Part Twenty
Jean Paul wasn't there. Annie said he'd left that morning, tendered his resignation and run. Literally.
Scott was pissed. Bobby knew this, and knew it was as much about him as it was about shirking responsibilities. He appreciated that.
It had been barely a week, but Bobby was drinking the bloody suspension like... like water, and it was beginning to really show its affects. He avoided icing up as much as possible, though most people couldn't tell the difference. Like the ice, the cure was starting in the centre of his body.
Bobby wanted to be touched. He wanted to feel warm, friendly hands on him. All over him. Touched as a friend, as a colleague, as a teacher.
Touched as a lover.
Touched by someone who wouldn't even talk to him.
Bobby swung his feet over the edge of Warren's balcony, trying his hardest to keep his attention focused on his friend and failing miserably. Every time Warren asked, Bobby would rhapsodise about the feeling of air on skin, or some other completely true lies. He hadn't realised how much he missed his sense of touch until he regained it. Hank's warned him he's getting a little obsessive.
"So Paige said- You miss Jean Paul, don't you?"
Bobby blinked and frowned. He twisted around, bringing one foot up to rest on the railing and leaning his elbow on his knee, taking his time before saying anything.
"Paige said what?"
"Paige said I look better in sapphire than sky blue," Warren said, holding up a shirt and screwing his face up at it.
"Ah," said Bobby. "That's what I thought she said."
"You miss Jean Paul."
Bobby sighed and picked at his shoe lace.
"You're not good at subtle, Bobby," Warren told him, discarding the shirts and walking out to join him. "You're pining away here."
"It just..." Bobby sighed again. "If I'd held my temper just a few days longer, you know? He'd still be here, and we'd be celebrating together."
"You can celebrate with u- Oh, wait."
Bobby couldn't help but laugh, and let himself enjoy it. Warren blushed, but grinned.
"What would Paige say?" Bobby grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.
"You'd have to ask her permission first, of course," Warren teased back.
"Where can I find her?" Bobby asked, jumping off the balcony in a show of enthusiasm. Warren collapsed into peals of laughter, and Bobby slumped down as well, laughing not so much because of the bad jokes but because he could make them now.
As the laughter died out Warren beckoned Bobby over to the bed. Bobby bounced over and hopped onto the bed beside Warren, brushing the sapphire and sky blue shirts onto the floor. Warren picked them up immediately, but didn't scold Bobby.
"It's good to hear you laugh like that," Warren told him, busy with the shirts. "I was worried Jean Paul's absence would leave you crushed."
Bobby knew that his friend was using the crumpled shirts to avoid looking at him, and he was fine with it. Warren might be comfortable with Bobby's sexuality now, but he still didn't like Jean Paul and his body language was simply the result of not wanting to hurt Bobby with that fact.
"I'm not dying," Bobby told Warren's wingspan. "That... nothing's going to take that away. Sure, I'm hurting over Jean Paul, though it's not as though I can blame anyone other than myself, but it doesn't change the fact I'm not dying. I'm going to be human again."
"Are you going to look for him?" Warren's voice was carefully bland. Bobby rolled his eyes at Warren's butt.
"I don't know, Warren. I owe him an apology, at the very least. And I like to think he'd at least be interested in knowing that I'm getting better. I don't plan to hire a private detective to hunt him down or set Wolverine on his scent or anything, but if Annie happens to get his phone number I'll probably give him a call." Bobby shrugged, but it was awkward. He could hear the increasing strain in his voice, and wondered if his words sounded as fake to Warren as they did to him.
Warren sighed and turned around, leaning on the dresser. The reflection of his wings in the mirror, combined with the wings themselves, gave the impression of a bed of feathers immediately behind Warren. Bobby wanted to touch.
"He'd hang up the moment he heard your voice," Warren said, not altogether gently.
"Probably," Bobby admitted. "But I need him to know how sorry I am."
"So he'll forgive you and come running back."
Bobby squirmed.
"Admit it," Warren said. "The reason you're not cut up about it is because you haven't admitted to yourself it's over. He's not going to reappear. He's not going to be receptive to any calls or letters. He's not going to forgive you, Bobby. He's not a forgiving sort of person."
"I know," Bobby scowled. "You think I don't know?"
"You've got to let yourself hurt, Bobby," Warren soothed, coming to sit beside Bobby again and putting an arm around his shoulders. "You've got to accept that he's gone."
"I've got to accept," Bobby mimicked Warren cruelly, "that I've fucked up yet another relationship. Gee, thanks."
Warren squeezed his shoulder. "Look, you're perfectly capable of managing a relationship. You just have, well, bad taste. And you were under insane amounts of stress."
"You think?"
"If you're going to be like this," Warren said, taking his arm back and resting his hand on the bed behind him, leaning his weight on it and staring up at the ceiling, "then I don't know why I'm even bothering."
"Neither do I," Bobby said bitterly. "I wish I had turned to permanent ice. I wouldn't have to worry about relationships then. Do you know how many times I've done this, Warren? I don't. I just know that every single time, it was me. I screwed up every single relationship. I thought maybe it would be different with a guy, but no. I can't do this. I can't do this any more. Hell, I couldn't do it in the first place."
"You're being-"
"Being what?" Bobby cut in sharply. "Ridiculous? Unrealistic? Maybe the only reason I've been clinging to these stupid fantasies about Jean Paul coming back and everything being as it was before is because otherwise I'll stop taking the damn suspension. I'll stop taking it and go to the Sahara."
Warren cuffed him, hard. Bobby slumped down on the bed.
"Idiot," Warren muttered.
Bobby nodded and curled into the coverlet, burying his face into the silken sheets and trying not to cry.
"Idiot, idiot," Warren repeated, softly this time, and affectionately. He began to run his fingers through Bobby's hair.
"Five minutes ago you were honestly happy to be on the path to recovery," Warren reminder Bobby in gentle tones. "You said it had nothing to do with Jean Paul. You've been happy for days. You can't tell me you really wish you were where you were weeks ago."
"I know," Bobby murmured.
"You'll get over him. He's not the only gay man in existence, Bobby. You'll find someone else. You're, you're how old now? Twenty six?" Warren frowned, and Bobby turned his head to stick his tongue out at him. He couldn't believe Warren had actually forgotten his age. "Sorry, six," Warren corrected. Bobby almost smiled. "Look, you're young. We're young. We've both got time to get it wrong another hundred times before we get it right. And... and getting it right will be even better, for getting it wrong so many times."
"You're just trying to dig yourself out of that hole now," Bobby accused. "We're both going to get it wrong a hundred more times, you said, and it's going to suck a hundred more times, if what you meant."
"Well, maybe," Warren shrugged awkwardly. "But that's not to say you won't get it right tomorrow."
"What if I got it right this time?" Bobby asked. "What if this was right, and I screwed it up?"
"We're not talking about soul mates here, Bobby," Warren said tersely. "I love Paige dearly, but if we're being completely honest I don't see it lasting forever. She's going to want to explore more relationships, and I'm going to have to let her go. And that's going to hurt, but I'll just have to deal with that. I'm not bailing out now so it hurts less, and I won't swear off relationships for life because of it. I'm going to enjoy the time we have together now."
"I'm not you, War," Bobby groaned. "It won't be your fault when Paige leaves. If Paige leaves. That's the difference."
"Like fuck it is," Warren snorted.
"I want him back," Bobby whispered. "You don't know how badly I want him back. He's not dead, Warren. He's not in another dimension or another part of the universe. He is precisely one phone call away, and even if I did ever work up the courage to make that call, you're right, he'd hang up on me. I want him back more than I ever wanted Polaris or Annie or Opal. But I threw him out of a window." Bobby pushed himself upright and leant over Warren, staring into his eyes. "I threw him out of a fucking window, Warren. That goes above and beyond any other fuck up I've ever made. And this is Jean Paul Beaubier. He's the kind of guy who'd hold a grudge for the rest of his life against someone who insulted his choice of clothes that day. He is never. ever. going to forgive me."
Warren sighed heavily, and reached up to stroke Bobby's hair away from his eyes. And it was hair, which caught Bobby's attention for a split second and almost distracted him to happiness again.
"I really can not understand what you see in that guy," Warren said. "Why in hell do you want to be with someone that petty, and vindictive, and stubborn?"
"I could ask Paige that," Bobby retorted.
"Ouch," Warren said dryly, unperturbed. "Look, I said I'd stop bothering you about Jean Paul, and accept it, but that was when you were still together. What are friends for if not to join in mutual bitching about exes?"
"You're camper than he ever was," Bobby observed.
"Thank you. Are you completely unable to accept emotional support?"
"Of course," Bobby said with a self-deprecating smile, finally allowing himself to be won over, a little. "What do you think all the jokes are for?"
"Dammit, you're nuts," Warren grunted, hugging Bobby tight to his chest.
"We all are," Bobby agreed, sinking into the hug and returning it fiercely.
"Next time someone rips your heart out and stamps on it and you need a hug, just ask, okay? Don't pretend you're fine just because something else has happened to you and you don't want to look ungrateful."
"I thought I was a better actor than that," Bobby admitted. "I wasn't... I wasn't lying to you guys, okay? You were kinda right, I wasn't admitting the whole truth to myself."
"I may have screwed up helping you handle the beginning of this relationship, but I'm going to get you through the end of it," Warren said, voice oddly thick, as though he was near tears. "We're nearly lost you, Bobby, and I spent most of the time, knowing you were dying, being an utter dick. That's not how you treat best friends."
"It's how I treated everyone," Bobby reminded him. "Don't think I can't relate."
Warren squeezed Bobby tightly for a moment before loosening his grip slightly. His arms remained looped around Bobby's waist as he leant back, eyes a little watery and bottom lip a little wobbly.
"You're an amazingly forgiving person, Bobby. I've been an asshole for years, and you never batted an eyelid. I screwed you up. And you're apologising to me for bottling stuff up so I wouldn't worry. The only reason it's your fault your relationships crash and burn is because you forgive faults in other people that they wouldn't forgive in you. If Jean Paul can't forgive you, then he doesn't deserve you."
Bobby listened to Warren and took a moment to think about what was being said. He ran his fingers through Warren's feathers as he thought and realised, with a little swallow of guilt, that he probably would have forgiven Jean Paul if the roles were reversed. He'd forgiven a complete betrayal of trust so easily. He'd forgiven... he'd forgiven everyone, over the years. He didn't feel like a particularly forgiving person, but maybe that wasn't the point. Maybe he did only forgive people because the other option was severing his ties with them, was walking away so they couldn't hurt him any more, because he was clingy and needy and emotionally screwed from years of rejection.
"I think... I think I need to be less forgiving," Bobby murmured into Warren's shoulder. "It's not for the right reasons and it's not doing me any good."
"Sometimes you have to cut the strings," Warren agreed.
Bobby took a deep breath and let it out, savouring the mere ability to do so. A smile tugged at his lips, a sincere one.
It's just as well this revelation came to me now, isn't it? And not, you know, a few months ago," he chuckled. "You'd be out in the cold in seconds."
Warren smiled. "I have good timing," he said.
After speaking to Warren, Bobby had felt a strange sense of closure come over him. It wasn't something he was used to after a relationship. He could admit he'd screwed up, but he could also, for possibly the first time ever, admit that he wasn't the only one. He'd spent the rest of the day thinking about forgiving, and had come to the conclusion that his problem wasn't just forgiving people for the wrong reasons: it was also being scared of being forgiven.
Robert Drake picked up the phone and dialled a number he'd had drilled into him the day before he started school for the first time. His voice still had that crystalline edge, his hand still left thick frost on the receiver, and the eyes that held his own in the mirror were transparent in every part. Different eyes, though. Eyes that had seen extremes of love and fear and hate and anger since he'd last had the courage to meet them. Eyes he smiled at even as he steeled himself for the sound of his father's voice.