First off, I apologize for the long delay. I'm in the middle of collecting data for my dissertation and am trying to juggle that with a new internship. However, this doesn't mean I'm going to stop writing. This is far from finished. Here's the latest installment. Please let me know what you think.
Thanks again to Jo the Phoenix for feedback. She's the best!
Chapter Fifty-Three: Secrets That You Keep
The wintry chill that had settled over Westchester for the past several months was beginning to dissipate. Greeting each day now was a brilliant sun that seemed to extend its stay. White snow that had covered the mansion's manicured grounds was beginning to melt away, revealing the greenery underneath. The air, while still cool, was markedly warmer than it had been before. Birds who had disappeared for the winter had now returned, chirping sweetly and soaring against the vibrant, blue skies.
This warming in temperatures coincided with the arrival of Valentine's Day. While there were those who viewed the holiday as another excuse for companies to make money from all-too sentimental consumers, they were outnumbered by those who truly embraced the holiday and all its traditions. As such, there was a flurry of activity around the mansion, involving the staff and the students. Given this, it was difficult not to get caught up.
Residents and staff members were first oriented to the holiday in the morning. Cook and her kitchen crew had prepared a festive breakfast, consisting of heart-shaped pancakes with maple syrup and chocolate crepes wrapped around raspberry jam. Following this meal, the portly Englishwoman set to work, preparing treats to be served throughout the rest of the day, such as chocolate-peanut butter ganache cakes, heart-shaped sugar cookies, and raspberry sweetheart cakelets. Meanwhile, teachers like Rahne and Xi'an, who had younger students in their classes, set aside time for arts and crafts activities. They had their students make homemade Valentine's Day cards, thumbtack Valentine's frames, and felt hats cut out in the shape of hearts. With the assistance of some of the older students, Dani, Rogue, and Amara were preparing for a party that was take place later on in the evening. Together, they put together miniature gift bags, themed volvelles, and paper heart wrappings. Even the reserved Ororo was captivated by the euphoric atmosphere. She was assembling floral arrangements of garden roses, tulips, and carnations from her greenhouse all around the mansion.
This late afternoon found Kitty, Tabitha, and Roberto in the garage, unloading groceries from Kitty's Scout. The trio had been sent into town by Cook to pick up a few necessities for tonight's party, including several heavy glass jugs of cinnamon-candy cider. Much to their collective chagrin, none of them were blessed with superhuman strength, as evident by the growing strain in their arms and backs.
"I told you we should have brought a cart," Tabitha groused, recalling the conversation she had with Kitty before their trip to the farmer's market. "Now we're stuck lugging twenty bottles of this stuff. Probably weighs as much as the Blob."
Kitty grunted, placing the two jugs she was attempting to carry to the door that connected the garage to the mansion on the ground. She peered down at the black, high-heeled Mary Janes she was wearing with tight, faded jeans and a black, nylon motorcycle jacket. Not exactly the kind of outfit one should be wearing when moving heavy objects. She could already feel her heels and calf muscles cry out in agony.
Sighing, she was forced to agree with the blonde wild child. "You're right," she conceded, ponytail swinging as she shook her head in exasperation. "Maybe we should find Bishop and Cain. They might be able to give us a hand."
Roberto snorted, pausing in his steps with two jugs in his hands. Granted, he felt just as exhausted as the two women, but he was not about to request assistance. His pride would never allow it. "Oh come on," he chided, weaving between the other vehicles parked in the garage to make his way to the door. "They're not that heavy. You just have to suck it up and deal, that's all. No need to call in those guys."
Tabitha opened her mouth to issue a snappy retort when there was a loud, thunderous groan that echoed throughout the garage. Startled, she jumped and spun around to locate the source of the noise. Her surprise soon faded when she realized that it was only the garage door opening. Apparently, Alex's complaints to Jefferson the maintenance man about the strange sounds it made were not completely exaggerated. As she watched Jubilee's yellow Volkswagen Beetle pull inside, Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, she was able to keep a grip on the jugs she was carrying.
However, this was not the case for Roberto. The tall, dark-haired Brazilian looked rather panicked as he stood in a pool of shattered glass and cider. While the mess was disconcerting, the true cause for his sheer terror stemmed from something else. One of the shards of glass had flown into one of the tires of Logan's beat-up truck, causing it to deflate with a hiss. The rusty, old truck lurched over as air rapidly escaped.
Kitty and Tabitha exchanged stunned looks. Then they walked over to the scene of the crime to survey the damage. Upon closer inspection, the two of them observed there was another tire that was flattening out as well, with bits of glass buried deeply inside. The hiss of the escaping air was almost deafening.
Finally, Kitty swallowed hard. "Oh shit." She was already envisioning the gruff Canadian's reaction to his beloved truck being desecrated in such a manner. The loner did not have much in the world as far as material items were concerned. This truck was one of the few possessions he guarded quite closely.
"Wow," Tabitha whistled, digging her hands into the pockets of the navy, poplin jacket she wore over a green T-shirt with Japanese lettering, black jeans, and black, peep-toe, platform heels. "Logan's gonna rip you a new asshole and shove your head in it."
Roberto inhaled sharply. "He can't be that mad," the young millionaire scoffed, trying to placate himself by downplaying his impending doom. His hand was shaky as he plucked an imaginary hair from his brown, suede jacket. "I'll have new tires put on for him."
"That would be fine," Kitty said, tilting her head to the side. "If he wasn't planning on taking Storm out I tonight /I ." Her cat-like, brown eyes were sparkling with amusement.
The mutant otherwise known as Sunspot gulped. Hell hath no fury like a Wolverine whose plans for romancing a certain weather goddess have gone awry. Cursing under his breath, Roberto desperately racked his brain for a plan. He was so consumed in his search for a way out of this situation without the threat of bodily harm that he did not notice Jubilee hopping out of her car and walking to where he and the others were.
"Yikes," the young girl observed, raising her sable brows as she took in the scene. Upon noticing how her mentor's beloved truck was damaged, she immediately knew Logan was going to be in an irascible mood. For a moment, she contemplated offering her yellow Beetle to him for his date tonight, but then surmised that this would only serve to irritate the laconic Canadian.
Just as she was about to make a wry remark about the situation, the door at the other end of the garage opened. The large, blue head of Hank McCoy peered out. When he noticed the disaster area near Logan's car, his round eyes became even rounder. "Oh dear," he mused, slipping out the door and making his way where everyone stood. He laid a sympathetic hand on Roberto's shaking shoulder and smiled reassuringly. "There's no need to break down. Logan's outside going through training with Storm's team, and I know for a fact that they will be working out for at least two hours. That's plenty of time to clean things up and change the tires."
Color returned to Roberto's face, but his forehead was still wrinkled by a worried frown. "Really?" he asked. There was a part of his mind that was still replaying a scene of Logan leaping out from behind a door, claws extended and screaming. The sound of Kitty, Tabitha, and Jubilee giggling hysterically broke through his reverie, compelling him to flash the trio a nasty glare.
Hank followed his lead, but was a little more benign in his implicit communication for them to be quiet. Then he turned back to Roberto and said in his deep, kindly voice, "I'll even help you change the tires. Just allow me to go down to the basement to get my tools."
"But there's some already here," Kitty pointed out, brown eyes quizzical. Scott had made a point to equip the garage with all the necessary car repair tools in the garage for his auto shop class. "Along with some spare tires."
"Yes, you're right," Hank agreed, nodding and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket which seemed rather tight around his bulky form. "But the tools I have were designed by Forge, and they're guaranteed to make the task easier. Now, if you all can get started with the clean-up, changing the tires will be much easier."
While Roberto, Kitty, and Tabitha were shuffling towards the supply closet where the brooms and dustpans were kept, Jubilee watched Hank's retreating back. As he was walking towards the door that connected the garage to the mansion, she began to think about Bobby. The lighthearted feeling she experienced at the expense of Roberto's accident had disappeared now, replaced by the morose mood that seemed to weigh her down lately. Instead of relishing Valentine's Day like the rest of the residents, she was feeling quite different about the holiday.
Ever since Bobby's sudden departure several weeks ago, Jubilee felt something was amiss. Granted, she understood as to why he had to leave. His father was gravely ill, and as a good son, Bobby was going to help look after him. But there was something about the way he left, the way he said good-bye that left her feeling off-kilter. For one thing, he seemed so distant. After weeks of being apart, he did not respond to her eager welcome. Instead, he ducked away from her arms, avoiding any physical contact. It was as if Bobby wanted nothing to do with her.
Part of her wanted to attribute his behavior to the shock he must have felt upon learning of his father's stroke. It was the only thing that could possibly make sense. Yet, there was a part of her that would not allow her to fully accept that. She saw something else in his face. It was hard to describe, but she could tell that he was not being completely honest with her. He looked worried and extremely frightened.
In the weeks that followed, Jubilee dutifully called Bobby to see how he was doing. She repeatedly offered to visit him for a weekend, but was rebuffed. While he told her that his parents were too exhausted to receive anyone and therefore it was not a good time to come up, she was convinced that he was not being upfront with her. She could hear it in his voice. He sounded nervous and at the same time, aloof—so unlike the man she loved. It was like he did not I want /I to see her.
But why would that be? What possible reason could Bobby have for not wishing to be with her? After being away from her for what seemed like ages, why would he be acting this way?
Troubled by this, Jubilee found herself bringing up her fears with him during a recent phone call. While she had been hesitant to do so, she was confident in the open, honest nature of their relationship. She knew that Bobby would not judge her and that he would be reassuring to assuage her anxieties. He always knew how to comfort her in the face of such nagging doubt.
Much to her disappointment, what her boyfriend had to say did little to calm her. Instead, he was evasive, insisting that nothing was wrong. Bobby said that while he wished to see her, he had a lot to deal with. He informed her that caring for his father was a great responsibility. In addition, his mother's reaction to what happened left her drained, causing his worry to intensify.
All the more reason for me to come up. I can help." Jubilee had said.
"No, Jubes," Bobby had sighed, sounding exhausted and drained. "I just… I need to handle things on my own. For now. Just please understand that."
"I want to." She had paused before pressing on. "But it's just that I get the feeling that something's wrong." Then she added with a tinge of hesitation in her voice, " With us."
He had been quick to speak out against this. "No, nothing's wrong with us. Why would you think that?"
"I don't know. I can't describe it. It seems like you don't want to talk to me. When we talk, I get the impression you think of it as a chore."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? Sometimes, having a conversation with you is like pulling teeth."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I've had a lot on my mind. I just can't be 'on' all the time."
"I'm not asking you to be 'on'. And believe me, I understand that you have full plate now. I completely feel for you, Bobby. Don't you know that?"
"Of course, Jubes." Bobby sounded quite remorseful, gasping for air as if to keep from breaking down. Then he had said in a low voice, "Nothing's wrong with us because I won't let it… You do know that, don't you?"
"Yes." Jubilee whispered, desperately needing to believe the intent of his words.
Replaying the phone call in her mind, the young woman found herself woefully uncertain of anything anymore.
Jubilee knew that something was wrong, but was unable to come up with any evidence to support this other than the anxious feeling that pained every fiber of her being. Every time she attempted to broach the subject with Bobby, she encountered flat-out denials that were less than convincing. There was also the fact that she felt rather guilty for making inquiries in the first place given the circumstances. She was aware that he had enough to worry about now. There was no need to exacerbate things by adding to his list of things to stress out over.
So, following that conversation, she stopped asking him questions about his peculiar behavior, about how he rarely called her, about how he seemed less than thrilled to hear from her. Instead, Jubilee tried to tell herself that his preoccupation stemmed from his father's illness and his deep concern for his mother's well-being, and that nothing had changed since his return from Genosha. She wanted to absorb herself in the belief that her Bobby was fine, and therefore, she was fine.
Unfortunately, reality fell short of her intentions.
As if she did not have enough to occupy her weary mind, Jubilee had to contend with her ongoing, unresolved issues with Sam Guthrie. The kiss the two of them shared on Thanksgiving continued to haunt her. When she was not thinking about her worries about her relationship with Bobby, her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of what transpired between herself and the Southern gentleman. At first, she thought it was her guilt that was the driving force behind her late-night ruminations, or that haunting dream she had about him. It was the only logical explanation.
However, that did not account as to why her mind continued to replay the event over and over again in spite of her best efforts not to do so. It did not completely explain why her mouth tingled at the very thought of the kiss, why her cheeks burned so hotly whenever Sam was nearby, or why her knees almost gave out on her sometimes. As much as she wanted to tell herself otherwise, there was something else other than guilt.
But what? Again, Jubilee was at a loss. She tried analyzing the evidence in front of her, attempting to decipher the riddle that was her emotional state. Perhaps it was anxiety over wanting to clear her conscience. Part of the reason why she wanted to see Bobby in person was to make her confession. To do so over the phone or email seemed so cold and tactless. She needed to convey what transpired between herself and Sam did not mean anything, and most importantly, she was sorry for ever initiating such an act in the first place. Knowing that Bobby had been hurt by previous girlfriends under similar circumstances, Jubilee realized it was important to communicate her intentions. She was not like the others; she would never hurt him.
Mulling over things further, she recognized there was another issue at play. It had nothing to do with guilt, nor did it have anything to do with her relationship with Bobby. No, this perplexing complication concentrated on how things were with Sam Guthrie. However, when she attempted to pinpoint what exactly about the situation that made her feel unease, she found herself completely clueless. Yes, the kiss had been an awkward moment for the both of them, but there was tension that existed now that could not be accounted for by that moment. Jubilee thought of that day when she ran into him in the forest. She remembered how lost and forlorn he looked. She remembered staring into his eyes and wondering why he seemed so despondent.
But the most vivid memory she had was how she wanted to make it all go away.
Jubilee inhaled sharply, shaking her head emphatically as if to drive all thoughts of that morning from her brain. Troubling her was the fact that something almost happened in the forest. Had the X-Jet not flown over them, she was uncertain as to what would have happened. It was that very supposition that made her feel very nervous.
I can't think about it anymore, she told herself firmly. I need to focus on other things. I need to figure out what's going on with Bobby. I need to fix whatever's happening between us because all I know is that nothing is right anymore.
She watched Hank approach the door, turning the handle to let himself in. As the larger, feline-like man was about to slip inside, Jubilee wondered what he possibly knew about what was bothering her boyfriend. After all, the two of them had been close friends since their early days at the institute together. According to Bobby, Hank McCoy was the closest thing he had to an older brother. He was a confidant, a co-conspirator in practical jokes prior to Jubilee's arrival, and to some extent, a kindred soul as far as being an outsider from human society. Both men shared a deep connection and bond not seen between other friends, resulting from their various experiences together throughout the years. If anyone knew Bobby well, it would be Hank.
Jubilee decided to make her move. Clearing her throat, she made quick strides towards where he was. "Um, Beast?"
He turned around, the kindly smile he perpetually wore gracing his mouth. "Yes, Jubilee?"
She tried to return the expression, but it only came across as a grimace. "I was thinking I could come with you," she muttered, biting on her lower lip. "You know, to pick up the tools."
Hank's blue eyes became as round as saucers upon hearing the anxiety in her voice. While he was no telepath, it was clear that the mansion's firecracker was not interested in gathering tools as much as she wanted to talk with him in private. Casting a glance over her shoulder, he saw that the others had already set to work in cleaning things up. Then he turned back to her and nodded. "Of course."
"Everybody up the hill!" Logan bellowed in his deep, rumbling voice as he made his way up a steep mound—one of the few around the mansion that was still covered with snow. He growled under his breath with disgust as the group he was leading trudged wearily behind him. "We're going for a run. No bitching. Let's go!"
On this chilly day, the gruff Canadian was accompanied by members of Storm's away team, which included Gambit, Bishop, Neal, and Sam Guthrie. The team was training for an upcoming mission in Madripoor. Normally, the team would not have undergone such rigorous physical activity prior to a field assignment. Moreover, the frigid temperatures were not comparable to the conditions present in the South Asian country. However, it was Logan's assessment that the men were appearing a bit soft following the holidays. Not wanting to travel with a less-than-prepared team, he decided that the situation called for an intense workout regimen.
Needless to say, the men were unenthusiastic about Logan's idea of training. Much to their chagrin, they were awakened at eight o'clock. Tried as they did to ignore the calls from outside their doors, it was useless. Logan remained persistent, peppering his demands for them to get up with some choice language. It took a while for them to climb out of their toasty beds that morning, but they eventually and begrudgingly departed from their rooms, dressed in clothing suitable for running on this early spring day.
Huffing and puffing, Neal paused in his staggering steps and hunched over. The lack of oxygen was definitely getting to him at this point. "Aw, Logan, do we really have to run in this shit?" he groaned. In his native India, this white, icy menace was something that existed in books from other countries. Actually coming into contact with it made him realize that he was not a cold-weather person.
Logan raised a stony brow at him, unsympathetic to the young man's complaint. Unlike Neal, he relished the brisk temperatures that sent chills to his bones. The cold was invigorating, making him feel very much alive. "Yep," he replied flatly, snorting. "Hope you can keep up."
"But Logan," Bishop cut in, already winded from the hike the group made to get to the trail. His heavy frame was proving to be quite burdensome during this hike. "What about those of us who, um, aren't as good at running as everyone else? Do we still have to do it?"
Gambit scowled at the time traveler, clearly displeased as to where Bishop was going. "Hey Fat Boy, if Gambit have to run, you do, too," the Cajun snorted, feeling quite weary from the trek himself. He supposed his pack-a-day habit did not aid the situation. Already he was wheezing.
"I'm not fat!"
"Yeah, for a hippopotamus."
Furious, Bishop nailed Gambit in the face with a handful of wet snow. The Cajun thief retaliated with a snowball of his own, charged with something a little extra. It was then that much larger time traveler tackled him. For several minutes, the two men rolled around, cursing loudly and shoving snow into each other's faces.
"Bishop, get off! You're crushing Gambit's ribs!"
The time traveler paused, an expression of genuine concern replacing the stern one he normally wore. However, he then realized Gambit's cries were yet another crack about his physique. Growling, he gathered a fistful of snow and rubbed it in the other man's face. Desperately, the Cajun flailed and punched him in the chest, obviously forgetting that his opponent had the ability to absorb energy and return the intensity in blows of his own.
Finally, Logan motioned for Neal and Sam to intervene. When it was clear that the other two men would not be able to extricate the feuding mutants, Logan resentfully stepped in to assist. After pulling them apart, an exasperate Wolverine glared at the two offenders.
"Can we act like grown-ups now?" he demanded brusquely.
"Yes, Logan." Gambit and Bishop chimed in unison. Then the two exchanged withering glances.
"Bishop, no more whining," Logan ordered sternly, not believing he was having to play disciplinarian now. It was the reason why he hated dealing with the kids. Who knew he had to contend with such issues with these two? Scowling, he turned to a smirking Gambit and glared. "And Gumbo, no more cracks about his weight. How you'd like it if he made fun of your accent?"
Gambit rolled his eyes, brushing off snow his brown leather trench coat. "He already does dat. Why do you t'ink Gambit tease him about his weight?"
That was it. Logan had all he could tolerate. It was bad enough he couldn't bring his cigars with him this morning (thanks to Storm), but having to deal with the antics of these idiots drove him to edge. "No more picking on each other!" he barked, the golden flecks in his eyes flashing with a frightening intensity.
"All right." Bishop and Gambit muttered under their breaths.
Logan grunted, somewhat satisfied with the less-than-convincing response. He was about to order the group back up the hill when he caught a glimpse of Sam. Frowning, he asked the Southern gentleman, "You OK, Hayseed?"
The tall, lean young man gave him a quizzical look. However, when Neal approached him, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder, Sam realized something was amiss. It was then that he noticed that his nose was bleeding and there was a strange, thudding sensation emanating from his jaw. Apparently, he was on the receiving end of some blows from the Bishop-Gambit fracas.
"You better get that looked at," Logan told him, sighing.
Sam was a bit confused. "Ya sure?" he asked, pinching his nostrils tightly and leaning forward.
The laconic loner nodded. While he was one not to allow injuries to act as an obstacle to training, he knew not everyone had his healing factor. Furthermore, if Storm found out he forced Sam to continue on while hurt, she would never let Logan hear the end of it. There was nothing like provoking the ire of a woman who could control the weather.
"I'll take him back," Neal volunteered eagerly. Though he was a bit queasy around blood, the Med-Lab was better than running in the woods, he decided.
Logan's eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. "Nothin' doin'," he said tersely, his response erasing the hope in Neal's expression. "He don't need a chaperone. Guthrie can get there by himself. The rest of you ladies get running. Now."
Neal's shoulders sank as he groaned. Bishop and Gambit engaged in some choice grumbling and huffing. However, they grudgingly began jogging down the winding path behind Logan, who was ahead of them and barking orders to quicken their pace.
Alone, Sam continued to hunch over until his nosebleed ceased. While he was no medical expert, he had to assume that propelling himself into the air would only serve to exacerbate the situation. As soon as he felt things settle, he released his grip from his nose and stood up. Other than the sudden rush to his head and the dull pain in his jaw, he was feeling well enough to fly.
Taking a deep breath, he stared ahead from his vantage point atop the hill. Then he dashed with lightning speed towards the edge, launching his body into the air. Whereas most people would have been terrified at that instance, Sam experienced what he could only describe as pure and utter freedom. The air surrounded him, acting as a support of some sort as he soared against the skies over the mansion. The takeoff—this moment was the only time he allowed himself to luxury of not thinking. The act was pure instinct.
As he flew through the air en route to the mansion, Sam's temporary euphoria faded when the concerns of his world intruded upon his mind. It had been several weeks since his encounter with Jubilee in the woods. There had been that awkwardness that seemed to characterize their interactions. He could tell she was uncomfortable around him, even more so since their night out. It pained him to see her so skittish, and he wanted so desperately to make that go away. Yet, he restrained himself. As much as he wanted to comfort her and to be her confidant again, there was the danger of things spiraling out of control. In short, he was uncertain at that moment that he could maintain his façade.
But something happened—something that still puzzled him to this day. In spite of her apparent unease around him, Jubilee reached out. It was as if she would not allow her unease to keep her from being the caring and thoughtful person she was. Simply recognizing this made Sam love her that much more, to the point where he thought his heart was going to shatter inside his chest because at the same time, he knew the truth.
He could never have her, not the way he wanted to.
Yet, he allowed himself to become lost in those mesmerizing sapphire eyes, falling under their spell. Ignoring all rational thought, he found himself rendered powerless to her. When she wandered closer to him, taking off her scarf and wrapping it around his neck, Sam was reminded of that night she kissed him. Thoughts he kept hidden in his soul were now flooding his consciousness. He could smell that sweet perfume that was so uniquely hers—bubblegum and cinnamon. He could feel the heat from her skin and breath. He could discern her delicate and lovely features—the ones that constantly haunted every moment of his existence. He could lose himself in this one moment of ecstasy.
As he found himself edging closer and closer to her, Sam was surprised to see that Jubilee was not drawing back from him as he thought she would. She stared up at him, dazed as if she were lost, too. For a moment, sanity crept in. The Southern gentleman, though wanting something to happen, forced himself to intervene. He remembered trying to stop her, trying to push her away.
But she would not let him.
He could still remember the tenderness in her voice as she remained insistent. I "Let me do this," she had whispered, her sweet mouth so close to his. /I
Looking into her beautiful face, hearing her say those words, and realizing how close she was to him, the Southern gentleman was finding it harder and harder to resist temptation. He wanted to give in. He needed to give in. Like a moth to a flame, Sam was drawn to her. He could taste her mouth again, feel how soft her lips were against his, and experienced how whole she made him feel.
Adding to his growing sense of happiness was the fact that there was no indication from Jubilee that she did not want this. She simply stood there, as if waiting for him. Though her expression was unreadable, the quality of her gaze relayed her understanding as to where things were going.
Suddenly, just as he was about to embrace his dream, the moment was shattered.
The irony of Bobby's jet making its descent over their heads was not lost on Sam. Looking back on the situation now, he smiled bitterly. How appropriate that Bobby be the one to interrupt what was about to happen. Tried as Sam did to resent the other man, he could not. It was akin to being envious of the man who seemed to have everything falling into place for him, but did nothing to boast about his good fortunes.
Sam assumed that Jubilee would not want anything to do with him since her boyfriend had returned from his mission. She had made that painfully clear with her abrupt departure. It was as if she could not race away fast enough. Again, the Southern gentleman was reminded of his harsh reality: Bobby was the one she wanted to be with; not Sam.
However, he was surprised to learn a few hours later that Bobby had left again suddenly. Even with this knowledge, Sam was apprehensive to approach Jubilee. Perhaps that moment in the woods was one of weakness for her, one that she was eager to forget. Not wanting to place any pressure on her and make things even more awkward, Sam kept his distance. As painful as it was not to see her again, he knew he had to do it—for both of them.
Over the course of the past few weeks, Sam found himself wishing that Jubilee would realize the poignancy of what transpired between them. Much to his dismay but not to his surprise, she did not. In fact, her trips to the mansion were few and far between following that day. Sam wanted to attribute this to classes starting up for her, but in the back of his mind, he knew better. There were countless times he considered summoning the courage to approach her again. He racked his brain to search for an excuse to see her. Finally, he toyed with the idea of flying to her window, offering the scarf she had given him that cold day.
But in the end, he kept the scarf. In spite of the fact he had every intention of returning it to her, Sam did not. It was the only thing that reminded him of what could have been.
For Hank McCoy, the journey with Jubilee to Sub-Basement One was a long one, shrouded in tension. Being the perceptive individual he was, there was no doubt in his mind as to why she wanted to accompany him to the Med-Lab. The knowledge alone made his mouth dry and his stomach perform a series of somersaults. Her need to pump him for information seemed very palpable as they made their way inside the mansion and into the elevators.
It had been several weeks since Hank himself last heard from Bobby. After his young friend left, the only form of communication he received was a brief email request for Hank to inform Scott and the Professor of his indefinite leave of absence. Being the dutiful friend, Hank followed through. He had also sent a care basket of flowers and fruits to the Drake home, expressing his sympathies.
As for personal communication, Hank had tried to call Bobby in order to check as to how he was doing. He was hoping that his friend's condition had improved. However, each time he phoned, an exhausted Maddy answered, informing him that Bobby was busy and that she would pass on the message. When Bobby did not return any of his calls, Hank knew there was something amiss with his friend. It was uncharacteristic of his friend to simply blow him off like that. As much as he wanted to attribute this strange behavior to the elder Drake falling ill, there was a part of Hank that told him otherwise.
The look of fear in Bobby's face was an image he could not erase from his mind. There was nothing more Hank wanted to do than to help. But much to his anger and frustration, he was unable to find a solution to his friend's predicament. In fact, he was ashamed to say he had seen nothing like it before. After hours and hours of searching through various catalogues and databases in the mansion and on the internet, Hank was at a loss. This only compounded his feelings of worthlessness. In short, he had let Bobby down.
Now, as he stared at Jubilee, who seemed so vulnerable like the child who first came to Xavier's so long ago, Hank prepared himself for letting another person down. He could only assume that Bobby was isolating himself from her as well. One could tell from the worried expression she perpetually wore on her face these days. The fact that she wanted to talk to Hank alone spoke volumes as well.
But why would Bobby do this? It was a question that left Hank reeling. While Bobby did not go on and on about his relationship with Jubilee, it was quite evident that he was very happy. Hank was pleased that for the first time, his friend was involved with someone who did not treat him like garbage, lied to him, or was dating him just to get back together with someone else.
So, why would he shut her out when he needed her the most?
Rather than dwell on these settling issues, Hank tried to focus on the task at hand. Together, he and Jubilee continued to make their way to the elevators that led to Sub-Basement One. There was the requisite awkward attempts at small talk between them. It was as if both knew what was at hand, but did not want to immediately bring it up right away. They needed to cling to some semblance of normalcy before talking about the heavy rain cloud that hung over them. He asked her about how her classes were going while she made inquiries about his work in the lab.
When they reached the double doors of the Med-Lab, Hank turned to Jubilee. "Why don't you wait out here, and I'll get the tools?" he suggested. In the back of his mind, he was praying that he was wrong and that she would say 'yes'.
Unfortunately, higher powers failed to comply with his wishes. "Actually, I'd like to come with you," Jubilee told him, chewing on her lower lip nervously. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. "There's something I'd like to ask you. In private."
Oh my stars and garters. Hank plastered on what he believed was an easygoing smile. "Sure. Of course." He pushed open one of the doors and motioned for her to enter, following closely behind.
Feeling a bit flushed, Hank unzipped his black, leather jacket with gold trim and slipped it off to reveal a blue-and-white, argyle sweater vest, a white shirt, chinos, and black penny loafers. Since his recent mutation, he had to buy new clothes that would accommodate his much larger frame. Thankfully, Warren referred him to his personal tailor, who was able to recreate the preppy wardrobe he often favored.
Draping his jacket over a stool at a nearby worktable, he braced himself for the inevitable onslaught of questions. He tried not to hunch his shoulders when she sauntered to the table. As much as you feel badly for her, remember your promise.
Jubilee wrung her hands together and took a deep breath. If anyone has any answers, it's gotta be the guy who knows Bobby best. Well, here goes… "Have you heard from Bobby?" she inquired. "I'm asking because… He's been a little weird lately."
"Weird? What do you mean?" Hank feigned as much ignorance as he could muster at the moment.
She shrugged, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "Weird in the sense that he doesn't want to talk to me. He's not himself. Yeah, I know he's dealing with a lot right now, but this is different. I can't explain it." She paused and studied the concerned face across from hers. "So, has he gotten in touch with you?"
Hank raised furry brows. "Just through email," he answered, trying to sound nonchalant.
"What did he say?" she asked, sounding quite eager.
Hank cleared his throat, growing more and more uncomfortable with the conversation. "That he wanted the Professor and Scott know that he was taking an indefinite leave of absence," he replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. "Nothing too insightful, really."
Jubilee was crestfallen. "Oh." Then she glanced up at Hank again, the sadness not quite leaving her face. "What about when he first came back? He had to come see you about something."
Hank inhaled sharply, stunned as to how perceptive and sharp the firecracker was. It was enough to render him mute for a minute. "What makes you think that had any bearing with what you're talking about?" he finally asked.
Jubilee could tell Hank was stalling. Logan always said Beast had a problem being deceptive. While she wanted to make some eloquent and persuasive argument as to why Hank should be more candid, her brain was not cooperating. Overwhelmed with the situation, she could only plead. "Please, Beast," she said softly, sapphire eyes pleading. "Did he say anything to you?"
Hank nervously fiddled with his glasses. As much as he wanted to tell her what he knew, his promise to Bobby and the ethics of the situation prohibited him from doing so. No matter how he tried to rationalize disclosing the information, there was no way he could do it. He had made a promise to his best friend, under the auspices of doctor-patient relationship. It was impossible for him to break his vow of confidentiality under these circumstances.
Inwardly, he cursed the misfortune associated with his position. He likened his predicament to that I Friends /I episode, when Joey was the only person who knew of Chandler and Monica's relationship but was sworn to secrecy, resulting in a series of hilarious misunderstandings. Unfortunately for Hank, this case was all too real and less light-hearted.
Finally, he swallowed hard. If there was one thing in the world he detested, it was being deceptive. Seeing the expression of desperation across Jubilee's beautiful face made it even more difficult. Somehow, he summoned all his inner resolve to come up with a response.
"No," he answered quietly, shaking his head woodenly. Then he added as an afterthought, "Even if there was some issue, I would not be at liberty to say anything."
Alarmed, Jubilee frowned. "Why not?" she asked, trying to read between the lines. Was he implying that there was something wrong with Bobby?
"Doctor-patient confidentiality. It's part of the ethics I'm bound by." Hank tried not to choke from the bitter taste of lies in his mouth.
Her frown deepened. She remembered hearing of the concept during an ethics class she had taken under of all people, Emma. But given that she was more focused on other things now, her recollection of the material was a bit fuzzy. "Remind me of what you mean."
"Meaning I can't talk about my patients with anyone. For example, if you came to see me for a sprained ankle, and then someone asked me about it, I'm not allowed to say anything without your permission."
"So, what you're saying is that if there was something going on with Bobby, you can't say squat."
"Well, yes. I suppose you could say that."
Jubilee's shoulders sank in defeat. It appeared as if there was no soothing her troubled mind at this point. Her sapphire eyes scrutinized the kindly, feline face across from hers in an attempt to read anything beyond what he was telling her. Unfortunately, she was unable to discern much. Hank seemed resolute in his commitment to remain mum. Sighing, she realized that she was exactly where she had been prior to this conversation—completely in the dark and left to ruminate about what was driving Bobby's odd behavior.
She bit her lower lip, trapping the frustrated cry that had been building up for quite some time in her throat. When she was able to accept the inevitability of her continued predicament, she shook her head glumly. "I guess I put you in a weird position," she said in a low voice. "Sorry about that."
At that moment, Hank hated himself. Simply observing how despondent she appeared made him curse his horrible luck. There was no getting around the fact that he was responsible for much of this. He knew he had answers she was desperately seeking, but could not provide. It was an impossible situation.
After what seemed like eons of agonizing silence, Hank placed a large, calming hand on Jubilee's slender arm. "You didn't do anything," he assured her gently. Taking a deep breath, he mulled over his words carefully before continuing to speak. "It sounds like you're very worried about Bobby. Given what you've told me, I can't really blame you. I know I can't tell you much, but what I can say is that he cares about you. You need to believe that."
She nodded, absorbing the empathy conveyed by what the big, blue doctor was saying. Even though she wanted to feel comforted, there was a part of her that would not allow this. She could not pinpoint what exactly made her feel off-kilter about where things stood with her boyfriend. It seemed to be a combination of things—his abrupt departure, how distant he seemed to be, his evasiveness, and his insistence that she not come see him. Taken together, it was difficult for her not to wonder if something was wrong.
Perhaps it was this extreme preoccupation that removed the normal inhibitions from her brain because she suddenly blurted out, "There's something else."
Blue, furry brows knitted themselves together upon hearing this declaration. "Excuse me?" Hank felt his mouth become dry. A million possibilities raced through his head then and he prayed that none of them were actualities. "Jubilee, what do you mean?"
Her face paled and her heart began racing wildly in her chest. There was a moment when she thought she might pass out. Instantly, she wished she could take her words back, but the way Hank was staring at her made this an impossibility. She was quite aware that he would prod and query until answers were provided. Part of this was driven by his training as a doctor while the other part stemmed from the protectiveness most residents at the mansion adopted towards her.
Realizing that there was no turning back, Jubilee came to terms with what she had to do. However, before explaining what she meant, she needed to ask him something first. "When you said that you can't say anything about what other people tell you, that applies to everyone—no matter what?"
Hank was confused, finding her question a bit perplexing and strange. He did not want to discourage her from confiding in him, so he tried not to sound alarmed. With as much neutrality as he could summon, he told her matter-of-factly, "If you were seeing me as your doctor, I cannot discuss anything pertaining to your health without your consent."
Then he paused for a moment, trying to read the anxious expression that marred her lovely face. Rather than make an assumption, he decided to simply cut to the chase. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
Jubilee took a deep breath, tucking a lock of silky hair behind a delicate ear. She stepped away from him, as if placing some physical distance between them would make talking easier. Staring down the likes of Sabretooth and the Hand seemed much less daunting than what she was about to do. Yet, somehow, she knew she had to. She had enough of living in her own private hell.
"I haven't been sleeping well," she began quietly, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her yellow, puffer jacket she wore over a cherry-red, V-necked sweater, gray corduroy slacks, and black ballet flats. "I guess that's health-related enough to qualify under your argument."
Hank breathed a sigh of relief. For a minute, he was apprehensive that she had some devastating news to spill. "Oh?" He tried not to smile. "Well, I suppose we could explore some options to remedy things for you."
"I don't think any of those interventions would work," she objected grimly, shaking her head.
"Why not?" Immediately, Hank became concerned again. He could hear it in her voice—something telling him not to be elated just yet.
"I think it's psychological."
"Well, with what you've told me about you and Bobby—"
"It has nothing to do with Bobby. Not exactly, really."
"Jubilee, I'm afraid I don't understand. What do you mean then? Is it school, or what's been happening with Jean? I mean, stress can affect how we sleep in many ways—"
"I know about stress, believe me. And, no, it's not any of those things."
"Then what is it, my dear? I need to know if I'm to help you."
"I don't know if you can." Her lower lip trembled as her voice began to crack. She shook her head again. "I don't think anyone can."
Watching her in agony made Hank feel so helpless, which grated against his propensity to provide aid whenever he could. He found that this was especially true with Jubilee, a young woman who had been through her share of trials and tribulations while with the X-Men. This made him quite determined to reach out to her even more. "You don't know that for sure," he said with his trademark kindness. "Perhaps if we talk about what's bothering you…"
Jubilee swallowed hard, despising herself with each passing second. She did not deserve Hank's compassion and concern. The guilt pressing down upon her was unbearable. Unable to sustain her façade of goodness any longer, she finally had to make her confession.
She took a deep, shuddering breath before going on. "What's bothering me is the fact I kissed someone who wasn't Bobby," she whispered. "It wasn't like I did it to intentionally hurt him or anything. I mean, it started out as part of some weird scheme I had at the time."
Oh my stars and garters. Hank tried not to grimace upon hearing this revelation. Quickly, he placed a hand over his mouth to mask his own distress. "Does Bobby know?" he asked quietly.
Jubilee shook her head in dismay. "No," she replied, but quickly added, "but I've wanted to tell him. It's just that with him leaving all of a sudden because of his dad... Let's say there hasn't been the right time to tell him. And trying to do it on the phone doesn't seem right, either."
"But you will tell him, right?" Hank coughed, trying to wrap his brain around the secrets he had to keep. Now, he really felt like Joey from Friends.
Her crystalline eyes became wide in disbelief. "Yes, of course I will. What kind of question is that?" When she saw how sheepish the blue, furry doctor was, Jubilee softened her defensive stance. "Didn't mean to snap. It's just that the whole thing is freaking me out."
He looked at her sympathetically from behind his wired-rimmed glasses. "I could imagine," he told her, nodding. "Guilt is a powerful emotion."
"Tell me about it." Jubilee laughed sardonically, the sound harsh to her own ears. Then she peered at Hank with somber eyes. "But do you know what the worst part is? I don't know if it's only guilt that I'm feeling."
"What are you saying?"
"I guess what I'm saying is…" She trailed off into silence.
"Jubilee?" Hank prompted.
"I think there's a part of me that doesn't feel so bad about what happened."
Outside of the slightly ajar doors, Sam Guthrie leaned against the wall and rubbed the lower half of his face with a weary hand.
