Title: Kinda I Want To
Author: Askani'daughter / Eruntalince (newloverboys@yahoo.com)
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Kinda I Want To 4 - Through Bobby's Eyes
By Askani'daughter
Err, Professor? It's me, Bobby.
Right, you knew that.
Um, I need to talk to you.
Look, I know it's the middle of the night, and you were probably trying to sleep and all, but I'm a little freaked. Okay, I'm a *lot* freaked. I mean if there was a number between one and ten assigned to being freaked, ten being the most freaked you could ever get, then I'm right around a thirteen.
Prof, this is serious. Tell everyone who's not dead or in Limbo to get their asses in gear and meet in the War Room. Warren's run off and he's going to try and kill Sinister! Why? Fuck, lemme tell you while on my way...
I have *got* to tell you about my day, Prof.
Alright, I *know* everyone around this mansion assumes I'm the annoying goofy little guy with like about three or four brain cells to kick around. But you know I'm not stupid. Granted, I may not notice things as quick as some others, but hell, I *eventually* notice them. I'm not Hank who has his nose so deep in his books I'm surprised he remembers to eat.
I started to notice this..this...*thing* between Scott and Warren earlier today, when I walked into the Danger Room control center, and found them standing real close together. Warren's wings were kinda stretched around them, so I couldn't really see what was going on. I wouldn't have thought twice about it, except for the slightly guilty look on Cyclops' face, and this extremely frustrated, annoyed, and almost *desperate* look on Warren's face when he spun around at me.
I've known Warren forever, but I never actually saw him look like that before. It was weird. And then the way they both acted was weird. I asked them to come with me and Hank to the bar, and Cyclops, who lately has turned into a *real* jerk because of this whole Jean thing, literally *jumped* at the chance to come. Warren, who usually smoothly accepts, looked reluctant to come, and I swear he only said yes because Scott said yes.
See, I'm not as stupid as everyone thinks.
I *knew* I was missing something important. I was right, too.
After an hour and a half, Warren was *finally* ready. Scott, Hank, and me were all hanging out in the living room waiting for him, dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Hank, of course, had his image inducer on, so he looked like any other beefcake you'd meet in the bar. And Warren comes down dressed *nice*. I didn't get it at the time.
I mean he was wearing *nice* cologne, like Tommy Hilfiger or something as equally as over-priced. And he had on these black designer pants, that *had* to be specially tailored to fit him, and were *vinyl*. He wore this super tight black designer shirt over it, showing off his chest, the bastard. A black choker chain surrounded his throat, with a little silver ankh hanging off of it. He had his image inducer on, so his wings were unnoticeable, and his skin was like it used to be, that nice, sun-kissed golden shade that went so nice with his hair. His golden hair, combed and styled, with his long bangs hanging in his eyes. I swear, his hair shone. And he only had eyes for Cyclops.
I know I shouldn't have been checking him out. I'm not gay, I was just... I mean it's *Warren*. He's not just beautiful, he's fucking *unnatural*. If beauty is a mutant power, then Warren's right around the level of the Beyonder. Half the time we're so busy I forget what he looks like, but damn Professor, I felt just like I did the first time I met him...
Why does he have to be a *guy*???
"Damn, Warren! If you're trying to get me to ask you out, try those pants in a skirt and ask Hank for some estrogen shots to get yourself a pair of breasts, and we got a deal!" I burst out, grinning like a fool and hoping my baggy jeans hid any erections I might have sprung. If only he was a woman....
I must have said something wrong, because Warren's face fell, where the second before he was smiling at Scott. Warren bit his bottom lip and looked at me, and I felt like a heel, and I didn't even know why. Something about the look in his eye.
"Um, I'm joking, Warren...." I said slowly, wondering if maybe he was offended by the joke or something. He takes offense at the weirdest shit, I tell you, Prof.
And then he smiled, and everything was okay again. Warren's smile is dazzling, like a movie star's. "I would hope so. They don't make these pants into skirts," he returned, but his voice didn't sound quite as haughty as normal.
"It's cool, man, it's cool. If I ever turn gay, you and me are gonna have to hook up, ya know that, right?" I grinned at Warren. Warren returned my smile, a little half-heartedly.
Scott turned his face towards me, and through glasses and all, he couldn't have given me a better death glare if he took his glasses off and shot me with his optic beams. I couldn't exactly see his glare, but I sure as hell could *feel* it. I couldn't figure out why he was angry. I'm still not sure.
"Are we ready?" Scott asked coolly, and I swear he made *me* shiver.
"Jesus, Scott, it was a joke. Don't be so hostile!" I shrugged. "Are we all ready?"
"Sure, let's go. I'm driving," Hank said smoothly, and bounded out the door.
"Shotgun!!!" I called gleefully, racing out the door behind Hank.
Scott and Warren came outside a second later, Scott before Warren. Scott sat down almost primly in the back seat, and his jaw was working. Warren got in beside him, and gave Scott the oddest look. Scott stared out the window, ignoring Warren completely. It was really weird. I look back now and think they were acting like a pair of high-schoolers. Scott was the pretty, popular football jock, bound and determined to play hard-to-get, and Warren the slightly awkward lonely outcast, desperate to receive attention. It was odd, to think of someone as beautiful and rich of Warren like that, but at the same time, it wasn't.
It was just me and Hank chatting on the drive to the bar, Scott and Warren were completely silent, almost uncomfortable. They both barely responded when Hank or I tried to involve them in the conversation. Hank and I exchanged glances, but said nothing.
We got to the bar, and found a booth for the four of us, each of us ordering our own drinks. Me and Hank ordered Heinekens and much to my surprise Scott ordered Scotch, no ice. I raised an eyebrow. He rarely drank that heavy. Warren ordered an Orgasm and for some reason Scott stopped and just *looked* at him. I couldn't tell the look in his eyes of course, but man, his jaw was working side to side like crazy. Warren looked smug for some indefinable reason. I realized Warren always looked smug whenever Scott bothers to pay him attention.
"You know, I've always wondered if maybe Gambit is, like, a voyeur or somethin'. Whaddaya think, Hank?" I asked loudly after a while. Neither Scott or Warren were paying much attention to anything outside of each other, the wall, the table, or their drinks.
"Why do you say that, Bobbles? True, of late he seems to place himself on the outer edges of our merry little mutant band and just watches everyone, but why would you say he is a voyeur, *per se*?" Hank asked in his usual way. Too many words for something so easily said.
I blinked at him, the two Heinekins I had slowing down my mental processing time. "Christ, McCoy, I caught the guy watching the security monitors twice in one day. And I always feel his eyes on me, on everyone. Walk by him, eat, sleep, shower, whatever, he just stands there and *watches* you. It's freaky," I snorted.
"That doesn't make him necessarily a voyeur," Scott finally said, turning his face towards me, his red shades gleaming slightly in the dim lights.
"This is true. When you catch him watching you have sex, then he qualifies as a voyeur. Until then, I'm afraid he doesn't qualify," Hank said with authority, not affected at all by his drinks. It takes two or three *six-packs* to give him a buzz.
"I'd prefer not to catch him watching me have sex," I giggled at the thought.
"That would be impossible. Bobby doesn't have sex, unless you count masturbation," Warren said snidely, also getting into the conversation.
"How do you know?? Are you a voyeur, too??" I cried, irritated at this turn of the conversation. So I haven't gotten laid in a year. That's what they invented the internet for, right, Prof?
"Not at all. I've just noted in passing your room at night that the only cries of pleasure I hear are yours. Although, I could be mistaken, and you could have an inflatable doll in there," Warren smirked, his blue eyes glittering in mischief. I swear he loves to tease people. But he doesn't like being teased back.
"Well, at least the cries of pleasure from *my* room aren't all male. What, are you and Scott shacking up now? Both of you get dumped by women so many times you just decided to be gay?"
It was a joke, Professor. A tasteless, insensitive joke. I didn't think it would do what it did.
Scott's head snapped over to me, and he *glowered* at me. Warren's face went pale, from his image-induced golden skin, to a pale yellowish-white. And then the blonde angel just stood up and stalked over to the other side of the bar, and sat at a different table by himself.
"Um, was it something I said?" I asked weakly, unsure why two of my best friends were suddenly acting like I had personally insulted both of them.
"Jesus, Bobby, how long have you been his friend? His *best* friend? How could you say something like that? To either of us?" Scott asked, seething in anger. He stood up stiffly and walked over to where Warren sat, in one of the corner booths.
"That was pretty insensitive, Bobby. Warren's had girlfriends *die* on him. It wasn't funny," Hank scolded me when Scott left, proving that his nose isn't buried *that* deep in his books.
Man, does everyone know what to say but me?
"I... was just joking. I didn't think about it. Jesus, I'm a heel," I sighed, smacking myself in the forehead.
"No, you're not a heel, Bobby. You just start talking and don't think about what you say. It's alright. Just apologize a little later, okay?" Hank sighed, and patted me brotherly on the shoulder.
I found myself watching Scott and Warren. I felt bad about what I had said, and I hoped Scott would be able to make Warren feel better. The pair sat across from each other. Warren was sullenly making himself very drunk, and Scott was trying to talk to him. I couldn't hear anything they said to each other, but I had to admit I was curious.
A long time passed, with Warren drinking and saying nothing, and Scott trying to talk to him. Hank started a light conversation with me, but most of my attention was focused on Scott and Warren. I noticed things I never really noticed before, Professor. I'd never watched either of them so closely.
Did you ever notice how intensely Warren watches Scott?
Did you ever notice how intensely Scott watches Warren?
Did you ever notice how Warren almost poses himself for Scott?
Did you ever notice how no one can get under Scott's skin like Warren can?
Did you ever notice how Warren always dresses up when he's going places with Scott?
Did you ever notice how Scott carefully avoids certain topics with Warren?
Did you ever notice how they act like a couple of teenagers with a crush around each other?
But I still didn't quite grasp it. I wasn't able to at the time. Well, I just thought it was absurd, a ridiculous idea.
And then, suddenly, Scott stood up, an expression of shock and fear on his face, if I'm any judge of expressions without eyes to look at. He left the tavern quickly, practically running.
After a few minutes, Warren got up and left out the back door.
I got up, ignoring Hank, and followed Warren. I mean, this was my fault, right? But as I passed, I noticed a very beautiful woman sitting thoughtfully in the shadows, at the booth behind Warren's.
"Betsy?" I asked slowly. Was she eavesdropping?
She turned her violet eyes on me, looking sad. "He needs someone to talk to right now, Bobby. Don't freak out on him, alright? He doesn't need that. Now go, go help your friend," she said simply, and turned back to her drink.
I licked my lips and headed out the back door, finding Warren sitting on a bench some way away from the bar. I sat down next to him, trying to figure out what was wrong.
His shoulders were hunched, and Warren was crying. I'd never seen him cry before. It was very odd. I put a hand on his back, and awkwardly patted him, feeling the odd hump of his wings through his image inducer.
"Please go away, Bobby," he said after a while.
"Not until you talk to me, Warren. Please, I didn't mean what I said. It was a bad joke. Please..." I said, withdrawing my hand, and studying his tear-streaked face.
Warren was silent, looking into my eyes, as if he was trying to figure out what I was thinking. "I told him," he said after a while.
"Told who what?" I asked innocently.
"I told Scott that I love him. And he ran away, big surprise."
"Told who what?" I repeated weakly.
"You heard me."
I was silent for a long time. "You could have told me you were gay," I said.
"I'm bisexual, not gay. And why? What does it have to do with you, Bobby? It's not like I fell in love with you. Maybe it'd be better if I had. At least you don't hate me," Warren laughed bitterly.
"I'm sorry, Warren." It was all I could think of to say.
"For what? For me being bi, or me loving a man who hates me?"
Jeez, I'm just digging myself in deeper. "He doesn't hate you. How could anybody who hates you protect you like he did before he went over to talk to you?" I said, wondering if maybe I was going someplace I shouldn't.
"Then why'd he run away when I told him that I loved him?" Warren asked bitterly.
"Why do you always go out of your way to piss him off? I don't know," I answered honestly.
Warren studied me for a long time, his face set into a deep frown. I know what he's been through, but I can't quite get a grasp of what goes on in his head. I never understood him, Professor. He's always been confusing to me. An enigma, Hank would say. One moment he's the arrogant, egotistical rich playboy, and the next, he's depressed, anti-social, and brooding. I can deal with Playboy Warren, but Depressed Warren is too much for me. Too much pain. I'm not the rock Scott is. I can't deal with this.
And then it dawned on me.
"You.... need him, don't you? Scott's so strong... That's why you love him," I finally said. Scott's strong. Warren's unsure of himself. Scott's a rock. Warren's suicidal. Scott can handle anything. Warren can't deal with things alone. Warren needs Scott to help him through it all. Sometimes, Professor, I'm not a total moron.
"If I was a woman, he'd never have even *thought* about Jean, do you know that? Back when it was just us four, there were times when I thought he might like me. But Jean showed up, and it was all about her from that point on. I knew him even before she came along. If I was a woman, he'd have fallen in love with me. He'd be devoted to me, like he is to her. I'd be his world. But I'm not a woman. I'm a man. I'm a man he doesn't even like, much less love," Warren said bitterly, staring off at the highway, his profile towards me.
I was silent, because I didn't know what to say. This was freaking me out, Professor. I'm not a homophobe, but I don't know how to deal with homosexuality. Bisexuality. Whatever. Much less when it's one of my closest friends.
And then I realized I don't know Warren as well as I should. Like everyone else in this little school, I'm so absorbed in my own problems, I can't see his very well. I don't understand my own friend. I can't help him, because I don't know how.
And he knew it.
I said nothing as he stood up, and let his harness slide down, along with the image inducer. Once again, Warren was Angel, the blue-skinned winged mutant. He pushed up with his legs and flew up and up and up, until I couldn't see him anymore.
Once again, I failed miserably. I had a chance to help Warren out, but my own feelings got in the way. Instead of helping my friend, I made him worse.
"It's all right, Bobby. You did the best you could. There's really only one man...who I know that can actually help Warren, but right now, he's sulking his way towards the mansion," Betsy said from the shadows, the silent observer of our exchange.
"Where's Warren going, Betsy?" I asked, a little worried about his mental state. Last time Warren got like this, he tried to kill himself.
"Straight into trouble, I'm afraid. If you want to save your friend's life, before he gets himself killed, or worse, then go find Scott and tell him that Warren's going to go find Sinister," she said evenly, calmly, as if she was telling me Warren was heading to K-Mart to pick up a new pair of socks.
"He's what???" I cried.
"He wants to die, Bobby. And he wants to take Sinister with him. As a gift to Scott. I'll be waiting at the Blackbird. Now, move it," she said darkly.
So that's what happened, Professor. I'm not freaked out about Warren's feelings, just what he wants to do. He's fucking insane. He can't kill Sinister!
Pray for us, Professor.
We're going after Warren.