Part Eighteen

A/N: See, not dead!I'm even halfway through the next chapter. Having no internet for three weeks really kickstarts the creative flow. One thing to mention, since I noticed someone commented on it in the reviews: I am English. I use English spellings. I will, on occasion, use English words and phrases, though I try to avoid it when I know it's different in America. So, yes, they're not misspellings, they're just different.

Jean Paul's door was lying on his carpet. Bobby stared openly for several seconds, catching the attention of a team mate who happened to be walking past.

"Logan opened it up," Kurt told him, pausing to lean against the wall next to Bobby. "Nurse Annie wanted to make sure our friend was still breathing."

"Still... Oh."

Kurt smiled reassuringly. "He is fine, mein freund. Angry, but only minor injuries."

Bobby wasn't listening. He had iced up, and was staring through his hands with a sick fascination.

"I have heard what happened, though I was not present." Kurt placed a hand on Bobby's shoulder, shivering only slightly. "If he was in your situation, would you not worry about him?"

"No... I mean, yes, obviously, but I wouldn't betray his confidences like that," Bobby said quietly. The temperature began to drop.

"I don't think you are ready to speak to him yet."

Frost had formed on Kurt's fur. He couldn't have taken his hand from Bobby's shoulder if he had wanted to. Slowly, Bobby turned his head to look at him.

"No," Bobby agreed softly. His voice was strained.

Kurt forced a brief smile. "You could always talk Miss Frost into changing his memory," he joked.

Bobby grimaced. "I shouldn't be seriously considering that now, should I?"

"Nein," Kurt said, shocked. "No, you should not, mein freund."

"I concur, mein freund," said a voice from inside the room, a predilection for French stretching and rolling the Rs.

Kurt looked from one man to the other, noting that the look they were exchanging was as cold as the air around them. With a considered tug, Kurt pulled his hand from Bobby's shoulder, trying not to wince at the blue handprint of fuzz left there. His palm smarted.

"I shall... I shall go," he said quietly, backing away. He resolved to warn Annie as soon as possible, though he walked away rather than teleport. He needed to count the number of rooms along this side of the mansion so he would know which window to position himself below, just in case.

Warren passed Paige in the corridor, apparently without even registering her presence. She stopped and turned to stare after him as he strode away.

Deep in thought didn't begin to cover the concentration Warren was focusing on his problems right now. The rug had been pulled out from under him, and in his head he couldn't fly. Time to go and see if Hank would catch him.

Unlike Bobby, Warren hadn't spent so much time in the labs. He still considered Hank one of his oldest and dearest friends, but chemicals made him nervous. Also, he admitted to himself, he had made the most of being the most attractive of the male X-men, while Bobby and Hank had had to settle for girls-next-door and second best, when they were given the opportunity at all. Warren had considered himself worldly and mature and every bit the billionaire playboy, and hadn't been able to relate to two awkward youths still scared by the more beautiful girls.

And boys, he reminded himself. Bobby liked boys. Even then, which felt a little strange, but had to be true.

Hank opened the door almost as soon as he knocked. Another change to get used to, that huge blue feline exterior. It was still Hank, though. Warren knew Hank might doubt that sometimes, but none of his friends ever did. He could be a pink and purple polka-dotted Walrus, and still be Hank underneath. Maybe the smile had more teeth in it these days, and pointier ones, but it was just as warm and broad.

"Ah, Warren. This is a somewhat rare occurrence."

Warren grimaced. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You are always welcome," Hank told him.

"Oh, I know. I'm sorry I don't take advantage of it often enough," Warren explained. His smile was awkward and a little embarrassed.

"Well, I appreciate you coming now. In fact, your timing is extremely fortuitous," Hank said, leading him into the lab with one huge paw on Warren's arm.

"Really?"

"Would you mind if I took a sample of your blood, my friend?"

Warren, whose mind was already possessed with thoughts of Bobby, caught on quickly. "You think I can help?" he asked.

"It is an avenue I have not yet explored," Hank said cautiously.

Warren almost asked why, but remembered his recent behaviour. He hopped up onto the examination bed and rolled up a sleeve, much as Bobby had done many a time. He kept silent while Hank drew blood, not entirely trusting his voice to maintain his pride.

"Bobby and I have made up," Warren said while Hank studied the sample under a microscope. He knew Hank would have done the same thing many times since Warren's secondary mutation kicked in and felt safe distracting him slightly.

"I am most pleased for the two of you," Hank said, sounding it.

"Did... did he tell you why we fought?" Warren asked softly.

"No, my feathered friend, he did not. An unusual break to his loquaciousness, prompted, he told me, by a promise he made to you."

"Yes." Warren couldn't kick his legs like Bobby did, since his feet touched the floor, but he found himself bouncing one leg instead. He saw Hank looking at him, and wondered if Hank made the connection too. Hank's indulgent smile said he did. "Yes," Warren repeated. "I... I could tell you."

"Do you want to?" Hank asked softly, abandoning his usual prose.

Warren stared at his knees. "I talked to Bobby last night."

"Yes, you mentioned that."

"I never told anyone about what happened between us," Warren said with a wry smile, "even him, you see?"

"Bobby's a talkative person," Hank observed.

"He's gone to talk to Jean Paul, and make up."

"I hope that goes well for him," Hank said with a sigh, taking his glasses off and polishing them with a corner of his lab coat. "From what I know of the other man, though, Bobby may find himself at a dead end."

Warren grimaced. "He can do better," he said.

"I do not think that is what is going through his mind right now," Hank admonished gently.

"I know," Warren sighed. "I guess he's not exactly spoilt for choice. Still..." He looked up at Hank and forgot the end of the sentence. Hank was watching him, all of his attention on him. Listening like a good friend. Warren knew he'd been ducking around what he'd come here to tell Hank. He still couldn't think of a reason for doing so, but after years of friendship he knew that the less reason the more need.

"It was just after we all arrived here. Those communal showers. I caught Bobby jerking off and... and I... I joined him." Warren flinched. "I mean, we did each other. And then I freaked out and forbade him to ever mention it again. He was just such a little kid, you remember? I felt like a pervert. Especially since I'm not into guys. It was just an experiment, and I used him."

"So you bottled it up," Hank said. "You didn't force Bobby to, though. No matter what you made him promise, Bobby's attempts to repress his sexuality were of his own devising."

Warren wanted to object, especially after Bobby's plaintive accusations that morning, but whether it was his respect for Hank's opinion, or something he had already known to be true himself, he knew Hank was right.

"He knows he has my support now," Warren said, nodding. "I may have made a mess of it before, but I think we're clear now."

"I am glad for you both," Hank said. Warren slid off the bed and stepped over to him, wrapping him in a hug with both arms and wings. Hank hugged him back, nose damp against Warren's collarbone. It made Warren smile.

When they released each other Hank went back to his microscope. Warren could see in his quick movements and rippling fur that he was excited about what he was doing. It made Warren agitated too, and he couldn't make himself stand still. His long fingers could do things Hank's paws could not, and he set himself to work helping Hank in any way he could: handing over scientific tools, twisting knobs and pressing buttons, exchanging slides under the microscope, pipetting blood into water and water into blood, and flying straight out through the window to find Bobby as fast as he could.

"You can consider our relationship over."

"But, but..."

"If it helps," Jean Paul said caustically, "you can tell yourself you broke up with me."

"And how did I do that?" Bobby snapped.

"You threw me out of a window!"

"That wasn't intentional!"

"My broken ribs do not care. I will not stand to be abused, Robert Drake. I do not care if you are dying. I will not be abused, by anyone."

Jean Paul folded his arms. Bobby could tell it was hurting him by the way his shoulders tensed, but Jean Paul was never a man to let a little pain get in the way of a good dramatic gesture. His chest was bandaged tightly, though there were cuts on his stomach and arms that remained visible. Annie must have deemed them shallow enough to leave.

Bobby had expected this to be hard. He'd messed up enough relationships in the past to know that there were a few things that were hard to recover from. Fights on this scale were one, as was physical violence. He knew he wouldn't forgive someone, and Jean Paul had an infinitely shorter temper.

He hadn't brought flowers or chocolates. Standing there, though, he wished he had brought a cup of coffee. It was the sort of gesture that might actually have mollified Jean Paul's anger. A really good cup of coffee.

"I... I see," Bobby said, defeat evident in his sorrowful voice.

Jean Paul's heart was breaking, and he unconsciously pressed one hand to his chest, his broken ribs sending screams of pain around his body to distract him.

"Bobby, I can not stand to be abused, you see?"

"No, I do, I really do. God, just as everything else was beginning to work out!" Bobby ground his teeth in frustration. "Of course I screw it up."

Jean Paul let his arms hang loose now. Some of the cuts itched terribly, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. He understood Bobby's feelings completely, and that only made it worse. The first long term, promising, relationship in years. Except there had never been much chance of a future, had there? He couldn't let that change his resolution, though. It was as much a matter of principle as anything else.

"Robert," Jean Paul sighed. "Robert."

"I know," Bobby interrupted. "It's unforgivable. I know. I wouldn't forgive me."

"I am sorry, mon cher. I am."

Jean Paul shook his head and turned away, wrapping his arms around his waist and staring out of the window. A flash of bright wings suggested Warren was out flying. This afternoon, Jean Paul remembered, he had flying lessons of his own to teach. As bitter as the thought was, he suspected he'd have to ask Warren to take them for him. He couldn't really fly in this state.

"Do... do you believe me when I say I'm sorry?" Bobby asked, somewhere behind him.

"Oui," Jean Paul said. "But it is not enough. It is not something you can take back."

"I know." A pause. "Fuck."

"Oui."

"I'll... go." Jean Paul heard Bobby sigh heavily. "I'll go. I'm sorry, Jean Paul. I... I hope you get better soon."

"I... I wish you the same," Jean Paul said haltingly.

He heard Bobby laugh bitterly as the door closed.