Part Three – Which is more painful, hope or despair?

A/N: been going through the summaries. I hadn't realised that people had learnt about Bobby's second mutation already. So we'll just say this branches off from canon around the time of the failed wedding. Issue #426, I think. Feel free to correct me.

Bobby did the one thing he'd never expected: he woke up.

In the last place he thought he'd be: the library.

He'd just died, for fuck's sake. Was it too much to ask that someone notice?

He sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand. He was meant to be happy, for god's sake. He wasn't dead. Happy time. Celebrations. He was just going to turn into a block of ice. So what if that was one hurdle? No dead, so what? Maybe when it spread he'd be unable to move. What about that, huh? Or maybe it would kill him when it reached his brain. What kind of fun would that be?

Bobby cried shards of ice in the library, soaking Jean Paul's book. He wasn't dead.

It was Hank who found Bobby, curled up in a soggy ball in some dark and dusty corner of the library. He was dozing lightly, the occasionally tear still falling from frosted lashes as he slept.

It was easy to assume he was still upset over Lorna, or some other girl who'd spurned him. Hank ran a heavy finger across Bobby's cheek, smearing the tear streak. He'd known Bobby as long as any here, and he was really worried. And despite the dark rings gracing Bobby's eyes, Hank felt obliged to wake him up.

"Have you been here all along?" he asked when Bobby had blinked himself back to consciousness.

"All what?" Bobby frowned. Beast really wasn't the person he wanted to see just now. He'd had to adjust to no longer looking human, hadn't he? How was Bobby supposed to explain to him how badly he didn't want the same thing to happen to him without hurting his feelings? Because god, did he want to tell someone now.

"You've been missing for three days."

"Huh. Does no one turn the lights off at night in here any more?" Bobby squinted around.

"I think we should take you up to Annie," Hank decided. "You don't look good." There was spots and patches of something on Bobby's shirt, seeping through from underneath. Bobby idly slid a hand under his shirt and Hank helped him up and scratched at something, hard. As Hank watched the same liquid bloomed across Bobby's shirt. It looked like it ought to be blood, but...

"Bobby, stand still," Hank commanded.

Bobby glanced down.

Oh.

Oh shit.

He'd been picking at it again, hadn't he?

And now Hank was going to make him take off his shirt and that would be it, wouldn't it?

Oh shit. He wasn't ready for this. He couldn't face it yet. And it was getting so big now that it would be obvious how old it was and then what would he say? It was bad enough that he would be getting upset over something that had already happened to one of his best friends, but admitting he'd kept it a secret for so long would hurt him more. He did trust these people, dammit. He just didn't trust them not to pity him.

"Bobby," Hank said softly, raising his shaggy blue head. A wild urge to kiss that rough fur almost overcame Bobby. He was such a wonderful person.

"Don't make me," Bobby swallowed. "Not yet."

"Bobby, whatever it is, I'm sure we can help. You don't have to fight it alone."

"I shouldn't be fighting at all," Bobby said bitterly. "Everyone keeps offering to help before they even know what's going on. Don't you think if I wanted help I'd ask for it?"

Hank gave him an appraising look. "No," he said simply.

Bobby felt a hit of amusement before that black anger he was getting so used to closed over him. "Don't presume anything," he snarled. "You don't know me."

Hank didn't look particularly distressed. "Don't be an idiot, Bobby. I know you inside and out. I know that something has been upsetting you for months now. Some change."

Bobby swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes. "Just back off, okay? I told Jean Paul to." He paused. "Has he put in a reappearance yet?"

"Yes," Hank said. "In Canada."

Bobby shrugged. "Who wants guys like him around anyway?"

"You want to watch your mouth," Beast said coolly. "Some people might mistake what you're trying to say."

"He never belonged here. None of these people do. The X-men was about us, Hank. You and me and Jean and Scott and Warren. These kids should just fuck off home, I think. Back to Canada, back to wherever. We never needed them. Spend half our lives rescuing these wannabes."

"And the other half being rescued by them," Hank told him. "You never used to have this problem, Bobby."

"Maybe I did, and maybe I just kept my mouth shut," Bobby retorted. "How would you know?"

Hank sighed heavily. "Fine, Bobby, fine. I trust you to tell us when you've got no other option left to you. Whatever change has got you mouthing off like this must be bad, because it's been a long time since you've wanted to take things that far back." He turned around and began to walk away. He paused mid-step looked over his shoulder. "This started when Angel and I came into our secondary mutations, didn't it? Both of our appearances changed over a relatively short space of time, and Warren can heal people now. Is that it? You feel left behind, perhaps, or the physical differences confuse you?"

Bobby stayed stubbornly silent.

"Look, just go and talk to Annie," Beast sighed. "You really do look like shit."

"Thanks, man," Bobby muttered as Hank disappeared, presumably to inform others that he was still alive. Which he wasn't, thanks for asking. Most people probably hadn't even noticed he was gone.

Ignoring Hank's advice, Bobby stumbled upstairs and locked himself in his room.

Bobby figured Jean Paul had rejoined Alpha Flight. He'd be head of the team again. Bobby supposed that being the leader made the arrogance look more like confidence. Anyway, after their attack on the mansion they were probably him back with open arms. It wasn't as though the rainbow maple had done anything during that brief fight.

Heh. Rainbow maple. He'd have to remember that one.

Bobby was doing his best not to be bitter. People had noticed something was up with him. If he'd told them what was going on, he wouldn't have died alone. It was just... Nothing would make that stop hurting. He'd been fucking miserable recently, and no one even tried to approach him. People just came up afterwards and said "I noticed you were in a bad mood, what was wrong?" like all they wanted was to sate their curiosity.

He pulled off his shirt and peered into the mirror. He waved a hand behind him. Fun. He was slightly see-through. Translucent. He wiggled his fingers. Hallooo. He snorted. His other hand reached up and traced a pattern down his glass chest. There was definitely some feeling there, but it was more heat than pressure. He wondered bitterly if he'd melt.

Downstairs the television was on and a familiar theme tune was filtering through the floor.

So no one told you life was gonna be this way

Nope, they never did.

Your job's a joke, you're broke, your love life's DOA

It's was all one to Bobby! He was a walking ice cube, DOA himself, let alone his love life.

It's like you're always stuck in second gear

No, it was like he was always stuck in fifth, hurtling along towards the future unable to stop. Like that film, whatchimacallit. The bus one. Speed.

When it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year

All true.

I'll be-

That made Bobby laugh out loud. Of course they'd switch over there. They weren't there for him. He was just Bobby alone. Even men fled him now. How was that for a DOA love life?

There was knock on the door, immediately followed by the creak of the hinges Bobby jerked round, grabbing the sheet to his chest. Annie demurely closed the door behind him.

"Most people wait for an invitation," Bobby snapped, dropping the sheet.

"You wouldn't have let me in," Annie said simply. "Hank told me he'd asked you to drop by. Even Xavier was getting worried, you'd been gone so long, and he knew you were in the building."

"So why didn't anyone come look for me?" Bobby sneered. "You really know how to make a guy feel loved, don't you?"

Annie was studying his chest closer. "It's right through now, isn't it? Not just on the surface."

"I died," Bobby spat. "Sitting in the library. I died and no one even fucking cared!"

Annie sighed and sat next to him on the bed. "Bobby, you know that's not true," she said softly, one hand on his shoulder so she could manipulate him into the best position for her to study him. "No one knew, Bobby."

"I know that," Bobby snapped. "That's not the point," he insisted.

"What is?" Annie asked smoothly.

"I died," Bobby said miserably, "and I'm still here and I died. It was the scariest thing I've ever been through, and I was entirely alone and I woke up alone and I don't even know how long I was dead for, or when it even happened."

"Hushhh," Annie soothed. "What does it feel like when I do this?"

"Warm," Bobby sniffed. He didn't want to start crying again, but if he going to cry on anyone's shoulder Annie would be appropriate. He'd been so shit scared and he'd fought it so hard, and when he lost the capacity for coherent thought at least he'd known he could never go through that again. And then he'd woken up. There hadn't even been a flash of ecstasy. All he wanted to do was to sleep, perchance to die.

"How about here?"

"Ow. Hurts."

"You've been picking at it, haven't you?" Annie scolded softly.

"I just want to rip it out." Bobby pressed fingers to the inner corners of both eyes, squeezing out a few errant tears to wipe away with those self same fingers. "Have you noticed I'm clear now?"

"Yes," Annie bit her lip. "I suppose your vital organs must have been absorbed." She sighed. "I'm not cut out for this. I'm a nurse. I fix broken bones and large cuts and bad colds. This genetic stuff is over my head."

"Wish Moira w' still 'live," Bobby mumbled.

"So do I," Annie said candidly. "You really ought to talk to the professor about this, or Hank. He was the one who cured the Legacy virus, after all. Both of them would know more about what to do than I ever could."

"I'll tell people in my own time," Bobby insisted.

"You mean when it's obvious what's wrong anyway?" Annie asked wryly, echoing Hank's earlier sentiment.

"What happened to Jean Paul?" Bobby changed the subject.

"Went back to Canada. When did you last eat?"

"A while ago. I don't have a digestive system any more. I just drink a lot. How does everyone know that's where he is? Alpha Flight call or something?"

"No, he left a note," Annie said quietly. Bobby turned to look her in the eye. "He said he was going back there but... no one's heard anything. I really don't understand how this works, you know. Without a heart to pump the blood your brain ought to have shrivelled up."

"Nice imagery. I appear to be bleeding water now, or something like it. What else did the note say?" Bobby asked, unable to stop himself. He was surprised to find that he actually wanted to know.

"Mostly that he was sorry for his abrupt departure. He said something had occurred that made him unsuitable to hold a position here any longer." Annie looked at him coldly.

"He found out," Bobby told her. "About me."

She frowned. "You mean..." he gestured vaguely at his chest.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "Guess I'm not so attractive to him after all."

"You knew he..." Annie cocked her head to one side. "What did you say to him?"

"A lot of stuff. I don't really remember," Bobby shrugged. "He was talking about me saying if I wanted him to back off, and, I don't know, I said something like 'it's not just you, it's everyone'. Not people I want to back off, people I'm attracted to," he explained. "And then he turned me around, saw the cold cancer, and fled as fast as he hyperspeed could take him."

Annie frowned. "You find him attractive?"

"I think you just missed the point entirely," Bobby said frostily. "I repulsed him."

"That's a bit drastic," Annie told him.

"So why didn't he come back later and apologise? I waited for him," Bobby added. "Face it, I terrified him, and he's never coming back. I'm sorry I scared your friend away. You can see why I'm less than willing to tell my friends, can't you?"

"Bobby Drake," Annie shook her head, smiling slightly. "Oh, honestly."

She leant in and kissed him gently. Bobby's hand shot and grabbed her arm in a vice like grip, clamping her close. She pulled back regardless, still smiling.

"You are no less attractive now than you were before this happened. You have to stop worrying about that."

"You didn't see his face!" Bobby insisted. "But kiss me again, please."

"Do you like Jean Paul?"

"No, not really. He's an arrogant git and he runs away and leaves me cold and lonely on roofs."

"Apart from that?" Annie continued, quietly insistent.

Bobby shrugged awkwardly. "Well, he's attractive, and a good kisser. And I guess he's kinda funny." He shut himself up.

"Well?" Annie raised an eyebrow.

"You're a bitch," Bobby snapped. She looked hurt. "I don't need this right now. Hopes," he waved a hand in emphasis. "All these hopes. Nothing ever happens. I just end up feeling let down and miserable, again. I had hoped Jean Paul wouldn't freak out, I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, I could enter something vaguely resembling a relationship, even if it was with a man. I guess not. So don't start me up again," he warned finally.

Annie sighed. "Well, I guess I'm done here. When you feel a bit more open with your friends, come down to me and I'll do a blood test, to see whatever you've got instead."

"Why when I feel more open with my friends?" Bobby asked suspiciously.

"Because Beast is the one who'll know how to analyse it, not me. Just don't leave it too late, okay? For all you know this could have been reversible from the beginning."

Bobby's face darkened. "I hope not," he muttered. "If it was reversed now I'd die. Again."

"And you don't want to feel like the idiot you are," Annie said smartly, climbing off the bed. "I think you ought to make an effort to get in contact with Jean Paul, but that's your prerogative. In the mean time, do something useful with yourself and stop sulking in dark corners. People are beginning to forget what you look like. Someone set up an Iceman trap in the kitchen downstairs, hoping to snare you when you got hungry."

"Fat chance," Bobby laughed. "I wonder, if I want a nice body from now on, do I have to chisel it myself?"

"With your talents you might be able to make yourself look like anything you want to," Annie told him from the doorway. "I'm going to drop by every few days, if I get the chance. You could make my life easier and come by the infirmary instead, if you want to preserve your privacy."

"I'll think about it," Bobby sighed. "Will that do?"

"It's better than anything else I've gotten out of you recently," Annie told him with a smile. Rolling her eyes, she left him in peace.

Bobby rolled onto his stomach and dug around the mess on the floor until he found what he was looking for. He flicked through the address book of his cell phone and smirked when he found the name. He couldn't remember whose idea it had been to make certain everyone had everyone else's number, but he was thankful. Someone deserved a little extra guilt right about now, Bobby felt. After all, if you abandoned someone in the night, wouldn't you want to know that they died the next day?