Work Text:
Snowball Running
by modernaudrey (Randa Beth)
“What time have you got?”
Rogue glanced at her watch irritably before letting out a terse “Eleven Forty-five.”
John nodded curtly, glancing at his own watch. He shrugged. “I’ve got Eleven Forty-four.”
“Ah,” she intoned dryly. “Fascinating. Now, you want to tell me why you’ve asked me for the time seven times in the last fifteen minutes?”
John shot her an irritated look. “Why don’t you just shut the hell up and drink?”
She blew out an exasperated breath, but lifted the cool bottle to her lips nonetheless. The amber liquid tasted disgusting going down, and she bit back a grumble of disgust. Not that it did any good. Next to her, John’s lips curved in malevolent amusement.
“Aww. Poor little Roguey doesn’t like the taste of beer, does she?”
“Hey John? Why don’t you just shut the hell up and drink, huh?”
He smirked, sparing her a mocking chuckle before his attention turned back to the view in front of them. It was true that the grounds of the Mansion, illuminated only by the glow of security lights, presented a pleasant image to them from their position on the roof. But he had been staring at the exact same spot for the last thirty minutes, and Rogue was hard-pressed to understand just what was so damn engrossing. If she didn’t owe him so much gratitude for today, she might be more vocal in her irritation. But she just couldn’t bring herself to be angry with him right now.
The truth was, John had been a real saint today.
Saint John. Rogue chuckled, clutching her stomach in amusement.
Next to her, John quirked a brow. She just snickered, leaning into his side.
“Did you know that your name is Saint John?”
The corner of his lip twitched in barely constrained amusement, and Rogue giggled again.
“Wow. I honestly didn’t know that it was possible to get drunk off of exactly one and a half beers. Very impressive there, Roguey.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not drunk. I just think it’s funny, that’s all.”
“Right.”
She straightened, putting the bottle aside. She turned to face John, head leaned back against her chair--of the folding and easily transportable variety, and identical to his in every fashion. “Hey John?”
His answer was a vaguely irritated grunt, as his attention was once again fixated on the apparently amazing view. She fought back the urge to pinch him. That would get his attention, alright. Even through cotton gloves, she was proud to say that she had the clawing strength of an eagle.
Then again, Rogue had never been known for her self-restraint.
John started violently, rubbing at his assaulted shoulder. “What the hell was that for? You know, you claw like a fucking eagle.”
Rogue giggled. Neat.
He rolled his eyes, and she snapped back to attention. “Sorry, John. I just want you to pay attention to me, and not the stupid grounds. Even though the security lights are all bright and glowy, and it’s all pretty and everything.”
His brow furrowed briefly, before smoothing out as he snickered. “Wow. Maybe you shouldn‘t finish that bottle.”
“Shut up, you jerk.” Rogue bumped him lightly with her shoulder, sending him a censorious glare. “I’m trying to thank you for being my Valentine’s buffer.”
John let out an over-exaggerated breath, clearly irritated as he scowled over at her. “Do you always have to be talking?”
“I’m serious here, John. You really helped me out today.”
“If I did something to help you, it was all in your head,” he asserted, looking incredibly put out by the intimation that he’d purposefully done something nice.
“Oh, yeah. Right. I guess I completely imagined you hanging around me all day, distracting me from all the happy couples.” Rogue scowled briefly, shaking her head at the thought. “God, I hate them.” At John’s odd look, she blushed lightly. “Sorry. I think I may be the tiniest bit drunk after all.”
“You think?”
“Anyway...I just want to thank you. For distracting me, and turning off the radio every time a love song came on, and keeping Bobby away from me with his stupid ice flowers or whatever they were--and don’t deny it, because I’m not an idiot and I know that you melted them. I mean, Bobby didn’t spill water on himself six times today, each time right before coming up to me...” Rogue realized that she was going off on a bit of a tangent, and shrugged dismissively. “Anyway, I want to thank you.” Her lips turned up slightly, and she smiled over at him.
Next to her, John sniffled quietly. “That...was so...beautiful...” He whimpered, raising a shaky hand to wipe away an imaginary tear.
Rogue glowered, throwing an elbow in the general direction of his gut. He winced, letting out an exclamation of discomfort, and she stood. “You are such an asshole, John. You know that I hate you, right?”
He grabbed her gloved hand to pull her back down, and--not at all steady on her feet--she gave in. John smirked, despite the fact that he was still cradling his stomach with his free hand. “You know what’s kind of sick? I actually prefer you beating me up to all of that mushy crap that you were muttering about earlier.”
Brown eyes glared daggers at him. “Yeah? Well, get used to it. I’m never saying anything nice to you again.”
John let out a loud breath of relief, dragging a hand across his forehead for effect. “At least something good came out of this day of horror.”
She huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “You know, I bet you didn’t even mean to be nice to me today.”
“That so?”
“Yes, that’s so.” She shook her head angrily. “It’s not like you do anything but insult me every time you’re around me.”
“That’s not true at all,” he interjected. Rogue raised a brow, and he smiled innocently. “I also insult Bobby.”
She groaned, flopping back in her chair and turning her head to face away from him. “You know what? Don’t talk to me anymore.”
The silence continued for several moments, before John sighed. “Rogue--”
“You’re talking. Stop it.”
He sat up from his chair, glaring down over her semi-reclined position. “Rogue.”
Her eyes opened, and she scowled at him. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me? Shut. Up. Now.” A beat passed before she continued, almost as an afterthought. “Bastard.”
“Rogue!”
She opened her mouth to interrupt him again, but found it suddenly stuffed with a black bandana.
“I swear to god, if you don‘t stop talking, I will set your hair on fire.” He paused for a moment, forehead scrunching slightly. “You know...again.”
She spat the thin fabric out, coughing slightly and dragging a hand across her mouth. “Yeah, now is so not a good time to remind me of that. And that thing had really better have been clean. And why do you have a bandana in your pocket anyway?”
“Exactly what part of ‘stop talking’ didn’t you understand, Rogue? Because I am only going to say this once. Are you ready to be quiet and listen?”
She obviously wasn’t going to assent to that in any respect, because, my God, he couldn’t possibly be any more condescending if he tried. But she did cross her arms over her chest, head tilted in a universal sign of readiness.
“Good. Now, what time do you have?”
“What?”
“The time. What is it?”
She shook her head, beyond irritated by this point, before checking her watch. “12:01 A.M.”
“Good. I have 12:00. Either way, it’s after Valentine’s Day.”
Rogue frowned, brow creasing. “Which is supposed to mean what, exactly?”
John’s lips twitched slightly as he pulled the crumpled bandana from her gloved hands. “What it means, Rogue, is that I fucking hate cliches.”
With that, his lips met hers through a barrier of thin cloth. It crossed her mind--still in arguing mode--that the bandana idea was pretty damned cliched in itself. But then his arms came around her, and the thought immediately slipped her mind. Another argument lost.
Not that she was complaining.
end