Disclaimer: X-Men, in all of its bizarre and wonderful incarnations, does not belong to me. I just steal movie characters for my evil plots. #cackles#
Warnings for Story: Slash of the Bobby/John variety.
Warnings for Chapter: First moment of proper slash, a general sense of `get on with it`, Bobby talking to himself a lot, more of the bizarre `what the hell`-ness, odd title, Rogue speaking her mind, a spot of light swearing. And I think the title might be semi-stolen from a Harry Potter fic.
Chapter Nine: Would You Rather Burn or Freeze?
There was a slight shift in the air. A ripple appeared in the haze, shimmering like water as it moved away from the body beneath it. Bobby's eyes followed the movement until it blurred with the rest, either from the heat or because his own eyes were starting to water. A moment later, a sudden stabbing pain told him it was the latter. Still not warm enough for there to be no ice then.
Maybe it never would be. Based on what he'd experienced so far, his ice was starting to become pretty permanent. At an experimental thought, he finally wrenched his gaze away from the hypnotic flowing air down to his hands, where he willed a thin coating of frost. There was a slight resistance, but then the familiar spider webs began to spread across his skin. They stopped upon reaching his sleeve though, continuing underneath. Only for him, then. Too bad he couldn't feel what he knew was there.
That was all it was now. The lack of sensation had become unfortunate, like realising you'd misplaced a pen, rather than how anxious he remembered feeling earlier. This should have been disturbing in itself, except the loss of emotions felt so natural that such a change in attitude was logical. Surely a more organised, more uncluttered mind was a good thing?
In fact, a little more clarity was exactly what he needed now. Clarity could help him understand why he was staring at that haze in the first place, rather than its source. There was nothing to the blur but simple heat, so there was no reason to look there when the real reason for entering this room was right below it, and yet…
For a second his eyes flicked up from his hands to the form below… then looked away almost involuntarily. No reason for it, no sense, yet he couldn't stop it. Something that didn't fit in with this new outlook wouldn't let him. Irrationally though, the image was burnt into his vision despite how vehemently he was trying to avoid it.
Burnt. How appropriate.
Back out there, standing in front of the glass with Mystique, he hadn't had any problem with it. Looking at the body, he had seen just that: a body. Maybe one with some significance, but still nothing unbearable. Now he found it almost impossible to take a glance.
No, this was stupid. Swallowing hard ('Why?'), he forced his eyes back and held them there.
It wasn't like John looked d— like he wasn't going to wake up soon. ('It's just a word, what am I afraid of?') While he was unnaturally still, especially for him, he wasn't pale or cold. On the contrary, he looked flushed, and the almost overwhelming temperature was testament to the lack of chill in his skin. By all rights, Bobby shouldn't have been worried. Worry was something that had gone, wasn't it?
A sudden violent hissing sound made him recoil. Without him realising it, the sight had drawn him closer, until his still-frosted hand had brushed against John's arm. Staring down at it, he saw a cloud of steam rising, the ice completely vaporised. It began to reform almost instantly, reacting even quicker to the threat, as Bobby realised that it was the only thing which had saved him from burning his hand, possibly even beyond repair.
Disbelievingly, he raised it before him as the ice thickened, responding to instincts he hadn't been aware of. It wasn't too hard to interpret though: protection from danger. In this case, John.
Pyro had never set him off like this before, or heat, not even in Boston. Maybe it was similar to the police station, except that had been sheer panic sending his powers into overdrive. There wasn't any panic here – couldn't be, really – so a threat was the only real explanation.
As if in response, the heat suddenly flared up, pushing up against him and away from John's body. If he could, he might believe it was trying to get rid of him, except that calm, calculating side of him thought that it was nothing so melodramatic. Just physical forces inducing automatic responses within his body. Which was worrying because Bobby was pretty certain he didn't talk like that.
God, he hoped he wasn't going to end up as a schizophrenic on top of everything else.
Experimentally, he brought his hand to slightly above John's arm, and watched with a more comfortable detached, analytical wonder as it slowly began to melt as fast as it grew.
John was too hot, that was what was bothering him. 'Temperature-wise', he added to himself, and then wondered why he thought he needed to make that distinction.
A memory came to him then, clearer than any had been before. A biology class back at the school. The Professor had been explaining evolution; how their bodies naturally adapted to their mutations so that a mutant couldn't be harmed by their own powers. The two of them had been perfect examples, unaffected by the extremes in temperature which would kill anybody else. However, at the same time he had warned them (he did that a lot, now that Bobby thought about it) that even specially designed systems had their limits.
Another burst of heat caused a thin layer of ice to wind its way lightly over Bobby's face. As the chill spread across his skin (wait, he could feel the cold?), he wondered what exactly was John's limit.
Or had he already passed it?
Because that would mean…
Oh God, that would mean his best friend was starting to burn up right in front of him. Oh God, oh God, that couldn't happen, that wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to die—
Bobby's hand clenched around John's arm suddenly, gritting his teeth against the hiss of protest and the steam trying to separate them, intending to break off the confused tumble of thoughts that had somehow cut through the absolute clarity which already felt so natural. And yes, within those thoughts were emotions, or something that felt like them, whirling around in his mind like in a hurricane. How had he managed to deal with these before? His memories, refined as they were, didn't help, since they didn't seem to recall feeling anything this intense. Even stranger, the touch had brought something his mind recoiled from, labelling it as pain. Why did that seem so alien now?
Slowly, warily, he released the arm in his grip and took a step back. The emotions remained, yet more muted than before. Another step and they began to recede, along with the curious tingling sensation across his palm. One more and not only had they faded completely, John had become that merely significant body again. Interesting…and not a little worrying.
Still, from this vantage point he could at least analyse the situation without interference from whatever John was doing to him. And it was John, he was pretty certain of that from here. All it took was thinking of him to feel something stirring in the calm he'd only just regained.
There was a pale handprint on John's arm, almost white against the flushed skin around it. As he watched, the lines blurred, spreading out slightly and fading somewhat into the rest, yet it was still noticeably different. Somehow Bobby knew that if he touched it again, it would be much cooler than the nearly oppressive heat still being radiated from around it.
Just one touch that had had such an effect. Logically, if it worked once, then it would work again. Maybe that was what John needed: something to cool him down.
Breathing a little more deeply, Bobby flexed his hands as ice began to cover them. Before he moved forward, he chose the most important point to cover. It wouldn't do to get distracted again.
One breath, then two. For some reason he was hesitating, holding back. Almost like he was afraid, except he wasn't sure what of. John? Stupid. Even unconscious (and that was all it was) and way too hot, he was still just the same annoying roommate from barely a week ago.
Finally he snapped, striding suddenly across the room, pulling up John's shirt (which really shouldn't make his thoughts and heart skip a beat) and pushing an ice-covered hand down onto the flushed skin.
The first sensation was pain, pure and simple. The detached and the emotional halves of his mind both broke off into a mental scream as the ice just disappeared, melting and evaporating both occurring instantaneously. In the brief moment before he could compensate, he began to understand what it meant to burn.
It was only a moment though. While the thought of `OhGodgonnadiehurtspainbloodyidiot` was still there, it occurred to him that he was reacting to the memory, not the current reality, where the pain had already cut off worryingly quickly. Between that and the increasingly familiar feeling of a layer of ice across his palm, he was distracted for a moment by the realisation of what this must look like: Him standing over his friend with a hand on his chest. Feeling said chest did not help at all. He was glad (and yet strangely disappointed) when the ice came between them again.
Admittedly he hadn't really checked, but he hoped he'd managed to get his hand roughly over John's heart, after guessing that was probably the main place to `fix`, for want of a better word. Probably if he focused enough, now that his rational mind was back online, he would be able to recall its exact position from another lesson, except he didn't want to encourage whatever was happening to him. Not right now.
A movement underneath his fingers made him gasp. A beat, surprisingly strong, yet changing speed in a way he didn't like at all. Slow, fast, too fast, and slowing down again. God only knew what it meant. Then, as he stood there, he felt the rhythm slowly even out to something slightly faster than regular. Not much, but he'd take it. The sensation made him smile for some reason, soothing in a way, although that expression already felt alien, like it didn't belong to him anymore.
The seconds passed, then the minutes. The heartbeat stayed roughly the same and, unfortunately, so did John. Maybe Bobby could kid himself that the skin felt a little cooler, but being the way he was, he couldn't tell if that was true. What exactly was he waiting for here?
Not that he didn't care anymore. In fact, as time passed he could feel something not unlike blind panic building up, he just wasn't sure what else he could do. Besides, between that and the cold detachment, he knew which he preferred. Even if it could have told him what to do here.
Looking around, as if he expected some neon sign detailing exact explanations of John's condition (power malfunction?), his attention was drawn by a stray lock of hair lying across his friend's forehead. Nothing too unusual about that, John wasn't exactly well known for perfectly controlled hair, but for some reason this stood out as out of place.
He looked away irritably. This was entirely the wrong thing to be fixating on right now.
A glance back told him it was still there. And still distracting.
Sighing to himself (at least annoyance meant he was still feeling things), he reached out with his other hand and brushed it away. However, as he did so, he felt the heat radiating out from underneath. He didn't need that new side of him to tell him that really wasn't a good thing.
As he wondered whether his attempts to cool John down were having any effect at all, Bobby flinched and bit back a yell at the sudden hiss and rush of steam against his fingers. Without realising it, he'd connected with John's skin. Biting his lip, he stubbornly kept his hand where it was, resisting the pressure. If the heat was really reacting to him this strongly, that only proved he was needed. Or at least his ice.
The heartbeat was still there under his other hand, and still scaring him every time it changed in any way. Even when the steam had distracted him, he had still been aware of it in the background. It nearly seemed like his own in the way that it edged into his mind, with no need to try to hear it when he could feel every beat. The whole thing was strangely intimate, except he refused to let himself think that for too long. There was too much else to consider right now, without needing to worry about where his curiously rebellious thoughts were going.
What else was there though? The skin under his hands was supposedly cooling down (probably too fast at first, then too slowly for his liking), the heartbeat was becoming steadier (or at least less erratic), yet John still looked dead.
No, he wasn't dead. Dead people didn't have heartbeats or give out any heat at all, let alone these extreme levels. John was just being stubborn, as always. Unconscious, not deceased. And, as usual when he decided to act like this, it was Bobby's job to fix it. Just like old times, really.
Vaguely he remembered that you were supposed to talk to people when they were like this, for some psychological reason he didn't recall that Kitty had tried to explain to him a lifetime ago. Unlike temperatures, Bobby didn't really have any natural knowledge here. Then again, he was willing to try anything if there was a chance it might work. Besides, then he might have some sense of actually doing something. Filling the silence with something other than the hiss of steam alone would be a relief.
Feeling a little self-conscious, he coughed nervously before trying. "Er, hello? John?" Okay, that sounded stupid. Come on, what did he want to say? If John wasn't going to react, or if he wanted to provoke him, what did Bobby really want to say?
He bit his lip. Well, if there wasn't going to be a reply, why not just say what he thought?
"So, that's it, is it? You ran off from the school just to end up here? What was the point if this is how you're going to play it? You know, if you'd stayed behind, you might not even have got into this crap in the first place. And if you had, I bet they'd have known what was wrong with you."
Nothing. For some reason, he had been hoping that mentioning the mansion might have provoked his friend a little, but it looked like he shouldn't hold out too much hope.
"I guess that'd be too easy though," he carried on, not bothering to try to sound calm or soothing. Anything other than that weird blankness of earlier sounded so good that he was willing to let it slip into place. "You had to go running off like you had something to prove, like always."
Briefly he hesitated, before deciding there was no real point in holding back here. "And what about me? I gave up everything because I didn't want to lose you, because I thought you were worth it, and then you're gone again and you left me behind."
Abruptly Bobby realised he was yelling, but the emotions were so overwhelming it was hard to stop. "Are you just going to leave me here? Did you even think about me for a second, you crazy Australian idiot?"
Finally he managed to stop himself. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, willing himself to focus, and when he spoke again his voice had changed again. Less angry, more calm, but also somehow sadder. If somebody had been listening, they might have described it as `pleading`.
"I mean, what am I supposed to do? I can't go back, can I? I mean—" He broke off, a small, unexpected, hollow laugh stopping the words. "I mean, I could go back, but not really. It'd hardly be the same, not after running off with `the bad guys`. Actually, I'm starting to see why you had a problem with that name as well, which really wouldn't fit in at the school, would it? Anyway, I don't see how it could be any better than being here. It'd be worse, if anything. Back there, know I'd been out here with you and I'd left you when you were like this." In a much quieter voice, he added, "Do you really think I could live with that?
God, he sounded like some upset teenage schoolgirl. That was all he needed.
Swallowing back something unfamiliar, he continued anyway. "God, I could have walked away so many times before, every time you pulled something stupid. It would've been easier, probably." At least that was what he'd like to think. In practice, the fact that he was here at all suggested otherwise.
He leant forwards slightly, looking down so that he would be eye to eye with John if his eyes were actually open. "After all this: the school, the powers, everything, after all that, you can't leave me here, not by myself."
His voice shook again, partly because he could feel that other, colder part of him shift slightly. "I don't know what's wrong with you, and I don't know what's happening to me. I don't know what's going on here, but I don't want to be left on my own, trying to figure it all out."
Trying a little belatedly to make this sound slightly less needy, he added, attempting an extremely unstable smile, "Besides, you know Magneto and Mystique would have a field day if I tried to ask about any of this." Okay, possibly not so useful out loud.
Sighing, he said quietly, "You're my friend, John. Probably the only one I've got left, and really the best one I've had. Definitely the only one I've ever gone this far for." 'Or would go this far for,' his treacherous mind added before he could stop it. The thoughts seemed to echo in his mind, distracting him so that at first he didn't realise he had added one last sentence in a much weaker voice:
"I don't want to lose you."
Bobby pulled back at that, as if surprised by what had somehow escaped him. Instinctively he almost stepped away again, until at the last moment that detached part of his mind reminded him that he had to hold on. That reminded him of his hands, focusing his attention once more on the skin underneath them. Irrationally (because really why should he care?) he suddenly felt embarrassed about the no doubt compromising position, but he quickly shoved that aside. Maybe it felt good to feel something; that didn't mean he wanted to feel everything.
That patch on John's chest underneath his hand – 'Which is there for a perfectly logical reason, remember?' – still didn't feel cool enough. Had it actually changed at all? Had his ice stopped working altogether, or had it never worked to begin with? Or was Bobby warming up instead?
"You're still too hot, John." The words sounded like they were from a dream, distant, not really addressed to anybody. More like thinking out loud. "How do you fix that?"
'Oh, sure. It's hard enough getting answers out of him when he's conscious, what do you think he's going to do now?' A small smile appeared on Bobby's face as he imagined John's response to the spoken words. There would probably be some sort of innuendo, the same as when Kitty or Jubilee managed to tie themselves up in knots back at the school. Sometimes his friend could be so predictable.
Right now he'd give anything to hear one of those stupid jokes again. If he could just listen to the words one more time, it would mean that everything was okay. Everything could be normal.
"But nothing ever is normal for us, right?" Bobby said out loud, the smile still there as he looked back down at his friend's expressionless face. "You'd probably run off if things started going that way." A cramp in his right arm made him bend it slightly, bringing him a little closer to John as he added with a trace of bitterness, "Again."
He frowned to himself as he saw the still-flushed face closer up. Experimentally he moved his hand slightly, tracing a line across John's forehead. A fresh cloud of steam leapt up, the skin far hotter than he'd been expecting. "Okay, so not that much of a change then."
Peering closely at where his hand had been, he couldn't discern any major difference. Maybe it was a little paler, but was that just wishful thinking? "Why isn't this working?" he muttered, not that surprised when he didn't get an answer.
After glancing down at where he knew his other hand was (no, he didn't really want to pull up John's shirt to see what was happening there), he looked a little closer at his friend's face. In fact, if John actually woke up at that moment, they would be directly eye to eye now. Bizarrely that didn't bother Bobby at all. Perhaps he was just worried about other things at that point.
"Come on. What the hell do you want?" Strange how pleading and frustration could go together so naturally, especially around his friend. "Why do you have to be so bloody difficult?" Their faces were almost touching now, his voice starting to rise again. Trying to control himself once more, he asked much more quietly, "What do you want from me?" He sounded lost, helpless, almost dangerously close to tears.
The heat radiating out from John's face brushed against Bobby's own skin, mocking him. Even as he closed his eyes, trying to escape that unnatural image of John so quiet, so still, he could feel the warmth like something solid reaching out to touch him. Following an instinct he didn't recognise, he moved in closer to try to soothe some of that burning with his own chilled skin, resting their foreheads together like when they were younger, and ignoring that predatory but increasingly familiar hiss.
Later on, a day, a week, a month, even a year afterwards, Bobby wouldn't be able to explain what he did next. Considering the situation, he blamed the crazy mix of feelings, the emotions so intense after nearly losing them for good, the temperature playing with his mind, the fear of losing his friend to something he didn't understand. Bobby was always good at avoiding what he didn't want to admit.
None of these little excuses mattered in the end. One moment a gap remained between them, albeit far smaller than any definition of personal space usually allowed; the next, he felt the stinging yet strangely comfortable, right sensation of burning against his frozen skin.
And then he was kissing John.
It was hard to call it a proper kiss, for the obvious reason that the other mutant wasn't responding. Nevertheless, it seemed as natural as anything. It felt like Bobby's lips were being scorched, yet instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in deeper. The feeling was so strange that it kept him close, the shock drawing him even farther away from the emotionless calculation of before.
He might have been lost in the moment longer if given the chance. The burning, the smell, the taste, and the giddying rush he didn't quite recognise anymore. The fact that there had been such a void within him before meant that the emotions overwhelmed him, until he nearly forgot what he was doing.
Until there was a slight movement against his mouth. Not an answering response, but rather the light brush of air. A single breath.
John's breath.
Wait, what was he doing?
Bobby froze. Then, slowly, dreading what he would see, he opened his eyes.
It was John. Definitely John. Harsh, joking, sarcastic, laughing, resentful, understanding, arrogant, self-assured, overconfident, male John.
He'd been… He'd been kissing…
The thought wouldn't finish. He wouldn't let it. Bobby jerked away, almost yelling out at the sudden cold as he left the warm body behind. Stumbling backwards, tripping and knocking things over but not caring, he couldn't seem to focus on anything. What was wrong with him?
John's body was still lying there though, unmoving. That was probably a good thing, all things considered. Better if he didn't know what had happened. Better if nobody knew.
Especially since, above all else, Bobby didn't even know himself why he'd done it.
Tearing his eyes away from his friend – 'Your friend, he's your friend!' – Bobby scrambled for the door, turned the handle, threw it open, and did the only thing he could think of that even made remote sense: he ran.
Because, however much he was trying not to admit it, it had felt so, so good.
A minute passed. The trail of ice Bobby had left behind glimmered slightly in the fluorescent lights, marking his escape. Coldness seemed to hang in the air, undisturbed by whatever temperature had been there before.
There was a small movement by the wall. No, within the wall. Then a body stepped out and turned to look the way the blonde mutant had run.
Skin shifted, plain grey merging and vanishing into vivid sapphire.
Mystique smiled to herself. "Now that's more like it."
So this was what burning alive felt like.
John was still trying to scream, except no sound was coming out of his mouth. That might have meant he had lost his voice somewhere along the way, or his vocal chords had burnt away. He couldn't decide which.
Almost more disturbing (terrifying, really) though was the weird feeling of joy at the back of his mind, slowly spreading outwards. Even as he tried to get away from the fire, a part of him was reaching out towards it. An impulse that was only getting stronger as the seconds and the minutes passed, seeping into what he had thought of as his saner thoughts.
The flicker of the flames growing brighter; the pain slowly reshaping itself into something exciting; the burning sensation becoming something . . . amazing. It was all wrong, he could still feel that, yet now he couldn't control it. Or didn't want to.
After all, if he couldn't do anything, if he'd lost that control, then wouldn't it be better to give in and enjoy it? To let the feelings take over and stop trying to think? Maybe that other part of him had the right idea.
It was just as he began to let himself slip away, to abandon himself, that something which should have been impossible happened. There, in the middle of a fire that was still hot as hell even if might not have been real, he felt, incredibly, cold. Not just less warm, but properly cold.
Bizarrely, it felt like it had specifically touched his arm, rather than a general change of temperature. Unfortunately, before he could focus on it, it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind a strange feeling of abandonment. Dimly he was aware that the fire had retreated slightly, as wary as a mental picture of an element could be, but he was also aware of it gathering strength to hit him harder for it.
Then he felt it again, more forceful, almost like icy fingers grasping his arm. No, actually that was what it felt like. It wasn't hard to jump from the sensation to the physical, not with such a distinct difference that the fire intensified in answer, flames reaching out for his other arm as if about to fight for him. It would be flattering if both grips didn't hurt so much.
When the colder touch disappeared again, there was a fleeting moment of relief, until the fire reached out once more, stronger for the setback. Another soundless scream tried to escape, but was only heard by the flames.
Abruptly a searing cold hit him in the chest, knocking the breath out of him and cutting off even his attempts to make a sound. His heart felt like it was freezing over, piercing him deeper than he could have imagined as it frantically tried to keep beating. Desperately he reached towards the same fire that had been burning him, because surely it would be better to be hot than cold if he was going to die either way…
* "Come on, are you really telling me you'd rather freeze to death?"
"Why would I want to get barbecued?"
"But freezing? Popsicle, that's a stupid way to go. You're just saying that because you can't."
"Hey, I hate being hot just as much as you hate being cold. Why would I want to go that way?"
"If you hate it so much, why are you anywhere near me?"
"I could ask you the same question, idiot." *
The memory came out of nowhere, a snatch of a conversation he'd forgotten until then. Something so stupid that he had barely been aware of it, hadn't really noticed whether it had been there or not when his past had been disappearing. Now, though, it calmed him somehow. Slowly he drew in a shuddering breath, not sure if it was imagined or stolen from the fire and not really caring. Maybe it had been that flash of reality, or maybe…
He never finished that thought or that breath, the latter catching in his throat as cold fingers brushed against his face. Unlike the pressure on his chest, this was strangely soothing for all its weirdness. It made him feel closer to something normal, the fire apparently more concerned with fighting this ice than trying to take him. As the chill spread deeper, settling into something more comfortable as it mixed with the heat, his eyes slowly drifted shut.
A few words floated past him then, incomprehensible in themselves yet the voice was familiar. Vaguely he thought that they might be part of a conversation, although with only one person, but he didn't try to understand them. The sound alone was curiously comforting, seeming to go with the touch, reaching deeper and pushing the fire away.
Occasionally some phrases reached out from the rest, hinting at something bigger, even if he still couldn't place the voice. He just knew he had heard it very recently. Then one line in particular grabbed his attention.
"Did you even think about me for a second, you crazy Australian idiot?"
Who? Who was talking? Why couldn't he remember them? And why the hell did they sound so mad at him? More than anything, John wanted to argue back, but he still didn't seem to be able to talk. Instead he fumed inside the way only he could, the words slipping away again, until some reached out to him in a distinctly different tone.
"I don't want to lose you."
'Except it might be too late.' The thought responded before he could stop it, making him angry at himself for sounding so pathetic but also surprised at how true it felt. Whoever it was talking, he wanted to tell them to forget about him, especially if the way they were talking indicated anything about their feelings.
For a moment it was as if he had gotten his wish. A frightening silence fell, meanings falling away, soon followed by the sounds as well. There was a kind of relief at the fact that the cold touch did not leave with the words. However, apparently seeing it as weakness, the fire started to creep forwards again, circling around the small areas of ice to melt them away.
Then he gasped as he felt ice against his lips: frost against heat, taking his breath away again. At the first touch, the flames started to retreat, gaining speed as the moment stretched out into something longer. In contrast, the chill spread out slower, cooling his face and reaching to connect with the other two points.
For some reason it was a while (exactly how long was unclear, thanks to the confused sense of time wherever he was) before he realised exactly what it was. Maybe it was because his brain had processed it as like the other touches, so that it only gradually dawned on him that it was a…kiss.
Someone was kissing him?
Someone…cold?
At that realisation, the contact abruptly ended. Before he could stop it, a groan escaped him, the abandoned feeling even stronger. Why had it stopped?
Slowly he became aware again of the fire around him, hesitating at the edges, watching him like a wary animal. The sight was unnerving, yet somehow he knew what to do now. His mind felt clearer, less confused, logical thoughts finally beginning to emerge.
Raising a hand (how had he not been able to that before?), he made a simple shooing motion towards the flames. At the same time, his powers reached out instinctively, following the gesture to push them away. As they got further away, more and more started to come back to him.
Unexpectedly his perceptions tilted, the space around him moving and rotating so that it now seemed like he was lying down. He could feel something underneath him, something hard and uncomfortable. Lights started to appear, not there with him but red and dulled, as if viewed with his eyes shut.
Wait, his eyes were shut. Hadn't they been open before? How had he seen anything?
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
"Why the hell can't I go?"
Professor Xavier steepled his fingers as he leant forwards in his wheelchair slightly, careful to maintain his calm expression without reacting to Marie's phrasing. Clearly she had been spending far too much time with Logan.
"You must keep in mind, Marie—"
"Rogue," she interrupted, glaring at him.
Reluctantly, he conceded, "Rogue. While it is true that this mansion is a home for those who wish to use their gifts, it is also a school. Our aim is to provide an education so that you may have the choice to live a normal life—"
"Normal?" She took a step towards him and Xavier felt Storm tense behind him. Despite the fact that he knew Marie was not a real threat, especially compared to Erik's Brotherhood or humans like General Stryker, he was glad of the reminder that he was not delivering this news alone. Of course, Logan was also present, but he had chosen to stand beside the door rather than with the two teachers. Perhaps not unusual for the mutant, but it did raise questions about whose side he was on.
In front of him, Marie looked strangely angry at his choice of words. "You think anything you do can make us normal? The world hates us as we are, and nothing you're going to teach us—" Xavier didn't miss the glare directed at both him and Ororo "—is going to stop us flying or walking through walls!"
She held out her right hand and, although he knew she was wearing gloves, the Professor was unable to stop his eyes watching it like a weapon. "You see!" she said with a strangely savage triumph. "If you're scared of me, what chance have you got of stopping all of them feeling the same way?"
Her thoughts were radiating out, making it hard for him not to read them. The anger, the outrage, the underlying feelings of abandonment and loneliness. It was hard not to recall the scared, vulnerable child of less than a year before. Once again Xavier found himself watching what humans and mutants could do to each other without using any powers whatsoever. Especially as he knew perfectly well what had caused these feelings to intensify to this extent.
"If you are not willing to try," he said carefully, choosing not to comment on his own thoughts, "then there is little chance. This may be true, but there is no reason to give up. Who knows what might change before you choose to leave?" She made a disgusted sound, which he ignored. "Nevertheless, for as long as you remain here, you must still treat the school as such."
"And you think some punishment is the right thing for that?" she muttered, her glare unwavering.
Before Xavier could respond, he felt Ororo's wish to speak and sat back, allowing her to answer Marie's question. "I understand how you may feel after Alkali Lake," she started, and it was hard for the people in the room to miss how hard she clearly found it to name the place. "All of us lost someone there."
'I didn't lose him, idiot.'
The words suddenly hit him out of the mess of emotions. His hand clenching around the arm of his wheelchair was the only visible sign he gave that he had heard them, but inside he was shocked by the incandescent fury contained within them. Fortunately, while Storm could cause tempests capable of incredible destruction, she still lacked the telepathic ability to hear Marie's mental interruption.
"But, as Professor Xavier says, this is still a school. Over the last few days, your attendance has been falling, and we've yet to see any work at all. As a result, as we have already said, we have made the decision together to exclude you from next week's lake trip."
Marie gave a disbelieving laugh. "God, you all talk like we're still kids, did you know that? There are people out there who want to kill us for being born, who have tried, and you're talking about trips to lakes and attendance?"
Ororo answered calmly, showing nothing of the alarmed thoughts only the Professor could hear. "It's true; this is a hard world, especially for people like us. Sooner or later you'll have to decide what you want to do, but for now, you can still enjoy being young without needing to worry."
At first it looked like Marie wasn't going to reply. She simply stared at the woman, disbelief slowly giving way to anger. Then she abruptly turned and strode towards the door, shooting a glare at Logan, who wouldn't meet her eyes. "None of you understand!" she yelled as she yanked the door open, her voice echoing down the hall outside. "You think we don't know what it's like yet!"
At the last moment, before she slammed the door shut, she turned and looked back at Xavier and Ororo, still both standing behind his desk. "You can't say nothing's happened; no Stryker, no soldiers, nothing. They did, and we all remember.
"Things are going to change, and we're not kids anymore."
"Nice speech, kid."
Rogue glared up at him from the bench outside the mansion, ignoring the others playing basketball out in the sun. "Leave me alone."
Logan smiled, not moving. "Seriously. Not the best time to get in an argument with the Professor, but you said it well."
"I mean it, Logan." She looked away dismissively. "Go away. You're on their side."
`Their side`. Funny how there were even sides within the mansion now, let alone on the outside. No wonder people didn't trust mutants; they didn't trust each other.
"I'm not on anybody's side, kid. 'Cept maybe yours."
"How?" She spat on the ground and he raised an eyebrow at the habit clearly picked up from him. All this time together couldn't be helping her to define herself as somebody separate, especially since touching seemed the easiest way to explain what he meant sometimes, so naturally she kept suggesting it.
'And this is the girl who was scared of her powers a week ago. Figures she'd only get used to them when she doesn't care anymore.' Logan might be lacking quite a lot of his memories, but he remembered more than enough to recognise Murphy's Law from a mile away.
Out loud, he said, "Think about it. Everybody gone. You're the one who wanted more Danger Room time." Sure, Xavier would never be okay with something like this, but Wolverine had been able to smell the Professor's emotions in that room. Logan had always thought he was okay, and he still did mostly, except that he also knew that he was scared of Rogue. That had set off Logan's protective instinct with no trouble whatsoever.
When Rogue smiled up at him, albeit a smile that was far from innocent and looked a little bit too much like his, Logan didn't feel sorry at all.
Magneto didn't look up as he heard the familiar sound of bare feet on the cold floor in front of his desk. Several small news articles were spread out in front of him, detailing a small project the mutant they had liberated had described to him. It didn't take much to start linking together the reports into a story that sounded so typically human that it was fascinating.
As the silence started to stretch out, filled only with the quiet tap-tap-tap of the new Newton's cradle made of the iron from his ex-guard (he did like to keep mementos if he could), he frowned to himself. While Mystique understood when he was busy, she was also unafraid to disturb him if she felt her news was more important. And it usually was.
Glancing up, he saw her looking down at him, her apparently casual stance contradicting her intense gaze. Evidently she was waiting for him to give up first. Something he was reluctant to do, but eventually he deemed necessary.
"Something wrong, my dear?" As ever, the phrase slipped out more as a mark of comradeship than as any type of endearment.
She hesitated for a moment before speaking, which was most unusual for her. As if she was unsure, at the very least, of how to phrase her news. Most intriguing. He couldn't recall the last time she had seemed uncertain recently, or indeed since he had met her.
The words, when they finally came, had clearly been chosen with care. Her tone was light, yet there was something underlying it, either triumph or nervousness, he couldn't tell. "Some…complications have turned up."
Such an interesting choice of words, almost worthy of himself. Refusing to help her, he simply raised his eyebrows, inviting her to continue.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, the way they always did when she knew he thought he was playing with her. "Iceman. Two things: one I saw coming, one I…didn't." The distaste in that pause was almost palpable. Mystique hated to admit to not foreseeing something. It gave the power, however small, to somebody else, and she had been powerless for too long before to ever accept that arrangement again.
When she didn't immediately continue from there, Magneto decided to give her one small prompt. "Something unexpected?" Let her assume that he meant it was unusual for it to have passed her by.
"He woke up about an hour ago. He was…different."
So many pauses. Truly strange behaviour.
"He sounded like somebody else altogether. No emotions, as if he didn't care about anything anymore."
Now that was intriguing. Not to mention incredibly useful, if he could control it properly. However, before he could start to analyse it in depth, he noticed that, at last, a wonderfully familiar smile had appeared on her face. "Until he got close to Pyro, of course."
Magneto could already feel an answering smile forming at the mention of a further development. "And what then?"
She shook her head lightly, not to show a lack of understanding but rather in that teasing way that was generally so natural for her. "Let's just say that things have moved faster than you anticipated." He didn't miss that `you`. So, Mystique had been making her own calculations as usual. So good to hear that some things never changed. "And also, it seems, for Iceman."
He raised an eyebrow at that, yet chose to focus on something more immediate. Better to let Mystique feel in control of what she seemed so focused on. "Does that mean Pyro has recovered from his little accident?"
"He's starting to."
"That will certainly be useful. Better to have two than one, after all." He didn't add how much easier it would be to manipulate them using each other, but something in his face obviously gave it away.
Mystique leant forwards, looking at him closely. "Be careful about what they think you're doing." She smiled again, this time more savagely, revealing that cruel streak which gave her the edge he loved. "They just came from Xavier's. They should recognise when somebody's using them."
"Which is precisely what I need them to realise. Pyro had clearly started to notice Charles' methods before we found him, but Iceman still seems a little too naïve." Standing up, he moved around his desk towards the door. "Perhaps a new outlook on the world is precisely what he needs to see it."
Surreptitiously Mystique shook her head at Magneto's own way of viewing everything. Of course, she was used to how every little aspect seemed to fit into his imagined chess game, except sometimes it was more obvious. Then, before he could leave, she asked what might have been a casual question from anybody else. "And the other development?"
Pausing, Erik allowed himself a small smile. Not joyful but calculating, with a touch a triumph. Exactly how he felt.
"I think for now we shall let the pieces move themselves. We can push in either direction if necessary."
Mystique watched him walk out, reaching out behind her to catch the small iron balls as they fell without Magneto's power to hold them up. Obviously the other mutant hadn't noticed any discomfort she had in discussing Iceman's change, and so hadn't taken it as any indication of the sense of danger she had caught from the teenager. She wasn't a safe person herself, yet he had felt different, less controllable. Still, if they could somehow harness it…
What else had he said? Did he really expect her simply to leave things as they were? Oh, she'd be careful for the moment, but she couldn't promise not to interfere.
After all, she was looking forward to Pyro's reaction to what had changed while he had been away.
It wasn't really a hiding place by anyone's standards. Nobody who really didn't want to be found would try kneeling by a large open lake. Nevertheless, it was away from there, and that was all Bobby asked for at the moment.
He had felt something back then, when he'd … When that had happened. At the time he hadn't known what it was, and now his mind was methodically trying to dissect the feelings like a science class experiment, using a coolly efficient logic that scared the part of him which could still feel things like that.
Actually, even those slightly disconnected emotions were starting to fade too, or reassemble themselves into something else. The more he tried to cling on to them, the more he wondered why they were so important. There was no need to be scared, not when there wasn't any real danger–
'No!' Without understanding why, he clapped his hands over his ears, as if trying to keep out some noise. Except that action made no sense, because if he was trying to block out his thoughts (which in itself seemed extremely unlikely to happen), if anything he was keeping them in–
Gritting his teeth, he bent over, not caring if he looked like some crazy psychic. He just wanted to think like himself, like anybody normal, again. Instead his mind kept analysing each action, picking apart every emotion and irrational thought and dismissing them until all that was left was… Something that didn't feel like him at all.
He was so focused on the reasoned insanity inside his brain that the unexpected touch on his arm made him start, almost collapsing completely forwards. Spinning around, vaguely aware of the ground beginning to freeze under him (or had it already been doing that before?), he raised an arm instinctively to attack, only to have it seized before he could do anything.
Magneto raised his eyebrows at Iceman's reaction: the shocked expression quickly being replaced by determination and an attempted attack to go with it. Definitely not how he would have expected him to act. Regardless of whatever was enough to throw Mystique off balance, this could be a most promising development.
Slowly he released the arm in his grip. "Iceman," he said, as calm as if they had passed each other in the street, "I wonder if I might borrow your services for a while."
Unsurprisingly the younger mutant looked wary, although he didn't immediately refuse either. His expression, which looked carefully constructed to show indifference, betrayed a hint of interest. "For what?"
Magneto noticed the different voice, but chose to simply store it away for future reference. "To help your fellow mutants, or at least to delay a threat for a little longer."
The mystery was intended to intrigue him further as an extra incentive if necessary. The possibilities of what the mutant they had freed had uncovered seemed incredible. However, it also offered an opportunity to test what could be an ever greater asset for the Brotherhood.
He turned away, looking intently at Iceman as he did so. "We have little time. If you wish to help, we will need to leave now." A slight exaggeration of course, yet there was nothing quite like a time limit to push a decision.
Bobby hesitated. Glancing back, he looked across to the opposite side of the lake, towards the hideout where he at least hoped John would be waking up. Then he looked back at Magneto, who was starting to slowly move away, no doubt to encourage him not to waste time.
In one direction was a conversation he was almost certain would happen and didn't want to have. In the other was something he knew nearly nothing about, except that he was pretty sure it wouldn't be good, judging by the last mission Magneto had taken them on. Much as he tried not to think about what had happened then, and frighteningly he didn't seem to care about that, he knew anything Magneto would try to make him do wouldn't be the `right thing`, as they had said back at the school. Neither option was fantastically appealing.
Still, at the moment a mystery mission sounded distinctly preferable to the mess of emotions behind him.
Once he'd looked back one last time, Iceman quickly got up and ran to catch up with the leader of the Brotherhood. Even ignoring what had been keeping him here before, which was becoming more confusing and questionable all the time, after the last attack he was now too involved to turn back now.
Besides, maybe this was what he needed to find out exactly what he was changing into.
Author's Notes: #winces# Over a year. Oh dear God. If anybody's still following this (for a reason other than may impending death), congratulations. I'm seriously impressed. I have a whole list of reasons/excuses (exams, being distracted by the super-shiny-slashy Merlin fandom, betaing, deciding to rewrite the start of this, etc), but I'm guessing none of you will be interested. I do just want to say one huge thankyou to Tears Falling Freely for regularly poking me into writing and then managing such a fast read-through. In fact, I'll just get on with all the thankyous and stop wasting time…
Tears Falling Freely: As I said before, thanks so much for betaing this! Plus the pokes, which were probably more useful… Regarding your review, I'm glad you like the pacing, since at the moment it feels a little slow to me. I guess that just shows the stories I'm used to. Hope you liked this chapter too!
LizaGirl: Well, we had some (very brief) actually Bobby/John, at last. Um, define `soon`?
better-days: Thanks! I'm glad you like it! Er, yeah, the powers and emotions turn up a lot…
Solo Maxwell-Yamato: Eep, the adults are the saner ones. This really can't bode well. Mystique is slowly becoming my favourite character.
Firerose: `Next time don't take so long`. Oh Goood, you're going to kill me. True, trying to provoke Bobby through John is going to get a lot more dangerous now. We've got a little bit of Magneto's reaction to dead!Bobby here, so hope it lives up to your expectations!
rry: Two months is nothing to my more-than-a-year. I think I should get an award…that will then be used for my death. Seriously, my friend was shocked, and she doesn't even read fanfic anymore… With Rogue, keep in mind she's had kind of a rough time since finding out she's a mutant, so she probably wouldn't react very well to being abandoned by somebody she's relied on… Not that that means Rogue/Bobby is how it should end.
JustAnAmateur: I'm really sorry you didn't like the last chapter. If it helps, I wasn't particularly pleased with it either, and I'm hoping this is a slight improvement. At least you liked the writing, I guess… And I do appreciate the criticism.
SupernaturalGal6: Thanks! Powers can be pretty convenient that way, ne?
The Freak in the Shadows: Don't worry, it was a bit odd. Hopefully we're mostly through that patch now though… Sorry it took so long!
Haruka-Hime: Thanks so much!
immovinout: Thanks, although I'm sorry you did have to wait for more of it…
Ghost of the Moon: #blushes# Thanks! Er, did you manage to wait?
Semmi: Don't worry about not dropping a line before, I do that all the time. I'm just glad to hear from you know! (Er, then.) Wow, you've been following since the start? That's a long time… Erik's little thoughts are pretty fun to write too, as well as Evil!Bobby, so there's plenty more…
re-harakhti: Sorry there hasn't been much talking between the boys yet. Do you think you can hold on a bit longer? Then talking a-plenty. Oh, trust me, neither of them is going to forgive Xavier.
Well, hopefully there'll be another one of these soon… (Read: Before another year has passed.) #hides some more#
Note: Just a little update here to pimp out two things: 1) Poll for ADD content on my profile if there's something you want to see more of, and 2) Little fic based in the semi-future of ADD. Just want to specify that this is not where everything ends up eventually, just temporarily, since it's set during a period of time I'm going to skip over otherwise. I'm going to add the thankyous for that here too.
re-harakhti: Don't worry, it's the same bed. It's too cute an image to not put in.
Zibila: Don't worry, it does get better! Thanks for still caring about ADD!