Blood & Ice #2 Afraid
"What are you afraid of? it was a challenge, one that Bobby
Drake couldn't deny. He stood very still, torn between rage and
desire. Around them the house was quiet.
"I shouldn't have come here." Bobby said angrily. "I should
have known it's useless to argue with a killer like you."
"I have never denied what I am." the young vampire reclined
back in his bed, allowing the sheet to slip below his waist,
revealing his nakedness. Bobby jerked his eyes away, a grimace
twisting his boyish features.
"Why do you do that to me?" he demanded. "Why can't you
leave me alone?!"
"It is not something I do with thought. It is a reaction to
your own response."
"My response is disgust!" he slammed an ice-fist into the
wall and it shook.
"There is more." the vampire sat now, leaned forward. The
whiteness of his skin gleamed unnaturally in the light from the
bathroom. "I do not call to those who won't answer."
"No way, asshole. You've got some sicko reason for doing
this to me - I'm not going to let you get away with it." now
Bobby pulled back, against the closed door.
"What am I doing, Robert? I did not ask you to come here.
You came of your own free will. I do not pursue you - though I do
not find the thought distasteful. Why did you come here tonight,
Robert?"
"To make you leave me alone!" even as he said it, Bobby
Drake knew it was a weak excuse. "To - to tell you I'm not
interested!"
"I have left you alone. And you have come to me. What does
that mean, Robert? Be truthful with yourself, if no one else."
"I don't know." with a groan of despair Bobby sank to the
floor, curled around his knees, unable to think. On the bed
Mycroft leaned forward, but did not get up.
"If I wanted to I could have you now." he whispered, and the
words sent a chill down the mutant's back. "But I stay away, and
give you the choice. I have never forced anyone, Robert Drake. I
will not start with you. You must come to me."
"I can't." he could only shake his head, ashamed, shocked by
the warmth of tears dripping onto his clenched fists. "It's not
me. I'm not like that."
"Then I ask you again. Robert. Why are you here? Now? In my
bedroom, in the middle of the night. Surely we could have had
this discussion in a different venue."
"I didn't want anyone to know..." his voice trailed off and
his shoulders shook with sobs. "I don't know what I'm doing here!
It just happened!"
"Nothing 'just happens'." Mycroft sounded certain. "You are
here because you want something, Robert Drake. Confirmation or
release from your fears. It does not matter which, as long as you
are free."
"No..." Bobby whispered. Only someone like Mycroft, with
unnaturally acute hearing, could have picked it up.
"Yes, Robert Drake. Come to me. Discover the truth. I ask
you again, what are you afraid of? I will not hurt you."
"I'm afraid I don't know who I am." Bobby said, the words
torn from his soul, his pain echoing as his voice did not.
"You will find no answers on the floor." there might have
been a laugh behind the soft words. Bobby couldn't be sure. He
doubted it. No one had ever heard the vampire laugh. "It is not
such a serious thing..." there was a hesitation, as if the
vampire wanted to add something, then he continued, "...it can be
a thing of beauty."
"I don't think so." Bobby was shaking his head again.
"Come and find out." it was a tender invitation, and Bobby
was startled when he rose and actually took a step towards the
bed, then another. Seeing his hesitant approach, Mycroft lay back
again, this time holding the sheet above his waist. "There is no
need for hurry." he said softly as the man reached him and sat
gingerly on the bed beside him. "Beauty can also be found in
waiting."
"I'll chicken out if I wait any more." Bobby said, and
Mycroft reached a slender finger to brush a tear from his cheek.
"I don't want to do this." the iceman whispered as the vampire
put an arm around him and pulled him down onto the bed, to hold
him close to his cold body and touch him intimately, with
staggering skill.
"Yes, you do. Or you wouldn't be here." Mycroft punctuated
the sentence by closing his mouth over Bobby's, tongue pushing
into his unresisting mouth, forcing the bond until the man
responded with a gasp and a strangled groan of despair. <See?
It's not so bad.>
Bobby gasped again, shocked to feel him in his mind, but
then his body took over and left no doubt that it was sure of
what it wanted. Even as he came to release, harder and faster
than with any woman, tears ran freely down his face. He was
forced to admit that this was why he had come here.
And when Mycroft's fangs sank deep into his neck he relaxed,
welcoming the pain, knowing he was about to die and glad of it,
because it meant he wouldn't have to live with this knowledge of
himself for long.
But Mycroft stopped after a few gulps, bringing himself
under control, and pushed the man gently from him.
<Give me a minute...> he sent reassuringly. <Then we will
begin again>
<No more...> Bobby thought, but his body betrayed him by
leaping back to arousal when the cold hands touched him, <please,
god, no more...>
"I won't hurt you." Mycroft said again. And he didn't.
On a lower floor, soundly asleep for the first time in
weeks, Charles Xavier woke, his mind restless, not knowing why.
Worried, he did a quick mental bed check and almost shouted
aloud, he was so astonished by what he found.
"Oh, Bobby. I have failed you terribly." he moaned, and
tears came to his eyes. "I should never have let him come here.
You are too vulnerable, too hurt already. What have I done? Oh,
lord, what have I done?"
He sat in his lonely bed, tears running down his face,
feeling Bobby's desire and despair becoming one as the vampire
brought his body such tremendous pleasure that he knew the truth
about himself, long-denied.
Bobby's promise to himself, to stay away from Mycroft,
lasted almost a month. He lay in his bed, lonely and frightened,
fighting his desires, trying to banish the thoughts that tried,
again and again, to insinuate themselves into his mind.
He forced himself to the memory of Mycroft's laughter, heard
for the first time as Bobby had drug himself from his room just
before dawn, swearing he would never come back, promising to kill
the vampire if he ever touched him again, and the mockery in the
hissing voice as Mycroft had promised to leave him alone.
"I will not look at you, or speak to you. I will not call
you." he had said, and he had kept the promise, treating Bobby
much as before.
So this gnawing desire didn't come from him. Tossing,
turning, trying desperately, Bobby struggled to ignore it, to
kill it, get it out of his mind! But it wouldn't go. A part of
him had been wakened and was not willing to sleep again so
soon...God, he was even starting to hear him in his dreams!
And was it so bad? he forced the question down, but it rose
again. He had learned to live with being a mutant, this should be
a piece of cake.
It wasn't the same thing, not at all.
He hadn't chosen to be a mutant. It wasn't something he
could undo - not that he would if he could.
But - homosexual? He did have a choice about that. He had
loved women - taken pleasure in their bodies.
But it had been a pale echo of what Mycroft gave him.
He needed to talk to someone. He shuddered at the thought of
Rogue, that would be cruel. She couldn't even think about sex,
with anyone, male or female. How would she make this choice?
Joyfully, gratefully, just thrilled to be able to touch anyone.
She wouldn't understand the loathing, the self-hatred this filled
him with.
Others might...but he didn't want the team, his best friends
the boys he had grown up with, thinking of him as a fag. Even if
it never happened again, it would be there, in their minds.
It always seemed to come to this. Charles sighed and
answered his door resolutely. Bobby, looking drawn and tired,
didn't come in until invited.
It took a long time, longer than Charles could rightfully
spare, to get him to talk about it. Sensing his extreme degree of
embarrassment, he couldn't make it shorter by indicating that he
already knew what the problem was - there was no telling how the
young man might react to that. So he had to wait while Bobby beat
around several bushes, scaring up a flock of bad metaphors and
analogies, until Xavier decided he'd hinted enough for him to
venture a learned 'guess'.
Hearing it, Bobby went so pale he was almost a match for the
vampire. He stuttered an affirmative reply and seemed truly
shocked when Xavier told him to explore his feelings and come to
terms with them. Perhaps, the professor suggested, he was one of
those rare individuals who wasn't aware of his true orientation
until it was presented to him - like not knowing what you want
for Christmas until you get it. Or, somewhat less likely, it
could be that he actually was capable of sexual attraction to
both men and women. There were certainly people like that.
Even more likely, this was just a direct result of exposure
to Mycroft, who had left no doubt as to his abilities in this
area.
Xavier's advice? Deal with it.
"But don't let him use you. Don't let him hurt you."
Bobby had left Xavier's room more confused than ever.
Seeking relief from his confusion, he went to Mycroft's
room, just to...talk.
Naturally, the redhead seemed to think he could only be
there for one reason and no other.
Naturally, he was right.
He was very big about it, didn't even tease Bobby about how
long he had lasted.
"I am glad you have changed your mind." he said simply. "It
has been very cold here alone."
"This doesn't mean I'm gay." Bobby said, as the cold hands
teased him to aching arousal. "I'm just trying it on for size."
"Size...will not be a problem." Mycroft had smiled in the
dark, teeth glinting so white. Bobby swallowed hard.
It felt just a good as it had the first time.
Only this time he cried afterward, not before. Mycroft held
him, cradled him to his chest with more tenderness than he
thought the vampire possessed, and that just made it worse.
Keeping their affair a secret wasn't really a problem.
Bobby's ambivalence, his public anger at Mycroft for showing him
this side of himself, made it easy for the others to continue to
believe that he hated the vampire. He treated him coldly, with
suppressed anger, and Mycroft let him. Watching the drama unfold,
Xavier wondered why the vampire tolerated it. Did he truly not
care how Bobby treated him as long as he could have sex with him?
Or was his motivation deeper, more understanding than Charles was
giving him credit for? Did Mycroft recognize Bobby's need to
reject him and allow it in the hopes he would come to terms with
it himself, did he recognize that a forced confrontation with it
might hurt Bobby beyond his ability to heal?
It was confusing for Charles. He had never met anyone like
the vampire. He paid no lip service to the ideals of the team,
was blatant in his rejection of them, but in reality lived up to
many. It could be argued that his motives were selfish, he was
only protecting his own interests - the food, the safety the team
offered - but there was always a possibility, a hint, of
something else. If it was brought up in conversation it was
mocked, as if Mycroft could not bear to have anyone think good of
him under any circumstances. He even managed to keep his
broadcasts restricted, so that no one else picked them up, not
even Jean, though Xavier was occasionally peripherally aware of
them.
Two months after Bobby began going to him regularly Hank
reported that Mycroft had cut down his feedings from three pints
daily to one pint three times a week, and, worried, Xavier had
Bobby scheduled for a check-up that showed no untoward effects.
Confiding in Hank, Bobby's closest friend since adolescence, was
terribly difficult for Charles, but he couldn't take the chance
that the vampire was hurting Bobby, feeding on him regularly.
Hank was shocked, disbelieving, and then depressed that his
friend hadn't felt able to talk to him about this problem. He
managed to smother it under professional detachment during the
physical, and Bobby, caught up in his private battle, was none
the wiser, though he correctly guessed why Xavier had scheduled
it.
There were no apparent side effects.
They carried on in secrecy for six months. Bobby slipped
into Mycroft's room every two or three nights, circumstances
permitting. Mycroft never went to him, never called him, but
always welcomed him eagerly, with open arms and willing body.
They had worked a routine that Bobby was comfortable with.
Certain things he wasn't willing to consider, and Mycroft
responded by ignoring them as well, seeking their mutual
satisfaction with lips, tongue, and hands. Unresponsive at first,
Bobby gradually became a more active participant, though never as
eager as Mycroft would have liked. Mycroft continued to do the
majority of the stimulus, and his own satisfaction was reached
through his efforts, never Bobby's.
Catching the vampire in the laundry one evening, Jean was
shocked to see his bedclothes stained with quantities of blood,
and very worried. Xavier spoke to the vampire after she reported
her suspicions to him.
<You have not been taking that much blood from Bobby, have
you?> he was honestly concerned. Mycroft, two rooms away, reading
an ancient magical text, had smiled, and it was visible in his
response.
<Do you think he would walk if I had?> the humor was dark
and Xavier was slightly sickened. <My body does not produce
the...ordinary...end result of sex. The blood is mine.> the
vampire cut the connection abruptly, kicking Xavier
unceremoniously out of his mind.
Understanding dawned, and Xavier was relieved, though
slightly disgusted in spite of himself. He reported to Jean that
it was nothing to worry about, and asked her not to discuss it
with the others. She agreed reluctantly, only after he told her
it was a private thing, which left her with several scenarios
she'd rather not consider.
After that Mycroft washed his sheets out in the bathtub
before taking them to the laundry, and made sure he always had
plenty of bleach on hand.
Bobby ignored this aspect of the relationship, just as he
ignored Mycroft except when he wanted him or was angry with him.
But through it all the vampire went on with a serenity Xavier was
afraid he couldn't maintain indefinitely.
Then it happened, as it had to.
They were found out.
Their lives had never been so busy. With the Legacy Virus
public and anti-mutant sentiment at an all-time high they were
constantly demanded, pulled so many directions at once that even
Xavier began to despair. Months of atrocities blamed on mutants,
the revenge attacks on mutants ignored in the reporting,
excepting Charlotte, bless her heart. Even after the way Warren
had treated her she still remained true to her beliefs. Not that
Xavier could blame him, Betsy was a compelling woman, and they
had not been expecting to fall in love, but Charlotte had been
deeply hurt by his actions. And Hank's Trish Trilby was still
there, still loyal despite their recent estrangement at Hank's
request, an effort on his part to spare her the trauma of being
associated with them.
Another day, another battle with angry mutants, the presence
of the anti-mutant demonstrators hindering their efforts, and
they always ended up looking like the bad guys. Gathering for the
evening news that night, battered, exhausted, only to hear
themselves painted as 'evil human haters' by Graydon Creed once
again, despite the fact that they had saved many lives. Jean had
broken down in despair, and Scott could not comfort her. She left
with Orroro, to talk to her best friend and try to make some
sense of it while Scott looked after her helplessly. Their
marriage was being torn apart by these stresses. Scott believed
he should be able to help her with anything and couldn't deal
with it when she turned to another.
Warren and Betsy went straight out the window, she tight in
his arms, to fly high above it all, the only release he ever
found, sharing it with the woman he loved.
The others paired off, according to their needs, whether
they sought sex or friendship or solitude. Hank buried himself in
his lab again, Bishop trailed after him, the world he had came
from becoming more possible every day, Rogue resumed her vigil at
Gambit's bedside, her guilt the only thing keeping her alive.
Suggesting a game of chess, Charles sought to draw Scott's
thoughts away from his wife and their unhappiness.
Bobby Drake went to his room, to read for a few minutes,
before giving up the effort and sliding down the hall to
Mycroft's room. Looking carefully to be sure he wasn't observed,
he ducked in reluctantly, resentful of his desire and yet eager
for the vampire's cold touch.
Equally eager, Mycroft was waiting in his bed, nude,
resting, preparing for his lover's arrival. He could easily
predict when Bobby would come to him.
Bobby came to him with unhappy enthusiasm, felt the
vampire's arms close around him and groaned in anticipation.
Returning from her talk with Jean, Storm cut through the
men's dormitory in her search for Bishop, feeling an unexplained
need to talk to the large man. He had a calming influence on her.
In the hallway she felt an eerie sensation, the hairs on the
back of her neck rising. Something was not right.
She listened, not hearing anything out of the ordinary. But
the feeling would not go away. It grew as she went slowly down
the hall, until she drew even with Mycroft's door and stopped.
It was merely a whisper of the feeling, the lust she had
experienced second-hand when they found him in the motel with the
teenage prostitute, but she recognized it immediately, and the
recognition brought her doubts about his presence, her hatred of
his life, to an abrupt head, and she acted accordingly.
Mycroft had just sank his teeth into Bobby's neck, and was
experiencing a tremendous orgasm, Bobby groaning in ecstasy
beneath him, when the door blew away on a storm-thrown wind.
"DEFILER!" she screamed, her wind ripping him from Bobby's
writhing form. "We have let your evil go on, BUT NO MORE!" a
chair flew across the room, to break against the wall, and jagged
spears of it flashed towards the stunned vampire. His body was
still convulsing with the after-shocks of the sex and he had no
time or thought to react.
The wood hit like jagged knives, cutting into his vulnerable
body, and he collapsed, shrieking a note so high the glass
shattered in all the windows of that wing. And he didn't stop, no
need to breathe, just continued shrieking, the sound exploding on
her eardrums, bringing the rest of the household as fast as they
could move.
Shocked, stunned, hands over his ears in a futile attempt to
protect them, Bobby rolled from the bed and staggered toward her,
falling after two steps, trying desperately to force his mouth to
form words his mind couldn't produce.
"no....no...." he mumbled, crawling to Mycroft. "Storm,
no..."
Seeing his efforts, hearing his words - ears that could
stand the howling of an Alaskan wind weren't vulnerable to the
vampire's pain-wracked screams - Storm recovered herself enough
to stop the wind.
And the first face appeared at the blasted doorway. His face
twisted in horror, Hank could, for once in his life, find nothing
to say.
He was quickly followed by Jean and Scott, pulled from their
own lovemaking, and Xavier, in Bishop's arms, in too much of a
hurry to bring the chair.
Immediately Charles motioned for Bishop to place him beside
the vampire. His shrieking showed no sign of stopping, though he
now lay very still, and no one could speak in the noise he was
making. With an effort Charles forced himself into the agonized
mind, searching for the center of personality, the place where
the vampire's strength lay, and found it with difficulty.
But Mycroft let him in, as the others stood staring for long
seconds. Overcoming his shock somewhat, Hank had the presence of
mind to pull the bedspread from the floor, where the two men had
tossed it during their sex play, and cover Bobby with it as he
lay close to Mycroft, hands holding his legs, trying to talk to
him, his body splashed with the vampire's blood.
"Let the prof help him." Hank whispered in his friend's ear,
and Bobby allowed himself to be pulled up, wrapping the blanket
around himself with a delayed reaction as he realized what had
just happened. Hank pulled the sheet from the bed to throw over
the agonized vampire.
Taking Xavier's cue, Jean came into the room and dropped to
her knees beside him, adding her strength to his, trying to help
Mycroft overcome his pain long enough to tell them what to do.
It was a hard battle and he fought it valiantly, though the
screams never stopped. Hank found himself wondering analytically
if the noise wasn't actually a defense mechanism, designed to
keep predators away from him as he tried to mend himself.
Unable to stand the continuing onslaught, the others went
into the hall, to wait in painful curiosity as the circumstances
registered on their battle-fogged brains.
<Mycroft? MYCROFT!> Xavier prodded. <How can I help? Should
I pull them out?> he closed his hands on the largest of the
pieces and the vampire's screams actually went up a notch.
Wincing, Xavier released it.
<What can we do?> Jean demanded, prying furiously into his
mind. When an answer finally came, it was so weak she missed it,
but Charles understood.
<feed me> it was the barest whisper of communication
beneath the pain. <give me strength...>
Jean remembered hearing him speak of this before. "Throw
the chair at me..." he had said once, "you will have time to run
while I assimilate the wood."
<He needs to...I don't know what he needs!> she told Xavier.
<To make the wood a part of himself somehow>
<Ah> Charles did understand. His body could not reject it so
it must change it. He would need strength for that. <I will feed
you> he held his wrist to Mycroft's mouth and tried not to flinch
as the fangs sank sharply into it.
"Charles!" Storm shouted, but Jean stood and turned her
away.
"They need to be alone." Jean was firm and steered her
friend from the room. Confused, bewildered, Storm let her, only
to be confronted by Bobby's glare as they left. He said
something, but she couldn't understand it.
Xavier stared at the wood and gasped. It was changing.
Melting, softening. Bobby's breath of shock behind him affirmed
his sight.
After a long minute the wood began to actually flow into
Mycroft's body, until it was gone, like it never had been.
The noise stopped. Mycroft released Xavier's arm, pushing it
roughly away, almost knocking him over.
Bobby dropped beside him, touching his face with a
gentleness at odds with the way he normally treated him.
"Myk? Myk? You okay?"
The vampire groaned but did not open his eyes.
"I think we should take him to the medlab." Charles
suggested.
"No." Bobby whispered. "He'll be okay. Just give him a few
minutes."
"Robert...?" the vampire's hand was searching, found his
face, wrapped in his hair. Allowing his head to be pulled close,
Bobby whispered again.
"It's okay, Myk. You're safe now. I'm with you."
With a deeper, thicker groan, Mycroft opened his mouth,
traces of Charles's blood still on his lips, and Bobby kissed
him, giving him the contact, the strength he needed in this form.
Charles looked away, embarrassed to spy on this very private
moment.
"Stay..." Mycroft pulled at him insistently, but Bobby
resisted.
"In a minute. I have to talk to my friends." he said,
pulling away. Mycroft opened his hand, let it fall to the floor
with a thump. "I'll be back." Bobby stood, and then leaned to
gently lift the vampire onto the bloody bed. Charles winced, but
decided it didn't matter to Mycroft if the bed was bloody or not.
Kissing him softly, Bobby whispered in his ear as Hank
watched and then, ashamed, turned away.
"If I may, professor?" he asked, reaching down. Charles
agreed with a grimace, and allowed himself to be carried from the
room, where Bishop had thoughtfully brought his chair into the
hall.
Bobby stepped away from the bed and Mycroft was still as he
went to the hall.
The others stared at Bobby. Still wrapped in the quilt, he
seemed to have grown overnight. His face looked harder,
determined, older.
First he looked at Storm.
"Next time," he said softly, "knock."
"But he was...he was..."
"Yes. And so was I." Bobby looked at the others one by one.
"Anybody have anything to say about that?"
Not a word.
"If you'll excuse me, I have to make sure he's okay. You
really hurt him, Storm."
"But...but...he..."
Without response Bobby went back into the room. Without
looking at them he iced over the smashed doorway, blocking them
out.
"I think we should all try to get some rest now. These are
things best discussed with a clear head." Charles suggested
calmly.
"Mine's still ringing from that sound." Scott said.
"For a minute there I thought Banshee was back." Hank added.
The group broke up on that note, an effort to make light of
the situation, but Charles doubted they would let it pass so
easily.
Bobby stood for a minute, watching Myk. The nickname had
come easily to his lips when he saw him in pain, and now it
stayed in his head.
The vampire lay very, very still, not at all like his usual
active self. Bobby had complained more than once that sleeping
with him was like sleeping with a kicking horse.
Gently, Bobby rolled him from one side to the other,
changing the sheets and putting them to soak in the tub, putting
two blankets on to warm him. Then he pulled on a pair of shorts,
in case they were interrupted again, and climbed in beside him,
pulling him close to warm him against his own body. Myk was
colder than Bobby could remember having ever felt him.
"Do you need to eat?" he whispered, and Myk mumbled an
answer, his mouth opening and searching for him. Turning his
head, Bobby felt the teeth sinking into his neck and the hands
like icicles on his back, but held himself still until the
vampire released him, longer than usual, but not long enough to
frighten him.
"Stay, Robert..." there was a hint of pleading in the
rasping voice, and Bobby responded by pulling him closer,
snuggling him close to keep him warm.
"I will." he whispered. "I will."
He held him all night, dozing, waking to check on him, then
dozing again. They were not disturbed, though he felt Xavier's
mind brush his more than once.
Waking the next morning, Bobby felt warm and comfortable.
After a night spent beside him Myk's body had absorbed enough
warmth to feel relatively normal, and he felt good, his hair
spilling across Bobby's chest like a silk scarf. Stroking it, he
got an erection, and took things from there, taking an active
roll in their lovemaking, making an effort to please Myk for the
first time, successfully. When Myk whispered soft suggestions and
placed his hands where he wanted them Bobby followed his lead,
and was gratified when Myk gave himself into his control, letting
Bobby have free rein, until Myk was practically begging for
release. Feeling his fangs against his neck as Myk approached his
peak Bobby wondered briefly if it would be like this with any
man, but knew instantly that it would not. Only with Myk.
"Only with you, Myk." he whispered as they lay side-by-side
in the aftermath. "Only with you."
For once the vampire had no mysterious comment. He just
kissed him, and began again.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Irritated, not
ready to face his friends after the night's revelations, Bobby
got up to answer it, dressing quickly. He made Myk stay in bed,
knowing he wasn't completely healed from Storm's attack.
Hank was there, a cup of coffee and a sandwich for Bobby, to
check on Myk. Bobby thanked him, and let him in without batting
an eye.
"This doesn't really come under a doctor's jurisdiction."
Hank said as he leaned over the bed. "But I'm not really a
doctor, so I guess it's okay. What happened to the wood?"
Mycroft pushed himself to sitting position and both men saw
the effort it cost him, the awkwardness of his normally
supernaturally graceful movement. Pushing down the sheet, he took
Hank's hand and lay it on his flat stomach, still warm from
Bobby.
Tensely Hank palpitated the abdomen, feeling the distinct
mass that lay just beneath the skin, a large, firm tumor with the
consistency of dough.
"Will it go away?"
"In time." he didn't even sound like himself. "Bit by bit.
A year, perhaps two."
"It will take a year for you to get better?" Bobby sounded
worried.
"No, Robert. I will be fine by tomorrow. It will remain
until I have assimilated it into myself."
"It will become part of you?" Hank understood what Xavier
had said now. "You're going to transform it somehow, until it's
made of the same stuff you are." he was mildly impressed. "Can
you do this to anything else?"
"No need...only wood can kill. Only wood will hurt until I
die again."
"I'm still recommending a day of bed rest." Hank said,
getting up. "Charles will back me up on it."
"He may." the inflection was that it wouldn't do either of
them any good.
*****************************************************************
It was dark, and cold. Bobby tried to sit and fell back with
a groan. His hand brushed something -- someone? -- on the damp
concrete beside him.
"Myk?" he whispered eagerly. "Myk?"
"Noo...." the whispered voice gave way to a groan and he
recognized Gambit's voice, harsher than usual. "Iceman? Dat you?"
"Yeah, it's me, Gambit." he answered, spreading his arms and
trying to tell if anyone else was in the room with them. His
fingers brushed someone else, but they didn't move. "Can you make
some light?"
On demand Gambit's hands began to glow steadily, building
and continuously reabsorbing a charge to create a constant light
source. In the red glow Bobby recognized the two others on the
floor, as did Gambit. With a viscous French curse he scrambled
over Bobby, ignoring any pain he might cause either of them, and
gathered Rogue into his arms.
"Chere'." he whispered, his hands cupping her face,
protected by the suits they wore for each other. "Rogue, chere',
wake up. Gambit here."
Bobby turned his attention to the other member of the team,
Bishop. He seemed unhurt, but was still unconscious. Drugged,
Bobby decided. There was nothing they could do for him here.
End.
