Bobby typed furiously, pouring his heart out into the email.
Dr. McCoy -- Hank -- you did say I could call you Hank, and you did say I could write you if I needed help. Well, I need help.
Rogue, my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend, is in love with another man.
Before you say you knew that already, let me drop the bombshell.
Logan is back. And you should see the way he looks at her. It's indecent. He's old enough to be her grandfather. And they've almost killed each other -- TWICE! But he's all big and manly and feral, and I'm dorky Bobby who froze myself to the floor when I saw them together. I can't compete.
And I shouldn't have to. She's my girlfriend. Oh, I know it's easy to brush this off as a high school romance, but I know she was really starting to see me as more than just Comedy Boy. She lets me touch her -- well, no, I've never actually touched her skin. I've asked, but she gets all defensive. I think I could pull away before anything happened, but she won't let me. It would be worth it, though. Then I'd be in her head, like he is, and maybe it'd be more of a fair fight. But anyway, we do things, things I know she likes because she makes this sound -- okay, probably shouldn't go there.
So help me! What should I do?
Bobby
He sent the e-mail off before he decided to rewrite it a dozen times. He leaned back, unsatisfied. He knew he wouldn't hear from Dr. McCoy for a while -- it was only 5 am in California -- and he needed to figure out what he was going to do.
He got up and made his way to the basketball court. It was deserted. He grabbed a ball from the shed and started dribbling, taking the occasional shot. It kept him from thinking too much about Rogue.
He was at the free-throw line, imagining it was Game 7 of the NBA finals and the Knicks were down by one with seven seconds left. Bobby Drake could tie it up with this next free throw, and the Knicks could take the lead if he made both of them. He concentrated hard, bouncing the ball almost absently, visualizing its arc toward the net. Finally, as he took the shot, a voice behind him said, "How about a game of horse?"
He missed, of course, and the Knicks lost the championship. He couldn't even win in his own freakin' fantasy life.
He turned and glared at the interloper, who collected the rebound. "I'm really not in the mood, Mr. Summers."
Scott grinned at him, sunlight reflecting off his ruby glasses. "C'mon, Bobby. Pretend you're Shaquille O'Neal and I'm Logan and dunk over me."
"Very funny."
Scott sobered when his joke didn't have the desired effect. "Look, Bobby, you can't just stand out here and shoot free throws. If you want Rogue, you're going to have to fight for her." He held up a hand to forestall the inevitable interruption. "I'm not talking about a physical fight. I mean you're going to have to show her that you really care, that you know her better than anyone else, and you know how to make her happy."
"Like buy her nice things, and stuff?"
Scott laughed. "I don't think she can be bought, but you might want to bring her flowers, or make a CD of her favorite songs. Remind her of all the fun you've had together." Here he gave the younger man a mock-stern look. "And I don't want to know what you two were doing in the back seat of the Mercedes last week."
Bobby flushed. "How did you know?" he blurted. Scott shook his head. "Never mind. Do you really think I have a shot?"
Scott contemplated the young man. He didn't want to give him false hope, but he did want to encourage him. It was highly unlikely that Logan returned Rogue's feelings, and stranger things had happened. After all, somehow he'd managed to get Jean to love him. "I do, Bobby. You just have to be a man about it."
Feeling somewhat better, he motioned for Scott to throw him the ball. "So you think you can take me?" he asked, grinning as he took the ball out.
Scott sighed. Teenagers.
Jean was folding laundry when Scott came into their room, grinning. He grabbed her and kissed her soundly.
She wrinkled her nose. "You're all sweaty."
"Bobby and I just played an epic game of one-on-one," he replied, pulling off his t-shirt. Jean admired his well-muscled chest for a moment before turning back to her folding.
"How is Bobby?" she asked. "And why are you so smug?" He put his arms around her from behind and nuzzled her neck. She giggled. "Scott--"
"I just gave him some advice about Rogue," he said.
Jean stilled. "What did you tell him?" she asked warily. She hoped she wasn't going to have to patch the boy up if he did something stupid and provoked Logan. Scott continued his exploration of her neck. She twisted away. "I'm serious, Scott. If he gets hurt--"
Scott let her go. "Man, Jean, have a little faith in me," he said, sitting down on the bed. "I told him he has to fight for the woman he loves--" she inhaled sharply, ready to tear into him "--but not physically." She exhaled in relief. "Do you think I want him to get hurt?" He shook his head. "I just told him to be a man about it."
"Be a man? Be a man?" Jean was incredulous. "This is your idea of good advice?"
"What?" he asked, bewildered. "He knows what it means."
Jean shook her head. "Just when I think I know you, Summers," she muttered. She realized he wasn't taking the whole thing seriously. To him, it was just another little teenage tempest in a teapot. Her brave, loyal, earnest Scott couldn't understand that not everyone lived their lives and kept their emotions in as orderly a fashion as he did. He wouldn't think that Logan might just return Rogue's feelings -- to him, a man doesn't stay away from the woman he loves for two years by choice. It would never occur to him that Logan was only now figuring out his feelings for Rogue, and that things were probably going to get even stickier.
His voice jolted her from her thoughts. "Why are you upset, Jean?" He was serious now. "Don't you think it's best for Bobby and Rogue to behave like adults and work out their problems on their own?"
"I absolutely do, Scott. But I don't get how 'be a man' is a useful piece of advice."
"That's because you're not one," he replied.
"Can't argue there," she murmured, walking over and putting her arms around him. "But I think I'll have a little talk with Bobby later."
Scott shrugged. "If you feel the need. Personally, I think he's got it all under control." He thought for a second. "As long as he doesn't freeze himself to the floor again," he continued, laughter in his voice.
"Scott," she reproved him with a smile, and then they got distracted by each other, and forgot all about the bizarre love triangle currently occupying the thoughts of several other inhabitants of the mansion.
But Jean was determined to give Bobby some more explicit and -- in her mind -- helpful, advice, so she sought him out that evening after dinner.
"Bobby, could you help me with something?" she asked as he was leaving the dining room.
"Sure," he said, and followed her into the kitchen.
"We're going to defrost the freezer and I'd like you to fill these coolers with ice, so the food doesn't defrost."
"Sure," he said again, concentrating on creating enough ice to do the job, but also wondering why Jean was defrosting the freezer on a Sunday night when the regular cook -- who would be back tomorrow morning -- could have done it herself.
"So how are you?" she asked sympathetically, and he knew he was in for another little chat, like the one he'd had with Scott this morning. He sat down at the table next to her.
"I'm fine, Dr. Grey," he said. "I think things will be okay."
"If you want to talk..." she offered.
He shrugged. "Mr. Summers gave me some advice." He paused, switched gears, "Do you think Rogue would like orchids? Or should I get her roses? My dad always buys my mother roses, but isn't that kind of clichéd?"
"Bobby, buying flowers is a lovely gesture, but--" Jean broke off, trying to think of a way to say what she thought needed to be said without hurting the young man's pride. "Sometimes, you just have to let things go. You can buy Rogue flowers and do whatever else you think might win her heart, but in the end, she's going to be the one making the decision.
"People can't help feeling what they feel," she continued, "but it's what they do about it that matters."
"So what are you saying?" he asked, suddenly tense again. "I should just sit back and let that -- let him seduce her away from me?"
Jean sighed, wondering how anyone survived the overwrought melodrama of adolescence. "If she wants to be seduced, then yes."
"You're not helping," he said. "You're supposed to say that he shouldn't be trying to seduce her." His voice rose. "He's old enough to be her father."
"I think he knows that, Bobby. Just trust me, pushing yourself at Rogue is only going to push her away."
Bobby leapt to his feet. "Pushing myself at her," he sputtered, angry now. "Did she tell you that? Because I told her I wasn't going to bother her and I've left her alone. I told her I understood, even though I don't. I was mature about the whole thing, because I thought that's what she wanted."
"Bobby," she interrupted him, her tone sharp, "no one said you were forcing yourself on her, least of all Rogue. She won't even tell me how she's doing." She was getting a headache. She rubbed a hand across her forehead. "I'm sorry I didn't give you enough credit. Obviously, you're dealing with it in a much better fashion than I expected." She thought about Scott for a moment and said wryly, "I guess you're being a man about it."
"Gee, thanks," he said sarcastically. "Can I go now?"
She nodded and he left.
She put her hand to her forehead again, eyeing the coolers full of melting ice with disfavor. "You can come out now," she said tiredly.
"For a telepath, you sure screwed that up," Logan said. If it had been anyone else, she'd have said he sounded gleeful.
She mimicked Bobby's tone exactly. "Gee, thanks."
He sat down in the seat Bobby had vacated and pulled out a cigar. "Ya mind?" he asked, lighting it before she could answer. She sighed. "The kid must really like her," he said, "if he puts up with the whole no-touching thing."
Jean froze. Was the unthinkable happening? Was Logan actually going to confide in her?
"Of course, no skin doesn't necessarily mean no touching," he said reflectively, sucking on the cigar. "I can think of a couple interesting things..." He trailed off. Whoa, Logan, think with your brain for once. He hoped Jean couldn't read his mind.
She smiled indulgently at him. "You're incorrigible, Logan."
"It's all part of my charm," he responded easily, still trying to banish images of Marie wrapped in sheer material from his mind. Then he wondered if the boy had had the same idea, and he could feel the skin between his knuckles itching, the claws straining to unsheathe themselves. Jean looked at him curiously. "He seems like a good kid," he said, "but if he hurts Marie--" He left the rest of the threat unspoken, unconsciously making fists of his hands.
Jean impulsively placed her hand on his. "He won't. Or, he won't mean to. Someone's going to be hurt, though, Logan. And it probably won't be you."
"She's already been hurt enough," he said. Part of him, the base, animalistic side he was trying to tamp down, wanted to take the boy out back and thrash him for even thinking about looking at Marie. He was jonesing for a fight, for the opportunity to lash out and hurt something -- and honestly, to get hurt himself for the pain he'd caused Marie. "I know I'm part of that. That I hurt her by staying away for so long. But she, I -- oh, hell," he growled, "I'm not used to being responsible for anyone but myself." He left it unsaid, but Jean picked it up clearly, without having to intrude on his thoughts. He felt responsible for Rogue, and he was ready to take that responsibility seriously.
"I know," she murmured, not wanting to break the mood. He was projecting so strongly that she didn't even have to reach out to read his thoughts.
"For the first time in my life -- that I can remember, anyway -- I actually care more about someone else than about myself. I don't want to screw it up." He thought about his hatred of being tied down, the ease with which he'd escaped all the various responsibilities people had tried to foist off on him, and realized that everything had changed. I don't mind being obliged to someone, because that someone is Marie, and when she smiles at me, I would promise her anything. He shook himself mentally. Get a grip, man. This is nauseating. He growled again, and Jean knew the brief interlude was over.
"Just remember, you're the adult in all this," she said, getting up and dumping out first one cooler and then the other.
He let out a bark of laughter. "Then why do I feel like a dumb seventeen-year-old?"
She turned and smiled. "Love does strange things to people."
She left him in the kitchen, smoking contemplatively.
Love. He shook his head. That's a new one. Lust he understood, and hate, and even fear. But love? It was outside his remembered experience. He'd been with a lot of women, and none of them had affected him like Marie. She said that since she touched me, I'm in her head, but I don't think she realizes that she's in my head, too. I don't know if it's really her -- I don't know how her mutation works exactly -- or if it's just me, talking to her in my imagination when I get lonely, and seeing her face on every woman I meet.
He stood and stretched, trying to work out a kink in his neck that he couldn't quite reach. I used to be self-sufficient -- I never got lonely. I wanted to be left alone. Now I'm having conversations in my head with a 17-year-old girl, because I want to share stuff with someone. Not just someone. Her. I can't believe it. Love.
He savored the word like he savored the cigar, letting it wash over him, trying it on for size. Was it possible he was in love with Marie? He didn't know, but he was damn sure going to find out, and he wasn't going to let some kid stand in his way.
He extinguished the cigar and decided to go looking for Scott. Taunting the stoic leader of the X-Men was just what he needed to take the edge off.
Bobby checked his e-mail, hoping for a response from Hank, but there wasn't anything. He sat on his bed, moping. Various people came to try and cheer him up, but he wasn't having it. Then the phone rang. He jumped for it.
"Hello."
"Hello, Bobby."
"Dr. McCoy! How are you?"
"I'm fine. Obviously, the same cannot be said of you. I got your e-mail." There was a pause. "Did you really freeze yourself to the floor?"
Bobby could hear the barely concealed mirth in Hank's voice. He started laughing himself. "Yeah. I couldn't believe it. All of a sudden, I couldn't move. Johnny had to melt the ice so I could take my sneakers off."
"Oh my stars and garters! How embarrassing! How are you feeling now? You sound much better."
"I'm all right. Scott gave me some advice, some tips about how to win her heart. I may have a shot, after all. I mean, how could she not love me? I'm adorable and funny and cute, right? That's what Kitty keeps telling me. You shoulda heard her light into Rogue. It wasn't pretty."
"Hmm. I'm not the best person to ask about your attractions, but yes, I can see why the girls would er, what's the word? Dig you?"
Bobby laughed. "I wish chicks would dig me. Well, this particular chick, anyway. So any words of wisdom?" The silence from the other end of the phone stretched uncomfortably. "Dr. McCoy? Hank?"
The older man sighed. "Bobby, what I'm going to tell you is probably not what you want to hear."
"Oh, if it's that Rogue's going to make up her own mind, I know that. Dr. Grey already told me, along with how I shouldn't fight for my girl."
"I wouldn't tell you not to fight, Bobby. But just remember that Rogue's feelings are of paramount importance. You have to put her needs and wants before your own -- that's what being in love is. And you may have to settle for being second-best in her eyes."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you think she's in love with Logan?" Bobby said nothing. "If she is, and he's not in love with her, you'll win by default, but you'd still be coming in second. She'd be settling for you. Do you really want that? Or would you resent her for it? And wouldn't you prefer to be with someone who made you her first choice? And could you reciprocate?"
"You're talking about Kitty." He knew Kitty wanted to date him, but he'd never taken it seriously. Kitty fell in and out of love almost daily. Chances are, he'd ask her out and she'd dump him for a new guy in a week.
"Yes."
"I don't see what she has to do with it."
"Maybe you should think about her, and think about Rogue, and who you're really in love with and why."
"You're not helping me here, Hank."
"I'm sorry. But you need to consider the ramifications of your actions. Do you love Rogue for herself or because she makes you feel needed? Is it about you or her?
"And if something as simple as what happened this morning can cause such a commotion, maybe your relationship isn't as right as you thought. Sometimes it's better to just walk away."
"Whatever." He tried not to sound ungracious. "Thanks for calling." Even if you didn't help me at all, he thought.
Hank sighed. "Good night, Bobby. Let me know how it all turns out."
He returned to his room, his head full of all the conflicting advice he'd received. Fight like a man. Let Rogue make the decision. Walk away and ask Kitty out. Being in love sucked. He wished Logan had never returned, that he and Rogue could have continued on, having fun and never thinking about anything serious. With Kitty, he wouldn't have these problems. Hell, with Kitty, he'd probably get dumped before he turned around twice.
He couldn't believe he was thinking about Kitty. Hank really did a number on me, he thought, pulling a pillow over his face.
Logan found Scott out in the garage. He was tinkering with the bike Logan had brought back.
"What are you doin' to my bike?" he asked.
Scott turned and rose in one fluid motion. "Your bike?" he asked in disbelief.
"Mine," Logan said flatly. "And I don't like people screwin' around with what's mine." He could hear Scott's heart rate increase.
"Really." Scott didn't need telepathy to know Logan was spoiling for a fight. And, after having to deal with Jean's lack of confidence in him, Bobby's moping and Rogue's crying, he was certainly in a mood to oblige.
"Yeah. Me and that bike have had two good years together."
"Ah yes," Scott said acidly. "The two years you were off having adventures with my bike, while we worried about where you were and whether you were even still alive, and never heard a word."
"You worried about me, Slim? I'm touched."
"I," Scott emphasized the pronoun, "worried about my bike. However, there may have been one or two misguided fools who cared enough about your worthless carcass to worry."
Logan grinned fiercely. He could smell the adrenaline pumping in Scott's veins, feel it surging in his own. "I know you wanna hit me," he said, "so why don't you just go ahead and take a shot?"
Scott lashed out with a fist, so quickly that Logan wasn't able to completely escape being hit. The punch snapped his head back. At least the guy isn't afraid of me, he thought, throwing a crunching body blow. "Stuck up tight-ass," he snarled, enjoying himself immensely.
Scott gasped but didn't go down. "Lecherous old goat," he spat back, getting a quick jab past Logan's defenses.
They exchanged insults with every punch.
"Dick." Right hook to Scott's temple.
"Asshole." Left to Logan's solar plexus.
"Mama's boy." Jab to Scott's throat.
"Cad." Uppercut to Logan's jaw.
Logan shook his head in disbelief. "Did you just call me a cad?" he asked incredulously.
Scott was slightly winded. "I believe I did," he puffed.
They both found that hysterically funny. They had to lean against the walls of the garage to hold themselves up because they were laughing so hard.
"I guess I was a cad," Logan admitted.
"You were a complete bastard for not calling or writing to Rogue," Scott responded without hesitation. "I'm surprised she even wants to speak to you."
"You don't know my Marie."
"After two years, do you?" And with that parting shot, Scott left the garage.
Logan stared after him, pondering the answer to that question.
End