Part Five
Bobby had smiled and shrugged and sighed at people until they left him alone. Of course it was a pity that it had happened, and he hadn't been able to help it, and such a shame the trial had collapsed. He nodded and didn't say much and avoided people like Hank and Warren who would have been on him in seconds, determined to cheer him up.
Jean Paul had shouted and spat and snarled at people until they left him alone. It wasn't a pity, it was a travesty, it wasn't a shame, it was a scandal. And when Bobby disappeared it only added to his fury that no one seemed to want to look for him. The boy was probably distraught, and these people weren't supposed to be his friends.
"Sit," a stern voice commanded.
"What?" Jean Paul snapped distractedly. Bobby wasn't outside, he'd checked the grounds twice already. He had a sinking suspicion that he knew where the boy was now. He had to get his coat. Who was holding on to his arm?
"Jean Paul, sit," Annie repeated firmly. "You're going to leave Bobby alone for five minutes."
"They have abandoned him!" Jean Paul turned to her.
"No, he's abandoned them. Sometimes people want to be alone, Jean Paul. Don't blind yourself to that."
"You think I am only concerned because of that stupid crush," Jean Paul rounded on her. "That is what you think of me."
"Don't be an idiot," Annie rolled her eyes, and shoved a hot mug of black coffee into his hands. "You're exhausted, and you're moody and I don't doubt the sincerity of your concern but you're in no state to be allowed to talk to anyone, let alone Bobby Drake."
"Why not Bobby?" Jean Paul pouted, allowing himself to be forced into a chair. He was tired, and he was in a bad mood, he could acknowledge those. And the coffee was good.
"Because he's just as tired and moody as you are," Annie told him, helping herself to her own mug of coffee. "And right now he's more interested in blaming himself for each and every of the world's ills than pretending to be rational about it for the sake of others. And he'll snap at you, and you'll snap back, and by the end of it you won't be talking to each other any more and you'll regret that, won't you?"
Jean Paul shrugged. "Might be for the best," he said dully.
"I think you two have the potential to become really good friends," Annie persisted. "I've been watching you together since that date-"
"Not a date," Jean Paul interjected.
"-that date last week. Of course it's going to hurt, letting yourself grow that close to him and knowing you can never lay hand on him, but it's better than getting on his bad side. Do you really want him threatening to kill you again?"
"He had cream on the tip of his nose. It almost broke me," Jean Paul said softly.
"I'll bet," Annie smirked. "He's got a lot of sides, that boy. Cute, sexy, moody, funny..."
"Stop torturing me," Jean Paul batted at her. "I am going to bed."
"Did I say sexy?" Annie grinned. "And today, naked. Yes, sexy. Vulnerably so-"
"Shut up!" Jean Paul laughed. "I am going to bed!"
"After all that coffee?"
"Oui!"
"Sure you wouldn't rather stay up a bit? 'Dangerous Liaisons' is on."
"... I do like that film."
"Of course you do. And you're full of coffee."
"True. D'accord, I am convinced."
Annie grinned and took his hand, leading him into the staff common room. Jean Paul glanced around, imagining it before there had been so many members of staff. Back when Bobby Drake was a fresh faced sixteen year old, hanging out in here with a furless Hank, a shy Warren and a lanky Scott. He doubted they'd ever watched 'Dangerous Liaisons', but 'Cruel Intentions' might have made an appearance, possibly. Just for that infamous kiss.
"Naked Bobby Drake," Annie whispered in his ear as they sat down. He threw a cushion at her.
It was midmorning before Jean Paul realised he hadn't seen Bobby. He was probably teaching, of course, or in his room, or the Danger Room, or out for a walk, or in Hank's lab, or...
He didn't bother hunt down a coat, since he was in the kitchen already. He opened the deep freezer briskly and walked in, still holding a hot mug of coffee. The door swung shut behind him, but the freezer had an internal light switch that didn't leave him quite in the dark. The single bulb wasn't sufficient to light such a huge place, and Jean Paul guessed correctly that it had recently been restocked. Pushing between hanging carcasses, feeling like Lucy pushing between fur coats, but in a much more macabre tale, he blinked at the shadows until he saw what he was looking for.
Curled in a corner, looking like an ice sculpture, was Bobby Drake. He lacked a shirt and shoes, but was otherwise dressed. His eyes were shut and his breathing slow and deep, but as Jean Paul approached his raised his head and blinked at him.
"Ah, you," Bobby forced a smile.
"I was worried. Have you been in here all night?" Jean Paul said, sitting down beside him and trying to ignore the ice water seeping through the seat of his trousers.
"Yeah," Bobby sighed. "I want to be alone."
"I do not think you should be," Jean Paul said cautiously. Bobby shot him a narrow-eyed glare.
"I'm not suicidal, JP."
"I know, I just..." Jean Paul spread his hands helplessly. "I am your friend, non?"
"Oui." Bobby slumped forwards. "You're a good friend."
Jean Paul was surprised at how pleased he was to hear that, and horrified at the accompanying guilt. Even now he was admiring Bobby's shoulders, his lean chest, firm abdomen. Would a good friend be doing that? Would a good friend have set out to become such simply because of a physical attraction and not from any particular liking? And sitting there, in the half light, Jean Paul knew it was only a matter of time before Bobby worked it out. The pseudo-dates and the almost-stalking. The willingness to let things slide with Bobby that he would have taken offence at with anyone else. The fact he was sitting in a badly lit freezer in the middle of the morning making half hearted attempts at conversation when Bobby obviously honestly did want to be left alone.
"I missed the news," Bobby said quietly. "Was it bad?"
Jean Paul wanted to lie. "The whole event was caught on tape," he said wretchedly. "Hank is studying it, to see if he can work out what happened to you."
"You didn't answer my question," Bobby said mildly.
"Yes, it was bad. After you left we lost the case. My evidence was poor, it was my fault." It stung to say that, but it was both true and comforting, so Jean Paul made himself do it. "They are talking about banning mutants as witnesses. They already have guidelines for telepaths, they are thinking of expanding it. Some people claim you did it on purpose, to stop the trial."
Bobby's head dropped to his chest, and he shuddered, once. Jean Paul could see him fighting tears.
"It was not your fault. Any sane person could see that," he said softly.
"What about... what about the ice?" Bobby asked, voice cracking.
It took Jean Paul a moment to work out to which ice Bobby was referring. "There was some discussion of that, as well," he admitted.
Bobby scratched absently at his chest. "Thanks," he said softly. "For not dodging the questions or lying." He was still staring determinedly at the floor, shoulders hunched forwards and legs drawn up. It was breaking Jean Paul's heart, and he wondered if he could really still claim the attraction was just physical. He was walking into all sorts of complications if it wasn't, but he supposed that at least heart ache was character building.
"Let me take you out again," he said, siding closer. "It cheered you up before."
Bobby shook his head. "No, thanks. I don't really want to be cheered up. You might as well go."
Jean Paul shook his head. "I will not leave without you."
"It's the freezer, not an Artic expedition," Bobby observed wryly. "Go, I'll be fine."
"No."
Bobby blinked at him, honestly confused. Jean Paul caught himself staring at the delicate ice eyelashes. He hadn't known water could be made to do that, but he supposed Bobby didn't have to rely on crude tools to sculpt himself.
"I am staying until you are ready to leave," Jean Paul insisted.
"You'll freeze. You're not even wearing a jacket!" Bobby protested. Jean Paul shrugged, a hint of a smile touching his lips. Bobby saw the twitch and frowned. "You don't that just by being stubborn you'll get me ought of here. You'll have to leave sooner or later, Jean Paul. I can wait."
"As can I."
"No, you can't!" Bobby snapped, but Jean Paul just shook his head calmly. Bobby gave up on a bad job and hoped Jean Paul wasn't as stubborn as rumour made out. "I read your book," he offered eventually.
"Really?"
Jean Paul seemed... something. Amused? Flattered? Something warm and pleased. Bobby wondered if he would lose that capacity for being warm when he became ice permanently. He felt colder, emotionally, recently. Crueller, harsher, number.
"You've certainly led an interesting life," Bobby said.
"True. I had to leave out many events, though. Some because of the government, some because they simply would not fit. And some because no one would believe them."
"Tell me about it," Bobby laughed breathlessly. "If it wasn't for Thor no one would believe I'd been captured and tortured by a Norse god."
Jean Paul's eyebrows shot up. "You too?"
"Oh, not you as well. I don't feel special any more," Bobby pouted.
"Mon Deui, why us, why them?" Jean Paul smirked. It had the opposite affect to the intended one, as Bobby slumped forwards again. He had been so close to lightening up mere moment before, the beginning of that infamous sense of humour creeping back. Jean Paul's attempt to join in killed it, and in retrospect the Canadian could see why.
"Bobby, I know," Jean Paul went on hopelessly, "that it is always 'why us'. I... I can not offer a solution to that, except to say everyone must ask themself that, at least once, no matter what their life."
Bobby snorted depreciatingly. "Not over Norse Gods," he pointed out. "It's one thing to bemoan relationships and work and family, but-"
"Are those not what you are most upset about as well?" Jean Paul cut in.
"Well, yes," Bobby admitted. "But it's different. How many other people have to worry about those things because they are turning into a walking block of ice?"
"There are other, analogous, problems," Jean Paul returned sharply.
"Like what? Cancer?" Bobby asked challengingly.
"Yes, for one," Jean Paul rose to meet the challenge. It could not be a happy comparison for Bobby, but it did fit. Jean Paul wasn't about to back away from that. He would tell the truth to Bobby, even if it hurt him. Maybe he'd get lucky and Bobby would stop talking to him. "But there are other possibilities. Wounds and scars, perhaps. Growing old. A loss of self-confidence, maybe from being left by a lover. A-"
"A-nough," Bobby said firmly. "Your point is made. I whine needlessly. Thank you. Goodbye." He saw Jean Paul flinch at his harsh tone, and regretted his words. It was funny: he doubted he'd have felt as bad had it been Warren, or Hank. But then, he rationalised, they knew him well enough not to take his moods personally. And then, Jean Paul was also here. They weren't.
Bobby sighed heavily. "Sorry, you didn't deserve that."
Jean Paul looked uncomfortable. "I think I did," he said softly.
"Well, yeah," Bobby agreed, bitter again. "But if I keep snapping at people like that I'm going to end up icy, alone and with no one to whine to about having no friends to whine to. I just don't want to hear about how I'm like everyone else right now. I want to be different and special and sympathised with. Not empathised with."
Jean Paul shook his head, the distinction between the two words too similar for him. He wasn't sure if this was due to his first language being French or because it was very cold. He was finding it harder to think. The natural vibration of his molecules, the vibration most people weren't even aware of, but he had total control over, was far slighter than usual. He speeded it up again, forced them to vibrate faster, but he still felt slow and sluggish.
"You need to get out of here," Bobby observed reluctantly.
"I told you, I will not go until you do," Jean Paul said grumpily. "What else did you like in my book?"
"Well, I was interested to read about Jeanne Marie. I don't really understand why you are here, though, if you only joined Alpha Flight because of her." Bobby tried to get Jean Paul talking. he didn't want the speedster to fall asleep. That would definitely not be good.
"Xavier asked me," Jean Paul said coolly.
"You don't think he..." Bobby blinked and frowned. "Oh, don't be ridiculous Jean Paul. I realise you perhaps don't think hugely of him, but he's the most moral guy I know."
"His morals are based around his dream, and like all idealists he does not see how others can have morals that contradict his own and still claim them moral. He puts the X-corporation first."
"No."
"Non?"
"No. How long have you been here, Jean Paul?" Bobby asked heatedly. "I have been here ten years. I know him. I know him well. You don't. This is simple, this is true, and I won't stand for you talking about him like that!" Bobby was on his feet, looking down at Jean Paul. "Perhaps you're the one who can't see the morals behind motivations that don't coincide with your own. You put yourself first. I learnt that from your book. You think pretty highly of yourself, don't you? 'I was an orphan...'" Bobby said with mock sadness, "'but I overcame!'" he went on with mock triumph. The pattern continued: "'I was a terrorist... but I overcame! I was gay... but I overcame! I was trashed as an athlete... but I overcame! I was a mutant, but yet again I fucking overcame.'" Bobby spat the last words and was breathing heavily, eyes locked with Jean Paul's.
Jean Paul opened his mouth, already twisted into a sneer before he even spoke, and fell forwards, eyelids fluttering. Bobby jumped back in shock, and then swore furiously.
A/N: more excuses. I've recently switched from MS Word or MS WordPad, so here may be more typos than usual. If you find there are enough to bother you, point them out to me and they'll go away.