Story Title: Learning to Trust- Pyro, Bobby
Author: Savvy
Characters/Ships: John, Bobby
Fandom: X-men
Summary: After coming upon Xavier's Academy, John tries to adjust to the life of a normal teenager.
Rating: R for language, sexual references in first few chapters. NC-17 for later chapters
Warning: Slash, angst
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. I only own the story itself.

Chapter 2: Bobby's Bacon, Eggs and Toast

When I woke the next morning I found, who I figured was my roommate sitting on his bed looking at me. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat as I looked his way and I noticed his even, white teeth when he smiled.

"Hello, I'm Bobby Drake."

I tried to sit up and speak, but the pain in my chest kept my body low under the covers; my words cut off my words as sharp intake of breath as my entire body seared with pain. I winced and grabbed my side and my head spun dangerously as the light coming through the window hit my eyes. I leaned my head back into the pillow and closed my eyes. Shit was all I managed to say as the other boy watched me, his eyes wide.

"You don't look well. Should I get someone?"

"Urghh, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because you don't look like you are."

"I said I'm fine," I yelled and quickly wished I hadn't. My lungs felt bruised and battered and my throat dry. I lowered my voice and spoke again. "Leave me alone."

Bobby stood and looked down at me and shook his head. "I can't do that. I'm going to get someone." He didn't wait for me to answer but left the room, closing the door with a snap behind him.

Fuck. I had a damn saint for a roommate. Now everyone would make a big deal over me and all over nothing because pretty saint boy couldn't keep his mouth shut. Shit, it was only a few bruises. I'd been worse off. I tried to get up to find the boy before he found that lady from the other night, or that old man even, and tell them about my condition, that wasn't as bad it seemed, but when I attempted to sit up, the room spun and instead I heaved what little food I had in my stomach on the floor beside the bed. It was while I was vomiting that the boy returned and he wasn't alone. Jean Grey was with him and she made directly for my bed and began examining me. "How did you get these bruises?" she asked lifting my shirt. I saw Bobby looking down at me from the corner of my eye as she rubbed the blood bruises with a gloved hand. I turned away from him and answered.

"Who cares how I got them," I sneered, grabbing my shirt out of her grasp and pulling the cover higher.

"Well, I thought you're temper would be gone this morning, I see I was wrong." She left the room and I thought she was gone until a big, gangly guy entered; his muscles protruding until his wife-beater.

"Take him to my lab," Jean said to the meaty boy. "This is Colossus, John…"

"Pyro," I hissed looking at the boy who bent to pick me up. I pushed him away.

"Okay, Pyro. He's going to carrying you to my lab downstairs."

"I'm fine," I repeated as the boy picked me up in his arms anyway and carried me from the room. She wasn't listening; but stood talking to Bobby. She patted him on the back and smiled at him before following us down the hall and into the elevator.

"We're not your enemy, Pyro," she said looking at me as I squeezed my eyes closed in pain. "We're here to help you. You can let your defenses down. We're all here for the same reasons."

And what was that? Had they all been thrown out on the street when they were eleven and made to survive on their own. This bitch didn't know what she was talking about. No one knew what I had gone through and they never would. As soon as I was fit to leave I would. I couldn't stay here and listen to the sympathy these people sprouted off. This had been a bad idea. I should have never come here.

I lay in silence moments later, Jean had strip me of all my clothing so she could see all my bruises and I now lay in some sort of X-ray machine, a neon blue light flashing round in circles overhead and down the sides around me. I closed my eyes and winced as another sharp pain coursed through my side and ribs.

"Don't move," she called out to me.

I tried not to, but laying this flat on something resembling one of those slabs they carried dead bodies on was not very comfortable. Luckily the examination didn't take long and the slab slid out of the machine and I could see the entire white washed lab again, its floors, white cabinets and utensils as sterile as the woman's personality.

She stood examining my x-rays in silence before she turned to look at me. "You have a few cracked ribs. And from the bruises on your side, a few torn muscles in your side and your ankles' twisted out of place. I don't know how in the world you walked all that way in your condition."

When I didn't answer she proceeded to bandage me up, her hands were cold and I jumped when she touched me. "You'll be fine," she said her face serious now. "I need to take a blood sample to check for any diseases you may have, Charles' orders."

I hardly felt the prick of her needle as she drew the blood. I simply closed my eyes and waited for her to finish. With the help of Colossus, I was carried back to my room and placed in bed and order to stay in bed until I healed.

"You better?" Bobby asked looking worried as he stood over my bed.

"Fuck off," I said rolling my eyes. I felt little remorse as the other boy stormed out of the room. I wanted to be alone, to think. I had to get out of here. How fast I'd recover I didn't know, but I knew that as soon as I did I'd get out of here as fast as possible; destination unknown.

That was the plan anyway.

I closed my eyes and rested, the only sound being the beating of my heart in my ears.

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"Here, eat this. You'll feel better," he smiled

"I'm not hungry," I growled pushing the offered food away.

Bobby held the platter of bacon. eggs and toast in his hands and he stood; his body towering over mine, which was now capable of sitting up in bed, but not yet ready to walk yet, without assistance anyway.

"You haven't eaten since you got here two days ago," he sighed offering the food again, but I quickly declined.

"I said I'm not hungry."

"Fine." He turned his back to me and placed the food down on my bedside table. "You eat when you get ready to then," he said crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you need anything?"

I shook my head and peered at the lighter in my hands, flipping the cap open to watch the flame beneath. He sat watching it too, but turned away soon after. "I'll be back in a few hours then. I have class."

I shrugged in a 'why- are- you- telling- me- this' sort of way and he left, grabbing his bag beside the door as he went, leaving the door partially open.

I sat their in a daze watching the red-blue flame dance round my fingers. My stomach churned irritably and I glanced at the food on my bedside table. It did look good and I hadn't eaten in three days, including the day I arrived.

What harm could it do? I might even begin to heal faster. That was a plus.

Extinguishing the flame, I grabbed the plate and began stuffing my face; ignoring the spoon and fork wrapped in a napkin. I used my hands; digging feverishly into the platter. My finger tips scrapped the glass and my knuckles knocked the slippery surface but I took little notice as I ate. The food tasted good to my dry buds, throat and stomach.

When the food was gone I dropped the plate back on the table and slipped back into the covers and toyed with my lighter once more, a tiny smile tweaking the sides of my lips as I thought of Bobby's thrilled expression when he entered the room and saw the plate empty.

Fuck, why did I give a fuck what he looked liked? He wasn't the reason why I'd eaten. Shit, I'd been starving. It was only natural I'd eat the food. He could try to rub it in and I'd light his ass on fire. The prick!

I smiled at my own ruthlessness as I closed my eyes. He did have a nice smile. I thought as his grinning face flashed before my closed lids.

Where in the hell did that come from? Never mind, I was tired. A full stomach did that to you.

He'd be back when I awaken and for some reason that soothed me as I slept.

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He didn't tease me about it though, and when he returned he nonchalantly picked up the empty plate and left the room to return it to the kitchens. When he returned he dropped down on his bed and pulled out his textbooks and began studying, his head resting on his fist, his legs bent in Indian-style.

I sat watching him, subconsciously playing with the flames produced by my lighter; making it grow then die at my will. Doing both; watching him and playing with fire were relaxing and I slowly lost track of time.

"So, you can manipulate fire?" he asked, looking at the flames dancing around my finger tips. I nodded as I pulled a fireball into my hands and showed it to him. The flame glowed in his eyes as he watched in amazement.

"I can't create it though," I confessed willingly like he'd care. He looked on and smiled.

"I can create ice," he said. And before I could ask him to show me he reached out a hand; a light white breeze-like mist can out of his hand and froze the fire ball in my fist. I dropped the icy ball onto the floor where it shattered.

He laughed and I sat silent, my shock speaking for me.

"So when did you know…you were a mutant I mean?" he asked scooting to the edge of his bed; studying forgotten in his excitement.

"I don't know," I lied growing suddenly angry at the direction the conversation was turning. I knew exactly when I'd known, or actually when it dawned on me that others in my life couldn't do what I could. I had been in class studying forest fires ironically, when the teacher demonstrated to us what a small controlled fire looked like and asked us to imagine that the fire was big, larger than life, she had said.

She had taken a match and placed it inside a tank and we watched excitedly through the glass as the fire had spread. She asked us one by one to describe what we saw. It had been my turn and as I spoke, I found myself growing extremely excited and noticeably thrilled by the destruction part of the flames. That's when it happened. The flames in front of us rose out of the tank at an alarming rate the more I talked. I, not knowing the extent of my powers hadn't thought much of it. As close as I'd gotten to a huge fire was the small ones I played with in the trash bin in my room at night when my parents were asleep.

Someone had yelled 'he's a freak' and I had been immediately been sent to the office; my parents called to pick me up. No explanation was good enough for my parents. I cried that entire night as I listened to my parents in the next room arguing about what to do with me; like I was some kind of pet they no longer wanted. They hadn't said my name, but called me 'it' and 'our problem.' The events after that day were history, history I'd rather not remember; and had forgotten until this moment.

"John," came Bobby's voice a few feet from my side.

"My name's not John," I hissed, not looking at him.

He was quiet; his eyes on my profile as I clicked the Zippo in my hands. I hadn't realized then that I was trembling. Fuck, I wasn't going to cry. I had left that part of my self behind in New York. It was John that wanted to cry, not me, not Pyro.

"Tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing, just leave me alone."

"Pyro, just tell me…" The way he said my name struck pity somewhere in my heart, yet the anger was still there.

"I said fuck off," I yelled pushing the other boy's hands back as they tried to comfort me.

He left the room without a word.

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"Do you think you can walk?" Bobby asked helping me from the bed. I nodded my head and scooted off; my footing not as comfortable as I would have hoped.

"Look you're doing it. Does you're ankle hurt?"

I wiggled it and shook my head. "Not really."

He grinned and clasped me on the back and laughed. "Great, you can finally leave this room."

I looked sideways at him and grinned for the first time in a week. That's how long I'd been there healing. The entire time he'd sit and keep me company. He was very forgiving; not reminding me of our quarrels if he could help it. He hadn't asked any more personal questions since that day either, which I was thankful for. We simply sat and talked about things I couldn't know about, like movies, music artist, the latest TV show, and he'd keep me interested by going into as much detail as he could. Small talk. I was capable of having small talk. The thought still amuses me.

He gave me some of his clothes to wear which I was a little hesitate about taking, but he made it clear that they weren't a gift and he'd want them back at the end of the day. He knew, some how, that I didn't except gifts lightly. It usually meant that I'd have to give something back in return; like myself, in the past.

He turned away as I dressed and laughed when he saw how I looked in his jean jacket and dark denim jeans, that were a tad to long for my legs.

"What?" I asked, looking at myself in the mirror. The scars were gone, so was the black eye.

"Nothing?" he lied holding open the door. "Come on. Charles is waiting for you?"

"Xavier?" I asked remembering the old man in the wheelchair.

"Yeah, he wants to have that talk with you now."

"Why now?" I asked.

"I don't know. He figures he can convince you to stay."

Who said I was leaving? I thought swallowing my thoughts before I said them out loud. He must have been monitoring my thoughts again and knew I'd thought about leaving. But I had doubts about that now. He would know that as well.

"Fine," I'll go see him. "If you come with me?" I hadn't meant to say the last part but there it was; out for all to hear.

Bobby grinned and nodded. "I'll come if you want."

I nodded. And together we went to the old man's office. My heart throbbed in my ears. I was nervous as hell.