Same disclaimers apply…
Chapter 1: Remembering the Past
Everyone knew it was bound to happen. Sooner or later, the X-Men would face off against the Brotherhood. And that caused Bobby more than a few sleepless nights. It wasn't until things settled down and got back to some semblance of normalcy that Bobby really began thinking about John's leaving. He knew that in the aftermath of Stryker attacking the school, their running, the porch, he thought about wanting a new roommate. Now he didn't want one at all, if he couldn't have John again.
He'd never admit that he missed John greatly. They had been roommates and best friends since the day they met. And now that friendship was over. Sooner or later, they would face off against each other, using their powers against the other. Bobby lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, hands clasped behind his head. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping well that night. So instead of just lying there, he got up and went to the other side of the room. John's side of the room. Bobby had come up with a million reasons why he didn't want to move John's things out of the room yet. The biggest one: Hope. He still had hope that John would return. Everyone may have given up on him, but Bobby refused to. Bobby sat on John's bed, opening the night table next to it. Inside were only two things, a Zippo lighter and a framed photograph. Bobby took both out, examining the Zippo first. He held it in his fist, the fist that he leaned against, closing his eyes, trying to remember every detail.
"Check this out," John said, grabbing Bobby's attention from the computer.
John held his palm flat up, opening the Zippo an inch above. The small flame from the lighter jumped into the palm of John's hand. John shut the lighter and shoved it into his pocket. With the fireball, John made another, one for each hand.
"Don't tell me you're going to juggle," Bobby groaned.
"Do I look like a freakin' clown?" John asked, and upon seeing the expression on Bobby's face, he added, "Don't."
Bobby could only chuckle, going back to his computer. "You shouldn't be playing with fire indoors."
"I won't get burned," John replied, a little distracted by his two fireballs.
"But I might!" Bobby said, freezing one.
John stared as the iceball hit the ground with a thud. He raised his eyes to Bobby, who was watching John intently. John frowned, extinguishing his other fireball.
"Your ice balls can also do a lot of damage," John said, picking up the ice ball from the floor and throwing it at Bobby.
"Why you…" Bobby began, but John was already off to a running start.
"John! Bobby!" they heard Jean Gray call. "What are you two doing?"
"Just going outside for a little exercise," Bobby replied.
"And a little ass-kicking," he added to John, who stood only a few feet in front.
"I heard that last part," Jean said, ignoring the innocent "who us?" glances she was getting from both Bobby and John. "Go on outside, before you two actually damage anything in here."
She didn't need to repeat herself, and they didn't wait for anything more. John took off first, with Bobby on his heels.
A few tears were running down Bobby's face by the time he opened his eyes. He kept the lighter in his hand while holding up the framed photo with the other. It was just the two of them, taken about a year before. They were in the school's yard, sitting under a maple tree that was turning colors.
"Up north they call this 'Indian Summer'," John noted, flipping his trusty Zippo over in his hands.
"I know that. I am from 'up north'" Bobby reminded.
"I mean more north than where you're from. In Vermont," John replied.
"And when have you been there?"
"I haven't, yet. I just read about it somewhere. Sometimes they call it 'Leaves on Fire'. Because of the colors," John answered.
Bobby looked over at his best friend, smiling. When no one was around, John was almost a completely different person. He didn't have to protect himself; he didn't have to show-off for anyone. He knew Bobby just as well as Bobby knew him.
The picture was taken about an hour later; another student came by and asked, saying she just wanted to finish up her role of film. Both Bobby and John had gotten a copy. Bobby put his in a spare frame; he didn't know where or how John had gotten his.
A knock on the door didn't budge him. He didn't even hear it; he was too lost in his own thoughts, in his own emotions. He had locked the door; he started doing that lately. He was tired of people barging in when all he wanted was to be left alone. Bobby stared at the photo, the smiles they both had. And remembered that day, that time, almost everything was happy. With the lighter and the photo in his hands, he went back to his own bed. Setting the two items on his night table, he sat down, elbows on his knees. With one last glance at the photo and the lighter, Bobby lied on his bed, his face buried in his pillow. And he cried himself to sleep.