The cold's choking him, John's not far away but still the chill is already setting in, his bones begin ache, ache and ache and ache, there's nothing he himself could do it this point.
If he runs he could catch up with him, if he runs he could catch John as he leaves the Black-Bird, he's not that far his foots only just making contact with the white Earth.
He hears Rouge's voice in his ear like a hovering wasp pulling insistently at his hand, why is she trying to keep him from his fire? Why is she keeping him from Johnny? Why?
He pulls the opposite way, John's almost too far, she gives this time allowing him his escape as he races after his fire, his heart, the lion to his wolf.
He reaches out, his hand enclosing on the dark grey cotton of Johnny's long sleeve t-shirt.
John turns to face him, his eyes a mask of warm, warm, rage that cuts through the cold indifference that has been placed over his heart the moment John was out of reach.
"Bobby, shouldn't you be with your girlfriend," his sneer isn't warm any longer and Bobby finds himself freezing all over again.
If Johnny left him he'd probably kill himself.
"Johnny," his voice was scratchy and empty even to his own ears. "I'm cold." His shiver wasn't faked as he brought his arms up and down in a futile attempt to bring heat back into him.
John's face softened in a way only meant for him, the sharp edges forgotten once more in the planes of his face.
"Come 'ear," that was all the invitation he needed before he basically threw himself in to Johnny's outstretched arms causing fire and ice to crash on to the ground.
Johnny's laugh from underneath him was all that was needed to send the rest of the warmth back in to his marrow in a flow of black coffee and pumpkin cookies.
"Silly boy," fire cooed, "I can't leave you alone can I?" Bobby shook his head hoping that John could relay his message without talk.
"Can't take you to Magneto can I?" Bobby meant to answer this time but John ploughed on, talking to himself. "We're going to have to go back, you can't kill, you're much too delicate. Fragile and fickle as ice." John mussed to himself gently, shoving gently at Bobby's shoulder a signal to get up.
They struggled up, pushing the snow off of John before heading in the direction of the Black-Bird, tracing footsteps, one melted deep in aggression the other bedded in snow from depression, back into the life of peace.
For if the fire was to leave the ice what would become of them both? They would fade into evil and light, never to touch again.
But if the fire can realise its mistakes, realise the cold the ice faces, the depression, despair and indifference, then maybe they could become one, become what they were meant to be before the fire grew in jealousy and anger.
Because what is the ice without fire, and the fire without ice.