Part Four

A/N: Simply put, I don't know a lot about American law courts, and I couldn't find any websites willing to explain it in the basic kind of terms I needed, like layout, and what happens if someone falls suddenly ill. So if you spot any issues with this, please bring it up in the comments. I want to know. And if I've fallen into English terminology (I'm suddenly wondering if 'judge' is right for America), again, let me know. Thanks.

It wasn't how Bobby had imagined it. It wasn't how it was on television. The room was really quite plain, tucked in the back of a town hall, a few makeshift benches for the people watching and a high table for the Judge. And this little stand for him, in his smart suit bought days before and the shoes he wished he'd polished now. At least he wasn't sweating. He'd always been able to control that easily.

Jean Paul had been smiling serenely, last time Bobby had seen him, nowhere near as nervous. But then, he wasn't about to announce his genetic makeup for all to hear. No matter how often he reminded himself that it didn't matter who knew Bobby Drake was Iceman those nerves crept up on him. And it had been with starting guilt that he'd lied and agreed when Hank asked sympathetically if it was his family he was worried about.

And of course now he was thinking about every bad thing he'd done in his life, every little guilt inspiring thought and action. He thought about icing Scott's suit before an early date with Jean, he thought about fooling Hank into thinking there was an emergency to get him up before dawn, he thought about snapping at Kurt and winding up Logan and showering with War-

He fought the blush and reminded himself he wasn't on trial. This was just an extension of their usual activities, right? This was the bit the X-men weren't usually involved in. Supervillians didn't seem to get trials. Actually, most of them didn't really get caught. All the X-men did was interrupt them. Stuff like this, this was what they ought to be doing. Putting people away. Making the world safer in the long term, not just the short. Hell, if they'd really caught Magneto that first time, years ago, put him away in some plastic prison, then so much would never have happened. A world without a mutant Genosha. A world without the slaughters that followed the institution of such, both perpetrated by Magneto and against him.

And the questions weren't too hard. Of course, they were coming from their guy, their own lawyer. Well, her lawyer, but Bobby figured he was on her side. Wait, was he allowed to do that? Shouldn't he be completely objective and impartial here?

"Can you describe the exact position they were in when you first saw them, Mr Drake?"

"I can show you," Bobby said without thinking. There was a crackle of laughter, and he blushed slightly.

"That... won't be necessary." Bobby didn't like the way the lawyer for the defence smiled. He felt like he was about to be asked out for dinner, and wine, and then never even a phone call.

"Well, he was gripping her wrists and holding her against the wall. Pressing against her," Bobby smiled weakly.

"You saw that at a glance?"

"Yes. I'm... trained, to take things in quickly. A glance ought to be enough to assess a situation."

"Ah yes, your history as an X-men."

"Yes," Bobby said, not sure if he'd been meant to reply to that.

"So, when you saw them, from the fast moving car, what was your 'assessment' of the situation." They'd established that Jean Paul had probably been breaking the speed limit. Bobby had shot him apologetic glances across the courtroom. At least they weren't dwelling on the X-men angle.

"That he was attacking her. I thought he was a mugger," Bobby said calmly.

"So rape was not your first assessment."

"No."

"When did it occur to you that he was attempting to rape her?"

"When I realised his fly was down," Bobby swallowed.

"So the gun, the abandoned underwear, they didn't register?"

Bobby flinched. "Not the panties, but yeah I saw the gun. Gun still made me think mugging, though."

"I see. Is it possible, Mr Drake, that your training has made you, shall we say, hypersensitive to hostile situations? That you may have misread the initial situation and overreacted?"

"No."

"I see."

"The gun kind of gives it away that this wasn't some quick fondle after too many drinks," Bobby said through gritted teeth. "That and the other guy."

"Ah yes. But, from your earlier statement, we were led to believe that these factors did not come to your attention until after you had arrived on the scene."

"Well, yeah. I mean, yes."

"Would you describe for the court what you would have done had you been mistaken?"

"Apologised and left," Bobby said quickly, blushing at the thought. God, he was twitchy. He couldn't imagine what it looked like. He'd only been slightly nervous before, but after four different people coming up to him and reminding him not to start cracking jokes the furious adrenaline had left him shaking like a caffeine addict. He'd bitten Jean Paul's head off for a simple 'good luck'. The guy seemed to have taken it quite well, though. He'd apologise later, buy him a drink or something.

Jean Paul had taken him out again earlier in the week, bought him more coffee and cream cakes. And a copy of his book, when Bobby had asked a little shyly. He'd signed it too, which had made Bobby laugh. They'd talked about the trial, and how it was likely to go. They'd been so confident. It looked so open and shut, even with the few complications. Jean Paul had had to explain why it could be hard to press rape charges if the victim was married to the rapist, and had managed to cut several sharp jabs in at the institution of marriage in general. They'd talked. They'd talked like adults.

"Imagine, Mr Drake, that you were in the following situation. You've been out for a night on the town with your b- significant other." If one more person tried to allude that Jean Paul was his boyfriend he'd scream, right there, in the middle of court. He'd scream. "You've both had a lot to drink. You'd rather go home, but h- your significant other is 'in the mood' and suggests a quick sojourn to the nearest alley. You agree. Perhaps you had a fight with your significant other earlier, or have been having an affair, or something that makes you feel a little guilty. Maybe he's not the nicest person ever." Definitely going to scream, any second now. "You're just beginning to get going when two men in spandex appear and start threatening your significant other. You're scared, Mr Drake. You're scared of these men who are threatening your significant other and you're scared of what he's going to do to you when you get home. How would you react?"

"I'd explain the truth," Bobby said stiffly. "And I am heterosexual, so please stop trying to allude otherwise." Oh look, no screaming. Do I get a cookie?

"I apologise, Mr Drake," the lawyer said, equally stiffly. "If you would care to employ your imagination, can you concede that another person, in the same position, might lie?"

"Yes, but there was a gun and a second person," Bobby snapped. He felt like his blood was boiling. He needed to cool off a bit before he did something stupid. Lucky for him he was Iceman, wasn't it?

The temperature drop was sudden and harsh, and very noticeable. The lawyer jumped when his breath steamed out in front of him. Bobby's stomach twisted as the judge stared at him. He hadn't meant it to be that cold. He could see Jean Paul out of the corner of his eye, looking horrified. Ice was beginning to creep across the witness stand.

"Mr Drake, I believe we were assured that there would be no use of mutant powers in this room?" the judge asked pointedly.

"I, I'm sorry." Bobby could feel the shivers start. He felt like a teenager again, ready to be wrapped in blankets and hot water bottles. He hadn't had so little control over his powers since those days. "I'm trying," he said weakly.

"Mr Drake-" the judge began, but words died in his throat and Bobby iced up completely. Bobby stared down at himself in panic. Was this it? Oh god, oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod.

Jena Paul, from the other side of the room, watched, stricken, as Bobby began to freak out at his inability to control himself and tried to bolt from the stand. His smart shoes and the ice he'd managed to coat most of the front half of the court with were an unfortunate combination and he tumbled forwards. Jean Paul was on his feet to watch him shatter.

It was a horrible moment. Jean Paul was at the front of the room before most people had even registered what had happened. He knew it wasn't the end of Bobby Drake, he'd heard about the exploits in Kurt's father's dimension, but that did nothing to quell the aching cold in the pit of his stomach. Kneeling in the now melting ice he desperately looked around for Bobby's head. It seemed to him that it was the most important part. Surely, if that had smashed too, then Bobby really was no more.

There were screams, in the background. Jean Paul didn't even try to identify who they belonged to. He held a shard of ice between his fingers and watched it melt in the heat of the courtroom. Most of the ice was in fragments so small he couldn't imagine how they had made a human body. No sign of Bobby's head, or any other part. Just millions of shards of ice. He shouldn't have shattered like this. It didn't make sense, not for such a small fall. The ice in Jean Paul's hands collapsed into a puddle.

Jean Paul breathed heavily, each breath shaky and harder to pull than the last. He closed his eyes. This couldn't be right. He squeezed his hands into fists, but he refused to go further. No tears, no screams, no anger. It wasn't right. This couldn't have happened. It made no sense. It wasn't right.

"JP? Uh, Jean Paul?" came a breathy voice in Jean Paul's ear. Almost Bobby's voice, but there was nothing behind it, no weight to it. He opened his eyes carefully.

The ice was gone. There was still some water, but mostly there was a moist cloud, vaguely shaped. Jean Paul's heart went fast even for him, and he knew he was staring open mouthed.

The vapour Bobby tried to speak again, but the sound was too slight. He was obviously still terrified. Jean Paul reached out, not sure of what he was trying to accomplish. Bobby just felt like a cloud, cloud and damp and clingy. Jean Paul pulled his hand back sharply, staring at the drops coalescing on his hand. That was Bobby. Those drips on his hand were Bobby. He fought to stay calm.

The point where his hand had entered Bobby was still a slight dent, and the vapour there began to condense. He watched as Bobby slowly reformed as water. He rippled, still shaking with fear. A liquid Bobby sitting, surrounded by soaked clothes, reached out to touch Jean Paul. When the water hit Jean Paul's skin it felt only like water, and it did not retain its shape, splaying like a vertical puddle. Jean Paul swallowed.

Slowly, the water began to freeze. He could see that Bobby was putting a lot of effort into this. He wanted to call for the air conditioning, to find some way to cool the room and help Bobby. Instead, he watched helplessly as Bobby went cloudy from the inside out, trails and tendrils of ice dancing across his surface like frost on a window. He noticed, blankly, that each state Bobby went through had more definition than the one before. So now Bobby, all ice, if still a little cloudy, sat naked in a courthouse.

"I gotta get out of here," Bobby said, voice raw and wet. "I need to be somewhere cold."

"I understand. I will explain," Jean Paul said, pulling off his jacket and draping it over Bobby, who apparently hadn't noticed his nudity. Bobby glanced down and blushed. Jean Paul's heart tripped at the colour, and he ran his eyes across Bobby to confirm his suspicions. Yes, he was returning to human, and he wasn't fighting for it like he had every other state. It caught Bobby's attention too, and for a split second they both feared the luck would fail and he'd be ice again.

The room was silent as they watched the ice fade from Bobby's body. He sat, almost naked, most skin covered, in the middle of what had been a court proceeding. People stared. Even Jean Paul stared, but he didn't turn his head as the others had.

Bobby stared at the dark spread of ice across his torso. Now he could see how fast his heart was going, and how shallow his breaths were. There was the sound of gagging from somewhere. He appreciated, in some distant sort of way, Jean Paul's efforts to meet his eyes. Others were staring at his chest or staring away.

Jean Paul stood up slowly. "Your honour? I request that my companion be removed from this chamber until he is fit for questioning again."

The judge nodded nervously. Jean Paul helped Bobby to his feet and saw that the young woman they were here for had collected Bobby's clothes, and held them out awkwardly to him. Bobby was still too fazed to be really embarrassed, and by the time his bare behind was shown on local and national news that evening he was safely ensconced in the deep freezer.

A Recess was called, and Jean Paul helped a numb Bobby dress. They spoke to both lawyers, and managed to convince them to drop Bobby as a witness, though they also had to let his testimony be stricken from the record. Jean Paul wanted to take him home personally, but he was still needed. It was a confused mess of bureaucracy and concern, all focused like a tight whirlwind around Bobby, who didn't seem interested in looking further than the end of his nose and responded in one word answers, and then only when absolutely necessary. Jean Paul guided him around with one arm across his shoulders, swearing in French at almost everyone, including the judge, who had come to express his concern for Bobby as a person.

Bobby, after letting people call a taxi for him and see him off, climbed out of the dank vehicle less than a mile down the road and walked back to the mansion. Ice footprints traced his circuitous route home.