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Three years of a life could find one living in a relatively nice house two blocks away from ones aging parents. Two years could find a fluffy, white Christmas gift from your boyfriend of two months growing into the rather large Persian that wakes your fiancée up every morning. A few years is all it takes to establish ones own accounting firm. A few years sets up a new life. A few years helps you forget the old one.
Robert Drake, no longer the Iceman, knew all of these things on a personal level. At least, he had known these things.
Now a little red sports car, driven by one Mitch Black a.k.a. fiancée of Robert Drake, merrily sped him back to the city. A city that felt both like home and the dark side of the moon. It was a monster that tried to consume his soul every time he dared to draw close to its boundaries.
And to think, the morning had started out so simply.
XxXx
Sunday morning. How he loved Sunday mornings. Bobby lived for the ability to casually stroll down his walk, across his private drive way, past their two cars and that silly motorcycle Mitch refused to be rid of, to snatch up a paper that had arrived shortly before dawn. Placing the Sunday edition under one arm, he idly considered cutting through his well manicured lawn.
"But then Mitch would pitch a bitch," he murmured to no one in general.
He tipped a cheery wave to Mr. Nguyen across the street before retracing his steps. The white split level, that had been his house since he had kissed the team goodbye, was interchangeable with any number of other houses on the cul-de-sac. A pool encompassing a third of the backyard was easily visible through a cream colored fence. The meticulously cared for lawn was mowed twice a week. The gardens surrounding the house overflowed with red, white, and pink roses. He had even added a hummingbird feeder above the lawn furniture this summer. It was his personal slice of clichéd suburban hell.
The front door swung silently open, nary a squeak to be heard. A testament to one of the many things he had pre-empted by working from home. The tongue-in-cheek, blue lion cuddling icy white lamb, stained glass window decorating the door bathed the small foyer in early morning light. He had replaced the original solid oak with this interestingly gaudy piece, in part, at Mitch's request.
Really, if he was being honest with himself, the house was becoming more the other man's domain. The color of the lion had been a vain attempt to retain part of a life that no longer existed. To fight the assimilation that took more of him each day. Like the bedroom suite, purchased under the guise of an early engagement gift, that had been picked and delivered while he was visiting his mother. The eggshell couch in the living room, attached to the foyer, had arrived under similar circumstances. The comfortable black couch; that had seen him pinned to the cushions by his then love, Henry McCoy, on more than one occasion; had simply disappeared one day.
"Really, love," Mitch had told him, "t didn't go with the new Berber I had installed. And it was an atrocity with the curtains."
A small price to pay for love, he supposed.
"I have a conundrum," a deep voice called to him from the kitchen. The flash sizzle of frying eggs and the promise of freshly brewed coffee further tempted him in that direction. The day promised to be a good one if Mitch was in the mood to make breakfast.
From the moment Mitch had shown up at his door, paperwork from the office he never visited in hand, Bobby had been impressed with the non mutant man. In the dark days after Hank no one dared to bother their mutant boss in his home. Rumors swirled around the water cooler that the last person to do so had been found flash frozen in a local park.
At 6' 2" Mitch had simply stared down at his boss, now lover, at their first meeting. The former college football player had handed him forms that had to be in by 5 that day and grinned, "So this is the famous mutant terrorist we all work for. No offense, Mr. Drake, but you sorely disappoint."
The human had been back the next day and the day after that. Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. And the two of them turned into breakfast partners.
"And what," a pale hand stroked a mahogany cheek, "can I do to help with this conundrum? Well, other than getting the paper, of course. Poor Mr. Nguyen already got to see me in my blue lion jammies once today."
"You could have been wearing the OSU boxers I gave you for your birthday." An accusing tone rang out in the kitchen. It was one of the unwritten rules of Bobby and Mitch. Always respect the alma mater.
Quickly grabbing a mug from the cupboard to hide his expression, Robert purred in the direction of a very, very large cat, "But Lord Beastington of the Long Isle decided he wanted them for his cat bed.”
Underneath the kitchen table a white head lifted in sudden interest. His full name was being called. Full name meant guests and guests meant treats. But alas, his owner was occupied with pouring a cup of dirty brown caffeine water. Oh well.
"I see. Henry removed them from the top dresser drawer all by himself. If I had known how talented he was when I purchased him I would have bought the whole damned litter," Mitch scoffed as he slammed two plates on the table.
Chuffing, the white cat slunk past his shorter owner's ankle. He refused to be a part of what was to come. Unless food fell on the floor, then he would be back in a heart beat.
"Can we not do this today? We get one day off a week and this one started off so well," Bobby pleaded.
Three years away from the team had dulled his senses. The Iceman would have seen the other man lunge before he even began. Bobby, however, had no idea of what was happening as his chipper, blue, smiley face mug shattered against the floor. A little more so as he felt the scalding coffee seep through cotton of his clothing to sear his chest. He resolutely gazed at the vice grip on his arms, bruising him, pushing him into the wall.
"Why do you make me do these things to you? I love you, Robert. Love you. Why else would I be marrying you next year? So why, please tell me why, you do these things to make me angry," Mitch sobbed as if Bobby’s actions actually caused him some measure of pain. He thrust the other man against the wall one last time before releasing him.
"I'm sorry," he garbled. Bobby had been bad. He didn't mean to, really. He hated it when he was bad and forced his fiancée to act like this.
Luckily he could feel the crymorphic powers pushing themselves forward in self preservation. The wounds on his chest, and the bruising on his arms, would be gone as if they had never been. And hopefully Mitch would accept his apology. He didn't know what he'd do without the other man. Not after he lost Hank. If only he hadn't been so bad, maybe Hank would still... No, best not to think about it.
"Please. Please, babe. Let me make it up to you."
The non mutant male could feel the shift in the room around him. The glacial puff of air as flesh became ice only to become flesh again. As always, there would be no reminder of this fight. And Robert had been so easy to train with "out of sight, out of mind".
Mitch inwardly smiled as he grabbed the dust pan. Fights like these couldn't go better if he planned them. "Well, we could work on my conundrum. I mean, only if you want to, pookie"
"Really," the answer was a little too quick. It was a little too eager. The Beast would have seen the classic dance of abuser and abused for what it truly was. Too bad for Bobby, he hadn't laid eyes on Henry in longer than either of them would care to admit. "If I can help..."
"Well, I have this talented, handsome, wonderful boyfriend. He's fairly well off, he's funny, but he has the strangest phobia," the darker man grinned up at his still slightly shaken other half. He sat the dust pan, half full of mug pieces, down and grasped Bobby's hand, "He's so very scared of the city."
Taking the younger man's hand, Bobby chuckled nervously, "Sounds a little strange for someone who owns a business in said city."
"He works from home."
"He sounds like a very smart man."
"Except then he can't make out with his beau in the supply closet at the office." That smile had caught the eye of several of his supposedly homophobic teammates. "And said boyfriend has a lunch he needs to attend this afternoon. My friend Brent, from college..."
"Is he the one who stripped at our pool party last month?"
"Please don't interrupt me, babe," Mitch worked hard to unclench his jaw. Experience had taught him that the super hero still lurked below the surface. And more than one lesson a day had a tendency to draw the Icebitch out, "But, yes. His boyfriend wasn't there to keep him from over indulging on those yummy little wine spritzers you bought. Apparently the drunken queen getting driven home by his host was enough of a bump to make his boy toy propose. So, the happy couple, the parents, and their dearest friends are having lunch at Café L'Intrigue Lapin to celebrate. I'd hate to be the only one in attendance without a plus one."
XxXxXxXxXx
Bobby had forgotten the differences between Manhattan and Long Island. Three years gave one an ample amount of time to forget how claustrophobic the city really could be. Chic boutiques fought for space with posh restaurants in a place a world away from quiet suburbia. From a life he had settled for, and settled into, with an ease that would surprise his former teammates.
Well, if he would ever grace them with contact.
Bobby wasn't the only thing to change in the last three years. Xorn's rampage, and the carnage left in its wake, had been hidden under a city of neon and chrome. Bobby, himself, had unearthed over a dozen bodies on the spot now housing a club called "Cat Scratch".
The sleek, Italian, sports car; a tribute to Mitch's vanity; sped by a corner hosting an outdoor art fair and renaissance festival. Girls, dressed in little more than glitter and mesh wings, held each other where he had once held Hank. A lifetime ago the corner had been one of many makeshift medical units scattered throughout the rubble. The Iceman had held the Beast while the furry doctor sobbed for lives he could not save. Where the leonine man had sought comfort from the wreckage in Bobby. In Bobby's kiss and in his caress. Not caring what it would do to their friendship when this was all over. The spot where Scott had ordered the two of them the hell out, and don't come back until you stop resembling wraiths.
They had followed orders, begrudgingly. Gone home, managed to fit the two of them into a shower. Blood and water mixed together on the tile. Hank and Bobby mixed like the blood and water. Way too much tension and more touching than was good for either of them. They’d gone back to Hank's room, made love, and cried until they didn't have it in them anymore.
It took nearly two weeks of shared showers to get the blood completely out of Hank's fur.
"Hey, princess, what's wrong," a voice from the present pulled him from the past.
Mitch gave his fiancée an uneasy glance. This was the rarely seen Serious!Bobby. And serious Bobby was only only half a jump and one step away from the reemergence of the Iceman.
He had never told the human. How do you explain war to a kid who had still been in college at the time? Even if this kid was only a year his junior. A kid who was living a world away from the gore and the accusing eyes of the dead?
A shaky sigh rent the air, "I was still a member of the X-men when a mutant name Xorn, posing as Magneto, ripped the island to hell and back. The X-men were first responders. We had to be. Xorn had been our problem. If we had only fucking known," a half iced hand demolished the dashboard, "If we only known..."
"On that very bench," he gestured idly, the water dripping on the leather, "I split several bottles of vodka with the Juggernaut and Tigra. We had decided to drink until we were nearly blind instead of taking our sleeping shifts. There was a picture of it in the New-York Times with the caption 'The Toll'."
"It was a damned bar joke in the making. An X-man, an Avenger and a former villain walk into a bar. The X-man throws up on the Avenger's shoes and for once the villain can't bring himself to laugh."
"You know," this was a new turn in their relationship. For the first time in two years Mitch was afraid of Bobby. Afraid the hand grasping the seat would take his neck instead, "If I tried to sleep I could hear the wails of this kid."
"One of the survivors we had pulled from the lobby of a store has seen a young sales girl running back to the daycare as the building collapsed around her. She'd been yelling, 'Mark, hold on! Mommy's coming!' We were hopeful that she, and some of the children, might be alive under the rubble." The laugh that followed this little story was incredibly bitter. Bobby should never be able to have such a bitter laugh.
Easing into a space in front of L'intrigue, Mitch felt an acidic tang caress the back of his throat. Though he had still lived in Ohio at the time, there had been no escaping it. The destruction and subsequent recovery of Manhattan had been international news. And the pictures...
There were plenty of pictures floating around. Rescuers from all around the globe, led by a demonic looking mutant, knelt together in prayer. Surprised human survivors being lifted from the chaos by the very people they were sure had put them there, mutants. A young Asian woman, in impossibly yellow clothes, was caught in the lens letting off fireworks in the middle of the tent cities in an attempt to lift the mood.
Rumors had circulated that rescue workers had begun committing suicide. Some did it from lack of sleep. Some succumbed to the stress. A few couldn’t stand to hear protest groups saying that mutants caused the mess, how dare they be there?
Then there had been THE picture. It was the defining snapshot that had dictated how a mourning nation would view the recovery efforts. Emerging from the remains of a Multi-level department store were two mutants. A cryomorph, Mitch would one day find himself engaged to, and a very large, leonine, anthropomorphic. With the men came the last three survivors anyone would find in a two block radius.
...And with them came the body of the sixteen year old girl who had saved her son, and two other babies, by sacrificing her own life.
"As far as we could tell," Bobby knew exactly what the other man's mind had gone to, "She cocooned herself around her son, and the first children she could grab, as the roof collapsed. Her body cushioned the blows and the babies survived. She's my face."
"You have to have a face, a name," he explained to the perplexed man in the driver's seat, “Something to focus on or else it all overwhelms you. It sucks you under. And your friends are identifying the man with the slit wrists in some cold storage morgue the next morning."
"Vanessa," he continued. Mitch had only seen that sad half smile in the first half year of their relationship. And only when he tried to find out about the mystery boyfriend who came before him, "Her name was Vanessa. She ran away from Wisconsin when she started turning lime green. She learned how to control her hue during her pregnancy. Her parents knew she was a mutant before she ran away. They wanted to accept her, just were waiting for her to come to them about it. I know. God, how I know and wish I didn’t. I sat with her roommate after she identified the body. I called her parents so they could pick up their grandson."
"I hear that kid wailing for his dead mother whenever I even think about the city."
"God...Babe. ..If you want to go home..."
"Then you shoulda turned the car around before I spotted your well toned asses, girlfriends," an unexpected voice lisped, uninterested in the conversation he had interrupted.
Steely blue eyes twinkled mirthfully as the newcomer bound into the two seater. Bobby blew part of a sandy brown ponytail from his face as the third man tried to position himself coyly on the other two. A lanky frame betrayed his vocation in musical theater. The first time the two had met Bobby swore Brent Smith was his evil double from a dimension where everyone was a flamboyant queen.
"Nu-uh. No you don't girrrl. Today is my day, bitches and there is no backing out now," Bobby rolled his eyes at the finger snap, "Not when a buff bear of a Beast is inside waiting to announce his engagement to lil' ole me. Who would have guessed that a hottie from backwoods, backwards Ohio would one day be planning a wedding to Doctah Henry Phillip McCoy.” Brent failed to notice the blood draining from Bobby’s face. “I'm marrying a celebrity! Couldn't you just die?!"
What a splendid idea.
/Breathe/
Bobby's head pleaded with his lungs to no avail.
/Breathe, damn you/
/Breathe! Breathe before Hank realizes you’re out here!/
/Breathe before the blackness sets in!/
/Breathe.../
XxXxXxXxXx
Well, that was one way to bring Bobby’s head out of the past.
A/N: Wow, this chapter turned out a lot darker than it was supposed to be. I think my evil muse stalked my original idea with fuzzy handcuffs, a ball-gag, and some KY. I'm pretty sure she left it tied in a dark alley somewhere. In my head Mitch was a dull guy and Bobby didn't want to come to the city because it reminded him of Hank. The abusive asshole and Xorn's chaos are compliments of...
ChiMuse: The letters C, H, and I
...of the evil drayan sitting on my shoulder. But I suppose Bobby needed a better reason to have PTSD than a simple bad break up.
Chapter 2, What Starts In Blood, should be up (hopefully) soon. And if anyone cares to suggest a different name for this story I’d be grateful. Just Say Hello is a pun based off of the ending I’m no longer using.
-Chi Shiro (like the muse, only less evil)