Part six
A/N: I know about as much about how to treat hypothermia as I do American courts. Actually, I think I know rather more, but now I'm worrying I've mixed it up with Pneumonia, or similar.
"Stupid bloody stubborn idiot stupid Canadian damn fast I-can-do-anything speedster..." Bobby muttered as he half carried, half dragged the weighty older man through the school corridors. His litany preceded him, and when he reached Annie's domain the door was already open, Annie standing just inside. She didn't look angry or upset, to Bobby's surprise. It was more a sort of amused resignation.
"Can you get him into that bed, Bobby?" she asked calmly. "He ought to be warmed up slowly. The blanket is heated already."
"I didn't think he'd actually stay until he passed out," Bobby said in slight bafflement. "I mean, who's that stubborn?"
"Oh, Jean Paul is and more," Annie laughed. "You really don't know him that well yet, do you?"
Bobby grimaced. "When we talk, I talk," he admitted. "Is there any relation between amnesia and hypothermia?" he asked.
Annie frowned at him. "No, or at least, not for Jean Paul."
"Well then, I guess we won't be talking much any more," Bobby slumped against a wall. "He doesn't strike me as the type to take someone ripping apart his book and life too kindly."
"Oh dear, did you?"
"And him, and his opinions of Xavier," Bobby sighed. "I went off on one at him."
"I don't think he'll blame you," Annie said warmly.
"Yeah... I'll see you la-"
"No," Annie grabbed his shoulder. "You think Jean Paul frozen his butt off just so you could go back to sitting in the fridge?" She raised her eyebrows.
"No, but..." Bobby whined like a small boy. But then, Annie had one of those of her own, and knew perfectly well how to deal with that behaviour.
"Sit," she commanded. "Eat," she told him, handing him a bowl of soup. "Talk," she said, sitting down opposite him.
"What about?" Bobby sniffed. Annie managed not to look too amused. "Oh, fine. Look you know it all anyway. Turning to ice, going to be single forever, life sucks like an electrolux."
"Have you spoken to Beast about the ice yet?" Annie asked. "He might be able to do something, you know."
"He might also ask why I didn't approach him about it before, and I'd have to sit and stutter and make us both miserable," Bobby said.
"He knows you," Annie said with false confidence. "Do you really think so poorly of your friends?"
"No," Bobby pouted, shifting in his seat.
"Well then," Annie said briskly, in full on mother mode. "You just need to make an effort, that's all. You could have plenty of friends."
"I do have plenty of friends. I'm not starting a new school," Bobby pointed out dryly. "It's like this debacle with my father. I leave off seeing him because it's hard to know what to say when I've left off seeing him for so long."
"I can't believe you can avoid seeing these people," Annie flapped her hands in the air and fond exasperation. "You live in the same house!"
"I once fell out with Hank, while there were rather less of us here, and managed not to see hide nor hair of him for a whole week," Bobby informed her.
"What was that over?" Annie asked, honestly curious.
"I can't remember, something petty," Bobby said dismissively. "Always is," he added bitterly.
"Well, you go and talk to him. He won't make the effort if you won't," Annie said firmly. "You never know, he might be able to cure you entirely, and that would solve your women worries too, wouldn't it?"
Bobby laughed. "You 'met' Lorna, didn't you? She is pretty representative of most of my girlfriends. Either they're insane or not human, or I'm an idiot. I'm good at being an idiot. I thought I had it with Opal." He sighed heavily. "It doesn't matter what I'm made of, Annie, I'm still a failure in that area."
"I think you're sweet," Annie told him. "You're funny, and you're definitely attractive."
"Exactly," Bobby said mournfully. "I've got everything going for me and I still screw it up."
"Oh, sweetie," Annie pulled him in for a hug. "You'll meet someone, you will. I know for a fact that there are people in this very building who find you very attractive."
Bobby smiled weakly at the attempt, as he saw it, to cheer him up. "That's nice," he said, still hugging her. It was nice, warm against her starchy apron, head on her shoulder. He kissed her cheek and remain slumped over her, resting his weight against her. She kissed his hair and squeezed him.
"Am I interrupting something?" a cool voice asked nastily.
Bobby sighed and pulled away from Annie. "Morning, Alex," he said before he could come up with something cold to say. He had to do that sometimes, let the automatic politeness instilled since childhood leap in before his mind could come up with what he really wanted to say.
"Hello, Bobby. Out of the freezer already? I thought you had more conscience than that."
"Oh shut up, Alex," Annie scolded him. "Jealousy does not become you."
Bobby snickered despite himself. "Why are you here?" he asked lightly.
"I came to see my lover," Alex emphasised. He knew as much about Bobby and Lorna's relationship as the bachelorette guests did, and rather more besides. He enjoyed rubbing it in sometimes, though he wasn't a particularly cruel person. Some personalities were bound to clash, and Bobby's bitterness towards him after Lorna chose him the first time hadn't helped early impressions. Over the years they'd avoided each other for the most part, which had worked then but now left them to estranged to even see the point in attempting a reconciliation. They had formed their impressions.
"How professional," Bobby sneered. "I brought in a patient."
"Jean Paul passed out after last night?" Alex asked, voice suspiciously soft. "Everyone noticed how the two of you disappeared at such a similar time. And no one would begrudge you a little 'mutual comfort'. I know how lonely you are, Bobby."
Annie held her breath, but Bobby didn't rise to the bait. In fact, he didn't respond at all. His eyes turned to the still unconscious form resting in the bed.
"You know perfectly well that Jean Paul was with me last night," Annie said coldly. "Grow up, Alex."
He flinched. "Sorry, Annie," he said softly. "I was just hoping we could spend some time together. I missed you last night."
Annie smiled and shook her head. "Why don't we take a picnic supper?" she smiled. "I'll leave Carter with, well, Bobby, would you mind keeping an eye on him?"
"Sure," Bobby sighed.
Alex reached out and took Annie's hand, pulling her over. She shot a glance at Bobby. "Would you keep an eye on Jean Paul, just for a few minutes?" she asked, hating herself for hurting Bobby like this.
"I know you won't be long," he said, enjoying the dirty look Alex shot him as the couple left. It was nice to get the last word sometimes. He sat back in the visitor's chair and stared down at Jean Paul, serene in sleep. It was sleep now, not the disturbing emptiness of unconsciousness. Bobby reached out and brushed a flick of hair from Jean Paul's face, where it was making his eye twitch. "You're not bad lo- no, you're damn good looking," Bobby said quietly. "And your ears are part of that. I wonder if they bother you, sometimes? Maybe before you knew you were a mutant they worried you. I'd have had them operated on. I had my ears pinned back as a child. I worried that I wouldn't be able to get a girl." He laughed quietly.
Jean Paul stirred in his sleep, but Bobby was confident that he couldn't hear him.
"If I swung that way I'd be swinging all over you," Bobby said, not caring how it sounded. He knew what he meant and it wasn't as though anyone else could here him. Still, he laughed at himself. "If I thought you were interested I'd... no, that's hardly fair. I'm desperate, but you've been a good friend and I'm not going to use you like that. Though sometimes I wonder if... You're quite the tease, JP, and I think you know it." Bobby grinned at him. "I know you've been watching me, but I'm not sure if you're not watching out for me. Can't see why you'd want to, but you seem to have made a habit out of it. I appreciate that." he reached out and brushed Jean Paul's cheek again, but there was no hair there this time. "I bet you use loads of products to keep yourself pretty. All those poofy hair gels and girly face creams."
"Girly?" Jean Paul breathed, accent heavy. "Poofy?" he said with rather more strength. His eyes snapped open and Bobby pulled his hand away to rest on Jean Paul's pillow, since pulling it back into his lap would draw attention to where it had been. Still, Jean Paul turned his head and focused on it, and Bobby felt his stomach curdle. Now he was due the tongue lashing he'd escaped earlier.
Jean Paul pulled himself into an almost sitting position, though his arms shook with the effort. He was breathing heavily, though he sounded like he had a bad cold. Bobby kept himself still. Jean Paul was frowning, but he couldn't focus properly. Bobby felt compelled to speak.
"You've given yourself hypothermia, and probably worse," Bobby explained. Jean Paul slumped down again. He was still obviously angry, but Bobby wondered if he was certain he knew why. "I'd apologise, and try and take back what I said earlier, but would it make a difference?"
"Non," Jean Paul admitted tiredly. "I..."
"...hate me?" Bobby suggested. "Feel free."
Jean Paul, woolly headed and deeply groggy, struggled to find a solution to his current quandary. He was upset, and hurt, and furious. Even Bobby Drake being Bobby Drake wasn't going to change that. But he was still Drake, and he was still attractive, and he was looking so accepting. To forgive him would not only be hard, but it would be out of character. He'd already forgiven Bobby more than he would anyone else. He still wanted to punch Bobby. But Bobby was going through a hard time. He'd been completely out of line, inexcusably so. He was obviously sorry.
Jean Paul closed his eyes. "I will decide how I feel about you when I am well," he said muzzily.
"A few days grace," Bobby sounded apprehensive.
"When I am well," Jean Paul began, "I will..." His words dissolved into a hacking cough. Bobby looked around for Annie, but she was still absent. Why couldn't Alex be quick in the sack? And terrible, obviously. It would be great if he was terrible in bed. The idea almost brought a smile to Bobby's face. Jean Paul's miserable choking brought him back to reality, and he found himself doubtfully contemplating the idea of interrupting Annie and Alex. It would be funny, pointing and laughing at Alex, but he considered Annie a friend and that wasn't what you did to friends.
"Annie ought to be back soon," he said helplessly. "Don't start coughing up blood, please."
"Water," Jean Paul managed.
"Oh, of cou- no, wait, I don't know," Bobby stopped in anguish, hand hovering over an empty glass. It began to fill despite his indecision. "I don't know if it's right. You might have water on the lungs, or something."
"I did not drown," Jean Paul snapped, overcoming his coughing attack long enough to snarl at Bobby. "Water!"
Bobby gave up and handed him the glass. "It's cold," he warned. "I'm sure that's not good."
Jean Paul didn't curl up and drop dead having gulped down the chill water, which Bobby took as a positive sign. He still shifted in his chair uncomfortably and tried not to worry that not only had he ruined his friendship with Jean Paul but he'd also been the agent of his death. Right now that awkward conversation with Hank sounded like heaven. Bobby stared around the small sanatorium, looking for anything that might be what he wanted for Jean Paul. Tissues, hot water bottles, chicken soup, something, anything. Instead, he saw Annie, and his sigh of relief was audible.
Jean Paul was ill for several days, but his hyperactive metabolism helped him get past it faster than most. Bobby managed to time his visits for when Jean Paul was asleep, so he'd wake up to some wilting wild flowers from the grounds, or a slightly melted bar of chocolate. And, when he'd given up on anything more personal, a book in French that Bobby had obviously chosen for the language, not the content. But Jean Paul was touched, and his desire to break Bobby's nose prior to forgiving him abated a little.
During this time Bobby also made a point of finding and talking to Hank. Bobby had sat on what had once been an examination table, though Hank's new fingers could no longer handle the scalpels, and kicked his feet against the supports.
"Hank, I'm feeling damn bad," he said. "If you could be human again, would you do it?"
"In an instant," his blue friend said. "You've always known that."
"I guess so," Bobby sighed. "But I feel like scum asking you to find a way of stopping this happening to me, when you took it so... stoically."
"I would not call my deliberately erroneous pronouncement particularly stoic," Hank pointed out.
"You think I've not come out with stupider stuff when I've been dumped?" Bobby raised an eyebrow. "I just never said it to a reporter."
"My mistake indeed," Hank smiled grimly. He held up a needle. "Do you mind?"
Bobby held his arm out and rolled up his sleeve. "Feel free. Am I a coward for not taking this like a man? I feel I ought to be grinning and sticking out a jutting chin and telling people how fine I am."
"You were," Hank told him, "which was an indication that all was not well. I do not mean to imply you are a coward, friend, but rather that you are inclined to wear your heart, as they say, on your sleeve."
"I'd rather not have one at all," Bobby sighed, flinching as the needle went in. "I'm a coward compared to people like you and Kurt, and I feel like shit for it. Even Warren couldn't attempt to pass for human for a while. Doesn't hide it now, like everyone else."
"You chose, when it mattered, not to hide what you were," Hank reminded him softly.
"Crashed and burned for it too," Bobby rested his head against the warm silky fur of his friend's shoulder. "If you could stop that kind of thing happening, I'd be grateful."
"Like many of us undergoing secondary mutations you may simply have to relearn to control your powers," Hank told him. He wrapped a hairy limb around Bobby and pulled him into a warm embrace. "It is hard, I know, but you have been through so much worse," he said reassuringly. "You are a strong person, Bobby, though you never see it yourself."
Bobby breathed deeply, relieved that at least Hank's scent remained the same. Warm and musky and like old books, in a way. When he was human, when he was simian and now he was feline. He nuzzled Hank's fur and knotted his hands in it.
"You remind me of Aslan," Bobby said indistinctly. "Ever read those books?"
"Yes. Based on a mix of neo-Platonian ideas and Christianity." Bobby could feel his hair ruffled by the hot damp breath.
"Aslan was Jesus, wasn't he?"
Hank chuckled, low and deep, a derivative of a purr. Bobby could feel it rolling around his chest. He grinned and pulled back far enough to see his friend's broad smile.
"I didn't mean it quite like that," Bobby laughed. "It's just, it was a Narnia moment. I could defeat the white witch if you asked, and rule the kingdom. And I can do this." He squeezed Hank again, arms not even meeting around the huge chest. "They're always hugging Aslan in those books. It's one of the primary past times."
Hank squeezed him back, always careful of his own strength. He stepped away, leaving Bobby's arms empty but still open, and placed the blood from the syringe into a test tube. Bobby grimaced in anticipation and pulled his shirt off, baring the dark patch of ice. Hank studied it critically.
"Do I try another intravenous extraction, or shall I take a solid sample?" he mused aloud. He cocked his head to one side. "Have you been picking at it, Bobby?"
Bobby ducked his head. "Yeah, a bit. Scratching, mostly. The edges itch."
"I do not want to crack it," Hank debated, "and I do not want to risk withdrawing fluid from the internal organs, but nor would a sample identical to that I have be of any use. Quite a conundrum. Still, your input relating to the irritation is certainly useful."
"Doesn't it mean I'm fighting affection, or trying to grow skin over the top, or something?" Bobby asked, trying to swallow the hope.
"Infection," Hank told him fondly. "You, my friend, would never fight affection."
Bobby smiled and nodded. "Too true."
Hank looked at him, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again and looked away. Bobby frowned at him. He turned back with an instrument Bobby didn't recognise, carefully tucked between two large fingers. It was something you might see in a dentist's, Bobby figured, but from his point of view that could be said about any surgical tool. He hadn't had particularly positive experiences in the dentist's chair. Carefully, silently, he scraped a small sliver of ice from Bobby's chest into another test tube. Then, after more wordless consideration, he probed the edges of the ice in a similar way, though he could not prevent a little of Bobby's blood joining the ice in the third test tube. All three were placed in a chilled receptacle, to keep the constituent parts as they were.
"Hank?" Bobby cocked his head to one side. "Aslan?"
The corner of Hank's mouth curled upwards. "Yes, Bobby?"
"You were going to ask something," Bobby prompted softly.
"Well, yes, I suppose I was," Hank admitted.
"Ask me," Bobby pushed. "I took out all my furious resentment on Jean Paul, so whatever it is, I'm not going to chew your head off for it."
"You were upset with Jean Paul?" Hank asked.
"Are you trying to change the subject?" Bobby demanded.
"Actually, no," Hank chuckled. "I am... curious, as to the nature of your relationship with him."
"Why?" Bobby blinked at him.
"No, you must answer my question." Hank waved a finger in his face.
"Well, okay, but you answer mine. I'm sure yours is the more interesting answer," Bobby told him. "We're friends. Your turn."
"'Friends' is a very generic term. I would rather you were more specific."
"Specific how?"
Hank's broad face contorted. "I am not positive," he admitted. "I just feel that perhaps there is another element to it. You are unlikely comrades."
"Yeah, I guess we are. Not got a huge amount in common. He's just... he's being nice to me, the way you all were, when I was homesick, way back when. He reminds me a bit of Warren, though I can't see either liking that. I can talk business with him, and he's an objective point of view for most things, and I can really let loose on him. Really rant and rave."
"You feel you can't with us?" Hank's voice was slightly taut, but closely unemotional. Bobby flinched.
"Hank, you know I love you. But Jean Paul is... bitter. Angry. Really inclined to agree. I don't feel guilty at bringing him down, but I feel really guilty right now." There was a slight bite to Bobby's last words, and Hank got the message.
"I am not jealous," Hank reassured him. "I am pleased for you."
Bobby snorted.
"No, I am," Hank said more firmly. "You must not bottle things up, Bobby, and we both know you do. I encourage you to pursue this."
"Really?" Bobby sounded unsure.
"Of course," Hank embraced him again. "There is no monopoly of friends. You have always enjoyed the company of others. I was worried for you when you began to withdraw, even from us. This is a positive step for you."
"You're just doubting his motivation," Bobby said, muffled against the thick fur.
"I wonder, sometimes. I don't know him though."
"Ask Annie. She wouldn't tell me if there was an ulterior motive, but she'd probably tell you." Bobby unburied his head to look eye-to-eye with Hank, noses touching. "What on earth do you think it would be though? Free accountancy?"
Hank opened his mouth and closed it again, smiling at Bobby. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps."