Crown Of Thorns

Chapter Seven: Shiver

It's about eight in the morning, and from my position at the door of the kitchen, I can see that Bobby Drake is juggling snowballs and letting them drop one-by-one into the milkshake he is making, and he is singing Knocking On Heaven's Door in a very off-key voice. Just then, he notices me, and he smiles and lets the last of his snowballs plop gently into his drink. "Oh, hey, kid," he says, a broad, boyish grin spreading across his handsome features. "Didn't expect you to be up this early." He holds his hand up to one side of his face and whispers "You know, we gotta stop meeting like this. People will talk." I nod, wanting to laugh but not quite managing it.

"I suppose they will," I reply, moving to the cupboard that holds all the cereal and other breakfast food and drawing out a box full of toaster pastries. Picking out some strawberry-flavoured ones, I slip them into the toaster and listlessly push down the lever on its side. Bobby notices my sluggishness, and inclines his head towards me, concerned.

"You okay, sweetie?" he asks, taking hold of my hand. "You can tell your old Uncle Bobby anything you want, you know." Then his lopsided grin reappears. "Well, as long as it doesn't involve anything gross. Then you'd better save it for your mom and dad."

I sigh. "I had the nightmares again. About Sinister."

Bobby's face falls, and he reaches forwards to take hold of my hand. "Oh. You… want to talk about it, maybe?"

"Not really, but if it'll help, I suppose I can make an exception," I say, letting go of Bobby's fingers so that I can move over to the breakfast table. As I do so, I point tiredly to the chair opposite me, my other hand trying hard to support the bulging bump that passes for my belly. "Take a seat – this could take a while, I think."

Bobby shrugs and takes a swig of his homemade milkshake as he sits in the chair I've indicated. "It's okay, Rebecca – I don't have to be anywhere. You take your time, honey."

Sitting down (and feeling the weight taken off my ankles by the chair's four solid wooden legs as I do so), I run my hands through my hair and take a deep breath. It was hard enough to describe the nightmares to Mum and Dad the first time they happened. Now? It's almost impossible to put words to what wakes me in the middle of the night. All I know is that they make me soak my sheets with sweat and snot and urine far more often that I'd like to admit, and I don't like that feeling at all. It makes me feel… it makes me feel weak. Alone. Afraid.

In other words, the same kinds of feelings I had when Mum first took me away from Sinister, and I found out he wouldn't come back for me.

I don't want to go back to the way things were then. I want to stay as I am. I want to stay here.

The nightmares tell me that's not going to happen, and that frightens me so very much.

Bobby inclines his head forwards a little then, seeing I'm drifting off into a world of my own. "Honey?" he asks me hesitantly. "You still want to talk about this?"

Dragged back to something approaching normality, I exhale deeply and nod. "Yes. Sorry, Bobby – I'm just… tired, that's all."

"Understandable, I guess," Bobby says, raising his eyebrows for a moment or two and swigging back some more of his milkshake before he makes a face and gestures to his glass. "Damn it. Sorry, kid, I should have offered to make you one of these. Would you, uh, would you like one? They're real good, even if I do say so myself."

I shake my head, smiling for the first time today. It's a small, weak smile, sure, but it's a start, anyway. "No, thank you. I'd love a glass of orange juice if there's any in the refrigerator, though."

"Coming right up," Bobby says, and finds me some chilled orange juice from the fridge, which he pours into a tall glass and hands to me gently. "There you go, kid." Then his expression turns serious again, and he folds his hands around the uppermost knee of his crossed legs and focuses all of his attention on me again. "You were going to say something, I guess?"

I take a deep breath again, and shakily swallow a mouthful of tangy juice to steady my nerves. It doesn't work. "The dreams I've been having… they frighten me so much, Bobby. They're like the dreams I used to have when I still wanted to be with Sinister, only this time I'm the one the Marauders are after, and they don't stop until they have me cornered. And then Sinister, he… he appears right in front of me, and he cuts me open and takes my child. I'm lying there looking at my guts and ribcage all split open, and he pulls my baby out and turns it into something horrible right in front of me. And the worst thing is… I can't stop it, Bobby. I can't wake up until I've seen him twist my baby into a monster." I look up at Bobby with tears streaking my face. "That's why I think they aren't dreams. I think they're a message. He's coming for me, Bobby – he's coming and nobody's going to stop him from getting what he wants."

Bobby sits silently for a moment, his eyes filling with horror and one hand covering his mouth. I can sense his total shock at what I've just said, and it mixes sourly with my own sorely-felt fear and disgust. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, stunned. "Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph..." He shifts forwards on his stool and puts his arms tightly around me, stroking my hair and pressing my head against his shoulder. "You know we'd never let him do that to you, don't you, Rebecca?" he says quietly, a strange little quaver coming into his words for a second or two. "Your mom and dad would never let that happen to you. Scott and Jean would never let that happen to you. Hank would never let that happen to you. And I'd never let that happen to you, either. We all love you too much to let you or your baby go, kiddo – and I promise you, no low-rent brainiac with a seriously bad sense of fashion and a Vincent Price tan is going to change that." He hugs me a little tighter, just to emphasise his point a little more, and then kisses me gently on the forehead. "You're really special, sweetheart." Then he manages a faint smile. "And besides which, who else is going to help me annoy Bishop when he goes out on school nights?" That tears it. My face, which had been hovering perilously on the verge of a smile of its own, finally breaks into one with that single sentence – and Bobby notices that straight away. "There you go. That's the Rebecca Braddock I'm talking about. You know the real reason why Bishop and Emma don't like you? It's because you've got a really cool sense of humour, and they haven't. You're my girl, Rebecca – you know the value of pie fights and stupid jokes." He winks. "Look… I love you, kid, and if you think I'm going to sit around and watch you rip yourself to bits over this, you don't know me very well." Getting off his stool, he takes me by the hand and says "Come with me – I want to show you something."

I frown. "Where are we going?" Bobby chuckles then, and wags a finger at me as if to scold me for my curiosity.

"Ah-ah-ah," he says. "It's a surprise. Come on – if we don't hurry, it'll be gone soon." He leads me out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards the rear doors of the mansion, passing large paintings and some busts of members of the Xavier family. Not for the first time, I wonder how much this must have cost the Professor, and whether even Mum or Dad could afford to keep restocking their house with so many works of art. It's quite hard to think of the Professor as being as rich as he is, actually – but I suppose he must have at least a few pennies in the bank, or he wouldn't be able to keep repairing this house when it gets damaged by all the battles that the X-Men get into. While I'm thinking about that, Bobby has led me to the back door of the mansion, and has turned the key in its lock with a soft, fluid click. "Come on," he says. "It's just outside." When we've made our way outside, he stands behind me and puts his hands over my eyes. "Okay, Rebecca… start walking forwards. I'll tell you when to stop, all right?" As I start walking, I can feel Bobby directing me subtly off to one side. Eventually I can feel thin tree branches brushing against my sleeves and legs, and Bobby takes his hands off my eyes. "You can open your eyes now, Rebecca," he says, and I find myself in the centre of a small copse of trees, staring at a tall oak tree that looks to have been here on the grounds of the mansion for hundreds of years. It's an astonishing sight, but I'm not sure why Bobby's brought me to see it.

"What am I looking at, Bobby?" I ask him, uncertainly. Bobby nods down towards the base of the tree, and points with one finger.

"There," he says, and indicates a small carving in the trunk. It's a love heart containing a short message, which reads X-Men forever – S, J, W, H, B. "See what I'm pointing at?"

"Yes, I see it," I say, bending down as far as I can manage and running my hand down the bark, letting my fingertips pick out the precise texture of the message. "Why are you showing me this now?"

"Because I wanted to reassure you of something," Bobby says as he crouches down beside me. "X-Men don't run out on their own. Scott, Jean, Hank, Warren and I, we all made a pact when we were just kids – we'd never let any of the others down. Mess with one X-Man, we said, you mess with all of them. We'd never leave anybody to face the music by themselves."

I sigh, and push myself to my feet, feeling my back scream in protest as I do so. "I'm not an X-Man, Bobby."

"Makes no difference to me, Becca," Bobby replies, shrugging. "It doesn't make any difference to Hank, or your dad, or Scott. Like I said, you're one of us, babe, and we'll protect you, I promise – whether you're wearing an X belt-buckle or not."

"Thanks, Bobby," I say, wiping at my moistening eyes with the back of one hand. "That means a lot."

Bobby smiles, and touches my wet face gently with one hand, freezing my tears in place so that they fall into his palm and lie there sparkling like tiny diamonds. "No more tears," he says quietly, and then gestures back to the mansion with his other hand. "You want to play some Tekken? I bet it'll take your mind off this."

"You're obsessed with that game, aren't you?" I say, grateful for the subject-change nevertheless. "All right, Bobby – you win. But just the one game, okay?"

Eleven very evenly-matched games of Tekken later (of which I won six, and Bobby won five), Bobby and I have put the Playstation 2 away and are watching MTV instead. Bobby is flicking through the channels looking very bored, and I'm just trying to get the chance to see at least one complete video before Bobby hits the next station. "Hey, Bobby," I say, yawning, "I really like REM. Can I just listen to this one song, and then you can go back to flicking channels again?"

Bobby sighs. "Okay, Rebecca. But the next time we see a Guns N' Roses video, we'll watch that all the way through. Deal?"

"Deal," I reply, and then the two of us sit quietly while the video for Losing My Religion is playing on the television screen. Once it's finished, though, Bobby is immediately stabbing buttons on the remote again, trying to find something he wants to listen to.

"Damn it," he mutters, annoyed. "They won't play any Aerosmith or Alice Cooper, but they do play the freakin' Backstreet Boys. What's up with that?"

"They're trying to appeal to people under the age of forty, maybe?" I suggest, helpfully. Bobby gives me a scathing glare then, looking deeply wounded.

"Hey, I'll have you know that Aerosmith and Alice Cooper are two of the most influential rock acts in the history of the twentieth century, young lady," he says. "And Dude (Looks Like A Lady) is one of the greatest songs ever written, since… well, since ever. I got the video for it on VHS somewhere…" He gets off the sofa and roots around in the cupboard which contains all of our videotapes and DVDs, including Aunt Jean's Jane Fonda workout, Hank's Walking With Dinosaurs collection, and Mum's piles of Vietnam War films. He rummages for a few moments, and then pulls out a battered old video case before slipping the tape into the machine sitting underneath the television and pushing play. "Sit back and enjoy a rock master class, Rebecca," he says, sounding very satisfied with himself all of a sudden as he sits back and enjoys the sound of the song beginning. When the long guitar solo starts in the middle of the song, though, he gets up and apparently begins playing an invisible guitar of his own, banging his head and silently mouthing the words of the song at the same time.

"Are you on something, Bobby?" I say, flatly. Bobby opens his eyes, immediately flushing a very fetching shade of pink.

"Um… no," he says sheepishly. "Just… playing air guitar."

"Do I have to do it as well, then?" I ask, genuinely puzzled (this is one of the many hundreds of things I've never seen before, after all). Bobby laughs and shakes his head, looking very relieved.

"No, honey – this is just something guys like me tend to do when we're listening to music with a lot of guitar chords in it. We, uh, like pretending we're playing the music for our legions of adoring fans, you see."

I purse my lips and shake my head, feeling even more puzzled than I did before. "I'll never understand men."

Bobby sits back down and ruffles my hair, putting his arm around my shoulder as the video finishes. "Don't worry, Rebecca – I don't think many men understand men too well, either. Still, if it helps, just remember this little motto: 'men are stupid, women are crazy'. It's always worked for me, after all."

"Well, the first bit sounds about right, but I'm not sure about the second," I say, frowning. "I don't feel very crazy."

"Most crazy people would say the same thing," Bobby counters, chuckling. "See, you're already nuts, so you won't feel any different."

"Shut up, Bobby."

"Spoilsport."

"Exactly," I say, laughing. "I take after my mum too well, I suppose. Now shut up and give me the remote – this week's Farscape rerun starts in five minutes, and I don't want to miss any of it."

"Farscape? That show with the Muppet aliens?" Bobby asks, disbelievingly. "You actually like that crap?"

"Farscape happens to be one of my favourite shows, I'll have you know – even with the Muppet aliens," I say, mimicking Bobby's indignant tone from a few moments ago. "I never miss an episode. And just so you know, Rygel happens to be one of my favourite characters."

Bobby stares at me blankly. "If I knew who that was, I'd say something. But I don't, so I won't."

"Rygel is one of the Muppets," I sigh, throwing my hands up in despair. "He's the small one who floats around in a little chair. The other Muppet is Pilot – the big one who talks with Moya, the Leviathan starship on which all of the cast travel."

"Still not meaning a lot to me, sweetheart," Bobby says. "I think I saw one episode of that show and I swore never to watch it again, so telling me all of this isn't going to make me remember a lot, you know?"

"Well, consider this your education, then," I tell him, flicking the channel to the right station just in time for the pre-opening credits teaser. "I swear, if you don't love it by the end of this episode, you're not going to love it at all – Revenging Angel is one of the funniest episodes this show ever produced…"

As the end credits roll, I turn to Bobby with a big smile plastered across my face and say "Well, Bobby – what did you think?" Bobby blinks and looks a little bemused for a second before he says anything.

"That… was the weirdest hour of TV I've ever seen," he says, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure they're working properly. Then, he grins. "I loved it."

"Thought you might," I reply, satisfied. "What was your favourite part?" I'm pretty sure I know what the answer to this question is going to be, but I'm going to ask Bobby anyway, just to confirm my suspicions.

"Those cartoon bits," Bobby says, right on cue. "I loved it when D'Argo and John were running around like in an old Road Runner cartoon. And I think I'm going to find Claudia Black and make her my love slave."

"I think you might have to share her with Dad, Hank, and Remy, Bobby – but good luck with that, anyway. Oh, and if you liked her in this, you might want to watch Pitch Black. I hear she's pretty good in that movie, too."

"That's the one with Vin Diesel in it, right? I think Emma bought me the DVD a fortnight ago, but I haven't watched it yet. You want to stick it on now, so we can see what we think of it together?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," I say, before my chin drops a little and my voice comes out a few notches quieter. "Thanks for doing all of this, Bobby. You've really cheered me up."

"Hey, don't mention it, snowdrop," Bobby says. "That's all I wanted to do." He ruffles my hair again, and touches me gently on the base of my chin with one hand. "You're a good kid, Rebecca, and I hate seeing you upset. You remember what I said earlier, all right, and don't let things get on top of you. We'll all be here for you, no matter what." His smile returns then, and he points to the video cupboard. "Now how about we watch that movie, huh? I'm sure there's some popcorn in the kitchen somewhere…"