Part Eight

A/N: I was going to put this up last night, then read my own author's note, which included a note about the note and why I should not change plans, and realised it was a bad idea. So, a much more truncated note and still forgetting the plan, because so many lovely reviews (and threats of ice dildoes :P) and also because I'm now terrified. What if I don't live up to your standards? What if this now feels too rushed? Should I go and write another chapter to fit in between? Why did I do this to myself?

So, the next chapter. And I may indeed go back and write one to fit in between. Because I'm all panicky now. I'm glad people like it, but oh god the pressure! And the author's note got long and rambly again. Damn.

Bobby had spent the last week forcing himself not to let it become weird. He'd chatted to Jean Paul like a friend. He'd grinned and joked. He'd even brought up the kiss, in passing, as a shared joke. Jean Paul had smiled. Bobby wanted to punch him for that, and he didn't dare think about why.

Things were weird, though. Jean Paul wasn't avoiding him, but he was spending a lot of time with other people. Annie, primarily. Jean Paul had gone to Annie for another check up after his hypothermia and had ended up treating the bed as a psychiatrist's couch. He'd told her everything about the date. He also told her about the migraine that had led to it, and the stomach cramps he'd been suffering since.

"Stress related symptoms," Annie sighed at him. "We have to do something about this."

"It is the middle of term," Jean Paul groaned. "We are stuck here, together. This is all my own fault."

"Because you initiated this friendship?" Annie asked, shaking a thermometer.

"Because I did not set my alarm that day," Jean Paul replied coolly. "I do not regret our friendship."

"Your stomach does," Annie told him. "Do you want an ulcer?"

"He kissed me. On the lips. Unprompted."

"It was a joke."

"And that is why I am lying here, instead of in bed with him!"

Annie sighed and kissed him on the forehead. "You are going to get what you want one day. You deserve it."

Jean Paul snorted. "Deserve? You say that as though there is some justice in the universe."

"Oh, Jean Paul." She chucked a pillow at him. "Pessimists live shorter lives, you know, than optimists."

"Maybe that's because a lot of bad things happen to them?" Jean Paul suggested nastily. "They are being realistic."

"Have you been invited to Bobby's party?" Annie asked coyly.

"Yes, of course. As far as he is concerned there is nothing awkward between us. Why would he not ask me?" Jean Paul said grumpily.

"So…" Annie waved a hand at him. "He'll get drunk. You can take advantage."

Jean Paul smiled despite himself. "You must not put such temptation before me," he scolded. "I shall go mad with frustration, and then how will you feel?"

"I don't know," Annie said thoughtfully. "Will I be able to tell the difference?"

Jean Paul chucked the pillow back.

Maybe Bobby couldn't keep distracting himself forever, but it was his birthday coming up and whatever else was going on that deserved to be a distraction. There would be people, and they'd be obliged to be nice to each other on his behalf. No sniping or snarking at each other. He'd be able to pretend that things were actually okay among all of his friends. Even Warren and Jean Paul would have to at least be civil. And he wouldn't have to think about a single upsetting thing. Not even that certain upsetting thing that tied so tightly to both Warren and Jean Paul. He had better things to think about. Like balloons, and cake, and presents.

Bobby loved birthdays.

It was all set up at The Robin. Food, and presents, and a great deal of alcohol. Even a blind eye for the few guests who might just be a touch underaged. There had been a seating plan, at one point, in a vague attempt to keep people like Jean Paul and Warren away from each other, and Lorna and Alex (neither of whom Bobby had intended to invite, but for some reason they were coming anyway), and whoever else, but it had turned into a mess as Bobby and Annie tried to reconstruct the various arguments and factions. Eventually Annie had thrown down the piece of paper and declared they might as well have a separate table for each person.

Later, sitting next to an overexcited Carter, Bobby wondered if Annie's idea hadn't been a sound one. Some people were refusing to even pass plates. Jubilee was doing her best down her end, and Annie at the other end. Hank was keeping up a very lively dialogue with Warren to keep him from noticing the dirty looks Paige was shooting Jean Paul. Emma Frost was ignoring the cold looks she was getting from, well, everyone, and Rogue and Remy looked about to launch into another of their famous fights. Scott, hardly the most popular person there either, was awkwardly stuck between Alex and Lorna, who hadn't stopped glaring at each other all evening. Carter seemed to be the only actually happy person there. At least the food was good.

Bobby knew no one would blame him for getting absolutely hammered.

They did presents before Bobby was unable to walk. He had ooh'ed and ahh'ed and burst into fits of laughter as appropriate, or as probably appropriate. That was the thing about being drunk. It was hard to tell when you were overdoing it on the appreciation. But he was appreciative. There was a card from Carter, and a book from Annie, and a collection of computer games from Kurt and a gun from Logan, which had scared a few people. Jubilee had given him a huge bag of glitter and a piece of paper that he wasn't going to allow anyone else to read. Those who had seen the pranks dreamed up when the two got together exchanged nervous looks.

Hank and Warren had been exchanging proud looks for a long time before Bobby reached their present, and so he was surprised to find Scott's name on the card as well. This had been organised a while ago. Bobby looked at each of them in turn, holding their gaze but unable to figure out what the three had concocted. The gift itself was small. It was… it was keys. Bobby's eyes lit up.

"Motorbike," Scott told him.

"Motor… bike," Bobby breathed.

"I think perhaps we ought to take those off you," Warren grinned, leaning over. "Just until you're actually fit to drive."

Bobby swiftly tucked the keys in the pocket of a jacket given to him moments earlier by Jean Paul. "Mine. My motorbike."

Presents over, more alcohol appeared. The tables were cleared away and replaced by a pool table. Annie left, taking a slightly drunk Carter back to the mansion. She hadn't been too happy about that. The kid had been funny though. And so nice to Bobby. He'd asked nicely, and, well, he'd made Bobby a card. No one had done that since he was about eight. He missed Annie's company, but at least Alex had gone with them.

He was so drunk. It was funny. Bobby grinned around the room. Kurt and Logan were playing a vicious game of pool. Hank and Warren were still chatting, though now Paige wasn't watching Bobby the tension had lessened. Lorna had disappeared, probably with that stripper again, who'd been hired for a party in another section of the bar. It seemed like a good time to go around collecting birthday hugs.

Hank and Warren were first, well used to this tradition by now, and he even hugged a slightly reluctant Paige. Bobby felt a little guilty, since he didn't really have anything against Paige other than her age. She couldn't see that, though, because as far as she was concerned she was a mature adult, and until she had the gift of retrospect she'd continue to believe so. Bobby knew it perfectly well.

Jubilee had interrupted his little pity party with a warm kiss, which he returned with rather more passion than she'd probably expected. He held her.

"Bobby?" she murmured.

"We need to hang out more," Bobby told her. "I've missed you."

She giggled. "You're drunk," she accused.

"I know I am, but what are you?" He stuck his tongue out.

"Absolutely pickled," she squealed. "Logan is so not happy with you."

"I don't care." He pulled a face. "I'm getting birthday hugs."

"Are you going to ask him for one?" she teased, making Bobby laugh so hard he found himself sitting on the floor. Jubilee tittered and tottered away, hardly more able to stay upright than Bobby himself.

Since getting up was a lot of effort, Bobby stayed low and crawled across the floor. It was a bit sticky in places, but not too bad. He knew who he was going to claim hugs off next, and it wasn't Logan. But still a Canadian. The connection made him laugh again, and he stopped under the pool table to catch his breath. Watching the heavy boots and bare blue feet circle around him almost made him dizzy. He was saved by an elegant hand with perfectly manicured nails.

Bobby crawled out slowly, and was helped to his feet by Emma Frost, who kissed him lightly on the cheek. He wasn't going to try and take the liberties with her that he had with Jubilee, not without a few more drinks in him at least.

"Well, Robert, enjoying yourself?"

He nodded mutely.

"Did you really need to get so intoxicated to do so?" she cocked an eyebrow.

Bobby sighed. "Hell yeah," he said simply.

She laughed lightly and sipped from her Manhattan. "I do see why. You know, this party is rather less rowdy than I thought it would be."

"Yeah, it's goin' 'kay," Bobby said. He frowned. "Or words to that affect," he enunciated clearly.

"Perhaps you ought to lay off for a bit?" she suggested.

"It's not a'though I get hangovers," Bobby smirked. "One quick change and whoosh," he waved expansively.

"Of course," Emma smiled. "And you resented the things I taught you to do with your powers."

"I have more hugs to collect," Bobby told her solemnly. "If you get sick of the other people I won't mind if you leave."

"Oh, nonsense. Having everyone and their mother look at me like the Whore of Babylon is so amusing."

That was the thing about Emma Frost, Bobby decided as he stumbled away. You never knew if she was actually joking or not. Or, perhaps you did, usually, but not when you're drunk. A lot of things like that got a bit confusing when you were drunk. And that was why it was great fun, because you could blame damn near anything on alcohol. And that was why he'd attached himself a little too zealously to Jean Paul.

"Bonsoir, Bobby," Jean Paul smirked indulgently.

"Salut," Bobby grinned at him. "Birthday hugs."

"I see."

"You're warm," Bobby told him, pressing slightly closer. Loud warning bells were going off in his brain, and he pulled away reluctantly. "Having fun?"

"Yes," Jean Paul lied.

"Drink more," Bobby told him, grabbing a beer from a nearby table and pressing it into his hand. Logan snarled at him. "You could talk to Emma. She's cool."

"I can't talk to you?" Jean Paul asked.

Bobby beamed at him. "You make me feel special," he told him. "Do I get a birthday kiss from you too?"

"You are collecting birthday kisses as well? How greedy!" Jean Paul forced a laugh.

Bobby leant up and kissed him warmly on the lips, mouth slightly open, wet with beer.

Jean Paul's brain took moments too long to react and Bobby was pulling away. He leant in quickly and reinitiated the kiss. Bobby opened his mouth and drove Jean Paul insane. Wet and messy and very drunken, but still a full kiss. Jean Paul reached around Bobby and pulled him in to a tight embrace, but Bobby broke the kiss and stepped back. Jean Paul let his arms fall and tried to remember how to breathe.

"That was…" Bobby looked almost cross-eyed as he tried to work out what had happened. "That was like kissing Jubilee," he managed eventually. "Woah."

"I, I…" Jean Paul spread his hands helplessly. He could feel eyes on him, and glanced over Bobby's shoulder to see an amused Emma Frost and, to her left, a curious Hank and fuming Warren.

Bobby laughed suddenly. Jean Paul let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. God, he really needed a holiday.

"You shouldn't be sho single," Bobby told him. He reached up and touched Jean Paul's lips. "We gotta do this again some time," he added weakly. "I… I gotta sit down." He grabbed Jean Paul's arms and swayed.

Jean Paul guided him to a seat as Hank and Warren came over. "I will get you a glass of water," he said self consciously. Bobby nodded and blinked heavily.

Hank sat next to Bobby as Jean Paul disappeared in the direction of the bar and Warren stood over him. Bobby breathed deeply and tried to keep the good dinner down.

"What was all that about?" Warren broke the silence first.

"Birthday kiss," Bobby shrugged. Warren looked unimpressed. Bobby sighed and leant back, glancing over towards the bar. He saw the flash and silver blur of a coin being played with faster than the eye could see and a host of memories came back to him. He licked his lips nervously.

"If there is anything you want to say to us, Bobby…" Hank prompted gently.

"There's… a possibility that-" Bobby stopped himself. "I think I…" No, not right either. He turned and looked at the bar again. He was drunk, he reminded himself. He could say what he liked, and if he regretted it that badly in the morning he could always take it back. Hank and Warren were used to that. And the last week had been hell for him.

"So," he said eventually, "I've got a crush on Jean Paul. What's new with both of you?" He grinned.

Hank looked unsurprised, but Warren was rather more apoplectic.

"He's, he's… a git!" Warren managed eventually. "He's arrogant, and smug, and a know it all, and…"

Bobby was actually pleasantly surprised. He knew Warren had no problems with homosexuality per se, but he'd always had some doubts about what he'd do if someone close to him came out. Someone he'd known for a long time. This was okay. Warren simply didn't like Jean Paul.

"He's Bobby's choice," Hank said mildly.

"It's not, it's hardly, I mean…" Bobby stuttered himself to a confused stop. "It's probably just one way," he said miserably.

Hank chuckled. "Oh, I rather think not. Not from what we just observed."

Bobby scowled. "I'm drunk," he insisted. "That was… I'm drunk."

"Is he?" Hank smiled.

"He took advantage of Bobby!" Warren managed. "Bobby's drunk. Bastard."

"I really like him," Bobby insisted abruptly, now more worried about his friend's reputation than his own. "He's not taken advantage. I like him." Hank snorted at his confused grammar, but Warren didn't seem quite so amused.

"You're drunk, Bobby." Warren took him by the shoulders, but was careful not to shake him. He'd had too much experience of drunk Bobby to make that mistake again. "You don't mean any of this. You're just… lonely. You're not gay."

"I'm not gay," Bobby repeated. "But you of all people ought to know that I do like men."

The way Warren's face changed colour was startling. Hank moved carefully away. Bobby swallowed heavily. Warren's eyes locked with his and some unspoken argument took place. Warren spun on his heel and strode away, grabbing Paige by the arm and yanking her from her conversation with Jubilee, dragging her behind him as he stormed out.

Bobby stared after him. "I… I promised I'd never bring it up," Bobby said brokenly.

"It will be okay, my friend," Hank reassured him, trying not to be hurt that his friends apparently shared some secret without him. He squeezed Bobby's shoulder. "Whatever it is, you will make it up."

"What just happened?" Both friends jumped at the sound of Jean Paul's voice. He held out a glass of water.

"Stuff," Bobby said coldly. He took the water and drank most of it in one swallow. "Thanks," he added, and hiccupped.

"You are welcome," Jean Paul said. He looked questioningly at Hank, but the blue Beast just shrugged.

Bobby hiccupped again and stared at the now empty glass. "Oh," he said very quietly. And then he was pelting across the room, shoving through the heavy doors marked with the traditional stick man. Jean Paul moved to follow him, but Hank held out a large arm.

"Let him go," Hank said. "Bobby has never been able to hold his drink."

"What happened with Warren? Was it… Was it my fault?" Jean Paul asked nervously.

Hank shook his head slowly. "As far as I can deduce, it is related to something that once occurred between Bobby and Warren." He paused, and gave Jean Paul a very calculating look. "Perhaps you ought to ask him yourself," he said softly. "He might, in fact, be more comfortable explaining the circumstances to you."

Jean Paul sighed. "Can you tell him I left, and I am sorry?"

Hank looked concerned. "So soon?"

"I…" Jean Paul couldn't find a suitable excuse. "I suppose I am not feeling very sociable."

"I think this party is winding down," Hank offered. "I will tell Bobby you have departed."

"Merci," Jean Paul said.