A/N: This was meant to be up sooner, but I had to take on a few extra classes this quarter for an ill colleague. At least it's longer than the last. These chapters have all been beta-ed by Cassandra Fisher, and she does a marvelous job at it. I'm also looking for a content beta though, so if any readers have plot ideas, let me know.
Bobby POV
To Bobby's gritty eyes, it felt like seconds later that a hand was shaking his shoulder. Warren was leaning over him.
"Dr. McCoy needs you."
"Crap," Booby grumbled wearily, "what time is it?"
Warren stepped back and let Bobby rise, his wings rustled in a quite shiver, "It's five. Dr. McCoy waited a while before sending me, but it's getting bad."
Bobby looked at his watch on a metal tray attached to the bed. He'd been asleep for six hours.
He pulled on a t-shirt and gym sweats off the pile next to his bed and then followed Warren out of the room. The halls were still dark; it was too early for any of the students to be awake.
Warren walked with him downstairs and waited with him silently in the elevator to the first sub-level where the infirmary was. The door to John's room was open when they got there and Hank was leaning over the bed. John was awake, but one look told Bobby he wasn't bright eyed and bushy tailed.
When they entered the room, Hank looked over his shoulder as said, "Warren woke me up half an hour ago, but his core temperature has risen since then. I've tried everything I can think of, but I can't do it fast enough. I'm worried about organ failure and seizures. I need you to replicate what you did on the jet yesterday."
Cold packs were piled up around John in the bed, but now, they felt more like hot water bottles.
"What did you do last time to cool him down?" Hank asked. "It must have been delicate work. Is that normal for a cryokinetic?"
Bobby wet his lips and covered John's forehead with an icy hand. "Technically, I think I'm a thermal manipulator, but there's a lot I can't do yet. It's easier to just call it cryokinesis, which is what it's been up until now. Right now, I control ice and temperature by thinking about molecules and atoms. I slowed John's molecules down on the jet."
Bobby frowned in concentration, "I can picture them already. They're moving really fast. It's hard to tell where the heat's coming from though." Like the last time, Bobby tried to cover the most important parts, the brain and heart.
John's back arched as the particles that made up his body slowed from their breakneck pace, like a car slamming on the brakes. Bobby tried to keep him steady on the bed, leaning more of his weight down on top of his friend. John's legs kicked feebly and his body bucked, trying to get away.
"It's ok," Bobby muttered, gritting his teeth and shoving John more forcefully into the mattress "it's ok, just a few more seconds, it's almost done."
When it was over, the cryokinetic backed off and allowed John to roll onto his side. He panted, eyes half closed. His hair was damp with sweat and it stuck up in odd angles. Hank gently pushed Bobby aside and rolled John onto his back again, shining a small light into his eyes one at a time.
"Mr. Allerdyce? John? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?" he said.
"I'm, I'm at…school?" said John, his words a little slurred. "I'm-" he groaned and wrapped his arms around his himself, dislodging a few of the sensors which began to scream shrilly, "Fuck, it hurts."
"The heat?" asked Hank
"No, my chest. My ribs."
"I can give you something for that, try not to move around."
"I'm not doing it on purpose," John groaned.
McCoy busied himself reattaching the sensors to John's chest and stomach before briefly leaving the room and coming back with a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He handed them to John who levered himself up gingerly on one elbow, popped the pill into his mouth, and tried to hold the water steady enough to drink from it.
After sloshing half of it into his lap, Bobby grabbed his hand and helped him drink. The pyrokinetic gulped the water down and then let Bobby take the cup away. He set it on one of the gently beeping machines next to John's bed and then gripped his friend's shoulder to help ease him back down onto the bed.
John scrubbed at his face and closed his eyes. Not sure what to do, Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the dip in the mattress made the pyrokinetic look back up.
"How're you doing?" Bobby asked, not sure what else there was to say.
"I'm just peachy," came the snapping reply.
Bobby liked to think he kept a level head most of the time, but John's reply made sent a spike of irritation through him.
"What are you even doing here, John?" he asked. "What do you expect us to do? You just leave and then come running back when things aren't going your way?"
"I half expected you to just leave me behind," said John sullenly after a pause.
"Yeah, well, we didn't, and I don't think you expected to be left behind at all. I think you knew Storm would take you back even though it wasn't a good idea. I think you kept the school as your backup plan the whole time." Bobby looked down at the Pyrokinetic, frowning hard, voice icy. "You know, some day you won't have someone to clean up after your messes. One day you're going to wake up and really be all alone, with no one there to be your plan B, and I'm not the only one getting tired of being used.
Bobby knew Hank was hovering at the door, but the Doctor didn't stop him.
"I wanted to be your friend and help you, but now I'm not sure. I don't like being used, and I've left you do it for years now. I'm done, John. You think I like seeing you like this? I wish you'd stayed in school so that maybe you could've pulled your head out of your ass for one second and learned how to be an actual responsible human being instead of childish jerk. This isn't some game. People have died. People I cared about. We don't need this right now. We have actual problems to solve and a future to think about."
John was quiet for a few seconds, staunchly avoiding Bobby's glare. For a minute, Bobby thought that John hadn't even been listening to him, but then he stopped fiddling with the sheet and said, "I don't think it's a virus or anything like the doctor said. I think it's something to do with mutation and genes. At least, that's what I heard Erick and Mystique say. Before everything went down," John continued, "I was lighting fires more than I did at school and I was holding it for longer and burning hotter. At first everything went really good."
Bobby frowned, "If by "really good" you mean torching people that couldn't fight back."
"They fought back!" John snapped, raising his eyes for the first time. "They weren't defenseless. They wanted to lock us up and give us the cure. They want that for all of us!"
"Have you ever thought that maybe you were giving them a good reason for wanting that? Or that not everyone wants to give us the cure?"
"Enough of them did," said John, "too many of them did."
"There are other ways, John. Ways that don't involve killing people that don't agree with you!"
"What do you think theydid when they raided the Mansion? They took kids, Drake, right from their beds. They were going to take them apart to figure out how we worked, like lab rats. We're not even human to them."
"Not everyone thinks that!" Bobby protested. "The mutants in the Brotherhood are terrorists. Besides, they don't even think of themselves as people. They think they're something better."
"At least the Brotherhood didn't treat me like I was a nuisance, and they weren't afraid of me."
"We're not afraid of you," Bobby said flatly, "But you're a liability here. What happens when it gets out that we're harboring a fugitive and a criminal? Did you ever stop to think about what that's going to do to the school?"
John didn't say anything. He dropped his eyes to his lap again.
"No. You didn't," Bobby said, voice going cold. "You didn't learn anything by joining the Brotherhood except how to be an even bigger jerk than you already were. Asking me for help was selfish. You're not thinking about anyone other than yourself and you're only here because you fucked up your fire by doing things you weren't ready or trained for."
He stood up, not waiting to see if John looked up at him or tried to reply back. His eyes felt like they were full of sand and his temples throbbed from a lack of sleep. On his way out, Hank dropped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
"I'll send Warren again if we need you. Get some sleep, Mr. Drake."
Two days later, the funeral for Dr. Grey was held, after everyone had a chance to sleep and get the arrangements in order. Storm gave the speech like she had for the Professor, but this time it was shorter. Despite the extra time, all the teachers, students, and everyone who had been at Alcatraz with them had dark circles under their eyes and sat with slumped shoulders. Everything was over, but it was too early to celebrate the victory, especially when no one felt particularly victorious.
It was only the beginning of the school year, the last for Bobby as well as Kitty, Jubilee, Piotr, Rouge, and John. Come to think of it though, John disappeared during the middle of the last year, so maybe it wasn't the last for him. Maybe he wouldn't even start back up. Rouge was gone too. Cured and gone. Now, the graduating class was a pretty pathetic sight.
Even worse, they had to continue with two less teachers, their deaths hanging over everyone like bruised rain clouds about to release one hell of a shit storm. Logan was staying on as a fulltime professor, taking over most of the clubs he could handle, P.E. classes, and history eventually. Storm, Scott, and Hank were splitting up the other classes the Professor and Dr. Grey had taught, but it has a lot to handle. Hank had other responsibilities, but for now they could be done remotely with the Mansion as a headquarters.
For the first time, the school started to feel more like a fortress. Bobby hadn't experienced war at the X-mansion. Not like some of his teachers had when they were students there. The school had been gradually slipping into military mode for a while. But now, with actual casualties and a rising death count, it ceased to be a routine drill.
The teachers took on the extra workload with the weary strength of veterans, and Bobby tried to do the same. Taking any and all extra duties he could.
The youngest kids were pretty sheltered from the worst of everything, but they'd seen enough and remembered when Striker invaded the school. Jimmy was settling in, but was still shy around the others. Even though the cure ultimately took Rouge away from him, Bobby couldn't be angry with Jimmy.
Obviously the boy had lost his own parents somewhere along the line, or he'd be with them now. He was one of the only mutants in the school who was there simply because he didn't have anywhere else to go. He wasn't dangerous. He could control his power well enough that most people needed to get real up in his personal bubble before their powers vanished.
Maybe Jimmy could help them control John while he was at the mansion. That wasn't fair to the boy though. Not even Bobby wanted to be in John's personal bubble right now, and he'd been the pyrokinetic's best friend once.
Bobby felt Kitty shivering besides him. The fall air was crisp and the wind was blowing, rustling the leaves on the lawn. The fire burning on the graves stones flickered, but didn't go out. Bobby looked towards the school. Somewhere in the infirmary under the ground John was probably pacing his room or sleeping. Hank told him about the funeral, but he wasn't given the option of attending.
So far, Storm, Scott, and Logan hadn't made any concrete decisions about the pyrokinetic. Every six hours, Bobby had to visit John's room to cool him down, but everything was just too disorganized to do anything else. The police hadn't come knocking, nor had anyone from the Brotherhood showed up looking for blood. Word was that Magneto had been hit with a cure dart and was in a jail cell somewhere awaiting trial.
Hank made a couple of phone calls to confirm the story, but they were keeping it all pretty hush hush. Though he was still grieving for Dr. Grey and the Professor, Bobby knew he needed to move forward. He needed to set an example for the younger students. He put an arm around Kitty and listened to the eulogy Storm prepared.
After the funeral, Bobby walked Kitty back to her room. It was the least he could do since his mind kept wandering during the eulogy and his core temp kept dropping below freezing, which only made Kitty colder than she already was. Classes were canceled for the day like they had been for the Professor. If he wasn't so short on sleep, Bobby would've offered to go a couple of rounds in the Danger Room to burn off some steam. Instead, he decided to take a shower and then headed back to his own room to finish some homework. Kitty looked drained anyway, but it wasn't like he was going to comment on the bags under her eyes. His mom once said that commenting on how tired someone looked wasn't small talk, and at worst it was an insult. Kitty didn't need that, no matter how nice, helpful, or sympathetic he wanted to be.
A few hours later as he was finishing an essay, there was soft rapping on the door. Warren poked his head in when Bobby called out, "come on in!", still tapping away at his laptop.
Ever since coming to the Mansion, the winged mutant had worked closely with Hank, mostly staying in the infirmary and only showing up for meals. Storm and Hank told him that he could stay for as long as he needed to. It wasn't like there was any shortage of rooms. It was kinda nice having some older mutants in the school besides the teachers. Warren didn't have too many years on him, Kitty, and Piotr, and they got along pretty well if their last few conversations were anything to go by.
The other mutant was quiet and reserved, which suited Bobby just fine, and he seemed like a guy he could be friends with one day.
Since the first tumultuous day back at the school, John had fallen into a pretty predictable pattern. He'd been pretty closed-mouthed whenever Bobby visited the infirmary to cool him down. From what Dr. McCoy said, John hadn't been interested in talking to anyone. On some level, he regretted fighting with John, but he couldn't regret the words he'd said. They were too true to take back, and he didn't want to. Some things just needed to be said.
Hank was still running tests to figure out what was happening to John, but there weren't any changes. Keeping his mouth shut was probably the best thing he could do right now since the pyrokinetic already said the problem was with his mutation. Bobby hoped that the things he'd said made John think a little, but maybe that was too much to hope for.
Bobby followed Warren below ground to the infirmary. It was on one of the sublevel additions made to the Mansion when the Professor had been younger, just like the Danger Room and the garage. Being underground made the halls a little too quiet sometimes.
The corridors in the sublevels were cut up into hallways about a hundred feet long. They connected to other passageways and rooms by heavy metal doors that opened with proximity unless they were manually shut down. The infirmary doors hissed open and slide shit behind him and Warren as they walked through. By now, Bobby easily navigated his way to the room John was confined to. The pyrokinetic was sitting up in his bed, panting lightly. His eyes were glazed and his hair was damp with sweat. Bobby stood outside the room for a minute watching his old friend through the one way mirror.
He didn't like to see John in pain, but it was hard to feel sorry for the pyrokinetic. John had done this to himself and he was asking a lot from them without giving anything in return. The schedule they set up worked well during the day and didn't disrupt Bobby's classes much. But it was at night that it really took its toll. Not being able to sleep more than five hours at a time was something Bobby was still getting used to.
It made him cranky, and more than once he'd taken it out on Kitty or Piotr even though it'd only been three days.
"Ororo and Scott are coming by later today to talk with him," Hank said, coming out of the labs.
"Has there been anything in the news about what happened at Alcatraz?" Bobby asked, hoping to stall for a bit of time.
"Only what you would expect." Hank replied, folding his arms across his broad chest. "It was a very public scene, but since it was primarily contained to the military and the scientists onsite, the damage isn't what it could have been. The Brotherhood have scattered, and they're laying low from what I can tell. The scientists were working on a government contract, so not much has been leaked. If anyone knows Mr. Allerdyce is not hiding with the rest of his comrades, they haven't told anyone." He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "he might be a little unresponsive right now. I had to sedate him."
Bobby's eyes widened, "Why? What'd he do?"
"Nothing. He hasn't slept in 48 hours."
"Why not?"
"I was hoping you could tell me, Mr. Drake."
"He hasn't said anything to me. I don't know," said Bobby testily.
"I meant, I was hoping you could figure it out for me. He's not talking to me and he's not sleeping. I don't want to give him any more medication because I'm not sure how well it would sit in his system right now when it's so stressed."
Bobby sighed, "He's just pissed at me because we fought."
Hank nodded slowly, "Perhaps. Whatever the reason is, he can't go on like this. His heart rate and blood pressure are already elevated, I'm afraid this will only exacerbate his condition."
Bobby sighed again, "Alright. I'll try to talk to him, but I can't promise it'll do any good."
John didn't look up when Bobby opened the door of his room and approached the bed. Up close he could tell how shitty the other mutant really looked. He was pale, which looked really awful with his hair, and his eyes were red-rimmed.
Bobby wasn't in a particularly talkative mood himself and he really wished that Hank would just dope the other mutant up some more so that the stubborn jackass would just sleep like his body was obviously telling him to do. The machines by the bed were beeping a little faster than they were the last time Bobby visited. John's chest had turned an ugly shade of black and green. He held a water bottle in his lap absently. Bits of the label were lying all over the blanket and his fingers picked idly at the remains.
Bobby reached out and took the bottle away from him. It made John finally look up, but he stared through Bobby's head for a few seconds until his eyes focused.
"What time is it?" he asked.
Bobby checked his watch. "A little after three."
They hadn't really perfected the cooling-down process. Bobby still tried to cover John's heart and brain as much as he could, but he didn't know if it made a difference. Slowing down molecules always worked for delicate stuff, but fiddling with the dials in someone else's body was a new experience and he wasn't sure if he was actually targeting specific organs or if his ice was attacking a heat source he couldn't seem to get a grip on.
It hurt John. He knew that, but he couldn't help it. Maybe with time he could learn how to make the experience more comfortable for both of them. Hopefully they found a better way of controlling it, though, and he wouldn't have to spend the time to fine tune the process. Bobby put the water bottle on top of the heart rate monitor and touched John's shoulder. The pyrokinetic's pupils were blown and John's eyes looked eerily black.
"Hank says you're not sleeping."
No response.
"When was the last time you slept?"
After a second John asked, "What's today?"
"Tuesday. You got here Friday night, almost Saturday."
"I slept the first night for a few hours."
"How about before then?"
"I-" John frowned, his hand crept around his lap like he was looking for the water bottle again. He started ripping up some of the larger pieces of label. "I'm not sure. I think-I know I did, I just can't remember right now. Dr. McCoy gave me something." He trailed off.
Bobby waited a minute before shaking John's shoulder again impatiently. "Hank says that you're putting too much stress on your system and you need to sleep. Why don't you just try lying down, John. You look like shit."
John started when Bobby shook him, his eyes focused again. "What time is it?" he asked.
Bobby started at his old friend and took a deep breath. Getting frustrated wasn't going to do either of them any good. He collected all the torn up piece of label from the blanket covering John's lap as well as the piece still clutched in the pyrokinetic's hand.
"It's time for bed, John," he said. "Lie down."
To Bobby's surprise, John obeyed. Wincing, he leaned back onto his elbows and scooted around until his back hit the mattress and his head settled on the thin infirmary pillow. When he was in place, Bobby cupped the back of John's head near the nape of his neck and pressed another hand over his heart, avoiding the sensors as best as he could.
John's back arched, nearly lifting him off the bed as Bobby began to focus. His breathing came in sharp intervals like couldn't get enough air. One hand came up and clutched at Bobby's arm, but instead of trying to push him away, he pressed the cryokinetic's hand harder into his chest even though it must have hurt his healing ribs.
His breaths started to come in dry sobs, but he ground Bobby's hand into his chest, gritting his teeth hard enough that Bobby could hear them. It made his own jaw ache sympathetically. Bobby found himself leaning closer to the other mutant whispering, trying to get John to calm down so he wouldn't hurt himself.
"It's ok," he said, "just relax, it's ok, it's almost over, it's ok."
He didn't actually know how ok John would be, but he couldn't help it. Seeing him in pain was uncomfortable, even though he'd made a lot of stupid choices leading up to this point.
Bobby leaned a little more of his weight onto John, who was still half convulsing on the bed. He could practically hear the pyrokinetic's battered body groan in protest, but it didn't look like he could help fighting back. It was like the heat inside the pyrokinetic was alive and hell bent on kicking his ice out the front door.
John's rattling breaths both tugged at his heart and ignited his temper. He never thinks about the consequences, never.
Now look at the mess he'd made of himself. He was in pain, drugged, and probably scarred. He kept pissing off the people trying to help him. The same people he begged help from just a few days before. He was digging his own grave about as fast as he could with no signs of slowing down.
Eventually, John's body stopped fighting; the heat effectively smothered. The whole thing felt a little gruesome, like holding a jar over a lit candle and watching the fire sputter slowly out. As John's molecules ground to a halt, he finally lay still.
The whole thing had only lasted a few minutes, and the pyrokinetic's breathing was already started to level out, but his body was shaking and he hadn't let go of Bobby's hand yet. He was still pressing it tightly against his chest like it was the only thing keeping him from floating off the bed.
Bobby let his other hand tangle a little with John's sweat-damped hair, rubbing his fingers tips against the pyrokinetic's scalp. He pulled his hand away from John's chest, shaking it a little to get him to ease his grip.
John looked up at him, no longer sullen or angry. His drug-blown pupils were dark pits in a bleak and exhausted face. "I can't sleep," he rasped, "I don't want to fight anymore. I don't know what to do."
Bobby didn't say anything, he just helped John drink from his water bottle and let him talk, that's what Hank wanted after all, and maybe John needed it too.
"The heat keeps me awake," he said, eyes half-lidded. "It sits right here," he tapped his own chest lightly where his ribs met his sternum. "It's like a hot rock just sitting there, getting worse until I can't take it anymore. When I close my eyes my thoughts race, but it's like a movie with a bad sound track. Sometimes the pictures are frozen and the words are fast forwarded and sometimes the pictures just keep going faster and faster and the words sound like someone is playing them back slowed down. It doesn't make sense, but that's what it feels like."
He scrubbed his face and groaned, "I can't stop it and I can't sleep." His shoulders started to shake and he just kept repeating the words in heaving, dry sobs, "I can't sleep, I can't sleep."
When he took his hands away from his face his eyes were dry, but his face was paler, if that was possible, and he looked like he was going to throw up.
"Just go away," he said hollowly after a minute of silence. "I can't stay awake forever, especially if Hank keeps giving me meds. At some point," he sighed, breaths shuddering, "I'll pass out."
Bobby shifted his weight, a little uncomfortable with the situation, but not mad enough anymore at John to walk away and let him suffer. He dragged a chair around from the end of the bed and sat in it lightly.
"You should be good now for at least a couple hours," he said.
John closed his eyes. "Yeah, at least. Warren will come and get you, you don't have to stay. Don't you have homework or something to do?"
"Yeah, I do. But I already did some earlier since classes were canceled."
John's body stiffed slightly and Bobby knew for sure that John had known that the funeral was earlier that day. Had John wanted to go? It didn't really matter now since it was over. John hadn't said much of anything much less if he missed the Professor or Dr. Grey. The pyrokinetic had never been big on sharing his feelings.
Bobby studied John's face for a minute before reaching over and tapping the spot on John's chest that he had indicated a minute before. "It hurts right here?" John flinched a little, but opened his eyes again.
"Yeah," he nodded.
Experimentally, Bobby cooled his hands, but not so much that they iced over. He rested one lightly against the spot, trying not to put too much pressure on John's ribs. With the other hand, Bobby covered John's forehead, pushing back the messy fringe of hair that almost hung in his eyes. John tensed, but then seemed to realize that Bobby wasn't trying to cool him down. He was simply resting his hands against his skin.
It was a little awkward Bobby realized, just touching John like that, but it seemed to help. John reached up and adjusted Bobby's hand a little until it covered the right spot on his chest and then he sighed, limbs relaxing, body going limp on the mattress.
Within ten minutes the pyrokinetic was asleep, breath whistling softly through his nose. Bobby stayed where he was for a while, making sure that John didn't wake up or anything. When he took his hands away and stood up, he saw that Hank was leaning against the doorway, watching him.
"He's asleep," Bobby said simply.
"Good. I'll tell Scott and Ororo to stop by later tonight. He should be awake then."
If Dr. McCoy had heard their conversation he didn't say anything. He just let Bobby walk by and leave the infirmary.
John POV
When John woke up, he could tell he hadn't slept long enough. His body felt heavy, and hot. The drugs were still in his system too, and they made any movement feel like he was swimming in newly poured concrete. There wasn't a clock in his room, so he didn't know what time it was.
It was probably only a couple hours after Bobby left because he knew he would have woken up if Bobby tried to cool him down. It wasn't a nice feeling. It felt like someone was taking his organs and squeezing them tightly in an ice cold vise. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Not for the first time, John wished he'd made some different life choices, but what was done was done. It wasn't like he could undo the stupid stuff, or make anyone understand why he had to do some of the things he'd done.
What little sleep he had gotten cleared his head a bit. Bobby said it was a bit past three when he'd been there last, so it was probably close to eight. His stomach growled, reminding him that his last meal was more than a day ago. His room was empty, but it would be a cold day in hell before he tried to yell for Dr. McCoy or Warren.
It wasn't like they were going to forget him. Someone would be in soon. John's breath caught in his throat. Someone would be in soon. He'd almost forgotten that Dr. McCoy told him that Summers and Ms. Munroe wanted to talk with him. Talking to Bobby was all well and good, but a face to face with his old teachers wasn't something he was looking forward to.
If he was honest with himself, he was scared shitless, and he wasn't comfortable being so exposed in front of the people he'd been fighting against for the last year. What was he going to say? What would they say? Were they going to kick him out, or worse, would they try to give him the cure?
Sweat broke out along his hairline and dampened his palms. They couldn't do that, right? He hadn't hurt anyone at the Mansion and he'd done what they wanted, right? He tried to take a deep breath, but his ribs twinged.
What if they were keeping a couple of syringes in the fridge right here in the infirmary, just waiting for the chance to use them on unruly mutants that got in their way? John struggled to breathe evenly. They never did like him. Always telling him what not to do and figuring he was up to no good. It was the perfect solution. Pull his teeth, declaw him.
The door to his room opened suddenly and John shot up, despite the pain in his chest. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, unconsciously trying to present as small a target as possible. Dr. McCoy looked at him from the doorway.
"Mr. Allerdyce, are you alright?"
John stared at him for a moment, not comprehending his words at first until they sunk into his drug-fogged mind.
"Y-yeah. I'm ok."
Dr. McCoy came into the room anyway and checked the machines John was hooked up to.
"Your blood pressure and heart rate are elevated."
John couldn't think of anything to say. Dr. McCoy walked up to his bed and plucked the pen light from his shirt pocket.
"May I?"
"Uh, sure."
Dr. McCoy gently touched his face and held his eyes open, flashing the light briefly in both of his eyes before stowing the light back in his pocket. "A little sluggish, but you're doing fine. Do you still feel the sedative?"
"Yeah, a bit. What time is it?"
"A little before seven. Are you hungry?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"I'll have Warren bring you some dinner."
John looked down at his keens, still held against his chest. "Ok."
"Mr. Allerdyce," Dr. McCoy sighed, "John. Can you tell me anything about what's happening to you? Right now, I don't have much to tell Scott and Ororo other than your vital signs and frequency of heating spells."
John cleared his throat. His ribs were protesting the position, but he didn't want to relax just yet.
"I- there's not much to say. I was using fire a lot." He studied the other mutant. "How much do you know about me?" He asked finally.
Dr. McCoy seemed to ponder the question and responded, "I know they brought you back from Alcatraz and that you were a part of the Brotherhood. I know you manipulate fire, but you can't produce it. I know you're a friend of Mr. Drake and you went to school here not long ago."
John gave a small laugh more like a heavy breath. "Yeah, that's true, I guess."
"You guess?"
"I don't really know if I'm a friend of anyone any more, but yeah, you got everything else right."
"What I don't know," said Dr. McCoy, "is why you're here and why you're having these spells."
John thought for a moment. Really, what would he lose by telling Dr. McCoy about what had happened in the Brotherhood camps? Maybe if they knew a little more they would be generous in their decisions. It wasn't like Magneto would come looking for him, right? No one had even heard from him from what John knew. Still, John had to swallow a lump in his throat before he could answer.
"I was holding a lot of fire," John said at last. Lots of people thought he had complete control over fire, but the power was in the telekinesis. He controlled fire he could see with his mind, if he wasn't controlling it, it could burn him like anyone else. He could control a lot of fire at one time, but the bigger the flame, the more he had to concentrate.
"They-"
"They?" asked Mr. McCoy, cutting him off.
"He. Magneto, wanted me to try to control bigger and bigger flames." John thought about the fires he started. The buildings and people he'd burned. "Soon I could handle the big fires, even from a long ways off just so long as I could still see it. I can't control fires I can't see. After a while though, I started getting really bad heartburn." John flushed a little, it sounded like he blaming everything on bad indigestion, but Dr. McCoy just pulled out the chair next to his bed and sat down, listening.
"I got it again and again, especially after big fires. Then, it got worse. At first, it felt like I was having a heart attack, but there was no way. It got so bad that one night I wanted to go to the hospital, but I…couldn't." No way one of the Brotherhood was going to a hospital when they were all felons and mutants.
John cleared his throat again, "It was like that a lot a few weeks before Alcatraz. I didn't know what was happening and I didn't even tell Magneto until it got worse. It got bad. Not like now, but pretty bad. Magneto seemed like he liked it, but I didn't know why until later."
"Why later?" asked Dr. McCoy, his face honestly intrigued.
"I told Mystique first. She was always…nice to me. She told me that something was up with my fire. Something about genetics and evolution, shit I didn't understand. They didn't tell me, but I think I can make fire. You know, like make my own fire, without a lighter or anything. Something about evolving."
Dr. McCoy rubbed his face with one hair hand. "That's not unthinkable, considering how much you've been forced to use your fire."
"I did it willingly! I wanted it, I did this!" said john, uncurling and leaning forward. "No one makes me do anything, I chose this!"
Dr. McCoy leaned back in his seat. John drew his knees back up to his chest, a little embarrassed by his outburst. It was true. No one had made him do anything. He wanted it, needed the recognition. At least someone thought he was doing something good, something worthwhile, and no one told him to stop and remember what he wasn't supposed to do.
"When did it get out of control?" Dr. McCoy asked.
"They didn't treat me bad," John protested, knowing he wasn't answering the doctor's question properly, "they did what they could."
That's where it got complicated. John worries his bottom lip with his teeth, taking off a layer of skin. It was hard to describe what happened after control started slipping away. Things just got too hot. They got too serious. There wasn't enough time to think about John and his heartburn.
"Alcatraz happened," he said eventually, "I was having spells that got hard to control about a week before then. Every time I held fire I felt it, growing, getting stronger. I couldn't let anyone know, they wouldn't have taken me with them and by then I knew-" John grimaced.
"Knew what?" McCoy prompted.
"That I couldn't control it. They couldn't control it. No one could…except for one person."
"Mr. Drake," said McCoy softly.
"Bobby," John nodded.
"So," said Dr. McCoy, "you're going to produce your own fire?"
John stared at his lap, "Yeah, I guess so. If I get that far. I could burn out too."
He could still be burned by fire. Controlling fire was one thing, making it was another. What if he burned himself out from the inside? John's palms started to sweat again. It hurt. It hurt so bad. What if he couldn't control it? What if it incinerated his organs like he'd incinerated those people?
It would the worst way to go, to be burned alive. John was sure of it. He'd burned himself cooking once while he was on kitchen duty at school. He hadn't been thinking, just cooking and he grabbed a hot pan. It burned his whole fucking hand and the burn lasted for weeks. Fire erased. It burned away everything.
"Then that's what I'll tell Ororo and Scott." Dr. McCoy said, startling John out of his thoughts. He hesitated and then leaned forward to place a heavy hand on John's shoulder. "I'll be here too. I'll tell them what you told me." He paused and then added, "I need to know what you intend to do here, John. As the ambassador for mutant-kind I need to make sure that you don't intend harm to this school."
John thought for a moment, but he was drained. The drugs made it hard to think for any length of time. "I'm tired," he said truthfully, "and I have really bad heartburn." He laughed, but it didn't sound anything but bitter even to his own ears. "I don't want to do anything but go to sleep."
He could feel hot tears gathering behind his eyes making them burn. Dammit. He turned his head away from the doctor, but he knew McCoy had probably already seen. Keep it together, Allerdyce.
"I'll tell you before they get here," Dr. McCoy said after a minute, "Mr. Drake should be here in an hour or so."
John nodded his head a bit frantically, scrubbing at his eyes when the doctor turned away.
There wasn't a clock in the room, but maybe that was for the best. If there had been one, John knew he'd only end up watching it, waiting for either his old teachers or Bobby to show up. It was boring in the room, especially since he didn't sleep that much anymore, despite how tired he was.
He really needed something to keep his mind occupied because the silence only interrupted by the beeping of the heart rate monitor was starting to drive him crazy. The long stretching hours gave him way too much time to think, and he was starting to realize why he'd never taken up the habit before. Thinking too much only made things worse. Maybe he just needed more practice, if it didn't kill him first.
He even missed Bobby's company, and being around the cryokinetic these days was pretty awkward. You can only bail on your best friend so many times before they start to think twice about sticking around.
John sighed and stared up at the ceiling. The walls closed in around him, and with every beep of the heart rate monitor they seemed to shrink further. Were they ever going to let him out of this room? He was weaker now then he'd ever been before, and vulnerable without any way to light up. If they were going to put him in a cage, now was the time to do it, when he couldn't fight back.
If they thought he needed to be locked away, there was no telling what they might do. If they didn't cure him, maybe they'd just let him combust. Was there any room in the Mansion that was fireproof enough to hold him when the time came? That was an interesting thought. The Danger Room seemed the most likely.
Or maybe out towards the lake. There was a little peninsula out that way where he and Bobby used to smoke at and play in the water. Water was complimentary between them. Bobby could freeze it, and John could evaporate it, and it could put out unruly fires. Maybe they'd go all Viking burial on him and just send him out in a boat to peacefully burn to ashes in the middle of the lake.
The not knowing was the worst, especially when he'd grown accustomed to being in the loop at the camps. That was one thing he loved and missed about the Brotherhood. He was there for all the important meetings. He was the one who told other people the news. Now, he was lucky if he knew what was for dinner before it was served.
The pyrokinetic wondered if the upcoming meeting with the teachers was really going to be as civil and businesslike as Hank made it sound. The tight feeling in his chest told him that it was going to be more like detention all over again, but this time it might end with a needle rather than a week on ground services pulling weeds or shoveling snow.
John swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. Definitely too much time to think. Maybe he could ask for a book or something when Warren came by with dinner. Or maybe the winged mutant would play a round of cards.
John had been hungry, but he'd pretty much thought himself out of an appetite. The heat in his chest was growing and the thought of swallowing anything other than gallons of water made him feel nauseous. Most of the sedatives were starting to wear off and they left his body drained and heavy. John swung his legs over the side of the bed and let them dangle. Maybe if he moved around a little he wouldn't get so lost in the maze of his own mind.
It was probably closer to seven thirty by now. If his teachers didn't come soon he wasn't going to be any condition to hold an intelligible conversation. The cooling would only put him out sorts for about a half hour, but still, he didn't want to make them wait and make them angry if he could help it.
He'd already done a pretty good job at pissing Bobby off and that hadn't been as much fun as it used to be. He put his head in his hands. His hair was damp with sweat and he really needed a shower. Maybe Dr. McCoy would let him have one tonight. He wanted to pull his knees back up to his chest again, but he didn't have the energy, and his ribs still hurt from the last time.
A knock at the door cut off his thoughts, and John took another second to grind the heels of his palms into his eyes before clearing his throat.
"Come in," he called, knowing there was only one person who ever thought to knock even though John knew the mirror by the door was really a window and anyone in the lab was able to see exactly what he was doing.
Warren poked his head through. He was carrying a bottle of water and a takeout box that the kitchens stocked for the weekends when the students were allowed to eat in their rooms if they wanted to.
"It's lasagna," Warren said with the bashful cheerfulness he seemed to exude each time John had seen him.
"Thanks." John took the box and set it next to him on the bed. "Hey," he added, staring down at his own swinging feet. "Do you think I could get a book the next time you think about it?"
He saw the hem of Warren's coat lift an inch and then lower again as he shrugged, "sure, after I clear it with Dr. McCoy. Do you want anything specific?"
"It doesn't matter. Something interesting, though. I think I've got a few paperbacks in my old room, they should still be on the bookshelf unless Bobby moved them."
"Alright," said Warren, "I'll look for them later tonight. I'll ask Bobby when he stops by."
"Thanks," John repeated.
Warren didn't stick around this time and when he left, John opened the takeaway box. The food at the school was pretty good most of the time, depending on who was cooking. There was spinach and mushrooms in the lasagna though, not his favorite. The slimy texture was hard to swallow. He ate about half of the portion and nibbled on the garlic bread before he was done. The acid was rapidly building in his stomach and chest and it cruelly demanded John's full attention.
He unscrewed the top of the water bottle and drained about half of it. Just as he put the cap back on, Dr. McCoy opened the door again and slipped through. Behind him was Storm and Summers. The food he'd just eaten threatened to make a reappearance for a few seconds before John frantically swallowed it back.
"John," said Dr. McCoy in greeting. John dipped his head. They brought two more chains into the room so that everyone could sit. John remained where he was and swung his feet a bit while he watched them.
When everyone was seated, Storm smiled at him tightly. "John, we need to talk about a few things."
"Yeah, I thought so," he replied.
"Hank's been keeping us updated, but what we really need to know is your long term goals. How long do you plan on staying here at school?"
So they're kicking me out, thought John. He didn't know if that was better than locking him in, but before he could think of anything to say, Summers chimed in.
"The rest of your year will be taking college courses in the fall and working at the Mansion part time. You on the other hand, have missed about half a year of school and have a warrant out for your arrest; if it can be proved you're not dead. You may think we have an obligation to look out for you because you were a student here, but that isn't the case."
John looked down at his hands, but Summers kept talking.
"The other students have made a commitment to be a part of the X-men. They've done their part in giving back to this school and protecting the younger students here. And they've done all that while completing their education."
"What we mean, John," said Storm, "is that you're taking advantage of our hospitality. You're asking a lot from us without giving anything in return. We have taken into account your young age and the fact that you're still a minor for a few more months, but you have to see that you've put us in a difficult situation. If it weren't for your condition, you wouldn't be here right now."
She continued, "Since you can't leave now, we need to figure out a timetable. We need to know when your new powers will manifest and what to do when it happens."
It was all very clinical, and it put John's teeth on edge. "I don't know when it'll happen," he replied, hands balling into fists in his lap. "I really don't know much about it at all. I told Dr. McCoy all I know, I swear."
"It sounds like controlling fire is what made this happen in the first place. What if you started again where you couldn't hurt anyone?" said Summers.
John's shortly bitten nails started to dig into his palms with how hard he was clenching his hands. He didn't want to use his fire. It made the acid in his chest boil, it felt like he was going to lose control and the line between manipulating and being manipulated blurred. He hoped it wasn't the only way they would let him stay.
"What happens when I can make my own fire?" he asked carefully.
"Well, we can't just turn you out knowing you can't control it. You could hurt someone." Summers traded a look with Storm. "We'll train you, and you'll finish school. That's it. After that, you're on your own. That's our deal."
A lump started to form in John's throat again, making it difficult to swallow. Thank God he was already looking at his hands because the burn behind his eyes started up again. He blinked it away furiously and made himself look up at his old teachers.
"Alright," he said, "I accept." There wasn't anything else he could say.
"Good," said Summers with a smile like granite. It was always hard to tell what the man was thinking, but John felt like he was putting out distinctly hostile vibes.
"All we need to do now," Summers continues, "is talk about is how to make your fire manifest. That should be possible in the Danger Room."
It made John a little nauseous just thinking about it, but what could he say? He'd already agreed to the deal and there was no backing out now because it didn't sound like they had a plan B, and if they did, it didn't sound like it would be anything better than what they'd already offered. The cure might not be off the table if he refused.
He swallowed back his rising anger and nodded again. "Ok, sure," he said, "when?"
"Starting tomorrow. And you'll begin catching up on the classwork you've missed. I don't know if you'll be able to graduate on time, but if you work hard, you might be able to finish by the end of the summer or sometime in the first semester of next year."
If I don't barbeque myself first and save everyone the trouble, John thought, but aloud he only said, "yeah, sure."
While they'd been having the mostly one-sided conversation, John was starting to run hot. He was already pushing his time limit. The last thing he wanted was to lose it in front of his teachers and Dr. McCoy, but if they wanted to keep talking, there wasn't much he could do.
Stress was making the heartburn a little worse too, but it didn't seem like the best time to introduce a new symptom. Not when things were already tense. Yeah, and he wasn't exactly going to tell Summers to his face that he was stressing him out.
John stopped himself from rubbing his chest. The adults got what they wanted, when they were going to leave him the hell alone to be miserable in peace. Dr. McCoy might have told everyone how often John had the heating spells and how they started, but not even McCoy knew how they felt as they came on. Dinner was sitting like a rock in John's stomach. The naps he'd taken had cleared his head, but that wasn't going to last long. He was sweating worse with every second. I need to remember to ask for that shower later, he thought to himself.
Storm was saying something, John realized, but he didn't catch it. "What time is it?" he asked instead of listening. He'd listened long enough for one day. The teachers frowned at him, but Dr. McCoy looked at his watch and replied, "About half past eight. Are you alright, John?"
"Where's Bobby? He's late."
"Bobby may be helping you with your condition, John, but he doesn't run on your schedule," said Summers sharply. Then he appeared to think, and he addressed McCoy. "What if we're going about this all wrong? Bobby has stopped his spells up until now, but what if his fire is already working?"
John didn't like where this was going and he looked at Dr. McCoy, mentally willing him to put Summers off this track. McCoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but didn't look fully convinced. "That might prove to be a valid theory," he said, "but I'm not sure we should proceed just yet. Let's work on one idea at a time. We can start him out in the Danger Room first," he said looking at John sympathetically, "but the spells are not what I would call…comfortable, and I'm reluctant to put John's system through that kind of stress. The gas may be burning, but perhaps the stove isn't ready to be lit, it you catch my meaning."
The heat was getting worse by the minute, but for the first time during the meeting, John let out a slow breath of relief. At least he had one person who was kinda in his corner. John started to swing his legs again, crossing his arms over his chest because his hands had started to shake a little. His ears were stuffed with cotton, and sound was coming from a distance, muffling the voices of his teachers. Maybe they were trying to talk to him. More likely they were just talking about him.
They really needed to wrap things up. What else was there to talk about? He'd agreed. He hadn't fought. He'd been downright patient, dammit! And where the fuck was Bobby?
As he reached for the water bottle next to him, John could only pray they didn't notice how many times he missed or how bad the tremors were.
The pressure was building up in his chest now, not just heat, and the stabs of pain started to spike faster. He wondered if this is what a heart attack felt like. A thick wad of molten rock was being shoved slowly into his breast bone. The heat trickled down into his stomach and up into his throat. His mouth watered sickeningly, and John knew that within a minute or two he was either going to throw up, burst into tears, or pass out.
Suddenly, the door to his room burst open, startling the teachers. Bobby stood in the doorway panting a little.
"I'm sorry, I just closed my eyes for a minute and by the time I-" he stopped, looking like he just realized there were more people than usual crowded inside John's room.
"Oh," he said, "sorry. I didn't know you guys were talking. Should I-"
Then his eyes landed on John. "Shit," he breathed, crossing the room in three strides. In one glance he seemed to understand what the teachers hadn't picked up on or were willfully ignoring, and John felt even closer to crying. God, just let me throw up, please. He really didn't need to crumble into a weeping mess now with so many witnesses.
It took more willpower that he'd like to admit to stop from reaching out for the cryokinetic. He could almost feel the cold radiating off of Drake, and he needed it. It was getting harder to breath and the edges of his vision were growing a little dark and fuzzy.
Bobby crowded up close to the bed and John leaned forward, resting his forehead on Drake's shoulder. His hands gripped the bedframe until his fingers ached. So much for keeping it cool in front of everyone, he thought before the cold ripped through his chest.
He heard muffled keening noises for a few seconds before realizing he was making them, but couldn't figure out how to stop. When the initial shock worse off, he pressed his face harder against Bobby's t-shirt, trying to disguise the dry sobs that made his aching chest heave wildly.
The cold seemed to go on and on, reaching into every corner of his body from the tips of his ears to the soles of his feet. Usually, he came to a few minutes later, but this time, his vision narrowed and he was falling. When he landed, it was like breaking through an ice-covered lake. There was a sudden jolt, then nothing but needle sharp cold before his vision when black and he knew no more.
Bobby POV
Bobby felt John go limp in his arms and he took his hands away from the back of his friend's neck and back and placed them on his shoulders, holding him and up and awkwardly laying him down on the bed. He pushed back the hair covering John's face and patted his cheek.
"Hey!" he called, "John? Johnny?"
Hank gently shoved him out of the way, leaning over the pyrokinetic and checking for a pulse.
"He's alright," he pronounced after a few seconds, "he's just unconscious." When he moved back out of the way, Bobby bent back over John's bed.
"He's never done this before. Is something wrong?"
"I don't know. His pulse is strong and steady. From what I can tell, he's just passed out. Look. He's coming around already."
John was groaning, his eyes fluttering open. When he saw Bobby he grinned lopsidedly and then seemed to notice where he was. "Did I do something stupid again?" he asked, words slurring. His lips were pale, almost blue. "Storm is gonna kill me if I set our curtains on fire again." He frowned, "No one got hurt right, just me?"
Bobby looked at Hank and then back at his teachers watching the scene. They didn't say anything. In fact, Storm was a little pale and Scott was clenching his teeth. Bobby could see the muscles jumping in his jaw.
"No," he said at last, not knowing how long it would take John to remember where or when he was. "Everyone's fine."
John closed his eyes, nodding, "Ok. Don't let Summers take my zippo, I didn't meant to do it."
"Sure. No problem."
Bobby saw the ice in his mind. It sat right there, freezing all the thoughts that drifted past. He froze them and wrapped them around the frozen core of his being. He was ice. The ice was him. It couldn't hurt him. It couldn't freeze him unless he wanted it too because it was both tangible and intangible and under his control. Bobby breathed slowly in and out. Inhaling to the count of five and then exhaling to the count of five. Again and again he breathed until he floated contentedly.
"Alright, Bobby. That's enough."
Bobby blinked in the sudden light. The lights in the Danger Room had always been on, but while he'd been meditating his closed his eyes blocked everything out. Storm started the exercise towards the end of the last year and by now, it was much easier to fall into the meditative state.
Piotr and Jubilee were the best at it. Halfway through the summer they were already falling into the relaxed state. It started getting easier at the beginning of the school year for Bobby, and Kitty was only a half-step behind him.
Bobby glanced at his watch, which read half past five. He'd been sitting on the floor for about twenty minutes. A few feet away, John sat in the same position; crossed legged on the spongy floor of the Danger Room.
Unlike Bobby though, John wasn't relaxed. His shoulders were hunched and his hands clenched in his lap, closing and unclosing. Eye squeezed shut.
Bobby rolled to his feet easily and began rotating his shoulders and swinging his arms; limbering up for sparing. Dinner was at seven, so they still had about an hour to work out before a quick shower.
It was the second week of training on the new schedule, about a month since John had been back at the mansion. Bobby heard all about the new plans for John, but they ended up being pushed back a week so he could get some more rest on Hank's orders.
Mostly, the only changes involved the pyrokinetic slowly integrating back into school life. Bobby still did all the things he used to. He spared with the others and did his homework in the common areas for about an hour or so at night so he could help kitty with her pre-calc and bullshit around with Piotr and Jubes.
They all had at least a few classes together. John was taking remedial classes with the juniors and getting tutoring from Storm and Summers too. The pyrokinetic barely spoke during the last week. Bobby knew his old friend wasn't pleased with the new arrangements and he was still having trouble sleeping. Really, the whole thing was a bit surreal. Not to mention being around the teachers still felt like walking on eggshells. Scott didn't speak to anyone outside of classes, and even then he was grumpy. Storm gave everyone the same tight "hang in there" smile and Logan was…friendly. Weird.
John needed cooling every five hours, give or take a few minutes, and it worked out ok. Nights were rough for both of them, and the sleeping schedule they worked out was imperfect and exhausting. There was talk about moving John out of the infirmary and back to student housing, but Summers wasn't on board for that.
Actually, the idea also made Bobby a little uncomfortable too, even though it would be a lot easier for everyone. Something about John taking up in their old room again rubbed him the wrong way. It was too soon. The normality was eerie when Bobby knew nothing was going to be normal again for a long time.
So far, John hadn't done anything to make himself a threat to other students. He hadn't even lit up yet, but that was about to change. After tonight, Summers and Ms. Munroe wanted to try setting John lose in the Danger Room and see if his fire had changed any. John said he couldn't make the fire himself yet, but Bobby wasn't so sure he was telling the truth.
After his limbering exercises were completed, Bobby waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while John finished up his meditation.
The new exercises were supposed to help them get in touch with their powers and calm them down so they could handle their powers around stressful environments without being afraid or tense. He already had a good grip on his powers, but the exercises had taken him beyond anything he could've dreamed of.
If the Professor had told him in the beginning that he could become a living, breathing ice statue in just a few years, he would have called him crazy. Now, he knew that if the Professor could've seen him today, he would've been so proud.
John was struggling, but he'd only been doing the drills for a week. Sweat ran down the pyrokinetic's face. Bobby couldn't tell if it was from the heat or from concentration.
Bobby checked his wristwatch again. John wasn't due for a cooling until after diner, but that didn't mean he wasn't running hot. These days, Bobby could feel the heat from John's skin every time he got close to the other mutant.
Hank said that the episodes might get closer together like they had before. But if they were, John wasn't telling anyone.
Storm called out to get their attention again, "Alright, John. That's good." John wiped the sweat out of his eyes as he stood. His face was pale, but that was pretty normal these days too.
He started limbering up like Bobby had, and after ten minutes he cracked his knuckles and neck and turned to face cryokinetic.
"Aright, boys," said Storm. "Today we're working on cardio. Get into position."
Bobby squared off against John. Every time they did this, Bobby couldn't help but think about Alcatraz. He shook off the feeling of unease and brought his hands up to his face.
They didn't fight hard. Bobby saved that for the rest of the group. It wasn't like Storm or Logan stopped them from duking it out, but Bobby held himself back and kept it light because John wasn't healthy enough, no matter what Scott said.
Hank knew what he was talking about. The fire hurt John, and though his old friend kept a straight face, he could tell the pyrokinetic was sluggish. Probably from lack of sleep and from the heat. He got dehydrated easily too.
He had to admit John had gotten better at sparing though. By now, he had more firsthand experience than any other student, and when Bobby moved, John easily blocked a kick. They'd also been sparing together since freshmen year.
The only difference was that now John was breathing heavy only five minutes in; his narrow chest heaving to catch a breath. Bobby tried to make it look like he wasn't going easy. That was normally the fastest way to piss John off.
Plus, he didn't like hitting the pyrokinetic, though some days he wanted nothing more than to strangle him. They'd been sparing for years, but he really wasn't Bobby's favorite partner. His friend was always leaner and lighter. He was better matched off against Jubilee or Kitty, not like he'd ever tell him that to his face though.
Storm spent the time yelling corrections and advice at them, but after thirty minutes she hollered at them to stop.
She came close to John, matching his stance and bringing her hands to her face. "You want to keep your hands close. Like this," she said. "When you fight, your arms get too far apart and it takes you too long to block."
The she turned to Bobby, "Your stance is too wide. That makes you too slow to kick effectively. You only want your feet to be a shoulder's width apart. Like this, remember?" she modeled how it should look. "That'll steady you and make you able to respond quicker. Remember to breathe boys. Don't forget to breath."
Sometimes Logan taught sparing. There was a rotation. The fights were more brutal then. Storm was good at technique, but Bobby learned to throw a punch with Logan, as well as how to take a hit too.
Bobby stepped a few paces away from John, breathing heavily and starting to sweat. His ice kept him cool most of the time. He hated the feeling of sweat dripping down his face and body. It was necessary though, and it told him that he was getting a good workout. That and the burning muscles and aching bones from deflecting John's kicks and punches.
Before he was ready again, John swung at him and forced Bobby back another step. John kept coming. Kicking, swinging, blocking. Bobby lost himself in the rhythm. It felt good, even the sting of sweat in his eyes and the burn of used muscles. He sidestepped hastily to avoid a kick and hooked his right foot on his left ankle.
Bobby stumbled and automatically threw out a hand, icing John's follow-up swing to his elbow. John stopped, jaw falling open in surprise. Before everything, when they were just stupid high school kids together, John would have melted the ice and kept swinging.
Now, he let his hand drop and stared at the ice. Bobby couldn't call it back after it solidified, but that wasn't usually a problem. He'd done this before to the others during practice. It stung, but it wouldn't hurt them, if they knew how to get rid of it. The ice would break off once it absorbed the heat from their skin, or they could knock of off if it clung to their X-suit.
When the pyrokinetic didn't move, Bobby called out, "John?"
John looked up, eyes a bit glassy. "Oh, yeah. Just um, one sec."
It was something they'd been practicing. Or at least, John had been practicing it with Scott and Logan while Bobby stood by in case fires needed to be put out. With time and concentration, John was able to slightly control the temperature of his body. It was only a few degrees, but it was some measure of control. A baby step Hank said.
Since John developed the small amount of power over the heat, he was supposed to use it as often as possible. Like stretching a muscle. Bobby didn't really like how Scott went about teaching the process, but John seemed to be doing better with the meditation and practice.
The only thing was, after his core temp rose, he couldn't always lower it, which meant an early cooling. Hank and Scott usually made John try to heat up right before a cooling, but sometimes John accidentally raised his temp during the day in class or between periods and at lunch.
"Just remember to breathe," Storm said. She came over to stand next to them. "Remember. Five breaths in and five breaths out through your nose. You are in control, not your powers."
John clenched his teeth and glared at the floor, but he started to breathe. Steam rose from his arm and water started to drip. They watched the water run until John tapped his arm against his leg and the rest of the ice fell off in pieces.
John swept his arm across his face, wiping away new sweat.
"Can you continue?" Storm asked.
John jerked a short nod and brought his hands back up to his face. They shook faintly. Bobby arched an eyebrow, giving them a pointed stare. John glared at him and took a step closer. Bobby backed up.
Their next round was slower than before. Bobby pulled his punches and kicks and after a few good hits, John did too. The pyrokinetic was breathing heavily after just a few minutes. He reeled from a light kick and Bobby followed-up, kicking a little too hard and landing a solid blow to John's chest.
John hissed and sat down hard, legs giving out.
"Shit! You ok?"
Bobby jogged to John's shoulder and hunched over the pyrokinetic. "Did I get your ribs?"
"It's fine," John gasped.
"That's enough for today anyway," Storm said before Bobby could reply. "John?" she asked, "you ok?"
"Yeah," John grumbled, shoving himself to his feet and ignoring Bobby's outstretched hand.
John was quiet while they took a quick shower in the locker rooms. Bobby's shower spray made all the mirrors fog up, but he was pretty sure John didn't even touch the hot water knob on his side of the showers.
By the time they were finished, dinner was ready to start, so Bobby pulled on his jeans and t-shirt and slung his gym bag over his shoulders. His shirt still clung a bit wetly and he was carrying his shoes and socks.
John's hair hung wet around his face and he looked miserable. Hopefully the cold water did him some good.
That week, the sophomores were in charge of dinner. So was Logan. So far, the menu had predominately featured comfort foods like bacon cheeseburgers and steak fries, but Storm told Logan to add some greens, so the word of mouth was taco salad.
Bobby steered John towards a table with Jubilee, Kitty, and Piotr. They made room, mostly ignoring John. No one was keen on cozying up to the pyrokinetic, but they also knew how hard it could be trying to control new powers.
John might have been a royal douchebag and an idiot, but he wasn't evil. Plus, they'd known John for as long as Bobby had. They'd known what a mouthy little shit he'd been. Didn't mean they had to like him though.
At the beginning of the previous week, they'd been a little frostier, but they were thawing, which was more than Bobby could say for some others in the school.
Dinner was an assembly line affair. Bobby talked with Kitty and Piotr until the line died down a little, then he leaned over and asked John, "You want a salad?"
John gave him a dirty look, but nodded, "Skip the taco part," he said, "I don't think I can handle the spices right now. Extra tomatoes."
Bobby made a face, "ew."
"Good for your prostate," John ginned.
"Double ew." Bobby rolled his eyes.
Bobby came back with two plates and spent the rest of dinner partially telling Kitty about her math homework and half listening to Jubilee and Piotr talk. Kitty laid her head down next to her empty plate near the end, and tugged on handfuls of her hair.
"I walk through walls and disrupt electrical fields, why aren't I better at math and science?" she complained.
"Yeah, well, John talks like he never learned proper English and he still writes and edits papers better than anyone else here," Bobby replied.
Jubilee leveled a thoughtful glance at the pyrokinetic, "I forgot about that. What's your paper on for Summers' class?"
"I haven't decided yet," John mumbled.
"You know it's due next week?" she said with a raised eyebrow.
"Then I got time, don't I?"
Kitty laughed, "You read the book at least, right?"
"A couple of years ago," John said. At their stares he added, "I read it now too. It's a good book."
"Everyone dies at the end," Piotr said.
"Only three people die," John scoffed.
"That's like half the characters, or at least the ones that matter," Jubilee said, "also, spoiler alert."
Piotr looked guilty, and Jubilee grinned at him, "just kidding. I finished it a few days ago."
After dinner, Bobby nudged John with his elbow and the pyrokinetic helped bring all of their dishes to the kitchen. A sophomore in a wet apron and yellow rubber gloves took the dirty plates and glasses and dumped them in an overfull sink. Logan was bustling around, a dirty, limp towel hanging over one shoulder and a chewed, unlit cigar in his mouth. His blue button up hung open, the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He eyed Bobby and John.
"Enjoy dinner?"
Bobby smiled, "nice mixed greens."
"Shut up," Logan replied, but the corner of his mouth turned up. "What're you two up to tonight?"
Bobby shrugged, "homework. We had sparing earlier, are you back on next week after you're off the dinner schedule?"
Logan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter, "Yep." He looked straight at John, "How's Cyke treating you?"
Way to go for the kill, Bobby thought, raising his eyebrows at the other mutant.
John looked down at his feet, "fine," he mumbled.
"Yeah, I'll bet," Logan flatly replied, staring at the pyrokinetic in the following silence. "Well, you two get out of here then. I've got work to do and I don't need anyone else underfoot."
When they got back, the others were gone. Bobby walked with John until they came to the central atrium that split off three different ways.
One led to the front driveway and the basketball court. Another led to the classrooms and a staircase to the dorms and student lounges. The last gradually sloped downward and ended at an elevator to get down to the floors underneath the Mansion.
Bobby hefted his gym bag more securely over his shoulders. "You know," he said, "you can come study in the lounge with us if you want. I could use your help, and me or Jubes can help you with your math."
For a second, John started to smirk and opened his mouth to speak, but then something came over his face and he closed his mouth again. Bobby was pretty used to John's smartass comments and didn't really expect him to agree, but he was surprised when the pyrokinetic cleared his throat and said, "Ok. Yeah, why not. I need to drop off my bag first and get some books." He hesitated, "and I need to cool down too."
"I'll…walk you?"
John grinned, "Yeah. Ok."
Instead of heading back to his room, Bobby found himself descending back to the first sub-level. They slopped down gently for a few hundred yards before taking the elevator deeper into the ground. Hank was in the infirmary, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He tapped away at a keyboard in front of a panel of computer screens with surprising speed and dexterity.
He looked up when the big door hissed open. "Hello boys," he said cheerfully, "how was dinner?"
"Green," John said, surprising Bobby again. John had been pretty closed mouth to everyone in the last week, especially with the teachers and adults at the school. Here, he seemed almost comfortable with Hank. The doctor chuckled deep in his chest and rolled his chair away from the computer.
"Can I help you with anything?"
"I'm just gonna put some things in my room and get my backpack. I'm…gonna study in the student lounge."
Hank smiled and raised an eyebrow, "Are you? Good. I think you've been in your room here long enough. I'll be up until late tonight. I'll see you when you come back in."
John looked a little relieved. "Thanks."
"One more thing, John," Hank said as they started to walk deeper into the honeycombed area that made up the infirmary and its many labs, offices, and private patient rooms. "I need a copy of your observations by Friday. Have you been keeping records like I showed you?"
"Yeah," John replied.
"Any changes?"
"Not since I last told you."
"Good. I'll leave you to it then. Nice to see you, Mr. Drake."
Bobby smiled, "You too, Hank."
Even though Bobby knew the way to John's room by now, he let John take the lead. He'd changed rooms the night before restarting classes a couple weeks ago. The new one was back in the research and development labs, which was where Hank usually was. It was a little bigger than the first exam room John had been confined to. The pyrokinetic seemed to like the change. Bobby supposed it had something to do with the lack of two-way mirrors.
He watched John stuff his gym bag into a wardrobe door. It was one of the old medical ones from another part of the infirmary. The heavy thing was made from steel, unlike the wooden ones in the dorms. John's backpack was hanging on the back of his chair, which stood in front of a folding table he'd been using for a desk.
He searched around inside the bag, and then added a book from the pile lying on the desk. John also included a spiral notebook and a pen too after taking off the cap and scribbling on the back of his hand to check for ink. After gathering his homework, John tossed his backpack on the bed and took a deep breath.
"Alright," he said, "let's do this."
"You gonna be ok to go out afterwards?" Bobby asked. "This usually takes a lot out of you after class."
The pyrokinetic gave his best shit-eating grin, "My hero. If I faint, will you catch me?"
"Don't be an ass. I want to have at least two hours to do homework, and I don't want to have to walk you back down here when you pass out on the couch."
John hopped up on his bed grumbling as he went, "that stick's pretty far up your ass today, isn't it? Don't worry. I'll do my homework and be a good boy."
Bobby sighed. Cranky was the pyrokinetic's default setting lately. "C'mon. Let's just get this over with."
John threw a crisp salute, "Yes, sir!"
Bobby ended up standing beside the bed facing John so he could grip the back of John's neck and have another hand against his heart. This way he could also get a good grip on the pyrokinetic if he spazed out.
"You ready?" he asked again, waiting on John's signal.
"Wait!" the pyrokinetic blurted out. He grabbed Bobby's wrist as he started to reach out, then his ears and neck started to redden. "You leave a giant wet handprint every time, and Kitty said something about it. I don't want to change my shirt again, so would it be cool if, you know…"
Bobby stared for a second or two, uncomprehending. "I'm a cryokinetic, John. I make ice. Ice melts. What do you want me to do about it?"
John rolled his eyes, "Would it be cool if I took my shirt off? I forget you're as thick as ice sometimes too."
"Oh. Yeah, sure, I guess so. I mean, I don't care."
John hiked his shirt up around his armpits and laughed, "As eloquent as ever."
"Pulling out the fancy vocab, huh? You must be feeling better."
John guided Bobby's palm to his chest and allowed the cryokinetic to cup the back of his neck. "It's a SAT word, retard. We've been learning them since sophomore year."
There was still faint bruising around John's ribs. A few were newer, probably from a few hours ago and from sparing in the last week. Bobby tried not to press too hard, but John tended to move around during the cooling.
After a nod from John, he closed his eyes to concentrate, trying to see the atoms in the pyrokinetic's body slowing down. After a few seconds, John's body tensed, and his breathing sped up. His back bowed and he hunched over, pressing his forehead into Bobby's shoulder, hands clenched tightly in the fabric of his jeans.
They went through the same thing nearly five times a day, but Bobby still hadn't found anything more reassuring to say to John. He just held on tighter and turned his head slightly so he could whisper the same familiar words again and again. He didn't even know if John could hear him when he was like this.
"It's ok," he said, "you're ok. Almost done, almost finished."
Eventually, the spasms in John's body started to calm, and the pyrokinetic's breathing evened out. Bobby withdrew, breaking his concentration.
John slumped quietly for a few seconds with his eyes closed, but Bobby didn't say anything since John usually needed a minute to compose himself before getting up. When he straightened, Bobby stepped back, letting the hand on the back of John's neck drag through the pyrokinetic's shaggy hair, ruffling it gently.
"C'mon. We've got papers to write and geometry to muddle through."
"Yeah, yeah," John said, but after a second he pushed himself up and grabbed his bag, following Bobby out of the room.