Chapter 10: Putting The Pieces Together

When Madeline had received the call from the hospital, she had nearly jumped out of her skin with fear. But it turned out that Bobby only wanted her to visit, after refusing to even speak to them for three days. The first thing he said to her when she softly opened the door to his room was, "I still don't like it."

"Oh?" She'd tried to keep her voice cool.

"I still don't like that you guys are suing Xavier. I hate it. But I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Madeline closed her eyes, then opened them. "It's okay. I guess you have every reason to be upset."

"Any word from the others yet?"

"Nothing yet, sorry," she told him. It was the truth — she suspected that Xavier was advising his disciples to stay out of the danger zone and not make any connections that might hurt their chances at winning. They won't win, she thought happily. They haven't a chance. "But Zelda asked after you when I was at the coffee house this morning." She'd always had a sneaking suspicion that Zelda had known what Bobby was even before it'd been splattered all over the news. It was ridiculous, of course; she'd never given any indication that she knew the truth, but if she'd been too frightened to want to associate with him after she found out, it would explain why Bobby hadn't mentioned her since he'd gone back to the school after coming home to visit.

Now he looked positively bewildered. "Who?"

"Zelda," Madeline repeated. "She's working at the café on Jansen Street now."

"Is she a friend of yours?" Bobby asked, not sounding like he was particularly interested.

He's putting me on. Got to be. "Bobby Drake, what are you talking about?"

"No, no, no. What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your girlfriend. Zelda Langley? That name ring any bells? Her mother and I work out together. The two of you have been friends since junior high."

"I don't know anyone like that."

"The two of you really hit it off again at my birthday party," she said, aware of a strain of desperation entering her voice. Please tell me this isn't happening. The doctors had mentioned brain damage as a result of the accident, but assured her that it was highly improbable. Oh God, this isn't happening. This isn't true. Not the first time she'd thought those words in the past year, and probably not the last.

Bobby shook his head. "Mom, you're scaring me."

She stared into his utterly blank face, devoid of amusement or understanding or anger or any idea what she was talking about.

You're scaring me.

She looked at him and realized that it was mutual.

**

Madeline woke up the dead of a moonless night, her entire brain completely alert as if she had never closed her eyes at all. Although clouds covered the sky, some light entered the room, and she could see her husband lying with his back to her. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and heard him snort slightly, but he didn't stir.

There was enough light for her to find her way to the bathroom door, though. As she washed her hands, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. People had always complimented her on her looks; her friends had envied her and strangers had assumed that she was much younger than she actually was. But since Bobby's disappearance, and increasingly since the… the battle that had laid him low, she'd begun to look every inch her age. Her skin had become puffy from lack of sleep, and her mousy roots, under the red dye, had begun to show.

I'm not the same person I used to be, she realized. Any more than he is. Any more than any of us are.

She thought her heart might burst when she'd heard him speak from his hospital bed. It had been nonsense words, more like sounds, to be sure

(ee… 'rase… m'mine…)

but he had spoken. He was awake, he would be fine. And once they'd managed to calm him down, even he had been able to admit that the lawsuit would do them good. He still refused to say anything incriminating about Charles Xavier, though.

That was fine, though. That would do. Senator Turk (whom she couldn't make herself like, no matter how enthusiastic Will was about his support) had said that with the kind of evidence they'd gathered, no statement from the plaintiff would be needed.

They would win.

The X-Men would rot in hell for what they'd done to her child.

And the three Drakes would move somewhere far away. California, maybe, where it never got cold and she could seek out props for the movies, and Bobby could learn to surf, and nobody would ever mention the name "Iceman" again. The whole unpleasant business would be erased from their lives.

Erased. That word seemed to linger after the thought had been completed, as if her mind were tasting it.

And she returned, unbidden, to that very afternoon, when she had mentioned Zelda Langley and Bobby had frowned, as if he had no idea whatsoever that they had once spent time together, or even who she was.

It's possible that he could have sustained brain damage from his injuries, Dr. Jarvis had said. But not likely.

Unlikely that his injuries had caused him to forget a profound — and, some would argue, unnecessary — connection to a member of the species Homo sapiens. Okay, fine. She trusted the neurologist on that one.

But what if there was another reason, one that even Dr. Jarvis, with his years of education, decades of experience, and advanced technology, couldn't foresee? That she herself had been in a state of denial about because she didn't want to point fingers?

Her toothbrush clattered into the sink. She didn't pick it up.

If it was true, it was only proving what they had suspected all along. She should have felt victorious. Or, at the very least, armed for battle. But all she felt was frightened. For Bobby. For all of them.