thismaskiwear | Room 505, Stupidlate Sunday Night

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Room 505, Stupidlate Sunday Night

Hey, look at that, Katchoo had finally made it home, after a whole lot of procrastination. (A whoooooooooooole lot of procrastination.) And dinner at Mooby Land, because it was cheap, dammit.

She could open a door quietly when she a) wanted to and b) was sober enough to; both of those criteria currently being filled, watch Katchoo trying to sneak back unobtrusively into her own room and hope she wasn't waking Francine.

The suitcase had a squeaky wheel. Assuming Francine was in the room? Good luck with that, Chewie.

[OOC: For ze roomie and SP due to zzz. I seriously just fell asleep dreaming about marshmallows in fedoras for a second.]

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Also assuming Francine was getting much sleep this weekend, which would be a fairly dumb assumption.

"Katchoo?" said Francine who wasn't asleep at all, and reached for the light.

Screw travel-grimy, exhausted, and massively awkward from not having seen Francine since they were screaming at each other (and also male). She was drained and badly in need of a hug right now.

"Francie?" The suitcase got abandoned by the desk, and if Katchoo tripped over it on her way to Francine's bed she wasn't telling.

"You--" Francine blinked at her in the sudden light. Do not say 'you didn't call,' Peters. Not now. Just look at her. "God, Chewie, what happened?" She sat up fully as Katchoo approached.

"I had to go see a friend, Francie." That part was easy enough. God, please don't let her ask for details? "A really sick friend."

Choovanski, you are so damned lucky that a) you look like shit, and b) Francine's exposure to lame excuses is more towards the Gotta work late, training a new secretary end of the spectrum.

Especially a) though. A was totally winning here. "Are you--" She stopped and just looked at her because Are you okay was clearly the dumbest question EVER. "

Was she -- ?

Was it still the dumbest question ever if Katchoo looked a lot like she used to when she climbed in Francine's bedroom window at . . . oh, about this time of night, only without the bruises and bleeding?

"Sorry? Yeah, I am."

The look turned into a stare, and Francine was already shaking her head as she opened her arms. "Oh honey, no. Come here."

You might never have seen someone fold into a hug as fast as Katchoo did right then.

"She was asking for me. I had to go, Francie."

Okay, no, not pushing for details, but as Francine rested her chin in Katchoo's...yeah, kinda travel-grimy hair, she did have to ask, "Is that, um. Where you went this summer?"

Katchoo was never not going to appreciate Francine being willing to hug her when she was on the gross end of the scale. "In July, yeah," she said, arms coming up to wrap around Francine. "She's been sick for a long time."

"Is--" But how did you ask that? Did she even need to ask that? Slow on the uptake as Francine might have been, ominous was something she'd never had much trouble picking up. Maybe it was her talent for worrying or maybe it was that thing that only showed her bad stuff unless she looked really hard, but yeah.

The first thing Katchoo had wanted to say was 'She's not sick any more,' but she was going to try for honesty here.

"She's gone." Even if she'd tried to keep her voice from cracking, it would've been a pointless effort. "So I won't be dropping everything and running off like that again."

If Francine had been stomping on the tiny flare of jealousy that Katchoo had a friend she didn't know about -- of course she did, she was gone for months -- that put it out as sure as dropping it in the ocean to drown. Francine squeezed her tighter. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry."

For everything, but one sorry at a time, here.

If anything was going to break through whatever self-control Katchoo had left, it would be that. Sorry, Francine -- your shoulder might be getting damp there.

"She's the one who sent me here." It wasn't like Katchoo didn't suspect Francine might get jealous; that had originally been part of the reason she'd never mentioned Emma before, but this seemed like a peace offering of sorts. "And that's how I found you again."

After her aunt died, right, and again Francine found herself thinking -- but this time thankfully not saying -- Oh Chewie, you never do catch a break.

"Then I'm sorry even more. I wish I could've met her."

Katchoo wondered how that meeting would have gone, but just for a moment. "The only other person I've known who was anything like her in my life was you."

What do you say to something like that? Maybe there's nothing you can say. Maybe all you can do is shut up and take a compliment for once, and try to be the person she thinks you are.

"I'm so sorry, Chewie. For before. What I said was terrible."

"Shh. No, sweetheart." Katchoo reached a hand up to cup Francine's cheek.

So much rage. It'll eat you alive.

"You weren't wrong, Francie. And I promise, I will explain." Maybe not right now; she felt like she hadn't stopped being exhausted in days. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

"We could blame being boys," Francine suggested, trying for a little smile. It wasn't true, but it was pretty damned convenient.

Completely convenient. And entirely untrue.

"That works." Katchoo ran a hand through her hair and partly succeeded at a tired and threadbare smile of her own. "I didn't mean to scare you like that."

By breaking things, or taking off, or yelling, or all of the above. Let's go with D.

"You didn't scare me." So did. "Well, only for you." Slightly more truthful, though there was also the ever-present scared you'll leave me again. "I could never be scared of you. I know you'd never hurt me."

That was why the furniture always got the worst of it. "I meant by leaving again, Francie."

And okay, there was more than one way to hurt somebody, true.

"Okay well, yeah. You could not do that again so I don't have to kick your ass."

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Room 505, Stupidlate Sunday Night

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