"I'd never let anything happen to me, to us."

Floating in a void of vast darkness, heartfelt words from a promise made what seemed to be eons ago echoed. They were issued in an attempt to reassure, to placate whatever anxieties there were surrounding safety and well-being. Even as shadows surrounded and enveloped, the sincerity and sentiment were still evident. Never did Bobby Drake imagine there was a legitimate reason to issue them. He had been on many missions before. During those previous times, there was no reason for any concern or worry. Always, he had returned unscathed, reinforcing his belief that he was, in a way, invincible.

Until that night.

The events that led up to this sense of chaos were a blur. Faces, voices, and any semblance of a sequence in what transpired faded in and out. Any sensations or feelings of pain were, blissfully, blocked. All that remained was a tumbling in a fathomless space of uncertainty, where time and direction were foreign concepts.

Bobby was not sure how long he had been floating in this state. He simply knew he felt very frightened. The abyss-like nature of this place gave the impression of an ambiguity that only revealed that he was not conscious. Despite this, he was keenly aware that he was not dead. Though he was unable to provide a great deal of sufficient evidence of this assertion, he had one piece of information: it was not his time.

But this place, wherever it was, was cold.

So very, very cold.

Chilling and cutting through skin and bone.

So very, very cold.

He struggled to recall what transpired, what brought him here. Perhaps by doing so, he would be able escape out of this limbo. He feared that if he spent another minute here—wherever here was—he would surely lose his sanity.

Screams and the sound of harsh, malevolent laughter suddenly flooded his head. Bobby suddenly found himself reeling as the hellish images from that night overwhelmed him. He remembered confronting a plant-like version of Black Tom, who seemed consumed by madness and true darkness. The glow in the maniacal sociopath's yellow eyes and his calculating demand for the return of the child sex slaves or as he put it, 'his employees' made Bobby's stomach turn. Disgust and determination to protect the children surged through every fiber of the young man's body as he braced himself for a melee.

Confusion and fear draped the evening cityscape outside the brothel. Kurt was herding the children, who were crying and shrieking in fear of the monster who used and abused them. The normally laid-back and carefree German was clearly anxious as he attempted to comfort and reassure the young ones. He teleported as many as he could at a time, leaving a strong, pungent stench of sulfur in the air that only served to add to the nightmarish ambiance.

Meanwhile, a fierce and feral Logan had charged Black Tom with adamantium claws extended. An unparalleled master of combat who was all too willing to use lethal means to achieve an objective, the man known as Wolverine seemed adept at handling an old foe. However, nothing prepared the experienced X-Man for this new version of Black Tom. His body, toned and sleek with hard muscle, had been thrown into the air as if it were a bag of coins. Landing on top of a car with a resounding thud, Logan had been knocked out.

Realizing that he was the only person available to deal with Black Tom, Bobby steeled himself for what lay ahead. Apprehensive, he forced himself to brush aside his fears. There was no way Black Tom's reign of terror was to continue. Quickly, he prepared himself to race to Logan's aid.

However, there was still the matter of the children. He wanted to ensure that they would not be caught up in what was to follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kurt, who appeared from a thick cloud. The German peered over at Logan's limp body with its retracted claws and was instantly concerned. Shepherding the huddled and quaking bodies of the scared children towards his teammate, Bobby recalled explaining what just transpired to an incredulous Kurt.

"...It's Black Tom," Bobby had told his friend with a gravity that seemed to foreign to his own ears. "He's responsible for all of this..."

In the dizzying madness of what was going on around them, he failed to be alert. He did not maintain the awareness that was necessary during a situation. He lost focus. He was vulnerable.

He should have seen what was coming.

THWACK!

The searing pain that coursed through his chest was immediate. So was the shock that went through his mind when he saw the insidious vine that pierced him. He could feel it wriggling inside, pressing against his heart and spinal cord. The sound of Tom's laughter and Kurt's cries faded into the background. What dominated his consciousness was the white-hot hurt that emanated from his torso.

It was then that Bobby fell into darkness.

As he was reliving his ordeal, he noticed that there was light seeping in. The sounds from that night continued to fade, replaced by a muffled voice. Listening to it, Bobby realized it was a voice he was familiar with. He found himself drifting towards it.

The journey towards the source was a difficult one. He had to draw upon every ounce of strength he had in order to reach the voice and the light. Closer and closer, he noticed that the voice was clearer and the light was now giving way to images that were coming into focus. With a sense of relief, he was able to see. He also recognized the voice, which was now calling his name.

"Bobby... Bobby..."

Jubilee.

She was leaning over him, a worried expression marring her otherwise flawless features. His love was like some sort of ethereal angel—dark tresses rippling down her shoulders and framing her beautiful face like a halo, her creamy skin glowing with a light that seemed to emanate from within. For a moment, Bobby believed that he had in fact died and was now in heaven. As he gazed at her, he saw that those old-soul blue eyes were filled with such distress. Her lower lip was quivering, as if she were on the verge of tears. Almost immediately, he was able to surmise that he was responsible and cursed himself for it.

"Hey," he managed weakly, trying to move his head in order to reconnoiter his surroundings. From the sterile, steel-plated walls, fluorescent lighting, the starchy feel of the cotton hospital gown, the smell of disinfectant and antiseptic, and the stiff cot he was lying in, he figured he was in the Med-Lab in Sub-Basement One.

More importantly, he was home.

Jubilee's breath was sweet and warm at his cheek as she stroked his sandy hair tenderly. "Hey yourself," she replied with one of those smiles reserved just for him, which made her sapphire eyes sparkle and her face light up even more.

The nonchalant greetings exchanged represented the comfortable ease that was a hallmark of their relationship. It was enough to broaden the wide grin he was already wearing. He felt as if it were the first time he had done so in weeks.

"God, I missed you," he murmured huskily. There was no way he could ever get enough of staring at her. After weeks of being without her at his side, he was overwhelmed by a sense of feeling complete and whole again.

She nodded, nodding in agreement while continuing to stroke his hair. "Me, too." With a solemn expression, she took a deep breath before speaking again. "Bobby, you have to know something."

Alarmed, Bobby swallowed hard. He was unsure if he was going to like where the conversation was heading. Never had he observed her so serious and so tense. The way she was breathing forcefully led him to believe that she was preparing to disclose some severe news. He felt his heart sink and his stomach conduct a series of flip-flops.

Finally, he spoke up. "What is it?" His voice was low, matching hers in intensity. "What's wrong?"

She moved closer towards him. Her chin trembled violently and her cerulean eyes were shining. "Bobby..." Then she shuddered, unable to finish the thought.

He took her small hand in his and looked into her face intently. "It's OK, Jubes," he said reassuringly. "I'm here."

Jubilee inhaled deeply, slipping her hand away. She used it to rub her forehead anxiously. Then she peered back at him and said in a low voice, "If you ever come close to leaving me like that again, I'll make it my mission to revive just so I can kick your ass."

Bobby smiled and began to chuckle. The love that was in her tone and in her eyes was so unadulterated and pure. Words could not even begin to describe the feelings roused. Raising his head slightly and threading his hand through the softness of her silken tresses, he closed the distance between their lips. His mouth moved gently against hers at first, savoring the softness of her. Then he parted his lips parted slightly, deepening the kiss. As her mouth opened in response, he savored more of her. His fingers played with her hair and his other hand cupped her cheek.

Reluctantly, he drew back, pausing as their hot breaths intermingled. He was able to see the dilation of her pupils, darkening her eyes. "Consider that my personal guarantee that you don't have to worry."

A flush reddened her cheeks, making her even more beautiful in the dim light. "I thought you... I was afraid I was going to lose you." Her sweet face looked so earnest and relieved.

Abruptly, he buried his face in the nape of her neck, his arms tightly wrapping around her. The gesture was so raw and so genuinely tender. "Never," he whispered fiercely. "Never."

"Promise?"

"I'd never let anything happen to me, to us."

Suddenly, everything went dark again.

Deep creases lined Logan's somber face as he sat in an overstuffed armchair, hunched over with his hands clasped together under his stubble-ridden chin. As one of the longest serving X-Men, he had witnessed his teammates sustain injuries over the years. While most managed to recover, there were others who were not so fortunate. These individuals paid the ultimate price to pursue a dream.

His green eyes narrowed, roving over Bobby's unconscious body lying in a sterile hospital bed. The gruff Canadian loner had not moved from his spot by Bobby's bedside since confronting Black Tom two days ago. Though he often gave the impression that he regarded the younger man with a cool indifference or at times, even disdain, Logan was now fearful for his life. He had never been much of a praying man, but he found himself bargaining with God for Drake to awaken and to emerge no worse for wear.

Swallowing hard, Logan replayed the night's horrific events and the resulting aftermath in his head. Not that he could block them out or anything. They had left an imprint in his memory that was proving difficult to shake, especially when he was trying to sleep.

He remembered the complete and utter shock he experienced when he and the others faced Tom Cassidy, who had experienced physical changes that affected his psyche. More plant than man, the career criminal provided a demonstration of his new abilities. Logan had been taken aback when he was suddenly swept off his feet and tossed in the air. After he landed on top of a car parked nearby, he was out cold for a few fleeting moments.

However, he had been roused quickly when he heard Kurt yelling Bobby's name amid Tom's deep-throated laughter. Shaking off the haze, Logan had managed to sit up. He had searched in the chaos for his teammates, orienting himself as to what was happening. Kurt had used his wiry body to shield the children, his face terrified. Following the elf's stare, Logan had discovered the source of concern.

There was Drake, staggering backwards with a thick, black vine pierced through his chest. His face, encased in a layer of ice, was fixed in an expression of shock and disbelief. He had been blindly grabbing at the plant extension that was impaling him, as if to pull it out. However, Bobby appeared weak, staggering. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness, his body suspended by the vine.

Upon seeing this, Black Tom snickered malevolently. His glowing, yellow eyes took on a more deranged quality as he studied the seemingly lifeless body of his latest conquest. "This is too easy," he chortled smugly. "Now, two more—"

His taunting was suddenly cut off when he started to make a gurgling sound. In the warmth of the Genoshan evening, the air surrounding him grew cold. Frost began to cover the plant-like extensions and the rest of his body. He began to howl when the frost soon turned into ice, which covered every inch of him. Not so long after this, Black Tom was silent, trapped in a cold, thick prison.

Logan had jumped off of the car hood and darted to where Bobby was, still impaled upon a now frozen vine. His hands were still curled around it, clutching tightly. Somehow, Bobby had managed to find the strength to tap into the water inside Black Tom's plant-like body, using the moisture to nullify him. Apparently, this act had drained Bobby completely. The younger man had passed out, unresponsive to Logan's attempts to get his attention.

Undeterred, Logan had extended his adamantium claws and sliced through the vine to free Drake. Despite the fact that the other man was still in his ice-form, Logan was able to tell he was alive—barely. Draping Drake's body over his shoulder, the laconic veteran began to call out for Kurt. Once the German made his way over, he immediately questioned Logan regarding Bobby's status. Succinctly, the older man had ordered an anxious Kurt to teleport them back to the hotel.

Once there, they were greeted by a frazzled Warren, who had just assisted Amelia in settling the children with room service in the adjoining suite. Cain, still nursing a cold, was drinking a large of hot tea when he saw Bobby's limp body in Logan's arms. Before either could inquire as to what happened, Logan carried the younger man to Warren's king-sized bed and laid him down. He then explained the circumstances, informing them of Black Tom's transformation into a giant, crazed vegetable and how he had lashed out at Bobby.

Alarmed, Warren dashed out of the room to retrieve Amelia from next door. Within seconds, they returned and the redhead rushed to Bobby's side. While she was conducting a brief examination, Logan and the others were planning what to do at this point. It was becoming quite obvious that their teammate's injuries were quite severe and would require more sophisticated medical attention. Amelia commented that the wound to Bobby's chest went straight through, but she had no idea what kind of damage there was to his internal organs at this time. They needed to get him to a hospital.

Meanwhile, there was the issue of Black Tom and the chaos left behind in Low Town. At the moment, he was neutralized, but there was no telling how long this would this last. Logan remarked it would be irresponsible to allow him to go free after the havoc the monster had caused. Everyone else agreed with this assessment. Kurt suggested that they contact the authorities, and that he, Logan, and Cain return to the scene to ensure that Black Tom or any of his accomplices did not escape.

As for Bobby, Amelia announced that she was calling for an ambulance to transport herself and Bobby to the hospital. Warren began to insist that he accompany them as well, offering his blood to help heal his friend. She declined, informing him that the unknown nature of Bobby's injuries made it difficult to accept. Then she pointed out that someone had to stay with the children. They had been through a great deal tonight and did not need any more excitement. Reluctantly, Warren agreed.

Before leaving with Kurt and Cain, Logan approached the blond, winged playboy, whose handsome face was wrought with worry for his friend and the man he considered the closest thing to a brother. Taking Warren aside, the self-professed loner had said, "I'm sorry."

Warren had raked a tanned hand through his hair. "He's got to be okay." His voice sounded small, like a frightened child's. "He just has to be."

Logan remembered nodding, but saying nothing else.

The hours that followed were a whirlwind. After he and the others returned to Low Town and ensured that Tom was still imprisoned, they met up with the local authorities. The police commissioner was furious with them. In spite of Kurt's best efforts to placate him, the commissioner screamed at them and told them they had no right to play vigilantes. Moreover, he claimed the X-Men had no jurisdiction to press forward with an investigation, and that if they had any concerns, they should have gone to the police.

Normally, Logan would have shot back with a reply of his own, but he was simply too tired and had other pressing things on his mind. Dealing with a mealy-faced cop was the least of his concerns. However, Cain expressed no reservation about telling off the much smaller man. His face turned a strange shade of pink as he berated the commissioner and his men for not doing their job.

Kurt slipped in between the two men. "Please, we can work this out..."

Logan shrugged the fracas off, and wandered to the area where Black Tom was frozen. There were a group of officers around the thick, icy block that encased the monster. They were in the midst of figuring out how to transport him back to the prison. He had pushed past a young officer, who appeared completely bewildered by the situation. Then the Wolverine inched closer to the chilly prison that surrounded the plant-like creature.

His green eyes narrowed as they peered at the grotesque face that twisted in an expression of surprise and agony. Ignoring the request from the officer to back away, Logan scowled at Black Tom. There was a part of him that was dismayed that the bastard was immobilized. It denied him the pleasure of tearing him into pieces.

Leaning close to the ice barrier, Logan pursed his lips. "You're lucky you're in there, bub," he growled. "'Cause if you were out, you'd have me to deal with. Anything happens to Drake, I'm gonna hold you responsible. I can guarantee I ain't gonna be as nice to you as the cops here."

Then he turned on his heel to join his teammates, who were providing statements to the detectives on the scene. When they were cleared to leave, Kurt called Warren to obtain directions to the hospital. Soon, they were off, teleporting to the exact coordinates. Arriving at the waiting area outside of the emergency room, Kurt inquired about Bobby. A nurse with thin lips and golden streaks in her hair informed them that he had been in surgery, and was now resting in a room at the end of the hall.

On their way to see him, they met up with Amelia, who was dressed in surgeon scrubs, her red hair tied back. She quickly updated them on the situation. During surgery, Bobby had de-iced his body, which allowed the doctors to see that his wound was closing up. However, the area around the point of entry was covered in ice, making it impossible to assess what kind of damage was present. Fortunately, they were able to stabilize him in spite of this.

"I'm afraid he'll have to see someone back in the States for follow-up," Amelia had sighed as she walked with them to Bobby's room. "Even though this is the best hospital in the country, it's still limited. It's best to let either Charles or Hank to take a look."

Kurt chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "So, ve should transfer him now?" He was already thinking of how he was about to break the news to Warren, who seemed to be in shock that something had happened to Bobby.

She shook her head. "Not until he regains consciousness. Otherwise, it's too dangerous."

"When's that gonna be?" Cain asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know," Amelia replied, pausing outside of the doorway where Bobby lay. "All I do know is that he's lucky to be alive. Let's just hope that he wakes up soon."

The three of them were allowed to enter. None of them were prepared for the sight that met their eyes. Bobby Drake, so cheery, so full of life, so young, was lying unconscious in a hospital bed. His face was blanched with dark circles under his closed eyes. There were tubes in his arms and under his nostrils. The standard issue hospital gown was baggy enough to reveal the bandages that covered his chest. Under the track lighting, he looked smaller, as if he might shrink and disappear forever.

Kurt choked back a sob, making a sign of the cross as he made his way to Bobby's bedside. "Mein Gott," he whispered.

Cain stared for a minute and then turned away. Though he had not known Drake as well and as long as Kurt, he was still shaken. It was hard to fathom that this man was the same one who was cracking jokes during their trip to Genosha.

Kurt took a deep breath, patting Bobby's arm gently. "I need to find a chapel," he announced, finding calm and solace with this idea. There was nothing left for them to do. It was now out of their hands. "I vill pray for him. Vould anyone like to join me?"

Amelia, standing by the door, nodded. "I haven't been for a while," she confessed, embarrassed. "But I'll come."

"Good." The solemn German turned to the taller, imposing figure that belonged to Cain Marko. "And you?"

The larger man looked at him warily. "You want me to come with you?" he asked, a gruff tone sneaking into his voice. He shook his head, reflecting on his past. "I ain't welcomed in places like that."

"I velcome you, mein freund," Kurt said guilelessly. He managed a small, comforting smile. "Come. You can sit vit us."

After some deliberation, Cain reluctantly agreed to take Kurt up on his offer. It was difficult to decline such an invitation, especially from a man who had been a priest. "Yeah, maybe I'll get some thinkin' done," he muttered, shuffling his steps towards Amelia and the door.

Kurt was about to join them, but stopped when he saw Logan grabbed a chair and placed it by Bobby's bedside. "Logan?"

"You got the wrong guy," his friend responded flatly, seating himself. He shrugged nonchalantly and rubbed his forehead wearily. "Besides, someone should be here in case Drake wakes up."

"Alright." Kurt continued on his way, following the others who were already outside. Then he paused again in his steps. He turned to the grim-faced man who was hunched over in his chair. "It's not your fault."

Logan quirked a brow at him. "Never thought it was."

"It vas unfortunate."

"Yeah."

"So, you should not hold yourself responsible. She vill not, I am sure."

Logan grunted, not bothering to watch the German slip out of the room.

Two days later, the wizened Canadian wanted to believe what Kurt had told him. The rational part of his mind told him that Jubilee would never blame him for Drake sustaining his injuries. She was no longer a child, willing to strike out at anyone. In the past couple of years, she had grown beyond that into a mature adult. She was thoughtful, stronger, and able to reflect on the tragedy that had plagued her young life.

As Logan watched over Bobby, he came to realize that things might be different. This was the man she was in love with. According to her, Drake might be the one. The one.

Even though she never came to Logan, begging him to keep an eye on her boyfriend, he supposed there was an understanding that he would. It was a task he found himself rather reticent about given his ongoing sense of unease around the younger man, knowing that he and Jubilee were now a serious item and forever eradicating the image of her as his little girl. There was also Bobby's mastery over his abilities, allowing him to hold his own in battle. Thus, there had been no reason to worry.

Until now.

His green eyes narrowed under his stony brows. Granted, he was no medical professional or a psychic, but he knew that Drake was alive in spite of his deathly appearance. He could hear the other man's breathing and his heart beating. From the rapid rhythm, Logan was able to sense that Bobby was fighting. It was as if he knew his predicament. His enhanced olfactory senses were able to pick up the smell of Bobby's perspiration.

Exhaling, the loner found himself frustrated and genuinely concerned. He knew he had let Jubilee down so many times in the past with his frequent absences from the mansion, and his broken promises to visit her when she was at the Massachusetts Academy. He knew how disappointed she was, how torn apart she was as a result. The thought of her enduring any pain—especially pain that he caused was too much to bear. For her to experience that kind of suffering again made Logan's chest tighten fiercely.

Never, he swore, clenching a fist at his side. I'll never let that happen again.

Logan leaned over Drake, his face a mask of urgency. "Wake up, Icicle," he said, his gravelly voice taking on a tone of desperation that was foreign to his own ears. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's seein' the kid cry."

After making this futile plea, he sat back with his shoulders slumped in defeat. Peering over at the younger man, Logan noticed that he was still unresponsive. He shook his head, cursing his naiveté for even believing that begging would remedy things. So consumed in his own musings and self-directed anger, he had not noticed that Warren was standing next to him.

"No change?" The blond Adonis asked in greeting even though he was perfectly aware of his friend's condition. Like Logan, he had become a constant presence by Bobby's bedside. He sauntered closer towards where his friend lay, placing a hand on his arm.

Logan shook his head, not bothering to look at the other man. "You filed your report to Cyclops?" His voice had an even, placid quality which belied the tension that coiled inside his body.

"Kurt's taking care of that." Warren answered dully, drawing back from his friend's bedside and smoothing out an imaginary crease in his khaki, button-down jacket he wore over a striped, oxford shirt, an orange, cable-knit sweater, and chinos. He held up Bobby's gray travel bag. "Thought he'd might like something to wear other than that gown when he wakes up."

Logan watched him place the bag next to the IV drip. If anyone was experiencing more apprehension about the situation, it was certainly Worthington. He and Drake were part of the original five, and were quite close. The self-centered playboy had a soft spot for the younger man, whom he considered a brother. They had grown together and shared a myriad of highs and lows. The bond they shared was one that stayed strong in spite of the changes in their lives.

But there was something that was underlying Warren's concern for his friend's well-being. Though he lived a rather privileged existence, the young Worthington had his share of tragic loss. His parents passed on before he could reconcile with them. The love of his life, Betsy, died alone. Now, he was facing the possibility of losing another person dear to his heart.

Warren peered down at Bobby's expressionless countenance. "I should have been there with you guys," he remarked somberly. "If I was there, I could have helped. I could have stopped this from happening, and he wouldn't be here... Like this." He shook his head in disbelief.

"There was nothing you could've done," Logan said flatly, echoing Kurt's sentiment hours ago. "No one was prepared for that thing."

"Even so..." Warren sighed, looking dejected. "I still feel responsible. I mean, we're supposed to look out for one another. For God's sake, I'm his friend, and I let him down."

"He's not dead. Amelia and the doctors said he's stable. The wound's healed itself on the other side."

"I know, but what if that changes?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if his condition deteriorates?"

"Why are you looking for something to go wrong?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Worthington. It's like you're waiting for the worst to happen."

"I'm just being realistic. Bad fortune might strike as well."

"You know, even though you don't look like Death incarnate anymore, you're sure soundin' like it."

"How dare you?" Warren's face became a mottled shade of red, the veins from his neck protruding. "I'm just expressing concern over my friend's condition, and you have the nerve to tell me that? Listen, just get the hell out. You don't belong here. I'm not even sure why you're pretending to care."

Logan rose from his chair, frowning deeply. Two days with very little sleep and next to nothing to eat left his nerves frayed. Whatever cool he might have possessed was depleted. There was nothing that was keeping him from telling this pompous pretty boy where to stick it.

He leaned in towards Worthington, his eyes narrowing into razor-thin slits. "Now, you listen, bub," he began, anger fueling the low, deep growl in his voice. "If you think I've been here 'cause I don't care, then you—"

His sentence was interrupted when he heard a soft groan. Surprised, both men tore their eyes away from one another to gaze down at Bobby. Color was beginning to return to his face. His eyelids began to flutter before opening completely.

Groggy and disoriented by his dream, Bobby was only able to make out the blond hair and white, expansive wings of his friend. Not recognizing Warren immediately, he blinked. "Am I in heaven?" he whispered.

Warren and Logan exchanged quizzical looks. Then the older man leaned towards Bobby and said, "Drake?"

Head still fuzzy from being unconscious for two days, Bobby was slow to follow the voice that called out to him. His eyes were greeted by a lined face with thick, bushy sideburns and hair that was sculpted into two peaks on both sides of his head. Stony brows lay over green eyes flecked with gold. After a few seconds, he was able to identify the other man and groaned.

"Great. I'm in hell."

Logan grunted, not appreciating the young man's wit.

Meanwhile, Warren let out a chuckle, relief washing over him. "You had us so worried," he said, squeezing his friend's hand. For the first time in several weeks, he was smiling. "How are you feeling?"

"I've had better days," Bobby joked weakly. Then he winced, placing a hand over his chest. "Ouch, that hurt."

Logan was already walking to the door, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his black, leather jacket. "I'll get the doc," he announced. No need to witness the waterworks between those two, he thought, rolling his eyes.

When he was outside of the hospital room, the laconic man stood against the wall and exhaled shakily.

Amelia had been on-call at the hospital and was the one to conduct the examination. Meanwhile, Logan sat in the waiting area with a cup of coffee and a sandwich, which were part of Warren's apology for their argument earlier. The tall, blond millionaire was on his cell phone, updating Kurt and Cain, who were meeting with social workers about the children from Low Town. Warren could hear the elation in Kurt's voice upon hearing the news. The soft-spoken German informed him that he and Cain were merely wrapping things up with the authorities and would rendezvous with them at the hospital in about twenty minutes.

Behind the closed door of Bobby's hospital room, Amelia was checking for any possible head injury. She was tracking his eye movement with her penlight, but tried to lighten things up by talking about more mundane, less mission-related things. He would probably be briefed regarding what transpired later on by the others.

"So, I heard you mistook Wolverine for the devil," she drawled, carefully watching his eyes. Her green eyes twinkled mirthfully.

Bobby grinned. "It could happen to anyone."

She snickered, scribbling down her findings. "I'm so sure," she chided. Then she placed the clipboard at the foot of the bed. "You look good so far. Now, I just need to take a gander at your chest, so if you don't mind sliding your gown a little for me."

He gasped, feigning modesty. "Dr. Vogt!" he exclaimed in mock disbelief. "I'll have you know that I am a taken man."

She gave him a wry smile. "I see that your sense of humor is also well," she observed dryly. Leaning towards him, she winked. "I won't tell, if you don't."

Bobby grinned, slipping the gown to his waist. "I feel so used."

Gingerly, Amelia peeled back the bandages and gauze that covered the wound. Her auburn brows shot up when she reached the skin underneath. Rather, there was ice where flesh should have been. "Bobby, I need for you to de-ice your chest," she told him.

The air was suddenly ripe with a thick tension. The carefree banter had dissipated, replaced with silence. The pleasant expression on his face suddenly faded.

"Bobby?"

He stiffened slightly, hunching his shoulders. "I'd rather not," he said curtly.

Amelia was perplexed. "What? Why not?"

"I just don't want to."

"You don't want to? Listen, I can't see if your wound's going to heal properly. I need to see your skin."

"I'm not going to do it."

"Bobby, please..."

"Amelia, it hurts if I try to de-ice that part of me. The cold helps numb the pain. I just rather not do it right now, OK?"

"Oh." The redhead cocked her head to the side and bit her lower lip. Realizing that she did not have the medicine or the equipment to help remedy things, she came to a decision. It was one she was hesitant to go forward with, but forced to under the circumstances.

"Well, your vitals are good, and you seem very stable," she remarked evenly. "Given that there's nothing I can offer you here at the hospital for your chest, I'm going to recommend that you wait until you return to Westchester. I'm sure Charles or Hank could attend to that."

The wrinkles that were etched in Bobby's forehead from his frown disappeared. "That sounds like a plan," he said, watching her make a note in her clipboard.

Amelia peered at him warily as he pulled the hospital gown back on. "In that case, you're going to need to return home immediately," she commented, continuing to write. "I'd feel more comfortable that way. I'm going to ask the others if they would be ready to leave today. I think they will be, but I want to confirm that."

He nodded in understanding. "Thanks."

She put the cap back on her pen and smiled. "I should be thanking you. You saved all of us that night." Then she sauntered towards the door. Before she exited, she turned to him and said, "Remember, you're going to get that wound checked out. I'll be calling the Med-Lab to make sure you've taken care of that."

"Got it."

When she left, Bobby swung his legs over the bed, grabbed the travel bag Warren brought over, and scrambled into the private restroom. He slammed the door and yanked the gown off. Staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, his gaze fell over his sternum. His jaw clenched when he noticed something was amiss; something he knew was wrong since he woke up.

An area of solid ice covered the middle of chest where skin should have been.

What was even more troubling was the fact that in spite of his best efforts, he was unable to turn that part of his body back into flesh.

The optimistic side of him was quite confident that he would be able to do so at a later point. There was no need to alert Amelia to this problem. She would have insisted on keeping him at the hospital for a longer duration. The prospect was not something he was keen on. He had been away from his Jubilee for too long. There was no way he was about to allow more time to keep them apart.

But there was a nagging voice that needled him. It forced him to wonder if he could not de-ice, then what? Was this patch going to spread? How would this affect his powers? Or even more importantly, his relationship with the one person he loved most?

His musings were cut short by a rapping at the door, which was followed by Kurt's voice. "Mein freund, Amelia has told us that ve need to get you back to Vestchester. Cain has scheduled a takeoff time at the airport, but time is limited because of an impending storm that's been spotted by the veather service."

"In other words," Cain interjected gruffly. "Get some clothes on so we can get the hell outta here."

Bobby pulled on a pair of boxers with shamrocks printed on them and a pair of faded jeans. "I'll be out in a minute," he assured them. As he began to put on his socks and shoes, he decided to try de-icing the patch once again. He returned to the mirror and focused. Unfortunately, his attempts were proving to be fruitless every time.

On the other side of the door, his teammates were growing more impatient by the second. They were scheduled to board the X-Jet in ten minutes. Logan was pacing back and forth, while Warren and Kurt tried to keep Cain from breaking the door down.

"What the hell is he doing in there?" Logan frowned. Like the others, he was eager to return to Westchester after what they had been through on this mission. He had enough of Genosha for a while. The sooner they were able to leave, the better. He slammed his fist against the door. "C'mon, Drake!"

Panicked, Bobby buttoned up his shirt. "In a second!" he hollered back.

"That's what you said five minutes ago!" Warren shouted, exasperated. A thought suddenly crossed his mind. "Bobby, if you're in there with a Playboy, I swear to God--"

"I'm not jacking off!" Bobby screamed indignantly.

Logan narrowed his eyes and growled. "Then get yer ass outta there!"

The boyishly handsome young man sighed, trying to swallow his fears upon his new discovery. He proceeded to finish dressing. There was nothing he could do at this point. Perhaps, with some more time to recover, he could turn the patch back into skin. Then life as he knew would be normal once again.

But in the back of his mind, he feared that everything had changed.