Post by Pyro on Jul 6, 2006 14:59:34 GMT -5
Part I - Putting the 'Danger' in The Danger Room
Part III - The Walls Come Down
Bobby had spent the last twenty-four hours lying in the same hospital bed, mostly passing the time by sleeping. When he was awake, he stared at the TV, wishing he could channel-surf but knowing he couldn't press the buttons on the remote even if he did know where it was. He'd had a few visitors while he was awake--most had come while he was sleeping, and left cards and flowers and even a couple stuffed animals for him. Hallmark crap that people bought when they didn't know how to give their condolences.
But Bobby appreciated it.
Every time he'd wake up, he'd ask the nurse if a blonde guy about his age had come to visit him, probably flicking his lighter around? Each time, they'd said no. Bobby hoped he hadn't missed him. If he was coming. So he'd tried to stay awake, but it was so boring. The nurse had turned it on a channel that was doing an all-day marathon of Full House. 'How old do you think I am?' he'd wanted to ask her. But though he could talk much better than he could the day before, he was pretending he couldn't to avoid empty conversation.
The much-coveted guest turned up late afternoon on the second day, the same holdall slung over his shoulder that he’d carried into the bedroom with him the first day he’d arrived at Xavier’s Institute. He looked tired and unhappy, dark circles under his eyes and a look of guilt that radiated about three feet from his scrawny frame.
John stopped in the doorway and glanced at the young man lying in the bed. Lying in the bed because of him. Because of his inability to keep a rein on his temper. He’d called by to check that Bobby was OK before he headed off.
He’d expected Bobby to be sleeping.
Bobby's eyes turned from the screen to the doorway as a figure appeared. He saw with surprise that it was John, and he gave him a wide smile. Whatever ointment they'd put on the burns had dulled the pain from moving his face. He was so relieved to see John that he acted as though his hospital stay had nothing whatsoever to do with Pyro's actions--he didn't want him to leave, after all, but he did plan to talk with him sternly a little later about keeping his powers in check.
"Hey! I thought I might have missed you."
John swept a hand through his unruly hair. “No,” he said, morosely. “No, you didn’t miss me. I called in to see if you were doing OK. Then I gotta go.” He shifted the weight of the holdall. “Y’know.”
It was obvious what he meant by that. He’d packed his pitiable number of personal belongings and was steaming out of Xavier’s like a rocket was propelling him out. He wasn’t cut out for the school life and hadn’t been since he’d been fifteen.
Bobby's smile turned to a frown. He'd worried that John would leave. Things at school had probably been pretty difficult over the last day. "No. You're not going anywhere. Yeah, you messed up. But it was an accident." Bobby's tone softened, but he still spoke firmly. "The worst thing you could do is go back out on the streets, alright? You've got a place to live at Xavier's."
“I gave it a good shot, Bobby, but it’s not for me. It’ll never be for me. I’m not like you, or Kitty, or Pete, or Rogue – or any of you. You’re all…so different to me.” He gave a quick, tight, humourless smile. “I just wanted to be sure you were doin’ OK first.”
As John talked, Bobby tried to cut it with arguments, shaking his head. "No, I'm not doing okay. If you try to leave, I swear I will get up and follow you." He spoke with a tone of warning, but it also held a shadow of teasing, as though he were hoping to lighten the situation. "I already talked to the Professor, told him it was an accident. I got in your way." He stared at John. He knew he hadn't gotten in his way, but he didn't want John to say so. So he continued. "They don't blame you. The Professor and Storm and the rest of the teachers will tell everyone it was just an accident, and everyone will go back to normal."
"And there's no place you belong more than with other people with powers." He whole-heartedly believed that to be true.
“I can’t do it, Bobby.” John remained in the doorway, looking angry and upset. “I can’t sleep at nights for the nightmares…they’ve just been getting worse and worse. I’m tired nearly all the time, I nearly kill my friend…”
He shook his head. “I can’t even remember all the details of what happened, except I couldn’t control it.”
The way John stayed so far away, hovering in the doorway where he could just step to the side and be gone in a second, was making Bobby uneasy. "Come in here. Sit down." He said, lifting an arm and pointing to a chair by the bed.
John hesitated, then seemed to shrug his shoulders and came into the room, flumping down into the chair. He held onto his holdall like a drowning man would hold onto a lifebelt.
Now that John couldn't escape so quickly, Bobby felt a bit more at ease. He let his hand fall back on top of the white blanket covering him. "Now. Yeah, you've got to learn control. And where the hell are you going to learn that outside of Xav's?"
Bobby hoped that his point was a good one in John's eyes. "There's drugs you can get at any drug store or gas station to help you sleep better. They've got me on Nyquil. And you can get over-the-counter stuff for the nightmares. And you can learn to control your kick-ass flame-throwing with the help of the staff at school. All of it can be fixed, but you have to put more effort into than 'one little mess-up so I'm leaving'."
“It’s not just that, Bobs.” John finally set down his holdall and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m just struggling with the fitting in thing. I mean, you’re great and all, and so’s Kitty, but I reckon Rogue thinks I’m weird, Big Pete thinks I’m an idiot and the other kids are all scared of me. I figured I could get my power reined in.”
He fiddled with the buttons on his ancient jacket.
“I’m just a hood,” he said, sadly. “It ain’t gonna change, Bobby, no matter how hard I try. I should get the hell outta your lives before I screw up any further.”
Bobby shook his head and frowned. "That's bullshit, man. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Noone just 'is' a hood. That's a place, and where you live doesn't define you. What you do about where you live--and the rest of your life--that's what makes you who you are. And three months ago, you decided to do something better for yourself that living on a street and working odd jobs. But you don't just change overnight. Nobody can control their power in three months."
“Yeah, well.” John seemed uncomfortable with the whole conversation. “I need some time way to think. The place stifles me, y’know? There’s nowhere I can go to just…be John. Just be myself. There’s always someone there, wherever I am.” He smiled, ruefully. “I don’t do claustrophobic so well.”
Bobby was quiet for a minute, looking at the sheets over him. He figured he had one card he could play that John would have a hard time arguing with. He didn't want to pull it out yet; he might still be able to convince John otherwise. "Look, if you want to get away for a little while, go ahead. I don't want you to feel trapped at school. But..." Bobby paused for a moment; it was getting personal, and teenage guys didn't usually acknowledge out loud things that just sort of happened naturally, like friendship. "You're, like...My best friend. We're a team, right?"
If anything, John looked even more uncomfortable.
“I’m too self-centred to be a good team player,” he said. “I think I’ve proved that. Listen, Bobs… I appreciate your sentiment, really I do, but…well, I need that time away.” He’d lived alone on the streets for three years. He’d found the business of socialising hard to deal with at the best of times and after the accident, he’d gone into a sort of shut down. What little improvement he’d made with this social skills was balled up and thrown out of the window.
Bobby took a deep breath and let it out heavily. His face grew somber, saddened by his friend's determination to leave. "I'm not gettin' another roomie. Your room will be open. If you want to come back..." Now that it was clear John would leave, Bobby could only hope it wouldn't be for good.
"But I'll be out of here in four days, and you know where to find me." He'd always hated good-byes.
“Sure I do.” John smiled and picked up his holdall, shouldering it easily. “Take care of yourself, Bobs. Say ‘bye to the girls for me.”
It all sounded so…final.
Bobby nodded, and he couldn't make himself look at the forced smile on John's face for very long. "I don't blame you. At all." He said, as almost an afterthought. It needed to be said more than good-bye, anyway.
“Thanks, pal.” John got to his feet, looked like he had more to say, then shook his head and left, his shoulders drooped and his feet dragging.
Part III - The Walls Come Down
Bobby had spent the last twenty-four hours lying in the same hospital bed, mostly passing the time by sleeping. When he was awake, he stared at the TV, wishing he could channel-surf but knowing he couldn't press the buttons on the remote even if he did know where it was. He'd had a few visitors while he was awake--most had come while he was sleeping, and left cards and flowers and even a couple stuffed animals for him. Hallmark crap that people bought when they didn't know how to give their condolences.
But Bobby appreciated it.
Every time he'd wake up, he'd ask the nurse if a blonde guy about his age had come to visit him, probably flicking his lighter around? Each time, they'd said no. Bobby hoped he hadn't missed him. If he was coming. So he'd tried to stay awake, but it was so boring. The nurse had turned it on a channel that was doing an all-day marathon of Full House. 'How old do you think I am?' he'd wanted to ask her. But though he could talk much better than he could the day before, he was pretending he couldn't to avoid empty conversation.
The much-coveted guest turned up late afternoon on the second day, the same holdall slung over his shoulder that he’d carried into the bedroom with him the first day he’d arrived at Xavier’s Institute. He looked tired and unhappy, dark circles under his eyes and a look of guilt that radiated about three feet from his scrawny frame.
John stopped in the doorway and glanced at the young man lying in the bed. Lying in the bed because of him. Because of his inability to keep a rein on his temper. He’d called by to check that Bobby was OK before he headed off.
He’d expected Bobby to be sleeping.
Bobby's eyes turned from the screen to the doorway as a figure appeared. He saw with surprise that it was John, and he gave him a wide smile. Whatever ointment they'd put on the burns had dulled the pain from moving his face. He was so relieved to see John that he acted as though his hospital stay had nothing whatsoever to do with Pyro's actions--he didn't want him to leave, after all, but he did plan to talk with him sternly a little later about keeping his powers in check.
"Hey! I thought I might have missed you."
John swept a hand through his unruly hair. “No,” he said, morosely. “No, you didn’t miss me. I called in to see if you were doing OK. Then I gotta go.” He shifted the weight of the holdall. “Y’know.”
It was obvious what he meant by that. He’d packed his pitiable number of personal belongings and was steaming out of Xavier’s like a rocket was propelling him out. He wasn’t cut out for the school life and hadn’t been since he’d been fifteen.
Bobby's smile turned to a frown. He'd worried that John would leave. Things at school had probably been pretty difficult over the last day. "No. You're not going anywhere. Yeah, you messed up. But it was an accident." Bobby's tone softened, but he still spoke firmly. "The worst thing you could do is go back out on the streets, alright? You've got a place to live at Xavier's."
“I gave it a good shot, Bobby, but it’s not for me. It’ll never be for me. I’m not like you, or Kitty, or Pete, or Rogue – or any of you. You’re all…so different to me.” He gave a quick, tight, humourless smile. “I just wanted to be sure you were doin’ OK first.”
As John talked, Bobby tried to cut it with arguments, shaking his head. "No, I'm not doing okay. If you try to leave, I swear I will get up and follow you." He spoke with a tone of warning, but it also held a shadow of teasing, as though he were hoping to lighten the situation. "I already talked to the Professor, told him it was an accident. I got in your way." He stared at John. He knew he hadn't gotten in his way, but he didn't want John to say so. So he continued. "They don't blame you. The Professor and Storm and the rest of the teachers will tell everyone it was just an accident, and everyone will go back to normal."
"And there's no place you belong more than with other people with powers." He whole-heartedly believed that to be true.
“I can’t do it, Bobby.” John remained in the doorway, looking angry and upset. “I can’t sleep at nights for the nightmares…they’ve just been getting worse and worse. I’m tired nearly all the time, I nearly kill my friend…”
He shook his head. “I can’t even remember all the details of what happened, except I couldn’t control it.”
The way John stayed so far away, hovering in the doorway where he could just step to the side and be gone in a second, was making Bobby uneasy. "Come in here. Sit down." He said, lifting an arm and pointing to a chair by the bed.
John hesitated, then seemed to shrug his shoulders and came into the room, flumping down into the chair. He held onto his holdall like a drowning man would hold onto a lifebelt.
Now that John couldn't escape so quickly, Bobby felt a bit more at ease. He let his hand fall back on top of the white blanket covering him. "Now. Yeah, you've got to learn control. And where the hell are you going to learn that outside of Xav's?"
Bobby hoped that his point was a good one in John's eyes. "There's drugs you can get at any drug store or gas station to help you sleep better. They've got me on Nyquil. And you can get over-the-counter stuff for the nightmares. And you can learn to control your kick-ass flame-throwing with the help of the staff at school. All of it can be fixed, but you have to put more effort into than 'one little mess-up so I'm leaving'."
“It’s not just that, Bobs.” John finally set down his holdall and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m just struggling with the fitting in thing. I mean, you’re great and all, and so’s Kitty, but I reckon Rogue thinks I’m weird, Big Pete thinks I’m an idiot and the other kids are all scared of me. I figured I could get my power reined in.”
He fiddled with the buttons on his ancient jacket.
“I’m just a hood,” he said, sadly. “It ain’t gonna change, Bobby, no matter how hard I try. I should get the hell outta your lives before I screw up any further.”
Bobby shook his head and frowned. "That's bullshit, man. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Noone just 'is' a hood. That's a place, and where you live doesn't define you. What you do about where you live--and the rest of your life--that's what makes you who you are. And three months ago, you decided to do something better for yourself that living on a street and working odd jobs. But you don't just change overnight. Nobody can control their power in three months."
“Yeah, well.” John seemed uncomfortable with the whole conversation. “I need some time way to think. The place stifles me, y’know? There’s nowhere I can go to just…be John. Just be myself. There’s always someone there, wherever I am.” He smiled, ruefully. “I don’t do claustrophobic so well.”
Bobby was quiet for a minute, looking at the sheets over him. He figured he had one card he could play that John would have a hard time arguing with. He didn't want to pull it out yet; he might still be able to convince John otherwise. "Look, if you want to get away for a little while, go ahead. I don't want you to feel trapped at school. But..." Bobby paused for a moment; it was getting personal, and teenage guys didn't usually acknowledge out loud things that just sort of happened naturally, like friendship. "You're, like...My best friend. We're a team, right?"
If anything, John looked even more uncomfortable.
“I’m too self-centred to be a good team player,” he said. “I think I’ve proved that. Listen, Bobs… I appreciate your sentiment, really I do, but…well, I need that time away.” He’d lived alone on the streets for three years. He’d found the business of socialising hard to deal with at the best of times and after the accident, he’d gone into a sort of shut down. What little improvement he’d made with this social skills was balled up and thrown out of the window.
Bobby took a deep breath and let it out heavily. His face grew somber, saddened by his friend's determination to leave. "I'm not gettin' another roomie. Your room will be open. If you want to come back..." Now that it was clear John would leave, Bobby could only hope it wouldn't be for good.
"But I'll be out of here in four days, and you know where to find me." He'd always hated good-byes.
“Sure I do.” John smiled and picked up his holdall, shouldering it easily. “Take care of yourself, Bobs. Say ‘bye to the girls for me.”
It all sounded so…final.
Bobby nodded, and he couldn't make himself look at the forced smile on John's face for very long. "I don't blame you. At all." He said, as almost an afterthought. It needed to be said more than good-bye, anyway.
“Thanks, pal.” John got to his feet, looked like he had more to say, then shook his head and left, his shoulders drooped and his feet dragging.
