fandomhighdorms | Room 407, Tuesday [Private]

John knocks on the door. "Sam?"

Okay, then. Here we go. Sam opened the door. "Hi. Thanks for coming. Um, sit anywhere there's room."

She shoved a pile of books off the bed and winced as they crashed to the floor. "Sorry about the mess."

He sits on the bed, unruffled by the mess. "So what's up?"

Sam shoved her hands in her back pockets and rocked from the balls to the heels of her feet. "I...I have some things to tell you, and then I guess you need to make some decisions."

Gulp.

"O...okay? What's on your mind?"

He stands.

And decidedly not thinks of the words "broken" and "prophylactic" together.

She paces and avoids looking at him. "There's things I didn't tell you. A lot of things. One of those things is that I've been in love with another guy for a few years now. And we...sort of got together last night."

She stopped and faced him, forcing herself to look into his eyes. "I don't know if it's going anywhere, but I've waiting a really long time for things to come together with him."

She inhaled deeply, "So, I guess what you have to decide is whether you're willing to wait and take the chance on this thing with him not working out, whether you're going to go stomping out of here cursing my name and planning to graffiti everything I own, or whether you decide that we've got a basis for a good, solid," she says, wincing in anticipation, "friendship."

"I really like you, John. A lot. But there's a lot of history...and, well, it's complicated. I don't want to hurt you, but I did want to be honest."

ow, my heart
John moves towards her, his legs made of properly cooked pasta, and moves to hug her with wooden arms.
"Mind if I just stick to teh graffitti?"
His eyes well up, so he closes them.

She's not quite sure what to do with her arms, but decided to hug him back, loosely.

"I'm so sorry, John," she whispered. "When I asked Charlie to help me find somebody, it was just supposed to be a date for a dance. I didn't expect...you. I'm so sorry."

She pulls back and nods, wiping a tear off her cheek. "Graffiti it is, then."

He leans his head on her shoulder, unable to control the waterworks.

He blubbers something.

There's really nothing more for her to say, so she pulls him close again and rubs his back. Well, there's one more thing. "If you ever need me, you know where I am, okay?"

LIke the proverbial drowning man, he clutches Sam.
"I don't know what to do."

She's crying pretty steadily now. "Take your time. Think about what you want. I'm not going anywhere."

"I... I'm just..."
Words fail.

She wants to pull away, but she's not sure she can do that. She's caused him this pain--it's only fair that she help him start to bear it. Maybe there's nothing to do for him but stand here with him.

But she's crying into his shoulder now, too. She never expected it to hurt her this much.

"...can't..."
John weeped, great shuddering sobs.
"...Marco..."

Okay, this was a little more than she'd expected. They'd only been together for a week. Something more was going on here.

"Who's Marco?"

John pulled back, the deep hitching sobs subsiding.

"Marco..."

He stops and wipes his eyes, and is silent for a moment.

"When I was younger," he says, as if this was centuries ago, "when Mom was shuffling me around to learn what I needed to learn, we spent a few years at Marco's. It was a package deal. Marco taught me guns and engines, and his friend Pieter instructed me in martial arts."

He wiped his eyes again.

"This week..."

"This week?" Sam prompts. If this is going where she thinks this is going, there may be a way to salvage something out of this mess.

OOC: I'm so sorry to do this, but I'm going to fall asleep on my keyboard in a minute. Tomorrow?

John lay back on the bed, using a discarded shirt as a pillow.

"Marco died yesterday. Well, not yesterday yesterday, but it was the anniversary of his death. And all this week, with working on the bikes, it felt like he was here, with me, watching over my shoulder, yelling at me to stop using the torque wrench as a breaker bar. I miss that old man."

He put an arm over his eyes.

"For a while, I thought he was my father. It was silly, but... I needed it. For a while. And then there was his daughter. Tomorrow, her anniversary. Murdered, robbery, after we left. It's... it's just been a busy week, Sam. I'm sorry. I... Sometimes..."

He took his arm off his face, and looked at Sam.

"It.. I. Spilling over." He stopped and sighed. "I should get going."

He takes a tissue from the dispenser and blew his nose, not looking at Sam.

((LKJLGKJ:LKSDJALWKJ:LKGJK John!Mun turns green and somehow acquires purple pants. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Get back here! *John!Mun welds a ball and chain to Sam!Mun's ankle and affixes the end to the computer desk*))

Oh, good, because I didn't feel guilty enough already...

"God, I'm so sorry. If I'd known..." She trailed off, because she knew she made the right decision about telling him and wouldn't have changed it.

It was just that, as usual, her romantic timing sucked.

"Well, if you ever want to work on the bikes together again, give me a call. I'll go sometime while you're in class and pick up the Harley so you can work there in peace."

She tried not to look at him as he pulled himself together, in an effort to spare what was left of his pride.

"You don't have to. Take the Harley, I mean. We'll work something out."

John got up and walked to the door, feeling the need to get very, very drunk.

"Okay, then. I'll take your word for it." And I'll stay away from there for a couple of weeks, at least.

She hung her head a little. "Bye, John."

Dammit, and I wanted to work on the bike. I could use the help. ~~and teh seeeecks~~

"I will see you around, Sam Carter."

"I'm sure you will." She walked past him and opened the door.

OOC: Like, for instance, in shop class TA tryouts tomorrow--Mac-mun's got a wicked sense of humor and saw this conversation. Last I heard, s/he was thinking of pairing either Sam/John or Jack/John as a team.

((hrm. I have to talk to JackMun and see if the booze-off is still valid for this Saturday, otherwise, go for it.))

After Sam left, John shut the door, and leaned his head against it, and let everything out.

((Oh, this isn't *my* idea, trust me. This is all the Prof, which means that we're stuck. Sam never mentioned Jack by name during the break-up, though, so maybe if they're not too cosy John doesn't have to put it together.))

((right right. should be interesting. bwahahaha))

Room 407, Tuesday [Private]

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