Fic: Frosted World
Hi there,
crazy lurker first post, with fic. No spoilers for X3.
Title: Frosted World
Author: mayachain (ms_jvh_shuh)
Rating: PG-13, probably
Disclaimer:I own a slightly disjumbled brain. My disjumbled brain believes it owns what it does with inspiration gained from other people's ideas. It admits to owning neither characters nor marvelverse, so... Movieverse characters disclaimed.
Summary: What if a second bullet had made a difference? Set mid-X2
short note - please just go with the "medical" stuff.
Frosted World
”You know all those dangerous mutants you hear about on the news?”, was as far of his “I’ll fry your asses”-speech as St John got. Before he could finish (“I’m the worst one”) and throw a fireball, the agitated policeman fired another shot. The zippo slipped out of the rebellious teenager’s hand, and with a surprised cry and a chestwound, he fell to the ground.
Frost began to form on the front porch almost immediately. As Rogue hastily crawled to the fallen young man’s side, she vaguely noticed that the temperature was dropping with a speed she had never witnessed her boyfriend accomplish before. Bobby hadn’t moved, but she heard him whisper: “You shot John.”
A thin layer of ice crawled up the bewildered policeman’s leg; he tried to fire his gun for the third time but found the trigger frozen. Panicked, he looked over at his blonde colleague and found her also struggling with a useless gun. The temperature continued to drop, and Bobby was getting up now. In a voice Rogue or indeed no-one had ever before heard this cold, he repeated, “You fucking shot John.”
Other policemen were running toward them, but the ice that had formed in the garden and was spreading out to the street was lethally slippery and impossible to cross. A rapidly forming wall of ice confined three officers to the house. Two approaching police cars skidded and crashed into each other, leaving the officers inside concussed and trapped as the frost surrounded the outsides, and still the temperature was dropping.
Rogue shivered. She had the slight advantage of having absorbed Bobby’s powers not long ago; she was not yet so chilled that she couldn’t move although the after-effect of the kiss was almost gone. Glad she had been given gloves, she took hold of Logan’s lifeless arm and used one of the extended claws to slice open St John’s shirt, hoping his higher-than-normal body heat still worked so that the freezing air would not harm him. She almost cried when he blinked at her, eyes unfocused and barely conscious. With a violently shaking hand she reached for the zippo, which miraculously proved not to be firmly attached to the ground.
“Can you burn around the bullet to stop the bleeding?”, she whispered through chattering teeth, flipping the lid open and producing a small flame. She had no idea if it would work, or if the bullet had hit his lung (although he didn’t have blood in his mouth), but she knew the fire mutant had better chances to recover from third-degree burns than from bleeding out. St John nodded at her weakly and drew the fire into his chest in a flame so thin it was almost invisible, widening the blood staining wound and with a hiss melting the hidden arteries shut. He merely gave a barely audible groan when Rogue used the tip of Logan’s thinnest claw to dig the bullet out, and thankfully lost conciousness again as Logan began to stir.
It was incredibly cold now. Through his rage, Bobby was careful not to let the air around his surviving friends become lethal, but the rest of the street had been literally transformed into an ice age area. Several birds had managed to flee the trees before they died, but the members of the Boston police squad were in serious danger of becoming ice mummies. Rogue had been too busy with St John to hear it, but while she had been tending to the wound, he had said to them, “If he dies, I will freeze your blood.” St John had heard it, it was that and the cold that had woken him up. Bobby felt the fire being manipulated behind him but contemplated turning their insides into ice anyway, and wondered whether or not to include Ronnie and his parents. It was Ronnie’s fault they had done this to John. He was dimly aware that the shock he would have felt if the policeman had shot Rogue would not have made him this angry, and wondered why, but dropped the thought when he heard the X-jet’s engines and more felt than saw Logan rise.
“That’s enough, bub, ya can stop.” Bobby pretended not to hear him and maintained the cold; the sun held power and he could not allow the world to start melting. “You’ve done enough, Iceman, now just - stop.” He nearly froze the Canadian when he felt a hand on his shoulders, but stopped the frost before it got further than the claws. “Look, bub, Jean can’t land in these conditions, and we need to get out.”
For the first time since he had gotten to his feet, Bobby took his eyes off the policeman whose eyes were nearly covered with frost and moving with a quiet hysteria that on any other day would have made Bobby defrost him in no time. He liked the landscape the way it was, it was chrystally and unmoving and entirely in his hands, but John needed medical attention. He concentrated on a clear space across the road. The jet landed on what was now three feet of snow. Logan carefully picked St John off the ground, aided by a white faced and blue lipped Rogue. A small path to the jet became rippled enough to be walked on, and the two mutants made their way across it as quickly as they could.
Bobby could feel someone besides the sun making the temperature around him rise and tried to fight it, but relented when he heard Jean’s voice in his head, “It’s okay, Bobby, it’s Ororo.” You’re safe now, his own thought-voice said, and he started to walk toward the jet. He wondered how he would ever again be able to feel safe; at the garden gate he turned around and looked at his parents, who were staring at him through a window that was sealed by ice roses. He knew he should feel sad and hurt, but all he felt was cold, unforgiving disgust. He no longer fought Storm’s warm wind that was slowly thawing the surroundings. Before he ran toward the jet, however, he frost burned two words into the ground, making sure the grass in front of his parent’s house would die so that they would be visible even when the ice had melted and the frostbitten people had thawed: YOUR FAULT.
Let me know what you think?
crazy lurker first post, with fic. No spoilers for X3.
Title: Frosted World
Author: mayachain (ms_jvh_shuh)
Rating: PG-13, probably
Disclaimer:I own a slightly disjumbled brain. My disjumbled brain believes it owns what it does with inspiration gained from other people's ideas. It admits to owning neither characters nor marvelverse, so... Movieverse characters disclaimed.
Summary: What if a second bullet had made a difference? Set mid-X2
short note - please just go with the "medical" stuff.
Frosted World
”You know all those dangerous mutants you hear about on the news?”, was as far of his “I’ll fry your asses”-speech as St John got. Before he could finish (“I’m the worst one”) and throw a fireball, the agitated policeman fired another shot. The zippo slipped out of the rebellious teenager’s hand, and with a surprised cry and a chestwound, he fell to the ground.
Frost began to form on the front porch almost immediately. As Rogue hastily crawled to the fallen young man’s side, she vaguely noticed that the temperature was dropping with a speed she had never witnessed her boyfriend accomplish before. Bobby hadn’t moved, but she heard him whisper: “You shot John.”
A thin layer of ice crawled up the bewildered policeman’s leg; he tried to fire his gun for the third time but found the trigger frozen. Panicked, he looked over at his blonde colleague and found her also struggling with a useless gun. The temperature continued to drop, and Bobby was getting up now. In a voice Rogue or indeed no-one had ever before heard this cold, he repeated, “You fucking shot John.”
Other policemen were running toward them, but the ice that had formed in the garden and was spreading out to the street was lethally slippery and impossible to cross. A rapidly forming wall of ice confined three officers to the house. Two approaching police cars skidded and crashed into each other, leaving the officers inside concussed and trapped as the frost surrounded the outsides, and still the temperature was dropping.
Rogue shivered. She had the slight advantage of having absorbed Bobby’s powers not long ago; she was not yet so chilled that she couldn’t move although the after-effect of the kiss was almost gone. Glad she had been given gloves, she took hold of Logan’s lifeless arm and used one of the extended claws to slice open St John’s shirt, hoping his higher-than-normal body heat still worked so that the freezing air would not harm him. She almost cried when he blinked at her, eyes unfocused and barely conscious. With a violently shaking hand she reached for the zippo, which miraculously proved not to be firmly attached to the ground.
“Can you burn around the bullet to stop the bleeding?”, she whispered through chattering teeth, flipping the lid open and producing a small flame. She had no idea if it would work, or if the bullet had hit his lung (although he didn’t have blood in his mouth), but she knew the fire mutant had better chances to recover from third-degree burns than from bleeding out. St John nodded at her weakly and drew the fire into his chest in a flame so thin it was almost invisible, widening the blood staining wound and with a hiss melting the hidden arteries shut. He merely gave a barely audible groan when Rogue used the tip of Logan’s thinnest claw to dig the bullet out, and thankfully lost conciousness again as Logan began to stir.
It was incredibly cold now. Through his rage, Bobby was careful not to let the air around his surviving friends become lethal, but the rest of the street had been literally transformed into an ice age area. Several birds had managed to flee the trees before they died, but the members of the Boston police squad were in serious danger of becoming ice mummies. Rogue had been too busy with St John to hear it, but while she had been tending to the wound, he had said to them, “If he dies, I will freeze your blood.” St John had heard it, it was that and the cold that had woken him up. Bobby felt the fire being manipulated behind him but contemplated turning their insides into ice anyway, and wondered whether or not to include Ronnie and his parents. It was Ronnie’s fault they had done this to John. He was dimly aware that the shock he would have felt if the policeman had shot Rogue would not have made him this angry, and wondered why, but dropped the thought when he heard the X-jet’s engines and more felt than saw Logan rise.
“That’s enough, bub, ya can stop.” Bobby pretended not to hear him and maintained the cold; the sun held power and he could not allow the world to start melting. “You’ve done enough, Iceman, now just - stop.” He nearly froze the Canadian when he felt a hand on his shoulders, but stopped the frost before it got further than the claws. “Look, bub, Jean can’t land in these conditions, and we need to get out.”
For the first time since he had gotten to his feet, Bobby took his eyes off the policeman whose eyes were nearly covered with frost and moving with a quiet hysteria that on any other day would have made Bobby defrost him in no time. He liked the landscape the way it was, it was chrystally and unmoving and entirely in his hands, but John needed medical attention. He concentrated on a clear space across the road. The jet landed on what was now three feet of snow. Logan carefully picked St John off the ground, aided by a white faced and blue lipped Rogue. A small path to the jet became rippled enough to be walked on, and the two mutants made their way across it as quickly as they could.
Bobby could feel someone besides the sun making the temperature around him rise and tried to fight it, but relented when he heard Jean’s voice in his head, “It’s okay, Bobby, it’s Ororo.” You’re safe now, his own thought-voice said, and he started to walk toward the jet. He wondered how he would ever again be able to feel safe; at the garden gate he turned around and looked at his parents, who were staring at him through a window that was sealed by ice roses. He knew he should feel sad and hurt, but all he felt was cold, unforgiving disgust. He no longer fought Storm’s warm wind that was slowly thawing the surroundings. Before he ran toward the jet, however, he frost burned two words into the ground, making sure the grass in front of his parent’s house would die so that they would be visible even when the ice had melted and the frostbitten people had thawed: YOUR FAULT.
Let me know what you think?