Part Seventeen

A/N: Seventeen chapters and someone finally points out I've misspelled the title? Da-mn... Anyway, we're moving past the angst now, and nobody's dead. There's hope yet! And yet at least another third or so of the fic to go. And I'm sitting here having sequel ideas 0.o

ETA: Cut the Paige bit. Polka Dot's right, that's overcomplicating it. In the original plan hte fight was a lot less violent, and occured much sooner. As it is I've had to replot most of the ending now, because the fight kind of took any impact away from what was going to happen. Either I have to get them back together again or I leave them seperated. That fight has now screwed most of the rest of the fic. Damn. If (when) I edit and rewrite chunks of this, I may revert to the original plan and take off the ending of the fight.

"Jean Paul, I know you want to be alone and nurse your wounds in private, but I really think you ought to let me at least take a look."

Nurse Annie fretted outside Jean Paul's door. If she had been a little more confident, and Jean Paul a little less homicidally inclined right now, she might have added something along the lines of, "We all know you're just sulking in there. Why not sulk comfortably?" But the growl and thump of something large and heavy hitting the door when she'd first called his name had deterred her. Jean Paul wasn't in a place where irritating him into submission was an option.

"Jean Paul, you know you healer faster than most. What if your bones set wrong? I don't know what's broken, or how indeed you hauled yourself up here, but if you don't let someone take a look you may find you can never run again, just because you were stubborn."

Still no reply, and Annie was running out of ideas. She had only one card left to play.

"Jean Paul, Doctor McCoy would like to examine your wounds too."

As before, silence.

"Is he going to have to apply force?" Annie added.

The door remained closed. Great, now she'd actually have to fetch Hank.

"I could open that door fer yer," a voice startled her. She glanced over to see Wolverine leaning against the wall behind her, arms folded across his chest.

"Any help would be appreciated," Annie admitted.

"Oi, Johnny," Wolverine called. "You know yer boyfriend's sleeping in Wings's bed right now?"

When no reply came to this Annie and Wolverine exchanged concerned looks. Logan unsheathed his claws and slid them first through the lock, the through the hinges. Annie frowned, but he ignored her as the door fell through the doorway.

It didn't hit the carpet. Looking around the room Annie felt her heart in her throat. Wolverine hauled the door from the lump that propped it up. Annie moved quickly to the bal of sheets, kneeling beside them and noting the blood stains with a nurse's eye. Jean Paul wasn't amongst the soiled bedclothes, but he wasn't anywhere else to be seen either.

"If he's mobile enough to shoot out of here while I was talking to him, perhaps he doesn't need my help," Annie murmured.

"He's here," Logan grunted.

"Oui, I am 'ere," a voice came from the ensuite bathroom, clipped and angry. "I am fine."

Annie was in the bathroom before even Logan could react. Jean Paul was sat on the edge of the bath, a bandage wound around his chest and another in the process of splinting his arm. His eyes were bloodshot and he glowered at Annie as she stepped over the explosion of a first aid kit.

After a quick scan, she said, "Well, it's not as bad as I thought it was going to be. How many ribs do you think you've broken?"

"I am fine," Jean Paul repeated, but he let her take over tending to his arm.

"Everyone knows yer fought," Wolverine said, stuck in the doorway due to the size of the room. "There's rumours yer dead."

Jean Paul huffed a laugh, but it was obvious he was in too much pain to do much else. Annie glanced at his back and flinched. Going through a window backwards could do that to a person's skin.

"Yer hiding," Wolverine said bluntly. "Yer gonna pretend none of this ever happen?"

"I am going to try," Jean Paul said defiantly, lifting his head to make eye contact with Logan. "Until I see him again I am going to put the whole matter to one side."

Logan shook his head, almost smiling. "Yer gonna be a stubborn prat, aren't yer?"

"Oui." Jean Paul almost smiled. "I shall play to my talents."

"Yer'll want to talk this out with him before the end of the day, or you two'll never talk again."

"Is he really in Worthington's bed?" Jean Paul asked, voice dangerously detached.

"He's got stuff he has to talk out with Wings too, or he'll never talk to any one again."

Bobby woke up in Warren's large bed, draped with a burgundy sheet. It felt like Warren had stood on the other side of the room and thrown it at him. Was he scared of catching gay cooties or something? Bobby's throat hurt.

He sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He'd iced up again at some point during his sleep. It was happening a lot these days, when his breath grew short or his heart struggled to beat. He'd left water marks on Warren's sheets. He didn't care.

He wasn't sure he wanted to get up. Getting up implied a new day, and a new day meant a morning after, and a morning after meant he'd thrown Jean Paul out of a window the night before.

He buried his head in his hands with a deep, shuddering breath.

The windows were huge in this room. Opened outwards. Warren was framed by them, watching.

The whole room was large, really. Had the air of a penthouse apartment. Ensuite, over there, and the desk is the same size as Bobby's bed. The bed is the same size as Bobby's room. None of them had really changed rooms much since they arrived. First come, first served. Bobby's room still had that cramped student feel, everything in reach from the bed. Hank had the room near the labs, also small. He couldn't remember Scott's room, couldn't even remember if he'd seen inside it.

Jean Paul's room had Jean Paul in it.

"I think it's for the best, you know," Warren said with forced casualness.

He had a tray that he placed before Bobby on the bed. Bobby stared at the cereal and fried breakfast, orange juice and coffee. Stared up at Warren. Sucked the moisture from the food and left it crispy and dry as dust.

"I need to talk to Scott," Bobby said a little while later, when Warren return to brush the few remaining errant crumbs from his covers.

"I think he'll understand," Warren reassured him. "And Hank was very certain that you would be okay."

"He has me drinking this vile thing," Bobby said, gesturing vaguely. "I think it's got some kind of plant in it."

"A surprising amount of medicines do," Warren smirked.

Bobby flopped back onto the bed. "You wanted to talk?" he said softly, only half remembering the end of the night.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. You are going to dump Northstar after this, aren't you?"

Bobby closed his eyes and reminded himself that he didn't have to try and breathe past the lump in his throat in this form. His chest hitched.

"Is that it?" he breathed. "Is that all?"

"I don't know what you mean," Warren said stiffly.

"Aren't you going to tell me I'm still in love with you again?" Bobby snapped, but without much anger. He couldn't bear to get into another fight.

"We had that talk," Warren said.

"No, we had that fight."

"So let's avoid it, okay?"

"Why wouldn't you let me talk to you?" Bobby burst out, flinging himself back upright and making Warren jump back in surprise. "All I wanted to do was talk, Warren. Warren, I, Warren..." His words dissolved into sobs. He pressed his finger to his eyes and seemingly into them, ice melting and moving to give both of them the illusion that he was reaching into his head. "I wasn't in love with you, Warren, I wasn't."

Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him up to his knees. Bobby clung to his friend, trying to ignore the goosebumps and shivering and the way they uncomfortably stuck together. This would be his whole life soon. If Jean Paul wanted to kiss him he'd have to be prepared to lose the skin from his lips, like he'd breathed on the lock on his car and stuck.

Bobby forced himself back to as human as he could manage. Ice snaked up his throat and a patch had emerged at the base of his spine, a sign that it had gone straight through his abdomen. He couldn't eat now if he wanted to.

Warren pulled away. "It's okay, Bobby," he said distantly. "Everything's okay."

Bobby shook his head, partly in disagreement, partly trying to clear it.

"Everything going to be fine," Warren said, voice taking on a slightly strained edge. "Really, Bobby, everything's going to be find and go back to how it was, you understand? It's over. Everything's alright."

"Warren, we jerked each other off in the shower." Bobby smiled grimly.

"That was a long time ago!" Warren near-shrieked. "Forget it, Bobby. Everything's normal, okay?"

"Normal means I get turned on by your naked body, Warren."

Warren collapsed into a sitting position on the bed, silenced. His mouth still moved occasionally.

"Warren, I like men. You are a very attractive man, and I know you know that," Bobby began to chuckle dryly, but the laugh died in his throat. "I do find you attractive," he went on solemnly, "but I'm in love with Jean Paul."

"I know," Warren said.

"So... Why?" Bobby asked.

"Why what? Why do I want you to dump him? He's a prat."

"Why would you never let me talk to you?" Bobby murmured. "I needed a friend to talk to. That was all."

"How was I meant to know that?" Warren snapped. Their eyes met. "Bobby, we barely knew each other. How was I meant to know what you wanted from me?"

Bobby shrugged awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You could have asked," he pointed out. "And you had to know me well enough to know I'd have laughed it all off as some weird joke, if I thought you were freaking out."

"Then that's what would have happened, and you'd have been just as screwed up as you are," Warren pointed out.

Bobby sighed. "Didn't you want to talk too?"

Warren stretched his legs out in front of him, apparently fascinated by his feet. Bobby slipped his hand into his best friend's.

"I almost went to the professor and asked him to wipe the memory," Warren said softly. "I mean, he almost certainly knew what had happened. Then I thought Jean, but how do you even begin a conversation like that?" He squeezed Bobby's hand. "Talking about it meant thinking about it, which meant thinking about me." He looked over at his friend. "You see why I asked you not to say a word?"

"You're worse than me," Bobby laughed. "Quite an achievement."

Warren smiled back, but it was slightly off. He let his eyes rake over Bobby's face, taking in every unshaven hair, every slight crease in the skin, the firmness of the jaw and the thinness of the much abused hair. Bobby Drake was a man in his mid to late twenties. He might play the kid, but he wasn't one. Warren swallowed.

Bobby had grown up, but he still played the kid as though he hadn't changed at all. Which begged the question: had he been playing all along? Had he ever been a kid?

Warren leant over and placed a very gentle kiss on the corner of Bobby's mouth. Bobby watched, and obliged, but didn't react in any other way Warren could divine.

"You were just this little kid," Warren said quietly. "Just this kid who was kinda goofy and funny and young. I just felt like I'd taken complete advantage. I mean, you were a kid. You couldn't... No, I thought you couldn't just lust. I thought you had to be in love with me, because you were a kid and way too innocent for any of that other stuff. And I abused that love because I wondered if another guy's hand would feel like my own or like a girl's."

"But now you know better?" Bobby murmured. He flushed slightly. "I mean, about me, not about the hand thing." He paused. "What was the result of that experiment?"

"It felt like child abuse," Warren snorted. "The only way I could live with myself was to promise myself I'd never let anyone else treat you, or anyone else I know, in the same way."

"You could have done better there," Bobby smirked. "I come out of most relationships feeling used. Most of the time I can't even work out what possessed me to enter them."

"That's just normal, Bobby. What I did was never..."

"What?" Bobby challenged him. "Consensual sexual gratification? Okay, so maybe I did have a bit of a crush on you back then, but I wasn't waiting for you to get down on one knee for me."

"I know," Warren snapped. "I know. That's what all this is about, isn't it? You didn't love me. You don't. Everything was all just fine and no one did anything wrong and I've just been a bastard to you."

"I do love you, War, just like I love Hank and Scott and Jubilee and Annie and most of the people here, except a bit more because you're you and I've had longer to love you, you insecure twit." Bobby wrapped an arm around Warren's shoulders. "You really didn't do anything wrong, and I'm glad to know you've been looking out for me."

Warren shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I love you too, in that way."

Bobby chuckled. "is this all getting a bit too 'male-bonding'?" he teased.

Warren met his eyes and a wicked look came over his own. Bobby tensed against him in delicious anticipation. Warren's lips touched his and Bobby opened his mouth immediately. Warren's tongue traced the top of his mouth, his hand sneaking into Bobby's hair.

Warren broke the kiss. Bobby was smiling slightly.

"I have to go and sort things out with Jean Paul," Bobby said softly, reaching around Warren's wings to give him a quick hug.

"Yes, you do that," Warren agreed, ruffling his hair with the hand still buried there.

"No, I mean... I love him, Warren. I love him. I have to go and make things right. And... and I'd like to know you're behind me in that."

Warren opened his mouth, but before he could speak a strange smirk sealed it again.

Bobby laughed out loud. "Not like that, you pervert!"

Warren grinned. "Of course not," he teased. More seriously, he went on, "I am behind you, Bobby, and beside you and with you in every way. I'll never like him, but you do, and I guess I'll have to live with that."

"See now, it wasn't so hard," Bobby needled him. "And just to make certain, what are my feelings for you?"

"I was going to say purely platonic, but that kiss sure as hell didn't taste like it."

Bobby looked worried, so Warren chucked a pillow at him.

"I'm joking, Bobby. I know you love him, and it's nothing to do with me. I just also know that he completely doesn't deserve a guy like you, so forgive me for getting a little protective occasionally, will you?"

"A little jealous, you mean." Bobby threw the pillow back. "He's not going to hurt me just because he's a guy. I mean, compared with women like Lorna, I think he'd have to pull out all the stops to even come close."

"I guess I just know first hand how cruel we men can be," Warren reminded him.

"So do I," Bobby pointed out. "After last night... Look, I've got to go. I'll see you soon, 'kay?"

"Yeah, see ya."

And so Bobby wandered through the doorway with a renewed sense of purpose and a genuine smile.