Fic: fight for it
Title: Fight For It (3/18)
Pairings: John/OMC, Bobby/Jean Paul, Bobby/John
Rating: pg
Warning: a good portion of this fic is Bobby going after John, while John is preoccupied.
Notes: this came from the soundtrack challenge. I had an idea for an omc, and knew that it would take more then 1000 words to flesh him out. I collected the lyrics from each song and made a chapter based on each one.
Fic summary: Bobby doesn't realise what he has, until someone else has it.
Chapter summary: Bobby has to move. he is Not Happy. also, he's a bit dense at the end.
lyrics: after all this time, would you ever wanna leave it? (blind, lifehouse)
Bobby is polite, but he's also a teenage boy. So although he dumps his plate and glass in the tub at the end of the table after breakfast, he's not going to help clean up. Being one of the last in the room is tantamount to offering to do the dishes, the only chore he hates. Something about the idea of touching people's leftovers and stains just sickens him. He knows he never would have lasted on the streets, like nearly half the teens here.
He's halfway to the library when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It's hard not to be a bit paranoid these days, so when he whirls around he's got his hands up and ready to shoot ice. It's only Storm though. She's already changed into black pants and a white shirt that compliments her dark skin and white hair. Bobby thinks she's beautiful, but that's the kind of thing you can say to a friend, when one's thirteen and the other's nineteen. He's seventeen now, and she's a teacher.
"I've got to ask you something." Bobby's hackles are up. Storm isn't the sort to mince words, though she's the kindest blunt person he's ever known. John is honest too, but in a much different way. For her to begin a conversation telling him she's got to ask something, instead of directly asking means something is wrong. Wrong enough that she doesn't want to ask him at all, but has to.
"What? If it's about my family, well-" he's not sure what he would have said, but it doesn't matter. She's shaking her head slightly, interrupting him.
"It's not. Bobby, I need you to room with Piotr and Sam."
He looks at her, not really understanding. She seems to be holding her breath, stuck in stasis for his response. He's got nothing of intelligence to say. "What?"
"I'm sure every student is aware that as more mutants are finding refuge here, more children are staying. I'm aware that many of the students know of the tentative plans of building another school, though problems occur in that arena for finding more suitable teachers. Bobby, you need to move your clothes and personal effects to Piotr and Sam's room. They can easily fit a third bed, you will not be pressed for space."
Bobby doesn't give a crap about space, he wants to know why. And so with an up-front attitude that comes with knowing the teachers before they were teachers he simply asks, "Why?"
"Our newest student, Rory Springfeld, needs a calming influence as he adjusts to this space."
It doesn't surprise Bobby at all, he's already figured out that Rory's one of the many that have left home due to an erratic show of power. It still doesn't explain why he has to move out of his room. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Storm. With her, less is more.
Sure enough, after a moment of silence she continues. "I feel that it would be most helpful to Rory's adjustment if he spends ample time with John."
Bobby's eyes widen, and he cannot get what she's said through his mind. It's like saying it would be helpful for a nervous chicken to spend time with a fox, or a blind person to get a job as a crossing guard. While not technically impossible, it's pure foolishness. Insanity.
Then it occurs to him that all the teachers have been out driving and piloting for hours at a time. They come home, get a good meal and a half night's sleep, and go back out on the Professor's orders. Maybe she has cracked. He doesn't really know how to approach the topic with her though. How do you ask someone if they've gone insane without sounding rude?
"Are you...?" he can't finish the question. It goes against every lesson of decorum his mom's ever taught him. He still tries to abide by her lessons, even if the last time she saw him she did let her son's best friends nearly get arrested and got his teacher murdered. Everyone's allowed a few mistakes.
"I know it seems odd to you Bobby. It does make sense, but I cannot reveal a student's confidence. I'm asking you to trust me and believe this is necessary."
He's spent four years in that same room. He knows how many wooden planks the floor is made of. He knows how many stains are on the ceiling, and can still remember how he caused every single one. "And if I don't want to move?"
"Bobby, I can understand your reluctance. However, I believe in that case I would have to ask some of the students to help me move your personal belongings."
So it's an ultimatum, regardless of how pleasant it's phrased. Move, or we'll move you. "Right then."
For the second time, she puts a hand on his shoulder. This time when he jerks away he's not stunned, only angry. If he doesn't have a choice, he doesn't have a choice. He's been in that position more then once. That doesn't mean the person denying him gets to be kind. People who utter ultimatums do not get to feel sympathy for the person they're trying to fuck over.
He grabs a basket from the laundry room on his way to his ex-bedroom. He starts tossing his hanging clothes in the basket, and if his hands are starting to burn against the freezing cold metal hangers, well, that's the way life goes. It's easy to tell the difference between his clothes and John's, not only is he bigger then John, he also has a habit of washing his clothes more frequently. As in, after one wearing, not five.
Opening the door to his new room is more difficult then he would have guessed. Turning the knob is akin to agreeing to being fucked over. Right now he doesn't care what the hell the new kid needs. Old kids should get sonority, get first dibs.
The bedroom doesn't yet have a third bed, and Bobby wants to laugh at the sheer stupidity of it all. Wants to laugh when he realises he's beginning to cause a frost on the window. Who'd have thought moving ten rooms down the hall would be that upsetting?
But it is, and making repeated trips to move all the stuff he's collected over four years is not helping. It's not a clean break. And at that piece of inner monologue he actually does laugh out loud. It's not a fucking relationship, it's just a room. Besides the different posters, it's essentially the same as his old bedroom.
Except it's not. In some completely indefinable way, it's a complete 180 from everything.
Pairings: John/OMC, Bobby/Jean Paul, Bobby/John
Rating: pg
Warning: a good portion of this fic is Bobby going after John, while John is preoccupied.
Notes: this came from the soundtrack challenge. I had an idea for an omc, and knew that it would take more then 1000 words to flesh him out. I collected the lyrics from each song and made a chapter based on each one.
Fic summary: Bobby doesn't realise what he has, until someone else has it.
Chapter summary: Bobby has to move. he is Not Happy. also, he's a bit dense at the end.
lyrics: after all this time, would you ever wanna leave it? (blind, lifehouse)
Bobby is polite, but he's also a teenage boy. So although he dumps his plate and glass in the tub at the end of the table after breakfast, he's not going to help clean up. Being one of the last in the room is tantamount to offering to do the dishes, the only chore he hates. Something about the idea of touching people's leftovers and stains just sickens him. He knows he never would have lasted on the streets, like nearly half the teens here.
He's halfway to the library when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It's hard not to be a bit paranoid these days, so when he whirls around he's got his hands up and ready to shoot ice. It's only Storm though. She's already changed into black pants and a white shirt that compliments her dark skin and white hair. Bobby thinks she's beautiful, but that's the kind of thing you can say to a friend, when one's thirteen and the other's nineteen. He's seventeen now, and she's a teacher.
"I've got to ask you something." Bobby's hackles are up. Storm isn't the sort to mince words, though she's the kindest blunt person he's ever known. John is honest too, but in a much different way. For her to begin a conversation telling him she's got to ask something, instead of directly asking means something is wrong. Wrong enough that she doesn't want to ask him at all, but has to.
"What? If it's about my family, well-" he's not sure what he would have said, but it doesn't matter. She's shaking her head slightly, interrupting him.
"It's not. Bobby, I need you to room with Piotr and Sam."
He looks at her, not really understanding. She seems to be holding her breath, stuck in stasis for his response. He's got nothing of intelligence to say. "What?"
"I'm sure every student is aware that as more mutants are finding refuge here, more children are staying. I'm aware that many of the students know of the tentative plans of building another school, though problems occur in that arena for finding more suitable teachers. Bobby, you need to move your clothes and personal effects to Piotr and Sam's room. They can easily fit a third bed, you will not be pressed for space."
Bobby doesn't give a crap about space, he wants to know why. And so with an up-front attitude that comes with knowing the teachers before they were teachers he simply asks, "Why?"
"Our newest student, Rory Springfeld, needs a calming influence as he adjusts to this space."
It doesn't surprise Bobby at all, he's already figured out that Rory's one of the many that have left home due to an erratic show of power. It still doesn't explain why he has to move out of his room. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Storm. With her, less is more.
Sure enough, after a moment of silence she continues. "I feel that it would be most helpful to Rory's adjustment if he spends ample time with John."
Bobby's eyes widen, and he cannot get what she's said through his mind. It's like saying it would be helpful for a nervous chicken to spend time with a fox, or a blind person to get a job as a crossing guard. While not technically impossible, it's pure foolishness. Insanity.
Then it occurs to him that all the teachers have been out driving and piloting for hours at a time. They come home, get a good meal and a half night's sleep, and go back out on the Professor's orders. Maybe she has cracked. He doesn't really know how to approach the topic with her though. How do you ask someone if they've gone insane without sounding rude?
"Are you...?" he can't finish the question. It goes against every lesson of decorum his mom's ever taught him. He still tries to abide by her lessons, even if the last time she saw him she did let her son's best friends nearly get arrested and got his teacher murdered. Everyone's allowed a few mistakes.
"I know it seems odd to you Bobby. It does make sense, but I cannot reveal a student's confidence. I'm asking you to trust me and believe this is necessary."
He's spent four years in that same room. He knows how many wooden planks the floor is made of. He knows how many stains are on the ceiling, and can still remember how he caused every single one. "And if I don't want to move?"
"Bobby, I can understand your reluctance. However, I believe in that case I would have to ask some of the students to help me move your personal belongings."
So it's an ultimatum, regardless of how pleasant it's phrased. Move, or we'll move you. "Right then."
For the second time, she puts a hand on his shoulder. This time when he jerks away he's not stunned, only angry. If he doesn't have a choice, he doesn't have a choice. He's been in that position more then once. That doesn't mean the person denying him gets to be kind. People who utter ultimatums do not get to feel sympathy for the person they're trying to fuck over.
He grabs a basket from the laundry room on his way to his ex-bedroom. He starts tossing his hanging clothes in the basket, and if his hands are starting to burn against the freezing cold metal hangers, well, that's the way life goes. It's easy to tell the difference between his clothes and John's, not only is he bigger then John, he also has a habit of washing his clothes more frequently. As in, after one wearing, not five.
Opening the door to his new room is more difficult then he would have guessed. Turning the knob is akin to agreeing to being fucked over. Right now he doesn't care what the hell the new kid needs. Old kids should get sonority, get first dibs.
The bedroom doesn't yet have a third bed, and Bobby wants to laugh at the sheer stupidity of it all. Wants to laugh when he realises he's beginning to cause a frost on the window. Who'd have thought moving ten rooms down the hall would be that upsetting?
But it is, and making repeated trips to move all the stuff he's collected over four years is not helping. It's not a clean break. And at that piece of inner monologue he actually does laugh out loud. It's not a fucking relationship, it's just a room. Besides the different posters, it's essentially the same as his old bedroom.
Except it's not. In some completely indefinable way, it's a complete 180 from everything.