FDoE: From Bic to Zip, Part 1/3
TITLE: From Bic to Zip, Part 1/3
SERIES: Fundamental Difference of Experience
AUTHOR: Kuria Dalmatia
CODES: Pre-X1, Bobby/John
SUMMARY: He would later wonder what the hell had possessed him to buy John the damned thing in the first place, because the near-constant snap! click! fwoosh! would alternate between driving him nuts and being the one sound he was desperate to hear in the Mansion.
RATING: R, profanity
ARCHIVING: onomatopoetry and dry_ice.... anyone else? Let me know.
SERIES: This is the eighth story in the Fundamental Difference of Experience series. The other stories are (in order): "Inverse", "Clue-by-Four", "Drake's Pants and Total Mansion Domination", "Thirty-Three", "Café au Lait and Jelly Doughnuts", "Rules and Rituals at 3 a.m.", and "Thaw." This story can stand somewhat alone, but it helps if you read at least the last three stories. They are archived at Fundamental Differences of Experience hosted by Onomatopoetry
COMMENTS:
I checked… twice… John's Zippo in X1 was not the same as the one in X2.
For those not familiar with the American Automobile Association (or AAA), it is a national group that provides roadside assistance, travel services, and maps.
Information regarding New York state driver's permits from http://www.nydmv.state.ny.us/.
This has been difficult for a variety of reasons. An increased work schedule on my part didn't help, but neither did three different approaches to this story.
Hugs and Kisses to....
Mitchpell for insightful comments on Version 1. Your dead-on comments addressed precisely what was wrong with the story. To Laniew1 for perspective on Version 2. Despite my whining about 'why' it should be, ultimately the points that you brought up were valid. You both were absolutely, 100% correct. To Mikhale, for enduring all three versions, for the direction to get the story back on track, and for the push on those 'possible scenes' that I wouldn't trade now for the world. To Taral, for a fantastic and thorough beta read of the final version. Any mistakes that are left are mine.
Finally, to runefallstar, red_cactus, tol_morwen, and the 'non-journaling X fan' for comment regarding the John/Kitty approach (version 2). For all my rambling justifications on why I should take that arc, in the end, it just didn't work out the way I wanted it too.
After all that thanking... now, the actual story. Please, tell me that this didn't suck.
*****((( From Bic to Zip, Part 1)))*****
He would later wonder what the hell had possessed him to buy John the damned thing in the first place, because the near-constant snap! click! Fwoosh! would alternate between driving him nuts and being the one sound he was desperate to hear in the Mansion.
Yet in that moment, as Bobby passed by the display case at the BP gas station with two bottles of water and a mini-pack of Oreos, he knew he had found the perfect gift. They had exactly four days to agonize over what to get John for his birthday; the only reason they knew about it at all was because Scott had casually mentioned it the previous day.
The news had sent the four of them in a scramble, with Bobby and Jubilee arguing over who had the right to be more pissed off that John didn't trust either of them enough. It had been the whole "best friend vs. roommate" fight, but even though Bobby could have trumped Jubilee's "midnight walks in the gazebo, babe", he hadn't. What could he have shouted back? "Oh, yeah? Kitty Death Nightmare duty at 3 a.m. Hah!" That would have meant betraying John at his utmost, vulnerable moments and Bobby absolutely refused to do that.
He wasn't quite sure where he stood with John on the whole friendship thing. Sometimes, John would be reclusive and standoffish, like those first few weeks at the Mansion, yet at other times, especially late in the evenings when it was just the two of them, Bobby was able to elicit a genuine, appreciative smile out of him. It took some effort, but the grin was worth it, because at least John looked happy and at ease. Even when he said, "You're such a fucking moron, Bobby," Bobby didn't take offense; it was said good-naturedly and John now called him by his first name on a regular basis.
Bobby supposed he knew a few things about his roommate that Jubilee wouldn't know. John was kind of obsessive about their respective inventory of clothing and Bobby could swear that his roommate guarded the washers and dryers while doing laundry. The one time Bobby had ventured to question the practice, John had simply met his gaze with a steady one of his own and said tonelessly, "Habit." Bobby had looked away, embarrassed. John had then held out one of the comics he had been reading, perhaps as a peace offering.
"Robin?" Bobby had asked, reading the title as he had sat next to John. The only person in the Mansion who followed the Boy Wonder's adventures was Sam, and Sam was fanatical about who touched his comics.
"Guess Guthrie's doing research on being a sidekick," John had shrugged and gone back to reading. A few moments later, he had asked: "So, which one? Grayson, Todd, or Drake?"
And while it may have seemed inconsequential to know John's opinion on who made the best Robin, it was finally something in the realm of friendship that went beyond simply being a roommate. It went beyond Bobby knowing how to handle John's nightmares or John wordlessly handing him the bottle of Pepto Bismol those Sunday afternoons when he returned from visiting his parents. (Although he never talked about it, his mother's cooking always made him sick to his stomach.)
More important, however, had been how John's assessment of Jason Todd as Robin had given Bobby such stunning insight on his roommate. "Jason Todd absolutely sucked," John had declared, turning a page. "Noble death, my ass. I mean, his mom ditched him when he was a baby. So he finds her and she's doing the whole 'life of crime thing'. He fucking tells her he's Robin, and he actually fucking believes that she'll give all that shit up for him? He's a stupid fuck and deserved to have the shit kicked out him by the Joker."
It had been such a harsh assessment that Bobby had only nodded, only later to realize that John's sentiments probably echoed what he probably felt about his own mom. John had absolutely no inclination to find her. Whether or not Jubilee actually knew that, Bobby wasn't about to ask.
That particular train of thought brought him back to the present, in the BP station, where he was supposed to be paying for gas. He was out for his afternoon driving lesson with Scott and one of the rules had been that the students were responsible for the gas used. The Oreos were a peace offering to Scott, who hadn't completely lost his temper when Bobby had taken the graded curve too fast and too sharply. They hadn't gone off-road, but it had spooked Bobby enough for him to half-frost the windows. Scott had said stiffly, "Calm down, slow down, and pull over," and had flicked the defroster on high. At least Bobby hadn't frozen the steering wheel in place.
But the whole 'driving with Scott' made Bobby wonder what they were going to do about John. It was going to be John's sixteenth birthday after all, and one of the big things about turning sixteen was getting one's driver's license. Actually, it was a permit for the first six months before the full license was granted, and there were plenty of rules that went along with both types. Bobby remembered the ton of papers his parents had had to sign in order for him to get a permit to drive in New York state.
Just what the hell were they going to do about John? Maybe that was why he had avoided the whole birthday thing altogether: because of the Sweet Sixteen crap that went along with it. After all, Bobby had received a pewter snowflake key chain, a new wallet, and a CD of driving tunes from the students at the Mansion; Scott and Jean had even given him a pair of leather driving gloves. Warren had given him an AAA membership and a lawyer's business card, and Remy had sent him a slick pair of Ray Ban sunglasses that ended up in Jubilee's possession more often than he cared to think about.
Given that John was part of the Mansion elite (and Bobby was well aware of their places within the Mansion social hierarchy), big presents were expected for big birthdays. Special presents were expected. Significant presents, even, especially for the 'first birthday at the Mansion'.
Bobby sighed as he set the things on the counter and glanced at the case. No wonder getting a gift for John had been so difficult. They all wanted it to be something special but nothing had seemed right. They wanted it to be appropriate, but not to draw attention.
A fifteen-dollar Zippo from a gas station was perfect, but it was cheap. It screamed 'last minute', but John hadn't really given them time to come up with or to collect enough money for something good.
Slowly, he spun the four-sided display case around. Some had designs, including a Harley-Davidson, an American flag, a bald eagle, playing card suits, art deco, and a bull's eye. None of them struck him as being particularly 'John'. Sure, a Harley logo would be kind of cool, but John never expressed an interest in the bikes they worked on in Scott's shop class. John wasn't necessarily patriotic either, so the flag and eagle were out. The playing card one looked lame; Pete could design a better style than what was on that Zippo. Art deco? Nope. Bull's eye? Too cheesy.
"Bobby?" Scott called.
"Uh… sorry. Just thinking." He yanked out his wallet and pulled out his debit card. Gas plus water plus Oreos plus potential Zippo and accessories equaled an explanation to his father for the $55 expense at the gas station. It meant a nasty lecture about financial responsibility and Bobby lying. God, he hated lying, but how was he supposed to explain? 'My roommate's mutation requires a catalyst and we bought him one at the gas station?'
He felt the hand settle on his shoulder. Scott then asked, "Which one?"
Damn, maybe being around the Professor and Jean so long had caused Scott to develop his own form of telepathy? No, it was just that Scott noticed everything. Bobby only nodded toward the case. "The polished silver. It's the only one that's… well… him."
"You get the gas and the snacks," Scott said, "and I'll get this. We'll settle up later."
"Then… it's okay?" he asked, a question on two levels. The first was whether it was all right to buy the lighter in the first place since there was a rule about bringing incendiary devices on campus. Second, Bobby now had doubts that it was even an appropriate gift to give to John.
"I wouldn't have made the offer if it wasn't," came the reply, complete with a light laugh and clap on his shoulder.
Knowing he was now blushing a bit, he said quietly, "Have to get flints and fluid too. I don't think he has them."
"Probably not."
"Thanks, Scott," he said, making sure to meet his surrogate big brother's gaze. He wondered if the other kids ever bothered or if they even realized that that extra little effort sometimes meant the difference between a week's worth of additional chores and a two-minute 'think before you act' lecture.
This time, Scott flashed him a big smile. "Hey, that's what I'm here for."
*****((()))*****
St. John supposed that one day his appreciation of his roommate's near-obsessive awareness of his feelings would come back to bite him in the ass. However, following his total emotional breakdown in Scott Summers' office, St. John found that Bobby Drake in guardian mode was, oddly enough, quite comforting. Perhaps what was even more flattering was Bobby's determination to prove himself as a friend, because no guy had ever made such an effort before. His friendship with Jubilee was based on somewhat mutual experiences, his one with Pete based on mutual respect, and his one with Kitty… well… he had saved her life. The one he had with Bobby was something totally new. St. John had even discovered that sometimes, all he had to do was crack a smile and he would be rewarded with a brilliant one in return.
And those times when St. John had attempted to scare Bobby away with a detail about his past, his roommate was usually rendered speechless, but had never shied away. Sure, there was that awkward moment that followed the revelation, but St. John knew that all he had to do was offer Bobby a concession, some minute sign that it really was okay. And while the room would be close to fucking frigid and Bobby would be embarrassed for a variety of reasons, he always said the same thing - "You're my friend" - and damn if St. John didn't find himself courting those words more and more, although not at the expense of completely revealing his childhood.
That was the reason why when his roommate shuffled over to his bed at 6:30 a.m. on a Thursday morning, thirty minutes before St. John would even consider getting out of bed on a school day, he didn't verbally take Bobby's head off for waking him up.
"Look, I know it's early and everything," Bobby said as he sat down, "but… well… your birthday is tomorrow."
That caused him to open his eyes and peer at the form beside his bed. Bobby turned to look at him, apparently ready for a vicious retaliation from him from the set of his shoulders, the dilation of his blue eyes despite the furrow of his brow to keep his power in check, and the tension along his jaw line. Sometimes it was frustrating how Bobby seemed at one moment to want to be his best friend, yet a split-second later to be ready for St. John to verbally or physically assault him.
"We're the only ones who know," Bobby told him quietly, and there was so much earnestness in his voice that it was almost painful to hear. "And the Powers, of course. I swear, we haven't told anyone else because, well, you didn't tell us." And yes, there was the hint of resentment floating in there somewhere, but Bobby was doing his best to hide it.
But of course St. John hadn't told them. He was afraid they would have made a big deal about it. Fussed over him. Ensured that he finally had a 'proper' birthday because, well, they all had probably guessed he'd had shitty ones in the past. However, Scott had pulled him aside five days ago and had brought the subject up. Surprisingly, his teacher hadn't been particularly delicate about it either: "Which is worse, St. John? Your friends making an earnest attempt to celebrate your birthday how you want to, or dealing with their anger a few months down the road when they realize that you never told them? Trust works both ways."
So, whacked on the head by the clue-by-four, St. John had conceded to the conventional wisdom of Scott Summers and had told him it was okay for him to say something to his friends. He was really quite surprised it had taken Bobby this long to bring it up. Even now, there wasn't the enthusiasm that St. John had expected.
Bobby faltered now, "And well… well… we don't know what you want to do."
The last word was said with a deliberate, direct emphasis. It wasn't said with challenge, just an even stress that St. John had come to recognize as a way of conveying that they weren't trying to offend him. They were only trying to figure out a way to approach him. It had to be the whole reason Bobby was nervous and downplaying this to the best of his ability.
St. John thought about what Bobby had said. What he wanted to do. It was a mind-blowing concept for him, but at the Mansion, such requests were met with consideration. He'd witnessed student birthday celebrations before, and they ranged from a low-key acknowledgement to a full-scale party, complete with paper hats. For Sam's birthday, he'd laughed his ass off when he had seen Xavier motoring around with a silver cone on his head; Pete had had the good sense to drag him out the front door before anyone had noticed.
However, there were no questions about how his birthdays had been spent before. 'Pre-Mansion Life' vs. 'Current Mansion Life' was understood just as well as 'Accidental' vs. 'Deliberate'. Bobby didn't ask and St. John certainly didn't volunteer, but the request on what he wanted for this one still remained.
"Don't know. Didn't think about it." A lie, of course, because while being around Bobby almost twenty-four/seven made him believe a little more in the Mansion Magic, he wasn't going to set himself up. However, if Tinkerbell or Jiminy Cricket were ever to show up at the Xavier estate, he knew that he would either pass out or torch them on the spot.
"Well…" Bobby's hesitant voice broke in, "We didn't think you would want a party or anything, but Pete and I do have our driver's licenses. Well, I mean, Pete has his license and I have a permit, but you know what I mean."
"Huh?" because at 6:30 a.m., he wasn't really awake enough to make Bobby-sized leaps of logic.
"We'll have to have an adult in the car because Pete's not eighteen yet, and there's that whole citizenship thing," his roommate rambled, "and I'm technically not supposed to drive after dark or something stupid like that, but if you want to go somewhere besides here… well… we could. Just an option, you know. We went to this really cool Indian restaurant for Neal's birthday last year. I couldn't handle the spinach stuff because it looked like baby puke, but the tandoori chicken was really good. Even though Ro drove, she was really cool about it, you know?"
In the early morning light seeping through the blinds, he could see Bobby's slightly fogged breath. Oh, his roommate was anxious, but the control he was exerting was impressive.
St. John thought about what had been said. The collective 'we' probably meant Lee-Lee wasn't sure how to handle it either and it had fallen to Bobby to find out. In their new approach in dealing with him, they usually sent Bobby to ask awkward questions because Bobby was there at oh-god-awful in the morning when St. John wasn't awake enough to be especially vicious. Or maybe Pete and Lee-Lee had figured out there were certain points he would concede if the request was made by Bobby.
Curious, St. John asked, "What do you think I would want?"
Bobby focused on him, slight surprise in his eyes. "Maybe a little something from the Powers. But from us? Not much. Something really quiet. If we made a big deal about it or sang to you during dinner, you'd probably make that flaming chicken of yours and fly it around the room."
"It's a phoenix, damn it," he said idly, with a yawn. It dawned on him that it was the first time they'd ever joked about that particular incident. Of course, Bobby would opt for humor in a tense situation. "And chickens don't fly."
There was a pause then a low exhale as if Bobby was surprised he'd gotten away with the light dig. His roommate shrugged. "Um… you know about the birthday cards, right?"
"Huh?" At 6:30 a.m., he really wasn't ready for a discussion of Mansion weirdness.
"Cards underneath the door, first thing in the morning on your birthday. Mansion tradition," and from the way Bobby rushed the words 'Mansion tradition', St. John knew that it was more like a Drake Family tradition that had been incorporated into the Mansion Collective. After all, he knew that the Guthrie tradition included picking the movie on the night of one's birthday and the Sharra tradition included a favorite meal, and both of those were now part of the 'Mansion tradition'. But now his roommate was blushing hard, his head tilted down, ready for the verbal attack.
Fuck. He was going to have to break Bobby of that habit eventually, but not right now. Instead, St. John said, "Yeah." It was yet another thing Scott had casually explained, although he hadn't included the part about it being something Bobby had contributed to the Collective. However, Bobby's involvement was the only reason why he didn't make a snide comment about it, but instead said, "I know about it."
"Oh."
"But no one's waiting on the other side, are they? So you get cards, but no other shit when you open the door. No silly string or hats or singing shit, right?"
"Of course not!" his roommate sighed with exasperation. "We're mutants, you idiot! You think anyone is stupid enough to spook someone like that in the morning?"
He snorted. In the early morning hours, he'd somehow forgotten. Jubilee sparked. Jamie duplicated. Neal could set the hallway on fire. And no one really wanted to think just what Dani was capable of. St. John rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Something quiet, then. Like you said." He pulled the covers back over his head. "You all know me."
The scariest thing was that he knew they did.
*****((()))*****
"Well, while someone was out playing with his crank shaft," Jubilee snapped as the sparks danced from the tips of her fingers, "the rest of us were trying to come up with a decent gift and how to get it here on time."
They had exactly thirty minutes to confer while John had his weekly meeting with the Professor. Gathered in Pete's room, and the bickering between Bobby and Jubilee had erupted from almost the moment the door had closed. The other three where still without a solid idea for a gift; they had wanted something special yet low key, and definitely not generic. The problem was that all the ideas were typical birthday gifts.
CDs? John downloaded his own music nowadays. DVDs? The Mansion's film library was quite extensive and even included imported anime and kung-fu flicks. Video/computer games? John would play them, but never really expressed an interest in them. Clothing? That certainly sucked as a birthday gift because it was a gift parents and grandparents gave. Nothing could be car-related because even if it was John's sixteenth birthday, there was no guarantee he was going to get his permit.
Bobby lifted his chin, hurt by Jubilee's 'crank shaft' comment because a) it wasn't his fault that he still had two more lessons to complete before he 'graduated' the Driver's Ed class and b) she would make an obvious masturbation reference in front of Kitty. A quick glance to Kitty revealed that either she missed the snipe all together or she'd gotten to the point where she could handle cracks like that without blushing. Bobby wasn't sure.
Yet now, facing down an obviously angry Jubilee, a part of him didn't want to share since it was technically his gift, damn it. He knew for an absolute fact that John would smile upon opening the box and he selfishly wanted that attention all to himself. He'd worked his ass off trying to win John's trust and… well….
"I thought you were his roommate," Jubilee taunted.
He knew that she was merely directing her anger at him because he was a convenient target. (At least that was the usual explanation from Jean and the Professor.) He knew that she was goading him deliberately, because when she was angry, she loved to argue. It didn't stop Bobby's own temper from flaring; he yanked out the box with the clear plastic lid from his back pocket.
"I am, chica," he shot back and then held the Zippo up where she could see. Her jaw dropped open. He smirked. "Bow to the superior wisdom of the Ice God, babe."
She reached out and fingered the edge of the box and damn, if he didn't feel like he was holding the Holy Grail. "Where the hell did you get it?"
"The BP. Had to pay for gas, you know." He glanced over and saw Kitty's and Pete's respective awed stares. They both moved off of the bed and approached. "The lighter was fifteen total." He wasn't about to tell them about the accessories unless they specifically asked. "I guess that makes it about three and a quarter each. Scott actually paid for it, so it's okay and everything."
"Oh, Bobby…." Kitty said as she touched the box as well. "It's awesome. It's so totally… John."
Jubilee, at least, had the grace to blush. Not only did he score the perfect gift, he had gotten The Powers That Be approval on it. "Damn, Bobby."
"You all in?" he asked, although he knew that none of them would turn down the opportunity. For once, he held the power.
"Da," Pete said as he clasped Bobby on the shoulder. "Good job, Frosty."
*****((( End Part 1)))*****
SERIES: Fundamental Difference of Experience
AUTHOR: Kuria Dalmatia
CODES: Pre-X1, Bobby/John
SUMMARY: He would later wonder what the hell had possessed him to buy John the damned thing in the first place, because the near-constant snap! click! fwoosh! would alternate between driving him nuts and being the one sound he was desperate to hear in the Mansion.
RATING: R, profanity
ARCHIVING: onomatopoetry and dry_ice.... anyone else? Let me know.
SERIES: This is the eighth story in the Fundamental Difference of Experience series. The other stories are (in order): "Inverse", "Clue-by-Four", "Drake's Pants and Total Mansion Domination", "Thirty-Three", "Café au Lait and Jelly Doughnuts", "Rules and Rituals at 3 a.m.", and "Thaw." This story can stand somewhat alone, but it helps if you read at least the last three stories. They are archived at Fundamental Differences of Experience hosted by Onomatopoetry
COMMENTS:
I checked… twice… John's Zippo in X1 was not the same as the one in X2.
For those not familiar with the American Automobile Association (or AAA), it is a national group that provides roadside assistance, travel services, and maps.
Information regarding New York state driver's permits from http://www.nydmv.state.ny.us/.
This has been difficult for a variety of reasons. An increased work schedule on my part didn't help, but neither did three different approaches to this story.
Hugs and Kisses to....
Mitchpell for insightful comments on Version 1. Your dead-on comments addressed precisely what was wrong with the story. To Laniew1 for perspective on Version 2. Despite my whining about 'why' it should be, ultimately the points that you brought up were valid. You both were absolutely, 100% correct. To Mikhale, for enduring all three versions, for the direction to get the story back on track, and for the push on those 'possible scenes' that I wouldn't trade now for the world. To Taral, for a fantastic and thorough beta read of the final version. Any mistakes that are left are mine.
Finally, to runefallstar, red_cactus, tol_morwen, and the 'non-journaling X fan' for comment regarding the John/Kitty approach (version 2). For all my rambling justifications on why I should take that arc, in the end, it just didn't work out the way I wanted it too.
After all that thanking... now, the actual story. Please, tell me that this didn't suck.
*****((( From Bic to Zip, Part 1)))*****
He would later wonder what the hell had possessed him to buy John the damned thing in the first place, because the near-constant snap! click! Fwoosh! would alternate between driving him nuts and being the one sound he was desperate to hear in the Mansion.
Yet in that moment, as Bobby passed by the display case at the BP gas station with two bottles of water and a mini-pack of Oreos, he knew he had found the perfect gift. They had exactly four days to agonize over what to get John for his birthday; the only reason they knew about it at all was because Scott had casually mentioned it the previous day.
The news had sent the four of them in a scramble, with Bobby and Jubilee arguing over who had the right to be more pissed off that John didn't trust either of them enough. It had been the whole "best friend vs. roommate" fight, but even though Bobby could have trumped Jubilee's "midnight walks in the gazebo, babe", he hadn't. What could he have shouted back? "Oh, yeah? Kitty Death Nightmare duty at 3 a.m. Hah!" That would have meant betraying John at his utmost, vulnerable moments and Bobby absolutely refused to do that.
He wasn't quite sure where he stood with John on the whole friendship thing. Sometimes, John would be reclusive and standoffish, like those first few weeks at the Mansion, yet at other times, especially late in the evenings when it was just the two of them, Bobby was able to elicit a genuine, appreciative smile out of him. It took some effort, but the grin was worth it, because at least John looked happy and at ease. Even when he said, "You're such a fucking moron, Bobby," Bobby didn't take offense; it was said good-naturedly and John now called him by his first name on a regular basis.
Bobby supposed he knew a few things about his roommate that Jubilee wouldn't know. John was kind of obsessive about their respective inventory of clothing and Bobby could swear that his roommate guarded the washers and dryers while doing laundry. The one time Bobby had ventured to question the practice, John had simply met his gaze with a steady one of his own and said tonelessly, "Habit." Bobby had looked away, embarrassed. John had then held out one of the comics he had been reading, perhaps as a peace offering.
"Robin?" Bobby had asked, reading the title as he had sat next to John. The only person in the Mansion who followed the Boy Wonder's adventures was Sam, and Sam was fanatical about who touched his comics.
"Guess Guthrie's doing research on being a sidekick," John had shrugged and gone back to reading. A few moments later, he had asked: "So, which one? Grayson, Todd, or Drake?"
And while it may have seemed inconsequential to know John's opinion on who made the best Robin, it was finally something in the realm of friendship that went beyond simply being a roommate. It went beyond Bobby knowing how to handle John's nightmares or John wordlessly handing him the bottle of Pepto Bismol those Sunday afternoons when he returned from visiting his parents. (Although he never talked about it, his mother's cooking always made him sick to his stomach.)
More important, however, had been how John's assessment of Jason Todd as Robin had given Bobby such stunning insight on his roommate. "Jason Todd absolutely sucked," John had declared, turning a page. "Noble death, my ass. I mean, his mom ditched him when he was a baby. So he finds her and she's doing the whole 'life of crime thing'. He fucking tells her he's Robin, and he actually fucking believes that she'll give all that shit up for him? He's a stupid fuck and deserved to have the shit kicked out him by the Joker."
It had been such a harsh assessment that Bobby had only nodded, only later to realize that John's sentiments probably echoed what he probably felt about his own mom. John had absolutely no inclination to find her. Whether or not Jubilee actually knew that, Bobby wasn't about to ask.
That particular train of thought brought him back to the present, in the BP station, where he was supposed to be paying for gas. He was out for his afternoon driving lesson with Scott and one of the rules had been that the students were responsible for the gas used. The Oreos were a peace offering to Scott, who hadn't completely lost his temper when Bobby had taken the graded curve too fast and too sharply. They hadn't gone off-road, but it had spooked Bobby enough for him to half-frost the windows. Scott had said stiffly, "Calm down, slow down, and pull over," and had flicked the defroster on high. At least Bobby hadn't frozen the steering wheel in place.
But the whole 'driving with Scott' made Bobby wonder what they were going to do about John. It was going to be John's sixteenth birthday after all, and one of the big things about turning sixteen was getting one's driver's license. Actually, it was a permit for the first six months before the full license was granted, and there were plenty of rules that went along with both types. Bobby remembered the ton of papers his parents had had to sign in order for him to get a permit to drive in New York state.
Just what the hell were they going to do about John? Maybe that was why he had avoided the whole birthday thing altogether: because of the Sweet Sixteen crap that went along with it. After all, Bobby had received a pewter snowflake key chain, a new wallet, and a CD of driving tunes from the students at the Mansion; Scott and Jean had even given him a pair of leather driving gloves. Warren had given him an AAA membership and a lawyer's business card, and Remy had sent him a slick pair of Ray Ban sunglasses that ended up in Jubilee's possession more often than he cared to think about.
Given that John was part of the Mansion elite (and Bobby was well aware of their places within the Mansion social hierarchy), big presents were expected for big birthdays. Special presents were expected. Significant presents, even, especially for the 'first birthday at the Mansion'.
Bobby sighed as he set the things on the counter and glanced at the case. No wonder getting a gift for John had been so difficult. They all wanted it to be something special but nothing had seemed right. They wanted it to be appropriate, but not to draw attention.
A fifteen-dollar Zippo from a gas station was perfect, but it was cheap. It screamed 'last minute', but John hadn't really given them time to come up with or to collect enough money for something good.
Slowly, he spun the four-sided display case around. Some had designs, including a Harley-Davidson, an American flag, a bald eagle, playing card suits, art deco, and a bull's eye. None of them struck him as being particularly 'John'. Sure, a Harley logo would be kind of cool, but John never expressed an interest in the bikes they worked on in Scott's shop class. John wasn't necessarily patriotic either, so the flag and eagle were out. The playing card one looked lame; Pete could design a better style than what was on that Zippo. Art deco? Nope. Bull's eye? Too cheesy.
"Bobby?" Scott called.
"Uh… sorry. Just thinking." He yanked out his wallet and pulled out his debit card. Gas plus water plus Oreos plus potential Zippo and accessories equaled an explanation to his father for the $55 expense at the gas station. It meant a nasty lecture about financial responsibility and Bobby lying. God, he hated lying, but how was he supposed to explain? 'My roommate's mutation requires a catalyst and we bought him one at the gas station?'
He felt the hand settle on his shoulder. Scott then asked, "Which one?"
Damn, maybe being around the Professor and Jean so long had caused Scott to develop his own form of telepathy? No, it was just that Scott noticed everything. Bobby only nodded toward the case. "The polished silver. It's the only one that's… well… him."
"You get the gas and the snacks," Scott said, "and I'll get this. We'll settle up later."
"Then… it's okay?" he asked, a question on two levels. The first was whether it was all right to buy the lighter in the first place since there was a rule about bringing incendiary devices on campus. Second, Bobby now had doubts that it was even an appropriate gift to give to John.
"I wouldn't have made the offer if it wasn't," came the reply, complete with a light laugh and clap on his shoulder.
Knowing he was now blushing a bit, he said quietly, "Have to get flints and fluid too. I don't think he has them."
"Probably not."
"Thanks, Scott," he said, making sure to meet his surrogate big brother's gaze. He wondered if the other kids ever bothered or if they even realized that that extra little effort sometimes meant the difference between a week's worth of additional chores and a two-minute 'think before you act' lecture.
This time, Scott flashed him a big smile. "Hey, that's what I'm here for."
*****((()))*****
St. John supposed that one day his appreciation of his roommate's near-obsessive awareness of his feelings would come back to bite him in the ass. However, following his total emotional breakdown in Scott Summers' office, St. John found that Bobby Drake in guardian mode was, oddly enough, quite comforting. Perhaps what was even more flattering was Bobby's determination to prove himself as a friend, because no guy had ever made such an effort before. His friendship with Jubilee was based on somewhat mutual experiences, his one with Pete based on mutual respect, and his one with Kitty… well… he had saved her life. The one he had with Bobby was something totally new. St. John had even discovered that sometimes, all he had to do was crack a smile and he would be rewarded with a brilliant one in return.
And those times when St. John had attempted to scare Bobby away with a detail about his past, his roommate was usually rendered speechless, but had never shied away. Sure, there was that awkward moment that followed the revelation, but St. John knew that all he had to do was offer Bobby a concession, some minute sign that it really was okay. And while the room would be close to fucking frigid and Bobby would be embarrassed for a variety of reasons, he always said the same thing - "You're my friend" - and damn if St. John didn't find himself courting those words more and more, although not at the expense of completely revealing his childhood.
That was the reason why when his roommate shuffled over to his bed at 6:30 a.m. on a Thursday morning, thirty minutes before St. John would even consider getting out of bed on a school day, he didn't verbally take Bobby's head off for waking him up.
"Look, I know it's early and everything," Bobby said as he sat down, "but… well… your birthday is tomorrow."
That caused him to open his eyes and peer at the form beside his bed. Bobby turned to look at him, apparently ready for a vicious retaliation from him from the set of his shoulders, the dilation of his blue eyes despite the furrow of his brow to keep his power in check, and the tension along his jaw line. Sometimes it was frustrating how Bobby seemed at one moment to want to be his best friend, yet a split-second later to be ready for St. John to verbally or physically assault him.
"We're the only ones who know," Bobby told him quietly, and there was so much earnestness in his voice that it was almost painful to hear. "And the Powers, of course. I swear, we haven't told anyone else because, well, you didn't tell us." And yes, there was the hint of resentment floating in there somewhere, but Bobby was doing his best to hide it.
But of course St. John hadn't told them. He was afraid they would have made a big deal about it. Fussed over him. Ensured that he finally had a 'proper' birthday because, well, they all had probably guessed he'd had shitty ones in the past. However, Scott had pulled him aside five days ago and had brought the subject up. Surprisingly, his teacher hadn't been particularly delicate about it either: "Which is worse, St. John? Your friends making an earnest attempt to celebrate your birthday how you want to, or dealing with their anger a few months down the road when they realize that you never told them? Trust works both ways."
So, whacked on the head by the clue-by-four, St. John had conceded to the conventional wisdom of Scott Summers and had told him it was okay for him to say something to his friends. He was really quite surprised it had taken Bobby this long to bring it up. Even now, there wasn't the enthusiasm that St. John had expected.
Bobby faltered now, "And well… well… we don't know what you want to do."
The last word was said with a deliberate, direct emphasis. It wasn't said with challenge, just an even stress that St. John had come to recognize as a way of conveying that they weren't trying to offend him. They were only trying to figure out a way to approach him. It had to be the whole reason Bobby was nervous and downplaying this to the best of his ability.
St. John thought about what Bobby had said. What he wanted to do. It was a mind-blowing concept for him, but at the Mansion, such requests were met with consideration. He'd witnessed student birthday celebrations before, and they ranged from a low-key acknowledgement to a full-scale party, complete with paper hats. For Sam's birthday, he'd laughed his ass off when he had seen Xavier motoring around with a silver cone on his head; Pete had had the good sense to drag him out the front door before anyone had noticed.
However, there were no questions about how his birthdays had been spent before. 'Pre-Mansion Life' vs. 'Current Mansion Life' was understood just as well as 'Accidental' vs. 'Deliberate'. Bobby didn't ask and St. John certainly didn't volunteer, but the request on what he wanted for this one still remained.
"Don't know. Didn't think about it." A lie, of course, because while being around Bobby almost twenty-four/seven made him believe a little more in the Mansion Magic, he wasn't going to set himself up. However, if Tinkerbell or Jiminy Cricket were ever to show up at the Xavier estate, he knew that he would either pass out or torch them on the spot.
"Well…" Bobby's hesitant voice broke in, "We didn't think you would want a party or anything, but Pete and I do have our driver's licenses. Well, I mean, Pete has his license and I have a permit, but you know what I mean."
"Huh?" because at 6:30 a.m., he wasn't really awake enough to make Bobby-sized leaps of logic.
"We'll have to have an adult in the car because Pete's not eighteen yet, and there's that whole citizenship thing," his roommate rambled, "and I'm technically not supposed to drive after dark or something stupid like that, but if you want to go somewhere besides here… well… we could. Just an option, you know. We went to this really cool Indian restaurant for Neal's birthday last year. I couldn't handle the spinach stuff because it looked like baby puke, but the tandoori chicken was really good. Even though Ro drove, she was really cool about it, you know?"
In the early morning light seeping through the blinds, he could see Bobby's slightly fogged breath. Oh, his roommate was anxious, but the control he was exerting was impressive.
St. John thought about what had been said. The collective 'we' probably meant Lee-Lee wasn't sure how to handle it either and it had fallen to Bobby to find out. In their new approach in dealing with him, they usually sent Bobby to ask awkward questions because Bobby was there at oh-god-awful in the morning when St. John wasn't awake enough to be especially vicious. Or maybe Pete and Lee-Lee had figured out there were certain points he would concede if the request was made by Bobby.
Curious, St. John asked, "What do you think I would want?"
Bobby focused on him, slight surprise in his eyes. "Maybe a little something from the Powers. But from us? Not much. Something really quiet. If we made a big deal about it or sang to you during dinner, you'd probably make that flaming chicken of yours and fly it around the room."
"It's a phoenix, damn it," he said idly, with a yawn. It dawned on him that it was the first time they'd ever joked about that particular incident. Of course, Bobby would opt for humor in a tense situation. "And chickens don't fly."
There was a pause then a low exhale as if Bobby was surprised he'd gotten away with the light dig. His roommate shrugged. "Um… you know about the birthday cards, right?"
"Huh?" At 6:30 a.m., he really wasn't ready for a discussion of Mansion weirdness.
"Cards underneath the door, first thing in the morning on your birthday. Mansion tradition," and from the way Bobby rushed the words 'Mansion tradition', St. John knew that it was more like a Drake Family tradition that had been incorporated into the Mansion Collective. After all, he knew that the Guthrie tradition included picking the movie on the night of one's birthday and the Sharra tradition included a favorite meal, and both of those were now part of the 'Mansion tradition'. But now his roommate was blushing hard, his head tilted down, ready for the verbal attack.
Fuck. He was going to have to break Bobby of that habit eventually, but not right now. Instead, St. John said, "Yeah." It was yet another thing Scott had casually explained, although he hadn't included the part about it being something Bobby had contributed to the Collective. However, Bobby's involvement was the only reason why he didn't make a snide comment about it, but instead said, "I know about it."
"Oh."
"But no one's waiting on the other side, are they? So you get cards, but no other shit when you open the door. No silly string or hats or singing shit, right?"
"Of course not!" his roommate sighed with exasperation. "We're mutants, you idiot! You think anyone is stupid enough to spook someone like that in the morning?"
He snorted. In the early morning hours, he'd somehow forgotten. Jubilee sparked. Jamie duplicated. Neal could set the hallway on fire. And no one really wanted to think just what Dani was capable of. St. John rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Something quiet, then. Like you said." He pulled the covers back over his head. "You all know me."
The scariest thing was that he knew they did.
*****((()))*****
"Well, while someone was out playing with his crank shaft," Jubilee snapped as the sparks danced from the tips of her fingers, "the rest of us were trying to come up with a decent gift and how to get it here on time."
They had exactly thirty minutes to confer while John had his weekly meeting with the Professor. Gathered in Pete's room, and the bickering between Bobby and Jubilee had erupted from almost the moment the door had closed. The other three where still without a solid idea for a gift; they had wanted something special yet low key, and definitely not generic. The problem was that all the ideas were typical birthday gifts.
CDs? John downloaded his own music nowadays. DVDs? The Mansion's film library was quite extensive and even included imported anime and kung-fu flicks. Video/computer games? John would play them, but never really expressed an interest in them. Clothing? That certainly sucked as a birthday gift because it was a gift parents and grandparents gave. Nothing could be car-related because even if it was John's sixteenth birthday, there was no guarantee he was going to get his permit.
Bobby lifted his chin, hurt by Jubilee's 'crank shaft' comment because a) it wasn't his fault that he still had two more lessons to complete before he 'graduated' the Driver's Ed class and b) she would make an obvious masturbation reference in front of Kitty. A quick glance to Kitty revealed that either she missed the snipe all together or she'd gotten to the point where she could handle cracks like that without blushing. Bobby wasn't sure.
Yet now, facing down an obviously angry Jubilee, a part of him didn't want to share since it was technically his gift, damn it. He knew for an absolute fact that John would smile upon opening the box and he selfishly wanted that attention all to himself. He'd worked his ass off trying to win John's trust and… well….
"I thought you were his roommate," Jubilee taunted.
He knew that she was merely directing her anger at him because he was a convenient target. (At least that was the usual explanation from Jean and the Professor.) He knew that she was goading him deliberately, because when she was angry, she loved to argue. It didn't stop Bobby's own temper from flaring; he yanked out the box with the clear plastic lid from his back pocket.
"I am, chica," he shot back and then held the Zippo up where she could see. Her jaw dropped open. He smirked. "Bow to the superior wisdom of the Ice God, babe."
She reached out and fingered the edge of the box and damn, if he didn't feel like he was holding the Holy Grail. "Where the hell did you get it?"
"The BP. Had to pay for gas, you know." He glanced over and saw Kitty's and Pete's respective awed stares. They both moved off of the bed and approached. "The lighter was fifteen total." He wasn't about to tell them about the accessories unless they specifically asked. "I guess that makes it about three and a quarter each. Scott actually paid for it, so it's okay and everything."
"Oh, Bobby…." Kitty said as she touched the box as well. "It's awesome. It's so totally… John."
Jubilee, at least, had the grace to blush. Not only did he score the perfect gift, he had gotten The Powers That Be approval on it. "Damn, Bobby."
"You all in?" he asked, although he knew that none of them would turn down the opportunity. For once, he held the power.
"Da," Pete said as he clasped Bobby on the shoulder. "Good job, Frosty."
*****((( End Part 1)))*****