Chapter 8

Jamie was standing at the window, glaring at Bobby’s car leaving the drive, when there was a soft knock on his door.

“Yeah?” he said, even that word sharper than he meant it to be.

“C’n I come in?”

Jamie turned, surprise buried somewhere far beneath his frustration and anger. “Door’s open.”

It did open, then, admitting an uncharacteristically uncomfortable Remy. “I heard y’ conversation.”

“Yeah, I heard yours.” Jamie turned back to the window, then on second thought glared at Remy. “Did you really do all those things?”

Remy hesitated, picking the duster up off the chair and folding it carefully. He set it on the bed, then sat down. “Oui.”

Jamie glared back out the window. Snow glistened on the ground, hiding the rotted leaves below. Snow perched precariously on tree limbs, unprotected from the wind. “He wants to pretend like everything’s fine.”

“Oui.”

“But it’s not.” Jamie folded his arms across his chest, suppressing a shudder. “How am I supposed to reason with that?” Jamie snapped, whipping around to scowl at Remy.

Remy remained silent, apparently hoping it was a rhetorical question. It was, as Jamie turned to peer sightlessly out the window. “I can’t--I don’t--. I just--” he stopped, aware that he wasn’t finishing anything, and that he didn’t know what it was he was trying to say anyway.

“I may die,” Jamie said at last, “and he’s not going to know what to do with anything.”

“Tell me,” Remy said, softly.

Jamie turned and frowned at him. “What?”

“Tell me. Or write it down. I’ll make sure that if you can’t talk to Bobby b’fore t’ings happen, he’ll still know what to do.”

“He hates you,” Jamie pointed out.

Remy smiled wryly. “Y’ noticed. He likes Rogue, t’ough. And she’ll listen to me.”

Jamie paused, looking once more outside. There was no sign of Bobby’s car. After a moment he nodded and walked over, sitting on the bed. He smiled slightly, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “All right. Well, there’s not much, really. I, ah, have a will. Forge has it on file. It was updated, so it’s all recent . . .” he stopped, looking at the wall rather than at Remy. “I have some friends and family he’ll have to tell. A great aunt . . . and Moira.”

Jamie stopped, and Remy nodded, encouraging.

“I’ll make a list, and put it in my dresser,” Jamie said softly. “And would you tell him--” he stopped, blushing. “This is embarrassing.”

Remy smiled, looking down at his own hands, clasped between his knees. “Y’ love him?”

“Yeah.”

“An’ anyt’ing else?”

“I’m sorry.”

Remy looked up, his gaze searching, but Jamie deftly avoided it.

“A’ right,” Remy said softly.

“And tell him he’s an ass,” Jamie snapped.

Remy grinned.

“No, don’t tell him that.” Jamie relaxed, letting his shoulders drop. His hands were still trembling, but that had become normal.

“I could tell him to go on and be happy,” Remy suggested.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Jamie agreed, nodding. “Tell him that. Tell him I want him to be happy.” He leaned back, on his trembling hands, and let his arms take his weight. They trembled, too, and Jamie frowned slightly. “Remy--” he said, feeling the shiver climb to his shoulders. He suddenly realized his arms weren’t going to stay steady, and tried to sit back up, only to find that the muscles in his stomach were so busy quivering they couldn’t. “Remy!” He fell back, Remy reaching his side as he started to slip of the bed, his body spasming. Remy grabbed him, hauling him into the middle of the bed before lunging for the intercom.

“Henri!” Remy shouted into it, moving back to where Jamie lay and turning him onto his side. “Get up here! Maintenant!” He stopped screaming, putting a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and catching Jamie’s wrists in his other. “It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “It’s all right. You’ll be fine. It’ll pass.”

“Bobby--” Jamie managed, through chattering teeth.

“I’ll find him,” Remy said, nodding. “I promise. I’ll find him.”

Then Hank was there, wrapping Jamie in big furry arms, murmuring soothing words as Remy tore down the hall, screaming, “Chere!”

***

Rogue tore the window open, the screen already gone; she had taken it out when she’d first moved in.

“He’s not answerin’,” Remy said, hanging up the phone. “May not be wearin’ his pager. ‘E left in a hurry.”

Rogue only nodded, holding out a hand. “Which way’d he go?”

Remy stepped up, swallowing hard as she lifted him effortlessly and they darted out the window. “Dat way. ‘Way from de city.”

“He couldn’t have gotten too far,” Rogue shouted over the wind as they sped past trees and the nearby mansions, their shadows flitting over the ground far below. Remy tightened his grip around her shoulders, thankful he had never been afraid of heights.

“Chere! His car!” Remy said, catching sight of the faded blue Volvo parked on the side of the two lane road, under the trees.

“Don’t know how ya’ll saw that,” Rogue muttered as they dropped with a heart-wrenching speed, plummeting toward the earth only to pull up at the last minute. Rogue landed softly on her feet as Remy staggered to his, feeling the bruising that had started on the area of him nearest the ground. He sighed. Rogue had a tendency to forget that not everyone could safely stop at the speeds she reached. He only hoped half his face wouldn’t turn blue.

“Bobby!” Rogue called, opening the car door and seeing it empty.

“Drake!” Remy echoed, as Rogue started into the forest.

Remy looked around a moment, something niggling at the back of his mind, telling him that if he just noticed things, he would realize something he needed to realize. He sighed with frustration, blowing hair out of his face as he started to shiver. Snow lay cold and wet around him, soaking into the bottom of his pants. His winter jacket was safely at home in a closet; he’d been in too much of a hurry to get it.

Then his brain clicked. There was snow. But there were no tracks leading into the forest.

Wordlessly, Remy started down the road, eyes scanning for any sign of entrance into the forest.

It was down and on the other side of the street, a tearing of the smooth whiteness where Bobby had blundered into the trees. “Rogue!” Remy shouted, checking both ways before loping across the street. With the snow already broken up, he was able to march right in, his path cleared enough to allow him some speed. Still, the snow brushed along his legs, soaking into his pants up to the knee. He supposed Bobby didn’t notice it, being the Iceman, but he rather wished Drake had considered others when taking his headlong flight.

Once the trail was found, it didn’t take much longer to reach Bobby. He was sulking on a boulder by a stream at the bottom of a hill, watching the water crash over little rocks.

Remy stood at the top of the hill, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted. “DRAKE!”

Bobby’s head snapped around, eyes narrowing before suddenly flying wide. Then Rogue flew overhead, dropping down the little hill to snatch Bobby right up off his boulder.

“Take the car!” she shouted, flying back overhead and letting Bobby drop his keys. Then they were both gone over the treeline, racing back to the mansion.

Remy, muttering in acadian, floundered through the snow until he’d found where the keys landed, then, his hands nearly frozen, he managed to dig them out. He made his slow and freezing way back to the car, not bothering to knock the snow from his boots before getting in and turning it on. The heater blazed to life, blowing cold air in.

Remy swore vehemently and started home.

***

“He’ll be just fine,” Hank was soothing, a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. Bobby stood stiffly beside him, roiling emotions tightly leashed.

“I shouldn’t have left him. He could have--”

“But he didn’t,” Hank interrupted quickly. “Just be glad you were found.”

“But this--”

Hank gave Bobby’s shoulder a final squeeze, then moved to the table stretching along one wall. He picked up his coffee, paw-like hand encompassing the crazed smiley face on the outside. “Bobby.” He stopped, staring into the black depths of his mug. He looked up at last, from under his bushy brownish eyebrows. “He is going to die, eventually.”

Bobby’s eyes snapped shut, and he looked away, head jerking like an automaton. “The dupe--”

“And if his mind transfers, he will come back to life. But this disease is killing him, and episodes like this--they’re only going to become more frequent.” Hank watched the younger man, hands clenching and releasing at his sides. The mug clinked as Hank set it down, and he crossed the floor silently. He put a hand on Bobby’s elbow, turning him gently. “You aren’t always going to be there.”

Bobby sniffled, resting his forehead briefly on Hank’s wide chest. Hank wrapped one arm around him, alternately patting and rubbing his back, until Bobby pulled away, composed. “How long is he going to be--asleep?” Bobby asked, looking down at the rise and fall of Jamie’s chest.

“A few more hours.” Hank twitched the sheet down on the corner, absently. “I gave him a sedative, to help him through the seizure.”

Bobby nodded wordlessly. “Okay. I’ll be back in a little bit, then,” he said, and after a final brush of his knuckles against Jamie’s hair, turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Hank asked, slightly alarmed.

“Just to talk to Scott.” Bobby stopped in the doorway, and smiled. “Don’t worry, brown and fuzzy. I’ll be back shortly.”

Hank buried his smile in his mug, muttering in pretend irritation about his new fur color. The door closed softly behind Bobby.

***

“Bobby--you’re not serious.”

Bobby folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against the wall. “I am.”

Scott toyed with a pen on the desk, set it spinning into circles, then looked up. “You’re sure?”

Bobby only nodded.

Scott shook his head slightly, then sat and scratched something onto a post-it. “All right. You’re off rotation.”

Bobby smiled in bright relief. “Thanks, Scott,” he said, then turned and made his way back down the hall.

The mansion was quiet, at rest. Dimly, he could hear people relaxing in one of the rec rooms; the clack of one pool ball hitting another was dulled through the walls, but still identifiable. He made it to the elevator and hit the button, then waited. It arrived, opening with a whoosh, and after he’d stepped in it carried him to the lab quickly. The downstairs was always colder than the upstairs, no matter how high they turned the heat. Bobby was never sure if it was because it was underground, or because Hank always turned the heat lower again. With all that fur, he was constantly sweating.

Bobby shoved through the medlab doors, and stopped.

"Did you want something?" he asked the figure slouched in a chair.

Remy looked up at him with a vaguely annoyed expression. "T'ought I'd come visit a friend," he answered, somehow making the words snide. "I assume dat's still allowed here?"

Bobby stalked around to the other side of the bed and sat down, glaring at Remy.

Remy shook his head, brushing auburn hair out of demon eyes. "Dis is f'r you. From James."

"Don't call him that," Bobby snapped, grabbing the slip of paper from Remy's eyes. "And what were you doing with something from Jamie?"

"He gave it to me when you wouldn' lis'en," Remy said, clenching his jaw. "I t'ought maybe y'd take it from me, now dat I came an' got you when he needed you, but if you still t'ink I’m a shit den I'll just take dat back--"

Bobby snatched it out of the way, tucking it into his back pocket. "Get out, LeBeau."

Remy sneered at him and paced out of the lab.

Bobby glared at his retreating back until it was blocked by the swinging door, at which point he flumped back down on his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Then he realized how silly he looked, and instead pulled out the piece of paper Remy had handed him, unfolding it.

***

Bobby awoke with a start, yelping out “Seventeen-seventy-nine!” He blinked several times, then smiled sheepishly and tried to sink back into his chair. Jamie and Hank looked at him curiously.

“I do wonder what goes on in that cranium of yours, Robert,” Hank said wonderingly.

“We all do,” Jamie said with a wry grin.

Hank smiled and stood, patting Jamie’s knee. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, then both started, “Hank and I--” and “I just wanted--”

They stopped and exchanged glances, laughing quietly. The tension broke, silently falling away.

“You first,” Jamie said, folding his hands over his stomach.

“I got your letter.” Bobby held it up, unable to meet Jamie’s gaze. Jamie studied his hands. “I’m sorry. I know this is difficult.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ll try not to make it worse.”

Jamie grinned reluctantly. “Everything you need to know’s in there,” he said softly.

Bobby nodded. “You wanted to say something?”

Jamie’s grin faded. He cleared his throat, still staring at his hands. Under the blanket, his knees rose, and he wrapped his arms around them. “There’s something wrong with my lungs,” he said at last, in a bare whisper. “Hank says--that--” he took another breath, knuckles whitening as he clutched his shins. “They’re filling with fluid. Like pneumonia or something.”

Bobby felt the blood drain from his face, the world spinning. Jamie was still talking, and he focused on the words like a life line, drawing him back.

“--my heart, too. Stuttering, or something. And general organs are failing. He thinks I’ll have more seizures. Probably soon.”

Bobby stood, shifting over to the bed to sit down beside Jamie. He reached out, grasping the younger man’s fingers in his own, holding tightly. “How long, then?” He didn’t know what he expected to hear. A week. Two, maybe.

The words were soft, and rough. “A few days. Three, if I wait, but possibly only two before I--” his eyes filled and water spilled over, down his face. Tears slid hesitantly over his cheekbones. “Before I drown,” he finished at last.

Bobby didn’t know what to say, and floundered in uncomfortable silence. “That’s fast,” he murmured finally.

Jamie nodded. “My dupes are already faceless. They’re not even human.”

Bobby reached forward, grabbing Jamie’s shoulders and pulling him closer, twisting the sheets around until he could cradle the other man, holding him so tightly he was half afraid Jamie would be unable to breathe.

Jamie clung back, fingers digging into Bobby’s arms, his face buried in Bobby’s chest. He was silent for a long time, tears soaking the pale tan of Bobby’s shirt, before he spoke. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Bobby hugged him tighter, the only words coming to him comfortable quips and easy jokes. Finally, he answered truthfully; “I don’t know.”

Jamie shuddered and tightened his hold, burrowing ever closer. “I’m not ready to die.”

***

It was late when Bobby found Hank, crammed into an overstuffed easy chair in the den, his glasses on and a text in hand. He stopped reading when Bobby walked in. “Robert,” he said softly, setting the book down on a table and folding his glasses carefully on top of it.

“Hey, Grover,” Bobby said softly, hovering just out of reach. “Jamie wants to talk to you about--about that transfer thing. He wants to do it tomorrow night.” Bobby’s gaze dropped, eyelashes swooping down to cover his gaze. “He doesn’t want to drown.”

Hank nodded. He’d expected that. “And how are you doing?”

“Holding up.” Bobby’s head swiveled and he looked at the blank television. It looked back at him, old with wood and brass borders. “Jamie’s not, so I am. That’s why you have a relationship, right? So that someone’s there to help when you need it?”

“Right,” Hank said quietly. He stood, towering over Bobby, and enveloped him with his furry arms. “That’s why.”

Bobby leaned against him willingly, not quite crying, though he couldn’t hide the wetness in his eyes. “I was thinking a party would be good,” he said through a choked throat. “Tomorrow afternoon. I know it’s mid-winter, but I thought maybe ‘Ro could whip up some warm weather. She doesn’t like to mess with it that much, but maybe this once--”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind,” Hank agreed in a deep, bass rumble.

“And maybe Scott could warm up the pool. Melt the snow. Get Jean to argue you out of your lab, so you’ll make salad.”

“I think I could be argued out of my lab.”

“Jamie loves barbeques,” Bobby murmured.

“He should have a proper one.”

“A welcome home party,” Bobby said, sniffling. “Because he’s not really going away.” Then, quieter, “Not if it works out right.”

Hank nodded against Bobby’s hair. “Leave it to me. I’ll tell Jean, and leave it to her.”

Bobby nodded once more. “We should read your book.”

Hank smiled, shuffling Bobby over to the couch. He picked the remote up off the arm and clicked it at the TV, which sparked to uncertain life.

“I like reading books like this,” Bobby said, settling into the crook of Hank’s arm and not even glancing at the text. “Television’s pretty.”

** Back to the living room
Back to Water Lines

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