Part Three
This took longer than expected. Long enough to fool people into thinking I was done with this fic, which scared me a bit. I'm more used to people thinking I'm not done with a fic, no matter how emphatically I finish it. This is likely to go on for a while,a nd with my other commitments it's going to be a slow update, I'm afraid. But hey, you should see how long I've made some people wait for updates of Dolor Draconum (Harry Potter) and Once Upon a Nightmare (Weiss Kreuz). And is going to be no where near as long as either.
I hope.
He'd barely opened the register when he was called from his first class of the morning. Jean Paul followed a nervous student through the corridors until they reach Professor Xavier's office, where another nervous student was hastily scuttling away. So, Bobby was already inside then.
Bobby was reading a paper, eyebrows knitted. Jean Paul sighed internally.
"I didn't think that would make the papers," he said.
"You gave her your name," Xavier pointed out calmly.
"She had already recognised me," Jean Paul shrugged it off. "One of those books you get for Christmas that lives in the shelves at the top of the stairs and is never read."
"It's highly likely that you'll both be called as witnesses," Xavier told them both. Bobby laid the paper on the desk to give Charles his full attention. "This means Bobby will be outed as a mutant, among other things."
"We talked about that last night," Jean Paul said, and then paused to let Bobby take over. When he didn't, Jean Paul went on, "I have no problem with testifying, but if Bobby's changed his mind they can't force him."
"Do you mind if I ring my father, now?" Bobby asked, voice strained. "He reads this paper."
"He's fully aware that you're a mutant," Xavier reminded him.
"Yeah, but the fact I'm described as Jean Paul's boyfriend is going to come as a bit of a shock, don't you think?"
"May I have a look at that?" Jean Paul asked, already reaching for the paper. Neither of the others bothered reply.
"Wait until we're done here, Bobby," Xavier was saying. "While I have no objections to what you did, stepping in to help this young woman, it is important to remember that the X-men do not have the time or the resources to focus on individuals in this way. We do not want to present that kind of image to the public; we can't afford to. This falls under the jurisdiction of the police-"
"Who were not there," Jean Paul cut in angrily. "We were."
"Obviously. But you must bear in mind that we do not want to create animosity in the law enforcement community."
"There was not any," Jean Paul interrupted again. "They were grateful. It is the duty of those with powers to help people against all threats. We can not just pick on those our own size."
"We are not an international police force," Xavier snapped back. "The police deal with human crimes, we deal with mutant crimes."
"They are all crimes. They all end in prison, or ought to. They all make the victims suffer as much." Jean Paul was on his feet now. The thumped the desk with one hand for emphasis. "We must work to halt all crimes."
"We can't."
Later Jean Paul suspected the professor of using his telepathy to add that sense of finality to his statement, but in truth he couldn't have argued against it any way. He knew they couldn't save every person from every thing. In his mind, though, that didn't mean they should stop trying. Would they really be raising false hopes?
"Look," Bobby had said after a prolonged silence, "it doesn't really matter anyway. The chances of it happening again a pretty low, and it's probably good to show we're not so, well, insular, as the papers like to make out. There'll be the trial, and we'll testify if we're called on to testify, and the guy will be put away and that will be that."
"These things are never that simple, Bobby, but for now I agree." What with, the Professor didn't make clear. "Now we are the X-corporation, though, you must consider how your actions will look to other people."
"Gay, apparently," Bobby jabbed an accusing finger at the crumbled paper.
"It's all PR, n'est ce pas?" Jean Paul snorted. "What do they call it, spin."
"Yes, Jean Paul," Xavier said. "Because we are not just thinking of ourselves, or those like us. We are thinking of the future of humanity. We need people to accept mutants, or we will instigate the kind of civil war Magneto always wanted. We can't solve the world's problems, but neither are we one. This is the message we must convey with our every word and action."
Jean Paul couldn't bring himself to answer. It was so firmly against his personal beliefs that it left him slightly nauseous. The only message he'd tried to convey in his life was that he was human too. There was a touch of something subtle and, in Jean Paul's mind, wrong about Xavier's views. They had the ring of apartheid about them.
He took the newspaper with him as they left, but couldn't bring himself to read it. Technically, his class was still in session, but Emma Frost was substituting now and he didn't feel like taking up the mantle again until he had to. Instead, his feet took him to the staff kitchen. He settled at the table with a mug of coffee and his own newspaper, a national edition that contained no mention of his and Bobby's escapades, though it probably would by the end of the week. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut. Why did life have to be so damn awkward?
Bobby's voice carried from the next room, using the general line to call his father.
"I know what it says- no, no would you just let me finish, father? I know what it says, and they got it wrong."
"I'm not. I know he's gay."
"Oh come on, of course he isn't."
"Okay, one, I was never dating Rogue, and two, you have no right to dictate who I date."
"I'm not gay."
"I'm not g-"
"I'm not a fucking faggot!"
Jean Paul winced.
"Oh, so now we're talking the same language." The bitterness in Bobby's voice soothed Jean Paul's shattered nerves slightly.
"Well, I didn't want to do this either. It was bad enough having you on my back about being a mutant."
"I wouldn't expect any less of you." The dry, tired tone of Bobby's voice worried Jean Paul. He recognised it as the way he spoke.
"Of course I'll come up. It's just been chaotic, okay?"
"Oh come on, didn't it occur to you that if I'd been even slightly that way inclined I'd have quit on women a long time ago? You know my luck."
It hurt Jean Paul to hear the subject so casually dismissed. Bobby was surprisingly secure in his sexuality.
"Oh, no, Alex went off with the school nurse."
"Yeah, right in the middle of the wedding."
"She wasn't interested. Almost killed me, like everyone else. Haven't seen much of her since. She's around, but I'm pretty much avoiding her."
"Yeah, I'll call. I'll come up and visit, too, when I've got more time."
"Good b- Bastard!" Bobby stormed into the kitchen and was halfway out of the opposite door before he noticed Jean Paul, coffee in hand and paper spread across the table. He came to an abrupt standstill, and his cheeks began to flame.
"You shouldn't have had to hear that," he muttered weakly.
"I should not have listened," Jean dismissed it, purposely imperfectly hiding a slight smile behind his coffee.
"My father's just so, so, graah!" Bobby waved his hands in wordless frustration. "You know?" he added helplessly.
"I can imagine," Jean Paul told him.
"He can be such a bigot. I spent years trying to please him, and always giving up. When I finally quit on him altogether he decides that perhaps it's okay and stands up for mutants and gets shot for it." Bobby clutched at his hair. "And I don't know whether I'm coming or going with him and I haven't been able to bring myself to visit since-" He stopped so abruptly that Jean Paul panicked for a moment, thinking some tragedy had just occurred behind him on the kitchen counter.
Then it clicked. "Since the secondary mutation," Jean Paul finished for him, eyes falling on the door to the deep freezer in the corner of the room.
Bobby's eyes followed his gaze as well and he visibly recoiled. Jean Paul couldn't keep the concern from his face and in response Bobby sat down across from him at the table, waiting for a question. When Jean Paul didn't say anything he let his head fall forwards on to the table with a 'thunk'.
"What if I'm dying?" he said quietly, voice muffed by the wood of the table. One hand came up to rest on the surface, fingers digging into ancient grooves. "I keep thinking that if I go there, it might be my last visit. Ever. And I don't know what I'd say."
Jean Paul's heart constricted. Unthinkingly he reached out and grabbed the hand resting on the table, letting the fingers dig into his flesh instead. Bobby squeezed his hand and sat up.
"You have cereal on your forehead," Jean Paul told him helplessly. "I think it is that sugary stuff Jubilation enjoys."
Bobby ran his free hand across his forehead knocking sugary pellets away. "She shoulda cleaned the table if she spilt stuff," he said weakly.
"I do not think you are dying," Jean Paul said calmly, standing up to grab a damp cloth to swipe the table with. It physically hurt to let go of Bobby's hand. "Neither Annie nor Hank suggested such, did they?"
"Nah, guess not."
"And they would know, would they not?" Jean Paul cocked an eyebrow.
"Well, yeah," Bobby conceded. "But it's still a possibility."
"It always has been, in this business."
"True," Bobby said philosophically. "But I'm still turning to ice and it still sucks," he finished glumly.
"And for that, mon ami, I have no answer."
"Jean Paul, struck dumb. Blow the trumpets and start the parade, a miracle has occurred," Bobby said, but he didn't even attempt to smile. It broke Jean Paul's heart. He hated not being able to help. He hated looking at someone and knowing there was nothing he could do to ease the torture, the pain, the eventual eternity they saw stretching out before them. Not Jeanne Marie, not Joanne, and not Bobby.
"Is it inappropriate to ask you out for coffee again?" he said quietly. It took Bobby a moment to realise he had been meant to hear it.
"Yes, I mean... no, it's not appropriate... inappropriate..." Bobby trailed off, scowling at his mouth as best he could, which sent him a little cross-eyed. Jean Paul chuckled dryly. "Coffee good. Bobby want. Hulk smash," Bobby gave in, one corner of his mouth lifting this time in self-depreciating humour. It wasn't Bobby at his best, but it was better than the flat sarcasm.
"This evening?" Jean Paul tried to keep the relief and gratitude from flooding his face. Here, finally, was something he could do.
"When do you finish teaching today?" Bobby asked, leaning forwards.
"About four, oui, four," Jean Paul said, running through his timetable mentally. There was a large red area indicating the amount of marking he had to do and the space he had to do it in, space he was giving up for Bobby. Well, it wasn't as though the kids cared what they got on some essay they'd handed in weeks ago, right? Most of them hadn't even cared enough to do it.
"We could get something to eat together," Bobby suggested. Jean Paul tried to ignore the portion of his mind that added 'shyly' to that action.
"Do you have anywhere in mind?" Jean Paul managed.
"Oh, the same place as last night," Bobby said hurriedly. "I just noticed they did sandwiches and stuff, and I thought..." he shook his head. "Nah, stupid idea really."
"Now you have to tell me," Jean Paul smirked.
"Have you read Rebecca?" Bobby asked, taking Jean Paul by surprise.
"No, have you?" Jean Paul cocked an eyebrow.
"Well, no," Bobby grinned. "But it was on telly the other night. Just that whole thing with the sandwiches and scones and cakes and tea, you know? Looked so... civilised. High tea. Something that's been done for centuries, undisturbed."
Jean Paul soon lost the thread of what Bobby was saying, but he smiled and nodded like he understood and imagined Bobby with cream and jelly - no, jam, this was some English fantasy after all – with cream and jam smeared around his mouth, dropping crumbs into a cup of tea.
"-like before mutants were even a concept. Before evolution. I don't know, it was just an idea. I read Wind in the Willows once and spent months pining for a boat, because it seemed so civilised and old fashioned. Maybe I'm one of those reincarnated dealies, don't belong here and now at all."
It was like the previous night, Jean Paul realised. There was something about Bobby that harked back to earlier eras and simpler times, when girls grew up to wantingto be housewives and boys to be soldiers and everyone believed politicians. It was the name, he decided. You almost never met any Bobbys these days. All Roberts were Robs. Bobby was a name that summoned up boys with skinned knees and sunburnt noses with fish in jamjars, young men in jackets and too much hair wax with girls in long skirts on their arm, men in tweeds with a newspaper under one arm and a long umbrella under the other. Jean Paul couldn't imagine Bobby playing with Playstations or watching gory horror films or swearing like a sailor at thirteen. He wasn't that much older than some of the students, but he had so little in common with them. He'd been Brought Up Differently.
Jean Paul realised he'd been staring at the freckles on Bobby's nose with such an intensity that Bobby had unconsciously raised a hand to hide his face. "JP?" Bobby said nervously.
Jean Paul blinked and blushed. It was a small wonder that Bobby wasn't aware of his crush, let alone every person who saw them together.
"I was distracted," Jean Paul admitted. "Lost in thought."
"Ah, cool." Bobby smiled crookedly. "Were you listening for the bit when I realised tonight probably wouldn't be good?"
"No, no I was not listening for that bit," Jean Paul sighed, aware that by now the tips of his ears were probably scarlet. Bobby didn't sound too offended, though. Jean Paul really didn't want to hurt him. "Though it is probably just as well. I have essays to mark I have been putting off for far too long."
"Same here," Bobby told him. "But we really have to get coffee soon."
"Yes, we must," Jean Paul nodded firmly.
Bobby frowned. "Don't you have a class now?"
"Oh, Emma Frost was coveri-" Jean Paul saw the clock. "Merde, yes. I will see you later," he grimaced, pulling himself out of his chair.
"Yeah, sure." Bobby stayed sitting, and as Jean Paul left he noticed that painfully introspective look slide back over the normally carefree face. Bobby missed Jean Paul's concern by a split second, but he did make certain the man was gone before wandering over to the door in the corner and climbing into the deep freezer.