Post by Pyro on Sept 10, 2006 15:41:31 GMT -5
Having consumed her post-workout life-sustaining spoonful of peanut butter (and enjoyed it greatly), Kitty needed something calming to do. Even if she was technically supposed to keep active post-workout to keep endorphins flowing or whatever, she was always exhausted the moment she slowed down. Reading a nice book after a run always appealed more, somehow, than yet more running.
Or a shower, really. But the shower between the book and the run was understood.
Her hair still wet, Kitty wandered through the student-inhabited halls of the Xavier Institute, carrying around The Once And Future King, which she was meant to be reading for English, but had yet to work up the nerve to actually open it. When she found a suitable couch, she'd probably just go to sleep.
(Even worse for you, sleeping after consuming carbs. Bad Kitty.)
She heard John's voice from around the corner and followed it instinctively, though she noticed as she closed in on it that it sounded... angry.
When she got closer still, near enough to pick out words, she found that several of the words were unfortunate ones. She blushed on his behalf. Fully expecting to find Bobby or someone giving as good as they got (or about to, since she couldn't hear another voice), she hovered in the doorway worriedly.
Then she spotted the kid.
"John?" she said incredulously, horrified.
The kid who was presently the target of John's fury was about ten years old and presently sobbing unhappily as the older boy ripped into him mercilessly. When Kitty came in and spoke his name, it cut almost instantly through his rage and he stopped, mid-sentence to stare at the girl in the doorway.
"I was just..."
A pause.
"That is..."
Another pause, and all the anger seemed to go out of John. He shrunk a good three inches in height. "I was watching a documentary on Discovery and...that..." Here, he indicated the unfortunate little kid. "...came in and changed channel. Without asking. And wouldn't turn it back. This place isn't any better..." He checked himself. "Forget it."
Without another word, he shot the kid a furious glare that made the poor lad cry even harder and stormed out of the TV room in a dark rage.
Kitty shook her head at John's protestations, the same look of disbelief on her face, and she stared after him as he beat feet for the door.
"I cannot even - " She cut herself off before she got any further, sitting down on the edge of the couch briefly and giving the little boy a tight, brief hug, wiping his eyes carefully with the sleeve of her sweater.
"It's going to be okay," she said seriously as the kid sniffled. "He's just having a bad day." She pressed a dime fished out of the pocket of her jeans into his hand and scooted him gently out of the room before following John down the hall, but, predictably, he'd moved on. She sighed and punched the button for the elevator at the other end of the hall, heading for his room.
She knocked gently on the door to his and Bobby's dorm. "Hey," she called through the wood. "It's me."
Whether or not he opened it was immaterial; this was one of the things her power was actually good for, after all.
It proved to be a good thing that she had her power, because he didn't open the door. She waited with politeness for a few minutes, knocking a few more times. It was entirely possible that he wasn't even in there, but it was his usual retreat.
After ten minutes had passed and he hadn't even so much given her the time of day, she sighed and pushed through the door.
John was sitting on the end of his bed, his head in his hands, his mood having crashed from fury to self-pitying depression almost instantly. He raised his head briefly at her entry and shrugged.
"I didn't mean to lose my temper," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "It was just...I had the place to myself and I was HAPPY, y'know?"
Kitty sighed and plopped down next to him, close enough so their sides touched, and nudged him slightly with her shoulder.
"And he was just a kid," she said. "You've really got a temper on you, you know that?"
She pushed a hand through her damp, sticking-together hair, which was going to go wavy soon, she knew it, and turned her head slightly to regard John.
"What really happened?" she asked softly. "That wasn't normal. Even for you."
"I'm just not used to getting the TV room to myself," he said. "I always had to share with someone. It just irritated me when that kid came in and didn't even ask if he could change channels. I know I shouldn't have reacted the way I did - but..."
John drew a shuddering breath.
"I just forgot where I was for a minute," he said. "I never told you this, but...I used to live in this children's home. Green Meadows, they called it. It was a dump and I've never been so miserable in my life. It just...ah, forget it, I'm stupid."
Kitty put the book, which she hadn't been aware she was still dragging around, on the floor and turned around on the bed, crossing her legs Indian-style and facing John's side. She put a hand on his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't shy away or shrug her off; Kitty was still a firm believer that physical contact kept people (sane) happy and she wasn't about to give it up just because John didn't like touching.
"You're not stupid," she said. "You're a lot of things, but not stupid. Tell me."
He didn't shy away from her touch. Instead, he did the thing he did rarely.
He reciprocated and leaned into her, his head on her shoulder. "I shouldn't really expect any sympathy," he said, after a while. "I mean, it was me doing the yelling. But I was that kid, y'know? The one everyone yelled at." Or beat to a bloody pulp whenever they could get away with it if they were Paul Saunders he added, mentally. "I just lost control of myself for a moment."
He shifted position so he was laying on his bed, his legs up the wall, his head on Kitty's lap, looking up at her. He seemed so...sad. Vulnerable, even, something which she didn't see in him often, not past the facade, anyway. "I ran away in the end," he said, quietly.
Kitty stroked his hair with one hand, the other laid across his chest, under his chin, possessively. She loved and hated it when he got like this; hated because he was obviously so shaken up, so broken, but loved it, selfishly, because he let her take care of him a little.
"But you're not there any more," she said, trying to be reassuring, her right hand slowly ruffling through his hair: boy-hair, smelling only clean and slightly like woodsmoke, the way he always did, not like hers, which smelled like flowery shampoo and occasionally like a different kind of smoke, caused by her straightener and blow-drier. "You're here. And you're safe - as safe as we can be."
Her hand slipped down to cradle his face upside-down, her thumb stroking along his jawline, sharp from always being too thin, before her hand came to rest against his cheek. "It's all right now. It's behind you."
"I don't know that it'll ever be behind me. Not properly." He had closed his eyes at her touch, his instinctive action had been to pull away, but he knew she didn't mean him any harm. He was trying really hard to train himself out of his dislike of physical contact. With Kitty it was easy. Her touch was so gentle.
"I'll find Jack and apologise to him later," he said, after a few moments silence. "I had no right to go off at him like that. Sometimes I just forget I'm one of the oldest kids instead of the little one." His eyes opened and he looked up at her.
"I'm sorry for me and my moods," he said, regretfully. "I'm trying real hard, Kitty."
"And you're doing real well," she said, putting on her best Comforting Voice. "You just mess up every once in a while. Like everyone does. And anyway, I don't really mind your moods."
She contemplated John's face, now his eyes were closed and she could do it without scrutiny. It was hard to believe that this was the same face that had been twisted in vicious rage a bare few minutes earlier. Not unless you connected the same brokenness, the same fear.
"You know, I bet you'd have the TV to yourself now, if you wanted," she said, the thought occuring suddenly. Jack would've warned the others, probably, and either the TV room would be a deserted area for the rest of the day... or someone would be lying in wait to talk to John, when he got back, about Treating Others With Respect.
"Naw," he said, shifting slightly in her lap. "It doesn't matter now. The moment's gone. I'd rather stay here with you."
His eyes opened and he looked faintly surprised. "Did I just say that out loud?" Then he gave her an unexpected, but very disarming grin. "That is, if you don't mind staying here in a boy's room with me."
Kitty smiled widely. It didn't go away. "Yeah, you said it out loud," she said, jostling him slightly. "I don't mind. Even if it does smell like Bobby in here."
Ugh, Axe.
"Provided you don't imp - impinge? upon my virtue, of course," Kitty said. "Evil male."
"Impinge?" said John, blinking up at her innocently. "Babe, I'd have to FIND it first."
He was rewarded with a tickle-fest, which had the effect of reducing him to a fit of helpless giggles until tears streamed uncontrollably down his face from the laughter. He was inordinately ticklish.
Kitty knew well the weaknesses - at least physical and easy to spot, anyway - of her boyfriend, and found them with alarming accuracy and speed for someone to whom combat strategy was apparently a no-go. She found the one spot she'd really been looking for, the notch underneath his ribs.
"I," she said, attacking it, "am plenty virtuous! And I know you know what I meant!"
He was an evil male.
Or a shower, really. But the shower between the book and the run was understood.
Her hair still wet, Kitty wandered through the student-inhabited halls of the Xavier Institute, carrying around The Once And Future King, which she was meant to be reading for English, but had yet to work up the nerve to actually open it. When she found a suitable couch, she'd probably just go to sleep.
(Even worse for you, sleeping after consuming carbs. Bad Kitty.)
She heard John's voice from around the corner and followed it instinctively, though she noticed as she closed in on it that it sounded... angry.
When she got closer still, near enough to pick out words, she found that several of the words were unfortunate ones. She blushed on his behalf. Fully expecting to find Bobby or someone giving as good as they got (or about to, since she couldn't hear another voice), she hovered in the doorway worriedly.
Then she spotted the kid.
"John?" she said incredulously, horrified.
The kid who was presently the target of John's fury was about ten years old and presently sobbing unhappily as the older boy ripped into him mercilessly. When Kitty came in and spoke his name, it cut almost instantly through his rage and he stopped, mid-sentence to stare at the girl in the doorway.
"I was just..."
A pause.
"That is..."
Another pause, and all the anger seemed to go out of John. He shrunk a good three inches in height. "I was watching a documentary on Discovery and...that..." Here, he indicated the unfortunate little kid. "...came in and changed channel. Without asking. And wouldn't turn it back. This place isn't any better..." He checked himself. "Forget it."
Without another word, he shot the kid a furious glare that made the poor lad cry even harder and stormed out of the TV room in a dark rage.
Kitty shook her head at John's protestations, the same look of disbelief on her face, and she stared after him as he beat feet for the door.
"I cannot even - " She cut herself off before she got any further, sitting down on the edge of the couch briefly and giving the little boy a tight, brief hug, wiping his eyes carefully with the sleeve of her sweater.
"It's going to be okay," she said seriously as the kid sniffled. "He's just having a bad day." She pressed a dime fished out of the pocket of her jeans into his hand and scooted him gently out of the room before following John down the hall, but, predictably, he'd moved on. She sighed and punched the button for the elevator at the other end of the hall, heading for his room.
She knocked gently on the door to his and Bobby's dorm. "Hey," she called through the wood. "It's me."
Whether or not he opened it was immaterial; this was one of the things her power was actually good for, after all.
It proved to be a good thing that she had her power, because he didn't open the door. She waited with politeness for a few minutes, knocking a few more times. It was entirely possible that he wasn't even in there, but it was his usual retreat.
After ten minutes had passed and he hadn't even so much given her the time of day, she sighed and pushed through the door.
John was sitting on the end of his bed, his head in his hands, his mood having crashed from fury to self-pitying depression almost instantly. He raised his head briefly at her entry and shrugged.
"I didn't mean to lose my temper," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "It was just...I had the place to myself and I was HAPPY, y'know?"
Kitty sighed and plopped down next to him, close enough so their sides touched, and nudged him slightly with her shoulder.
"And he was just a kid," she said. "You've really got a temper on you, you know that?"
She pushed a hand through her damp, sticking-together hair, which was going to go wavy soon, she knew it, and turned her head slightly to regard John.
"What really happened?" she asked softly. "That wasn't normal. Even for you."
"I'm just not used to getting the TV room to myself," he said. "I always had to share with someone. It just irritated me when that kid came in and didn't even ask if he could change channels. I know I shouldn't have reacted the way I did - but..."
John drew a shuddering breath.
"I just forgot where I was for a minute," he said. "I never told you this, but...I used to live in this children's home. Green Meadows, they called it. It was a dump and I've never been so miserable in my life. It just...ah, forget it, I'm stupid."
Kitty put the book, which she hadn't been aware she was still dragging around, on the floor and turned around on the bed, crossing her legs Indian-style and facing John's side. She put a hand on his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't shy away or shrug her off; Kitty was still a firm believer that physical contact kept people (sane) happy and she wasn't about to give it up just because John didn't like touching.
"You're not stupid," she said. "You're a lot of things, but not stupid. Tell me."
He didn't shy away from her touch. Instead, he did the thing he did rarely.
He reciprocated and leaned into her, his head on her shoulder. "I shouldn't really expect any sympathy," he said, after a while. "I mean, it was me doing the yelling. But I was that kid, y'know? The one everyone yelled at." Or beat to a bloody pulp whenever they could get away with it if they were Paul Saunders he added, mentally. "I just lost control of myself for a moment."
He shifted position so he was laying on his bed, his legs up the wall, his head on Kitty's lap, looking up at her. He seemed so...sad. Vulnerable, even, something which she didn't see in him often, not past the facade, anyway. "I ran away in the end," he said, quietly.
Kitty stroked his hair with one hand, the other laid across his chest, under his chin, possessively. She loved and hated it when he got like this; hated because he was obviously so shaken up, so broken, but loved it, selfishly, because he let her take care of him a little.
"But you're not there any more," she said, trying to be reassuring, her right hand slowly ruffling through his hair: boy-hair, smelling only clean and slightly like woodsmoke, the way he always did, not like hers, which smelled like flowery shampoo and occasionally like a different kind of smoke, caused by her straightener and blow-drier. "You're here. And you're safe - as safe as we can be."
Her hand slipped down to cradle his face upside-down, her thumb stroking along his jawline, sharp from always being too thin, before her hand came to rest against his cheek. "It's all right now. It's behind you."
"I don't know that it'll ever be behind me. Not properly." He had closed his eyes at her touch, his instinctive action had been to pull away, but he knew she didn't mean him any harm. He was trying really hard to train himself out of his dislike of physical contact. With Kitty it was easy. Her touch was so gentle.
"I'll find Jack and apologise to him later," he said, after a few moments silence. "I had no right to go off at him like that. Sometimes I just forget I'm one of the oldest kids instead of the little one." His eyes opened and he looked up at her.
"I'm sorry for me and my moods," he said, regretfully. "I'm trying real hard, Kitty."
"And you're doing real well," she said, putting on her best Comforting Voice. "You just mess up every once in a while. Like everyone does. And anyway, I don't really mind your moods."
She contemplated John's face, now his eyes were closed and she could do it without scrutiny. It was hard to believe that this was the same face that had been twisted in vicious rage a bare few minutes earlier. Not unless you connected the same brokenness, the same fear.
"You know, I bet you'd have the TV to yourself now, if you wanted," she said, the thought occuring suddenly. Jack would've warned the others, probably, and either the TV room would be a deserted area for the rest of the day... or someone would be lying in wait to talk to John, when he got back, about Treating Others With Respect.
"Naw," he said, shifting slightly in her lap. "It doesn't matter now. The moment's gone. I'd rather stay here with you."
His eyes opened and he looked faintly surprised. "Did I just say that out loud?" Then he gave her an unexpected, but very disarming grin. "That is, if you don't mind staying here in a boy's room with me."
Kitty smiled widely. It didn't go away. "Yeah, you said it out loud," she said, jostling him slightly. "I don't mind. Even if it does smell like Bobby in here."
Ugh, Axe.
"Provided you don't imp - impinge? upon my virtue, of course," Kitty said. "Evil male."
"Impinge?" said John, blinking up at her innocently. "Babe, I'd have to FIND it first."
He was rewarded with a tickle-fest, which had the effect of reducing him to a fit of helpless giggles until tears streamed uncontrollably down his face from the laughter. He was inordinately ticklish.
Kitty knew well the weaknesses - at least physical and easy to spot, anyway - of her boyfriend, and found them with alarming accuracy and speed for someone to whom combat strategy was apparently a no-go. She found the one spot she'd really been looking for, the notch underneath his ribs.
"I," she said, attacking it, "am plenty virtuous! And I know you know what I meant!"
He was an evil male.
