Behind Crystal Bars
Chapter One
It was dark and cold and there was a throbbing pain that was unrelenting as it coursed its way through the core of his brain. It reminded him of the hangover he had suffered from the night after Warren's birthday bash. Though, of course, the next morning he had merely iced himself and then deiced and had been perfectly fine, much to the chagrin of his teammates who, with the exception of Logan, had promptly told him that he was very disliked on days such as those. He hadn't taken it to heart and had reminded them all that as much as they said it now, there was only one Bobby Drake and they would miss him when he was gone.
Thinking the headache to be the result of a night of drinking with the guys that he somehow had trouble recalling, Bobby let out a low groan and tried to ice up. He was surprised to find that he couldn't and forced himself to open his eyes. Instead of the nicely painted ceiling and framed poster from the original Star Wars trilogy that he woke up to every day, he found himself staring at the underside of a bunk bed. The mattress was old and stained with things Bobby didn't want to venture into. He made to turn his head, but instead slammed his eyes shut as pain raced across his temples, behind his eyes, and accumulated on the bridge of his nose and to a spot on the side of his forehead. Moving his arm, he ran slow, aching fingers over the painful areas and found that he had the mother of all goose eggs perched lightly on his head, with a cut in the middle that was sore to the touch. He moved to his nose and found that it was swollen with a small cut on the bridge, but it didn't feel broken, thankfully.
Now fully aware that this was no hangover he was suffering from, Bobby tried again to open his eyes. He moved his head slowly, gingerly, as to not flare up the pain again. When he had his head turned to the side, he took in the site of the unfamiliar room. It wasn't big, in fact, it was quite small. The bars blocking him in did nothing to soothe his sudden flare of panic at not knowing where he was. It was dark, something Bobby was grateful for, knowing that if the lights were on, he'd probably be in a lot more pain than he was in now. He couldn't see that far beyond the bars, but he saw light coming from underneath a door a little ways down a hall.
This can't be good, Bobby thought to himself, sighing as he knew he would have to sit up and take in the situation. He reached up for the support of the bunk he was sitting on and before his head could protest, he pulled himself up, ignoring the flare of pain that accompanied his movements. When he was in a sitting position, he waited for the dizziness and encroaching darkness at the corners of his eyes to recede. When they finally did, he took stock of his body. Nothing felt broken, though he was sure that his right ankle was sprained at least. He noticed he was wearing gray scrubs and was barefoot. He reached up to feel his neck, noticing for the first time that there was extra weight there. He groaned out loud when he felt the power inhibitor there. That would explain his inability to ice up.
Suddenly at a loss of what to do, he reached up and covered his eyes with his hands, pushing his palms in deeply to try and quench the squeeze of pain in his mind. What had happened? He tried to think of how he got here, and where exactly here was. He remembered a fight, a rather brutal one. The X-Men had been called out to help handle an anti-mutant protest that had gotten out of hand. The rioters had taken to the streets, attacking any mutant they could find. Bobby had gone with Logan and Piotr. It got fuzzy after that. They had somehow managed to be surrounded by rioters and not wanting to hurt anyone, Bobby had gone to put up an ice shield. Logan had called his name. And that was all Bobby could remember.
So how had he wound up here? And where were the others? He hoped they were all right. He pushed thoughts of his teammates being injured, or worse, out of his mind and focused on trying to find a way out of this whole thing. But as he looked around, he felt a sudden heavy weight in his head and had to close his eyes to prevent the room from tilting. He sighed as he realized that he most likely had a concussion. This was not good, not good at all. Years of listening to Scott's anal talks about what to do when you found yourself in situations such of these were running through Bobby's mind. But all he could seem to focus on was Scott's voice in his head yelling for Bobby to be aware of his surroundings at all time. Damnit, he hadn't been. And it had cost him.
Another wave of dizziness made Bobby groan out loud and he felt his stomach churning. He pried open his eyes and eyed the steel toilet on the other side of the room. It was just a dash away, not far, but it came down to what he cared about more, the flopping stomach or the pounding head. In the end, his stomach won and Bobby sprang off the bed, crashing down in front of the toilet just in time as the contents of his stomach forced their way up and out. He wretched heavily and felt bursting pains in his head with every body wrenching heave. It lasted for a few minutes and when he was done, he collapsed to the side, resting his throbbing head on his arms, which were splayed up on the toilet still. His whole body ached and somewhere in the back of his mind, he had confirmed the sprained ankle theory in his dash to the toilet.
How was it that he always found himself in these situations? Why was he the one that always wound up needing to be saved? Couldn't he be the hero for once? It was always someone else who the kids at Xavier's school looked up to with bright, wide eyes. It was always Warren, swooping in angelically to save the damsel, or the occasional dude, in distress. Or Logan who hacked and slashed his way through anything to pull friends from the fire, or Piotr who held you close in his arms, saying that everything would be all right, that he would take care of things. Whenever Bobby said everything would be all right, no one ever believed him. No one trusted him to make things all right, and in a way, Bobby didn't even trust himself to do such a thing. He was never the hero, never. He was just another average player on the team, who didn't score goals or make highlight plays. No, he was just the player who sat on the bench, every once in a while shouting out an encouraging cheer that everyone promptly ignored.
Bobby shook his head slightly, knowing that his thoughts were drifting down dangerous paths. He couldn't start these thoughts this early. He at least had to try before he gave into his despair. But the heavy weight of his battered head was weighing down and him and he managed to pull himself back into the bottom bunk rather sluggishly, something Toad would have been proud of, though the thought made Bobby feel like vomiting again, before sleep overcame him.
When he woke again, it was to a sudden turning on of rather harsh, bright lights that he could see even through his eyelids. The pain was a bit more bearable as he remembered where he was. He slit open his eyes, testing their reaction to light. It took him a bit, but he finally managed to bring them open, though he couldn't do so without squinting. He brought a hand to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes and winced as he remembered the bruises and cuts that he had discovered the night before.
A door opened somewhere and all thought of pain left Bobby's mind as he snapped his head towards the sound. He found that with the lights on, he could actually see a bit down the hall that he was separated from by the bars. The door was open and a man with four arms was heading his way. Bobby thought that he should probably recognize who this mutant was, but he couldn't for the life of him remember his name. He cursed himself for not looking through the mutant database as carefully as Xavier had suggested all X-Men do.
The mutant came to stand on the other side of the bars and Bobby hefted himself to his feet, feeling slightly dizzy still, but managing to stay standing.
"So you finally decide to join the living again, eh?" he said with a sinister smile. He cracked his knuckles on all four hands and grabbed the bars. "Just in time too." With one hand, he reached for the security card that hung around his neck. "You're gonna have company."
"Who are you?" Bobby demanded, watching as the mutant swiped the card and there was a click, but he didn't open the bars.
"Me?" The mutant asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. "I'm offended Ice freak. I thought all you X-Men were supposed to know everything." He paused for a moment. "Our luck to catch the slacker." Bobby frowned slightly at that, but tried to keep his emotions out of his face, not wanting the other to know that his choice of words had actually struck deep into Bobby's inner demons. "The name's Forearm," the mutant said, finally opening the bars.
Bobby couldn't help the slight scoff that slipped at the name. He'd heard the alias before, but that was about all he could remember about this other mutant. He wished he could remember if there were any other mutant powers besides the creepy extra set of arms…
Apparently, Forearm didn't like to be scoffed at as he rushed forward, grabbing Bobby around the neck with one hand, holding his wrists with to others and slammed him against the wall of his cell with a resounding smack of his head. Bobby closed his eyes and blocked out the sound of rushing blood that was raging in his ears. The new hit to the head was doing nothing for his concussion. He opened his eyes to find Forearm had a finger pointed at his face. "You listen to me, now," he growled and gave Bobby another slam, not as hard, just for good measure. "I ain't one to dance around pleasantries. You give me trouble and I'll make sure you find yourself in a world of hurt. The only reason you're not dead is because the boss seems to think you're X-Men buddies will come looking for you, though I have my doubts."
Bobby was only half listening as he realized that Forearm was deliberately squeezing his neck tighter and tighter, the skin pinching around the inhibitor already in place there. Bobby was trying to suck in breath, but he couldn't get enough and his head started to get foggy. He barely noticed when Forearm suddenly let go of him and let him drop to the floor in a heap. He drew in harsh, ragged breaths, filling his lungs to capacity and letting it out just as quickly. Come on Drake, you're gonna hyperventilate if you don't concentrate, He told himself.
He was still on his hands and knees when he heard the bars being shut again. He listened to two pairs of feet walk off and the door shut before he muttered curses towards the other mutant under his breath. He was glad Ororo wasn't there to hear them. He could just picture the Egyptian beauty crossing her arms and tapping her foot, telling him that if his mother were to hear those words coming out of his mouth, she'd smack him upside the head. He nearly laughed at the truth behind the statement.
"You start acting like a dog, panting there on the floor, Robert, and they'll start treating you like one," a voice said and Bobby froze, already knowing who the voice belonged to. He closed his eyes and prayed that his mind was playing tricks on him before he slowly opened them again and turned his head to see who was now occupying the cell with him. He groaned, for the umpteenth time as his assumptions were proven correct.
There, sitting on the bottom bunk, in the same gray scrubs he was wearing, but somehow pulling them off, was Emma Frost, looking highly unamused by the whole situation. She wore an inhibitor around her neck, the same way he did, and aside from the disgusted look she had on her face, she appeared to be unharmed. Bobby was about to stop the snide comment in his head, out of habit from when Emma was around, but then remembered that she couldn't use her powers, so he let it flow anyway.
"What are you doing here?" He said, his voice more curt than he had meant it to be. But Emma Frost seemed to have that effect on him.
Emma crossed her legs and attempted to appear sophisticated, which she managed to pull off, Bobby gave her that. She turned up her nose at him and let out a gruff laugh. "Come now, Robert, are you that disappointed to see me?"
"Yes," Bobby said without missing a beat. He carefully picked himself up off the floor, leaning against the wall for support. His head was spinning again. But he forced the pain out of his face. He hated being weak, but he especially hated being weak around Emma Frost. She had a way of playing with that weakness and throwing it back in your face and Bobby certainly didn't want that. "Of all the people it could have been, it had to be you." Bobby said, shooting her a obtrusive glare.
Emma gave a snobbish chuckle and put a hand to her chest. "You flatter me, Drake. But surely there are worse cell mates than me. After all, I can offer certain…pleasantries."
Bobby feigned a gag, though his stomach revolted at the motion and he nearly did gag, but managed to get himself under control. "Trust me, Emma, there is nothing you can offer that I would take." His head suddenly felt heavy again and he sat down heavily onto the toilet, leaning back against the wall and looking down the hallway towards the door. If he weren't feeling like crap, he probably would have thought about hackling the guards he assumed were right outside of that door. But as it was, he was tired. He wanted to sleep and he wanted Emma to get out of his bed.
Emma, surprising Bobby, was quiet for a few minutes. He had expected her to go on with the exchange of insults and snide remarks, but she didn't. He was half glad and closed his eyes, letting the silence do the talking for him. But, even when she wasn't talking or infiltrating his mind against his will, Emma still found her way into his thoughts. He hated the way she did that. She didn't need psychic powers to do so either, it was just her, just plain Emma. As much as Bobby said he hated the woman and despised being in the same room as her, there was something about her that made Bobby unable to focus on anything else. It wasn't like they were strangers. In fact, he was sure that Emma knew more about him than he knew about himself. She had, after all, taken over his body at one time and used his powers in ways that he never thought possible. He'd once demanded that she tell him how to use his powers, but she had refused, something which had infuriated him and had fueled that innate anger he had towards her. But there was also the way that she constantly infiltrated his mind, forcing her presence on him and messing with his head. It took a lot of effort to not succumb to Emma's will.
When Emma had moved into the mansion, Bobby had nearly lost it. She had stirred things up, moving in. Not many had agreed with Professor Xavier's decision to let her stay, given her past with most of the students and team there. Scott and Jean had already been having problems, but when Emma showed up and had shown interest in Scott, it had thrown a wrench into the gears. Bobby had never seen Scott and Jean fight so much. It was disturbing to say the least. Warren had never gotten along with Emma. Not with their professional finances at odds with each other. And most people just didn't get along with Emma's prudent, uptight attitude. She was quick to point out the flaws in people, and in the X Mansion, viewpoints like that never went over well.
"Perhaps we started this off wrong," Emma said, bringing Bobby back to the present. He realized he had been drifting off. He opened his eyes and found Emma watching him. Her frosty blue eyes were prying into him and he wondered if she had seen him start to drift off. But there was also another look on her face. Was that worry he saw there? He gave a chuckle out loud that came out more of a strained moan that a laugh. Emma frowned and leaned forward. "Like it or not, we are here together. If we plan on getting out of here…"
Bobby really did moan this time as he pushed himself off the toilet. He didn't want to hear what Emma had to say about working together. In fact, he really didn't want to hear what Emma had to say period. But he knew she wouldn't let him rest until they at least explored the option of escape. "What are you even doing here anyway?"
Emma shrugged, though a smirk had crossed her face. "Charles asked me to come out and help. Since I was in the area, I decided to do just that."
"Help with the riots?" Bobby closed his eyes again. His own voice sounded as though he had cotton in his ears. God, he just wanted to lay down. But she was on his bed.
"That was your work, dear," Emma said, her voice sounding as though she were a mile away. Bobby tried to concentrate. "I was called in to deal with the mutant terrorists."
"There were terrorists?" Bobby asked, though he barely registered that he had asked a question at all. He felt himself waver on his feet and suddenly there was a hand on his arm, holding him upright. The world was still spinning around him and the hand guided him downwards. He thought about protesting until he felt the semi-softness of the bed. He laid down without being told to do so. He felt a hand gently move the hair out of his eyes and he was mildly aware that the hand belonged to Emma. But for the moment, he didn't care who the hand belonged to, or where they were, or what had happened. Right now, Bobby just wanted to sleep.
He heard Emma's voice ring clear as crystal, however, right before he fell asleep. "It's all right," she whispered in his ear. And he was torn between being comforted and finding once again that he wasn't the one who had said those words.