Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13736487.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Arrow_(TV_2012)
  Relationship:
      Oliver_Queen/Felicity_Smoak, Cooper_Seldon/Felicity_Smoak, Thea_Queen/Roy
      Harper, Laurel_Lance/Oliver_Queen
  Character:
      Oliver_Queen, Felicity_Smoak, Cooper_Seldon, Sara_Lance, Quentin_Lance,
      Laurel_Lance, Thea_Queen, Roy_Harper, John_Diggle, Lyla_Michaels, Donna
      Smoak
  Additional Tags:
      AU
  Series:
      Part 1 of Olicity_will_fight_through
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-02-19 Updated: 2018-03-27 Chapters: 4/? Words: 8610
****** Fight for it ******
by nikcholaxsmoak_(Flamingarcher93)
Summary
     In an AU universe where Oliver and Felicity are in the same year at
     high school, Felicity attempts to make her way through her senior
     year without being pulled back by her reckless boyfriend, Cooper,
     fights to keep her mother's head above water whilst lusting after the
     rich boy with the popular girlfriend. A few wrong turns can get her
     in more trouble than she can handle.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Keep you head up high, Lissy. *****
Chapter Summary
     This chapter was updated on 10/03/2018
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
    "Lissy! Come on! Don't be like this! I was only having a bit of fun."
Felicity's blonde hair stuck flat to her head, trailing down her back making
her look like a drowned rat as she walked in the rain. The road was long and
was bordered by trees. It was dark and she didn't have a torch. She could still
faintly feel the buzz from the several beers she had drank followed by the four
tequila shots she had been dared to drink by Cooper. She never thought she was
someone who would succumb to peer pressure, but she had. It's why she was in
such a state now. Her black suede heels swung from her fingers, her white strap
top clung to her body - turning see through and showing her pale pink silk bra.
She had stopped caring a long while ago, her mind felt numb and her eyes felt
heavy. She was certain Cooper had slipped something into her drink, she kept
feeling dizzy and out of sorts as she walked down the damp road towards the
shining lights of Starling City. The back roads were always empty at this time
of night and she hadn’t seen a car the entire time she had been walking. She
stumbled a little as her bare foot pressed on a few scattered stones which had
been torn up by the cars driving too close to the edge of the road. She caught
her balance just before she fell, her ankle twisting at an odd angle and adding
to her list of injuries from the party she didn’t even want to attend. She took
a second to compose herself, making an effort to brush down her black mini
skirt. She always dressed up to impress Cooper, in fear that he would realise
she wasn't who he was looking for and instead finding some other girl like
Elena. She was friends with Elena but only because they both ran in the same
circles. She knew she had her eyes on Cooper, but Felicity was one to fight for
her territory. Only these days she was beginning to wonder why. Whilst part of
her was telling her to just give him up and let Elena take him, the other half
was telling her that if she let Elena sink her claws in Elena would end up
getting hurt too and she wasn’t going to let that happen to her, even if she
wasn’t too fond of her.
 
Cooper’s words ran through her mind again. He was the only person who called
her Lissy. She hated it, but she would never tell him that. She took pride in
her name and she loved how it rolled off people's tongues, she hated those who
shortened it, apart from her mom. It's probably why she hated hearing Cooper
call her Lissy - when she was younger her mother used to say she was her little
Lissy doll. It was sentimental. With Cooper it was just a word. There was no
sentiment behind it. She grumbled a little bit to herself as she pulled her
skirt down again and frowned as her fingers caught on the hole in her tights.
It was right on her thigh, a reminder of what Cooper had attempted to do.
 
His hands ran down her thighs, his words slurred as he pushed himself on her.
                  "Come on, Lissy. No one will hear us."
 Felicity attempted to push him away from her but his hand only held her hands
    tighter above her head as the other one behan to push her skirt up.
    “Cooper, I don’t want to. Not here. Can’t we just wait until later?”
  Even her words were slurred. Her vision swam before her and she began to see
 two of him. He was stronger than she was and he was making it harder to push
  back. His hand was pushing at her panties. His other hand finally freed her
hands as he began to unbutton his jeans. Felicity was about to use that to her
advantage until he began to kiss her neck until he was free and then his hands
  were holding hers again. A loud noise came from the hallway, startling them
both but giving Felicity the opportunity to push him away. She made it off the
   bed just as the door opened and Elena walked in, hand in hand with a much
drunker version of their ‘responsible’ friend Curtis. She pushed past them both
 as Cooper shouted after her. She pushed her way through the bodies lining the
hallways until she found Barry. He looked her up and down, a frown on his face.
He saw the red scratch marks lighting up her pale flesh and didn’t question her
 as she grabbed her bag and phone. Her make-up was smudged from where she had
 wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. She looked over her shoulder in
  time to see Barry storming up the stairs towards the direction she had come
                                   from.   
                                        
The lights blinded her as they came racing towards her, the first car in thirty
odd minutes. She rose one hand to block them as she kept her head down and
carried on forwards. The rain was getting worse and she was shaking from head
to foot, the liquor and drugs in her body not helping in keeping her warm. She
had just approached the edge of town when another passed by, only to stop and
reverse backwards. She fumbled for her purse rummaging in her bag for her keys
only to remember she had left them at home as she was due to stay at Cooper’s
that night. Her hands clenched at her sides as the car stopped beside her. The
window lowered and a familiar voice echoed through the night, only just
reaching her ears over the hammering of the rain on the tarmac. A voice she
only ever dreamed she would hear say her name again.
"Felicity?"
She stopped walking and squinted to look into the car to see the driver.
"Oliver?" She asked in genuine surprise. She hadn't expected to see anyone, let
alone him.
"Why are you walking in the rain half dressed?"
"I...I'm going home from Barry's party."
"Alone?"
"Uh..yeah."
She began to walk again, only for him to reverse with her and stop a couple of
meters ahead of her. She heard the door click as it opened and he got out. All
6ft of him. She tilted her head a bit to look up at him.
"You're going to get wet." She stated bluntly.
"So are you." He told her with a shrug. He was wearing dark jeans and a dark
baseball shirt. She could tell he was heading to the party.
"Well, I best keep on walking or I'm never going to get home."
"Why didn't you call your mom?"
"She's at work."
"Cooper?"
"He's at the party." She explained with a shrug.
"And you're walking home alone, why?"
"It's not really any of your business, Oliver." She snapped and then frowned at
herself.
Felicity had known Oliver since 3rd Grade when she had moved from Vegas with
her mom after her parents had divorced. They had been friends for the first
couple of years, but when they moved to Middle School, their social circles
changed and they barely knew each other. When they hit high school, they were
in the same English and History class and yet they would barely talk. But
Felicity knew Oliver had seen the bruises on her arms from the many fights she
had got in with Cooper.
"Get in Felicity. I can't have you walking in the rain with no shoes on."
"I'm alright Oliver. It was a nice offer though."
"It wasn't an offer. It was a command."
A shiver ran through her body at the word  command . She gave a shy nod and
headed to the passenger seat with heated cheeks and a horrible feeling in her
chest. Once in the car Oliver reached onto his back seat and grabbed his
jacket. It was a fluffy, dark hoodie. He draped it gently over Felicity's
shoulders and then settled in his seat before turning the car around.
"Where are we going?" She asked in confusion.
"I'm taking you home."
"I left my keys at home and my phone is dead, I can’t get hold of my mom. I was
in a bit of a rush to get out of there."
Oliver glanced over to Felicity, his eyes fell on the rip in her tights and
then the smudged makeup.
"Then I'm taking you to mine."
The pair hadn't spent the night at each others since Oliver's first girl/boy
sleep over in 7th grade. He had invited practically everyone in the year and
she had spent most of it chatting to his younger sister Thea or Elena. She
remembered waking up and venturing down to the kitchen and grabbing a drink in
the middle of the night. She was eventually found by Oliver and they had the
longest talk about their families. Since then she saw him in the halls, but
they never really spoke unless they were partnered together in a class.
 
They spent the entire journey to the Queen mansion in silence, Felicity's
fingers ran over the welts that had formed from Cooper's nails against her
thighs. They pulled up on the drive and Oliver got out, rushing to the
passenger side to help Felicity out of her seat. She grimaced as her already
sore feet walked over the gravel until they reached the pavement. Oliver opened
the heavy door and they were greeted by Raisa.
"Back so soon Master Queen?"
"I decided not to go, I saw Felicity on the way home and thought it's best I
brought her somewhere warm."
"Okay Master Queen. Just tell me if you need anything. It's nice to see you
again, Miss Smoak."
Felicity was surprised that Raisa remembered her name. She gave her a polite
smile and then followed Oliver as he motioned for her to follow. She climbed
the stairs with him, her hand running over the polished bannister. She tripped
on one of the steps near the top, catching herself on the rail and then quickly
following Oliver pretending nothing embarrassing had happened. She followed
Oliver down the long hallway towards his bedroom. He popped his head into one
of the doors and quickly returned to walking to his bedroom. When she walked
past the room, she looked in. Finding Thea asleep on her bed, the blanket over
her and a book in her lap. Felicity smiled gently and ran to catch up with
Oliver. She forgot how big his house was and she found herself wanting to
explore every room.

She stood by the door of his bedroom, not wanting to be rude by just walking
in. She watched as Oliver went to his dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and a
sweatshirt. He turned and held them out to Felicity. He cracked a smile as he
saw her in the doorway.

“You are allowed in here. It’s not forbidden.”
Felicity smiled back and took a step in. “I was being polite actually.” She
quipped as she walked closer to him.
 “Here, go put these on. You look freezing. The bathroom is just through that
door. Feel free to use the shower. I'll just be out here."
And just like that, she had more trust in Oliver Queen than she had in anyone
for a long time.
 
                                    - - - -
 
Oliver flopped onto his bed and dug into his pocket for his phone. He quickly
texted his friend Laurel and then turned his phone off and placed it on his
desk. He had just settled on the bed and turned the television on when Felicity
came out of the bathroom. He looked up and smiled. She looked perfect in his
sweatshirt, her hair was drying down her shoulders and it was curling at the
edges. He patted the space next to him and she sat down next to him.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Felicity looked at him and rose an eyebrow.
“Talk about what?”
“Why you were walking in the rain and why you have those marks on your legs?”

“Not really, no.” She shuffled in her spot and messed with the ends of her
hair.

Oliver sighed and stood up, walking round the side of the bed and pulling the
sheets back. He gestured for her to follow and let her get under the sheets.
Her eyes were always on the ground, but when he looked, her eyes were stuck on
his and she had a quizzical look on her face.

“I’m not going to sleep here with you, don’t worry.” He began to head for the
door, but her hand reached for his and held on tight.
“Please stay.”
Those two words made his heart lurch. He nodded once and walked to the
bathroom, changing into some running shorts and a t-shirt and then returning.
He laid on top of the sheets and turned to look at Felicity who was already
drifting off.
 “Night, Felicity.” He whispered.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Please leave kudos and/or comment if you enjoyed and if you want to
     keep updated please subscribe/bookmark.
***** Someone *****
Chapter Summary
     This chapter was updated on 11/03/2018.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The morning after had been one hundred types of awkward. She had sat in the
passenger seat of his car, constantly pulling her skirt down her legs even
though it wasn’t creeping any higher. Oliver had insisted on her wearing his
sweatshirt and shirt home due to her top and skirt still being wet, but she had
still put her skirt on. She had put her heels back on, even though her bruised
feet couldn’t take another step in them. Felicity had felt the heat from
Oliver’s hand as it hovered just short of her back, vigilant incase she fell.
She could see Oliver kept glancing at her, his hands flexing on the steering
wheel as he navigated through the streets towards Felicity's home via her
directions. Her voice was small as she voiced the gentle order, her confidence
seemed to have dwindled more since the night passed and she was finding it
difficult to not be self-conscious about herself now. Every time she looked
down she could see the bruises on her thighs that were beginning to bloom.
Felicity knew who she should be, she had always been a strong and independent
woman and she had a good role model - even if she and her mom fought quite
often.

 She had been stuck in her head for so long she didn’t realise they were parked
up outside her apartment block. Oliver’s hand on hers was the thing that
brought her back down to earth. She turned to look at him, blinking at him
through blurry eyes. She hadn’t realised she wouldn’t be staying at home that
night and had to take her contact lenses out - meaning she could barely see.
She ran her hands over her face, letting the skirt slip up her thighs and
forced a smile at Oliver.
“Thank you Oliver. I’ll get these back to you on Monday?” She looked at him
with a quizzical look. He smiled back and nodded. She grabbed her bag and
opened the car door, checking the street before crossing the road and entering
the apartment block.
Once inside she climbed the stairs to the third floor, opened the door and
headed straight to her bedroom. The amount of times she had told her mom to
lock the door when she got in but this time she was grateful she didn't. She
kicked off her shoes at the door and pulled the sweatshirt and t-shirt off and
wriggled out of her skirt. She grabbed her bed shorts and a t-shirt and carried
them to the ensuite bathroom. She took a long, hot shower and dressed
afterwards. It took her naught point two seconds to fall asleep once she was
lying on her bed. She wasn't asleep long before she was woken by her mom with
coffee and pastries. She had pulled back the covers and climbed in beside her
daughter. Felicity reached onto the bedside for her glasses and pushed them on
before taking the coffee from her mom and taking a bite of the pastry. They
spent the morning talking and cuddling, catching up for the first time in a
week.
It was enough to keep her mind off the night before.
                                        
                                    - - - -
                                        
Felicity often found herself wondering how she had been able to find someone
like Cooper. She used to think she was lucky but these days she knew the
difference between luck and misfortune. However, the other girls in her year
did not see it as misfortune. Cooper was handsome and smart. He had enough
confidence to walk about the place  knowing  girls were looking at him. It
seemed to be that since he put his claws in her she hadn't been able to shake
him off. Even with her current situation, she found herself still being caught
in his trap. She currently had her headphones in and her head was buried in her
locker. The music helped to drown out the comments from the other girls in her
year, the burying her head in the locker made it so she couldn't see the looks
they gave her. A hand dropped onto her shoulder. It was strong but gentle, the
only indication to tell her that it wasn't Cooper. She turned, closing her
locker and pulling her headphones out as her eyes fell on Oliver. She wrapped
the headphones around her fingers and pushed them into her bag.
 
"Hey Oliver. Everything alright?"
 
She leant down to pick up her laptop bag and shouldered it before pulling her
hair from under the strap, a grimace on her face as it pulled on a few stray
strands. Oliver instantly stepped forwards and lifted the strap for her so she
could pull the hair back. She gave him a smile as a thank you.
 
"Just wanted to check up on how you are doing after the other night."
 
"Nothing a bit of coffee and Netflix can't help." She told him with a shrug.
Felicity glanced up as she saw Laurel join them. Her arm snaked around his and
she gave a confident smile to Felicity.
 
"Hey. Who's your friend?" Felicity had known Laurel since 5th grade but it
didn't surprise her that she didn't remember her. In fact, Felicity found
herself getting on with Laurel's older sister Sara more. Sara was more relaxed,
she didn't think to fit into a clique, she was just her own person. As far
Felicity knew she was the only openly gay person in the high school, aside from
her partner Alex. They had been together on and off for a year now and yet
Felicity found herself still hanging out with both when they were apart.
 
"You know Felicity." He told her in an almost stern voice.
 
"Oh yeah. You hang around with Sara sometimes." Laurel's eyes dropped to
Felicity's bag in her hand and frowned a little. "Is that your sweater, Oli?"
 
"I..umm...I was just giving it back." Felicity stammered before Oliver cut in.
 
Whilst Laurel and Oliver were not a couple, Laurel had always shown that she
was Oliver’s biggest fan, his best friend. She barely gave anyone a chance to
even cut into their circle. Felicity just had the upper hand due to being
friends with Sara, even if she rarely saw Oliver in or out of school. In fact,
their current encounter was the first time Oliver had spoke to her in school in
years.
 
"Felicity was in a bit of trouble on Saturday night. I gave her a lift to mine.
She was completely soaked from the rain so I lent her my t-shirt and sweater."
Oliver gave Felicity a soft smile as her cheeks went bright red. She pulled out
the sweatshirt and handed it back to him. "I put the t-shirt in the laundry as
I got coffee on it yesterday morning. Well...mom got coffee on it. I didn't
realise someone could be clumsier than me." She gave an awkward laugh and then
dropped her eyes to the ground as she heard a familiar sound.
 
"I..I have to go." She mumbled to them both, handing the sweatshirt back to
Oliver before rushing down the hall. She swallowed down the bile that rose in
her throat and then slipped her arm around Cooper's waist, forcing a smile onto
her face as she was greeted by the group of people surrounding them.
 
"Hey babe." She mumbled and curled into his side. She wasn't a big fan of
Cooper's friends so she just kept herself curled into his arm. She glanced over
her shoulder and saw Oliver looking over. Sara had joined Laurel and Oliver and
she was looking over at her too. Felicity knew Sara had an idea what was going
on, but before she could see anything else Cooper had caught her attention.
 
"So, where did you go on Saturday?" He asked as they walked towards their
advanced Math class.
 
"I needed a breath of fresh air.” She mumbled and then ducked away from him a
little bit.
“You were gone an awfully long time.”
 “I got picked up by Oliver. He let me stay at his. I couldn’t get into the
apartment.”
 “Oliver? As in Oliver Queen? He’s a jerk. You would rather hang around with
him than me?”
Felicity shrugged and stepped away from Cooper, only his hand gripped her arm
to prevent her from moving, his nails digging into her skin and causing her to
wince.
 
"Cooper. Get off me." She hissed as she tried to pull away.
 “You know you shouldn’t run from me Lissy.” He let her go and she pulled away
completely before completely stepping away and pushing through their small
crowd and heading down the hall. She pushed past Oliver and his friends and
headed for the IT lab.
 
                                     ----
                                        
                                        
Felicity had been offered a lift home from Sara but had declined. Instead, she
was given a lift to Cooper's. They had entered the home in an awkward silence.
His parents were very rarely home and he instantly went to the fridge and
plucked one of his dad's beers from the back. He didn't offer Felicity one,
instead he took a seat in the armchair in the lounge and motioned for her to go
to him. She had dropped her bags by the front door but had kept her jacket on
in hopes that she wouldn't be staying long. She took the small steps towards
him and slipped her hands into her pockets.
 
"Take it off." His demand scared her but she wasn’t going to let him intimidate
her. She rose an eyebrow in response and then shook her head a little.
 
"I'm fine the way I am, Cooper." She told him as confidently as she could
manage. He let out a huff of air and put his beer down on the side table before
standing up and approaching Felicity. He wrapped his arms around her and then
slowly kissed her. He brought his hand up to her throat and squeezed. Her eyes
showed the fear she felt.
"First you go home with another guy and then you disobey me. You're really
getting on my last nerve  Felicity ."
 
She knew she was in trouble when he began to call her by her full name. His
fingers around her throat were stopping her breath. "C..Coop!" She gasped out
and grabbed hold of his wrist, her nails digging into his skin a bit. He let
her throat go and sat back down in his seat. She tried to make it look like it
didn't bother her but she was struggling to get her breath back.
 
"Now, let's try this again. Take it off."
 
She took hold of her jacket and dropped it onto the couch. Her shirt soon
followed and the rest of her clothes until she was in just her bra and panties.
He motioned for her again and she walked over to him with no hesitation this
time. She was pulled into his lap and his lips were on hers again. The sex was
rough and she was left feeling bruised and broken with tears running down her
face. She had dressed as quickly as she had undressed and left. He had tried to
go down the dom route, a persona he put on when she had annoyed him. Only this
time she hadn't just annoyed him, she had angered him. He had left her ass red
and she knew it would bruise, her wrists had red marks on them from his finger
prints and her neck was bruised from before. It was just another set of bruises
to add to her disturbing collection. She walked the short distance home and
instantly got changed into comfy clothes which didn't brush against the bruises
on her body. She curled up on the couch, starting on her homework and avoiding
any interaction with her mom. She went to bed early and didn't eat, the act of
swallowing was too much for her to handle.
Her fingers hovered over the screen of her cell phone. She wasn't sure what she
was trying to do, but she knew she had to do something. She couldn't tell
anyone about what Cooper was doing to her. She shut her phone off and rolled
onto her side, covering herself with her blanket and falling asleep. She felt
bless that Cooper was on his internship the next two days.
 
                                     ----
                                        
                                        
She wore the most amount of clothing she could manage. Her hoodie was a size
too big which meant she could hide the bruises on her wrists. She had on soft
feel jeggings which matched her heeled chelsea boots. She wore a scarf around
her neck to hide the bruises and enough makeup to hide the dark circles under
her eyes. She sat with Sara and Alex at lunch but ate nothing but a few pieces
of bell pepper from a salad she had bought. She sipped from water in small sips
and tried to mask her discomfort when it got too much. It was Sara who had
noticed. She didn't want to approach Felicity straight on, so she spoke to
Oliver. She knew Oliver had picked up on small things and that left him as her
only option. A few texts later and Oliver and Laurel were sat at their table.
They attempted to engage Felicity into a conversation, but every attempt
failed. They had all picked up on it and it took Oliver touching her hand to
get her full attention.
"Hey, Felicity. I could do with your help after school if that's okay?"
 
Felicity lifted her head and pushed her glasses up her nose a bit. "With what,
Oliver?"
"I'm struggling with this math work we were given and I know you're pretty much
a genius when it comes to math."
 
"Ugh...sure. Where did you want to meet?"
 
"How about I give you a lift to mine? We can hang out there for a bit."
 
Felicity looked over at Sara who gave her a smile and nodded. "Sure. Sounds
like a plan."
She didn't expect what would ever come of the evening. Maybe she would finally
get out of the hell she was currently living.
 


Chapter End Notes
     As always comment, kudos and subscribe if you liked.
***** Holding On *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter was update on 12/03/2018
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
"Okay, so after I divide by X I have to solve X?"
"Yes, but first?"
"Factor the binomials?"
"Yes! Right."
Felicity's smile was bright. Oliver hadn't seen her smile like that in a long
time. He had noticed how she had gone from this confident and bubbly person who
could never stop talking and would rattle on for hours and hours about
quadratic equations or coding, to  being an introverted and quiet woman with
bruises around her neck and numerous scars on her life. He knew she was at the
top of her class in pretty much all of her lessons and yet she was pulling
herself back. He had heard the teachers talking, the students gossiping. He
lifted his head from his paper after he finished writing the answer and then
closed the book and leant back in his seat, his hands covering his face.
"I feel like my brain is fried!"
"You did well though, Oliver. You got it eventually." She told him, reaching
across the table and taking the books away from him and putting them in a pile
next to hers. "No more studying."
"I've never heard such amazing words come out of someone's mouth." He retorted
as Felicity packed her books away. He didn't want her to go just yet. He needed
to stall her. He had to find out what Cooper was doing to her. "How about we go
for some coffee?"
"Ah the drink of the Gods!" She commented sarcastically before standing up and
stretching. Her thin sweater rose above her stomach and Oliver found it hard to
not let his eyes drift up her body and to her beautiful face. Her glasses were
pushed onto the top of her head now, pushing her hair in soft waves around her
face. She glanced at Oliver and forced a smile before pushing her glasses back
onto her nose and following him to the kitchen. It was easy for Felicity to get
lost in Oliver's house but she felt safe following him. She felt safe every
time she was with him. She knew it wasn't right. She should feel safe around
Cooper, but after these recent months, there was no hope for her - she didn't
feel safe around him. She took the hot mug in her hands and had a long sip from
the mug, smiling a little bit.
"So, how have things been since the weekend?"
Felicity brought her gaze up towards Oliver and rose an eyebrow. "I don't know
what you mean, Oliver." He knew she was faking innocence and stupidity, but he
wasn't going to have it. He didn't want to see her go through something like
she was. They hadn't spoken to each other properly since they were put together
on a science project a few years ago, but it didn’t mean that Oliver wouldn’t
care if something happened to her. Oliver kept his eyes focused on her, apart
from one glance down to her neck.
"Felicity, there is no need to lie to me. You can trust me." He put his mug on
the counter and held his hand out to Felicity. She shied away from his touch,
gripping her coffee mug harder. Oliver gave her one look before motioning with
his head for her to follow him. He slowly lead her to his bedroom and then
motioned for her to sit on the bed. He walked to the bathroom and came back
with a small black pouch, yet Felicity had still not sat down on the bed, but
her coffee was now on his bedside table. It took him a little while to piece
things together. He couldn’t understand why she wasn’t sitting down, but the
pieces eventually settled together. She had been struggling to sit when they
did their tutoring at the dining room table. Now she was refusing to sit, even
though it was on a soft bed. Her sweater sleeves were pulled down over her
hands and her posture just seemed - wrong.
"I know this is a tall order, but I need to see your wrists." He told her as he
gently took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her so she was sat on the
bed. A pained look came over her face as she settled on the soft sheets.
Despite sitting down she still had not held her wrists out to him. With gentle
hands he reached out and took her hands in his. He pushed the sleeve to her
right arm up and glanced at the finger shaped marks on her wrists. He pulled a
tube of cream from the pouch and gently rubbed a small amount on the marks,
repeating the same on her other wrist. When Oliver looked up at Felicity he saw
tears in her eyes. He reached up to cup her face but she pulled back, a choked
sob echoing through the air. The smell of the anika cream was burning her
nostrils.
"Felicity, I'm not going to hurt you. You have to trust me." Oliver's voice was
soft and calm. It was clear that there was nothing to be scared of, but the
sheer power of someone's touch could change a lot in her life. If she let
Oliver continue, he could change her life for the better. If she pulled away
completely, she could be left in an abusive relationship which meant worse
things could be on the horizon for her. Oliver reached his hand out again and
Felicity let him.
"Felicity, you don't have to live this life. You have a choice. You don't have
to deal with his bullshit. He doesn't own you. Nobody owns you." He sat back on
his heels and squeezed some of the cream onto his fingers and began to apply it
to the bruises around her neck. He stood up and went back to his bathroom to
wash his hands. When he came back, Felicity had pulled her sleeves back down
and had stood up again. He had an inkling as to why she refused to sit down for
longer than necessary, he wasn't going to push her to tell him. Oliver
approached Felicity and looked her in the eyes.
"Promise me you will fight it. Fight this bullshit life he has you living in."
 
----
 
The room was dank and filled with smoke. She felt like her skin was crawling
every second that ticked by whilst she stood in his house. He had already given
her a dozen commands which she had instantly followed. Her every instinct was
telling her to run, but her body wasn't following her brain's commands. He
already had her straddling his thighs as he sat in the tattered armchair that
made her want to hurl. She found it strange that just an object could make her
want to vomit. His hands roamed down her half naked body until his hands cupped
her ass, his fingers dug into the marks already there, making her hiss in pain.
It was like she was having an out of body experience. Oliver's words were
running through her mind. Every time she went to do something Cooper had
commanded, Oliver's deafening voice echoed through her mind.
"Fight this bullshit."
Felicity was pulled out of her own thoughts by Cooper's gritty voice and then
hand holding her chin tightly - forcing her to look at him. "Lissy, listen to
me. You don't want to know what will happen if you don't do as I say." A small
crinkle formed between her eyebrows. She pushed herself away from his body and
found her feet again on the threadbare carpet. Her toes curled a little bit as
she found her voice, as she found her ability to stand up to him.
"There is no way you can have this much power over me." She walked over to the
couch where her clothes were in a heap and began to pull her jeans on. She
didn't see it coming, but it was her own fault for looking the other way after
sassing him. His fist collided with her face. She stumbled back and used the
arm of the couch to catch herself. With a big huff of breath, she found her
feet again and with all the strength she had in her body she pushed Cooper away
from her, forcing him to stumble back and into the armchair he had previously
been sat in. Cooper instantly stood up and grabbed her by her hair and forced
her to her knees.
 “You won’t get anyone better than me. You’re used. You’re used goods, no one
will want you now.” Felicity managed to pull her hair free, her elbow drawing
back and into his crotch. She grabbed her shirt and her jacket and shoes and
headed out of the house as quick as she could manage. She took off at a run,
fumbling to get her shirt on and then scrambling in her pocket for her phone.
She checked over her shoulder as she ran, heading for a busier street than
Cooper’s.
 
                                     ----
 
A warm hand on hers pulled her from her slumber. She took a shaky breath and
rolled her head to the side to address the person holding onto her hand.
Oliver. She forced a smile and lifted her head a bit to try figure out where
she was.
 "Felicity." The words were loud in her sensitive ears, she flinched away from
the noise but soon settled when he realised how loud he had been and
apologised. Felicity pulled her hand back from Oliver’s as she curled under the
duvet a bit more. A frown came over her face as she finally took in her
surroundings. She barely remembered even being picked up by him. She just knew
she needed someone to come and get her. She was grateful that Oliver had been
able to get her and she didn’t have to go home and face her mom.
 “How are you feeling?” He asked her gently, brushing her hair out of her eyes.
He expected the flinch that came afterwards.
 “Better now I’ve slept.” She told him and rolled onto her front.
 “I put some cream on the new bruises.” He explained and then moved so he was
sat on a chair next to the bed. He gave her a smile and then held out a glass
of water for her to take. She pushed herself up and took the glass, taking a
sip from it before handing it back.
 “Can I stay here tonight?” Her voice was small and broken. A simple nod from
Oliver was all it took to calm her down.
 “As long as you tell your mom where you are.” Felicity nodded and lifted
herself up and sent a text to her mom. It took two minutes for a reply back, a
simple - be safe.
 
They spent the night watching stupid comedy shows on the television. She was
laughing for the first time in a long while. Oliver ordered them pizza and she
had her first proper meal in a long while too. Felicity was determined to use
this time away, to try get her head on straight.
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
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***** Call It What You Want *****
Chapter Notes
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See the end of the chapter for more notes
Felicity was grateful that her mom was so understanding. Some people would call
Donna's parenting technique controversial, but Felicity knew that everything
her mom did was to protect her daughter. When Felicity was five she was told
her father had left and would not be coming back. When she was 15, she found
out he was a drunk and her mom had kicked her father out so he could not hurt
his daughter. When she was 16, she found out he used to hit her mom and had
attempted to hurt her a few times when she was very small. Each revelation made
her feel less and less angry at him for leaving. He didn't leave. He didn't go
out for a packet of cigarettes and never come back. It was never the clichés.
It was just as simple as Noah Kutter hitting his wife, advancing on his four
year old daughter and his wife not having enough courage to kick him out
sooner. Since then the Smoak's had gone from strength to strength. Fair enough,
to outsiders their life wasn't peachy. Donna worked in various 'dance' clubs
and casinos and Felicity was in an abusive relationship whilst trying to work
as hard as she could so she could go to MIT. There was nothing normal about
this american family. Even with Oliver Queen intervening on Felicity's
relationship with Cooper didn't make her life any less weird. In all honesty it
made it worse. She was being rescued by a rich man who could easily take Cooper
down with a flick of his finger, and make Felicity his princess - but she
wasn't a damsel that needed saving. So she told herself. Donna was the type of
mother who, as long as she got a text from Felicity saying she was safe, didn’t
mind her daughter staying out overnight. She was completely oblivious to the
relationship her daughter was locked into.
 
Felicity let out a long and happy mewl as she rolled to her left, the blankets
coming with her. She buried down into the blankets and slowly opened her eyes.
The bedroom was empty but the sun streamed in through the curtains and cast a
glow over the sleeping bag on the floor which held Oliver. She rolled onto her
front, dangling her arm over the edge of the bed and gently running her fingers
over his hair. The man began to stir, eventually removing his arm from over his
eyes and peeking up at Felicity. A lazy smile spread over his face, a smile
which reached his eyes enough to tell Felicity it was genuine. Felicity let her
arm dangle over the edge of the bed instead of pulling it back. The air between
them was calm, quiet and pleasant. An embarrassed smile slipped over her face
before she buried her face into the pillow in a bashful manner. She wasn’t sure
why she was so embarrassed. It’s not like they had done anything to be
embarrassed about, but she felt herself slipping into a pleasant mind space
where every bad thing that had happened to her in the past few weeks was no
longer on her mind. Oliver pushed himself up and shuffled himself back so he
was leaning against the side of the bed, his head leant back on the bed and
turned to the side so he could see his friend. Felicity moved her arm so it was
now hanging over Oliver’s bare shoulder. She was okay with her body being close
to someone else’s on her terms. She knew that if it had been Oliver pulling her
close, then she would have pulled back, it was enough to keep him on his toes.
It could look like Felicity was doing better, but in actual fact she was just
guarded and knew exactly what she was doing when it came to getting close to
people. But in Felicity’s defence, her time with Oliver was the first time she
had spent with another person since her relationship had started with Cooper.
It was the first time she had felt at complete ease and felt comfortable in her
body. Granted she still felt guarded about herself and self conscious about the
scars and bruises, but it was almost like she had forgotten she had them. She
traced her fingers along his shoulder before pulling her arm to her chest and
rolled onto her back. The sheets were bunched around her waist, her top half
was covered by a t-shirt Oliver had leant her. Each breath made her feel like
her lungs were on fire and her ribs were cracking. The punch to her stomach had
left her with more injuries than she thought and she knew she should get it
checked out, but she also didn’t want to draw attention to herself and her life
- especially when she knew she would have to live with the punishments from
Cooper. She wasn’t lucky enough to get away from him that easily.
 
Oliver’s voice brought her back to Earth. She turned her head to look at him
and forced a smile.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you’re okay. Your face was all pinched like you were in pain.”
Felicity shrugged and slowly pushed herself up, this time trying as hard as she
could manage to not react to the pain that exploded with each movement. She ran
her hands over her face and let out a long yawn before kicking the sheets away
and climbing around Oliver to make it to the bathroom, without tripping on him
or slipping on the sleeping bag. Once in the bathroom she relieved herself and
then moved to the sink to wash her hands and to splash water on her face.
Felicity stepped back from the sink and turned to face the full length mirror
on the wall next to the shower. She slowly peeled her shirt up to expose her
ribs. A large purple bruise had formed along her stomach and one along her
ribs. In quick haste she pulled her shirt down. Without bringing too much
embarrassment on herself, she turned and brought the hem of the t-shirt higher
to show the long, red marks over her ass. They were easier to sit on now but
they still hurt when they were sat on for a long period of time. Nail marks
down her back didn’t help either. She walked out of the bathroom and back to
the bedroom finding it empty. She frowned but grabbed her rucksack and brought
it to the bed. She bent over it, attempting to locate her own cream for the
welts when she heard a small, angry voice in the corner. Almost a growl. “I’m
going to kill him.” She hadn’t realised that some of the welts could be seen as
Oliver’s shirt rose up due to her bending over her bag.
Felicity kept her head down, pretending not to hear him. One minute she was
rummaging in her bag and the next she had Oliver’s hands on her hips holding
her still. Felicity jumped at the touches and tried to pull away but realised
that for once, she didn’t want to. She hadn’t seen him move to his knees but
she knew he was there. His hands moved to her hips and slowly pulled down the
lacy panties she had on. Revealing the welts along her pale skin. Oliver
gritted his teeth and used his thumbs to test the rise of the welt, a hiss of
pain being pulled from Felicity. When he was finished, he leant forwards and
pressed his forehead to the point just above her ass where her spine ends, a
harsh breath leaving him before he pressed his lips in the same spot, sending a
shiver up Felicity’s spine. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore. But instead
of going further his hands simply rested on her hips for a few moments before
he stepped back and asked her to step out of her panties before leading her to
the other side of the bed.
“Lay down. On your front.” Felicity was a bit apprehensive but slowly laid on
the bed. Within minutes Oliver was knelt beside her with cream on his hands,
this time menthol. He began to slowly rub the cream into the welts on her ass.
The soothing cream settled against the wounds and made Felicity sigh in relief.
Lying on her front was putting pressure on the bruises under her ribs, but she
had learnt to live with that pain so far. She felt Oliver’s hands creep
upwards, running over the nail marks. He rubbed cream over them wounds too and
then went back to the bathroom to wash his hands. When he returned, Felicity
was sat up, her knees to her chest and looking so small in the big bed. Oliver
could tell by the look on her face that she was in pain. It broke his heart. He
rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and two mugs of coffee
before carrying both up on a tray and grabbing a bottle of painkillers from his
cabinet. He placed the tray on the dresser and took the water to Felicity. She
took it in one hand as he reached for her other so he could tap some tablets
into it.
“Give it a while to work, but it should make you feel better. I brought you
some coffee too.” Felicity brought the tablets to her mouth and took a large
swig of water. The tablets were coated with a powder which made her want to
gag. She screwed her face up and looked up at Oliver. “What were they?” He
simply shrugged and took the water from her, replacing it with a mug of coffee.
“I got given them when I broke my ribs a few years back.” Little did he know
how close he was to the source of her pain. She forced a small smile and then
rested her chin on her knees, nursing her coffee cup. After a few minutes she
turned her head so her cheek was resting against her knees instead. Observing
Oliver had been a favourite past time of hers since they had hit high school
and he had started to fill out more. Sometimes she even caught him staring
back. She watched as he moved about his bedroom - sipping his coffee, plucking
clothes out of his drawers and then pursing his lips a little before turning
back to her. She could see his lips moving, but she couldn’t process the words.
It was like she was in a bubble that protected her from everything around her.
Shame her only protector wasn’t in the bubble with her. Felicity finally shook
herself free from her own world and asked him to repeat everything he had just
said.
He had chuckled before saying ‘I’ll get dressed and then I can take you home?’
She had nodded at that and taken a long drag of her coffee. Felicity waited for
Oliver to go into the bathroom before she moved. She grabbed her clothes from
the day before from the corner of his room and pulled on her panties and pulled
his shirt off. She looked down and saw the bruise again. The edges had begun to
stain her breast. She knew if she put a bra over the top it would cause her
more pain than it was worth. She shoved her bra into her bag and pulled her
shirt on and then her jeans were pulled up slowly over her sore ass. When she
was finished she ran her fingers through her hair and then curled up on his bed
again. Just waiting.
Her next mistake was checking her phone. She opened the abundance of text
messages, her breath catching in her throat.
 
     ‘If you leave me I’ll slash your face so no other man will want you.’
‘I know where you are. You think you’re so smart. Did you forget how we met? Of
                         course I pinged your phone.’
      ‘He better watch out. You don’t want him getting hurt too do you?’
    ‘I heard he has a sister. Maybe I should just go for her. Tic for tac?’
 
Felicity hurriedly shut her phone off. She shoved her phone deep into her bag
almost like she thought hiding it in the depths would get rid of it forever.
When she looked up again, Oliver was emerging from the bathroom. He rummaged in
a bowl on his desk for his keys and then gestured for Felicity to follow. She
slowly moved from her space on the bed and grabbed her bag, following him with
quick steps. As before, it didn’t take long for Felicity to get home, but this
time Oliver walked her in. His hand was on the small of his back the entire way
to the door. She pulled her own keys from her pockets and unlocked it. The home
was empty. Despite it being early, she knew her mom was at her day job. After
gentle goodbyes, Oliver left.
 
Little did she know, he kept guard outside her house until Donna Smoak pulled
into the driveway.
Chapter End Notes
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End Notes
     Obviously this story is quite heavy at the moment, so please leave a
     comment below with a prompt for a fluffy one shot. Any pairings you
     like. The one I like the best will get the one shot dedicated to
     them.
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Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
nd that can create your fire, you don't
need a lighter to make it.
"Consequences of what, exactly?"
"Of your being queer." Again, Bobby thinks it's a full answer, but John
doesn't. In fact, John seems pretty irritated, judging by how quickly he's
flicking the top of the Zippo.
"You're not serious, Iceman."
"There's just a lot of people that don't like that kind of thing. You're my...
I just don't want to see something bad happen."
It's an answer that seems to placate John. At the very least he doesn't seem
angry anymore. Maybe haunted is the word, his eyes look dark and unhappy.
"Bobs, life comes with bad things. A lot of them. If some of it revolves around
the people I have sex with, then that's what happens."
Bobby can't accept that. John has to see that some people are going to be
horrible about it. If he has to show him, then that's the price he'll pay to
keep John safe in the long run. "Look. I just think it would be in everyone's
best interest if you stopped being a faggot."
"Ex-cuse me?"
"I said, I think everyone would be happier if you weren't a faggot." The word
feels gross on his tongue, he can nearly taste the ugliness crawling on his
taste buds. He has to say it. John has to expect that, and worse, if he wants
to stay gay.
"Fuck. You. Bobby." John's words are jagged sharp, but Bobby isn't sure if he's
gotten the point yet.
"Maybe you want to, but I don't. I'm normal, I fuck girls. You're the
aberration."
John takes a few steps forward, close enough that Bobby can see his clenched
fingers are turning white against the Zippo. "I'm telling you now, and I'll
only warn you once. Get the FUCK out of my room, Bobby."
Bobby remembers when it used to be their room. He turns on his heel and exits.
*
When Jubilee comes to ask him if he really is homophobic, Bobby knows it's
gotten around the entire school. Jubilee is the only one concerned about
verifying the sources, the rest are just settled with rumours. He explains he's
not homophobic, just concerned that John doesn't know the consequences of being
gay. Jubilee calls him a stupid prick and walks away.
Rogue seems pretty neutral to the accusations that her boyfriend is a jerk. She
neither vouches for or against him, only asks him to play foosball with her.
It's a bit difficult playing with only two players, but no one wants to be
around Bobby, and by extension Rogue.
He honestly doesn't understand the drama. He hasn't been to a normal high
school, but he has spent summers with the guys around his suburb. Everything he
said to John two nights ago, they would have said. And worse. Much worse. Stuff
about cocksuckers and pussy boys. Some wouldn't have stopped at talking; they
would have expressed their rage about queers physically. From the reaction of
everyone else at the school, everyone here is pro-gay. That's fine, Bobby isn't
anti-gay. He just needs to make sure John knows that the things that are okay
at the mansion are not okay outside of it. And wouldn't it be easier to just
not go there? Not start something that wasn't safe to finish?
A voice that sounds nearly identical to his mother's whispers 'have you
tried... not being gay?', and he tells it to go away. It's a completely
different circumstance.
He's really lonely though. John hasn't spoken a word to him in two days. Hasn't
even looked in his direction. Bobby wants to apologise, but there are two
problems. He knows he hasn't done anything wrong, and he knows that John
doesn't accept apologies. From John's viewpoint, if you're going to feel guilty
about something, you don't do it. Otherwise, you don't get to whine about your
feelings afterwards.
Still, there's got to be a way to get around this. To explain to John that he's
not homophobic, just concerned. That they can still be friends. That Bobby
needs him as a friend. Ultimately, John's the most important thing to him.
Family has been replaced by friends, he should have known that the day he came
to the school to escape home. Instead he had been in denial, up to the moment
the police arrived. Now he knows better, knows if you don't have friends you
don't have anything.
Bobby needs John, and before his brain can really register what he's doing he's
walking away from the foosball table. Rouge calls his name but he doesn't
respond. His feet take him down the halls to the dorm rooms. It takes all his
nerve to open the door of his old room. It takes more nerve than that to not
scream at the sight in front of him. Bobby's officially used all his nerve
today, and the part of his brain that stays occupied by cackling at his
failures tells him he's screwed if there's another attack on the school. He'll
just fall apart, he has nothing left.
There are clothes all over the floor, but it's the two pairs of pants and two
shirts and one pair of underwear nearest John's bed that he's looking at. Those
five articles are there because they aren't on John and Rory. Rory is actually
still wearing a pair of socks, but John's always hated confining his feet, and
hardly ever wears socks.
They're on the bed, and for once Rory isn't wrapped up in his damn duvet. There
are no blankets, and the pillows have been tossed off too. The fitted sheet is
crumpled in Rory's grasp, the headboard making the occasional noise against the
wall. All in all, it seems like obscene treatment of a bed.
John looks beautiful naked, and once the cackling brain laughs at that comment,
he nearly faints. Bobby isn't the type of person to think other boys look
beautiful. That's Jean Paul's job. That's John and Rory's job. His job is to
appreciate breasts and vagina.
John's spine is visible, round bone every few inches down his back. He's so
skinny, and he's got no ass, but he's sexy anyway. God, why isn't he backing
away, closing the door silently? This isn't the kind of thing Bobby needs to
see. He's not a voyeur. John is thrusting hard, body curved over Rory's. Rory
is on all fours, and they're both making quiet grunts that shouldn't sound hot
but do. Really, he should leave now. He can't stop staring, he can't help but
wonder what it would be like to fuck someone, what it would be like to have
someone dominate him. The thoughts are terrifying, but they're real. He knows
if he got close enough, he could smell the sweat dripping off their bodies.
This isn't sweet or romantic, this is sex. And this is powerful, in a way
mutant powers can't be.
Only when Rory moans does Bobby's brain rattle enough to remind him that he
really shouldn't be watching this. With a reluctance that will take another
sleepless night to analyze, he shuts the door as slowly and unobtrusively as he
can. No one ever needs to know he witnessed this, or that it wasn't horrible.
*
Sam and Poitr aren't talking to him, they just look up briefly then go back to
their comic books when he walks in their bedroom. Normally the silent treatment
would upset him. After two days of not a soul speaking to him, it was a major
contributing factor in tracking down John. The most important part by far had
been to make things right with him. The secondary purpose though, was once he
was okay with John, everyone would realise he's not homophobic. Once that
apparent stigma was off his shoulders, everyone would be his friends again.
After giving up his family, it's really uncomfortable to have his friends
hating him.
Right now though, Bobby doesn't care. He's actually a bit glad everyone is
shunning him. If he had friends, he would be having conversations. He doesn't
want to have to talk. All he wants to do is lie down and think, and try to
figure out the convoluted mess that is his life.
He looks over at the boys in the alcove of the room, before changing into
boxers and an old worn shirt. It's a little before nine, but neither comments
when he climbs into bed. He pulls the duvet over his face and sighs. The fabric
slowly settles across his face, cool and fuzzy to the touch. It'll heat with
his breath, and become more and more claustrophobic, a feeling Bobby hates.
Still, it's the only way to both block out the light of the rest of the room,
and feel like he's got some sort of privacy. He needs privacy, even faked, if
he's going to be able to analyze his life.
CSI is one of those rare tv shows that nearly everyone in the mansion likes.
Sure the spin-offs are liked and disliked by different people, and there are
far more reruns on tv than there are new episodes. But the original is a good
show, and it has taught Bobby something that he's able to use to analyze his
life. Things break down into evidence, and ideas that form based off those
pieces of evidence. All he has to do is separate the idea from the proof, and
he will understand life.
Exhibit A: he spent at least five minutes watching two boys have sex.
The idea that forms is that he's gay. But that's not necessarily true, it could
just be curiosity. Like watching Discovery Channel to see how lions mount each
other, or how they take down an antelope. It doesn't mean he's going to chase
and devour a poor antelope, just that it's another thing to know about how life
works.
Exhibit B: he had spent substantially more time watching John then Rory.
The idea there is that he likes John more then Rory. There is no other option.
Exhibit C: he wasn't actually hard from watching them have sex.
The idea forms that he's not gay, just entranced by everything John does. John
eats breakfast, Bobby watches him pour the maple syrup. John teaches English,
Bobby attends every class. John plays with fire, Bobby watches him flick his
lighter open and draw shapes in the air. John fucks, so now Bobby watches that.
Exhibit D: John and Rory had enjoyed, and were probably currently still
enjoying having sex.
That idea is John must be good at having sex. Again, there's no counter idea.
Exhibit E: he remembers thinking having sex with a boy might be interesting.
The first thought is he's clearly and definitely gay. However, looking at
evidence E and C at the same time leads to a better explanation. He doesn't
want to have sex with just any male. He doesn't even really want to have sex
with John, though evidence D is a good indicator that it might be fun. What
Bobby really wants is to entrance John back. If sex is how Bobby can catch him,
that's how it's going to have to go down. Even if he has to go down.
Ultimately, what all the evidence points to is that Bobby wants John to be his.
And really, it's not surprising news. His subconscious, otherwise known as the
voice inside his head that likes to laugh at him, informs him that he's known
it all along. It's a statement which he refuses to believe, his denial causing
the voice to cackle again.
He refocuses himself. The question is not who he was in the past, but how to
sculpt himself so that he can get what he wants in the future. Hot down blanket
smothering his face, he starts to plan.
*
Bobby's actually never broken up with someone before. When he left home, he
hadn't remembered to tell Alexis Hurst he was leaving. Only when he came back
for a visit a year later- the earliest everyone thought he had enough control
to go home- and she stopped at his house specifically to yell at him for
leaving, did he remember that she had considered them dating. To Bobby, it had
only been a kiss and a few acts of kindness.
This time he has no such luck. He can't fall back on the excuse that they're
not girlfriend and boyfriend, every student here knows how long they've been
dating. He can't blow her off and run away, he has to live at this school. He
has to deal with her, has to figure out a way of telling Rogue without her
getting too pissed off and trying to kill him.
He also has to talk to John and get them together as friends. The plan is to
eventually steal Rory's boyfriend, just like Rory stole his room. But he'll
never get the chance if John isn't talking to him at all. That humongous
obstacle has to be hurdled first and foremost.
As if that isn't enough, he also has to get everyone to realise he's not a
jerk. Some of the people here he's known for over three years, and even they
aren't speaking to him. No one showed up to his tutoring on the history of
woman's liberation, even though he's the only one who wrote the Suffrage
Movement optional essay for extra credit in history class. The shunning has
been complete, and he's getting really fucking sick of it.
The last person with such a list of impossible tasks was Hercules. Comparing
the lists, Bobby thinks he'd rather hunt down and capture a stag with golden
horns or muck out thirty years of crap from a horse stall over trying his
duties.
The list doesn't have a good start. After waiting thirty minutes for his group
to not show up for their history lesson, he goes to the fireboys' room. John
isn't teaching until ten, he should still be in there preparing. Bobby knocks
this time, he's learned his lesson. John opens the door, and he steps forward
to enter the room. Upon seeing Bobby, he slams it closed.
"I told you before, get the fuck out of my room!" he shouts through the door.
Bobby continues knocking on the door. He's played this kind of waiting game
with John before, Bobby always wins. Eventually John will answer, even if Bobby
does get his arm hair singed for his trouble. "Seriously Bobby, fuck off!"
He ignores the shout, and still knocks. When the knob twists again he smiles in
triumph, only to be let down. It's Rory, this time in an orange shirt and red
twill pants. Now that Bobby knows his power, he wants to laugh at the sheer
cliché of his clothing. The boy is calm. Storm's idea of him needing John's
help isn't proving very true.
"Bobby, go away, would you? Pyro's pretty pissed off. Personally I understand,
you're one of the 'if I don't see it it doesn't bother me' kind of people.
That's cool. The world takes all kinds. But Pyro's really not happy, so maybe
if you gave him a few days to cool off?" Rory looks funny for a second, sort of
disturbed at the idea of a fireboy cooling down. "So yeah, see you later,
alright?" For the second time in as many minutes, the door closes in his face.
This time it's gentle, not a reverberating slam. Still, the message is clear;
you're not wanted.
He's irritated as he's walking the hall. He obviously can't go to English
class, which means he has to figure out fucking Edipiss Rex by himself. He
doesn't even know how to spell the guy's name. Piotr passes him, and instead of
a nod or a general comment, he says nothing. Bobby's getting really fucking
sick of being the leper, so he turns around and rushes the few steps so he can
be in front of Piotr.
"I tried to talk to him. I just tried. And he won't. So tell everyone to stop
being assholes about it. Okay?"
"John wouldn't talk to you?" Colossus asks, and he looks like he's wondering if
Bobby's telling the truth.
"Do you think he would? You've known him how long, is he the kind of person to
accept apologies?"
"You were trying to apologise to John?"
"Yes. For fucksakes, yes. And what I don't need is everyone on my case. Not
now, not when..." he gestures, can't think of a way to phrase how hard it is
for the ones that know what it's like to have loving teachers to not have those
guardians anymore.
Piotr nods, and offers a small consolation "I'll tell people. It's their
choice, whatever they do."
"It's always peoples choice, for whatever anyone does." A nice lesson from
Xavier, refreshed in his mind in the form of Jean Paul. Piotr nods again and
continues on his way. Bobby checks off one of his three tasks on his mental
list. It doesn't provide any relief; the other tasks will be just as
impossible.
Rogue is undoubtedly taking John's morning class, but he swings by the
classroom to make sure. She sits in a corner desk with her copy of the Greek
story. John's not there yet, but he doesn't want to be in the hallway when he
comes. If Bobby's there, the drama will escalate. As much as he wants to Rory
to go back to where ever he came from, Bobby knows that he's right. John needs
a bit of time to cool down.
For lack of something else to do, he migrates to the kitchen and watches
Douglas make enough chicken breasts to feed the mansion. They don't say
anything, but there isn't a tension in the silence. Maybe Jean Paul has told
him to leave Bobby The Nutcase alone, warned all the amateur chefs to watch out
for Bobby when he comes into the kitchen. Douglas just uses the meat sheers to
slice off pieces of fat, and ignores Bobby.
He isn't aware of how long he's been sitting there until Kurt walks into the
room and Bamphs away, a tray in each hand. If lunch is ready, then everyone
will be in the dining hall. Which means he no longer has an excuse to not talk
to Rogue. Wonderful.
He grabs a huge bowl of salad, figuring it's one less trip for Kurt, as he
walks out the door. Douglas follows him with more trays of chicken, these
covered in some sort of orange spice. Bobby doesn't like spice, and knows he
won't try them. After walking the long distance that is the mansion, he puts
the bowl down on the first table he comes to.
Rogue is sitting with some of the younger children, listening to them telling
stories. She's always been good with children, Bobby hopes one day she can
figure out a way of getting pregnant without touching anyone. He knows it has
to be sad to love children so much, but warn them away from hugging or touching
her.
"Can I talk to you?" he asks, and gestures away from the table she's sitting
at. Really, he'd like to talk to her outside the entire dining hall, but he
doesn't think that's going to be an option. Even if he asks, she'll just demand
to know what's going on and not follow him. There's no point in bothering.
She looks at him a minute, before standing. She's a firm strong woman, and
Bobby's going to miss having her. But this is more important. "I think we're
done."
"Done what?" she asks, and Bobby rolls his eyes at himself. Now is not the time
for mincing words.
"I think. I think we need to break up."
"What? Bobby why?" she's confused, and probably a bit angry.
"I don't think I'm what you need."
"Bobby Drake, I'll decide what I need and don't need."
"Yeah, I know. I'm not a chauvinist pig; I know you make your own choices.
Except, I don't think you need a gay boyfriend." He watches as wheels turn in
her head, and he doesn't know what pieces she's putting together, but the
completed puzzle seems to make sense to her. He knows she's got it wrong,
whatever she's thinking. But that doesn't matter, what matters is that lying to
her accomplishes his goal.
"Oh, Bobby." Making sure her hair is wrapped around her neck, she hugs him and
for a second rests her head on his shoulder. He feels happy that she doesn't
hate him, and guilty that she still loves him. But she's not the only important
person in his life, and he has to have him too.
*
Unfortunately, if he wants to talk to Jean Paul he needs to wake up early. The
teen is busy cooking morning, noon, and night, and they both have classes. The
Frenchman isn't even available at night, he likes to hang out with Kitty and
Cypher. Kitty is what Bobby's suburb would have called a fag hag, he doesn't
know what the label is when he's not allowed to say fag for risk of offending
everyone again. She's one of the few not to forgive him for his homophobic
remarks, so not only does he not get to have an English class, he's also far
behind on computer literacy.
Last night, Bobby had taken it as a good sign when Alison asked him if he
understood Dani's explanation of the algebra question. The question seemed to
show that his quick speech to Piotr had been worth it. Letting people know he
had tried to apologise seemed to make all the difference in fixing all of his
relationships. With a feeling of security he hadn't had in days, he'd tried to
sit with a group his age at dinner. Kitty glared at him for half the meal, and
then stood. She tossed the fork back onto her plate, told Douglas and Jean Paul
the food was great but the company was making her sick, and walked away.
The next step in the process of winning back John is complicated. It's crucial
Bobby talk to Jean Paul, and he's not going to be able to if Kitty is around.
Still, when his alarm goes off at seven am, his sleepy brain begs him to
reconsider. Certainly he can talk to the teen later in the day, when the sun
isn't shining so obscenely? He lets the alarm continue to beep, the shrill
sound is helping to transfer him from woken-up to actually awake.
When Piotr on the next bed over throws a stuffed toy at him, he takes the hint.
He hits the alarm until it turns off, and contemplates falling back asleep.
It's a wonderful thought, but so is John being his. With a bleary yawn, he sits
up.
Jean Paul isn't the only one in the kitchen; Paige is stirring pancake batter
by hand in the corner. "Hey guys," he mutters, and waves. Paige nods to him and
continues stirring. Jean Paul on the other hand steps towards him, bowl in
hand.
"More questions like the other day?" His voice is an odd mixture of amused and
wary.
"Not really. Sort of." A lot of this would have been easier if Rogue had told
someone his fake secret. But she has kept silent out of loyalty to him, and now
Bobby has to approach this from a different angle.
"You mind if we stay here? I'm working on breakfast." He glances at Paige, then
back at Bobby. Six days ago, Bobby definitely would have minded. He hadn't even
been able to have Jean Paul look at him. Today's circumstances are much
different though, and the idea of others listening in to his troubles isn't
worrying.
"No, it's fine. I can even help if you want."
"No, the five of us have a pretty good rhythm with each other. No offence
Bobby, but you'd just get in the way."
Bobby's not offended by what Paige has said. On the contrary, it makes perfect
sense to him. If people have a rhythm together, other people shouldn't get in
the way of it. Especially not when they wear stupid clichéd clothes and steal
private rooms. He takes a deep breath and dives into this headfirst. At least
if there's no water in the hypothetical pool he'll die straight away, instead
of suffering. "Jean Paul, I know you're gay."
"Yeah, and so does everyone else at the school. It's not exactly something I
hide."
"I know, and I was just wondering, would you like to go out on a date?"
Paige gasps at the question and Jean's stopped stirring his batter. The plastic
bowl is held to his chest in a death grip, and he just stares. Then his face
subtlely turns to a slight frown, and he responds, "I don't take pity dates,
Bobby."
"It's, it's not! It's a real date. A let's go have dinner that you don't have
to make for people, and maybe see some sort of movie date. I dunno. I thought
you might want-"
"You're not even gay." The four words are an accusation, like the worst thing
he has ever done is not be gay.
"I think I am though. And you're nice and you're nice looking, and frankly,
you're the only single gay person I know." It's mostly true, even if the
motivation behind it isn't what Jean Paul is sure to think it is.
"Aw, Christ, Bobby." It's not a good reaction from Jean Paul, and Paige's is
even worse.
"If you hurt him, I'll gut you. And fry your intestines for lunch. No one will
notice, they love our food." It's a comfort to know that although Husk is
working on only changing parts of her body to weapons, she hasn't mastered the
ability yet. In a month, she may be able to gut him, but for now he's safe. At
least safe mutantly, she can still attack him like a human would.
"Christ, Paige. Really not helping here." The Frenchman starts to work the
batter again, but it's obvious he's stressed. His power is leaking out, he's
stirring faster then any regular human could possibly stir. "Bobby, six days
ago you didn't even know what gay was."
It's a bit of an exaggeration, but he has to admit not by much. "Things can
change in six days." It's true, while avoiding the complicated parts of the
truth. With a lack of anything better to do, he watches Jean Paul stir at super
speed. The teen is clearly stressing out, and Bobby has no idea how to relieve
him of that. He could take back the request, but that only adds an entirely
different set of problems. Paige will be angry, Kitty will be furious for
'jerking the gay guy around', Jean Paul will feel rejected, and it doesn't
accomplish his goal of getting closer to John.
While he's standing, trying to figure out how to fit his driven and plotting
mind back into the Helpful Bobby body mold, Jean Paul makes up his mind. "We'll
try the classic movie and dinner. Once. After that, both of us should be able
to see things from a better place."
It sounds more like an ultimatum then a date, but Bobby'll take it.
*
He hasn't dated a normal person, but Bobby knows of the differences between
mutant-mutant and mutant-normal. He's noticed there tends to be four major
differences, as collected by listening to all the stories of all the students
and adults. He expects to encounter them all Monday night, and isn't
disappointed.
Difference one: dates tend to involve showing off powers.
Regardless of how good it is, Bobby only plays with his food. The spaghetti is
wound on his fork, then unceremoniously dumped back into his plate, only to
start winding more strands. There's no point in eating, not an hour before a
second, fancier meal. He listens to Alison and Rogue talk for the fiftieth time
about dyeing hair, and doesn't choose a side when they ask him what he thinks.
He knows most mutants here know, though he couldn't peg names and numbers. The
student kitchen staff have to know, as do all of Jean Paul's friends. He's told
Sam and Piotr, and telling Sam means he's told everyone who plays cards. Rogue
knows and approves, she thinks dating within the community is a good start for
Bobby.
Bobby has no idea if John and Rory know, but he assumes they do. Instead of
completely ignoring him, they've sat half a dozen people down the bench, and
are joining in conversation. Neither has spoken specifically to him, but that's
to be expected. John's rage is quick to start, but is strong and long lasting.
There's no doubt he'd still angry about the comments made over a week ago,
he'll probably be angry for a fair time yet. It's just a matter of watching the
depth and strength lessen, before he can approach without getting his head
bitten off. In the past he might have risked it, but now Rory's there to
strengthen John's resolve, and Bobby will win nothing by coming on too strong.
He's tapped on the shoulder and Bobby knows without looking it's Jean Paul. He
slides out of the bench and with a swallow takes the hand Jean Paul is
offering. He can feel all the eyes in the dining hall looking at him, walking
hand in hand with a boy out of the room. For a minute he feels awkward enough
to want to take back his hand. But to do that would jeprodise everything, so
their fingers remain locked together.
Once they're on the grounds, Jean Paul steers their walk towards the stables.
Bobby's never been one for riding, but lets Jean have control. They step into a
stall, straw stuck in the treads of their shoes. Jean Paul reaches up on the
tack wall and takes a heavy blanket meant for seperating the horse from the
western saddle.
"Do you mind?" Bobby doesn't know what he's supposed to mind, and part of him
screams that he probably should mind quite a bit. The first day John was in his
room, he asked if Bobby minded. Bobby had said no, and for the next three years
the zippo had clicked open and shut. This is a different situation though, and
he thinks Jean Paul can be trusted. He shrugs and smiles.
Without further warning, Jean wraps the blanket around him and picks him up.
Bobby's face is pressed into Jean Paul's chest, he's wearing a nice smelling
cologne. One arm is pressing his back and chest to his stomach, and Jean Paul's
other arm is lifting his legs at the knees. All in all it's a bride over the
threshold position, and Bobby has no idea what the Frenchman is thinking.
Then Jean Paul starts running. He's going a good clip, and Bobby can feel
breath through his hair when Jean angles his face and asks "Are you ready?"
It's hard to give consent when your face is pressed against someone's chest, so
he nods as hard as he can and hopes Jean Paul can feel it. Northstar starts
running, picking up the pace until Bobby feels like he's riding the Gravitron
at a fair; pressed against a wall by gravity. The pace still quickens, and now
he understands the heavy duty blanket. Northstar has durable skin, but if it
wasn't for the blanket, Bobby would be in pain.
It seems like they're only moving for a few minutes before Northstar comes to a
halt. He puts Bobby down, and unwraps the blanket. They're in an alley in the
middle of the city, at least a fifteen minute drive. The alley is empty, so
Jean Paul places the blanket against the wall, and half hides it with the lid
of a trashcan. "Hopefully it'll be here when we get back. Your stomach okay?"
Bobby assesses his body's reaction to the super speed. He's feeling a bit
nausous, like after riding a series of quick and volitile rides at a fair. But
he and Ronny used to do that every summer, and he knows all he needs is a few
minutes of calm and something to drink. "I'm good."
Difference two: dates tend to get looks, as many mutants have physical
manifestations.
The first resturant they walk into elicits a bad feeling. The bar is seperated
from the non smoking non drinking seating, and there are few people sitting in
the small room. The bartender is wearing the resturant's uniform, and
considering there's no one at the host's stand, Bobby thinks he's supposed to
leave the bar for a moment and welcome them. That's what happened the few times
he and his parents ate out. The bartender only looks at them, then starts
adjusting the bottles so the name is facing the customers.
It takes several minutes for the host to come to the stand at the enterance,
and she's accompanied by the manager. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Pardon me?" Bobby asks. What problem? The optimisitic part of his mind insists
this isn't a big deal, the manager just got confused between them and a table
with a complaint about how well cooked their meat was.
Jean Paul acts on what the pessimistic side is thinking. "There is no problem.
We just want to sit and have a meal. So if you could escort us to a table,
preferably a booth..."
The manager looks from Bobby to Jean Paul. His emotions clearly change as he
takes in the pointed ears half hidden by shaggy black hair. "Sirs, I'm afraid
there's no booths left. If you'd like to come back later, let's say nine?"
It's only six thirty now. Bobby knows what he's doing, he wants them to come
back when most customers are gone, and there are few people around to realise
this place serves mutants. It's bullshit, and Bobby's about to tell them to
fuck off when Jean Paul speaks.
"That's alright. A booth is only a preference, we don't mind a table. What are
your specials for the day?" He's managed to tell them to fuck off while
maintaining a facade of pleasantry. Bobby's proud. It's the type of teaching
Xavier would be proud of too. Being polite, while affirming that you won't take
any crap.
However, Jean Paul isn't the only one with the ability to fake a happy
attitude. "Sirs, I believe it would be best for everyone concerned if you came
back around nine pm. Our second shipment of seafood will be ready at that time,
we're currently running low."
"Actually, I was planning on having a nice pasta. So there's no need to be
concerned about having enough seafood for us." Jean Paul is smiling, his oddly
shaped eyebrows raised.
"I really must insist on recieving your patronage later tonight. It would be in
your best interest, it's when we can serve you to the best of our ability." The
look on the manager's face is subtle, you can only see his hatred if you know
how to find it. Bobby's had several summers of upperclass adults masking their
disgust for minorities at the country club, he knows sincerity and the lack
there of.
Jean Paul's about to respond, but Bobby cuts in. He's just so sick of this
crap. "And I really must insist that you take your overpriced menu and shove it
up your bigoted ass. At least when you barred blacks in the fourties, you told
them they were hated. Now you don't even have enough shreds of honesty to tell
us we're lowerclass. Fuck you."
As he turns and walks out of the restarunt, he considers covering the resturant
in a sheen of ice, ruining all the food. If they can't eat, why should anyone
else? But doing that will only inspire more fear and hate, and Bobby is not a
member of The Brotherhood. He can't ruin humans lives, just because they want
to ruin his.
"You know, I probably could have gotten us a booth, in the end." Jean Paul
swings his hand near Bobby's, and on reflex he picks it up. It's weird after
two years, to hold a hand not covered in fabric or leather.
"Probably not. Or we would have gotten cold, spit on food. It's just better to
not, sometimes."
"Yeah." It's cold outside, so Bobby offers Jean Paul his denim jacket. Jean
Paul declines, instead staying in his buttoned black shirt, grey pinstripes
matching the streaks of silver in his hair.
Difference three: dates tend to avoid talking about history. Many mutants have
a host of things they won't or can't talk about. This rule goes double when
you're not sure if they're X-men, Brotherhood, or Human affliated.
"Did you grow up around here?"
The question is out of nowhere, and it makes Bobby look up from his caramel and
nut sundae. They've been talking about the ridiculous plot of the movie they've
just finished watching, and other friendly harmless topics. Talking about home
is niether friendly nor harmless, and he's stunned someone would ask that.
"No, not really. I'm from Boston." He uses his spoon to gather all the nuts
from the vanilla icecream, not wanting to say the next part. If he says it,
it's true in a way unadmitted things don't have to be. "Or, I guess I was from
Boston. After fucking Stryker, I really don't think I'll be able to go back
there. And I guess when you can't go back home, home isn't really a home
anymore. So yeah, it's probably more accurate to say I'm from Westchester."
"I'd say that sounds like me too. Not because of Styker. But Westchester would
be my home."
It wasn't intentional, but Jean Paul's question had put a burr under his skin,
and Bobby wants to strike back. So he too grabs the taboo question and asks. "I
thought you were from Quebec?"
"My biological parents are dead, my sister's gone, my adoptive family is dead.
Unless I want to call CFS my family, I have none. And if home is where the
family is, then Westchester's looking the best." Now Jean Paul is playing with
his sundae too, stabbing at the banana with his spoon. Both are silent and
melancholy. This is why the third rule of mutant dating isn't broken. Too many
questions kills happiness.
Difference four: dates that end in hanky panky aren't shy. Like any smart
couple asks about protection, so do mutants. They just have different
definitions of protection.
The blanket hasn't moved in the hours they've been away. It possibly smells a
little bit, but Bobby would rather smell alley than have his flesh ripped off
by the wind. He's cradled in the same position as Jean Paul runs them home,
feels the same light nausea when he's put down. The walk from the stables to
Jean Paul's room is quiet, like the Canadian himself. He's definitely a
different personality type than those that Bobby is used to hanging out with.
Not different bad, the mellowness Jean Paul exudes is a welcome change from
Rogue's talkative nature, or John's constant passion.
They stand there for a second before Bobby angles his head and arches his back
so he's tall enough to kiss Jean Paul. He tastes slightly bitter, like the
walnuts he'd sprinkled on his sundae. Bobby doesn't know where to put his arms,
but before he has a chance to decide, the kiss ends. "Your control, are you
okay for more?"
He thinks of what he knows of Northstar's abilities, and can't think of a way
they could backfire. Not until they were fucking, superspeed fucking could
hurt. But Bobby doesn't want to go that far on a first date, and besides, he
doubts he'd be able to stop himself from coating the walls in ice.
Thoughts running through his mind, it takes him a second to register what Jean
Paul has said. "Bobby, we're not going to do more. We're not going to do this
again."
For the second time that night, he finds himself saying "Pardon me?"
"Look, it's obvious you're not interested. I don't know who you are interested
in, though a lot of people have a few guesses. But it's not me. As much as I'd
like it to be," he admits.
"I-"
"Maybe this was just a practice thing for you. How to Date a Queer. I hope it
wasn't, because that hurts. Thinking that you used me, and couldn't even tell
me that you were. But whoever you are interested in, don't use them. You're a
weird kind of nice, Bobby Drake. You hurt people with your niceness. Just be
careful, with whoever it is."
Jean Paul steps away from Bobby, and opens his door. He can see Douglas sitting
on a computer chair, for the brief moment it takes Jean Paul to enter and close
the door. He stands there for countless time, thinking. Thinking about how
he'll never understand people, thinking about how the box of Helpful People
he's stuck in is apparently mislabelled, thinking about how not dating Jean
Paul is going to muck up his plan to be the Other Gay Couple and be able to get
close to John again because though they might not share fire, they have
everything else in common.
Thinking is something that Bobby's had to do more and more of lately. If it's a
part of growing up, he doesn't like it.
*
The night of the date allows for a slight bit more sleep then the night of
JOHN'S GAY!, but not by much. Piotr is curious but is content to continue
reading after Bobby tells both his roommates to fuck off. Bobby would be
grateful for small miracles, but any belief in god Piotr has caused, Sam has
killed. Sam is not being a nice, pleasant roommate. Sam is a pain in the ass,
nosy bastard.
"Did you guys make out?" Sam's got the bed against the wall, a bookshelf higher
than the bed separating him from Piotr and Bobby. It's the best configuration
of their room, to let Sam read into the night while keeping the room dark
enough that the other two can sleep. What the floor plan doesn't plan for,
however, is roommates that won't shut the fuck up. Piotr's the middle bed, and
his pillow is over his head as Sam continues to shout across the room to Bobby.
"Shut the fuck up."
"Did you though?"
"Why would you want to know? You're straight!" He can't see Sam to see how he's
taken the implied accusation, but doubts it's bothered him.
"Yeah, but curiosity has no gender. Besides, Jubes will kill me if I don't at
least snag something. If the kitchen kids know before her, because Jean Paul
talks to them, but you won't talk to us, she'll kill me. So just give it up
already. Did you make out?"
"Yes. And then we had dirty kinky sex against the wall in the hallway because
his roommates were in his room. He called me piggy and I called him bitch. I
came ice, and ripped him apart, and he's in the medical office downstairs right
now. Sam, fuck off."
"Well, fuck you too Bobby."
Bobby lies there waiting. He knows Sam isn't done. In training, Cannonball is
always the last to stop, regardless of injury when his blast shield fails. Sure
enough, ten minutes later he can hear the book slap down on the shelf. "If you
don't tell me, then someone else will just ask you tomorrow. And there's a good
chance they'll demand a lot more details then I will. You might as well just
talk now."
"Sam, I'm not going to say anything before I have a chance to think about what
it means."
"What do you mean, what it means? You're gay. Kissing a boy means you like
boys. Duh." He can almost hear the eye roll.
"That's not it. Look, when I'm ready to tell the world what happened, I'll tell
you. Okay?" He knows Sam won't see it as a very good consolation, but it's the
best he can do.
"You better decide what you're thinking about before the morning. 'Cause Jubes
will be on you like a bloodhound." The light rustle of pages turning resumes.
By the morning, Bobby's got only one idea left. Talking John out of being gay
hasn't worked, being in a gay couple so they have something in common didn't
even get a chance to be tested. There's only one more thing he can do to get
John back to being his.
For the first time in a week, he attends John's English class. Bobby's far
behind, and knows he'll have to collect notes from one of the other students.
And he still hasn't begun the essay needed for passing Edipiss Rex. Or whatever
it is. Both of those concerns float to the back of his mind though, when John
hands him a tattered copy of Feed and starts reading a passage aloud. Bobby
loves John's orating voice, he's missed it in the last days. He almost doesn't
want things to go back to normal, doesn't want professor Xavier to take over.
He waits until after everyone leaves. It's more difficult then it sounds,
Douglas is displeased with the book and stays behind to tell John how
ridiculous the computers are in Feed. Watching John nod and allow Douglas the
time to ramble is like watching Xavier teach Jean Grey control back in the day;
it's just right.
Once the teen is gone, Bobby moves to the front of the classroom and holds out
his book.
"It's actually the library's." The tone is odd, one Bobby's not sure if he's
heard before. John doesn't sound angry, doesn't sound friendly, doesn't sound
anything. His tone is dead, like he's talking to a stranger.
"You should be a teacher." Spending a bit of time with the kitchen kids has
taught Bobby that everyone appreciates a compliment, that silent
acknowledgement isn't always enough. "You're really good at all of this." He
gestures to the room in general.
"Thanks." He takes the book from Bobby, and places it gently in his backpack.
John looks at him, and something seems to break. As he speaks, he speaks with
the passion Bobby is used to. "You know, it was really fucked up of you to try
to tell me not to be gay."
"I know." It doesn't matter that he had the best of intentions, it fucked up
enough that Bobby knows he was wrong. "I just didn't-" he can't finish, because
it's an excuse. John doesn't react well to excuses.
"Didn't what?" Is this a test? Should he really answer John, knowing that the
answer is only going to frustrate the pyromaniac? But the other option is to
not say anything, and that's too much like rejecting this tentative
conversation. Passion is better then silence, he'd rather get yelled at again
than never spoken to in the future.
"I didn't want you to get hurt."
"Don't you think it hurt more to be told I shouldn't be what I am? Fuck, Bobby,
you think you'd understand. You're with Jean Paul now." Bobby can hear the hurt
in his voice, knows that John is imagining it was a secret kept forever, that
Bobby's been fantasizing about Jean Paul for years, and has never said anything
out of a lack of trust.
To the unsaid words, he responds, "It's not like that. And you should talk. You
didn't tell me anything, you're with Rory now." The name is a curse word, Bobby
hates the teen he hardly knows more than he hates anyone.
"I thought... I thought you'd react badly. And I was right, wasn't I? You
freaked out, didn't you. I know you did, even if I didn't see it. But I just
don't understand why. You're with guys too. Are you one of those self-hating
fags? Because I'm not, Bobby. I'm mutant, I'm gay, I'm Australian. I don't hate
anything about myself."
"John, I don't know if I even am gay. I just know that I want to be around you,
and that when I think about you, I'm not grossed out. Does that count enough to
make me gay?"
He runs his fingers through his pulled back fifties hair. Last year, as a joke,
Bobby bought him brill cream and a pocket mirror to check his hair in. The pull
of his fingers start to break the gel apart, John's hair is losing its pose. "I
don't know if not being grossed out is enough to make you gay. I'm not the
expert on gay happenings."
"Yeah, Jean Paul already got it through my head that not every gay person does
the same things." He blushes as he remembers the questions he asked, and John
laughs.
"I think I would have loved watching that conversation."
"I think you probably would have." Bobby grins and for a moment they're both
just smiling at each other. Then John stops laughing, and Bobby's stomach
waves.
"And the you want to be around me part. I'm not sure if that matters." His
fingers are ripping the gelled locks apart, and Bobby's heart is twisted into a
knot. "I'm not single, Bobby."
"But... we're..." His brain is screaming 'soulmates', but he can't finish his
sentence. John seems to hear it anyway. And the ability of the other to
understand unsaid things, doesn't that mean they are soulmates?
"I know, Bobs. But I'm not sure it matters. I can't break up with someone just
because you're available. If I had come out while you were dating Rogue, would
you have broken up with her?"
Bobby wants to scream. He wants to explain how that's a completely different
situation, because Bobby wouldn't have known who he was back then. But he can't
speak, can only listen as John's rational words rip his heart apart.
"Maybe if you had said something, but you didn't. I'm sorry Bobby." The zipper
closing is the loudest thing in the room, before John slings the backpack on
his shoulder and walks out of the classroom. Bobby's sure if he chases John,
he'll see the teen crying. He doesn't want to see that, he can't deal with
someone else's pain right now. Rory can fix John, that's his job.
Bobby has no one to fix him.
*
It feels like his soul is slowly being eaten by darkness. For the first time in
nearly eighteen years, he understands the point of poetry. He can't speak to
anyone about how shitty he feels, but writing is meant for those that choose to
read it, he doesn't have to give it to anyone. Bobby doesn't have enough
stamina to write a short story about an innocent boy sinking in despair, but
he's good at metaphors and short lines.
Poetry is meant for people like him, who didn't realise they had a choice until
after they made the wrong one. People who not only understand the phrase
'hindsight is 20-20', but wish every day that they could go back in time and
give their old selves a fucking pair of glasses.
Every day he sits with John and Rory and Rogue and Piotr and eats his meals.
Every evening he sits with John and Rory and Jubilee and Sam and the rest of
the card kids and plays double-deck rummy. Every night he tries to sleep and
dreams about sitting with only John. Nothing else, only sitting. But every
morning he wakes up and there are Rogue and Piotr and perfectly cooked
omelettes from the kitchen kids. Every morning he wakes up and sitting at his
bench are John and Rory, and his dreams melt away.
Part of him wants to scream every time they're in the same room. Isn't it bad
enough they share a room? Do they really have to spend every waking moment
together? Their presence mocks him, and his pen writes lines of hate and anger.
A small part of him is happy that John is happy. Rory will ball his fist then
thrust out index and middle finger. A flame appears, about to devour the
furniture. Before it lands on anything, John throws his hands into the air and
starts playing. Really playing, everyone can see the unedited delight on his
face as he works the flame like play doh. Bobby can't give him fire, he can
only freeze and break the flame. If someone else can, they deserve John.
The biggest part of him though, is the part with no feeling at all. He's not
irrationally angry, he's not vicariously happy. Instead he just feels dead.
It's just like the clichés say, when John left he took away a piece of him. His
missing pieces don't hurt, they just don't exist anymore.
The three person couch has the best placement for watching television, though
there are other places to sit in the room. Piotr grabs the left end and Rogue
balances on his lap. It's literally a position of trust, Piotr has to trust
that Rogue has her skin covered, Rogue has to trust that Piotr won't freak out
and suddenly dump her onto the floor. John plops down on the right end and Rory
is half sitting on the armrest, half leaning against John. The only place left
for Bobby is the middle cushion, yet another cruel joke from the gods.
He spends half the movie composing poetry in his head. Nearly all start with
negative phrasing- doomed, or hate, or mocked. Even the most positive of the
bunch starts with 'Why?', and gets gloomier as it lengthens. Bobby will
occasionally shake his head as if to banish the words, only to feel the heat
John is emanating. His warmth brings everything into perspective, and the
poetry begins again.
*
Rory's been at Xavier's Academy for Gifted Youngsters for twenty one days (not
that Bobby is counting, or anything obsessive like that) when something goes to
hell. It's early morning when the Academy equivalent of code blue goes off. Not
all mutant powers have aggressive natures, and those that do can't always be
detected. But those that can are semi-monitored, and an emergency system is set
up to warn other students of a power going off. Unfortunately, it hadn't been
set to register outside attack, or Stryker would have had a much harder time.
Now it is, but now's too late.
It's a keening alarm, and every twenty seconds Jean Grey's voice states the
room number. It wakes Bobby up out of a sound sleep, and the first thing he
does is control his breathing so he's calm enough to create an icicle without
icing the entire room. If anyone comes in, if it's a second attack, he'll stab
them. He doesn't care if they have a family and kids, the people here are his
family, and this time they will be protected.
His look at Sam and Piotr proves they're thinking along the same lines, Piotr's
already metal. Sam is having more problems controlling his panicked energy, but
he's doing his best to stop moving and keep his yellow smoke from erupting.
Bobby has no doubts that in every room the mutants are gearing up. It takes
until the third time Jean speaks to hear her say Room 216. That's his old room,
which means John and Rory are in trouble.
The best strategy, whether it's out of control powers, or an outside attack, is
to stay in your room. The teachers can handle it, or will specifically ask for
someone that they know can neutralize the threat. There even are teachers here
tonight; Hank, Scott and Storm are all home. But it's John, and Bobby isn't
about to wait around when he's in trouble. Ignoring Sam and Piotr telling him
that he should just stay, he stands. Bobby tries to storm out of the bedroom,
but he's having trouble walking. His stress is causing his power to manifest;
his feet are creating more ice by the second. Every step is slick, and it takes
much longer than he'd like to walk out of the room.
By the time he gets all the way down the hall, it seems like he's missed the
spectacle. It's only been three minutes, but if there had been anyone standing
near, either to help or just watch, they're gone now. No teachers are around
either. With nothing else to do, he moves his hand to the knob, then hisses in
pain. It's nearly molten hot.
The entire point of meditation is to take time to calm oneself. Bobby has to be
calm, but he doesn't have time. The best he can do is follow the breathing
rhythm drilled into his skull four years ago, and hope that quality breathing
can beat quantity of breaths. He holds up his hand and looks, pressing down his
concern about John. And if he's honest, Rory too. Just because he hates the
teen, doesn't mean he wants him dead. His hand forms a thick layer of ice. It's
hard to curl his frozen fingers around the knob, but the ice protects his hand
from the sizzling metal. The cloud of steam reveals how hot the doorknob had
been heated to, and his stomach flips.
Opening the door, he steels himself for a horrorshow. Door open, he knows it's
worse.
Everything is gone. John's side of the room had always been plastered with
posters. Every time he bought a new one, it was taped on top of old ones,
eclipsing half the design of the old. It had always driven Bobby crazy to have
such an incomprehensible wallpaper of bands and tv shows and nudity. Now
they're gone, the walls charred black. Everything is black. The carpet is burnt
away, soot and the odd fluff covering scorched hardwood floor. Each piece of
furniture is missing, reduced to ash. There are small bits of metal scattered
where drawer handles didn't quite reach melting point.
The room is a landscape from hell. Back when nightmares caused frosted windows
and scorched sheets, Bobby had thought he was used to seeing things he loved
ruined. They had both gained a measure of control, but the memories of John's
waterlogged books are just as clear as his melted DVDs. But this is different.
All the memories held in this room are gone. Three years of history with John,
all gone. It's devastating, in a way he's not sure he'll be able to explain to
Sam and Piotr. He leaves 216, he can't stay in the room any longer without
breaking down. The change of scenery doesn't help. Standing in the hall Bobby
starts to cry anyway.
*
It's been hours, and no one knows where John and Rory are. Speculation runs
wild through the masses, the most morbid saying they had a firefight and both
died. Bobby refuses to believe it. The parts of him he thought were dead are
screaming at the idea, it's all he can do to not stand in the dining hall and
just scream until he runs out of air. It might not hurt people as much as Syrin
would, but at least they would focus on him and stop talking.
He can't stand to listen to everyone talk. It's not just the card kids,
everyone is talking about the loss of control in 216, and what it means. He
wants to hit all the people that think the two did it on purpose, were showing
off their powers and lost control. John has more control than anyone could ever
understand. They only talked about it once, but from that late night Bobby
knows going without fire hurts John. Actually makes him physically ill, and yet
for the safety of everyone else, he holds himself back. He wants to spit on
everyone who think it started as a lovers quarrel. It rips him apart to admit
it, even only inside his head, but Rory and John are two pieces of the same
puzzle. This wasn't a lovers quarrel, because they'll never fight each other.
And he wants to shake all the new, little kids who ask if they're not here
because Xavier kicked them out for messing up. He feels bad for being so angry
at children, but their stupid, high pitched voices asking over and over again
if the firestarters have been kicked out is grating on his nerves.
No one knows what started the fire holocaust of room 216. It could just as
easily be either teen. Rory might have had a nightmare and shot flame on the
curtains, John too tired to wake up until the room was already half devoured.
Bobby doesn't buy that though. The others, they hadn't felt the heat emanating
from the room. That kind of heat, everything in the room turned to ash, that
doesn't come from a spark or two. That comes from full out warfare. On the
other hand, John might have finally snapped from the pressure of being a
teacher to eighty kids, and torched the room in rage. But that doesn't sound
right either. As distracted as professor Xavier has been, Bobby has to believe
he'd at least intervene before a student had a complete meltdown.
It only takes one person asking him his opinion before his friends decide that
to be around Bobby isn't a good thing. By lunch, no one his age will sit near
him. He's reduced to sitting at the kiddie table, picking at his sub. His world
might be falling apart with literal flaming debris, but one thing is constant;
the kitchen kids make good meals. Rogue is at the other end of the table,
looking at him from behind the fall of white hair. Every time he looks back,
she looks away and starts a conversation with one of the children. It's getting
pretty irritating, but so is everything. Bobby knows he won't be happy, hell,
won't be fit to be company with other human beings, until he knows they're both
okay.
From down the table he hears Rogue gasp. He looks at her and for the first time
in forty minutes, she doesn't look away. Her gaze catches his and she seems to
scan him for a moment, before continuing her conversation with the seven year
old with green and yellow hair. When the child gets up and walks the length of
the table to him, he wonders what Rogue's plotting.
"You're Bobby?"
"Yeah. I heard you like to be called Parrot, right?"
"My dad called me that. Before he-" he can see her lip quivering, and knows
that something fucked up must have happened. Seven years old, and she's already
traumatized for life. At points like these, he can almost understand the
Brotherhood hating humans. He reaches out a hand and puts it on her shoulder
gently, aware that he's been icing everything he's touched for the last six
hours. She doesn't seem to notice, only throws herself to him. He hugs her,
thinking back to Ronny.
"Rogue told me that I should tell you something. 'Cept, I wasn't supposed to
tell her neither. So I don't know if I should tell more people. Cause Mr Xavier
told me that I shouldn't say the things that other people say sometimes, 'cause
they're private."
"Well, usually professor Xavier is right. But sometimes there are really
important things that have to be said to certain people. So what you have to do
is really think. Think and think and think, and then if it makes sense that
someone has to know what you've heard, then you can tell them." It's weird to
be giving an ethics lecture to a new mutant. That used to be Jean Grey's job.
Really, it's the arena of any telepath, not him. He doesn't have to worry about
the ethics of ice.
She only looks at him, blinking. He lets her think for a minute, then adds "Do
you think what you heard is important to tell me?"
"I don't know. They weren't talking about you."
"Okay. That's part of it. The other part is, do you trust other people when
they tell you someone needs to know something? I'm sorry, that might be
confusing. What I mean is, if Rogue tells you I need to know something, do you
trust her when she says that?"
"Rogue's nice." The way the girl says it, niceness is akin to godliness. Bobby
only nods. Even though the curiosity is killing him, he's not going to pressure
a seven-year-old girl into showing off her power.
She stares off into the distance -at least Bobby is pretty sure it's the
distance, and not the cake sitting on his end of the table- and starts
speaking. It's a bit disturbing; she's got tone, pauses, and inflection dead
on. She doesn't speak in male voices, Bobby's not sure if she can't, or if she
just isn't using her ability to full extent. He doesn't really care, he just
listens to what she's saying.
" 'what's that?'
'what?'
'I don't know what it is, but I know you're going to put it into your little
grey safe. Except this time I'm not going to ignore that it's there. So tell
me, what is it?... what the fuck? Rory, what the fuck?'
'what the hell is wrong with you! I need those!'
'Rory, calm down! Rory! Stop!'" She looks at him, and Bobby doesn't know what
to say. What she's heard, it's only a hint of what happened. It's a tantalizing
thread of conversation that actually tells him nothing. But before he has a
chance to chew it over, he has to make sure the kid is okay.
"Thank you for telling me Parrot. It's good that you told someone you trusted,
and I'm happy you trusted me enough to tell me."
"I don't trust you. I trust Rogue. John and Rory are next door. That was the
last thing they said. Then there was yelling, and then that alarm went off. I
couldn't tell Hank, even though the door was open. 'Cause Leith and Amanda told
me not to. They said when the alarm goes off, you're supposed to stay in bed
until someone comes." She stares at him for a second, and adds "I don't think
you should tell other people. 'Cause then too many people would know, and I'm
not supposed to tell anyone at all."
"I won't tell anyone, I promise."
She walks back to her lunch, where Rogue's cut the sub into more manageable
pieces. He makes a note to thank Rogue later. Right now, he doesn't want to
attract any more attention than necessary to any of them. The only thing that
can come from someone noticing the interactions is Sam or Jubilee or Gambit
asking more questions.
But what does their conversation mean? What did John find? The morsel of
information is almost worse then knowing nothing at all.
*
He isn't surprised when Xavier asks him to come to the lower levels. The call
rings loudly through his mind, like in these last months he's gotten out of the
habit of sending messages, like he's forgotten how to be polite. Still, Bobby
makes his excuse to the boy teaching him how to fill out income tax forms and
goes to the elevator. He's expecting the small flash when Xavier wipes the
elevator code from his mind, and doesn't let it bother him. Nor does the
constant whispered left, left, straight directions that lead him to an
individual room.
Bobby knows these rooms, as do many of the students. Rooms where after all the
days of hiding, all the lessons of control and supress and discipline and be
smart, all the techniques of 'don't attack until you can attack to kill', none
of it mattered. When someone feels so stifled, there's nothing better then a
room where every safety is set up to allow a person to roam free. Cover walls
in sheets of 5 foot thick ice, but the walls won't shatter or become soggy when
the ice starts melting. No ruined wallpaper that Bobby has to rip down and
pretend he was just doing an improvised renovation, while his parents scream at
him. The releasing rooms are heaven to some mutants, the only place to be safe.
He's directed to a room, and then he opens the door. Rory's inside. It's not
the person Bobby's expecting to see, but he hides his shock. At the sound of
the door opening, the blond looks up. His over-rounded face looks broken, like
something cracked inside his soul.
"Is Pyro dead?" Three words, enough to shatter Bobby.
"I don't know. I don't think so. Someone would have said something."
Rory hasn't even finished listening to his entire sentence, after 'don't know'
he's already tuned out. He's in the corner of the room, arms curled around his
knees. It's a sweater and pyjama pants as usual, but these are blue. In the
last twenty three days, never once has Rory worn anything but orange or yellow.
It's like opening a can of Coke and tasting Pepsi.
Bobby thinks for a moment, and makes a split second decision he hopes he won't
regret later. He sits beside Rory on the hard concrete and waits for the boy to
look up again. Xavier wouldn't have sent him here if he wasn't needed.
"I wasn't," Bobby waits nearly five minutes before Rory figures out a way to
continue. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. It's just so stupid, so fucking
ridiculous like God is laughing at me and everything I do, you know? I don't
want to do bad things so I put up protections, but then someone that doesn't
underSTAND A GODDAMN THING" he's screaming now "DOESN'T LIKE MY PROTECTIONS,
AND THEN EVERYONE GETS HURT!"
"Rory. I don't think anyone got hurt. Maybe John, but the fire stayed in your
bedroom. No one else got hurt, except for maybe John. I don't know, I haven't
seen him." It hurts to admit that there might be something wrong with John, but
he doesn't see lying to Rory working very well.
"That's 'cause of him. Really, it's all because of him. He's so damn stupid, he
doesn't understand that people do things for reasons, WHY DOESN'T HE UNDERSTAND
PEOPLE HAVE REASONS?"
Bobby's not going to do anything as point blank as asking Rory what happened.
Direct is a good method for very few people, and Bobby doesn't think Rory'll be
one of the few. Leading questions are probably best. "So John didn't understand
something you did, and that's how this started?"
"Pyro burnt my drugs. I came in and I was just putting them away, and he was
awake. I thought he was going to start asking questions. I wish he had started
asking questions, but he didn't. He just burnt them. He doesn't understand."
Bobby has no idea how to respond. Drugs were a thing for normal high school
students, for thugs on the street and for housewives needing uppers to get all
their shit done. Drugs didn't belong at the academy.
"Hold me, would you? Or touch my back?" His voice is bleak, like he expects
Bobby to deny him this simple comfort. His arm is across Rory's shoulder before
it even occurs to him to wonder why the blond would want this. If this is what
someone needs, then Bobby can give it. He won't even question it, though
there's a difference between asking and wondering.
"It's not that I'm trying to spread the gay, I know that freaked you out.
Though from what I heard, you switched over without any help. Ahah." The
chuckle is weak and dies almost as quickly as it starts. "I just, touching
helps keep me calm. And when I'm not calm, that's when the fires start, and I
can't control them. Pyro can, but I can't, I can only make things burn. And I
know it wouldn't hurt you, but I think if I made a fire and you froze it, I
would only freak out more."
"Right. Because my power disgusts you." It's difficult to keep the pain out of
his voice, Bobby knows he hasn't done a good job when Rory lifts his head up
and stares at him.
"Okay, that wasn't what I said when we talked about that. And I didn't think
you'd hold it to heart, or I wouldn't have said it. 'M sorry. I seem to be
fucking up all over the place."
For the second time in a day, Bobby has someone throwing themselves to him for
a hug. He has a feeling that this time it's crucial to reciprocate, so he lets
Rory curl to him. He does his best to not frost as he rubs his left hand down
Rory's arched back. The noises he makes are nothing more than nonsense words,
sibilants like hush and shoosh whispered into the air. He hasn't had much
practice for soothing as of late; Piotr and Sam don't have nightmares. Still,
he does his best to parent Rory, only stopping when the blond pulls away.
"So John caught you with drugs, and he burnt them, and you got mad, enough so
that your control failed?"
"I don't take it 'cause I like it. I don't even get anything off it. But it
keeps me mellow. I have to stay mellow. I have next to no control Bobby. I try,
but I just don't."
Deciding he'll go back to the drug thing in a minute, he asks what confuses
him. "But I've seen you purposely start fires."
"When I'm not on drugs, everything that causes emotional stimulation makes a
fire. Being excited, being angry, being sad, being happy. Nearly everything
made a fire. I had to stop going to school, I couldn't write a test, or look at
my mark after it was handed back. And it was a ridiculous spiral, because if I
didn't look, I would obsess about what I got until that obsession got so
prevalent I'd start one from stress. Every single thing I did, Bobby, every
fucking damn thing I did made a fire. So I left, and stayed with my sister. And
she told her doctor she suffered from obsessive thoughts, so he gave her
Prozac. And it worked, so I started taking it. But Pyro doesn't like that I'm
taking it illegally, so when it found it this morning, he burnt it all."
"Yeah, but I still don't get it. If whatever you started taking made you stop
making fires, how are you still making them for John to make designs with? I
see you guys doing it all the time." a lump in his throat develops thinking
about how happy they've been, making fires with each other.
"Because it turned a switch in my head. I went from my automatic response being
fires, and only the strictest self-pressure sometimes preventing them, to,
well... It's like it put a blanket over myself, so if I chose to lift the
blanket I could have fires, but the blanket stayed down otherwise. Things have
to be really really strong to move past the blanket. Like why I got rescued by
Storm. Or this morning. Pyro tried to steal my blanket, and my fires fought
back."
It makes sense, though the analogy is strange.
"Bobby, find out if Pyro's okay, would you? I don't know what happened. The
last part I know is he burnt my pills." Rory puts his arms around his legs
again, and leans away from Bobby's touch. He knows a dismissal when he hears
one, knows sticking around can only provoke control breakdown. Not that it
sounds like Rory has any in the first place. He stands and leaves.
He doubts if Xavier will be leading him back to the elevator. He's not done
making things right. Hell, he hasn't even started making things right yet. When
the whispered turns lead him to another door, he walks in knowing exactly who
will be inside. What does surprise him is the state of the room. It doesn't
look like a releasing room, or at least not one meant for a firestarter. The
room has a rug and a iron frame bed. John's lying on the bed, snoring.
Bobby's not about to leave, but it seems cruel to wake up his ex-roommate.
Instead he sits on the concrete floor in the corner and bides his time by
making rosettes. He gets caught up in forming the detailed petals, enough so
that when John mutters 'hey', Bobby jumps.
"Hey. Move over." It's practically his duty as best friend to invade John's
personal space, and besides, sitting on concrete is making his butt numb.
Splaying himself on the still warm mattress, he looks at the fireshaper. "So,
what's up?"
"I'm not hurt. I'm just tired. Really tired. And sore. Pen made a lot of fire,
we're talking California forest fire style. I had to pull as much into me as I
could." Bobby learned the same late night he learned about not using the fire
hurt, that to pull too much back hurt too. Like the ache of holding your breath
until you passed out, except all over.
"That sucks. You did a good job though, everything's fine. Your room is gone,
but even the door survived, never mind the hallway." He knows without asking
that's what John's worried about, that he wasn't able to do good enough to
protect everyone.
"Iceman, let me tell you, I thought the entire mansion would be gone. I've
never seen that much before, not even at your parents place. It was like the
air was fire, the only things in the room that weren't were me and him. It
hurt, to drag it into me."
"But you're not burnt." It's a statement, not a question. Bobby's looking over
as much of John as he can without removing the blankets and fussing, and he
can't see any scars.
"Fire doesn't burn me. It likes me. I guess it likes Pen too." It's the first
time he's heard John use that nickname Rory suggested, he knows it means
something that John's finally using it. He's just not sure what it means, can't
read the subtext to understand. "If I was hurt, they'd put me in Dr. Grey's old
lab. But I'm not. I just needed to sleep, still need to. One only has so much
they can take before they collapse. I guess old baldie knew if I was put as a
third in someone's spare bed, I'd be woken up every thirty seconds with people
peering in the room."
"Yeah, no one will shut the fuck up. It's driving me insane. Some of the
younger kids think that you're going to get kicked out. Because you 'messed up'
your powers." Bobby rolls his eyes, and is gratified to see that John thinks
the idea just as stupid.
"Hah, like they'd ever kick anyone out. They're not even going to do it to Pen,
and he's the one with the drugs."
"I talked to him, from what I've heard it's medication. Like, not real drugs."
"Bobby, you didn't see how much he had. And medication can be drugs, it just
depends on if the person taking it is stupid. I don't want to talk about it. He
really fucked up, Bobby. Can you stop talking, and just...? I need to go back
to sleep."
There are so many more things Bobby wants to say, but instead he crawls up the
bed. He lies beside John, outside the covers, and drapes his arm over the boy.
It doesn't take long for the snoring to start again. It takes longer for Bobby
to figure out how to compress the few words John's said into something that he
can pass along. Only when he has the start of a conversation ready, does he get
up.
This time, it doesn't take mental instructions to make his way to Rory. It's
only a few hallways until he reluctantly pushes open the door to the blond's
temporary room.
"He's fine." It's not much in the way of hello, but the weary smile Rory gives
him is better then a common greeting. "He's pretty mad though." And the smile
dies, and that's not a nice sight.
"You explained that it's not a fun thing, that I need them?"
"Yeah. He thinks that drugs are drugs are drugs."
"But... I need them!" A spark shoots across the room, but there's nothing for
it to attach to, and it dies in air.
"Rory, I know. I think if you talked to him, made him understand, maybe. Things
could still be okay, I think."
"I can't talk to him. He'll want to break up. I'm not going to put myself in
that situation. If you could wait after the don't be gay debacle, I can wait
too." Bobby objects to it being called a debacle, but knows better then to say
anything. "Please, can you just tell him that I didn't do that fire on purpose,
that that's what I need the pills for?"
"Part of his problem was that he thought you had too many. Like maybe he
thought you were trafficking them or something. I dunno."
"The normal dose is 20 to 60 milligrams. Harsh cases can go up to 80, but it's
not recommended. I take 100 a day. That means that I need five pills a day.
What I had is what I need. You have to tell him I'm only doing what I have to,
to get by. Please, would you?"
Being the messenger is getting old, quickly. But Bobby nods, and leaves. He
finds John's room and walks in. The noise of his feet wakes John up, he yawns
but doesn't sit up. "You talked to him, didn't you?"
"Yeah, he's in one of the releasing rooms. He's still all fucked up." John
doesn't respond, from where Bobby's standing he can't even tell if John's eyes
are open. "John, he says he's not trafficking them, he's just taking them."
"I know he's not trafficking them. I never said he was. I know he's taking
them. But I also know he's taking over prescription, and judging from the way
he freaked out about me burning them, he's completely addicted." The blankets
do nothing to muffle the anger in John's voice.
"He says he needs them. That they make him okay enough to go through the day."
"Bobby, don't you know anything?" His voice is hard, like he's actually angry
at Bobby's denseness. "That's what every druggie says. The junkie says it about
his heroin, the tweaker says it about his crystal, the stoner says it about his
pot. Everyone that does a drug, needs a drug. Him needing it doesn't excuse him
taking it."
"It's medication."
"It's an addiction." The tone means discussion closed, but Bobby can't go back
to Rory with this.
"What should I tell him?"
"That I don't date fucking drug addicts. That the next move is up to him. That
I'm fucking sleeping, and unless someone's bringing me food, everyone can fuck
off. Good night Bobby." The blankets rustle as he turns over, and Bobby is not
looking forward to carrying the ultimatum to Rory. How can he be the one to
threaten a relationship he doesn't even like?
*
Both are now theoretically back in classes, though John hasn't taught anything
in the last three days. Rory's nowhere to be seen either, several of the girls
are faithfully writing notes for the two. They're both in alternative rooming,
the charred hell that is 216 isn't fit for a human being. Bobby has offered to
sleep on the floor and give John his bed, the resounding 'fuck off' was a
obvious no. It kills him to see John in the makeshift family housing, rather
then in his own room in his home. But by all rights, everything should be back
to normal. They lost control, but every mutant does at least once. They're
supposed to be in class, and they've got their beds back.
Things are not back to normal, and once again it seems like it's up to Bobby to
fix things. That box is getting old, glued seams falling apart. Pretty soon
Bobby's not going to be the fix-it man anymore. Things aren't normal because
John and Rory are uncomfortable, which makes him uncomfortable. Bobby in turn
affects Piotr, Sam, and Rogue, and Rogue affects all the younger children. It's
not much of an exaggeration to say the comfort of the academy rests on the
ability of these two boys to get along.
As he climbs the stairs to the second floor, he tries to plan out what he's
going to say. He doesn't have much, only that they both need to get over it.
Really, at this point he'd fail diplomacy class.
There are five beds crammed into what used to be Scott's room. The teachers are
nearly always gone, and they've all decided they don't each need their own
suite. Instead, all their belongings are in one room, which gets traded off for
when anyone is actually home. Though Rory doesn't have any belongings, Bobby
knows which bed belongs to him. It's obvious; the bed is the only one with two
duvets stacked on top of each other. Looking back it was a bit of a clue, over
medication can lead to feeling bone-cold, as well as lack of appetite and the
obvious extremely mellow behaviour.
The blankets are so lumpy it's impossible to tell if there's someone actually
underneath the covers, so Bobby approaches quietly. When he goes to shake the
teen, his hand sinks through the duvet and he knows there's no one. It's not a
total loss though, moving the blanket reveals a piece of paper on the pillow.
He picks it up and with a sinking heart reads it. It's short, to the point.
I needed them. Sorry.
It doesn't take a genius to know what Rory's referring to. It's vague enough
that only the right person would understand it, only he or John or a telepath
reading them would understand the reference. Again he wonders about the shaky
ethics of the telepaths growing at the Academy, how they'll survive without
Jean Grey or Xavier's attention. For the last two months it's been everyone for
themselves when it comes to lessons on power. Really, not that much different
than the time before that, there are no Ice 101 classes. When you're the only
one with an ability, you teach yourself how to use it. It's the general morals
that need to be taught, and if there are no available adults, Bobby's going to
have to do something.
He stands with the note in hand, for once just thinking about Rory. Not how
he's connected to John, not how his power is so much more applicable to
everything Bobby wants to be than what Bobby actually has. He thinks about the
few things he knows about the teen. The casual comments during the depressing
days when Bobby had to watch the two be a couple, and what they built to. The
way he was happy to only use his power in making other people happy. The way on
his first day he was willing to pass the buck to another student and avoid
confrontation with his sister.
When he really thinks about who Rory is, he knows what's happened. And he knows
that John needs to know.
He goes to the wing that holds the classrooms, on the slight hope that John's
finally decided to hold another English session. He hasn't, and neither is he
playing video games or Slam! with any of the card kids. Just as Bobby's about
to give up and go ask Jean Paul for tutoring on media awareness and
advertising, he gets a shot of luck. John and Piotr are sitting together at one
of the many desks in the library.
"It doesn't make any goddamn sense!" is the first thing Bobby hears as he nears
them. Without looking at the notebooks and sprawled papers, Bobby knows it must
be algebra. John has never understood how X's and Y's stand for numbers. He'd
never ask, but he'd venture to say John finds the idea of profaning words and
phrases and letters by assigning them concepts of numeracy evil and completely
wrong.
"John, can we talk a minute?" They both look up from the papers and while
Piotr's curious, John's much more wary. Still, he throws his pencil down with
relief and follows Bobby to an empty corridor of shelving. Not that it matters,
a number of people could be reading their conversation right now. It's an
illusion of privacy more then a fact of it.
"What's up?"
"He left." There's no need to name names, they both know exactly who Bobby's
referring to.
"Should I cry?" Anger, Bobby was expecting. Or a nice episode of shooting the
messenger. But complete disregard, sarcasm? Neither were on the list of
expected reactions. He's not entirely sure how to respond, he'd been preparing
for anger.
"Uh? You can do whatever you want, John."
"Really though, will crying make you happier? Because right now you're looking
at me like I've seriously fucked up. So tell me best how to fit your
expectations, and I'll go at it."
Ouch. Struggling to not visibly wince, he speaks. "No, crying won't make me
happy. Don't be stupid. I just wasn't expecting you to not care. You were
dating him three weeks."
"Yeah." John's tone couldn't be more flat, he has no idea when John's become
emotionless, but it's freaking him out. John doesn't do emotionless; John does
huge flares of emotion with high intensity and long duration. "I was dating
Pen. And he was dating drugs. So am I going to cry that he left me for them?
Fucking no Bobby, I'm not. Okay? Not going to happen. Been there, and doing the
crying thing didn't much help. So no. Sorry if I offend you."
Again, ouch. With a side measure of shocked, because John doesn't talk about
his before-the-academy times. There is no way Bobby could have known that
John's past had involved drug users, but he still feels like shit for making
him think about it. Leaving the past alone ranks high up there in mutant
etiquette.
"Fuck off, no you don't offend me. And I know you say you don't care, but I'm
sorry he left. He should have stayed, could have worked things out with his
powers."
John's shaking his head. "You didn't really know him. Hey, I guess I didn't
either. But he was really a path of least resistance kind of guy. Working out
and through his powers, when there's a simple solution in sight? No. Not for
him."
"We do though. And you're not going to leave, not again. And I won't ever."
"You're getting pretty damn sappy, Drake." But he looks relieved at the idea,
so Bobby doesn't care he's being mocked.
"I'm not ever going to leave you," he repeats fiercely, "and maybe someday
we'll be together."
John's expression is first one of consideration, rapidly changing to wariness.
Watching his face, Bobby can almost see the list of reasons why this would be a
bad thing compile in John's head. "I'm not kissing you, Bobby."
"Did I say I expected you too? Don't jump to conclusions so quickly. And go
finish your damn math, so we can verse Jubilee and Remy in Rummy." John flips
him off, the evils of math already beckoning. With a scowl he rejoins Piotr.
Bobby's willing to bet within a half hour Piotr will give up for the day, and
the pyromaniac will be available for cards. He knows from experience that
trying to teach John math is about as pleasant as having Rogue touch him
without her gloves.
He sits on one of the overstuffed armchairs, waiting. He can't help but think
that having your opponent walk away from the fight is the weakest way to win.
In fact, he's not even sure he can call it a win. He didn't have a chance to
try for a second round, though he knows he would have bounced back from John's
rejection. And there's been no prize awarded; he doesn't actually get to have
John.
But Bobby lives in a world where battles and skirmishes are as frequent as
blinking, and war is looming on the horizon. A weak win is still a win. Bobby
has fought, and Bobby has won.
End Notes
     This was written for the soundtrack challenge on Dry_ice. Originally
     posted as a serial, the chapters were inspired by:
     the sky's on fire, but I am safe in here, from the world outside.
     (what it is to burn, finch)
     you took the path of least resistance, on the phone, cutting out,
     talking (grey ice water, modest mouse)
     after all this time, would you ever wanna leave it? (blind,
     lifehouse)
     no other box I choose to use (every me and every you, placebo)
     how you decieved, you deceived, I never thought you would do that to
     me (judas, kelly clarkson)
     everything I know is wrong (the hardest part, coldplay)
     I think too much then start talking mean (bad best friend, nada surf)
     if it feels alright, maybe you can stay the night (hot blooded,
     foreigner)
     I gotta make you mine, I want you to feel good I want you all the
     time (stay, birds of tokyo)
     you're as cold as ice, willing to sacrifice our love (cold as ice,
     foreigner)
     this is nothing new, no no, just another phase of finding what I
     really need. (volcano, damien rice)
     you'll take your steps away with hesitance, you'll take your steps
     away from me (cautioners, jimmy eat world)
     tonight you're out burning another fire. now we've run out of time,
     out of luck, out of everything, now you're gone, gone to find what
     you need, what I don't provide (come to nothing, evermore)
     I wanna love you but I better not touch, I wanna hold you but my
     senses tell me to stop (poison, groove coverage)
     we have gone through so much worse then this before, what's so
     different this time that you can't ignore (make this go on forever,
     snow patrol)
     you brought your flame where all's been condemned to dark (flame,
     bell x1)
     yeah you had a breakthrough, and now i'm just bad news to you
     (keeper, yellowcard)
     only when I think about you, I know. only when you stop to think
     about me, do you know? (I hate everything about you, three days
     grace)
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