Post by Iceman on Sept 14, 2006 21:41:28 GMT -5
The TV was on, and though Bobby stared at the screen, he wasn’t watching it.
He sat slumped on the hotel room couch, his elbow on the armrest and his head resting against his hand. He sat stock-still, his other hand lifeless in his lap. He was trapped.
It wasn’t enough that he’d killed someone. The whole world had to know—The reputation of the X-Men had to be drug through the dirt—He had to face the rest of his life being spent in a jail cell. No one in the court was going to believe that he’d been possessed—There was no way to prove it, unless the woman who’d possessed him stepped forward. Which would never happen.
He didn’t have a clue where he was—For all the driving they’d done, they could be anywhere in New York. All he knew was that he was in a big city hotel somewhere. He wanted to say that it was New York City, but he’d been ushered into the hotel through the back so quickly that he hadn’t been able to look at the skyline to pick out any recognizable buildings. New York City was just the default guess, and they’d certainly been driving long enough to be there or even down into New Jersey.
That was unnerving in itself: He didn’t know where he was, which meant no one else knew where he was. Nobody except the government people holding him there. He was in their hands, and if this Trask guy happened to be as much of a bastard as Stryker was, Bobby could be facing some cruel experiments. If the guy was anti-mutant at all, he’d be facing a sentence of ‘guilty’ at the least.
Was he guilty? Facing himself with that question time and time again during the long, silent ride, and many times since arriving at the hotel, had left Bobby with a heavy leaden feeling in his stomach time and time again. He had taken part in a murder. It had been his body, and his powers, that had killed the man inside the Sentinel in that warehouse in Baltimore. But he hadn’t done it of his own accord. But again, that came down to the court believing that he’d been under someone else’s control at the time. Nothing could prove that.
He’d never realized what a fine line he’d been walking on, being a part of the X-Men. He’d known that he would probably someday be faced with killing someone, but it had always been an enemy he might face killing. And he wouldn’t get in trouble for that. But he’d killed someone who they were supposed to be fighting with—Who they were supposed to be protecting. And sudden he saw that he’d been sitting on the edge of this cliff for a long, long time. He’d just never seen it before it had smacked him across the face.
As he stared blankly at the screen of the television, the news came on. His eyes immediately focused on what he saw on the screen—The street scene was all too familiar, and Bobby knew what was coming before the newscaster even started to speak.
“Clean-up crews are still hard at work repairing the warehouse that was damaged in the mutant attack on the NovaTex headquarters weeks ago—“
The sound cut off abruptly. Bobby held the remote pointed at the TV, his finger resting on the mute button as he continued to stare at the silent screen. He suddenly became even more painfully aware of the two guards in the room with him—One standing by the door, the other sitting in a chair by the table behind Bobby. Whether either had been paying attention to the TV or not, Bobby felt as though two sets of eyes were boring into the back of his head as he dropped his arm onto his lap.
A whirlwind of questions flew through his mind, and he pushed each one away until he found one that wasn’t quite as personal as the rest. He licked his lips and spoke, not looking at either of the men he was addressing.
“Do you know how long I’ll be held here?” His voice was carefully controlled, carefully void of any emotion. Still, it sat in the air uncomfortably for too long before it was answered.
He sat slumped on the hotel room couch, his elbow on the armrest and his head resting against his hand. He sat stock-still, his other hand lifeless in his lap. He was trapped.
It wasn’t enough that he’d killed someone. The whole world had to know—The reputation of the X-Men had to be drug through the dirt—He had to face the rest of his life being spent in a jail cell. No one in the court was going to believe that he’d been possessed—There was no way to prove it, unless the woman who’d possessed him stepped forward. Which would never happen.
He didn’t have a clue where he was—For all the driving they’d done, they could be anywhere in New York. All he knew was that he was in a big city hotel somewhere. He wanted to say that it was New York City, but he’d been ushered into the hotel through the back so quickly that he hadn’t been able to look at the skyline to pick out any recognizable buildings. New York City was just the default guess, and they’d certainly been driving long enough to be there or even down into New Jersey.
That was unnerving in itself: He didn’t know where he was, which meant no one else knew where he was. Nobody except the government people holding him there. He was in their hands, and if this Trask guy happened to be as much of a bastard as Stryker was, Bobby could be facing some cruel experiments. If the guy was anti-mutant at all, he’d be facing a sentence of ‘guilty’ at the least.
Was he guilty? Facing himself with that question time and time again during the long, silent ride, and many times since arriving at the hotel, had left Bobby with a heavy leaden feeling in his stomach time and time again. He had taken part in a murder. It had been his body, and his powers, that had killed the man inside the Sentinel in that warehouse in Baltimore. But he hadn’t done it of his own accord. But again, that came down to the court believing that he’d been under someone else’s control at the time. Nothing could prove that.
He’d never realized what a fine line he’d been walking on, being a part of the X-Men. He’d known that he would probably someday be faced with killing someone, but it had always been an enemy he might face killing. And he wouldn’t get in trouble for that. But he’d killed someone who they were supposed to be fighting with—Who they were supposed to be protecting. And sudden he saw that he’d been sitting on the edge of this cliff for a long, long time. He’d just never seen it before it had smacked him across the face.
As he stared blankly at the screen of the television, the news came on. His eyes immediately focused on what he saw on the screen—The street scene was all too familiar, and Bobby knew what was coming before the newscaster even started to speak.
“Clean-up crews are still hard at work repairing the warehouse that was damaged in the mutant attack on the NovaTex headquarters weeks ago—“
The sound cut off abruptly. Bobby held the remote pointed at the TV, his finger resting on the mute button as he continued to stare at the silent screen. He suddenly became even more painfully aware of the two guards in the room with him—One standing by the door, the other sitting in a chair by the table behind Bobby. Whether either had been paying attention to the TV or not, Bobby felt as though two sets of eyes were boring into the back of his head as he dropped his arm onto his lap.
A whirlwind of questions flew through his mind, and he pushed each one away until he found one that wasn’t quite as personal as the rest. He licked his lips and spoke, not looking at either of the men he was addressing.
“Do you know how long I’ll be held here?” His voice was carefully controlled, carefully void of any emotion. Still, it sat in the air uncomfortably for too long before it was answered.
