First, I want to thank Sascha and Lise. They corrected, picked, poked, prodded and did everything else in their power to make me make this good. This story is dedicated to them with much loving thanks. :::HUGS::: DISCLAIMER: Bobby, Jamie, Hank, Forge, etc don't belong to me and I'm making no money off this. And if you're really so anal as to try and track me down and sue me, I say pttttthhhhhtt. This story deals with same sex relationships. Go 'way if you don't like that. It also has Bad Things happen. Ask me if you think you might not like it. (I don't want to ruin anything here, though). Um . . .what else? This is a sequel to "Bodies of Water," written for Poilass. "BoW" can be found at Mooksville, Earth and Mind Dance and McDragon's Lair (http://tentative.net/JBMcDragon/). Or write to me. I may just send it. ;) Quiet Waters Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come, I've seen fire and I've seen rain *** The wind ruffled through his hair, tossing it furiously about. Jamie smiled,
feeling the sun on his face, one hand steering the car down the highway while
the other played with the radio. He was going to meet his lover. Okay, so technically they weren't lovers yet. But they were two people who
loved each other. So what did you call that if it wasn't 'lover'? Something brash came on the station, and Jamie changed it with a flick of
slender fingers. Inwardly, his mind chattered at him--most of it consisting of
"He's back! He's back!" His heart was in his throat, as it was every time Bobby returned. Somehow, a grin had plastered itself onto his face and wouldn't seem to give up its spot, but it didn't really matter. Birds cried and wheeled above, and Jamie wished fervently that he could join them. To soar, at this moment, through the deep blue of the sky, playing with the clouds. Maybe he would be able to fly to Bobby's plane, meet him in the air. The grin spread, irrepresibly. Jamie didn't mind. The music station cut out suddenly, interrupting with an 'important
announcement.' Jamie only barely listened to it, more interested in
watching birds loop through the sky above. Then, as if the entire world had been cut down to a two by six inch shred of
space consisting only of the radio, Jamie heard "plane" and "crash." The wheel twisted. Mock-leather rubbed against his hands as Jamie hit the brake and turned, hard. The strap of the seatbelt cut into Jamie's shoulder as his brown Datsun careened across two lanes, barely keeping from hitting a Camry. Jamie's car bumped onto the shoulder, screeching to a halt, and he turned the radio up in a panic. "--not sure what happened yet, but witnesses say there was an explosion. The
plane crashed near the airport, spun several times and finally came to rest in
several pieces. It is not yet clear whether there were any survivors; the
police have only just made it on the scene. In case you've just joined us,
flight 314 from New York has crashed--" Jamie dove for his brown leather backpack that slumped in the foot-area of the
passenger seat, ripping it open and pulling out the flight number he was
supposed to meet. It couldn't be 314. It couldn't. He tore open the pamphlet, brown eyes searching for numbers. It couldn't be
314. Surely that wasn't the flight. Jamie's eyes danced over the paper, finally arresting on the number. It couldn't
be 3-- *** "Fourteen?" "Oh, I can't pick you up that day," Jamie answered solemnly. He tucked the
phone between his shoulder and ear, folding laundry. "I'm washing my hair." On the other end of the phone, Bobby laughed. "Damn. I'll just have to ask
some other ridiculously gorgeous guy to pick me up at the airport then." Jamie blushed, but valiantly ignored it. He put down a brown sock, picked up a blue one, and folded it with another brown one. "I think Forge is free." The blue sock winked out at him, and Jamie stared at it as if seeing it for the first time. Soundlessly, he re-folded the socks with their correct mates. Bobby laughed again. "Seriously, though, James. Are you free that day? Or do
I need to get another flight?" Jamie snorted, and put a shirt into the pants pile. "No, I want you to pay a whole bunch of money because I think I might be going to the mall. Don't be silly. Of course I'll pick you up--I mean, I'm the reason you're coming out here!" "Well, it sure isn't the weather," Bobby laughed. "And here I thought you loved Washington gloom!" Jamie grinned, dimples creasing. His shoulders felt wiggly just talking to Bobby, and he stretched them happily before putting his shirt back in the shirt pile. Bobby chuckled, and Jamie could almost hear the shake of his head. "I'll see
you in a week, then." "Okay." "Love you." Jamie couldn't suppress his smile, and he knew it was utterly goofy. Bobby just
seemed to find it so easy to say those words . . .Jamie licked his lips, opened his mouth to return the phrase, his throat suddenly dry, and said instead, "Me too." He cringed and cursed himself roundly for not saying "I love you, too." Somehow, though, to say it was . . . frightening. "I know," Bobby murmured, and Jamie wasn't sure whether Bobby meant he knew he was loved, or if he really was aware of just why Jamie couldn't bring himself to say that. There was a click of the phone, and Jamie hung up. Smiling, forcefully banishing all that stomach-tightening "I love you" nervousness, he walked to the calendar and circled the date in a red pen.
*** The air smelled like newly turned earth, and scorched grass, and human
flesh. Like blood and death and twisted metal. Antiseptic and fear and
that sick tang that came with gas. And sweat; human sweat from the crush of
bodies behind the police barrier. The noise rivaled the smell, that scent that would always be associated
with disaster. There was wailing and crying and someone to the right sobbed
hysterically. Cameras flashed, recording the devastation and human pain for
others to gawk over and pity, saying things like "It was their time" and
"wasn't that a tragedy?" The sound of shredding metal, a horrible cry as if
the plane itself was in such great pain it couldn't be contained within that
massive shell, still seemed to hang in the air, though no metal moved. There was shouting and orders and wailing sirens, crashing instruments and
plastic rattling, and under that the sound of zippers sliding up over dead
bodies. The air tasted of death. The metallic tang of blood seemed to ooze into
every pore, until Jamie couldn't be free of it. A breath shuddered into his
lungs--he felt so COLD--and carried the taste of rot and fear and panic. This is my fault. I should have gone with him.
***
"Are you sure you don't want to come? The X-Men would love to have you.
You could help Hank if you don't want to fight." Jamie smiled and shook his head, playing with the edge of his trenchcoat.
"No, Bobby. I'm gonna work with Forge a while longer." Bobby sighed and flopped onto the couch next to Jamie, reaching out and
pulling the other man nearer. He wasn't satisfied until he had one leg on
either side of Jamie, both of them sitting crosswise on the couch,
Jamie's solid weight resting back against Bobby's chest. Bobby wrapped his
arms around the narrow ribcage in front of him and rested his chin on
Jamie's thick brown hair. "But I won't like having you so far away," he
said petulantly. Jamie's laugh rumbled back into Bobby's body, tickling him clear down to
his toes. Bobby felt Jamie relax, muscles untensing as Bobby held him closer, protectively. "Then don't leave," Jamie said. Bobby sighed heavily, purposefully making his chest expand and bouncing
Jamie. "But I want you with me at the X-Men," Bobby murmured, leaning
his head down until he was breathing into Jamie's neck. He felt the shudder
run through the younger man's body, and smiled. "The X-Men need me. And I
need you." White teeth nipped delicately at the rim of Jamie's ear. Bobby
smiled as he felt Jamie's breath catch. "I need you." A slow, wicked
grin spread across Bobby's features as Jamie shivered. Then the grin
vanished as an elbow was planted in his stomach. "You are such a tease!" Jamie yelped, pulling away from Bobby and
scooching to the end of the couch, blushing pure red and folding his legs up
in front of him. Bobby laughed. "Come with me, sexy," he pleaded, a smile still in his
eyes. Jamie shook his head. "No. Maybe later, but right now I'm working on
something with Forge." Bobby groaned heavily and twisted until his head hung off the front of the
couch. "You're killing me!" "I am not," Jamie laughed. "You'll just have to fly down and visit." "Up." "What?" Jamie asked. "Fly up and visit," Bobby answered, face turning red as the blood rushed
to his head. "Washington is above New York." "Whatever," Jamie said, shrugging. "We'll visit, and maybe--maybe--later
I'll come up to the X-Men. Or you could come work with me and Forge?" Bobby cringed. "Too much red tape," he mumbled, then sat up. "Not that I
wouldn't love to work with you," he said softly, smiling in a more than
slightly lecherous way. "That's it!" Jamie yelped, blushing red and leaping to his feet. "I'm
going back to my hotel to take a cold shower! You stay here!" "But I need a cold shower too," Bobby laughed. "It'll only make you happier," Jamie pointed out with a mock-glare. Bobby smiled very slowly. "Especially if I shower with you." Jamie's Blush was back. "God! You are in such a mood today!" Bobby laughed delightedly and rolled off the sofa. "I know. Just feel
good, that's all. Come back, James. I promise I'll stop teasing you." Jamie looked at him suspiciously. "Scout's honor." "You were never a Boy Scout." Bobby frowned. "Okay. On my pet bumblebee BuzzBuzz's grave. I'll stop
teasing." Jamie hesitated, eyeing Bobby. Bobby tried to make his blue eyes large and honest, though he couldn't quite squelch his smile. "Okay," Jamie finally grumbled, and walked slowly to sit back down on the sofa. Bobby kicked a leg up back and pulled Jamie back down into his lap,
cradling him against his chest. "I love you, you know," Bobby murmured
after a moment. Jamie shifted uncomfortably. "I know," he said at last, quiet. Bobby kissed Jamie's ear (oh how he loved those ears!) and smiled, leaning
his face against the other's head and breathing deeply of shampoo and that scent
that was only Jamie. He would have to wait to hear his words echoed back. They seemed to make Jamie uncomfortable still. Bobby, however, was willing to be patient. "I'll fly up and visit a lot, then." Jamie smiled and settled more comfortably against Bobby's back. "Okay."
***
"Someone come quick! Bring something to get this open!" The shout was frantic, as were all the others, and Jamie couldn't seem to
hear it. It all came so dimly to him, as though he stood at the far end of
a tunnel and watched people he didn't know doing something he didn't
understand. He felt so cold. "There's ice over here!" His world shattered. Jamie looked up. "Get something to break this--there's people inside!" Jamie started forward at a walk, and soon found himself running. With each
footstep another of himselves appeared and ran for the section of plane that
was iced over--from the inside. "Get a medic team here, stat! There are people inside!" The earth fled beneath Jamie's feet as he bolted toward the plane,
ignoring the hands that tried to stop him, rolling under the yellow caution
tape, splitting into more people with the impact. The ice had shattered. They were pulling people out, people with blue
lips and bloody faces, white skin contrasting frighteningly with crimson
life. Some bodies were put to one side, dead, while others were carried to
stretchers and surrounded by paramedics, carried off in wailing white
ambulances. Someone caught at Jamie's trenchcoat, grabbing him, strong arms wrapping
around his shoulders and chest from behind. "You can't go over there," a
low voice said, almost picking him up off his feet. Jamie flailed his arms and legs, struggling furiously. "Bobby--" "We'll find him if he's there," the man said, clinging to Jamie's writhing
body. "Son, stop. You're adding more upset people to the already upset
crowd. You're panicking people." The words penetrated through Jamie's fog, and he saw, suddenly, as if
they hadn't even been there before, that his dupes were causing a scene.
Humans in the mass of people were screaming, and someone was ranting about
how a mutant had crashed the plane. Jamie took a shaky breath and reached out to the nearest dupe, reabsorbing
him. "Thank you," the low voice said, and the grip around his shoulders and
chest relaxed. "We'll find Bobby." Jamie nodded, shaking, and almost stumbled when the man put him back down
on his feet. "Sit here. You can stay this close. Get rid of these extra people." Jamie nodded again and fell bonelessly to the ground, hands lax in the
dirt. The man came around, knelt before Jamie. "What does Bobby look like?" Jamie tried to collect his thoughts as he looked into the black man's
face, seeing eyes so dark they were almost black, and somehow so caring and
worried it was almost Jamie's undoing. "He has light brown hair," Jamie said at last, his voice a trembling
whisper. "And . . . he's taller than me. He has the most beautiful blue
eyes . . ." The black man nodded softly, a large hand dropping to rest on Jamie's
shoulder. Jamie took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. His face was cold, wet.
His eyelashes were clumped together. The wind blew across the iced plane, turning cold as the warmth was stolen from it before whispering across Jamie and the crowd behind him. "He . . . is muscular. Lots of muscles. And he makes ice." Jamie opened his eyes. The black man nodded, his thumb smoothed down the edge of Jamie's hair.
"Okay. I'm going to go look for him. You stay here." Jamie nodded. The black man stood and walked toward the plane, disappearing in the hole
they had made in the ice. The number of dead bodies was mounting, though there were now a few live
people, too. A small tangle of paramedics raced out, a body held between them. "Get a
stretcher!" one of them shouted, and Jamie looked up hopefully. Blue eyes met his, and then closed. But those blue eyes were topped with
a rag of red hair, and the body was too small to be Bobby. The boy was
laid on a stretcher and wheeled away, his blood-smeared face hidden by
medics. Jamie hugged his knees to his chest and watched, a small part of his mind
calling his dupes to him and re-absorbing them swiftly. The black man emerged from the wreckage, carrying a large body in strong
arms. "Medic!" the man bellowed, and more people came racing up. Jamie stood, breath held, watching until the black man turned to him and
gave the tiniest gesture of his head. Jamie ran, feeling his trenchcoat tangle around his legs. He bulleted
across the torn earth as the man on the stretcher was wheeled toward an
ambulance, paramedics already covering his face with a mask and sticking
needles into his arms. "Bobby!" Jamie shouted, stopping as he reached the ambulance. "Sit in that corner," someone snapped, and Jamie leapt into the ambulance
and planted himself in the far corner, hudddled down, giving the medics as
much room as they needed to work. He couldn't see Bobby's face beneath the blood. His hair had been soaked
to a purple-red color, though crimson slush dripped from his bangs to land coldly
on the floor. Bobby's face beneath the blood was white. Not pale, and not light, but
white. Blue lips were covered in a mask, and eyelids that had turned
blue weren't moving. Oh God. Help.
***
"You look cold." "I'm not." "I didn't say you were. I said you looked it." "Bobby, I'm not cold!" "You said that last time, too. Remember? When you started shivering?" ". . . That was different." "Riiiiiight. Y'know, Jamie, if you're cold, you have to say something
about it." "I'm not cold!" "You're shivering." " . . . Oh. I just didn't want you to be hot." "I don't get hot. I can cool myself down." "Yeah. Well." "You, however, are very hot." "No, you just pointed out that I'm co--oh. You meant--oh. Heh. Um.
Thanks." "You're blushing." "Am not." "Are too." "Am not." "Are too. Sexy." "Well . . . you're cool." "Cold, thankyouverymuch." "Jus' chillin'." "Yup! That's me! The chillin' dude! And you're sexy." "Stop that!" "Heh. Sexy. You're blushing again." "Am not!" "Are too." "Am not!"
***
He was not waking up. He looked cold. Jamie reached out and touched Bobby's shoulder, gently. It was cold to the
touch, though they said he was no longer in danger from dying of hypothermia. ~"His resistance to that is amazing. He's lucky in that way."~ Jamie blinked. His vision wavered, and he blinked again. ~"None of the passengers that lived were completely unscathed. He has
quite a few broken bones that will need time to mend. Most concerning is
the head trauma. You are related, correct?" "He's my brother," Jamie had said, knowing that 'boyfriend' wouldn't get him the
information he needed. "All right. The head trauma is what worries us most. There's no obvious
damage, as is often the case. Unfortunately, there doesn't need to be
obvious damage. I'm afraid Bobby is in a coma at the moment. There's no
reason that we can see. Time will tell what happens."~ Jamie bent, fingers twining with Bobby's limp ones, other hand trembling as he brushed a lock of hair from the sleeping face. "I'm sorry, Bobby," Jamie whispered, choking. "You have to be
okay, though. You have to. You're my only family, Bobby, and you have to
be okay. You can't leave me unless I say I love you, and I didn't say
that, Bobby." His grip tightened on Bobby's hand and he leaned closer,
lips almost touching Bobby's forehead. Every muscle trembled, and his hand tightened on Bobby's fingers. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"You can't die, because it's not fair. It's the rules, Bobby. If I say I
love you, then you die, but I didn't say that. I didn't, so you have to
wake up now. Please hear me. Please? Because if you die then . . ." Jamie's voice broke, and he took a shivering breath before continuing. "I'm
sorry. I shouldn't have made you fly down and see me. I should have told
you that people around me die, and made you leave. I should have loved you
that much, but I didn't, because I'm selfish. So please don't die. I
don't love you. I don't love you, so don't die. That's the way it works."
His voice broke, rose slightly. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault." "Yeah," a deeper, whisky-roughened voice said quietly from the doorway.
"It is." Jamie looked up, startled. He blinked quickly and looked back down again,
standing up and dropping Bobby's hand. "Sir," he said in a whisper.
"Bobby's in a coma. They don't know when he'll wake up." William Drake walked slowly into the room, like a man too filled with sorrow
and pain to move. "Where's Madeline?" William was looking down at his son, moving achingly into the chair Jamie
had vacated. Shaking hands spotted with age took Bobby's pale, unlined one and covered it, holding it up to trembling lips. "Talking to the doctor. You can leave now, Jamie." Jamie flinched, then took a deep breath. He was aware, suddenly, of tears
on his face. He grabbed the sleeve of his trenchcoat and wiped his cheeks. "I . . . I was waiting for Bobby to wake up." "Why?" William snapped. Brown eyes laced with fear flashed up, pinning Jamie in his place. "Haven't you done enough? Didn't you say just a moment ago that
this was your fault?" Jamie flattened himself against the wall. "I . . . I . . . suppose so.
I'm sorry." "That does a lot of good," William answered bitterly, looking back at
Bobby. He chafed the hand Jamie had dropped, holding it between both of
his callused, age-spotted ones. The heart monitor beeped quietly, and William's words could barely be heard above it. "You've done plenty, Jamie. Go away." Jamie's heart stuttered in his chest painfully. "I'd like to stay with
Bobby," he finally managed in a whisper. His voice, though quiet, didn't
waver. "You would. I know that." William was silent. His eyes closed, and when he opened them again they glistened suspicously. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Don't you think you've stayed with him long enough, though? You two boys say you're so in love," he laughed quietly, bitterly. "So in love you'll sacrifice each other. My son was happy before he met you, Jamie. He had a couple of nice girlfriends. He was starting to realize he didn't have to risk his life for other people. He could live
normally." William's gaze shifted until he looked up at Jamie. Jamie tried to take a step back, found himself against the wall already. "Then he met you. How do you think other people treat him, thinking he's
gay? He's not, you know. He had girlfriends. He has family and people
who love him. I'm very sorry you were orphaned, but that doesn't give you
the right to cling onto the first nice person who comes around, or try to
take their family from them. How do you think the other X-Men treat him if
he's gay? You think they'll be as likely to save his life if he's going to
tarnish that mutant image they're working so hard for? You think other
people are going to want to deal with him? And then you make him
miserable, staying across the country, making him spend money he works hard
to earn to fly up and see you. And because of you," William's voice broke, and he paused before continuing, quieter, "because of you, he's comatose." William
looked away from Jamie, hands working on Bobby's cold, limp fingers. "Leave, Jamie.
You've done plenty." Jamie couldn't breathe. He hadn't thought of any of that. He didn't think
that Bobby would have trouble with his friends. He didn't mean for that to
happen. "I'm--" "Sorry, I know," William whispered, and he didn't sound like the angry man he had a moment ago. He sounded weary. "Leave." Jamie's chest felt constricted. He inched around the chair William sat in,
then bolted for the door, running into Madeline. "Jamie?" she asked, holding out a hand. Jamie flinched away from it, shaking his head, and ran down the corridor.
***
"Ignore it." Jamie pulled away from the hand clasped in his, twisting free. "But he
said--" Bobby sighed, captured that hand again, and pulled Jamie back toward him
to lie down on the park grass. "It doesn't matter." "Bobby, he called us--" "Jamie," Bobby interrupted, looking up into tortured brown eyes. "I love
you. That's what matters."
*******************
Jamie buried his head in his arms and looked out across the pond. The
water was still; there was no wind to ruffle it. William was right. What had he been thinking? He had no right to destroy
Bobby's life. It wasn't even like he'd been unaware of it. He'd even
known that Bobby would probably die. Everyone died. If they didn't die, they left. Jamie shivered, though the sun was warm on his back. He missed his parents. He missed how his father would blink owlishly whenever he was interupted, as if it took him a moment to come back from his thoughts. He missed how his mother would scold him for digging up her daisies in search of treasure. He wondered if they were angry at him, for being gay. He didn't know how they felt about that. You loved your parents, a small voice whispered into his mind. They
died. You loved Moira. She's dying. Alex died. Guido left. He probably
saw what you were doing to your friends. Jamie buried his head and tried to silence the voice, but it continued on,
quiet and insidious. You killed Bobby. He's as good as dead, and you know it. You murdered Mellancamp. You've even killed your dupes. You even killed youself. "Hey. Mister. Are you okay?" Jamie stood in a fluid motion, keeping his face turned away from the
little girl. "Fine," he managed to say, his voice rough. He tucked his
head into his collar and walked stiffly, joints sore. Leave me alone. You'll only die. "Hey!" a rough male voice shouted. Jamie flinched, keeping his head ducked as a shudder ran up his spine. "You're that fag!" Jamie's steps stuttered, but continued on. "I know you! You come here with your cock-sucking boyfriend!" Jamie brushed at his eyes with a hand and tried to ignore the voice, knowing that Bobby would have smiled and waved at the man, said something about
him having a penis the size of a guppy and balls the size of nickels, just
to make Jamie laugh. "Your kind should be killed," the voice snarled, and it was nearer. Was this what Bobby had been facing, then? His father had said he'd been
having trouble. Had Bobby been harassed? Jamie was forced to a stop when a large man stepped in front of him, arms
crossed over a beefy chest. Jamie glanced around, saw three more of them,
making a circle around his body. One of them looked nervous. Another one was
sneering. The last one was unreadable; the most dangerous type. Jamie looked back at the first one. And realized that if he let them beat him to death, he wouldn't have to watch other people die anymore. "You people should be eradicated." He wouldn't kill anyone else by loving them if he was dead. You couldn't
love someone if you were dead. "Maybe we should do the irradiating." It didn't sound so awful. "You fuckers shouldn't be allowed to live." The pain would stop. The guilt would go away. And if he didn't go to
heaven . . . maybe he could just float for eternity. Maybe he could sleep.
Maybe he would dissolve into nothingness. "God damn you, react!" It would be nice. The man's fist flew through the air, collided with Jamie's chin. Jamie flew back, against the man behind him, and no dupe appeared. "You fuckers don't belong!" the man snarled, his voice hoarse. Jamie's hands came up instinctively to protect his head, and he was grateful
when the man behind him--the unreadable one--snatched his arms and pinned
them. Jamie's heart thumped, his body screaming at him to live even as his
mind reeled, knowing that in a moment he would be dead, and he wouldn't
hurt anymore. Fists hurled at him, pounding into his face and his stomach and his arms;
anything that could be struck at or hurt. He tried to double over as pain lanced through his abdomen, tried then to stay straightened so that he would die. No matter how much his body screamed at him, "LIVE!" he had to fight it, because he didn't want to survive anymore. "Someone's coming!" The unreadable man almost lifted Jamie off his feet, hauling him, stumbling and falling, across the park and into the men's bathroom. "I'm gonna fucking kill him," the first man snarled, excitement coloring
his voice, twisting it into something inhuman. Jamie took a deep breath, expelled it as a fist planted itself into his
stomach. Pain was searing through his body, blanketing his mind in a dark
haze. Soon he would be dead. If everything went right, no one would find
him and there would be no chance of them saving his life. He didn't want it
saved. Pain exploded into his neck, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Someone
had struck his windpipe, he knew it instinctively, and he viciously suppressed the
urge to break away. There were constraining hands on his arms, holding him though he wasn't fighting. He felt cold, like a spectator crouching in the back of his own mind, feeling and watching as a fist landed brutally on his face, tearing and bruising skin in a thudding, pounding roar of pain. He was going to die. There were voices, but he paid them no heed. Jamie was slammed up against
the sinks, the cold stone biting into the flesh on his stomach. His eyes flickered open,
and he saw a brilliant red stain itself into the white porcelain, spreading
outward until it found a tiny pool of water, and turned that pink. Another
red drop fell, landed in a puddle, creating tiny ripples that circled away.
Another crimson splash, and this just sat there, winking up at him cheekily. Hands bound his arms; like bands across his biceps he was held still,
near the sink. Hushed voices, hoarse and excited, then an elbow slammed
into the back of his skull. Jamie yelped involuntarily, head diving
forward, colliding with the sink. An arm circled his chest, pinning his
hands to his sides, and the other arm disappeared, fumbling at his waist. Jamie breathed heavily, with great effort, and felt heat on his neck.
Blood? No. It came in gusts, like puffs of wind blown toward him. Air.
It was warm air--breathing. Someone was breathing literally down his neck. "We'll show this fucker," was muttered through panting breaths, and there
was a hand at his waist, at his belt-- No. Another hand slid down, across his hip. Jamie watched the blood spread out
across the porcelain of the sink. He wanted to die. But even with that wish
planted firmly in his heart, he didn't want . . . Jesus Christ, he didn't want to be raped. He shuddered, and heard a a clink as his beltbuckle came loose. Out of the corner of his eye he saw red slide down his nose, past his line of sight. A moment later it dripped down, splashed on the sink silently. Voices were whipsering, hushed, rough, excited. No. Jamie struggled, felt the arm tighten around his chest, felt the other man
smash his elbow into Jamie's skull again. For a moment his vision swam, and when it cleared there were still hands on
him, holding him tighter now, and someone was fumbling at his pants. NO. Jamie stomped. The back of his hand fell against the sink, barely tapping it. It was enough. There were two dupes, though from his vantage point Jamie couldn't see what
was going on. He was released. "Fucking mutant," the smaller man roared. "Kill 'im!" Jamie stumbled, more time bought as another dupe appeared with each step he
took. He hurt, all over, but mostly inside. He wasn't going to die. Blood
spattered across the floor as Jamie fell back, then he regained his feet and
ran from the bathroom, stomach twisting. He wasn't stopped as he ran from the park, stumbling, lurching, almost
falling into the street. Back into the city, down the sidewalk, past
buildings. And he was sobbing. Chest heaving, stride breaking, breath
refusing to come in farther than his throat, because it was expelled again
so swiftly. He was dizzy, and in pain, and he couldn't breathe. Jamie collapsed against a building, falling to his hands and knees, blood
mixing with tears and dropping to the ground. He'd killed Bobby. He'd killed his parents. Alex. Dupes. Himself.
Moira. Possibly those men back in the park. Driven Guido away. Murderered Mellancamp. It was his fault. All of it. Jamie huddled on the ground and wrapped his arms around himself, curling as
small as he could on the crowded street. He was cold, still, always. His body heaved, broken sobs forcing their way through his lungs. He felt sick, and filthy, his tears mixing with blood and spattering on the hard concrete, mingling with the dirt already there. He wished he could die.
***
"I should probably tell you something." Bobby looked up, smiling fondly at Jamie. He reached out and brushed dark
brown hair out of the other man's eyes, then waved his hand, beckoning Jamie
closer. Jamie scooched across the floor space between them and curled into the
hollow between Bobby's side and arm. "What did you want to tell me?" Bobby asked, kissing the head below his
face. "It's . . . well, it's not really a big deal. Forge said I should tell you
about it, though." Bobby closed his magazine and looked down at Jamie, noting the that younger
man wouldn't even look up at him. Jamie took Bobby's hand and played with
his fingers, moving them around and watching as if fascinated. "What is it?" Bobby prompted at last. "It's dumb," Jamie sighed. "I wasn't going to tell you at all, but Forge. .
. well, he's pushy." Bobby chuckled, felt Jamie's body pressing closely against his. It was a
nice feeling. "It's just that . . ." Jamie's voice dropped almost impercetibly. Almost. "Well, see, it--it was depressing to have Legacy and think I was . . . think I was, um, dying." Jamie shrugged, the movement jerky under Bobby's arm. "Forge thinks everyone should know that I was upset about . . . it. He said if I didn't say something, he would, and he always makes things sound bad." Jamie sighed heavily, as though his lot in life was the hardest of all. Bobby chuckled. Bent, and kissed Jamie's hair again. It shined in the
light, and was soft beneath Bobby's cheek. "I would guess that thinking you
were going to die would be upsetting." He stayed quiet, wondering if there
was more to this than Jamie said. "Yeah," Jamie answered softly, sounding relieved. He crossed Bobby's fingers and then uncrossed them. "I-it was." Bobby waited, sensing there was more, knowing that getting Jamie to talk
about anything personal was like pulling teeth, and not willing to pass up
this opportunity. "It was really scary," Jamie whispered at last. Bobby turned his face into Jamie's hair and tightened his arm around the
other man, lending what support he could. "And . . . see, I was more than a little upset. I--" "Bobby!" Both men jumped at the sudden noise, and Bobby only just kept from cursing
under his breath. "What, Mom?" "Your father is trying to move the trash cans out back! Would you please go
out there and do it for him? I tried to make him stop and he won't. He's
going to throw his back out again!" Bobby sighed. "Yeah. Just a minute." He turned back to Jamie, already
feeling that the moment had passed, and Jamie wasn't going to say anything.
He tried anyway. "What happened?" Jamie twisted, smiling brightly up at him. There were shadows lurking in
his eyes, though, shadows that Bobby had hoped were gone for good.
"Nothing. I was just upset about dying, that's all. Go help your dad." "Jamie--" "Go! You're being a worrywart, and I don't want your pop to get a hernia on
my account!" Bobby looked at him for a long minute, but realized that Jamie was done
sharing. Slowly, he got up and left the room.
***
Slowly, light returned to his dark world. Blue eyes fluttered open to bated
silence. Three faces looked down at him, none the one he wanted most to see. "Welcome back, Bobby," his mother whispered, then turned away, sniffling. "You had us worried there, Robert," his father said, smiling gruffly. "Frosty," a familiar bass voice said, and a large blue paw-hand landed on
his shoulder. "I thought you weren't going to wake up." Bobby looked up at Hank, found that he couldn't talk, and started to panic. Hank must have seen it. He smiled, reassuringly, and placed a furry blue paw on Bobby's shoulder. "Don't say anything. We've got you tubed up, doped up, and banadaged up. Later, we'll take out the tubes and off the bandages, and you'll be able to speak fine. For now," and Hank smiled, squeezing very gently, "rest." Bobby frowned and glanced around the room, his stomach queasy with this inablitiy to speak. "Rest," Hank repeated, smiling. "If you rest for a week or so, you should be
strong enough to change into your ice form. If you do that and change back,
most if not all of your injuries will be healed. But we don't want to risk
you falling over from exhaustion." Bobby shook his head slightly, felt the tubes spread about his nose and
mouth, felt frustrated when he had to stop and catch his breath. "Bobby, please rest." Bobby looked to his parents, then let his eyes cast about the room,
searching for a familiar smile graced by dimples, sparkling brown eyes, and
hair that wouldn't stay out of a handsome face. It wasn't there. Ah, hell. What was he doing there, anyway? "Bobby, we're glad you're awake, but I'm very worried about you wearing
yourself out. You've been in a coma for over a week." Bobby looked up at Hank, trying to put his question in his eyes. Where's
Jamie? And, far less important, What happened to me? Hank looked confused, then sighed and reached for a pen and paper. "Write
it," he said, carefully giving Bobby the tools before lifting the IVs and
things so Bobby wouldn't pull them out. Bobby wrote, the first question scrawled across the paper. He considered asking how he'd ended up in the hospital, but could remember enough--a plane wreck--for that to be less than important. And his hands were shaking. Finished, he collapsed
back into bed, exhausted by that small movement and too drugged to be upset at that exhaustion. Hank glanced at the paper, then handed it to William. William looked from the paper to Bobby, and then shrugged slightly. "He
decided not to stay. You can call him when you feel better." His father wouldn't meet his eyes, and Bobby started to worry. He tried to
sit up, felt Hank push him back down. Irritation at his father rose even through the drug haze, that the man would keep something so important from him . . . "Bobby, I'm going to give you a sedative," Hank said firmly. Bobby shook his head, irritated, even as Hank injected the fluid into the
IV. "I'll try and call Jamie," Hank said softly as Bobby's world suddenly got
fuzzy. "You sleep."
***********************
"Wake up, sleepy head," Bobby murmured softly, running fingers through soft
brown hair. "Go 'way," Jamie muttered, and curled up against Bobby's hip, burying his
face there. Bobby chuckled. "C'mon. We've been at this park for hours. Long enough
for you to fall asleep, at least. I promised my mom we'd be home in time
for dinner, remember?" Jamie groaned. "I don't think I can make it. I think I need to go home." "You told her you'd be there!" Bobby protested, bending until he was at
Jamie's level. The setting sun cast orange and red lights through Jamie's
hair, lighting it on visual fire. "I don't want to be there." Jamie looked up, blinking at Bobby. "I don't
think your dad likes me." Bobby frowned. He'd felt the tension between the two, but was uncertain where it was coming from. At last Bobby smiled fondly, watching hair slide down into Jamie's face, and answered, "He'll get over it. C'mon." Jamie sighed and got up. "Okay. But I still don't think your dad likes
me."
***
~"You've done plenty."~ ~"You said this was your fault."~ ~"You've ruined his life."~ Jamie sat against the couch, knees pulled up, one arm hugging them while his chin rested on the other. William's words played over and over in his head. ~"You think they'll be as likely to save his life if he's going to tarnish that mutant image they're working so hard for?"~ He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone. Least of all Bobby. Jamie swallowed hard, ignoring the tear that fell down his face. He was aware of it. He didn't care. The air conditioner turned on. He shivered in his trenchcoat. Wrapped his arms tighter around his body. Wished they were someone else's arms. Anyone else's arms. He wished someone knew he was here, cared enough to find him. . . But knew he was worthless, unliked, unloved. He killed all the people who tried to get close to him. The hollowness ate at him, gnawing away until there was nothing left but an empty shell devoid of all light. It rose up from within, swallowing all impulse to do anything but sit. And sit. And sit. Another tear fell down his face. Dropped, was absorbed into his coat. His stomach growled. Jamie didn't care. "Jamie?" He ignored the voice; his voice. "Jamie? It's okay," the voice whispered. A hand reached out--his hand--to comfort. Jamie pulled away. He shivered again. "I know," he said at last. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dupe reach out again. He didn't want that comfort. He didn't want even himselves to know how much he hurt, and he knew instinctively that if they touched him, if they so much as tried to hug him, he wouldn't be able to hold back at all. The hollowness roared with a frozen silence within. "I'm fine," Jamie murmured. He managed to stand. From somewhere deep within he summoned a smile to give the dupe. One foot in front of the other. Step. Step. Step. Step. Open the door. Close it. It was nighttime. He should change into his pajamas and go to bed. Maybe he just wouldn't wake up. Jamie clicked the lock, hoped he wouldn't make any more dupes during the night. He needed to change his clothes. He sat on the bed. The hollowness, emptiness screamed inside, shrieking noiseless laughter, mocking him, hurting him, whispering in a voice made of thunder that he wasn't good enough, he was cursed, he did something wrong and now everyone died and it was his fault. Jamie laid down on the bed, unable to shut out that voice that grew smaller and more powerful with every word until it was only hissing whispers that shattered all hope. He closed his eyes against tears (self pity, disgusting, you spineless little freak there are people with far more problems than you, stop crying) and pulled the blankets up around his still clothed form, unable to find the energy to change (you worthless, lazy creep, no wonder people die to get away from you, who would want to be near you?) and buried his face deeply into the pillow. Maybe he wouldn't wake up. (It would be better for all involved; even Bobby's family hates you they want you dead and can you blame them? you killed him you jerkassholesonofabitch) Maybe he would get so cold--so cold it was so cold--and fall unconscious and die and he wouldn't have to wake up to this hollow, empty pain inside, this pit that swallowed all hope and left only agony in return. Jamie's chest heaved, spasming with great gusts of air that couldn't be sobs, couldn't be because they sounded too hopeless. Jamie had heard people cry. That couldn't be him; that was the sound of someone dying. Dear God. Please let me die.
***
"Wake up." Lips kicked upward, then quickly ordered themselves back into a perfectly straight line. Warm breath tickled his ear, moving his hair slightly. "Wake up, Jamie." Jamie remained resolutely clinging to sleep, even though he knew he was already awake. He treasured these moments, though. The feeling of sleepy contentment, knowing Bobby was nearby, breathing warmly over him. The knowledge that when he did finally open his eyes, he'd open them to see Bobby's smiling face. "Jamie. Wake up, Jamie. C'mon. You know you want to." Breath was coming nearer, and soft lips were moving right up against his ear. Jamie felt the blush start to creep up his neck, and turned his thoughts to sleep. They didn't stay there very long. It didn't help that Bobby was kissing his neck. "Wake up." There was a nip at his ear, and Jamie shivered. "Wake up." Teeth bit down gently on the tendons in his neck, and breath grazed over his collarbones. Jamie's breath caught in his throat, and he tried to quiet it, to make this moment last just a little bit longer . . . His eyes fluttered open and his smile spread just as Bobby's fingers found his stomach. And tickled. "Hey! No fair! Stop that!" Jamie laughed, trying to push Bobby away. Bobby grinned and continued tickling Jamie mercilessly. "Ready to wake up?" "Yes!" Jamie gasped, writhing on the guest bed in Bobby's parents' house. "Stop!" Bobby stopped and sat back on his heels, smiling fondly. "Okay." He looked at Jamie for a moment, lazily, then blinked and looked away. He rolled off the bed, to his feet, turning again to grin down at Jamie. "Time to get up. I told Mom we'd run some errands for her today. And if you don't hurry up and get dressed," Bobby continued, eyes twinkling, "I'll have to come in there and rip your pajamas off and--" Bobby stopped, eyebrows raising. "Oooh. On second thought, don't get dressed . . . " Jamie smiled and stood, blushing but flattered as he shoved Bobby out the door. "I'll be dressed in a minute, you lecherous old man!" he mock-grumbled, closing the door with a click. He leaned against it, stomach fluttering with ill-proportioned delight, grinning to hear Bobby laugh as he walked away down the hall. Bobby thought he was sexy. Smiling widely, Jamie went to find some clothes.
***
"Robert, I don't think this is a good idea," Hank said, frowning as he watched Bobby pull himself up from the hospital bed. "Hank, I'm fine," Bobby responded hoarsely. "Or will be, in a minute. Would you bring me some clothes?" Hank ignored the request. "Robert, you're still very weak." "I'm fine," Bobby sighed, glaring over at Hank. "And lying here's only going to make me worse. I'm worrying too much to heal." Hank frowned, but remained silent. He pulled his glasses off his face and twirled them, then put them back on. "No one can find Jamie. None of you even know where to look!" "I'm sure if you hadn't lost your address book . . ." Bobby shot Hank a dirty look. Like he needed to be reminded of that fact. As if knowing that he'd inadvertently helped lose Jamie would make him get better faster. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes, focusing. Feeling the Cold. There. There was air conditioning, bringing in chilled air. Bobby focused on it, drawing the Cold into himself, feeling his body pass over from being slightly chilled to . . . nothing. His heart sped up, and then stopped altogether. There was a stab in his spine, as if someone had inserted an ice pick, and then it, too, was gone. Bobby opened his eyes to see the world in shades of blue and yellow, then turned to look at Hank, and saw his best friend in bright red. He looked down, saw nothing at all except the deepest of blues where his body should have been, now so frozen there was no heat at all. Bobby breathed deeply and closed his eyes once more, slowly asking the Cold to recede, to leave his body. It had gone deeply, far deeper than he usually made it. Every nerve and blood vessel was ice, but as the Cold started to withdraw they all turned back to plasma and tissue. And then the ice was gone. Bobby collapsed, his head pounding furiously, his heart racing as if he'd just run twenty miles. He felt himself slipping off the edge of the bed, unable even to hold himself up that much, and felt the breeze from the air conditioning flutter across his skin, raising goosebumps and making him shiver. The cold, white tile was rushing up to meet him when warm, heavy arms wrapped around his body and kept him from falling. "Cold," he managed to stutter out between numb lips and clattering teeth. "I know," Hank murmured next to him, pulling him up until they both sat on the hospital bed and then covering them both with a blanket. "Hank, it's Cold," Bobby whispered again, his breath so frozen it hurt in his lungs. "I told you you were too weak to do this," Hank muttered, pulling Bobby closer until Hank's own immense body heat stretched to warm Bobby, too. Bobby buried his shaking hands in Hank's fur, curling into that warmth instinctively. "'M I better?" he asked, feeling his eyelids heavy and knowing he wouldn't be awake much longer. "Yes," Hank said on a sigh. "You are better." Bobby nodded and let himself curl into sleep, knowing that when he woke he would feel whole again.
***
"Wow. That's cool," Jamie said, eyes wide. Bobby grinned, blue eyes flashing up toward Jamie. "I don't do it too often, because it's hard. It tires me out." Jamie nodded. "But it's really cool." He reached out and took Bobby's hand in his own, turning it over to look at it from all directions. The cut that had been there a moment before was gone, first iced over and then replaced with whole, unblemished skin. "Yeah, and you can't do it," Bobby said, turning his hand to hold onto Jamie's and pull him to his feet. "So let me clean up the glass, and you go elsewhere for a minute. I'll get our sandwiches and bring them out." Jamie looked at the floor, obviously upset. "But I broke the glass. I could pay you for it!" "No," Bobby said quickly, glancing up at Jamie through lowered eyebrows. He reached to pick up the larger glass shards, dumping them in the nearby trashcan. "Then let me clean it up," Jamie insisted, and started to bend down. "Jamie," Bobby growled, standing and pulling the other man up. "No." Jamie stepped back, out of Bobby's reach. "I should at least help somehow--" he was cut off as his foot slipped from beneath him, sliding on a larger glass shard across the floor. Jamie cringed as he hit the ground, another dupe appearing on one side. "James!" Bobby called, and Jamie felt himself lifted and set clear of the glass by ice. He reached out, head still spinning, and re-absorbed his dupe. "Are you okay?" Bobby was asking, racing up and looking very worried. Jamie nodded dazedly. "Now you're bleeding," Bobby growled, taking one of Jamie's hands. He reached around and grabbed a paper towel, dabbing off the blood and eyeing the cut on Jamie's palm. "It's not deep," he muttered after a minute, "and doesn't have any glass in it." He snatched another paper towel off the roll and wrapped it around Jamie's hand, putting pressure there. "Sorry," Jamie sighed after a moment. Bobby glanced up, then smiled slightly when he saw how seriously Jamie was taking this. "Don't be." He reached up and grazed the back of his knuckles along Jamie's jaw. "Here. Go sit in the family room, okay? Let me clean this up, then we'll look at your hand again and eat lunch." Jamie nodded wordlessly and stood, eyes still downcast. "Sorry," he said again. Bobby smiled and kissed him. "Really. Don't worry about it." Jamie nodded and walked into the family room. He sat gingerly on the end of the couch, trying not to disturb Bobby's father, who sat at the far end of the room. "What is going on in that kitchen?" the older man asked. Jamie smiled uncertainly. "I, ah, broke a glass. I'll pay for it, though," he offered quickly, in spite of the fact that Bobby had already said no. "Damn straight," William answered, looking back at the television. "Those are my wife's favorite glasses." "I'll get new ones," Jamie hurried to assure him. "Good," William growled. Then, in a much quieter voice that still carried to Jamie, "Damn clumsy kid." Jamie looked at his feet and tried to sink lower in his chair. "Okay, all cleaned up," Bobby said, smiling as he entered the room. "Now let's see to that . . . " he petered off, glancing from his irritated father to an obviously upset Jamie and back again. "What's going on?" he asked finally, eyes settling on his father. "Nothing," Jamie said quickly, and stood. "Do you have bandages for my hand?" Bobby's eyes lingered on his father, who was refusing to acknowledge his presence. Finally, he turned to Jamie and nodded. "Yeah," he said slowly. "They're upstairs." Jamie hurried up the stairs ahead of him, and Bobby continued looking at his father until the man turned, eyebrows raised. "Your friend's waiting for you," William said quietly. Bobby nodded wordlessly, eyeing the man, and then headed up the stairs.
***
"What did you say to him?" Bobby demanded, fists clenched at his sides. A
week and a half since he had woken up. Just days after that, he'd turned into ice. That same day he'd started making phone calls to Jamie. Every day he called, often times more than once. Every day he left a message, asking Jamie to call him back. It had all been ignored. He was certain that something was wrong, but he couldn't have done it. He'd been unconscious, for Christssakes! And then his father, a moment ago . . . "I didn't say anything to him!" William answered, obviously angry. "You said something just now. You said maybe he'd realized he was ruining
my life. Did you say that to him, Dad?" Bobby snapped. He realized his
arms had iced up, and flexed his fingers to shatter it. "What if I did?" William bit back. "Someone needed to show him that he
wasn't just affecting himself." "He wasn't affecting me!" Bobby shouted. "He made me happy!" "You said yourself that people were giving you grief over being gay!" "Yeah. You're right," Bobby snarled. "Remy teases me--sometimes it's irritating. Warren keeps asking me if I'll let him set me up. Oooh, big hurtful things there." "You said you got kicked out of a restaurant!" William pointed out. His jaw
clenched, the muscle jumping. "I did! And you know what was great? The other X-Men left, too! And
Warren threatened to sue the guy! And we got free dinners after that! I
can deal with this stuff on my own. I don't want to lose Jamie!" "He's ruining your life!" William shouted, his brown eyes flashing in frustrated anger. "You're my son, and I don't want to see you hurt!" "He is not ruining my life!" Bobby shouted back. "He makes me happy, Dad! Jamie is what keeps me 'not hurt!' Can't you understand that? I love Jamie. Yeah, it's a lot harder to date a man then it is to date a girl. I don't care. I love him. He makes me laugh." William shook his head, looking away. After a moment, he looked back.
"You're ruining your life--for what? Laughter? It's not worth it." "Says you. I happen to think I'm doing what's right. I'm sorry you don't
like it that your son dates men. But so help me God, if you've driven Jamie
away I will never forgive you," Bobby hissed. He threw a flashing look at
his mother, who sat with her head bowed at the kitchen table, pretending
that none of this was happening. Then Bobby turned and stormed out of the
house.
**********************
"If I disappeared, would you find me?" Bobby looked up. The tone had been light, teasing, but he recognized hidden
longing when he heard it. "Yup," he answered easily in the same light tone, but catching Jamie's eye and looking at the other man very seriously. Jamie broke the gaze, looking down at a blade of grass he was shredding. "What if everyone said I was dead?" he asked, obviously trying to make it light. "I'd look for your dupes," Bobby answered casually, stretching out on his stomach in the grass, Jamie by his feet. His sunglasses slipped from his head and plunked onto his nose, and he reached up to push them more firmly on his face. "What if you couldn't find dupes?" Bobby felt the grass, dying as the Cold of winter set in, prickling at his skin. The wind flirted with his shirt and then danced away. Bobby rolled over and looked
at Jamie, sitting cross-legged against a tree. "I would search all over the
earth for you. I would use Cerebro, and Jean, and I would call in all the
X-family to help me. And if they gave up, I would tell them that they were
wrong and I would keep looking. And I would look until the day I died,
because I love you." Jamie was blushing. "Really?" Bobby wondered which part of that diatribe Jamie was questioning, but since
it was all true he answered only, "Really." Jamie flopped down onto his stomach, trenchcoat flipping out behind him.
"I'm glad." Bobby rolled over, casting an arm across Jamie's shoulders. "Me too."
***
Bobby shoved his fingers through his hair in angry frustration, having already sent the cell phone flying across the room. No one knew where Jamie was. Forge hadn't
talked to him. He wasn't at his apartment--it had been rented to someone
else, and the telephone number changed. When Bobby called Jamie's number,
he still got Jamie's machine, but he couldn't find where that number was now
leading to. Bobby yelled, a wordless shout of frustration that made him feel remarkably better, then jumped when someone knocked at the hotel door. He'd moved out of his parent's house, unable to stand the sight of his father at the moment. Long legs covered the ground to the door quickly, and Bobby opened it to
peer out. "Jamie!" He threw the door open and stepped into the hall, reaching out to
grab the man and crush him in a hug. Instead, Jamie moved away and shook his head. "I'm a dupe--not your Jamie,"
he said quickly. Bobby blinked, disapointment set in. "Oh." "Bobby? Jamie really needs you. He's in big trouble." Bobby's heart quickened. If the dupe was here, then Jamie wasn't dead or unconscious. He breathed a sigh of relief, the knot in his stomach untying itself. But
that left all sorts of other frightening possibilities. Bobby looked up, and felt the knot start to twist again. "Where is he?" "Here," the dupe said, and handed him a note. "I have to go. If I stay here too
long Jamie will sense it and move again." Bobby nodded, and watched the dupe leave. Once it was gone, he looked down
at the note. Carefully written out in flowing longhand was an address, and
directions there. Bobby carefully tucked the paper into his pocket and
headed back into the room to get his keys.
***
"Can you turn the radio back on?" Jamie asked, glancing up. Bobby looked up in surprise, then nodded. Jamie asked for things so seldomly, Bobby tried to encourage it by complying whenever possible. "You really like that music, huh?" Jamie shrugged, eyes never leaving his book. "I just don't like the quiet. Doesn't really matter what I listen to." Bobby flopped into a chair and cocked his head, looking at Jamie. The younger man was stretched across the couch, brown trenchcoat twisted and wrinkled beneath him, as if the owner had been shifting around. Beautiful brown eyes were flickering across the page of the book as he read, slender hands holding it gently. "Why don't you like the quiet?" Bobby asked after a moment. There was a brief hesitation, and Jamie turned the page. "It's lonely."
***
Bobby knocked on the apartment door. It was silent inside; an oppressive silence that smothered all noise. He tried the handle. Locked. He glanced up and down the hall, then concentrated and froze the lock. With a violent twist he shattered it, and the door swung open. The apartment was dark, and Bobby had to blink several times before his eyes began to adjust. It was small; maybe a total of four rooms. The family room had magazines and books tossed around haphazardly; as if someone had picked them up as they walked about and then, not knowing what to do with them, set them down. Bobby eased in and closed the door. He started down the hall, glanced at a kitchen overflowing with dirty dishes. Something small and black scurried away, and Bobby quickly turned his eyes back down the hallway. He didn't want to know what that had been. The bathroom was off to one side, and it hadn't been cleaned any time recently. Bobby paused, reached in to pick up a bottle of prescription pills. It took his mind a moment to call up what Hank had said about them. Scott took them occasionally, when he couldn't sleep. Sedatives. Bobby rattled the bottle, heard the hollow sound of just a few things being shaken. He twisted the cap off and glanced inside, seeing only two pills left. Silently, Bobby set the bottle back down and glanced toward the bedroom door. "Jamie?" There was no answer, and Bobby continued down the hall. The sheets and all the blankets but one had been thrown off the queen-sized bed. The message machine crouched on a dresser, blinking a red light into the black room. There were clothes and books thrown about, and Jamie's small shelving set had been tipped over, scattering photos and novels and magazines across the floor. "Jamie?" Bobby called quietly. There was a figure in the bed, tangled in the last blanket. A bush of dark brown hair, dull in what little light peeked through the blinds, could be seen. Bobby paced to the bed and sat down gently on the edge, reaching out to brush hair out of Jamie's face. "James?" He woke slowly, brown eyes fluttering open with great difficulty. It took them longer than it should have to focus on Bobby. He blinked several times, then frowned. Bobby's heart twisted at the sight of white marks down Jamie's face; salt left from tears. "Hi, James. Are you mad at me?" Jamie's breath came in in a rush, and he bolted out of the bed and across the room, face pale, fully dressed. "You're dead," he whispered after a moment. "No," Bobby said, feeling suddenly sick. "I'm not. I was in a coma for a week. I've been calling you. You haven't checked your messages?" Jamie still had an almost panicked look on his face, though it was quickly being replaced by a confused one. "I . . .don't remember," he murmured at last, a hand going to his head, ruffling through his bangs. Then he looked back up, and all the fear and confusion was gone, replaced by desolation. "I do remember. Bobby, you have to leave." Bobby swallowed. He felt odd, as if he were cold. But that wasn't possible. He was the Iceman. "Are you angry at me?" Jamie shook his head slowly, eyes filled with love, and then fear, and then filling with so much pain it didn't seem possible one man could hold it all. "No. But if you stay with me, you'll die." Bobby frowned, trying to follow the logic, unable to. "Why would I die?" he asked finally, searching Jamie's face but finding no answer--only a bleak, hopeless look. Jamie took a deep breath as if he were trying to hold back tears. "Because." Bobby's eyes narrowed. His heart thundered in his chest painfully. "Because why?" Jamie scrubbed a hand across his face. His words were a whisper. "Because there's something wrong with me." Bobby stood, moving slowly, half afraid he was going to scare Jamie. "Are you sick?" Jamie shook his head. "Then there's nothing wrong with you," Bobby said at last. Jamie looked up, and his eyes were shining. He was still whispering, speaking so quietly Bobby could barely make out the words. "Yes there is. Everyone around me dies or leaves." Bobby's eyes widened. He stepped around the bed, walking swiftly toward Jamie, who was backing away just as quickly. Bobby stopped when Jamie hit the wall, cringing. "Jamie, that's not something you did," Bobby insisted quietly. Jamie wouldn't meet his gaze. "Please leave now, Bobby," he said, his voice stronger. "No." Jamie's voice rose, louder and almost panicked sounding as he pressed himself against the wall. "You have to leave now. I can't stand it if you die and it'll be my fault." "No," Bobby said, closing the distance between them. Jamie's arms came up, pushing away at Bobby. His shoulders were shaking, eyes stark in their pain. "Bobby, leave. Leave now. You have to go, because I'll kill you, I will." Bobby ignored Jamie's hands at his chest, wrapping his longer arms around the man and pulling him in until he thought they couldn't get any closer. "No, Jamie, listen to me. No one dying was ever your fault. That's not--" "Your dad said--" "My dad is an asshole," Bobby snarled. He could feel Jamie's body shuddering, and suddenly Bobby realized that the other man should have been able to push him away at least a little bit. The image of the pill bottle sitting on the counter came back to him, and he pulled away to look at Jamie's face. His very, very pale face. "Jamie!" Bobby almost shouted, shaking the younger man slightly. "Jamie, tell me you didn't just take all those pills." Jamie didn't answer right away, and, fear starting to mount, Bobby shook him again. "Tell me you didn't! Because if you did--" "I should have died, Bobby," Jamie said, reaching up to grab at Bobby's T-shirt, eyes focused there as if he could come to a great understanding. "I had Legacy. I should have died. I don't want to kill anyone else." Jamie's hands smoothed down Bobby's chest, oddly calm even as they trembled. "Jamie! Did you take those pills?" Bobby asked again, shaking Jamie harder, snapping the other man's head back and forth as if he was a doll instead of a living human. Jamie blinked and looked at Bobby. His eyes welled with tears again, but he shook his head. "No," he said softly. "No. I wanted to. I wanted to, Bobby, and I couldn't. I don't want to kill people. Please leave?" Bobby closed his eyes, feeling his body shiver in sudden relief. He grabbed Jamie again and pulled him close, wrapping both arms as tightly around the other man as he could. "Thank God," he murmured softly into Jamie's hair. "Thank God. Jamie, I love you. You didn't kill anyone. I love you." Jamie was crying, shaking his head against Bobby's shoulder, sobbing brokenly. "No, Bobby, you don't understand! I did! They all die, Bobby, everyone I love dies and I can't stand to see you die, too! Please, Bobby, leave! You have to go. You have to." Jamie shuddered, his voice dropping. "You have to. They all die, Bobby. My parents died and Moira is dying and Alex and my dupes and me and Guido left . . . you have to go, Bobby. You have to go. Please go. Please don't die. Don't leave me like that." Bobby hurt. All over, he hurt to hear these words, and be unable to make Jamie see that they weren't true. "No," he whispered, not knowing what he refused. He almost carried Jamie back to the bed, sitting down and holding the younger man in his lap. "No, Jamie, don't. I love you." "I love you," Jamie cried as if he hadn't heard, the words shuddering. "And that's why you'll die. Please leave, Bobby. Please. I love you so much I don't want you to die. I don't want to hurt you or make you unhappy--please, please leave me now and then you won't be able to do it later. Please?" His hands fisted in Bobby's shirt, alternately tugging Bobby closer and pushing him away. "Please? Please, God, Bobby, help--I--I can't do this any more. I can't watch people leave me. I feel so cold." Bobby had to strain to hear the last words, and he was almost crying himself. "I'm not going to leave you, Jamie," he whispered. "I'm not going to die, and I'm not going to leave. I love you too much." "Don't leave me," Jamie whispered softly, crying. "I'm not. I'm not going to leave you. Not even if the world explodes, Jamie. Even that won't be able to keep me away from you, because I love you." Jamie started to cry harder again, burying his face in the crook between Bobby's neck and shoulder. "I love you," Bobby said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I love you," Jamie responded, fists still clutching at Bobby's shirt, pulling him closer and closer and closer still.
***
"If I broke both my legs would you cart me around in a wheelbarrow?" Jamie laughed. "Yeah! If I got all my fingers cut off would you feed me?" Bobby grinned, ruffled Jamie's hair. "Anything for those gorgeous lips. If I died--" "You won't." "But if I did, in the game--" "You won't." "Yeah, well, you're not gonna get all your fingers cut off, either. If I died--" "No. That's not funny." There was silence for a moment. Jamie smiled at Bobby while shadows danced in his dark brown eyes. "If I completely lost it and became someone who lived in the dark and did nothing but whine and had to be put on medication, would you still talk to me?" Bobby reached over and kissed those smiling lips. "I would still love you."
***
Bobby sat on the bed in his hotel room, watching as Hank pulled a chair closer and sat down. He cleared his throat and shuffled papers, then looked up at Bobby. "Jamie's given me permission--actually, he asked me--to disclose everything to you." Bobby nodded. Hank looked down at his papers, then up at Bobby. "It isn't horrible. It seems awful, I know, but it's not a life-threatening disease. Jamie is mildly depressive--mildly, because it takes something to trigger it. I'll prescribe pills for him to take, and I think that if you can convince him, he should see a counselor. He's seen an inordinate amount of death in his young life, and he's taking to it very badly. I called Forge. He's been watching Jamie closely, keeping track to see if there were signs of this since Jamie had the Legacy Virus. Apparently, Jamie did the same thing, then. Forge, however, had assumed Jamie was with you, and that was why he hadn't heard from the man." Bobby closed his eyes and swallowed, nodding. Jamie had been 'upset' about dying. Jesus Christ. "You say he can take pills for this?" Bobby asked finally. Hank nodded. "He can. More important, however, is counseling. Pills can only do so much good, balancing hormones and enzymes that may be out of proportion. I have a feeling that this is more of a psychological trauma." Bobby nodded again. "Thanks, Hank." Hank smiled, stood. "Anything for a friend, Bobby." "I can see him, right?" Bobby asked, glancing toward the door that adjoined Jamie's room. "I would recommend it," Hank answered. Bobby smiled again and nodded, then headed for the other room while Hank gathered his things. The window was open, shedding light on where Jamie lay in the bed, asleep or almost there. Bobby sat down gently, watching Jamie. Eyelids flickered open,
and Jamie smiled slightly before sitting up. "Hi," he whispered, sitting
back against the headboard. His face was pale, and dark circles outlined
his eyes. "Hi," Bobby returned. "Why didn't you tell me you were that depressed back
when you had Legacy?" Jamie fiddled with the edge of his blanket. "It seemed silly," he said at
last. "I felt so good. I thought it wouldn't come back." He looked up at
Bobby, brown eyes searching the other's face. "Are you mad at me?" Bobby was silent, stunned at the question. He leaned forward, grabbing
Jamie and pulling him into a bearhug. "No," he said fiercely. "Never." "I'm really sorry," Jamie whispered. Bobby could hear tears in the other man's voice, and tightened his hold.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he growled. "Nothing." "I was such an idiot about things," Jamie answered, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have done this to you--and you just coming out of the hospital--" "No," Bobby interupted, arms squeezing until he thought Jamie would be crushed
against him. "You weren't an idiot. My father scared you. You got depressed. That's not your fault." Jamie was crying again, quietly, face buried in Bobby's neck. After several
long minutes he turned his head, resting his cheek on Bobby's shoulder,
calmer. "I love you," he whispered, the words barely able to travel the
distance from his mouth to Bobby's ear before they faded away. "I love you, too," Bobby answered, louder, wanting the words acknowledged.
"I want to help you get better, okay?" Bobby felt Jamie nod. "And I'm going to stay with you, okay?" Another nod. "And you're going to get counseling, okay?" Jamie was silent. He sniffed. "I don't need counseling," he murmured at
last. Bobby mentally cursed all mule-headed people. "Yes, you do. I love you,
and this frightens me. You need counseling if only because it'll make me
feel better." Jamie laughed; a hiccuping choke of air. "I get counseling so you'll
feel better? That doesn't make sense." "It does to me." Jamie sighed. His breath tickled the hairs on Bobby's neck. "I had
counseling," Jamie said, finally. "When I lived with Moira. Obviously, it didn't do any
good. All that happens is that they take a lot of money and cause a lot of heartache, and they tell me it wasn't my fault my parents died. And I know that, Bobby. I know it's not my fault that everyone around me leaves." Bobby frowned, rubbed his hand up and down Jamie's back. There was a crick
in his spine, but he ignored it. "That's not what you said to me." Jamie pulled away, shaking his head, looking out the window. "I know that.
Logically." His eyes dropped to the blanket. "But emotionally it
doesn't feel that way. Counseling won't help that." Bobby scowled. He didn't know enough about this to argue effectively.
"Jamie, I love you," he said at last. "And it scares me that this could
happen again--that you would want to kill yourself." Jamie squirmed. "Sorry," he murmured, obviously earnest about that. Bobby blanched. "Don't do that! You didn't do anything wrong!" He stopped himself before he could get irritated, knowing that he could tell Jamie that he had nothing to be sorry about until the moon turned pink and little green aliens danced on it, and it wouldn't help. After a moment Bobby changed tack, bringing the subject back to the counselor. "Even if it won't help, will you see someone? For me? Please?" Jamie opened his mouth to object, his thoughts written all over his face.
Then he closed it and looked back down. "Yeah," he said at last. "For you.
I'm sorry, Bobby. I'm glad you're better." Bobby smiled and tucked a strand of brown hair behind Jamie's ear. It fell
back into his face almost immediately. "Me too. It was no fun sleeping
through all that good time I could have spent with you." Jamie laughed, and blushed. His eyes stayed on the blanket as he picked at
the fuzzies. "You love me?" Bobby suppressed his laughter, though he couldn't keep it out of his eyes.
"Yup." "Even though I have a freaky depressive head?" "I love your freaky depressive head," Bobby said, grabbing the head in
question and kissing it soundly. Jamie laughed. "Really, though, Bobby?" He looked almost frightened.
"'Cause most people don't like it when others are depressed. It makes them
uncomfortable, and they leave." Bobby's smile faded as he realized Jamie was very, very serious. "I love
your depressive head," Bobby answered solemnly, "because it's part of you.
If you were always happy, I might think that you were inhuman, perfect, and
I wouldn't be able to keep up. It would frighten me. It does make me sad
when you get so depressed, and I want to help you with it. But I don't want
to go away because of it. It has your heart. Bad things have happened to
you, Jamie, and if you didn't get upset about them I would be frightened of
you. These are things you should be upset about." Bobby captured Jamie's
face in his hand, leaned over to kiss him. "I love you, every part of you,
and I don't want you to change unless it makes you happier." Jamie nodded wordlessly. He sniffed, blinked back tears, and laughed,
pulling away from Bobby's hand. "God," he muttered in mild disgust. "I
can't seem to stop crying!" Bobby smiled and hugged Jamie again. "That's okay," he murmured. "I like
crying. Sometimes it's good." Jamie laughed through tears and nodded against Bobby's shoulder, hugging him
back. "Okay. That's good. Because I don't think I could stop if I wanted to right now." Bobby smiled and hugged Jamie tighter.
*** When your back's against the wall,
Back to the living room -
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground.
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again.
"Fire and Rain"--James Taylor
I never thought I'd die alone
I laughed the loudest, who'd have known?
I traced the cord back to the wall,
No wonder, it was never plugged in at all.
"Adam's Song"--Blink 182
***
And when the tears you cry,
Oh, you can believe,
Just give these loving arms a try, baby,
And have a little faith in me.
Just turn around, you will see
I will catch you, I will catch your fall
Just have a little faith in me.
"Have A Little Faith In Me" (edited)--Jewel
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