The Eyes of a Photographer

Chapter 7

John had just gotten into his pajamas and was setting up a bed on the couch when his roommate entered, whistling happily.

"Good date?" John asked with half-interest, fluffing the lounge pillows.

Jack, his American roommate, grinned his way.  "She was a dream.  He was too."  He threw his keys onto the mail table and turned back to John.  "Aren't you usually in bed by now?"

John froze.  "Uh... Yes, yes, that I am, Jack, but tonight I went out to a club to have a drink and I met up with a friend.  I was out later than I expected to be."

"And you didn't bring said friend home with you?" Jack asked, "What if I wanted to meet him?"

"Well, her."

"And you didn't bring her home so you could-"

"Jack Harkness!"

Jack snorted out a laugh.  "Sorry, sorry, touched a nerve there.  Who is she?"

John want back to rustling up some blankets for himself from the linen cabinet.  "The woman I took pictures of, Rose."

"The one you're obsessed with?"

He colored deeply.  "Not obsessed, no."

Jack watched John movements for a minute as John seemed to be on razor's edge, throwing blankets around and adjusting pillows as though the comfort of them depended on the nation's safety.  The American narrowed his eyes.  "You did bring her home."

"She's drunk.  Really drunk, Jack.  Her friend left her and she couldn't remember where she lived, so I brought her here," he sighed and sat down on the couch.  "She's taking the bed."

"Did she say anything to you?" Jack sat in the seat across from John, looking at the other man over the coffee table.  "I mean, in her inebriated state it would've been easy to say something about what happened, back at the church."

John nodded slowly, twiddling his thumbs.  "She kept coming onto me, and when I was trying to tuck her in she just pulled me on top of her and snogged me."

Jack awarded him with an admiring look.  "I'm proud of you, John.  It's very difficult to keep away from a woman you're so desperately in like with."

"She's drunk."

"I'm still proud."

"Thanks."

There was a beat of silence, and Jack leaned forward.  "So what are you going to tell her in the morning, then?"

John looked up, his eyes wide, as though he really had no idea what to say to that.  It hadn't occurred to him at all what he would tell her.  Obviously, she was at 'blackout' drunk, because she'd kissed him and said things to him she never would've said had she been even a little bit sober.  He put his head in his hands and groaned.

"Hey, it's okay," Jack said encouragingly, "You can talk to her tomorrow, tell her what happened.  As long as she still has clothes on it'll be okay.  She has clothes on, right?"

John nodded.  "I gave her a shirt to wear, she had on... Clubbing clothes."

"Bet she's a hot one."

John averted his gaze, still fidgeting nervously.  "Yeah, she's gorgeous.  You saw the pictures."

"Yeah, but you had her all dolled up in that classy flowy thing.  A woman in tight clothes and a women in loose clothes bring out two different women."

"She's gorgeous, okay?" John blurted out.  "She's lovely and kind and clever and she is stone cold drunk sleeping in my bed.  But she doesn't want me like that, so when she gets up in the morning I have to pretend that she didn't kiss me and and come onto me and try to get me to-" he ran his hands thorough his hair, cutting himself off.  "She's the kind of woman I could fall in love with.  The kind of woman I would want to give myself over to."