I apologize for the delay, but my life has been super crazy with school (dissertation, internship, applying for other internships) and traveling home to spend the holidays with family and friends. At any rate, here's another chapter in my saga. I think in music they call what's happening right now part of a crescendo. In other words, things are beginning to come to a head. Please let me know what you think!
Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her feedback and guidance!
Chapter Fifty-Four: Eyes Open
It was another lovely, spring morning. Any trace of snow had receded, melted by the gloriously bright sun that shone over the skies these days. There was something tranquil about the early hours in Long Island. The hustle and bustle associated with commuters trekking into the city was absent for a brief moment, allowing the birds to chirp merrily and the dew to cling peacefully to leaves and grass. It was the kind of calm that could only be experienced following a fitful slumber the evening before. This not only affected the surroundings, but people as well. There were more smiles, a more relaxed atmosphere compared to the wary reserve most people were engaged in during the cold winter months.
However, there was one person for whom the cold was a constant companion these days. Haggard, pale, and boyish face drawn into a taut expression, Bobby Drake swung his legs over the side of the bed. The sandy-haired young man rubbed his eyes wearily, frustrated that a good night's rest had eluded him once again. Then he rose to his feet and threw on a pair of stone-washed jeans over his blue snowman boxers. He considered changing out of the gray T-shirt that seemed to hang from his wiry frame, but decided against it.
As he shuffled out of his bedroom and towards the bathroom down the hall, Bobby relegated himself as possibly the only person who did not appreciate the change in seasons. To him, everyday was always winter. He had a reminder of this situated squarely on his chest, which would not melt or dissipate from his existence no matter how much time had passed.
It had been two weeks since he last tried to deal with the patch of ice that stretched across his torso. He had obsessively stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, closing his eyes tightly and trying to will the coldness to disappear. In his mind, if he concentrated enough, perhaps his predicament would soon go away and life would return to normal. After all, it was not the first time, his body had experienced something unusual that seemed out of his control. In these instances, it was his confidence or his lack of effort that seemed to hold him back from overcoming these obstacles. But when he finally put all his energy into resolving the problem, he was surprised and delighted to find that he could address what was happening on his own.
Much to his dismay, this situation was very different. He tried meditating, clearing his mind of all his worries and insecurities so that he could focus on the ice. Forcing his mind to concentrate, he tried to will it to leave. Perhaps the Professor and Emma were right. He simply needed to realize his potential in order to get his abilities under his control. If he could only keep his mind on this task, then all his worries would be behind him.
Unfortunately, each and every time he engaged in this endeavor, his attempts provided no change. He felt increasingly despondent when he saw that not only did the ice not disappear, it seemed to cover more surface area than before. Just yesterday when he was drying off from a shower, he noticed that his entire chest was now encased in clear ice. To his horror, he could now see his bones as well as his internal organs. His heart seemed to slam against his sternum as fear gripped him.
It was at this point that Bobby realized there was nothing else he could do. There was no amount of wishing or praying that would resolve his dilemma. This cruel outcome was something he had to resign himself to.
However, that did not mean the people he cared about had to be cursed with the same fate.
All too aware that his mother had enough on her plate at the moment, Bobby did not mention to her what he was going through. He restrained the urge to say anything. It was best not to concern her with anything else. Caring for the Drake patriarch was a full-time job in itself. Maddy was juggling the roles of nurse, therapist, chauffeur, and head of the household. Given that Bill's condition was not improving as the doctors had hoped, she found herself experiencing the added stress of dealing with her husband's subsequent depression. She had to put on a brave face to the world just to convince him and quite possibly herself, that there was still hope.
Still, there were times when Bobby thought his mother knew something was amiss. When she tried to hug him or place her head against his shoulder for support, he would be standoffish and simply take her hand instead. Her genteel face was marred with pain and confusion during these moments. At first, she danced around the subject, but then she pressed on, inquiring if there was anything he wanted to talk about. Was it about his father and the stroke? Did something happen with Jubilee? Could it be something else?
In what would be customary behavior for Bobby now, he denied that anything was wrong. He told her that while he was concerned about his father, he was able to handle things well. There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he lied that things with Jubilee were also fine.
He remembered the expression on Maddy's face as she listened to him. The lines around her normally cheery blue eyes were etched deeper. She was still worried about her son, which elicited a pang of guilt inside him. However, this was offset by the fatigue that seemed to weigh her down these days. Had it not been for this mental and physical exhaustion, she would have prodded further and not allowed him to get away with his attempts at deceiving her.
Before leaving the subject entirely, she had placed a hand on his arm and told him that she was here for him and that whenever he wanted to talk, that she would always be available. It reminded him of so many times when she offered him comfort from a world that did not understand him. For a moment, Bobby wanted to believe that his mother could fix everything just like she had done when he was a small boy. But as he looked at her, he realized that she no longer had that ability. This was a woman who was now frail and in need of a miracle herself. Her magic was gone.
Brushing his teeth vigorously, Bobby caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. What met his weary gaze was like a slap to the face. Spitting, he quickly rinsed his mouth and toothbrush before studying the image closely.
He had taken to not shaving everyday simply because there were days when he did not have time to do so. The stubble left his face appearing older than his twenty-five years. There were frown lines around his forehead, mouth, and eyes from the many times he tried to scrunch his face up to focus on the icy patch. He looked harsher and less approachable. His gray eyes had taken on a steely, almost guarded quality as they peered back at him. Taken together, the young man recognized the reflection from somewhere else.
Bobby was immediately reminded of his father.
The younger Drake stepped back from the sink and mirror, nearly overwhelmed with this conclusion. Shaking, it took him several seconds to compose himself. A part of his brain tried to reassure him that he was merely seeing things. However, the visual evidence was damning.
Growing up in the Drake house, Bobby found it difficult to identify with his father. Other than their gray eyes and the last name, there was little the two men had in common. Whereas Bobby was carefree, sensitive, and eager to please, Bill was remained staunchly entrenched in his traditional ways. There were times Bobby doubted his father had ever smiled or laughed. The Drake patriarch always seemed to wear a perpetual frown, as if he were preparing for a confrontation. He was conservative, and at times, narrow-minded, preferring to stay in the flock than being identified as being different. It was this frame of mind that distanced him from his son, who was beginning to embody the qualities that Bill feared.
As he mulled over their tenuous relationship, Bobby knew that he did not hate his father. It was just that he was uncertain that he liked him at times. However, he could not dispute the fact that the man loved him and his mother dearly, working hard to provide a stable and good environment. Though Bill was not the gentle paternal figure Bobby wanted him to be, the elder Drake expressed his affection in less direct and more subtle ways. There were trips to the family lake house in the Adirondacks, lessons in how to put on a tie and how to shave, summer nights throwing the old baseball back and forth, and awkward life-lesson discussions involving the birds and the bees.
Nonetheless, Bobby had sworn to himself not to be the man his father was. He strove to be different. There was no way he was about to allow himself to be as unhappy, surly, and wary of the world as Bill seemed to be. No, the younger Drake decided long ago that he would not go down that path. He was determined to be the antithesis of his father, carving out his own destiny.
However, as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, it suddenly dawned on him that he and his father had so much in common now.
Sighing, Bobby grabbed a white towel from the rack and dried the lower half of his face with it. He thought about the day Bill shared his journal with him. In addition to being surprised that his father had kept one in the first place, Bobby was taken aback by the poignancy contained in the entry he was asked to read.
I hate seeing my wife like this, waiting on me hand and foot like I'm some kind of damn baby. It's times like these when I think about ending it all just to save her.
Even now, the younger Drake could still see the tortured look in his father's eyes. It was clear that the words and their intent resonated so deeply with Bill at that moment. Sitting with his father and observing the other man's pain, he found himself reaching a critical understanding he never thought was possible. They were both experiencing a betrayal of their bodies, affecting their lives in ways that could only be described as devastating. The two men also kept their anguish hidden and private, particularly from the women in their lives.
Bobby sighed, raking a hand through his sandy hair. Jubilee. His shoulders suddenly slumped as his mind mulled over the situation with his girlfriend. Things were certainly complicated now, and most of it was his doing. In his attempts to be evasive, it seemed he was spinning a web of hurt that only exacerbated the situation. Guilt coursed through every fiber of his being every time they spoke on the phone, especially when he heard the concern in her voice. He felt that he did not deserve it.
First off, her phone calls to him were daily. It was rare for him to initiate any calls to her. This fact was not lost on him. He felt rather badly about it. She was only expressing the kind of concern and worry that was associated with loving someone. He was facing a difficult period in his life, and she wanted to support him and to show him that she was here for him.
Second, he had come to dread talking to her, a fact that filled him with self-loathing. Because talking to her meant having to lie, being deceptive, and making a mockery of everything their relationship stood for. The fact that Bobby responded by being distant and evasive was quite palpable to both of them. When she asked him why he did not call her or why he sounded rather off, he remained steadfast to his denials that anything was wrong. Her multiple offers to drive to see him were immediately rebuffed. In the end, he always came up with plausible excuses to avoid any further discussion of the matter.
Bobby was cognizant that his girlfriend was not one who could be fooled easily. No matter how many excuses he made or how convincing his reassurances were, she continued to persist. Jubilee pressed him on his current and very peculiar behavior, citing that this was not at all like him. Almost every phone conversation involved questions, inquiring as to whether or not there was something else on his mind other than his father's condition. Though Bobby had become adept at countering her, he hated himself for it. There was nothing more he wanted in the world than to ease her worried mind and to tell her truth.
But something always held him back from doing so.
He could not quite pinpoint what it was that stopped him from making his confession. All he knew was that his tongue seemed paralyzed each time he attempted to make his disclosure. After trying several times, he decided not to pursue the issue. Maybe what it boiled down to was that Bobby himself was not ready to accept what was happening.
Closing his eyes, he tried to purge these thoughts from his head. Similar to his efforts to deal with the icy patch on his chest, his attempts to distract himself were proving fruitless. Jubilee's face kept haunting him, reminding him how much he loved her.
Frustrated and desperate to find some distraction, Bobby decided to check in on his father. He stepped out of the bathroom and made his way down the hall to the master bedroom. After Bill's return from the hospital, Maddy had moved into the guest room.
When he reached the master bedroom, Bobby noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Curious, he peered inside and was surprised to find Maddy awake and by his father's bedside. Still wearing her periwinkle robe, the Drake matriarch looked as if she had not slept much either. Her blue eyes looked dull, drawing attention to the dark circles underneath them. The color seemed drained from her face. The fine lines around her eyes, mouth, and forehead had deepened, and there was more silver in her dark-blond hair these days.
Even now, Bobby almost did not recognize her. It was as if another woman had taken her place. He was about to turn on his heel and walk away when he heard his mother sigh.
"Oh, Bill," she whispered in her throaty voice to her sleeping husband. She clasped his hand in hers and pressed it against her cheek.
As much as Bobby felt he was intruding and wanted to turn away, he found himself planted where he stood.
Oblivious to her son's prying eyes, Maddy went on. "I'm trying to brave. I want to be like how you are for this family. But I must admit that I'm not that strong. Sometimes, I lay awake at night and wonder what kind of future we're going to have. It scares me to think that the man I love might not come back to me."
She choked back a sob, her shoulders shaking. "I have to tell you that it's been tough. On really bad days, I think about why this happened to us. Do you think about that, Bill? Have you ever asked yourself if this was destined to be our fate?" She wiped a hot tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.
Bobby felt his heart breaking as he listened to his mother's emotional soliloquy. He had a hunch that the strain of his father's illness was taking a toll on her. However, he was astonished to learn the extent of her stress. Like the two Drake men, Maddy had taken to bottling her feelings inside.
He glanced over at his father, wondering if the elder Drake heard his wife's confession. There was no way he could remain asleep. But when Bobby's gaze shifted to where his father lay, he nearly collapsed.
Bill Drake was not in bed. In his place, was someone else. This person was younger, but still shared a resemblance. However, the individual's body was encased completely in ice.
Recognizing the figure as himself, Bobby turned towards where his mother was. He was met with yet another surprise. Instead of Maddy, there was another familiar individual sitting on the bed. Her hair resembled salt-and-pepper, tumbling down her hunched shoulders. When she turned to look at him, her face was filled with wrinkles that nearly masked her once beautiful features. Her eyes, which had been so brilliantly blue, were now devoid of any sparkle.
Jubilee.
Bobby woke up, gasping for breath and feeling as if his whole world had been shaken.
Jean Grey rubbed her right temple gingerly with her fingertips as she traipsed down the staircase of her home. The tall, elegant redhead was suffering from a thudding headache that seemed to pulsate throughout her entire head. However, unlike other people's headaches, there was not only pain but also the discomfort of being too connected with the psychic fabric around her. She likened it to someone trying to search for a radio station to listen to, changing the channel constantly so that she heard bits and pieces of different conversations inside her head. It was disorienting and maddening. Unfortunately, these kinds of headaches were now a common occurrence. Had it not been for the occasional moments of reprieve from the bombardment of psychic material, Jean feared she might be on the edge of sanity.
Unable to continue work on her editorial for I Time /I magazine on genetic testing to detect mutation, she decided to brew a pot of tea. As she neared the kitchen, her mind began to clear of the excess telepathic residue. Relieved, Jean went to the pantry and chose a box of Egyptian chamomile tea. The pungent, slightly tannic tea with a hint of apple filled the air. The preparation of the tea brought back some comforting memories. Whenever her father had one of his migraines, he always found some Earl Grey soothing.
As the water in the tea kettle boiled, she made her way to the white-washed hutch and retrieved a Cornish Blue teacup and saucer. There were some days that were better than others. The headaches were not as intrusive or she would not have the nightmares that intruded upon her mind. Initially, she tried to hide her condition from Scott. Given the increasing amount of responsibility he was taking on at the school and over the teams, this seemed like the right decision. After all, there was no need to add any more concerns to his already troubled mind.
However, it was not too long until Scott figured out that there was something amiss. Not surprisingly, he became quite upset and anxious. He insisted that she scale back her duties at the school, delegate some of her public appearances to Hank, and not participate in any future field missions. In short, he was asking her to give up living. His demands soon became a source of strife between the two of them, with Jean arguing that she was fine and that she had everything under control.
But it was becoming apparent that this was not the case.
The headaches worsened, as did the nightmares. She found herself distracted with the psychic static that was running through her head. Even with the most simple of tasks, such as cutting coupons, became cumbersome. Shortly after the field mission in London, Jean decided to acquiesce to her husband's demands and removed herself from the active roster. She then asked Hank to cover her subsequent speaking engagements, showering her old friend with a bevy of compliments so he would not make any inquiries.
In spite of her concessions, there were some things Jean was unwilling to give up, such as her headmistress duties. She enjoyed interacting with the teachers and students. Being a part of a process where knowledge was being imparted instilled feelings of pride deep within her. During those moments, she was reminded her father and how deeply involved he had been with his own students. There was a part of her that wanted to believe that he was smiling down upon her.
With less on her plate, she was also afforded some time to attend to other business. She could write the opinion pieces regarding mutant registration she had promised to contribute to various magazines. She could catch up on her book club reading. She could immerse herself in those meditation exercises the Professor had suggested.
Jean was startled out of her musings when she heard the front door open. Normally, she would have been able to discern the identity of the individual simply by sensing their psychic imprint. However, with the other "noise" inside her head, this was impossible. Instead, she merely relied on the sound of the footfalls and the slight fragrance of bubblegum and cinnamon to recognize who had entered the house.
"Hi, Jubilee," she greeted, blinking furiously in an attempt to drive out the static from her mind. To her surprise, this worked and all was calm. Relieved, she smiled as she removed the tea kettle from the stove top.
The young woman walked into the kitchen, pausing next to where Jean stood. "Hi," she replied, pleased to observe that the redhead seemed to be fine. Like Scott, Jubilee had been concerned over the state of Jean's health in recent days. To see her out of her room and smiling was very much welcomed.
"Care to join me for some tea?" Jean inquired, noticing Jubilee's cheeks were bright pink. "You seem as if you could use some."
Jubilee peered down at the yellow, hooded puffer jacket she wore over her gray, cashmere turtleneck, corduroy trousers, and cheetah-print ballet flats, and gave the older woman a small smile. "Who knew March would still be this cold? Someone needs to talk to Storm." She watched Jean pour the hot water into her prized Cornish Blue kettle. "Do you need some help?"
"If you could get another cup for yourself, that would be great." Jean told her graciously. She was uncertain if she could have concentrated long enough to retrieve it herself.
Jubilee made her way to the cupboards and took out a cup and saucer. She then grabbed the honey jar and dipper before heading to the table. Slipping out of her jacket and draping it on the back of her chair, she peered over at Jean to ensure that she was still alright. "Is there anything else I can do?" she asked.
"You're beginning to sound like Scott." Jean said dryly, carrying the teapot and her cup to the table. "I'm perfectly fine, sweetie."
"Sorry." Jubilee bit her lower lip sheepishly.
The graceful telepath shook her head, Titian locks spilling down her shoulders and smiled gently. "It's OK," she told her reassuringly. "I've been a little off lately, but I'm not completely helpless."
"I know," Jubilee said, reaching over and taking the teapot. Pouring the hot, fragrant liquid into the other woman's cup, she sighed. "It's just that I don't like seeing people I care about in pain."
Jean placed a comforting a hand on the younger woman's arm, her green eyes studying her fondly. While she and Scott were not quite prepared for children of their own, they were both quite happy with the job they had done in raising Jubilee. Granted, she had been a teenager when she first came to live with them. However, the six years that followed and seeing Jubilee blossom into the woman she was now instilled some hope that they would be ready one day.
Finally, she said, "There's absolutely nothing to worry about. I'm just going through some things right now."
Hearing Jean's words suddenly triggered something deep inside Jubilee. Her lower lip trembled and she felt her chest besieged with an empty ache that seemed to be a constant companion now. It reminded her of someone who seemed so far away from her in every sense. No matter how many times she tried to extend herself, her efforts were constantly rebuffed. She felt as if nothing she did was sufficient anymore. It was as if she was failing at keeping what she held most dear.
Jean suddenly felt bombarded by a barrage of angst-tinged thoughts voiced by Jubilee. She placed the heel of her hand to her temple, staggering backwards slightly. Her green eyes widened as she heard the young woman's nervous contemplations regarding her relationship with Bobby, and her fears for their future. The intensity and the poignancy from what she was gathering from Jubilee made her tremble. It was too much.
"Jean? Jean?" Frightened, Jubilee grabbed the telepath's arm and quickly guided her to a nearby chair. Her heart started racing when she noticed that the color was draining from Jean's face. She contemplated grabbing her cell phone and calling the Med-Lab to have either Hank or Annie come by.
Then Jean reached her hand out to cup Jubilee's cheek and smiled weakly. "I fine now," she said reassuringly, feeling a pang of guilt in her chest when she saw the look of distress across her young charge's countenance. Inwardly, she chastised herself for making Jubilee worry.
"But we should get you over to the mansion so that someone can check you out," Jubilee protested, her terror replaced with a sense of overwhelming concern.
Again, the redhead declined. "That's not necessary." She closed her eyes briefly before continuing to speak. "Besides, I can honestly tell you that the medical staff are currently attending to some students who over-exerted themselves in the Danger Room with Gambit. It seems like Mr. LeBeau made a wager with them regarding household chores."
Ordinarily, Jubilee would have been amused. However, her ability to laugh was hampered by her heightened awareness that all was not right with Jean. The fact that the other woman was trying to make light of what transpired got under her skin. She quickly pushed aside her annoyance to focus upon attending to the telepath.
"At least let me call Scott," she cajoled, her blue eyes imploring as she thought of the pained expression on his face before he left for a mission in California earlier this week. Just as he was boarding the X-Jet in the hangar, he had pulled Jubilee aside and made her promise to keep him abreast of any developments at the homestead. "He'd want to know."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because he doesn't need to know. He doesn't have to be concerned over something minor like me losing my concentration. And you shouldn't worry yourself sick over me. It's not that big of a deal. I'm fine, really."
For some reason, Jean's objections to relaying the truth to Scott fostered the growth of a spark that was burning in Jubilee. Her cheeks burned furiously as she was quickly reminded of Bobby's denials that anything was amiss. His evasiveness and his dismissals of her attempts to be supportive of him made her question reality. Late at night, she wondered if all was truly well. While Bobby reassured her that they were, there was a part of her that believed otherwise. He was so distant, so unlike himself. It made her tense, edgy, and preoccupied with the idea that something was very wrong.
No longer able to maintain her calm, she suddenly cried, "Stop it! Just stop it! God, why does everyone feel like they have to lie to me? I'm not some fragile little child anymore!"
Surprised, Jean drew back. Her green eyes widened as she stared up at Jubilee's pinched, frustrated face. It certainly did not take a psychic to discern that the young woman was troubled by other issues. Recalling the onslaught of anxious thoughts that radiated from Jubilee, Jean was able to make her conclusion. "This isn't only about me, is it?" she whispered.
Biting her lower lip ruefully, Jubilee realized that she was found out. At this point, she was no longer concerned as to who knew about her angst. All she wanted was a reprieve. "Can't you… Can't you just take a peek inside his head? I mean, just so that I know he's okay." Then, with much thought, she added, "That I we're /I okay."
Jean stared into Jubilee's pleading sapphire eyes. Inside, she felt terribly torn. As much as she wished she could have granted this request, her current condition not to mention her firm commitment to respecting the privacy of others refrained her from doing so. No matter how desperately she wanted to alleviate Jubilee's angst, Jean had to remain steadfast.
"I'm sorry," the redhead whispered, her voice filled with remorse. "I'm so sorry but I can't do that."
Jubilee's slim shoulders sank as the heavy but familiar weight of disappointment descended upon her. In spite of the fact that Jean was sympathetic, it was clear that she was standing firm. Not wanting to get involved in an altercation with the woman she considered the closest thing she had to a mother, Jubilee decided against pressuring Jean. Neither one of them had the strength to engage in any arguments today.
The younger woman drew back, biting down upon her trembling lip to stifle down a frustrated cry. After taking a couple of deep breaths, she exhaled shakily. "I just wish I knew what was going on with Bobby. I need to know what I have to do to fix things. I hate being helpless. I hate knowing that he's in pain and there's not a damn thing I can do because he won't let me in. If I could figure out what's wrong, then maybe things will be like they were before. You know, when we were happy."
The pain in the younger woman's voice resonated with Jean at that moment. Finally, the telepath said in a low voice, "I can't tell you what's happening with him, but I know that he needs you to be strong."
