Chapter 2: Out of Bounds
To any observer, including the armed guard outside his door, Bobby Drake was in a several-week-old coma, insensible to the outside world.
In his mind, however, he was far from the hospital, somewhere else, somewhen else. It was a day — and an event — that his waking self wouldn't recognize, but deep down inside, he remembered it all too well.
The chorus of voices reached a slightly off-key crescendo: — "Happy birthday, dear Maddy, happy birthday to you!" — followed by cheers as Madeline blew out the flames on the large wax "40" on top of the cake.
"Presents!" a smaller cousin squealed. "Aunt Maddy, presents!"
Bobby presented his mother with a bottle of her favorite shampoo, feeling the barest trace of guilt creep over his consciousness. It was the same feeling he'd gotten a lot lately, the one that asked, "Do I have the right to be enjoying myself when there are evil mutants going nuts all over the world?"
It might sound ridiculous. Okay, sure, it did sound ridiculous. Almost as bad as the disorientation he felt when he had re-entered his old room, with the "Gentlemen, welcome to my underground lair" sign on the door. He hadn't taken much with him when he'd run away, so his room looked pretty much like he'd left it. The magazines he'd been reading that day stacked on the dresser, and the books were straightened, but otherwise, it was like he'd dreamed the whole thing. He remembered raising his arm and watching it turn to ice from fingertips to elbow. So much for that.
But he had also thought, No, this isn't my room. My room is a hell of a lot cleaner than this; it always passes inspection. And there's not nearly as much… stuff in it. And those people downstairs, they don't understand what I'm doing, they don't understand what it's like to face the most dangerous mutant in the world and survive to beat your last StarCraft score.
That had been one part of him. But there had been another that wanted to curl up on his old bed — now neatly made — and wrap himself up in the blanket and hide. Forever. He even half considered calling up some of his old friends, then thought better of it. What would he have said to them? He didn't want to remember what his parents seemed so intent on reminding him of: that he was fifteen years old and completely deserved a normal life.
He couldn't let himself think that. He was an X-Man. He couldn't make room for anything else. He didn't want to. And yet he did.
"Bobby?"
He blinked. "Yeah?"
She was an inch or so shorter than he was, with brown hair in one of those fancy bun things and large blue eyes. Not as skinny or gorgeous as Jean or Ororo (the latter of whom was going out with his closest friend, mustn't forget that), but pretty all the same. He blinked again, trying to bring himself back into the real world. He knew this girl. "Zelda. Hi."
She grinned. "And I thought you'd forgotten me."
"Never." Zelda Langley had been his first love. (Not that he'd really had anything that could count as a second.) The two of them had spent a lot of time together last year, always hovering on the edge of being a "real couple," but her father, whom she lived with, had scared the spit out of him. Same old story; move over, John Cusack. (Except he'd never be able to think up anything as smooth as holding up a stereo playing their song right outside her window.) Despite her dad's overprotectiveness, she definitely went her own way; she hadn't taken advantage of the fact that she was a year older than he was, treating him like the stupid, awkward kid that he was sure he was acting like. The days when he would have done anything for her came rushing back.
He'd hoped to stay aloof the whole time, but he found himself accepting her invitation to step outside for some fresh air. There wouldn't be any harm in it… would there?
"So, how've you been?" he asked once they were outside.
"Good," she said. "I've been in Paris, did your mom tell you that?"
"What were you doing there?"
"It was a foreign exchange thing."
"Did you, um, like it?" He remembered being impressed when she told him about her plans to visit Europe someday.
"I loved it. Their hot chocolate?"
"Yeah?"
"A religious experience," she declared.
"Is it true what they say about French guys?" he asked before he could stop himself.
She blushed. "I wouldn't know."
"Yeah, I guess they wouldn't." They talked more, as the light outside changed and deepened. Whatever was going on inside, let alone back at the Institute, faded away. The more he listened to her, the more he wondered why he could have let a little thing like a temperamental father break them up. His own nerves — or lack thereof — had definitely played a part, now that he thought about it.
"God, listen to me," she said. "I haven't asked you a single thing about what you've been doing."
"You can ask now."
"Okay. I heard that you've been away somewhere at school. What's that like?"
Having listened to her, he wondered now what he could tell her that would impress her. The operative phrase, of course, being, "what he could tell her." Bobby Drake's life had never been anything to shout about. Iceman's, on the other hand…
He couldn't believe he was thinking what he was thinking.
He'd be in such big trouble if he was found out.
On the other hand, he might not be found out.
On the other hand, did he really think he could keep stuff like that from the professor?
On still another hand, if anything made good party conversation, this did.
On still another hand…
"Well, it's a funny thing. See, I was at this place called the Xavier Institute…"