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The sun shone brightly in the azure, cloudless sky. The grass was at its greenest and the flowers were in bloom, filling the air with their fragrances. Birds chirped their songs to each other, separated from and totally oblivious to the severity of the gathering taking place mere feet away. Bobby Drake, who was having trouble following the words of the old man in front of him, readjusted his necktie guiltily. It wasn't that the minister was boring. In fact, from the few words that Bobby had been able to gleam, he had to say that this sermon was one of the more interesting ones he'd heard. The cause of his inattention, the thing that kept his fingers twitching, his eyes moving, and his legs shuffling, was a thought. It was a persistent idea that had sprung to mind shortly after his arrival at the scene and one that refused to leave.
It should be raining.
Like in the movies, where mourners huddle under umbrellas in scenes that have barely enough color in them to distinguish them from black and white films, where the widow stands near the coffin, crying tears of sorrow, refusing shelter underneath a nearby umbrella or comfort from a nearby friend. In movies, the landscape reflected the feelings of both the characters and the viewers. Signs of life were muted, and the landscape often looked as dead as the deceased. It seemed wrong that the environment didn't mirror the grief that many of Bobby's friends and teammates were exhibiting.
Bobby wasn't, of course, fool enough to think that the world surrounding them would stop turning because of the death of a relatively unknown mutant. Nor did he believe that the event occurring before his eyes was any less severe due to a lack of precipitation. Indeed, most of the funerals Bobby had attended (and there were quite a number of those), had taken place in almost ideal weather conditions.
It didn't hurt to have a weather goddess on hand.
But Ororo had an almost empathic link with the weather. Although she kept most downpours at bay, a little bit of her mood was reflected in the elements. Consequently, most funerals she was present for were slightly overcast, sometimes windy, and often chilly. It was as if nature itself were mourning.
Ororo had been unable to attend this service, though. A message had arrived from her team, shortly before the majority of the X-men had departed from New York. Although they were deeply sorry for the loss of a fellow mutant, indeed, a fellow man, Ororo's group were unable to attend due to unforeseen circumstances. They sent their regrets.
For what seemed to be the tenth time that day, Bobby attempted to clear his mind and focus on the words of the priest in front of him. Within a minute, though, he found himself fidgeting once more. And, almost without realizing it, he began studying his teammates.
Kurt, unlike himself, was seemed to have no problems following the minister's speech. In fact, he seemed riveted. He constantly nodded his agreement to whatever the priest was saying, all the while tightly clenching his rosary. Upon closer scrutiny, though, Bobby noticed that Kurt seemed to be avoiding the direct gaze of the priest, staring, instead, at a tree in the distance. Watching him, Bobby became certain that Kurt's nods were not in response to the priest's sermon. Rather, it seemed that Kurt was nodding in response to a litany in his mind. Overall, the blue furred mutant looked to Bobby like he was performing some sort of penance. Kurt had not taken Angelo's death well, and Bobby wondered how much the blue-furred mutant's grief had been magnified by his guilt.
After a while, Bobby shifted his sights towards the Professor, who was sitting near Scott and Jean. Both Scott and Xavier were wearing identical, intense, expressions. Bobby didn't need telepathy to know what was on their minds. Both men were angry with themselves, feeling that they had failed someone who was under their protection. Jean's expression was inscrutable. It was unclear if she shared the feelings of the two men sitting near her, or if her mind was somewhere else entirely. It bothered him that after so many years of knowing the redheaded telepath, there was still so much she kept from him. Kept from all of them.
Emma and Jean-Paul were situated closely behind Scott and Jean. Jean-Paul looked angry, which was not altogether an unusual expression for him. Bobby briefly wondered what the mutant speedster was upset about (Angelo's unfair, early death or the early hour at which the funeral was taking place,) before shifting his gaze towards Emma.
True to her former title, the White Queen was the only person present not wearing the muted blacks and greys traditionally observed at funerals. Instead, she was regaled in a revealing white business suit. Bobby could remember hearing about some cultures in which white was the customary funeral color. However, he was relatively sure that that had nothing to do with Emma's choice of clothing for the day. Her expression was haughty, as it always was, and something about it made led Bobby to think that she was playing with stocks and numbers in her head.
Suddenly, Bobby felt that he might become ill if he continued to look at Emma. He quickly turned his head towards the other end of the coffin, where Paige stood, flanked by Monet, who'd shown up that morning, and Warren. Tears ran down Paige's face, and she leaned against Warren, who had one arm draped around her. It was obvious that the millionaire mutant was doing his best to be supportive. Monet, meanwhile, looked as immaculate as ever. The only giveaway to her grief was a handkerchief held in her hand, which she periodically raised to dab at her face.
Behind them stood Alex and Annie, holding hands. Bobby was surprised that he didn't feel angrier with them. Instead, he almost felt happy, at least for Annie. He was glad that her love was finally being reciprocated. And the fact that Alex was the one doing the reciprocating only bothered him slightly. The kiss that he'd shared with Annie earlier that week had been unexpected. They'd been two people, lost in their own misery, trying to find comfort in each other. Except that the comfort never came. Annie was still in love with Alex, whose wedding was planned for the following day, while Bobby was still turning to ice and still feeling rundown. This surprised him at first – he'd thought that being kissed by an attractive woman would ease his worries about being a romantic failure, doomed to ending up as a lonely cube of ice.
Maybe it was the wrong time or the wrong place, he reasoned. Or the wrong woman.
Without meaning to, Bobby looked towards the coffin, and those nearest to it. Jono and Logan stood there, along with Jubilee. Logan was looking very out of place in a suit and tie, and Bobby could tell just from looking at him that he was wishing for a cigar. He stood very close to Jubilee, and every once in a while, he reached for her hand or leaned over to whisper into her ear. Jono stood a little farther from Jubilee, on the opposite side of Logan. From what Bobby could tell, Jono hadn't moved since the sermon had begun. No fidgeting, no rocking, no twitching, nothing. He just stood there, wearing his usually gloomy expression (which, for once, was appropriate for the situation) and stared straight ahead intently.
Jubilee, who was standing between Logan and Jono, seemed dwarfed by the Canadian's bulk and the Englishman's height. Although she wasn't crying at the moment, she had tearstains on her face. Like he, Jubilee seemed to be having trouble focusing on the words of the minister. However, it seemed that she was making every effort to avoid looking at her teammates' faces. Instead, she kept her gaze downwards, looking at her shoes. Every once in a while, she raised her head to stare at Angelo's coffin, which was closed at this point. Then she'd quickly turn away, as if scared that someone may have caught her looking. As he watched her now, she did exactly that. She'd been staring at the coffin for a good minute, when she jerked, seemingly just realizing where her eyes were looking. Although he didn't hear it, Bobby could imagine her faint gasp as she tore her eyes away from the casket. What he wasn't counting on was her head turning in his direction, and her eyes, so eager to lose sight of the casket in which her best friend lay, finding his.
Bobby's first inclination was to turn away. He was reminded of those times in fourth grade, when he would stare off into space during a spelling test, hoping that an answer would come to him. Every once in a while, one of the kids in front of him would turn around and accidentally make eye contact. Surprised, Bobby often broke away. Consequently, the kid in front of him got the impression that Bobby was trying to cheat off of his paper and made a big show of covering up his work with his hands. In spite of the fact that he had done nothing wrong, Bobby always felt an unexplainable guilt on these occasions, as if he was at fault. Once again, he felt those feelings of guilt manifest.
Except this was worse. Because he had been staring. It wasn't that he had done anything wrong by staring, or so Bobby tried to tell himself. Nonetheless, the fact remained that he had been doing looking and he had been caught. Bobby felt a blush creep up his neck and felt his cheeks redden. He felt his insides warm and clench and totally forgot that it was only that morning when he had wondered if he would ever feel warmth again.
But for some reason, he didn't look away. He stared head on into those blue eyes, made brighter than normal by the tears she had shed that day. Her expression was almost devoid of emotion, except for the lingering remains of surprise. Apparently, she hadn't been expecting to lock onto his gaze. Standing there, Bobby got the impression she was searching him. For what, he didn't know. For his part, he stared back, noticing her exhaustion, the paths that tears had traced down her face, and her determination to survive even this tragic event, all without breaking eye contact.
Bobby had no idea how long he and Jubilee stood there, unblinking and unmoving. But eventually, the tone of the priest's voice changed, and Bobby knew that the service was finally drawing to a close. Jubilee broke away, once more looking at the old man conducting the ceremony. Wolvie took her hand. She didn't look at him, nor did she turn to look at Bobby for the remainder of the service. But Bobby couldn't tear his eyes away from her.