Part Thirteen

A/N: As you may have gathered, I'm back from holiday! It was good, not that you care. Only managed to get one chapter written (a problem with it being a good holiday, you see). Updates are going to slow dramatically from now on. There's this whole exam results, university choosing, driving test thing going on. But even if it reaches a point where I'm updating once every three months, remember it's not dead. I don't abandon fics. Trust me, if I've put this much work in to get this far, there's no way I'm letting that work go to waste.

(editted because I forgot to sort out the line breaks. Why FFN can't take stars any more is beyond me)

There were not a lot of people Bobby felt comfortable talking to about his love life right now. Despite his assurances to Jean Paul as they kissed goodnight at the top of the stairs, he hadn't slept well. He'd barely slept at all.

Things were… fast. But then, he'd wanted them to be, hadn't he? He liked Jean Paul a lot. He wanted it to work out, and the more he thought about it the more he was convinced he didn't have a lot of time to spend with the guy. He'd escaped death a few too many times. The ice was growing. Things were… things were insane, and if he died he wouldn't have to deal with that, and everyone would be sorry.

When Bobby thought about it like that he began to worry about himself. He really had to find someone to talk to. Hank seemed the obvious choice, but he didn't want to upset his friend with his new found fatalism. He could talk to Annie, but she might tell Jean Paul. Part of him wanted to talk to Jean Paul about it all. He was easy to talk to, understanding without compromising his own views, generally experienced and someone who cared. But Bobby had closed that door the moment he'd decided to seduce him. How could he go to Jean Paul with doubts about their own relationship?

He offered his class a weak smile as he entered. "Hey, guys."

A variety of 'Hi, Bobby's and 'hey, professor's rang out, though in a class of five it was pretty easy to pick up which came from who. He shook his head at them and let himself fall into his seat.

"Look, I'm not feeling great today," he told them. "Real tired."

"Video lesson?" one of the boys grinned.

"Bingo," Bobby grinned. He grabbed a random cassette from the desk drawer and shoved it into the machine. One of the kids dimmed the lights without moving from her seat, and Bobby settled back in his seat to try and catch a few belated winks.

Each day, he told himself, he would do something he'd been putting off. He might be stressed in the short term, but eventually his life ought to be trouble free, for the most part. He'd feel better then, right? So today… today he'd get his hair cut. Best to start small. He'd visit his parents some other time.

Bobby dozed in fits and starts throughout the lesson. His impression of the video he'd picked was that it was insanely boring, and the narrator was just saying the same sentence over and over again, changing the emphasis each time. Later, he learnt one of the students had looped the tape to see if anyone noticed. He'd been amused.

Bobby stayed in his chair long after the students were dismissed, messing about with paperwork and enjoying the solitude. He kept his mind on the marking or, when it wandered despite his best efforts, on the mundane. While he was in town, getting his hair sorted out, he'd go and buy some sleeping pills. And then he'd go and see Jubilee. He might tell her some of what was going on, but none of the death stuff. Didn't want to bum her out too much, especially after everything that had happened to her. Hey, multitask, take Jubilee into town with him!

He grinned at the C he'd just given some hapless student. A nice, stress-free day ahead of him. No fights, no sex, no news. If he really needed some excitement, he'd get highlights.

"Bobby?"

Or Jean Paul would find him first and his day would be shot to hell.

"Hi," Bobby forced a smile.

"What are you doing in here?" Jean Paul entered.

"Marking," Bobby waved at the desk.

"Oh," Jean Paul said, nonplussed.

"Why are you here?" Bobby asked as lightly as he could.

"Because you are," Jean Paul said cautiously.

"I'm flattered," Bobby said as warmly as he could.

Jean Paul still looked a little confused. "I was expecting to see you earlier," he said eventually, leaning on the desk.

"Why?" Bobby frowned.

Jean Paul couldn't answer that. 'Because I thought you would want to see me' suddenly sounded meaningless.

"Not that it's not great to see you," Bobby said, "but I was about to go out with Jubilee."

"She left with Paige a few hours ago," Jean Paul said. Suspicion was beginning to blossom in his mind. He'd almost suspected something like this.

"…oh." Bobby grimaced. "Well, I still have to go into town anyway."

"I will come with you," Jean Paul persevered.

"I was just going to get my hair cut," Bobby protested. "I've been putting it off for a while. You'd be bored."

"We could get coffee," Jean Paul pointed out.

Bobby stared down at the desk. "I'm still having trouble sleeping," he said. "I don't think coffee is quite what I need."

"You said you would be fine," Jean Paul reminded him sharply. "Bobby, I am worrying about you."

"I'm worrying about me too," Bobby laughed harshly. "I think I just need a few quiet days."

"Bobby, there are subtler ways to avoid me," Jean Paul finally snapped.

Bobby rocked back on his chair. "I'm not avoiding you," he lied. "I like being around you, and you know that."

"I won't allow you to pretend nothing happened between us," Jean Paul warned him.

Bobby's head snapped up. "Pretend nothing happened?" he echoed incredulously. He stood up and pressed his hands to the desk, one either side of a shocked Jean Paul. He kissed him passionately, nudging Jean Paul's legs apart with his body to stand between them. "Why would I want to do that?" he murmured against Jean Paul's lips. He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and glanced at the piles of paperwork on the desk. Jean Paul followed his eyes.

"Ici?" Jean Paul swallowed. "Here?"

Bobby didn't answer out loud. Instead he swept one arm across the desk, sending a blizzard of paper across the room. Jean Paul caught his breath, thrills running through him. He responded more readily when Bobby kissed him again, leaning back as Bobby leaned forwards until he was lying on the desk, eyes alight.

Bobby unbuttoned Jean Paul's shirt and traced kisses down his torso, climbing onto the desk and straddling the older man. After Bobby's nerves the previous night, Jean Paul was a little bemused by this ferocity. Bobby seemed to enjoy initiating these encounters, though Jean Paul was willing to bet he'd be willing to surrender control before they were done, lacking the experience to follow through.

He was right. After some very promising foreplay Bobby's enthusiasm abruptly waned. Jean Paul ground up against him, but Bobby's response was decidedly lacklustre. Bobby kissed him gently, apologetically. Jean Paul sat up carefully. Bobby sat in his lap, interest piqued again as Jean Paul's erection teased the seat of his trousers. Jean Paul kissed him, tongue teasing the top of Bobby's mouth. Bobby sucked his tongue hungrily.

They rocked together, Bobby's legs wrapped around Jean Paul's waist. Jean Paul's shirt was abandoned on the desk, Bobby's trousers were open. Jean Paul slipped his hand inside and groped and massaged until Bobby moaned loudly into his shoulder. But when Bobby had come and recovered, panting, he kissed Jean Paul only once and climbed down from the desk. It took Jean Paul a moment to work out what was happening, and Bobby was in the doorway before he called out his name in confusion.

"Oh, it's lunch time," Bobby said, and left.

Jean Paul sat on the desk, staring down at the neglected bulge in his trousers. Internally he was a writhing, fuming mass of seething rage. The strength of his own anger frightened him slightly. He tried and failed to control his ragged breathing and calm his pounding heart. The blood pressure was just increasing his erection, which upset him further because Bobby had just walked off.

Jean Paul's negative emotions seemed to have intensified since joining the X-men. He suspected it had something to do with his sister, but he wasn't certain if it was her feelings he was picking up on or his feelings towards her fuelling everything else. Sometimes he wondered if she was the only one who needed a psychiatrist's help. It was one thing to bounce sarcasm around and snark at his colleagues, but when he got really angry he couldn't even bring himself to do that. Of course, to get him that angry the infuriating person had to be someone close to him. He wouldn't allow himself to get emotional over any old Joe.

Bobby was too close.

Jean Paul slid off the desk and locked the classroom door. He felt like a pervert. Apparently sex in a classroom was fine, but masturbating? He refused to think about Bobby. He called up faces from the past instead. It only made him even more resentful towards Bobby, but as he recovered from orgasm he felt the bad bleed away with the good, until he was numb.

Bobby was hurting and confused. Jean Paul was perfectly aware of this, and despite some wariness he did want to help. He'd gone through the same, once. He was quite certain it hadn't made him nearly as selfish as Bobby, but he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He passed Warren in the corridor as he made his way to his room. His foul mood darkened. When he reached his private space he had to fight the urge to pace. The floors of the mansion weren't built to withstand a speedster's pacing. He wanted to run. He couldn't run, not in here. He want to fly. He threw up the window so hard it shattered. Shards rained down his arms and he stared as blood began to trickle.

Jean Paul took a deep breath and walked back into the room. He carefully bandaged his arms. He went back and swept up the glass, then found an old newspaper to put over the empty panes. He wasn't going to let Bobby's thoughtlessness do this to him. Or Warren's resentment. They hadn't even fought.

Jean Paul climbed out the window and flew until he could see the curve of the earth. He was angry, he knew, because they were going to fight. He was angry at himself. He had let another relationship implode. It had to be some kind of record though, this fast. He was angry at Bobby, but he knew Bobby would apologise and learn and grow. It was just a matter of venting this anger first, so he didn't take it out on Bobby. If he took it out on him then Bobby would start to get upset in reaction and things would escalate.

Jean Paul screamed. It was empty and breathy, this high in the atmosphere. But he felt better. Once he explained a few relationship rules to Bobby, and demonstrated that he could be supportive, then things would be alright. Right?

He was ready to go down now. Not ready to talk to Bobby, yet, but he could vent at Annie for a little while. She might even be able to cast some light on Bobby's throw-away comment about Hank's news. Last night hadn't been the right time to question that, and now very definitely wasn't. In fact, it was another thing on a long list of things he wasn't going to confront Bobby about, no matter how much he wanted to. Also included in that list were Warren, the ice and coming out.

Bobby couldn't believe himself. Was he trying to make Jean Paul hate him? Did he want to be dumped again?

His first instinct was to run to Hank's lab. He could mope and rant and panic at his friend. Hank would put up with it, and maybe even give him some good advice. But first he'd have to tell Hank what he'd done with Jean Paul. The exact thing Hank had warned him against, and now, naturally, he was reaping the consequences. Hank would find some nice way of putting it, of course, but Bobby was convinced he would feel like he'd disappointed his friend. He would be a disappointment.

Sometimes Bobby really hated his father. He had hardwired multiple rules into Bobby's head years ago. Being a disappointment was worse than being a murderer or even, god forbid, being a mutant. God only knew what he'd think of Bobby's newly explored sexual preferences.

He could no more go to Hank than he could to Warren. He didn't want to be alone, but he'd just deliberately pissed off the person he could most relate to. Life without Jean Paul would be so much simpler, so much smoother. He was so open and proud and self-confident and damned attractive. He terrified Bobby on so many levels. Life without Jean Paul would be so much lonelier. The absence of Jean Paul scared Bobby in ways he couldn't define.

Bobby had to choose which fear to face, but fear made Bobby react in funny ways.

"What do you mean I 'should ask Bobby'?" Jean Paul rounded on his friend. "Do you think I have no reason for asking you?"

"Did you ask him?" Annie asked sceptically.

Jean Paul tried not to throw anything at her. "If I thought I would get a straight answer, I would," he snarled.

Annie held her ground. "Hardly a healthy beginning to a relationship, is it?" She placed her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow at Jean Paul.

Jean Paul grabbed a pillow and began tugging at it, as though he was trying to rip it apart. Annie's confidence was a mere shell now, but she felt that backing down would upset Jean Paul further. As long as he was butting his head against a brick wall he wasn't tearing free and going on a rampage.

"I know," he breathed heavily. "Is this what you think I want?"

"You have to go to him to deal with this. What do you want me to do, act as mediator?" Annie asked sharply.

"He is at a point where he needs help," Jean Paul ground out. "I want to help him, but he will not let me."

"If he wants to go to Hank about one thing, and you about another, that's his choice, isn't it?" Annie wrapped her arms around herself defensively as the pillow Jean Paul had been venting his frustrations on burst into a cloud of feathers. "You're cleaning that up, you know," she added.

"What did he go to Hank about? What news did he receive?" Jean Paul asked desperately.

"Ask him," Annie repeated firmly.

"You know. I know you know!" Jean Paul wailed.

Annie bit back a laugh at his unusual behaviour, amused by the melodramatics.

"Annie," he begged.

"This wasn't even what you came here about," she reminded him, handing over a dustpan and brush.

Jean Paul snorted at her, unimpressed. "I came here about Bobby," he told her haughtily.

"Do you think that whatever Hank might have said to Bobby, which may not even have involved Bobby directly, relates to his behaviour today?" Annie asked, trying to understand how they'd ended up on this tangent.

"Yes," Jean Paul said promptly. "It was something that had obviously upset him yesterday, though he did not see fit to mention it until the very end of the evening."

"Are you sure it upset him?" Annie asked, gesturing pointedly to the flurry of feathers still adorning the room. "I thought you said he'd had an emotional roller coaster of a day, or something. Considering his fight with Warren, fights rather, doesn't that suggest good news?"

Jean Paul blurred and Annie couldn't help but laugh as the feathers he was trying to sweep up escaped into the air again. She watched him chase them for a few minutes, content to let him evade her question, and smiled sympathetically when he finally admitted defeat.

"You can't do everything fast," she told him, finding another dust pan and brush for herself. "It only makes the task harder."

"More haste less speed, I know," Jean Paul snapped, too used to the cliché.

"Do you think perhaps the powers that be are trying to tell you something?" Annie teased nevertheless.

"Are you going to help or just stand there?" Jean Paul asked grumpily. As hard as he tried to cling to the bad mood it slipped from his grasp, and as Annie flicked feathers at him he couldn't fight the smile. Of course she had a point. He'd been giving himself the same advice not much earlier.

Jean Paul sped around the room several times, surrounding Annie in a swirling melee of feathers while she berated him and laughed helplessly.

They met at dinner. Bobby sat opposite Jean Paul, empty tray in his hands. His hair was shorter now, evidence of the haircut he'd mentioned. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. Just as Jean Paul was about to speak for him, the words finally came out.

"I'm such a screw up," Bobby said wretchedly.

"Yes," Jean Paul agreed, "but I'm working on that." He grinned, and Bobby smiled nervously. "No matter what, you are still my screw up."