fanfic: "Do Over" by Eliyes
Title: Do Over
Word count: 2592
Warnings: not!death fic
Author's notes bitching: Ironically, considering the title and premise, I rewrote this one several times. (You can see deleted scenes from one version here.) I'm still not entirely satisfied, but I know I can't do better, so here it is. Please don't ask for a continuation. I've had about five in the works since March and God alone knows if I'll ever be able to make one work the way I want.
Summary: What if you could go back and do one thing differently? What would the consequences be?
Over the course of his life, Bobby Drake made many friends: humans and mutants, yes, and lavamen, aliens, androids. He befriended sorcerers and demons, Valkyries and demigods, and was known to more than one cosmic entity beyond the true comprehension of mortals. Despite all this, he never once thought that when he died he might have any other afterlife than the ones his parents had him learn of as a child. And sure, he'd known people who came back from death, but there was no reason to think it would happen to him (and in some cases, he really wouldn't have wanted it to).
He was surprised, then, when in the moment of his dying something quite peculiar occurred. Between one instant and the next, between the inhalation of his last breath and his final exhalation, everything...
...Stopped.
Pain. Movement. Sound. All seemed to pause, and yet he remained aware.
His awareness included an entity he didn't think had been there before. He recognised it, and it spoke to him, offering him a final gift: the chance to choose one thing in his life to do differently. The terms were specific. His choice must be something he was actually present for, require no knowledge beyond that first action, and require only himself to act differently. He would not remember the way his life had originally unfolded from that point, and the entity could not tell him the consequences of any particular chance he might choose to make.
As one can imagine, Bobby asked questions, voiced concerns about timelines and alternate realities, even tried to trick the entity into revealing if it, in turn, was deceiving him. Then he spent a timeless eternity contemplating the events of his life and what he might have done differently. Everyone has regrets, but for all that he had at times doubted himself, Bobby Drake had lived a hero. In the end, he chose a moment, an action, which might prevent many deaths if he could do just one thing.
If he wondered how many times he had died and been offered this chance, how many lives he'd lived already, he wisely did not ask.
Bobby Drake was a man who often operated by instinct, moved impulses, gut feelings, and emotions that overruled reason. He was barely in his teens when Charles Xavier had begun the work of honing those instincts for battle, training into him reactions, tactics, and reflexes that sank into the flesh and bones of a growing youth. Those instincts had served him well in the years since, so he did not even question the sudden hunch that drove him to move, to change direction and pour on speed.
There! Suddenly he saw a movement that prompted an answer in him. He slammed into Wolverine from the side like a living avalanche. If Kitty had not phased, she would have been raked by those wicked claws and bowled over. Bobby felt her gasp as he went right through her. Wolverine snarled at him, low, and sank his claws into Bobby instead.
He felt the impact as Wolverine's fist hit his chest, the adamantium blades that passed through a lung and exited his back, the heat in them from their sheaths in Wolverine's arm leeching quickly into the ice of Bobby's body. That ice crawled up Wolverine's hand, who bellowed with rage when he tried to pull away and found he could not.
Wolverine drew back his other arm, but Bobby surged forward before he could cut himself free. He enveloped him, growing over him. Someone screamed his name, and that was the last thing Bobby knew before his entire awareness narrowed to focus solely on keeping Wolverine contained.
How long he struggled against his prisoner, holding him immobile and freezing him enough to keep his healing factor busy, he couldn't tell. Wolverine's flesh would heal, but his clothes and the things hidden in them froze and shattered. It was torment for Wolverine and dangerously taxing for Bobby, but he kept at it until Emma linked Scott's mind to his and Scott ordered him to stop.
For one frightening moment, Bobby couldn't remember how to return from prison to man, but instinct again saved him. He collapsed onto the ground, gasping. Something warm touched his chest, right where he'd been stabbed, and his eyes flew open. Hank's furry face smiled down at him, worried. Behind him Scott and Thor loomed. There was something odd about that, but he wasn't sure what. Anyway, there was something more pressing.
"Is -- Northstar -- okay?" he managed, voice nearly inaudible.
"Yes," Hank assured him.
Bobby passed out.
Every now and again, Bobby came to for just long enough to note he was in what he called the Ice Tray -- the special device meant to keep him cold and hydrated when he was injured. Hank had made it once Bobby had gone full-ice, full-time, and made sure there was a way to communicate with the outside built into it. Each time he woke, he fell asleep again before he could think of something to say.
At one point, he blinked his eyes open and immediately felt Emma in his mind. She updated him on what he'd missed; apparently both the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. had arrived while he had held Wolverine. Professor Xavier was now collaborating with S.H.I.E.L.D. to try to reverse the brainwashing and find out who put it there. She congratulated him on holding out long enough for them to negotiate being involved in the process, and then told him to sleep.
He slept. He dreamt, a little, strange dreams that combined disjointed images with incongruous bits of knowledge. The next time he woke, he felt restless and anxious, but he was still too drained to stay awake for more than a few minutes.
Finally Hank let him out. Bobby yawned his way through the examination procedure, and even cracked a joke about his weight/volume. When all the tests were done, Hank hugged him fiercely.
"Bravely done," he said, stroking one big paw over Bobby's shoulder blade. "You scared the living daylights out of us, though."
"Sorry," Bobby mumbled, face pressed into the lapel Hank's lab coat. He clung for a bit, knowing that his friend's silky fur would act as insulation. However, even Hank felt the cold from Bobby's icy presence eventually. He gave Bobby a squeeze before letting go.
"Do you feel up to visitors? I'd like to put you back in there a bit longer, but you've had people dropping by for a day and a half, and they'd do terrible things to me if I didn't ask." Hank winked. "Especially since I've had my turn."
They set him up with a bed and a television in the infirmary. He got about ten minutes into some weird British 70's police drama before people started showing up to see him. Kitty was first, sporting a thick sweater and a head cold. She waved off his apologies for the later.
"Hey, you saved the day. I'll phase through another hot bath or two and I'll be fine."
Scott dropped by and gave him a more detailed idea of what had happened and was happening now. Rogue looked like she might want to scold him, but settled for an exasperated eye roll. Kurt fetched him the book he was reading from his room. Three separate people gave him the latest sports scores. Kids dropped by now and then, most shy, although his Excelsiors mobbed him, gifting him with a funny get well card, a stuffed polar bear who he decided to name Tiberius, and a big fake flower. Hank stuck his head in periodically, but Bobby always said he was fine.
The weirdest visit was Lorna. She refilled the water pitcher, then sat down next to his bed.
"So," she said without any preamble, "you and Jean-Paul are pretty good friends now, huh?"
He blinked at her, perplexed. "Uh. Not really."
"Really? That surprises me." Lorna doing fake surprise was something Bobby was familiar with, and he wondered what was up. She leaned forward and told him, in conspiratorial tones, "You know, the only thing you said before they loaded you into your private freezer here was to ask if he was okay."
Suddenly, a vague memory of that bloomed into full recall in Bobby's mind. It had been important -- urgent, even -- that he be sure Northstar had survived unscathed.
"Logan could have got him," Bobby said, somehow keeping his horror at the possibility out of his voice. Mostly.
"Logan could have gotten Kitty," Lorna pointed out.
"Kitty phased."
The look she gave him was both assessing and somehow sympathetic. Bobby didn't understand the reason for it.
"Northstar's hyperfast, Bobby. He could have gotten out of the way."
He stared at her for a long, dumbfounded moment.
"...I didn't think of that," he finally admitted. Lorna made a 'hm' noise and patted his knee before leaving. The whole strange exchange couldn't have taken more than a half-dozen minutes, but suddenly he lost the fight against exhaustion. The next time Hank checked in on him, he was asleep.
He woke up back in the Ice Tray, drifting up from a dream about his Grandmother Cass, who had died when he was five or six. He remembered her mostly as a woman in photographs, one whose cookie recipes his mother and aunts guarded like dragons. He didn't think he'd ever dreamt about her before. Other than a frustrating craving for sweets he could no longer eat, he felt much better.
It wasn't long before he was free again.
"That should do it," Hank told him, "but I want you to stick around for a bit longer so I can be sure."
Warren visited for a while, and then Sam. After that he fell asleep watching a Mel Brooks movie.
When he next woke, it was dark. He opened his eyes just enough to confirm this, and would have closed them again if a faint noise hadn't caught his attention. Turning his head slightly, he discovered Northstar sitting next to his bed, holding the stuffed bear in both hands and apparently communing with it. He watched him stare at the tiny, furry face for a while, not yet totally awake.
Finally, Northstar straightened his posture, inhaling deeply. He turned to place the toy back on the bedside table.
"Hey," Bobby said.
Northstar went still with one hand hovering over the bear, his torso twisted. The only things that moved were his eyes, which shot to Bobby's face. He even seemed to stop breathing.
"Nice of you to drop by." One good thing about being made of ice was not having to deal with just-woke-up scratchy voice (or morning breath, for that matter).
They stared at each other for another moment, and then Northstar stood up.
"I should let you get your rest --"
"Sit. You woke me up, you have to keep me entertained for at least ten minutes. Those are the rules."
Northstar arched one eyebrow, saying, "I don't recall seeing that posted at the door," but he sat.
"Really? I was sure it was right there, along with 'No Smoking'."
Northstar just hummed, clasping his hands in front of him and gazing at them much like he had the bear. Bobby took the opportunity to scoot himself up into a sitting position.
"So," he began, once he had his pillows had more-or-less how he wanted them. "How are you holding up?"
"How am I holding up?!" Northstar looked at him like he was crazy. "You are the one who was injured!"
"And you're the one whose friend went on a psycho murder spree. So, yeah: how are you holding up? You must be worried." Bobby watched with concern as his visitor's arm blurred in front of his face, the result being very ruffled hair.
"Logan is tough. He has dealt with things like this before, and moved past it." He gave a shaky little laugh. "Honestly, I am more concerned with you."
"Aww, that's sweet!" Bobby teased. Evidently this was the wrong thing to say, since it earned him a fierce glare.
"You were stabbed through the chest! I was sure you would die!" Northstar slumped back in his chair. "I never wish to see such a thing again."
"Hey, it was no fun for me, either! But, you know, it's not the first time it's happened, and it probably won't be the last."
"How can you be so -- so --" Unable to find the word, he uttered something Bobby assumed was a swear word and got up to pace. Trying to watch him hurt Bobby's eyes, so he closed them.
"Flip?"
"What?"
"Did you mean 'how can you be so flip'?"
"I -- yes, something like that."
"Siddown, you're making me dizzy."
"You aren't even looking," Northstar scoffed, but Bobby heard the squeak of the chair legs on the floor. He opened his eyes. Northstar still looked pretty agitated.
"Look," he sighed, "it's laugh or cry, and I can't actually cry these days. Trust me, I annoy myself sometimes, but it's just... what I do."
"I know." Once again the stuffed bear was plucked from its place on the table. "But you must excuse me if I cannot find it in me to laugh over this just yet."
Bobby reached out and lightly wrapped his fingers around Northstar's wrist, causing the other man to still, then slowly raise his face to meet Bobby's gaze.
"I get it," Bobby told him. "I do. I've been to way too many funerals because of this life. Yeah, Jean and Warren came back, but Angelo didn't. Candy and Rusty didn't. Most people don't, so you can't assume -- it's always hard." He gave a little laugh. "Do you know how many times I've thought about quitting because of it? I have quit. But it's too late now."
"I don't want to go to your funeral," Northstar told him with a peculiar, quiet intensity.
"So I won't invite you," Bobby replied lightly.
"It's not that simple!"
"I know. But I'm not dead yet, and I'll thank you to stop wishing me into the ground. I lived. So did you. This is cause for celebration, don't you think? Although I suppose it wasn't nearly as much of a close call for you. You would have got out of the way."
Northstar shook his head.
"My speed is useless when I am too -- too horrified to make myself move."
Bobby stared at him, mouth opening slightly.
"You -- I -- You mean I did save your life?"
The look Northstar gave him was puzzled.
"There was ever any doubt?"
"Well, yeah! I mean, I thought --" Bobby swiped a hand over his face, laughing. "Good!" He dropped his head back against the pillows. "Yes, okay, that makes sense to me now. Hey." He lifted his head again and waved a hand. "I guess it was my turn."
Northstar frowned at him.
"It doesn't seem fair that no matter which of us saves the other, I still have to see you almost die."
Bobby blinked. The way it had been phrased seemed to flip a switch. For a moment this epiphany left him unable to do more than stare at Northstar, who seemed to be concentrating fiercely on Tiberius.
"Oh, my God," he said finally. Northstar looked up, and then reared back with wide eyes.
"Do you--" Bobby began, but it was too late. This time the hyperspeed worked just fine, and Bobby was alone.
Sometimes late at night I see his face
In my dream I take to flight and take his place
The man I'm missing is gently kissing my brow
He's breaking icicles, breaking icicles now
"Breaking Icicles" by Sue Merchant
Cross-posted from my journal, and also to speedsicle.
Word count: 2592
Warnings: not!death fic
Author's notes bitching: Ironically, considering the title and premise, I rewrote this one several times. (You can see deleted scenes from one version here.) I'm still not entirely satisfied, but I know I can't do better, so here it is. Please don't ask for a continuation. I've had about five in the works since March and God alone knows if I'll ever be able to make one work the way I want.
Summary: What if you could go back and do one thing differently? What would the consequences be?
Over the course of his life, Bobby Drake made many friends: humans and mutants, yes, and lavamen, aliens, androids. He befriended sorcerers and demons, Valkyries and demigods, and was known to more than one cosmic entity beyond the true comprehension of mortals. Despite all this, he never once thought that when he died he might have any other afterlife than the ones his parents had him learn of as a child. And sure, he'd known people who came back from death, but there was no reason to think it would happen to him (and in some cases, he really wouldn't have wanted it to).
He was surprised, then, when in the moment of his dying something quite peculiar occurred. Between one instant and the next, between the inhalation of his last breath and his final exhalation, everything...
...Stopped.
Pain. Movement. Sound. All seemed to pause, and yet he remained aware.
His awareness included an entity he didn't think had been there before. He recognised it, and it spoke to him, offering him a final gift: the chance to choose one thing in his life to do differently. The terms were specific. His choice must be something he was actually present for, require no knowledge beyond that first action, and require only himself to act differently. He would not remember the way his life had originally unfolded from that point, and the entity could not tell him the consequences of any particular chance he might choose to make.
As one can imagine, Bobby asked questions, voiced concerns about timelines and alternate realities, even tried to trick the entity into revealing if it, in turn, was deceiving him. Then he spent a timeless eternity contemplating the events of his life and what he might have done differently. Everyone has regrets, but for all that he had at times doubted himself, Bobby Drake had lived a hero. In the end, he chose a moment, an action, which might prevent many deaths if he could do just one thing.
If he wondered how many times he had died and been offered this chance, how many lives he'd lived already, he wisely did not ask.
Bobby Drake was a man who often operated by instinct, moved impulses, gut feelings, and emotions that overruled reason. He was barely in his teens when Charles Xavier had begun the work of honing those instincts for battle, training into him reactions, tactics, and reflexes that sank into the flesh and bones of a growing youth. Those instincts had served him well in the years since, so he did not even question the sudden hunch that drove him to move, to change direction and pour on speed.
There! Suddenly he saw a movement that prompted an answer in him. He slammed into Wolverine from the side like a living avalanche. If Kitty had not phased, she would have been raked by those wicked claws and bowled over. Bobby felt her gasp as he went right through her. Wolverine snarled at him, low, and sank his claws into Bobby instead.
He felt the impact as Wolverine's fist hit his chest, the adamantium blades that passed through a lung and exited his back, the heat in them from their sheaths in Wolverine's arm leeching quickly into the ice of Bobby's body. That ice crawled up Wolverine's hand, who bellowed with rage when he tried to pull away and found he could not.
Wolverine drew back his other arm, but Bobby surged forward before he could cut himself free. He enveloped him, growing over him. Someone screamed his name, and that was the last thing Bobby knew before his entire awareness narrowed to focus solely on keeping Wolverine contained.
How long he struggled against his prisoner, holding him immobile and freezing him enough to keep his healing factor busy, he couldn't tell. Wolverine's flesh would heal, but his clothes and the things hidden in them froze and shattered. It was torment for Wolverine and dangerously taxing for Bobby, but he kept at it until Emma linked Scott's mind to his and Scott ordered him to stop.
For one frightening moment, Bobby couldn't remember how to return from prison to man, but instinct again saved him. He collapsed onto the ground, gasping. Something warm touched his chest, right where he'd been stabbed, and his eyes flew open. Hank's furry face smiled down at him, worried. Behind him Scott and Thor loomed. There was something odd about that, but he wasn't sure what. Anyway, there was something more pressing.
"Is -- Northstar -- okay?" he managed, voice nearly inaudible.
"Yes," Hank assured him.
Bobby passed out.
Every now and again, Bobby came to for just long enough to note he was in what he called the Ice Tray -- the special device meant to keep him cold and hydrated when he was injured. Hank had made it once Bobby had gone full-ice, full-time, and made sure there was a way to communicate with the outside built into it. Each time he woke, he fell asleep again before he could think of something to say.
At one point, he blinked his eyes open and immediately felt Emma in his mind. She updated him on what he'd missed; apparently both the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. had arrived while he had held Wolverine. Professor Xavier was now collaborating with S.H.I.E.L.D. to try to reverse the brainwashing and find out who put it there. She congratulated him on holding out long enough for them to negotiate being involved in the process, and then told him to sleep.
He slept. He dreamt, a little, strange dreams that combined disjointed images with incongruous bits of knowledge. The next time he woke, he felt restless and anxious, but he was still too drained to stay awake for more than a few minutes.
Finally Hank let him out. Bobby yawned his way through the examination procedure, and even cracked a joke about his weight/volume. When all the tests were done, Hank hugged him fiercely.
"Bravely done," he said, stroking one big paw over Bobby's shoulder blade. "You scared the living daylights out of us, though."
"Sorry," Bobby mumbled, face pressed into the lapel Hank's lab coat. He clung for a bit, knowing that his friend's silky fur would act as insulation. However, even Hank felt the cold from Bobby's icy presence eventually. He gave Bobby a squeeze before letting go.
"Do you feel up to visitors? I'd like to put you back in there a bit longer, but you've had people dropping by for a day and a half, and they'd do terrible things to me if I didn't ask." Hank winked. "Especially since I've had my turn."
They set him up with a bed and a television in the infirmary. He got about ten minutes into some weird British 70's police drama before people started showing up to see him. Kitty was first, sporting a thick sweater and a head cold. She waved off his apologies for the later.
"Hey, you saved the day. I'll phase through another hot bath or two and I'll be fine."
Scott dropped by and gave him a more detailed idea of what had happened and was happening now. Rogue looked like she might want to scold him, but settled for an exasperated eye roll. Kurt fetched him the book he was reading from his room. Three separate people gave him the latest sports scores. Kids dropped by now and then, most shy, although his Excelsiors mobbed him, gifting him with a funny get well card, a stuffed polar bear who he decided to name Tiberius, and a big fake flower. Hank stuck his head in periodically, but Bobby always said he was fine.
The weirdest visit was Lorna. She refilled the water pitcher, then sat down next to his bed.
"So," she said without any preamble, "you and Jean-Paul are pretty good friends now, huh?"
He blinked at her, perplexed. "Uh. Not really."
"Really? That surprises me." Lorna doing fake surprise was something Bobby was familiar with, and he wondered what was up. She leaned forward and told him, in conspiratorial tones, "You know, the only thing you said before they loaded you into your private freezer here was to ask if he was okay."
Suddenly, a vague memory of that bloomed into full recall in Bobby's mind. It had been important -- urgent, even -- that he be sure Northstar had survived unscathed.
"Logan could have got him," Bobby said, somehow keeping his horror at the possibility out of his voice. Mostly.
"Logan could have gotten Kitty," Lorna pointed out.
"Kitty phased."
The look she gave him was both assessing and somehow sympathetic. Bobby didn't understand the reason for it.
"Northstar's hyperfast, Bobby. He could have gotten out of the way."
He stared at her for a long, dumbfounded moment.
"...I didn't think of that," he finally admitted. Lorna made a 'hm' noise and patted his knee before leaving. The whole strange exchange couldn't have taken more than a half-dozen minutes, but suddenly he lost the fight against exhaustion. The next time Hank checked in on him, he was asleep.
He woke up back in the Ice Tray, drifting up from a dream about his Grandmother Cass, who had died when he was five or six. He remembered her mostly as a woman in photographs, one whose cookie recipes his mother and aunts guarded like dragons. He didn't think he'd ever dreamt about her before. Other than a frustrating craving for sweets he could no longer eat, he felt much better.
It wasn't long before he was free again.
"That should do it," Hank told him, "but I want you to stick around for a bit longer so I can be sure."
Warren visited for a while, and then Sam. After that he fell asleep watching a Mel Brooks movie.
When he next woke, it was dark. He opened his eyes just enough to confirm this, and would have closed them again if a faint noise hadn't caught his attention. Turning his head slightly, he discovered Northstar sitting next to his bed, holding the stuffed bear in both hands and apparently communing with it. He watched him stare at the tiny, furry face for a while, not yet totally awake.
Finally, Northstar straightened his posture, inhaling deeply. He turned to place the toy back on the bedside table.
"Hey," Bobby said.
Northstar went still with one hand hovering over the bear, his torso twisted. The only things that moved were his eyes, which shot to Bobby's face. He even seemed to stop breathing.
"Nice of you to drop by." One good thing about being made of ice was not having to deal with just-woke-up scratchy voice (or morning breath, for that matter).
They stared at each other for another moment, and then Northstar stood up.
"I should let you get your rest --"
"Sit. You woke me up, you have to keep me entertained for at least ten minutes. Those are the rules."
Northstar arched one eyebrow, saying, "I don't recall seeing that posted at the door," but he sat.
"Really? I was sure it was right there, along with 'No Smoking'."
Northstar just hummed, clasping his hands in front of him and gazing at them much like he had the bear. Bobby took the opportunity to scoot himself up into a sitting position.
"So," he began, once he had his pillows had more-or-less how he wanted them. "How are you holding up?"
"How am I holding up?!" Northstar looked at him like he was crazy. "You are the one who was injured!"
"And you're the one whose friend went on a psycho murder spree. So, yeah: how are you holding up? You must be worried." Bobby watched with concern as his visitor's arm blurred in front of his face, the result being very ruffled hair.
"Logan is tough. He has dealt with things like this before, and moved past it." He gave a shaky little laugh. "Honestly, I am more concerned with you."
"Aww, that's sweet!" Bobby teased. Evidently this was the wrong thing to say, since it earned him a fierce glare.
"You were stabbed through the chest! I was sure you would die!" Northstar slumped back in his chair. "I never wish to see such a thing again."
"Hey, it was no fun for me, either! But, you know, it's not the first time it's happened, and it probably won't be the last."
"How can you be so -- so --" Unable to find the word, he uttered something Bobby assumed was a swear word and got up to pace. Trying to watch him hurt Bobby's eyes, so he closed them.
"Flip?"
"What?"
"Did you mean 'how can you be so flip'?"
"I -- yes, something like that."
"Siddown, you're making me dizzy."
"You aren't even looking," Northstar scoffed, but Bobby heard the squeak of the chair legs on the floor. He opened his eyes. Northstar still looked pretty agitated.
"Look," he sighed, "it's laugh or cry, and I can't actually cry these days. Trust me, I annoy myself sometimes, but it's just... what I do."
"I know." Once again the stuffed bear was plucked from its place on the table. "But you must excuse me if I cannot find it in me to laugh over this just yet."
Bobby reached out and lightly wrapped his fingers around Northstar's wrist, causing the other man to still, then slowly raise his face to meet Bobby's gaze.
"I get it," Bobby told him. "I do. I've been to way too many funerals because of this life. Yeah, Jean and Warren came back, but Angelo didn't. Candy and Rusty didn't. Most people don't, so you can't assume -- it's always hard." He gave a little laugh. "Do you know how many times I've thought about quitting because of it? I have quit. But it's too late now."
"I don't want to go to your funeral," Northstar told him with a peculiar, quiet intensity.
"So I won't invite you," Bobby replied lightly.
"It's not that simple!"
"I know. But I'm not dead yet, and I'll thank you to stop wishing me into the ground. I lived. So did you. This is cause for celebration, don't you think? Although I suppose it wasn't nearly as much of a close call for you. You would have got out of the way."
Northstar shook his head.
"My speed is useless when I am too -- too horrified to make myself move."
Bobby stared at him, mouth opening slightly.
"You -- I -- You mean I did save your life?"
The look Northstar gave him was puzzled.
"There was ever any doubt?"
"Well, yeah! I mean, I thought --" Bobby swiped a hand over his face, laughing. "Good!" He dropped his head back against the pillows. "Yes, okay, that makes sense to me now. Hey." He lifted his head again and waved a hand. "I guess it was my turn."
Northstar frowned at him.
"It doesn't seem fair that no matter which of us saves the other, I still have to see you almost die."
Bobby blinked. The way it had been phrased seemed to flip a switch. For a moment this epiphany left him unable to do more than stare at Northstar, who seemed to be concentrating fiercely on Tiberius.
"Oh, my God," he said finally. Northstar looked up, and then reared back with wide eyes.
"Do you--" Bobby began, but it was too late. This time the hyperspeed worked just fine, and Bobby was alone.
Sometimes late at night I see his face
In my dream I take to flight and take his place
The man I'm missing is gently kissing my brow
He's breaking icicles, breaking icicles now
"Breaking Icicles" by Sue Merchant
Cross-posted from my journal, and also to speedsicle.