Rogue and Jean: Misery Loves Company
Jul. 13th, 2017 08:27 pm![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsRogue and Jean are stuck in their respective suites with a case of food poisoning. They communicate their misery through walkie talkies.
Rogue hurt. Everywhere. She couldn't remember the last time she had thrown up this much, and she'd drank to the point of almost blacking out on her birthday outing. Blindly reaching around her bed, her hand found a brick-like object. Opening one eye, she gave a smile (and wow did her mouth ever hurt). A walkie-talkie. Excellent. She'd asked Logan for it before he left in the morning, and she wasn't sure if the grunt she received back was one of approval, dislike or just general Logan-ness.
Turning it on, she pushed the button. "Jean...are you there? Are you alive? Over."
There was silence for a few moments before Jean finally responded with something akin to a grunt.
"Vaguely," she said.
Jean lay at the opposite foot of her bed in her suite, staring in the general direction of the bathroom because she knew she'd be in there at any moment. The television was on in the background but she hadn't been paying attention for awhile now.
"I never want to eat again. Over."
Rogue gave a sigh. "I feel so bad. I swear, the place looked awesome, and it smelled good, right? It wasn't just me thinking that was a good place? I mean, to be honest, I probably shouldn't trust anywhere with that much free seafood but still..." She brought her hand up to her mouth suddenly and waited for the nausea to pass. "I don't know that I ever want to see another oyster again...but I will eat. Oh yes. I'll eat." A pause. "Over."
"Brave woman," Jean muttered with a almost delirious smirk.
"We need to tell Cece...there's a big danger of getting dehydrated, pulling an abdominal muscle, or worse..."
She frowned in annoyance.
"But part of me doesn't want to." Admitting to a fellow medical professional that she was sick felt like admitting defeat. Even if that wasn't true. She just didn't want to hear the lecture.
"Ughhh..." After a minute, she covered her face with her hand.
"Over."
"Isn't this supposed to just be 24 hours or something though? I mean, come on -- I'm sure you've suffered more in 24 hours before, right?" Rogue had to stop and warily looked at her water bottle next to her bed. Dehydration didn't sound like fun. "Just think of that last mission we went on....although, Logan let me absorb some of his healing factor, and this time he wouldn't, can you believe that? He said it's my own fault. Jackass. Over."
"I imagine he's never had food poisoning before," Jean muttered.
"Though it really depends on the diagnosis and how long it takes to leave our system."
She tried to sip a bottle of water. Nice, simple, unassuming water. Surely she could keep that down.
After a couple of moments, however, Jean found out that wasn't the case.
"Oh God, I'll be right back, over---"
She nearly skidded across the floor as she bounded for the bathroom.
"Jean?" Rogue tried to sit up in worry, and found that her stomach wouldn't let her. "Oh god, Jean. If your last words to me are 'over', I'm going to be so sad. Jean, are you there? Are you alive? Do I need to send for some help?"
A couple of moments later, the walkie talkie fizzled back into life. "No...I'm good...Or at least, alive," she said with a faint chuckle.
"Amazing how even chicken soup is a problem to keep down."
Rogue waited for the 'over' but it didn't come. Hoping Jean hadn't died mid-thought, Rogue spoke into the walkie-talkie. "I don't think I'm as sick as you...which is strange because I totally ate more than you.". She looked around the room and cursed the fact that her cell phone was across the room. "Maybe we really should go to the medlab...they can do something, right? So that you don't die?l"
Jean made a face. "I really don't want to hear Cece's voice raise an octave," she muttered.
"I'll be fine, really. I think maybe that's the last of it...." She paused.
"Over."
"That's it," Rogue declared, struggling to sit up. "Enough is enough. I'm heading over there for us to both lay around and be pathetic together. I'll bring barf buckets and baby wipes. Anything else? Over."
Jean grunted, then after a moment added. "Do you have any more ginger ale left? That would be great."
She had dragged herself back to her bed and sprawled across it.
"Over."
"10-4, good buddy." Reaching into the far depths of her mind, Rogue found the strength to sit up and get on her feet. This reserve of energy would soon wane but it'd be enough for her to get to Jean. And if they weren't good friends by now, they'd be even better friends by the end of this.
Rogue hurt. Everywhere. She couldn't remember the last time she had thrown up this much, and she'd drank to the point of almost blacking out on her birthday outing. Blindly reaching around her bed, her hand found a brick-like object. Opening one eye, she gave a smile (and wow did her mouth ever hurt). A walkie-talkie. Excellent. She'd asked Logan for it before he left in the morning, and she wasn't sure if the grunt she received back was one of approval, dislike or just general Logan-ness.
Turning it on, she pushed the button. "Jean...are you there? Are you alive? Over."
There was silence for a few moments before Jean finally responded with something akin to a grunt.
"Vaguely," she said.
Jean lay at the opposite foot of her bed in her suite, staring in the general direction of the bathroom because she knew she'd be in there at any moment. The television was on in the background but she hadn't been paying attention for awhile now.
"I never want to eat again. Over."
Rogue gave a sigh. "I feel so bad. I swear, the place looked awesome, and it smelled good, right? It wasn't just me thinking that was a good place? I mean, to be honest, I probably shouldn't trust anywhere with that much free seafood but still..." She brought her hand up to her mouth suddenly and waited for the nausea to pass. "I don't know that I ever want to see another oyster again...but I will eat. Oh yes. I'll eat." A pause. "Over."
"Brave woman," Jean muttered with a almost delirious smirk.
"We need to tell Cece...there's a big danger of getting dehydrated, pulling an abdominal muscle, or worse..."
She frowned in annoyance.
"But part of me doesn't want to." Admitting to a fellow medical professional that she was sick felt like admitting defeat. Even if that wasn't true. She just didn't want to hear the lecture.
"Ughhh..." After a minute, she covered her face with her hand.
"Over."
"Isn't this supposed to just be 24 hours or something though? I mean, come on -- I'm sure you've suffered more in 24 hours before, right?" Rogue had to stop and warily looked at her water bottle next to her bed. Dehydration didn't sound like fun. "Just think of that last mission we went on....although, Logan let me absorb some of his healing factor, and this time he wouldn't, can you believe that? He said it's my own fault. Jackass. Over."
"I imagine he's never had food poisoning before," Jean muttered.
"Though it really depends on the diagnosis and how long it takes to leave our system."
She tried to sip a bottle of water. Nice, simple, unassuming water. Surely she could keep that down.
After a couple of moments, however, Jean found out that wasn't the case.
"Oh God, I'll be right back, over---"
She nearly skidded across the floor as she bounded for the bathroom.
"Jean?" Rogue tried to sit up in worry, and found that her stomach wouldn't let her. "Oh god, Jean. If your last words to me are 'over', I'm going to be so sad. Jean, are you there? Are you alive? Do I need to send for some help?"
A couple of moments later, the walkie talkie fizzled back into life. "No...I'm good...Or at least, alive," she said with a faint chuckle.
"Amazing how even chicken soup is a problem to keep down."
Rogue waited for the 'over' but it didn't come. Hoping Jean hadn't died mid-thought, Rogue spoke into the walkie-talkie. "I don't think I'm as sick as you...which is strange because I totally ate more than you.". She looked around the room and cursed the fact that her cell phone was across the room. "Maybe we really should go to the medlab...they can do something, right? So that you don't die?l"
Jean made a face. "I really don't want to hear Cece's voice raise an octave," she muttered.
"I'll be fine, really. I think maybe that's the last of it...." She paused.
"Over."
"That's it," Rogue declared, struggling to sit up. "Enough is enough. I'm heading over there for us to both lay around and be pathetic together. I'll bring barf buckets and baby wipes. Anything else? Over."
Jean grunted, then after a moment added. "Do you have any more ginger ale left? That would be great."
She had dragged herself back to her bed and sprawled across it.
"Over."
"10-4, good buddy." Reaching into the far depths of her mind, Rogue found the strength to sit up and get on her feet. This reserve of energy would soon wane but it'd be enough for her to get to Jean. And if they weren't good friends by now, they'd be even better friends by the end of this.
