Chapter Sixty Three: Here Without You

He had not been particularly close to Jean Grey but mourned her death just as much as those who were. Following their initial meeting in Boston those many years ago, Kurt was surprised not only to learn there were other like him but to discover a kindred spirit in the graceful redhead as well. Unlike some of more cynical team members (Logan, Emma, and Warren), Jean shared Kurt’s faith in other people and propensity to engage in mercy rather than aggression and retribution. Some (notably, Logan) questioned their approach, especially given the cruelty and ignorance they were forced to endure everyday. Despite such resistance, both Jean and Kurt remained steadfast to their principles and adhered to them with great reverence.

With news of her passing, the German native felt he was now part of a minority within a population of minorities. Since her death, it seemed that he, Hank, and the Professor were alone in their pursuit of searching for solace and understanding. The growing sense of anger and desire for revenge among his friends and team mates created a tension—one that was threatening to culminate in some sort of altercation later. What was more insidious was the fact that this strain appeared to be complicating the grieving process, creating a vacillation the between abject sorrow and undeniable rage. Evidence of these phenomena was evident in those mourning Jean but was manifested in the extreme by one person.

Kurt nodded at two students in greeting before turning a corner, musing on his friendship with Scott Summers. The two men were bound by similar attitudes and values towards in regards to the school and field missions. While most interpreted Scott’s demeanour as awkward and somewhat stiff, the German native was able to see past all of that to empathize with someone who shouldered a great deal of responsibilities. Although they did not see eye to eye with respect to some things, the two men were able to develop a camaraderie based on mutual respect and understanding. It also helped that Kurt was one of the few able to make the notorious stodgy Scott smile every once in a while. In fact, their friendship was what compelled Scott to ask the demonic-faced Nightcrawler to officiate the funeral service.

His mind began to replay the events of the past several days. He found himself particularly troubled within hours of returning to Westchester. In addition to learning the stunning news of Jean’s death, the demonic-looking teleporter was further shocked when he offered his condolences the man she had left behind. It was difficult not to question his grasp on reality as this man purporting to be Scott Summers greeted him. This man was beyond the throes of despair; he was a lost soul drifting among the living. For Kurt, the experience soon went beyond this initial shock. He was genuinely affected for someone he had come to care about.

During his training to become a Roman Catholic priest, Kurt became aware of the darkness the human soul was subjected during times of hardship. Despite his own familiarity with adversity, he was unaccustomed to some individuals’ need to lash out at the world or worse, at themselves. Granted, he could empathize with their anger and despondency, but the desire to strike out rather than understand and find peace remained a mystery to him. Such destructive tendencies ran counterintuitive to how he conducted himself in the face of similar circumstances. For the German native, life was always about growing and learning from the negatives in order to develop into a better person. It was what gave him faith during the more turbulent periods of his existence.

Upon his return to the mansion, it was quite evident to Kurt that his friend was struggling to come to grips with what happened. Tension seemed to follow the bespectacled leader everywhere. Everyone, including the students, was walking on eggshells in his presence; either they had been involved in some sort of altercation with him or were desperately trying to avoid doing so. It was as if Scott were allowing his grief to dictate his relationships around the mansion.

Based on what he was able to observe, the former priest-in-training knew he needed to exercise caution. On one hand, Kurt wished to impart the tenets of his faith upon Scott by explaining how they could help him find some peace. However, on the other hand, he was quite cognizant that the other man’s rage would likely negate any discussion relating to finding solace. The experience was comparable to his tightrope-walking days in the circus. Straying too close on either side could prove to be disastrous. Balance was necessary.

Much to his dismay, Kurt discovered that engaging Scott was difficult. Granted, he did not expect his friend to immediately disclose the severity of the pain inflicted as a result of Jean’s death. After all, this was a man who prided himself in being able to separate his emotions from whatever task was at hand. Despite his training under Xavier, there continued to be a part of him that feared a loss of control over his abilities. Scott had often confided in Kurt that he found it necessary to sometimes ignore or disavow his feelings in order to fully focus. It was Jean who had to remind him to acknowledge them every once in a while. As he struggled to maintain a conversation with Scott, Kurt realized his friend’s ability to communicate was greatly impacted by the loss of his wife. Without Jean, Scott could not process his emotions nor was he capable of filtering his responses appropriately which gave way to bouts of laconic brooding often followed by unprovoked demonstrations of anger.

While his emotional lability was unnerving, there another aspect to the newly widowed Scott’s maladaptive coping that was equally if not more troubling. Specifically, there was increasing evidence that he was developing a drinking problem. At first, Kurt had been inclined to dismiss the rumours that floated among the team members and staff. He supposed it was his loyalty to Scott that clouded his judgment, allowing him some latitude given the circumstances. However, questioning the veracity of the allegations became difficult once the sources were identified (Kitty and Storm). However, what finally convinced Kurt was the proof that was more tangible than the whispers floating among the team and staff. What he was able to observe of Scott’s demeanour was indicative of something more insidious. The perpetually rumpled hair and clothing, the problems with keeping track during the conversation, the slight odour of alcohol that permeated from his breath and skin, and the subtle slurring when pronouncing certain words—all of these pieces of objective data culminated in a disturbing picture.

After admitting the truth to himself, Kurt knew he needed to speak up. Now, it was no longer just about people being uncomfortable around Scott. His drinking threatened to undermine his ability to lead and instil confidence in those who looked up to him. Even more disconcerting was its impact on the manner in which Scott was mourning Jean’s death. Rather than process what happened and attempt to make sense of the tragedy in order to find consolation, he was choosing to dull his pain as part of a temporary reprieve from reality. As far as Kurt was concerned, these were not the actions of the Scott Summers he knew.

His mind echoed with their conversation in the Ready room several days ago. Other than the team and staff meetings about the operating procedures around the school, this was the first chance Kurt had to engage in a discussion with his friend and team mate. At first, things were civil although undercut by the brusque manner that characterized Scott’s interactions these days. His face had been set in a grim mask, complementing his flat and wooden tone of voice. The overall impression had left Kurt feeling slightly off-kilter. In spite of this, he was determined to proceed. There were more important things to consider other than the discomfort that had besieged him. He reiterated his condolences before querying Scott about the funeral arrangements.

The tone of the discussion quickly changed once the topic of Jean’s funeral was raised. The air between the two men suddenly became taut. Since his return from Virginia, the former priest-in-training had been working alongside Storm and Lorna regarding the logistics of the service as well as coordinating with the Greys as to what they wanted. This was in stark contrast to Scott, who provided little to no guidance—a fact not lost on either man.

“I’ve had other things on my mind,” Scott finally admitted, jaw slightly clenched. His bandaged hand had started to fumble around the pocket of his black leather bomber. When he noticed Kurt eyeing him curiously, he drew his hand back and pressed it against the tabletop.

Kurt was aware of what his friend had intended to retrieve from his jacket pocket. Concerned, he inquired, “Vat vould zey be? Perhaps I can be of some help?”

The other man shook his head forcefully. “No, there’s nothing you can do,” he replied tersely. “I’ve already told Storm and Lorna that I’m fine with whatever they and Jean’s family decide is appropriate. At least, that’s what I thought those two would have relayed to you.” He swallowed hard and pursed his lips bitterly, as if reflecting his annoyance with the aforementioned individuals.

“I suppose zey have a great deal to contend vit as vell,” Kurt remarked quietly, golden eyes sweeping over the heavily-stubbled visage of Scott Summers. The observation had not been completely off-the mark. The two women were working all hours of the day to arrange the funeral, including preparing the chapel on the estate for the service.

Scott flinched involuntarily, wounded by the observation despite the kindness radiating from its_ messenger. Then in a low and even voice, he said, “I’m really not in the mood to talk right now, Kurt. If you don’t mind, I’d like to know what you want from me so we can move on.”

The German native was stunned by his friend’s directness. It took every ounce of self-control to maintain his composure rather than respond to the abrupt nature of his treatment. He took a deep breath before answering, folding his hands together. “Zee prayers and hymns have been chosen,” he began, his demonic features grave, “but zere is still zee eulogy.”

“What about it?” There was an edge creeping into Scott’s voice as he posed the question.

Kurt swallowed hard before answering. “Vell, Jean’s family felt it vould be fitting for zose who knew her to say something. Hank, Varren, Storm, Lorna, and Bobby vill be speaking.”

“Wait, Bobby? He’s going to speak?” Scott’s features contorted, revealing a level of disdain usually reserved for Logan during tempestuous times.

“Ja… Does zat surprise you?”

“I...I’m not exactly thrilled with this development.”

“I’m not sure I follow your logic. He vas one of her good friends.”

“I realize that but I don’t like it.”

“Vould you mind sharing your reasons, Scott? Again, I don’t understand.”

“Never mind. Can’t you prepare something for me instead? Speak on my behalf. I trust you.”

“Nein, zat vould not be vise, Scott.”

“Why not?”

“It vould not be right. I vas not zat close to Jean.”

“So? Clergy are often asked to eulogize people they don’t know well.”

“Zis is different,” Kurt pointed out gently. “Storm, Lorna, and Jean’s parents vant to ensure zings are done in accordance vit vat she vould vant. Delivering zee eulogy is part of zat. It makes zee process of saying goodbye personal and provides a context for Jean’s memory ozer zan her loss.”

Scott scowled. “You have no idea what kind of nightmare life has been,” he told the former priest-in-training bitterly. “I’ve lost my wife and the future we were preparing for together.”

Kurt nodded silently, feeling rather humbled. Although his existence had been fraught with obstacles in gaining acceptance, losing someone close to him was one experience he was fortunate enough to have avoided so far. “You are right,” he finally said, his voice teetering on the edge of sounding meek. “I don’t understand but vat you are doing, mein freund, it is not helping you.”

“And what exactly am I doing that’s not ‘helping’ me?” Scott asked pointedly, cheeks flushed pink with simmering anger. His shoulders were hunched as if he were preparing himself for a confrontation.

Reading the nonverbal cues, Kurt was not about to become the target of the grieving widower’s misplaced rage. He chose his words carefully, ensuring he conveyed them with tact. “It is just zat I am concerned about how you are dealing vit vat happened to Jean,” he replied earnestly. “I notice you are drinking and—”

Scott cut him off, ignoring the sympathy that emanated from his friend’s statement. “And therefore, that makes me the cliché drunk who drowns his sorrows? Is that what I am to you now? What would you have me do instead?”

Calmly, the German native pressed on. “Perhaps, if you talk about it—”

“Why the hell would I want to do that?” the dishevelled man sitting across from him demanded. “Will talking bring Jean back? Will talking make it easier to look Jubilee and everyone else in the eye? Will talking help me to hate myself any less? No, none of those things are going to happen and you know it.”

This time, Kurt could not help but wince at the vitriol being thrown at him. It was clear his friend was in a great deal of pain. Being the target of his verbal attack was evidence of this and possibly, a means for Scott to experience emotions other than despair. Even though the German native was empathic to this, he was still reeling.

After what seemed like eons to compose himself, Kurt said, “Again, you are right but vat zee eulogy can give you is a sense of closure—make peace vit vat happened.”

Scott balled his uninjured hand into a fist. “I don’t want any fucking closure, Kurt,” he snapped. “I just want my wife back.”

With that, Scott rose from his seat. Behind his wraparound, ruby-quartz sunglasses, the haggard-looking widower gave his friend a long, hard look. He then briskly made his way out of the Ready room, leaving an astonished and wounded Kurt staring after him.

Still affected by Scott’s jarring words, Kurt subsequently found himself ruminating over one particular point of the conversation. Specifically, he could not help but notice the hostile manner in which the other man uttered Bobby’s name. It was as if he were pronouncing something vile. In addition, upon discovering that his team mate would be speaking at the funeral service, Scott appeared to be torn between disgust and rage. The entire episode struck Kurt as rather odd. While the two men were not good friends, they had managed to forge an understanding especially in light of Bobby’s relationship with Jubilee. Had Kurt not been preoccupied by Scott’s well-being, he would have certainly conducted a more thorough investigation.

To Kurt’s surprise, this was not the only disparaging reaction associated with the boyishly handsome young man from Long Island. During one of the team meetings, he noticed Alex glaring at Bobby. As the two men were exiting the Ready room with everyone else, the younger Summers brother jostled his former romantic rival with his shoulder. Were it not for Warren quickly stepping between them, the situation would have surely escalated. When asked for an explanation for his behaviour, Alex merely responded by shooting Bobby a withering look before storming off. In fact, every time both men were in close vicinity of one another, it was the blond geophysicist who made a point to express his contempt for the former accountant primarily through scowls and thinly veiled insults. The dynamic was very unusual given that in the past, it was Bobby who was overt in his resentment towards Alex.

Apparently, Alex was not alone in his hostility towards Bobby. Paige Guthrie seemed equally incensed with him as well. Her disdain was made clear the other night as she and Kurt were waiting for the elevator car to reach Sub-Basement Level Two. They had just finished a session in the Danger Room. The rigorous simulation had been a welcomed experience, allowing for some distraction and acting as a release for pent-up feelings of frustration and grief accumulated since returning to Westchester. Just as the doors opened, Bobby was leaving one of the nearby offices with a pile of papers in his arms. He called out to them to hold the elevator as he was intending to join them. Paige, who stepped inside after Kurt, glowered at him before firmly pressing the close button. Her darkened expression remained even as the doors shut. Similar to Alex, the younger Guthrie declined to put her behaviour in context. Rather, she advised Kurt to “watch out for Bobby”.

Hoping to obtain some clarity, Kurt attempted to approach Jubilee. He was confident that the young firecracker would be able to shed some light as to what happening with her boyfriend. However, the teleporter soon discovered that the task was more difficult than anticipated. Her current duties looking after the students meant that she was almost surrounded by the children or often accompanied by Paige, who seemed reluctant to leave her side. Moreover, given Jubilee’s relationship with Jean and her presence on the night of the attack, it appeared that her willingness to engage was limited by her grief. While she was by no means mourning to the degree that Scott was, her heartbreak was just as palpable. The brilliant twinkling in those sapphire eyes were replaced by a dullness Kurt had never seen before. She appeared either preoccupied or on the verge of tears. When he was able to reach her and broach the subject, Jubilee looked anxious and demanded to know what he heard and knew. As he tried to explain his own lack of knowledge relating to Bobby, Paige intervened and firmly guided her friend away. Since then, their conversations were limited to planning activities for the students.

Still baffled, Kurt confided in Tabitha and Kitty his observations. He had been hoping to prompt them in sharing their thoughts. The two women exchanged unreadable glances before Tabitha chose to respond. The blonde wild child’s normally cheery and mischievous expression darkened. With her blue-green eyes narrowed into razor thin slits and her magenta-painted lips pursed, she launched into a diatribe about Bobby where he was compared to the rats who roamed the sewers. However, she refused to clarify as to what brought her to this conclusion. For her part, Kitty was noticeably uncomfortable and was keen to steer the conversation in another direction. When Kurt persisted in attempting to understand what evoked such a reaction, Kitty told him that she wanted no part in this discussion before taking her leave.

Left with more questions than answers, the German native was alone in his attempts to wrap his head around things. Kurt felt as if he were living in some surreal world, where normally reasonable people were engaging in uncharacteristically irrational behaviour. It was clear that the common denominator was Bobby. However, what remained elusive was why he had attracted such anger. For the most part, Bobby Drake was well-liked by nearly everyone. As one of the original students, he earned the respect of students and newer team mates by demonstrating that it was possible to attain enough control over one’s abilities to contribute to the cause. Among the teaching staff, he was known for his affable but firm approach to education. Within the context of field team assignments, he was often relied upon not only for his powers but for his honest feedback. But it was his reputation around the mansion as the resident prankster that garnered irritation, particularly from his victims. Not too long ago, observing Bobby fleeing from some offended party had been a common sight.

As far as Kurt was concerned, what was he was witnessing now was entirely different. This was outright antagonism for seemingly no reason. His concern for Bobby stemmed from their friendship. While his connection with Scott was based on values related to leadership and responsibility, it was the blithe sensibilities towards the world that bonded Bobby and Kurt together. The teleporter could always depend on his team mate for a witty remark, anecdote, or practical joke for guaranteed amusement. There were times when Kurt was on the verge of choking from laughter in response to something Bobby either did or said (notably, the time when the young man rang up a proctologist to schedule an appointment for Logan). Recently, the demonic-looking German became indoctrinated in the Drake world of practical jokes. Assisting the younger man indulged Kurt’s penchant for mischief while Bobby wryly cited Kurt’s teleporting abilities allowing for quick retreats as the primary motive.

Kurt felt especially guilty since they had not spoken since returning from their mission in Genosha. It was only recently he learned of the circumstances responsible for his friend’s departure. Additionally, preparing for the funeral services and his responsibilities around the school had left him little time to reach out. The fact that Bobby rarely ventured around the mansion outside of his room and the offices devoted to the investigative team these days also compounded matters. Aware of the strong bond between Bobby and Jean, Kurt surmised the young man from Long Island was probably in need of a comforting presence especially in light of the hostility that had been directed towards him as of late.

Fortunately, he had been able to secure some time from his hectic schedule after finishing the words of comfort he prepared for the service. After asking Tabitha to cover his drama class (a move that left him feeling ambivalent), Kurt decided to make his way to Bobby’s room. When he finally reached the mahogany door, he curled his three fingers into a fist and rapped at the door. His golden eyes widened when his skin came into contact with the wood—icy almost frozen.

Before he could mull over the peculiarities, a gruff-sounding voice asked, “Who is it?”

Curiouser and curiouser, Kurt thought, unsure which took him by more surprise—the door or Bobby’s greeting. “It’s Kurt. I vas vondering if I could speak vit you.”

There was a brief pause before Bobby acquiesced. “Come in.”

As soon as he opened the door, the demonic-looking teleporter soon realized that the eccentricities he first encountered did not prepare him for what was on the other side. His brows immediately shot upwards, nearly meeting his hairline as he gazed upon the room. The walls were completely encased in translucent ice. Just outside of the doorway leading to the private bath were a series of jagged, icy structures that ran parallel and angled closely at the top to form a sort of tunnel. In contrast to the floor which was noticeably devoid of any frost, the ceiling was peppered with icicles of various sizes. The larger ones were positioned closest to the door, forcing Kurt to duck as he ventured further inside. Shivering, the German native was wishing he had worn something warmer than his slim-fit khakis, forest-green T-shirt, navy cashmere cardigan, and maroon Converse high-top sneakers. He closed the door behind him and wrapped his wiry arms around himself. Exhaling, he could see his breath swirling before his eyes in thin wisps.

Kurt had been so mesmerised by the arctic-like environment that he nearly lost sight of Bobby. The young man was seated at the foot of his king-sized bed, dressed in one of his trademark Hawaiian shirts and a pair of khakis. In front of him was a block of ice shaped in the form of a miniature stage. Amazement coursed throughout Kurt’s entire being when he noticed there were two small crystalline figures—a man and a woman—dancing together across the platform.

“Hello, Bobby,” Kurt greeted, trying to will his teeth from chattering. He did not know if doing so would be construed as rude to his host. Still intrigued with the wintry interior, he commented, “Interesting decorating choice.”

His friend did not look up but chose to focus on the dancers in front of him. “Hey, Kurt,” he replied, holding his hand over the stage only inches above the couple. The younger man’s voice was subdued as he added, “Thanks…I guess.”

“Vat made you decide on all of this?” Kurt made a sweeping gesture to the ice-encased walls.

Bobby shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze still concentrated on the platform. “I was in the mood for a change. Plus, it keeps these guys around a little longer.”

Dropping to his haunches to inspect the figures with greater scrutiny, the former Munich circus performer was awestruck as he asked, “Are zey…alife?”

Shaking his head, his friend replied, “No, they’re just ice. I’m animating them by freezing and unfreezing adjacent molecules in rhythm.” He flexed his fingers for emphasis, causing the male figure to twirl his female counterpart around. “You see, the figures look as though they are moving, but it’s an illusion. I’m actually manipulating the series.”

“Impressive.” Kurt suddenly noticed the female ice dancer bore a striking resemblance to Jubilee. He wondered if she had seen this display. Given the conditions of the room, it was doubtful she had been here. With his fast metabolism, Kurt was struggling to maintain his composure in the face of the frigid air around him. How on earth could anyone but Bobby tolerate being in here, so close to such cold?

Bobby abruptly lowered his hand to his lap, rendering the figures motionless. “So, what can I do for you?” he inquired, grey eyes peering up at him.

The other man straightened, rising to his full height. After several days of seeing Bobby in passing, Kurt was not able to fully appreciate the extent of the physical changes that had befallen him. This version of Bobby Drake looked much older than his twenty five years. His boyishly handsome face was now haggard from weight loss, revealing sharp edges to his features. The perpetually playful expression he usually wore was replaced by one that was almost guarded. Even his eyes had changed, taking on a steely quality. The metamorphosis was similar to the one Scott had undergone but quite different. Whereas the older Summers brother seemed lost in his affective lability, Bobby was relatively Stoic. Even when Alex attacked him, the young man was composed and unflinching. At the same time, there was a sense that there was anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Initially, Kurt was inclined to attribute these changes to grief-stricken responses following a loved one’s passing. It was not out of the realm of possibilities given how close Bobby had been to Jean. However, the validity of this hypothesis began to unravel as the teleporter continued observing the younger man. Indeed, sadness radiated from Bobby, plunging the once easygoing and carefree Iceman into the endless void of darkness. But his grief seemed much more complicated than what affected Scott and the others. It seemed to go beyond losing one of his closest friends. There was also a vulnerability about Bobby, as if his entire world was crumbling around him with each passing second.

“Kurt?” Bobby’s sandy brows were raised expectantly.

Drifting back to the very chilly present, the former priest-in-training managed an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I-I vanted to talk vit you about a number of zings, including zee eulogy. Are you ready?”

Nodding, Bobby gestured towards his desk on the other side of the room. “Already done,” he told him. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “It took me a while to put together something. I guess finally getting something together makes it all the more real.”

Kurt’s demonic features arranged themselves into a sympathetic expression when Bobby grimaced. “Saying goodbye can quite hard,” he mused quietly. “But it can be of great help as vell.”

“I understand that,” his friend sighed glumly, “but it doesn’t negate what we’re all feeling.” At that moment, he appeared especially lost.

The former priest-in-training nodded in agreement. “Ja, you are right,” he said, willing his tail to stop moving frantically. Although he understood the biological process responsible, the movement seemed rather inappropriate in response to the serious nature of the discussion.

If Bobby noticed, he said nothing about it. Instead, he remarked, “I take it with Jean’s family in town, everyone’s pretty much here?”

His blue-faced friend shook his head. “Lorna said Jamie, Monet, and Guido vill be coming in from Detroit zis efening. I zink Rahne said she vill be coming tomorrow morning vit Rictor.”

All of a sudden, Bobby became irritated. “I don’t understand why all these people are attending,” he grumbled, handsome face filled with disdain. “They didn’t even know Jeannie all that well.”

Startled, Kurt’s golden eyes widened. “Zey are X-Men,” the teleporter pointed out gently. “Her loss is zee loss for eferyone. Surely, you must understand zat, mein freund.”

“And that’s another thing,” Bobby said, scowling. “The X-Men are the original five. Just because you’re a mutant, you can’t run here, put on a costume, and declare yourself as a part of the team. It’s ridiculous.” He punctuated his words with a snort.

“Oh,” Kurt said quietly, his sharp, white teeth biting at his lower lip. “I see.” It had been cumbersome to conceal his hurt feelings around Scott but somehow, Bobby’s comments seemed to push him over the edge. His intentions to speak with Bobby and provide him counsel were pushed to the back of his mind. For now, he had enough of being the target of others’ displaced frustrations. That, combined with the arctic air gripping his body, compelled the teleporter to make an exit.

Realizing his faux pas, Bobby scrambled to salvage things. “Kurt, wait…” he called out, exasperated with himself.

Unfortunately, his plea went unheard. Instead, it was met by a firm closing of the door. It was a hollow sound, sending echoes throughout the ice-encased walls of his room.

Inwardly, Long Island native cursed. The last thing he wanted to do was to offend Kurt. He was, after all, one of Bobby’s friends and as such, did not deserve to hear such derisive words. The German native simply visited under the auspices of offering his sympathy and discussing the logistics for the services only to be treated to a prejudiced tirade.

Dejected, Bobby turned his gaze to the platform in front of him. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. Great, he chided himself inwardly, there goes another person who’s added me to his s-list.

Much to his dismay, it was a familiar and increasingly frequent position for Bobby these days.

The glowering looks, the pointed whispers, the subtle and not-so subtle insults, the purportedly inadvertent shoves, and overall hostile treatment—all provided evidence of the mounting and palpable antagonism against him. For Bobby, claiming ignorance would have been either disingenuous or delusional. It was clear he was being vilified in these circles. Moreover, the level of enmity also seemed to spread among his team mates like an aggressive pathogen. Each day, there seemed to be a new addition to the I-hate-Bobby-Drake fan club .

As for those involved, he could not say he was entirely surprised. Scott, who had been wary of Bobby’s intentions from the very beginning, was especially incensed. Never did a moment pass when Scott seemed on the verge of expressing his anger via physical means only to be thwarted by his younger brother. By comparison, Alex was restrained in his outrage but made no attempt to mask it. However, the younger Summers brother declined to explain his actions to those unaware of the situation. Meanwhile, the normally affable Paige Guthrie rebuked Bobby through less overt means (the snubbing of his request at the hyperlifts) unlike Tabitha, who was more vocal of her disdain for him. The other day, the blonde wild child had taken him to task over what appeared to be a minor infraction (misspelling her name on the Danger Room list). By the time she had finished haranguing him, Bobby thought he had sprouted his first grey hair.

Despite the inherent stress associated with his status as the mansion’s pariah, Bobby did not fight back. Instead, he remained passive and allowed himself to be subjected to the contempt being dispensed by his peers. In some cases, his refusal to engage was accepted, where the other party would vent his or her frustration before moving on. Meanwhile, in other cases, his silence only served to further enrage the opposing individual. Either way, it was Bobby’s feelings of guilt and self-loathing that prevented him from responding.

Because he knew that they were right.

Because he was a bastard.

Because he had hurt Jubilee.

His grey eyes fell upon the female ice figure. He had taken great care in crafting the dancer, ensuring every last detail was captured from the delicate facial features to the lithe grace of the body and limbs. Running his fingers over the miniature’s face, Bobby found himself experiencing a familiar ache. It was the same pain that plagued every waking moment, plunging him into an inescapable chasm of despair and guilt. Even when he sought slumber, it was cruelly denied to him. His mind was the primary source of this betrayal, taunting Bobby with dreams that featured hypnotic sapphire depths and a soft voice imploring to him.

"…please don't say it's over...”

“I’ll do anything you want.”

“Just don't give up on us.”

“I love you, Bobby."

A lump formed in his throat as memories of that day washed over him. Time did nothing to lessen the severity of the heartbreak he was experiencing. Much to his chagrin, it continued to be as fresh as the moment he forced himself to end things with her. His feelings of guilt and self-loathing were further exacerbated following his return to Westchester. While the disparaging treatment at the hands of his team mates was stressful, it was nothing in comparison to the emotions evoked upon seeing Jubilee for the first time after the break-up.

It was shortly before dinner time at the mansion. Bobby had finished unpacking his things when he suddenly felt hungry. Having not eaten since leaving his parents’ home, his mouth began watering. Cook, upon hearing of Jean’s death, rushed back to the States from her native England. She arrived several hours earlier than Bobby and since then, had been furiously working in the kitchen with the rest of her staff. From what his nostrils could discern, vindaloo-spiced chicken thighs with coconut-tomato stew over basmati rice were on the menu.

Not in the mood to compete for a mad dash towards the stairs, Bobby waited for the initial rush of students to dissipate before leaving his room. As he was about to descend the spiral staircase, he saw Jubilee standing at the bottom of the steps with to a young girl with iridescent, translucent insect-like wings, and long, pink hair with black streaks. Unaware that she was being watched, Jubilee appeared to be talking in earnest with the student. She placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, a reassuring and sympathetic gesture. Although it was evident she was trying to offer comfort, there was no denying the fact that Jubilee was struggling with her own pain. There was a haunting sadness that clouded those hypnotic sapphire depths and her delicate features reflected a spirit in agony.

At first, Bobby had tried to convince himself that she was responding to Jean’s death. It had been a reasonable conclusion. They were close, reflecting more of a mother-daughter dynamic rather than a peer one. But support for this position wavered when he studied Jubilee’s lovely but anguished face in greater detail. The misery woven into her expression seemed to go beyond bereavement or the trauma relating to the attack on the mansion. No, what he had observed was much more complicated.

It was then he recognized his culpability in her despair.

It was then he recognized he could never face her.

It was then he recognized how much he despised himself.

Subsequent to that night, Bobby invested his efforts in avoiding Jubilee. He began taking his meals in his room, which annoyed Cook to no end. Whenever he had to meet with other members of the investigative unit, Bobby ensured he took the hyperlift early in the morning when none of the students roamed the halls. Training was also conducted during off hours as well. Her emails were filtered into a spam folder while her texts and voicemails were ignored. His free time (what little of it he had) was primarily spent in isolation. He had even sheathed the walls in ice, creating an arctic environment in an attempt to discourage visitors from staying too long or approaching him at all. The rationale had been to close himself off, a self-imposed exile from anyone and everyone—especially Jubilee.

But when she knocked at his door, he could feel his resolve crumbling away. While he did not possess telepathy or X-ray vision, Bobby knew it had been her on the other side of the door. Like a moth to a flame, Bobby was drawn to the barrier that separated them. He pressed his forehead against the wood, knowing this would be the closest he would allow himself to get to her. Listening to the knocks along with her favourite Wilco song, he was feeling increasingly torn. There was a part of Bobby that knew he had to keep her away. Ultimately, it was for her happiness that he had ended their relationship. To let her inside would undermine everything he had done, confusing and hurting her even more.

And yet, it was this option he had yearned to indulge in. He remembered running his hands over the door, pretending the grain in the wood represented her hair and her skin. For a brief moment, Bobby considered grabbing the brass knob and yanking the door open. He thought about taking her into his arms, burying his face in her fragrant, silky hair. His mind raced with confessions concerning his motivations for what he had done, his steadfast feelings for her, and his desire to be together once again. With such thoughts swirling around in his consciousness, Bobby’s hand began to drift towards the doorknob.

Before he could twist the handle, an image flashed before his eyes. It was of him in his ice form, lying in bed with an elderly Jubilee at his side. Stepping away from the door, Bobby closed his eyes and tried to purge it from his mind. Unfortunately, the mental picture refused to dissipate, intransigent in its presence. While he was cognizant that the image was merely from a dream, the content was enough to cause a visceral response. Grimacing, Bobby had shaken his head. He remembered why he had chosen this torturous path. There was no way he was about to allow his fears become Jubilee’s reality. He loved her too much for that. It was because of this he had to let her go—even if it meant breaking every promise made to her.

In the days that followed, Bobby willed himself to maintain his commitment. When he was unable to evade her, he made sure that he was always accompanied by another member of his team while feigning preoccupation over some task. Such tactics made passing her in the hallways easier in the sense that confrontations could be avoided. Unfortunately, it did nothing to diminish the hellish ordeal he went through each time he saw her. The torment emanating from Jubilee was palpable, searing into his soul like a sharp dagger. Despite this, Bobby remained determined to stay the course. He needed to be strong—for both of them.

His commitment to subsuming his wish to reunite with Jubilee was what ultimately forced him to hurt her once again. Looking back on the incident, Bobby was aware the pain he had inflicted. He had believed on that fateful day. To his disappointment, however, he surpassed his expectations. Reflecting on his recent actions, Bobby inferred there was a special place in Hell reserved for him.

On that particular day, he and Lorna had been discussing the details related to Jean’s funeral. As one of her closest friends, the self-proclaimed mistress of magnetism had taken on the responsibilities of organizing the service alongside Storm. Lorna had approached Bobby about putting together a short speech as he was leaving his room for time in the Danger Room. The conversation had been awkward on many levels for multiple reasons. Still reeling from the news of Jean’s death, Bobby had not been ready to even fathom saying good-bye to her. While he and his former girlfriend had been working closely together on the investigation, there was a noticeable tension between them. It was nothing like the hostility he was experiencing from Alex and the others. Rather, what existed was an awkwardness based on uncertainty as to how to respond to one another given changed circumstances. For Bobby, this stemmed from his wariness of the green-haired woman’s emotional state and her growth since the wedding that never happened. Meanwhile, for Lorna, it was observing Bobby as the mansion’s outcast and the unanswered questions surrounding this new role that made things strained.

Bobby had been listening half-heartedly to Lorna’s suggestions for the eulogy when they turned a corner, running into Jubilee and Paige. Behind his purple tinted sunglasses, his grey eyes took in the beautiful young woman in front of him. His heart twisted inside his chest when he noticed how forlorn she looked as she gazed up at him. Those old soul blue eyes reflected a despair he had vowed to prevent from every afflicting her. Just looking at her made him realize how much he cared for her and how much he hated himself.

When Jubilee asked him for a moment of his time to talk, Bobby was able to detect something else. At first, he had heard her tentativeness. However, as he mulled over her proposal further, Bobby was able to sense a tenacity that had long been associated with her.

I will fight for you. I will fight for us.

Reading these implicit statements, Bobby took the only recourse available.

He told her no.

Bobby was startled from his reveries when his phone vibrated on the nightstand. Frowning, he scooted his wiry frame towards the other end of the bed to retrieve the phone. He peered down at the screen, which alerted him to the delivery of a new text message.

From: Hank McCoy

Bobby, meet me in the Med-Lab. ASAP. Hank.

The young man’s grey eyes widened with surprise as he reread the text. This was the first form of communication between the two friends since their return to the mansion. Both had been occupied with their various duties relating to the investigation, funeral, and the school. Hank was especially busy given Annie’s resignation and sudden departure from Westchester. The single mother, who had already been wary of this world, had become fearful for her son’s safety. The attack on the school and the attempted abduction of Jean cemented things in her mind that there was no shelter from the danger. This ultimately left Hank as the sole medical staff member. Between analysing the composition of the leftover tranquilizer darts and conducting checkups of those injured, the feline-like scientist seemed to burning the candle at both ends these days. Even breaks to enjoy a Twinkie from his secret stash had been a luxury for the admitted sugar addict.

Bobby slipped the phone into his pocket. He was not naïve as to what motivated the message. Hank was the only person at the mansion who was aware of the secondary mutation. As such, he was probably concerned in regards to what Bobby’s current condition was. For Bobby, the thought of undergoing an examination was something he was not looking forward to. Everyday, he himself had scrutinized the icy patch with dwindling hopes that it would recede. Disappointment coursed throughout his entire being when he realized the exact opposite was occurring. For someone to make a similar observation might prove to be even more devastating. It would translate into any semblance of optimism being very much removed from his grasp.

As much as he wanted to compose an excuse to avoid seeing his friend, Bobby was cognizant of the fact that Hank would not be placated easily. There was too much history between him. Starting from the days as Xavier’s first students, Hank had taken on the role of the confidant and older brother figure in Bobby’s life. Over the years, he became familiar with the younger man’s quirks and nuances in behaviour in times of duress. Consequently, this made him knowledgeable as to how to respond to Bobby’s defence mechanisms. While Bobby wanted to believe he had become more sophisticated in his advanced years, he was forced to concede that Hank would continue to have the upper hand. Who knew that a man who wrote haikus dedicated to his favourite caramel macchiato would have such keen insight?

Reluctantly, Bobby made his way out of his room and headed towards the hyperlift car at the end of the hall. As the elevator doors slid closed, he braced himself for what lie ahead. Hank was a brilliant doctor. There was no doubt about that. If there was a question about mutant physiology, Hank could be relied upon for an answer. However, his friend was at an uncharacteristic loss. It was a moment that instilled fear in both men.

I guess this is one problem you can’t wrap your mind around, Bobby mused inwardly, his handsome face glum. Not that he blamed Hank for his inability to devise a strategy. Rather, it was the disappointment that overwhelmed Bobby once the two of them recognized there would be no easy solution.

To that end, Bobby was unsure why he was bothering to go to the Med-Lab in the first place. As much as he wanted to believe that Hank had suddenly come up with a remedy, the rational part of mind knew this was highly improbable. The more likely situation would entail Hank scrutinizing the icy patch, scribbling some observations, and relaying to his friend the mysterious nature of what was happening. Simply thinking about nearly provoked a scream of frustration from his lips. Then what? Then what?

He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he barged ahead once the hyperlift doors opened. This would not have been a problem had there not been someone else standing in front of the car, waiting to step in. Startled, Bobby drew back but not before the other person grabbed onto his lower arms in an effort to balance herself.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly before peering at the face of the offended party. Having recovered slightly from his gaffe, Bobby recognized her as one of the newer students, Foxx. While he had no direct interactions with her, he was aware of how certain team members felt about her—namely, Rogue and Emma. It was not often the two women shared an opinion about an issue. While neither would provide details justifying their feelings, both confided in Bobby (on separate occasions) that the girl was trouble.

Being rather close to her at the moment, Bobby could now understand why. Foxx chose to dress much more provocatively than her female peers—a black, leather motorcycle jacket over a black bandeau top and matching cropped shorts with high-heeled, black sandals. She also had a smouldering quality about her that was magnetic. Her golden eyes roved over him, as if drinking him in like a fine wine. As her fingers released their grip on his arms, she flashed him a sultry smile.

“That’s okay,” she purred, tossing her blue-green locks over a shoulder. “I’m just glad I had you to steady myself.”

Uncomfortable with the Lolita-like dynamics at play and consumed with thoughts of his impending meeting, Bobby made haste to remove himself from her path to the hyperlift. “All yours,” he told her brusquely.

Foxx licked her teal-painted lips. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Drake.”

Bobby was already halfway down the hall when the she stepped in. As he reached the Med-Lab, the young man took a deep breath. He could only hope that the visit was as short as possible. The dread was now weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Wearing a white lab coat over his uniform, Hank was sitting behind a long table when Bobby finally entered. His feline-like features were weary but managed to arrange themselves into a friendly expression. “Hello,” he greeted, pushing his black-rimmed glasses onto his wide forehead. Then his eyes flicked to his Citizen watch. “That was fast.”

“You said ASAP,” Bobby pointed out, closing the steel door firmly behind him. “I figured you weren’t messing around.” Then he cocked his head towards the exit. “I see you were busy with another patient.”

His friend nodded, closing his notebook. “Ah yes, Foxx,” he mused with some wariness. “She was the last of the students to be examined.”

Bobby interpreted his friend’s tone as reflecting the same discomfort he had experienced earlier. “Interesting kid, that one,” he commented.

“Very much so,” Hank agreed, hopping off his stool and tucking his notebook under his bulky arm. He considered sharing his own suspicions about the girl with Bobby but decided against it. Now was not the time to engage in gossip.

Instead, the mansion’s resident medical expert began walking towards the examining table nearby, gesturing for his friend to follow. His fur-covered hands pulled out the sanitary covering over the vinyl padding of the table. “Hop on,” he instructed Bobby in a calm and even voice. “I think you know the drill.”

Wordlessly, Bobby complied. His fingers shook as he unbuttoned his Hawaiian shirt. Then he held it open, revealing the ice that covered his chest. Flinching, he braced himself for the careful scrutiny that was to follow.

Hank leaned forward, slipping his glasses over his nose. He tried to conceal his surprise when he noticed that the patch was no longer isolated to Bobby’s chest. The ice now stretched over his shoulders and down his stomach, revealing his bones and internal organs. When he asked Bobby to remove his shirt altogether, Hank was further stunned to observe that the icy barrier enveloped the younger man’s upper arms and his entire back.

After he made a series of quick notes in his pad, Hank allowed Bobby to dress. “How are you feeling otherwise?” he inquired.

Bobby shrugged, grimacing. “Fine, considering…” His voice trailed off. Then he shook his head. “Everything else, including my powers, is fine. It’s just this that I can’t handle.” He gestured to his chest despondently.

His friend was able to decipher the nonverbal cues almost instantly. Hank knew Jean’s death was hitting Bobby hard especially given their relationship. He was also aware that it was not mourning the telepath that evoked such a response. After witnessing Scott’s harsh reprimand of Bobby several nights ago, Hank began to grasp how certain events were connected to one another. Initially, he had a theory but after examining Bobby, he was quite certain this theory was fact.

“Well, I’m not going to say anything that you don’t already know,” Hank told him quietly, peering down at his notes. He shook his head. “Believe when I tell you that just because we don’t have an answer right now doesn’t mean that we will never have one. I have been doing my due diligence in researching this. I’m not going to give up and you shouldn’t either, Bobby.”

The young man exhaled loudly. “I haven’t given up,” he insisted, trying to tamper the defensiveness rising in his voice. “I’ve racked my brain, trying to figure out how to change back. It’s not for a lack of focus or anything like that. Sometimes, I spend hours in my room, willing my body to do what my mind tells it to only to get nothing. Do you know how frustrating that is? To know that your own body is betraying you?”

Hank was silent for a moment, swallowing hard. For a moment, he had doubted his ears. He was hoping that Bobby was not so consumed in his own self-pity to forget about Hank’s experiences.

Immediately, Bobby recognized his faux pas. Familiar feelings of exasperation washed over him as he attempted to recover from his latest bout of foot-in-mouth. “Sorry, man,” he apologized, wishing for the millionth time that the earth would open up and swallow him whole. Of all people, Bobby should have recognized that his best friend would completely understand. Hell, Hank could have written several books on the topic.

Nodding stiffly, the feline-like scientist placed his pen in the pocket of his lab coat. “It’s okay,” he assured him quietly, “I was pretty angry too when it happened to me.”

Bobby ran his hand through his sandy hair. Then he peered over at his friend, grey eyes subdued. “It’s just that I’m scared,” he confessed in a small voice. “I don’t like losing control. After everything I’ve been able to achieve, I feel like I’m regressing and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

Hank closed his notebook and placed it on a nearby crash cart. His blue eyes were sympathetic as he said, “It’s a horrible feeling. I think it’s akin to be thrown into the ocean without knowing how to swim and praying that some unseen force will save you. The unpredictability of it all is unsettling.”

“That’s it exactly,” the young man agreed. Then he laughed bitterly. “Who knew it took a secondary mutation to reinforce our friendship? I thought our love of Cook’s strawberry pancakes alone was enough.”

“I don’t see it that way, Bobby,” Hank pointed out gently. “It’s a common thing we share but by no means does it define our friendship. Just like how the mutation—whatever it may be—should never define your identity as an individual. It happens to be a part of you; nothing more.”

Bobby’s grey eyes soaked the steel floor beneath them. “I’m having a hard time getting around to that way of thinking,” he admitted. “It seems like I’ve been struggling with a lot lately.”

With that, his friend recognized his opportunity. “Are you referring to Jubilee?” he asked.

Head snapping up, Bobby gave Hank a long, hard look. He should have not been surprised when his friend was able to connect the dots. All of the evidence, supported by their longstanding history as friends, had been laid out for him to piece things together into their logical sequence. Although the young man was slightly taken aback, there was a part of him that was relieved. At least, someone understood the intentions behind his reprehensible actions.

Finally, he said, “I still need this be kept quiet. Right now, I’m not ready to talk about it. And she…she doesn’t need to know.”

Hank’s blue, furry brows furrowed together. He hated being rendered helpless as his best friend was being treated like public enemy by their team mates. The deception and secrecy also bothered him. Hank felt as if he were forced to engage in a secret life, which was counterintuitive to how he lived. Rather, he was inclined to leave that sort of thing to the likes of Spider Man and Hannah Montana. However, in the end, Hank was aware of whom he had to pledge his allegiance to. “Doctor-patient privilege is inviolate,” he explained patiently. “However, that does not preclude me from having an opinion.”

“Which is?”

“That what you’re doing is wrong. Pushing Jubilee away now makes no sense.”

“How could you say that? I mean, after what happened with you and Trish—”

“That is completely different. When I hinted I was gay…that was because I was confused not because of any misguided attempt to protect Trish.”

“Well, I guess I was wrong. You don’t understand, Hank.”

“Then elucidate things for me,” Hank said, frowning and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “What you’ve done and how you’ve been acting lately… I don’t understand any of it. I feel as if I don’t even know you anymore.”

“I’m what time and circumstance has made me,” Bobby told his friend flatly.

His friend looked confused. “I’m not following you.”

The younger man took a deep breath before replying. “Let’s face facts, Hank. In a couple of months, I’m not going to be the same. You and I know that. I’m just doing Jubes a favour by sparing her the agony of watching me transform into a person no one can get close to. If I have to look like an ass to do it, then I’m fine with that. I’m sorry you don’t understand and don’t agree with what I’m doing but this is the only way I know how to deal with things. She deserves to be happy even if it means that I’m not part of the equation anymore.”