Fic: Rebuilding Burned Bridges (Part 2/9)
Title: Rebuilding Burned Bridges (Part 2/9)
Author: ms_jvh_shuh
Pairing: Bobby/St John
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Years after the events of Alkali Lake and Alcatraz, St John finds that you cannot burn all your bridges without rebuilding some.
The consuming of water, sandwiches and news.
Note: Lots and lots of thank yous to inootz for looking everything over for me!
Part 1
Rebuilding Burned Bridges
There's a short silence, then the shuffling of feet, and a few seconds later St John (Pyro, he thinks, for all the other knows, he's Pyro) stands face to face to Bobby Drake.
Blue eyes widen in shock, then harden in the most irritating mixture of apprehension and concern. St John knows there are streaks of soot on his face that he hasn't bothered to wipe away. His clothes smell of smoke, and Iceman doesn't have to be an active X-Man to instantly know where (or whereabouts) he's been. But his hands, now, are free of lighters, matches or contraptions, and there's a very distinctive flicker in the blue eyes as they take that in. The two young men stare at each other, neither of them moving.
After a few moments, Bobby has recovered enough to remember they are not alone. "Guys," he says very quietly, "d'you think you can pull off the rest without me?" White-faced, he barely seems to notice the other students' surprised confirmation, murmurs "take the disk, all my notes are on it" as they gather their things and "ping me" to a tall guy with a streak of red in his blond hair when his study partners shuffle past him, shooting curious and slightly confused looks in St John's direction. Bobby moves slightly out of the way to let them pass, but he never takes his eyes off St John.
Once the others have disappeared down the hallway, Bobby takes a step back, allowing St John to enter the room. Only after he has closed the door and bolted it shut against the sudden arrival of friends or neighbors does he turn away, pours a glass of water and passes it on. Feeling the other's piercing blue eyes search his face, St John takes a sip and vaguely thinks that it's been ages or 247 weeks since anyone got the chill absolutely right. When he notices that the overheated feeling he's had all afternoon is gone, he realizes Bobby also has lowered the temperature inside the room.
Bobby wordlessly hands him one of the sandwiches left on the small kitchen counter and turns to clear off the plates and half-filled cups of coffee his study-group left behind on the sofa. Without needing to be asked he points toward a narrow door, and when St John comes out of the tiny bathroom again, the sofa's been cleared. They eat the sandwiches in absolute silence.
*
When Bobby emerges from his second coffee-induced trip to the bathroom, St John has slunk further down on the couch and turned on the news. For a fleeting moment, all apprehension in face of the pyrokinetic's sudden arrival is gone and Bobby feels simply annoyed because he usually doesn't touch his television set before nine and now he's missed the beginning. Then he catches
"…by the mutant terrorist organization known as the Brotherhood"
and sinks down next to St John, watching the screen with trepidation. An elderly news reporter drones on, but Bobby is listening with Iceman's background knowledge now, and he only needs a few sentences to dismiss the man as talkative but uninformed. He tunes out the raspy voice, draws his knees up to his chin and focuses on what the cameras are actually showing.
A hospital, scorched and demolished, stacked with bodies of scientists, doctors, nurses and patients.
Corridors filled with smoke so thick the walls must still be smoldering.
Rooms no longer recognizable as laboratories.
A nursery, full of little children.
A paramedic stating something about only four infants suffering from light smoke poisoning, the twenty-five the only survivors found inside the building, taken care of now and none in danger of permanent damage.
A barely legible placard, displaying the words "negative" and "X-gene testing".
And on the floor, the wall and the ceiling, left there by a blue-hot fire that never reached the human children, something Bobby's mesmerized brain can only describe as a thin, pitch-black, ugly burn mark of doom.
The image remains frozen on Bobby's mind as the news report goes on and on. Next to him, other than appearing to pay attention in a somewhat detached fashion, St John's expression is impenetrable, showing no reaction.
*
Eventually, the reporters move on to whatever else has happened this Tuesday. St John reaches for the remote and turns the tiny television off. For long ten (seven? five?) minutes, they just sit on the sofa, neither of them moving. The shrill ring of a phone comes as a shock, and Bobby jumps, recognizing the piercing no-nonsense tune he chose to indicate urgent X-Men business.
St John pretends not to watch as Bobby talks to the enemy's leader, although there's no real need to keep up the act with Bobby pacing behind the couch, his back to him.
"I saw."
"Who else? Get real."
"Yes, but are you aware what that means, 'Ro?"
"Five years. I couldn't possibly say where he'd be moving."
"That's what you have your contacts for."
"No. A direct order. It must have been."
"You planning on going after them?"
"No, it doesn't change the terms. If you really can't spare me, I'll come in, but if things escalate, 24/7 needs me here."
"Thanks. I'll stay here, then."
"You too. Tell Kits I love her."
There is utter and complete silence once Bobby hangs up the phone. For a few moments, Bobby remains a living statue in the middle of the room. St John still debates whether or not to sneak a glance when Bobby suddenly moves to a cupboard to retrieve a tightly-packed sleeping bag and tosses it at his unexpected overnight companion. The clock next to the TV shows barely half past seven, but Bobby still goes to brush his teeth without a second glance at his guest while John is still staring at the insignia-less bag with a slightly dumbfounded expression.
Five minutes later, they're in their respective beds - in John's case, the couch - and the mutant terrorist fugitive feels something he's entirely too worn out to feel when he realizes that Robert Drake hasn't graced him with a single word, but has left one very small and dim bedside lamp switched on.
*
Part 3
Author: ms_jvh_shuh
Pairing: Bobby/St John
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Years after the events of Alkali Lake and Alcatraz, St John finds that you cannot burn all your bridges without rebuilding some.
The consuming of water, sandwiches and news.
Note: Lots and lots of thank yous to inootz for looking everything over for me!
Part 1
Rebuilding Burned Bridges
There's a short silence, then the shuffling of feet, and a few seconds later St John (Pyro, he thinks, for all the other knows, he's Pyro) stands face to face to Bobby Drake.
Blue eyes widen in shock, then harden in the most irritating mixture of apprehension and concern. St John knows there are streaks of soot on his face that he hasn't bothered to wipe away. His clothes smell of smoke, and Iceman doesn't have to be an active X-Man to instantly know where (or whereabouts) he's been. But his hands, now, are free of lighters, matches or contraptions, and there's a very distinctive flicker in the blue eyes as they take that in. The two young men stare at each other, neither of them moving.
After a few moments, Bobby has recovered enough to remember they are not alone. "Guys," he says very quietly, "d'you think you can pull off the rest without me?" White-faced, he barely seems to notice the other students' surprised confirmation, murmurs "take the disk, all my notes are on it" as they gather their things and "ping me" to a tall guy with a streak of red in his blond hair when his study partners shuffle past him, shooting curious and slightly confused looks in St John's direction. Bobby moves slightly out of the way to let them pass, but he never takes his eyes off St John.
Once the others have disappeared down the hallway, Bobby takes a step back, allowing St John to enter the room. Only after he has closed the door and bolted it shut against the sudden arrival of friends or neighbors does he turn away, pours a glass of water and passes it on. Feeling the other's piercing blue eyes search his face, St John takes a sip and vaguely thinks that it's been ages or 247 weeks since anyone got the chill absolutely right. When he notices that the overheated feeling he's had all afternoon is gone, he realizes Bobby also has lowered the temperature inside the room.
Bobby wordlessly hands him one of the sandwiches left on the small kitchen counter and turns to clear off the plates and half-filled cups of coffee his study-group left behind on the sofa. Without needing to be asked he points toward a narrow door, and when St John comes out of the tiny bathroom again, the sofa's been cleared. They eat the sandwiches in absolute silence.
*
When Bobby emerges from his second coffee-induced trip to the bathroom, St John has slunk further down on the couch and turned on the news. For a fleeting moment, all apprehension in face of the pyrokinetic's sudden arrival is gone and Bobby feels simply annoyed because he usually doesn't touch his television set before nine and now he's missed the beginning. Then he catches
"…by the mutant terrorist organization known as the Brotherhood"
and sinks down next to St John, watching the screen with trepidation. An elderly news reporter drones on, but Bobby is listening with Iceman's background knowledge now, and he only needs a few sentences to dismiss the man as talkative but uninformed. He tunes out the raspy voice, draws his knees up to his chin and focuses on what the cameras are actually showing.
A hospital, scorched and demolished, stacked with bodies of scientists, doctors, nurses and patients.
Corridors filled with smoke so thick the walls must still be smoldering.
Rooms no longer recognizable as laboratories.
A nursery, full of little children.
A paramedic stating something about only four infants suffering from light smoke poisoning, the twenty-five the only survivors found inside the building, taken care of now and none in danger of permanent damage.
A barely legible placard, displaying the words "negative" and "X-gene testing".
And on the floor, the wall and the ceiling, left there by a blue-hot fire that never reached the human children, something Bobby's mesmerized brain can only describe as a thin, pitch-black, ugly burn mark of doom.
The image remains frozen on Bobby's mind as the news report goes on and on. Next to him, other than appearing to pay attention in a somewhat detached fashion, St John's expression is impenetrable, showing no reaction.
*
Eventually, the reporters move on to whatever else has happened this Tuesday. St John reaches for the remote and turns the tiny television off. For long ten (seven? five?) minutes, they just sit on the sofa, neither of them moving. The shrill ring of a phone comes as a shock, and Bobby jumps, recognizing the piercing no-nonsense tune he chose to indicate urgent X-Men business.
St John pretends not to watch as Bobby talks to the enemy's leader, although there's no real need to keep up the act with Bobby pacing behind the couch, his back to him.
"I saw."
"Who else? Get real."
"Yes, but are you aware what that means, 'Ro?"
"Five years. I couldn't possibly say where he'd be moving."
"That's what you have your contacts for."
"No. A direct order. It must have been."
"You planning on going after them?"
"No, it doesn't change the terms. If you really can't spare me, I'll come in, but if things escalate, 24/7 needs me here."
"Thanks. I'll stay here, then."
"You too. Tell Kits I love her."
There is utter and complete silence once Bobby hangs up the phone. For a few moments, Bobby remains a living statue in the middle of the room. St John still debates whether or not to sneak a glance when Bobby suddenly moves to a cupboard to retrieve a tightly-packed sleeping bag and tosses it at his unexpected overnight companion. The clock next to the TV shows barely half past seven, but Bobby still goes to brush his teeth without a second glance at his guest while John is still staring at the insignia-less bag with a slightly dumbfounded expression.
Five minutes later, they're in their respective beds - in John's case, the couch - and the mutant terrorist fugitive feels something he's entirely too worn out to feel when he realizes that Robert Drake hasn't graced him with a single word, but has left one very small and dim bedside lamp switched on.
*
Part 3