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A/N Sort off a filler to be honest, but it's kinda pivotal for the plot, so bear with me.. Review. Please? Thank you, and enjoy..
Normal's The Watchword. Or Is It?
Bobby Drake was on his bed, tossing and turning. It was late but sleep eluded him. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was a little after one a.m. and he pushed the covers over himself. Slipping out of his room quietly, he made his way to the kitchen, a spot in the entire mansion that he so fondly spent time alone, usually in the middle of the night, for a snack and usually accompanied with thoughts.
But this time, the kitchen was occupied, the lights weren't fully turned on but he saw a figure in the dark upon the high stool, a silhouette of a girl, Brooklyn in a loose fitting flannel pajama top which draped over the shorts she had on, a comfy looking pair off which went well with the dreamy far-off look she had on her face, with a tub of ice cream in front of her which she was digging at unenthusiastically on the island counter in the middle of the room.
The little light there was illuminated her platinum blonde hair and its purple high light which hung loosely in a ponytail with strands falling over her face, highlighting her fair porcelain skin.
He leaned on the door frame watching her unfocused eyes as her hands stabbed at the tub absent-mindedly with the dessert spoon. She seemed deep in thought and at the same time, the blank look wielded on her face had a certain glumness to it, almost a frustration, and it invoked something within him, to reach out and protect her, to catch her falling as he did when they first met.
Suddenly, her head snaps to his direction, disrupting his chain of thoughts.
"Bobby? Hey, you scared the hell out me, what are you doing here?" she asked with a shaky breath.
"Couldn't sleep," he replied, entering the kitchen, "You?"
"The same, came for a snack," she responded gesturing to the tub of ice-cream which was a looking melted and rather mangled, "Uhm.. Might be needing some help with it, though," she said glancing into the tub at the semi-melted ice-cream within.
Bobby chuckled and took the tub with his hand, blowing into it slightly and the smooth liquid cream within glossed over, hardening, before handing it back to her, placing his hand on the refrigerator to extract a carton of milk.
"What was that during class today?" he asked, concerned.
"Like I said, headache," she replied pulling the long spoon out of her mouth through a mouthful of ice-cream.
"Yeah," came to a quick reply followed by a very obvious eye roll.
"Power trouble?" he probed.
"That obvious, huh?"
"It's just.. A bit much, you know, I mean, I got used to it, controlling the things I could do, holding it back, downing the weird, and for 12 years, things were fine, but suddenly, it's just so difficult, since I got here, I.. It's like I can't control it, can't stop it," she rambled, "And as though it wasn't enough, now he comes back," she added silently. To her great fortune, Bobby didn't hear the latter.
"Could do? What sorts of things did you used to do?"
"Strange things," she replied, "You know accidents, when I was upset, windows break, burners get turned on high by itself, just stuff, you know, and I come here, and the professor said I'm telepathic, you know, the whole power of the mind thing and he's training me how to control it, except that's not going too well and it just tunes in and out,"
"I assume you were tuned in during class today," he asked chuckling slightly.
"Yeah, wa-a-a-ay too in,"
"Well, you just have to find out to direct it, you know, the right way to channel it," Bobby offered.
"I know the theory, it's just the practice of it and the implementation that's a little bit off, I'm just so used to holding it back, and now I've to exercise channeling it and focusing the power to do things, now everything's just whack, I can't hold it back, I can't channel it, how screwed up is that?"
"Okay, how d'you get used to controlling it when you were a kid, maybe you just need to direct back the same hold over it,"
"My grandmother said control it or I'll have to send you away,"
"Well, she took it better than my mum,"
"What did your mum say?" Brooke asked, curious.
"'Have you tried not being a mutant?'"
"Are you serious?" she asked, "'Have you tried not being a mutant?' that's what she asked you? Seriously?"
"Yea, so suffice to say, your grandparents handled it exceptionally well," he commented.
"I guess, but who tells a six year old, control it or we send you away to the place where they lock up people like you and you'll never come back out again? Who does that?" she asked taking in another mouthful of ice-cream.
"Your grandparents," he stated as a matter of fact-ly before putting the carton to his lips, draining the contents, and Brooklyn just laughed some more.
"I thought you were telekinetic though," Bobby asked referring to her little stint with the football when she first arrived at Xavier's.
"I don't know.. The professor said I was telepathic, but I may have more than one power, he can't tell cause he can't read me so I'm not quiet sure what I am, well, apart from the obvious of course,"
"Which is?"
"A mutant. I thought we were on the same page here?" she teased him playfully and Bobby chuckled.
"You're settling in okay though, right? Apart from your little internal power struggle?" he asked.
"Yeah, I.. I uhm.. I guess I am, things are a little different from med school, but it's pretty okay," she mused aloud.
Bobby looked at her blankly for a moment before responding, "You know, because you look so normal, I keep forgetting that you're some sort of a freak genius some times,"
"I am not a freak genius!" she argued, before correcting herself, "Okay, freak yes, genius no, I just have an eidetic memory, it's a very normal human condition, Rare, but human," she defended.
Bobby merely chuckled. The interaction between them had been nothing short of friendly, and Brooke found herself to be very comfortable in his presence, almost like they were old friends who'd gotten used to each other's company in just over a period of several short days. Bobby too found himself at ease with this newcomer, there wasn't any apprehension or hesitation in their conversations, there weren't any awkwardness or self-conscious moments that were too often when interacting with new people. It was all very, for a lack of a better word for it, normal, and it light of recent events, with the war and the cure and all, it was nice to have some sort of normalcy in life.
"Well, I think I better get back, I've an early class tomorrow," Bobby suggested, pushing himself off the counter's high stool.
"Yeah, well, I should too, so, I'll see ya," Brooke replied as she went over to keep the tub of the ice-cream.
Returning to her room, she flumped onto her bed, tossing around for several hours before deciding that she would definitely be skipping out on the sleeping. Her head was full, with her own thoughts for a change and she was finding it terribly difficult to drift off. And there was also this other thing, the terrible foreboding, as if something bad was going to happen, but she couldn't quiet pin her finger down on it.
And then, as though right on cue, her stomach growled noisily. 'Just Great!' she thought. Broke glanced at the clock, 4.32. It was a little early, breakfast was definitely not going to be served for a few hours, sighing, she pushed the covers over her body again and made her way to the kitchen.
She was cutting some tomatoes for her omelet when a voice jumped out at her from behind.
"We do have people to do this you know,"
"Logan.. Ow!" she called out as she turned around to find the muscular man enter the kitchen in his signature skin tight white shirt with a pajama pants, with her attention away from the knife, it slipped and nicked her middle finger. The Prickling pain was slight but the knife seemed to have nicked her pretty bad as crimson leaked out of the small cut.
"You know there's a reason we have people to cook for us," he commented as he took a swig of the water he retrieved from the refrigerator.
"And there's a reason why I don't wake them at 5 for an omelet," she said back as she put her fingers under the running tap to wash away the blood and the residue of food on her hand.
"Point taken," he said in defeat, "Your hand okay kid?" he asked concerned as Brooke took her hand out of the running water noticing that the water washed away all the traces of blood, and that there was no more blood coming out from the wound.
"Yeah," she replied, taking a closer look before realizing there was no wound.
"Careful with those, kiddo, not all of us heal like I do," he commented gruffly before walking out of the kitchen as Brooklyn ran her thumb across the place where there should have been a bleeding streak.
"Yeah, I will," she said absent-mindedly again as he left the kitchen. She eyed the knife and turned to look at Logan who had already left. Her mind couldn't help but go back to the words he said before leaving the room.
Not all of us heal like I do..
She shook her head, 'Stop being ridiculous Brooklyn, maybe the cut just wasn't as deep as you thought," she said to herself before resuming the cooking, 'it was probably the tomatoes,' she convinced herself as she continued slicing.