute when you're angry."
Jubilee stares in bafflement at her empty hands, then looks up at the touch, eyes widening in absolute disbelief. Then she hits him. Not a girly face slap, but a Xavier's trained punch.
"Owwww," Wesley complains loudly, wincing at the contact. "That. Was not nice," he says coolly. Then, he launches himself at her, hydropowered hands snatching her wrists to hold them tightly. "So you want ta play rough, huh?" he asks, a wild grin on his face.
Jubilee glares and alternates pulling against the hold on her wrists and diving forward, trying to wrench out of it. "Wes, I swear, if you don't leave right this second, I'm gonna pull your head outta yer ass and stuff it back in again!"
"Ooo," Wesley says, playfully twisting and shaking in time with her attempts. "Dirty talk. I suppose I could get into that."
Jubilee leans close and pulls her knee up sharply.
Now had Wesley been prepared, there could have been many ways to avoid this fate. But that's the funny thing about confidence--it goes both ways, and in his overconfidence, he doesn't expect such a dirty trick. The hands holding her wrists go limp, then slowly fade back to human flesh as his eyes roll back and he makes a faint choking sound, pain painted thick across his face.
Jubilee pants and falls back a step, dropping into ready stance and eyeing him. Gradually adrenaline bleeds off a little and transforms anger into wariness, then finally mild concern. "Wes?"
Wesley doesn't answer, instead tottering to his feet as soon as he can master the pain. Then, just one word is choked out. "Bitch."
Jubilee exhales as if all the air had been knocked out of her, and she surges forward, knocking past him, heading for her room.
Wesley is only too glad to let her go past, and he heads for the door. Valiantly trying not to limp.
Her door slams.
Her other door does too.
Wesley flips out on Jubilee. Finally.
=NYC= Wesley and Bobby's Apartment - Midtown - Apartments in the Sky
And here is Bobby. He's sitting on the couch, cross-legged, with a clipboard spread across his lap. On top of the clipboard is a worksheet, which he is filling out with bored rapidity. Nothing unusual, nothing maladjusted, just your average college student doing his homework.
Enter Wesley, storm cloud amidst the brilliant spring evening. The front door is shut behind him, there's a grunt of greeting, and he's hunkers his way to his bedroom, the door being shut rather loudly behind him.
Bobby looks up. His eyebrows lift. He looks back down, finishes scribbling something on that worksheet, and sets homework aside. Time to pursue! Bobby knock-knocks on Wesley's door. "Hello?"
"Yeah, whatdyawant?" is called back through the door. Not typical Wesley by any means.
"Wesley . . . " Bobby folds his arms across his chest. "Okay. What the hell?"
Wesley blinks from the other side of the door. It's not all that often he hears language even that strong from his roommate. The door slowly opens, and there's Wesley, shirt already dumped onto the floor and nothing more comfortable found just yet. "Sorry. What's up, man?"
Bobby does not stare at Wesley's shirtless chest, because that would be inappropriately-- But, he does blink generally! "What's up with you?"
"I asked you first," Wesley says, preparing the Disarming Smile of Casualness. He backpedals into the room, flopping across his bed. "Eh, it's Jubilee," he says, an exasperated sigh. "Had a bad day or something and took it out on me. Guess I missed something or the other we had planned."
"She's having kind of a rough time, you know." Bobby would normally sound baseline sympathetic, but there's an edge of suspicion to his tone and to his expression as he steps into Wesley's room. An edge of memory. "What with being burned and Rogue in jail and all that."
"I know," Wesley says, a slow sigh as he reaches for a pillow to prop under his neck. "It just...seems there's /always/ something. And I /do/ feel sorry for her, but seems she always takes it out on me. I mean, I like her. I /really/ like her, but..." he trails off. "Sometimes I get the feeling she'd rather be with someone else."
"Like who?" Bobby snorts. (That's just a snort. No extra edges, there!) "Rough spots, that's all. You miss a date, she's upset-- Rogue gets mad at me all the time." The mild suspicion returns, but isn't voiced. Just kind of floats vague and moorless over Bobby's face.
"So one in particular, just...not me," Wesley shrugs. "I guess the 'can't figure out what the heck she wants' is normal, huh?" he says, hint of a smile flickering across is face. LIAR! "Seems like one minute she's saying one thing and the next the total opposite. Girls," he concludes, with a shake of his head.
"I--" Bobby is stopped mid-sympathy again. The vague suspicion is there, and sharpened troubled. "Look, uh, I don't want to change the subject, but there's something I really need to ask you."
"Sure," Wesley says, sliding over to sit at the edge of the bed. "Shoot."
"That-- in the medbay. When Rogue was screaming what she was screaming. I thought I saw you standing . . . over her." Nice long pause. An I-don't-know-how-to-describe-this pause. "You weren't, I really hate to ask this," Bobby's jaw sets nonetheless, "Were you encouraging her? You know what I mean."
Wesley chokes as the question finally is voiced, and he buries his face in his hand, trying to wipe away amused tears. "Oh, gawd, no, Bobby. Sure I was standing by her. Went to see Jubilee and she wasn't there. Started talking to Rogue, but it wasn't really her. One of the...others," he says, a small wince for dramatic effect. "Was trying to help bring her out, but it just. Whoever it was wanted to screw everything up. I wouldn't do that to you, Bobby. Or Rogue. You know that. Right?"
"I do. Of course I do." Bobby spreads his hands. "That's not /you/. It's just-- I don't know. Everything's been off and that's stuck in my mind." Bobby's hands spread a little further and a sudden near-expressionlessness replaces the suspicion on Bobby's face, if his eyes are sharp. "You were so /calm/ after. Freaked me out a little bit."
"Gawd, I didn't /feel/ calm," Wesley says, going a bit wide-eyed. " Sure was trying to be. For Rogue's sake."
"You were freaking patting me on the shoulder!" Oops. There goes expressionless for anger! Friendly anger, though. Across-the-room anger.
"Patting you on..." Wesley stares blankly at him. "Geez, is /that/ what it seemed like? Man, yeah, I kinda panicked when she started going on and on. But then a bit of me was like, 'No, Bobby trusts me. He'll know what's really going on.' I mean, I totally meant to just...y'know. Support you. Cuz I kinda know how tough it is to have your girlfriend in the hospital. /Really/, I know all about it."
"You didn't look panicky," Bobby persists, but it's a wavery persist and the brief anger fades. "Sorry," is only half grudging.
"Heh," Wesley says, leaning back to lie across the bed and stare at the ceiling. "Guess I hide things better than I thought. Don't worry about it, man. It's been a rough time for all of us."
"I thought /I/ was good," is a fourth grudging, a fourth envious, a fourth joking, and a fourth incredulous. Check it out. Bobby scratches the back of his head. "It is . . . a rough time."
"We'll get through it," Wesley reassures. "We always do. Rogue's strong. And we've got the best of the best working to help her. It'll work out." Ah, deflection at its most masterful.
"Of course." Scratching done, Bobby folds his arms over his chest. Deflated. "Okay. Well. I've got homework to do."
"Don't envy you there, man," Wesley says, rolling to his side. "But hey, anytime you need to talk. You know where I sleep."
"I . . . do. Night." And Bobby vacates the room.
And Bobby begins to suspect, but Wesley neatly evades, delaying the inevitable.