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[fifth_garde]

[He'd drove all night, habitually remembering to drink from the cold flask of cheap coffee he'd picked up from a diner and even more habitually to chew on aspirin. He had to keep the pain in his arm at bay, occasionally it would spasm causing him to jerk the wheel to one side. His eyes were aching, and either that was because of the exhaustion or the emotions which were rattling around in his head, both of which weren't things he was able to take care of right then.

He'd eventually caved in and put on the radio, listening to some random popular music station so he wasn't left with just his own thoughts. He didn't exactly enjoy the music but it was better than utter silence, every now and again he'd press a wad of napkins against his temple, which had crusted over but wasn't entirely finished bleeding yet.

Finally reaching the town he'd left Owen in earlier that day, or actually the day before considering it was now five in the morning, he could've simply ran but he'd either end up running into a wall or phasing half way through one and winding up dead.

He parked the car in the same car park he'd left the BMW and transfers the chest from one trunk to the other, after all he'd rather ditch Al's car for the stolen motor, regardless of the convenience of having a car with actual insurance papers.

Finally he drags himself into the corridors of the hotel, it seeming deadly quiet for the fact it was so early, he vaguely remembers Owen's room number having only seen it once before and slumps against the doorframe, tapping lightly on it and hoping Owen would hear.]

Owen? 's me... I mean, Five, y'there?

Comments

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

There's a bit of, uh, muscle pain. Mostly from bein' tense 'n shit. Nothin' a fifth of whiskey wont fix.

[He begins examining himself in the mirror, his eyes look darker than usual and his lips and cheeks seem a little pale around the edges. More importantly, his skin just didn't look great. He needed another shower, with actual soap and a shave rather than just water.. and tears. Speaking of, there was still a bit of redness to his eyelids which he'd fix up the moment they got back upstairs.

He takes a deep drag of the cigarette, blowing it at the mirror and flipping it back up. Once again he's shuffling through the glove box this time for the eye drops he kept in there, he'd never admit it but it'd be times like this he could have done with wearing his glasses for a couple of hours. He leans backwards and lets some of the liquid into his eyes, blinking rapidly as he runs his free hand over his face.

He knew he could hold himself together now, he just had to go about his daily things without worrying about anything more than thirty seconds ahead.]

'm hungry, 'n regardless what y'think.. I need some kind of sprucin' or whatever.

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

[Owen watches that appraisal, not even complaining about the smoke inside the car.]

Then we go back upstairs, I order room service, you clean out the mini-bar, and we both get some proper rest.

A couple of hours sleep and you'll be as pretty as ever. ...And I can re-schedule that flight for tonight, if you want.

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

No... no room service. [He groans.] We're goin' to a diner, 'n we'll sit down 'n eat. The alcohol isn' necessary just yet.

[He finishes his cigarette and slides out of the car much more gracefully, stretching his arms above his head and hearing a satisfying array of cracks. He stuffs the cigarettes into the pocket of his jacket and heads back into the hotel corridors, waiting for Owen to catch up.]

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

[Which he'll hurry to do, after taking only a tiny moment to look Jason over, purely from a medical perspective, nothing to do with him looking uninjured and thus attractive once more at all.]

What's wrong with room service...?

[Owen travels a lot and he hates eating alone in public. Room service is like his saviour.]

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

I hate bein' in one room for too long.

[He takes off up the corridor into the room, grinning. He really needed to get outside with thousands of people for him to criticise.]

'm gonna shower, 'n I mean like scrub every layer of skin so 'm gonna be at least an hour, so d'ya wanna nap or whatever 'n I'll wake y'up when 'm done?

[He waggles his eyebrows.] Or y'could join me?

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

[If Owen were meaner (which he isn't), he'd made some crack about hoping that Owen would never leave him frantic in a room for five hours wondering if he was going to live to show up at all. ...But he's not, or at least he's not mean enough to say it today.]

I don't know if I could do a whole hour's showering...

[And he's not entirely sure that getting up to... Things would be beneficial for Jason's mental state right now.]

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

Then you've never been as clean as I have before. [Smirk.]

Honestly? It'd be better to do it alone though, gettin' messy isn' really the point in a shower.

[He sets about getting clothing from his back, relying on the complimentary toiletries the hotel supplied to actually get himself watched. Not that they'd ever match up to the expensive stuff.]

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

Well, maybe we can work on that once we get back to England.

[Once Jason's actually in the shower, Owen will actually lie down. Moreover, he will actually sleep, pretty much as soon as his head hits the pillow. He'll be out like a light by the time Jason gets out.]

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

[He takes a while in the shower, going through all sorts of grooming and primping, he even goes as far as to use a pair of nail scissors to cut the end of his fringe back before pushing his hair up again into its messy style.

Finally, when he's fully dressed again in a tight pair of jeans and an equally tight white t-shirt, he leaves the bathroom, humming under his breath. He sees owen sleeping and even takes a moment to admire his form as he lies there. He approaches him gently and sits on the end of the bed, shaking Owen's thigh.]

Rise 'n shine. 's now.. eleven 'n I'm still hungry.

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

[Owen had been having some fairly awful but vague and confusing dreams about being chased by demons he couldn't see, and he isn't ever at his best when woken abruptly, so he sits up with a start, blinking.]

Mn, wait, what?



...Jason. Hi. Uh. ...Right, just... Give me a minute.

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

[He runs a hand over Owen's hair, smiling slightly. He then crosses over to the window and opens the curtains, letting light into the room.]

Y'can have a whole five minutes t'wake up. 'n then decide if y'want t'shower or if y'just wanna walk out a mess.

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

...'m not a mess.

[He says this around a yawn. And his hair is all sticking up at the back. And his shirt is wrinkled.]

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

[He snorts.]

'n I'm human. [He outright laughs.] Y'look like someone rolled you down the stairs.

[Five himself seems awfully perky for the fact he should be struggling with grief, he sets about making himself a cup of instant coffee with the kettle they had in the room.]

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

I do not.

[He sits up, rubbing at his eyes and looking about five years old.]





...But maybe I should have a shower.

[He will notice that (once he's not half-asleep), but for the moment he stretches and stumbles in the general direction of the bathroom.]

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

[He nods, resisting the urge to giggle.]

Y'should... [He watches Owen go, then sets about tidying the place up a little, throwing his clothing from the night before straight into the trash, then realising they'd be saturated with DNA thinks better of it and bundles them into the bottom of his back to be disposed of later.

He then gets a second mug and pours a cup of tea for Owen, which he could do whatever he wanted with whenever he was done freshening up. He then settles down to watch the news to make sure there was no mention of his night before.]

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

[Owen is actually a proper man and never spends more than eight minutes in the shower. (Which is, he would like to point out, more than enough time to be perfectly clean. ...Although he would still happily take Jason up on that offer of sharing at another time.) He doesn't bother doing anything with his hair, either, just towels it dry and finger-combs it forward. He emerges from the bathroom in under fifteen minutes, looking considerably more human.]


...You cleaned. And-- Oh, tea. Thank you.

[He'll just be inhaling that now; fortunately it's cool enough.]

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

Don't get too hopeful, I only clean when bored and in a hotel 'cause I don't like people touchin' my shit.

[He smiles, if he were telepathic however he would slap you upside the head for thinking him anything other than a proper man.]

No problem, I just thought you'd need somethin' extra 'cause of the lack of sleep.

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

But it implies that you won't complain about my cleaning. And if my touching your things bothers you, keep them off the floor.

[Hey, hey, as far as Owen is concerned, it is Not Proper to spend more than twenty minutes in the shower. Max. An hour is just vanity, and who'd be vain? Not Owen, obviously. ...Just never take him shopping.]

It was very considerate, and thank you. I'll sleep on the plane, probably... If you're okay with me changing the flights to later tonight?

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

Hey, you can touch anythin' y'want, that doesn' worry me.

[He licks his lips suggestively, which though seems to be a great cure to all of his woes would probably end up being extremely messy and counter-productive.]

'n that works, but it'll be weird, you returnin' t'normal life and me doin' nothin' all day... [Don't think about Al, don't do it...]

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

And somehow, that doesn't surprise me.

[Owen won't fall for it, don't worry. He's too smart, and he cares too much.]

You can get a bloody job-- I'm not coming home to a messy flat and the neighbours complaining about the noise of your X-Box games every night. ...Or you can come to school with me. I'm sure I could pull some strings and get you into classes, if you wanted.

[He pulls on a t-shirt and some underwear without dropping his towel, because there's no need to cruelly tease him right now, and then adds a pair of jeans. If there's tension in Jason for a moment, he pretends not to see it. For the next twenty-four hours, what they need is to get their arrangements made and get back to England. After that... Well, he'll just have to see.]

...Come on, then, if you're so hungry.

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

[He groans.] No way on this planet am I goin' back t'school. I hate schools 'n I hate the people in them... no offence.

[He hauls himself up, turning the TV off and making his way towards the door.] I'll work, but only if there's a Starbucks or a bar nearby, 's the only public profession 'm good at.

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

I'm sure I can find a way to not be offended by that. Come back next week.

[He is, however, joking. ...Well, about the next week part.]

It's a student town-- every second food establishment is a Starbucks or a pub.

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

Well then, guess I'll be gettin' a job. Probably in the Starbucks though, it'd be kinda stupid for me t'have a night-job if you go t'class durin' the day.

[Not that he made any promises to keep the job. He walks with Owen to the elevator, deciding it would be faster to walk to a place to eat rather than bother getting into the car. Luckily for Five, straight across the street is a place broadcasting itself to be a 'traditional American diner' and he makes a beeline straight for it, tugging on Owen's arm as he does so.]

Oh god yes, fat people food.

[magicalmishaps.livejournal.com]

Entirely your choice.





...Fine, but don't you say that when we're in there. I'd prefer not to have a mob with pitchforks and torches us chase us out of town... Slowly.

[But what will Owen eat? This is not Owen food!]

[fifth-garde.livejournal.com]

Eh, they can roll with it. 'm pretty sure we'd be faster than any number of the patrons.

[He seems delighted and slides into one of the seats in a booth far in the back, picking up the menu with much gusto.]

I love these places, everythin' is about a calorie away from givin' you a heart attack and even the waitresses look miserable. It doesn't try too hard like some of the more high-rent places.