A/N: I didn't do this at first and I'm not sure what happens if you don't put in a disclaimer, but better safe than sorry. I don't own X-Men Evolution or any of its associates. If I did, I'd have a lot more money.

Bobby Drake stared out at the passing traffic, his mind elsewhere. In the front seat a mid forty cabdriver was alternating between swearing at the 'hooligans' driving on the streets of Bayville to a lively discussion about rugby, appalled that, according to him, Americans were so limited that they couldn't appreciate rugby.

"I mean you young chaps just don't get it" he declared in a vaguely British accent. "American 'football' isn't even football. It's probably the closest thing you'd understand to rugby, but you call football 'soccer' for crying out loud! The ball isn't even round in your football."

Bobby had long ago stopped pretending to be even the slightest bit interested in what his cabbie was saying, but this didn't deter the man. He chattered on while his fare just stared out the window.

It hasn't changed he thought. It unnerved him slightly. After being away, he had expected it to have changed somewhat. He had changed, as had his life, yet Bayville still looked the same with its mix of housing, business and open areas. There were areas around that did look a little battered since he had last seen them. If he had to guess, they had probably been where skirmishes between the X-Men and the Brotherhood had taken place.

Memories of those skirmishes made him smile wistfully. Life had seemed so carefree then. He had loved those days back when everything had been simple, when he had been happier. He'd been more...innocent.

The thought made his smile turn into a smirk. He was sure Logan would have something to say about his 'innocence'. The smirk grew as he recalled memorable pranks he'd pulled and had infuriated Logan. It was just as well the man was practically invulnerable, or Bobby and his pals would have probably sent him to an early grave long ago. Or more likely Scott, who had managed to look like he had a coronary that time when they had taken his car for a joyride and totalled it.

At the thought of his friends though, Bobby's smirk faded. He'd been gone for a year. It had never felt that long, but he had been through so much that time had flown by. Now he was coming back and he had no idea what kind of reception he would get. He had kept in touch with his mates, but they had undoubtedly gone through adventures, highs and lows when he'd been away. He'd gone through plenty of his own. But he still wrestled about whether it was a good idea to return.

I left to regain control, he thought, and am coming back far, far worse than when I left.

In hindsight nowadays, he wondered should he have stayed. His control was far worse; he had lost even more of the relationship between him and his father and he had lost ... a piece of himself. As clichéd and melodramatic as the phrase was, it was true.

You'll never know, so stop wallowing, he ordered himself sharply. You made your damn choice, so stop thinking about it, or you'll go nuts. Or at least, even worse than what you are now anyway.

"We're here lad" the cabbie said cheerfully. Bobby started. Grabbing his single rucksack and tossing the fare to the man who waved and yelled to give rugby a chance, before speeding off. Bobby didn't notice.

He was standing outside the Xavier Institute Gates.