Icebreaker

Posted on Tue Jan 9th, 2024 @ 3:42pm by Bobby Drake & Kennedy Kelly
Edited on on Wed Jan 10th, 2024 @ 9:47am

4,741 words; about a 24 minute read

Mission: Episode 3: X-Tra Ecclesiam
Location: Kitchen | X-Mansion
Timeline: August 22st, 1990 - night

Following the attack everyone had momentarily regrouped then quickly scattered across the mansion grounds, individuals were assigned to damage control or released for personal leave. Kennedy was given the latter. Her first act had been a shower, discarding her now ruined sundress, she scrubbed herself clean, four or maybe five times, until she was confident that there was no trace of human remains on her. She found herself surprisingly composed after being attacked, the need to defend herself outweighed the horror or remorse that swam in her head.

Dressing in shorts and a tank top, she journeyed to the kitchen to satisfy her next urgent need, Kennedy was absolutely starving. Dinner had been disbanded into a ‘fend for yourself’ type of meal now that everyone was busy. Leaving Kennedy on her own to find something to eat as her stomach growled and ached with hunger.

Barely capable in the kitchen, Kennedy made herself a sandwich. Using up the last of the sliced turkey, she made herself a sandwich worthy of a meal. Too tired to care and too hungry to wait, she sat down on the edge of the kitchen counter to eat. Taking a large bite that left her chewing for several minutes, her eyes drifted toward the door as Bobby walked in.

“Oh, hey…” While his eyes roved over her shorts and tank top, Bobby just didn’t have the energy for his normal routine. He himself was in a plain white tee and khaki shorts which had been at the top of his clean laundry pile. “Guess we had the same idea.”

While he tried to play casual, the words from their last conversation still rang in his ears. ‘Get fucked, Bobby.’ Yeah, well, right now he was gonna’ get fed.

Bobby walked by Kennedy and gave her plenty of space. Wouldn’t want Her Highness to have her royal knee brushed by his peasant hand. Even without his mutant power, his demeanor would have still been icy. He stuck his head inside the refrigerator and dug around with the frustration of someone in search of something specific but not finding it.

Kennedy let the tension fill the room as she took another bite of her sandwich, the long pause giving both of them a minute to sum each other up. They were both tired and hungry, yet he still had the audacity to be mad at her, even though he was the one who started their stupid fight in the first place.

She began to seethe over the realization that he was still mad at her because she had dared to stand up for herself when he called her, what was it? A rich stuck up bitch.

Kennedy almost said something to start round two of their fight, but then her thoughts turned to this evening. How incredibly scared and angry she had been during the attack, while he remained cool and composed. Bobby went after the Juggernaut without hesitation and he had saved her and Bliss from being a smear across the front lawn. She realized that fighting amongst themselves was a waste of energy, especially when the rest of the world wanted to beat them into submission.

“Thank you...” Kennedy finally broke her silence with the unexpected words. “For stopping the Juggernaut from pummeling me.”

Bobby bumped his head on the interior of the fridge and waited there a moment. It wasn’t her voice that had startled him, but rather her gratitude. He wasn’t expecting that. “You’re…welcome.”

It came out a little broken, something he hoped she’d chalk up to him banging his head. Not that he wanted her thinking about that overmuch either. He sighed. But then he saw what he was after.

“Yes!”

Bobby pulled back from the fridge and practically danced a circle while holding a mixing bowl over his head. His little jig ended with him by the counter opposite Kennedy where the waffle maker was shoved against the backsplash. Plugging it in and pulling it forward, he set it to the highest temperature and waited for it to get hot.

Turning back to Kennedy for the first time since he’d first entered, Bobby leaned back against the counter while propped up on his elbows. She looked pissy, but not necessarily because her nose was in the air. Must be something else. Girls always seemed to be pissy about things. Still, she’d thanked him. That counted for something.

“Want some waffles?” The question came in a cool tone that was devoid of emotion, but the look he gave her was curious. How far did her unexpected good will go? Was she going to insult his winning personality traits some more?

“Umm… sure.” Kennedy took the question as an invitation to start talking again. To say ‘no’ would mean more than a rejection of waffles.

“Is there any syrup? Or do you just eat them plain?” She watched him as he prepared the iron and batter. Kennedy had never made waffles before but she felt like that confession would be a detriment to her character, at least when he considered her to be ‘too good’ for everything.

“How long have you been doing this?” Kennedy asked before taking another bite of her sandwich, Bobby got the impression she wasn’t asking about waffle making.

“Sneaking waffles with leftover batter? All my life.” Bobby chuckled mischievously as he dodged her true meaning. “There’s butter on the dish there under the lid. Might need to open a new syrup bottle from the pantry.”

He looked at her again, noting the details. Relatively tanned legs for days, fancy bangs, prominent nose and cheekbones from a long line of blueblood breeding. Way the fuck out of his league. Probably had a great-aunt who was a European duchess or something.

“So how long have you been little miss perfect?” It was a dick thing to say, but the glint in his eye and the smirk on his face signaled it was meant to be more teasing than insulting.

Kennedy shot him a glaring side eye before she retorted.
“All my life.”

She hopped down from the counter and made her way over to the pantry and refrigerator. Rummage for a moment, Kennedy managed to find something better than butter and syrup.

“Here we go.” She had found sliced strawberries, chocolate syrup and a can of whipped cream in the refrigerator. “If we’re eating breakfast for dinner, let’s make it even more like dessert.”

“You know, I like the way you think,” Bobby said, his demeanor thawing.

Kennedy returned to her position on the counter and opened the can of whipped cream. She tilted her head back and squirted some in her mouth laughing a little as she did so. Her head dropped as she finished it and noticed the look on Bobby’s face.

“Don’t be stupid.” She chastised him before he could even say anything “Tilt your head back.”

At first Bobby just grinned. “Hey, I didn't say a word!” he protested with a self-incriminating wink. As he tilted his head back, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth.

Kennedy reached over and sprayed the pressurized cream into his mouth. She filled his mouth to the point where it was almost overwhelmingly full, a subtle harmless pay back for being a dick a few moments ago.

She couldn’t help but laugh as he momentarily struggled with it.

“Don’t let your waffle burn…” Kennedy pointed at the blinking yellow light on the top of the iron, diverting his attention back to his cooking.

“Uh-fffggh!” Bobby exclaimed as best he could but only managed to dribble whipped cream down his chin. He popped the lid up on the waffle maker and flipped the waffle onto a waiting plate with his fingers. “Ow! Hot!”

He summoned a glove of ice to tend the burn. “Ahhh… much better.” Then he poured more batter into the machine and closed it to cook.

By the time he turned back to Kennedy, the whipped cream had found its way from his chin to his shirt. “What?”

Half a dozen responses ran through Kennedy’s head ranging from teasing to absolutely mean. But she stifled all of those comments that could have been taken as bitchy and replied with something kinder.

“Here.” She ripped a paper towel from the roll and offered it to him between two slender fingers. Kennedy kept her eyes on the kitchen floor while she waited for him to take it.

Once he had taken the paper towel from her, she let out a long, heavy sigh. He could feel the weight on her shoulders as she sat next to him.

“Does it get any easier?” Kennedy’s eyes remained fixed on the floor. “I killed people today.”

Bobby took the paper towel and the hint. “Those weren't people,” Bobby said while cleaning his face. “Those were monsters who attacked a school full of kids. Anyone who tries to kill innocent people deserves whatever they get. Stop the threat. Let the law and religion settle the rest.”

His eyes met hers briefly. “The honest answer is no, it's never easier. But you learn to save your tears for the ones who deserve it.”

By then the whipped cream he'd missed on his shirt had melted through and started clinging to his chest. The sticky feeling revolted him.

“Oh, damn it! Not another one!” He peeled the shirt off his body and hurried to the sink where he began lapping water into himself to wash away the ick. He used the clean end of the T-shirt to dry himself.

Only when he turned around to catch the flashing light on the waffle maker did he realize she was watching him, her face unreadable to him.

“Uh, sorry.” He pulled off the waffle onto the plate before turning to his ice form. No flesh, no clear facial features. “That better?”

Kennedy’s eyes narrowed as she watched him, she was attempting to comprehend what was going on. His reaction was extreme but she hardly knew Bobby, maybe this was normal for him?

“For me or for you?” Kennedy answered his question with a question.

“Well, the last time I took my shirt off, you seemed to get uncomfortable,” Bobby said, his breath misting from his icy mouth. “Then again the last time you saw me like this, you said I wasn't a real person.” He turned back into flesh and blood so he could snatch a waffle and give it a hard bite.

“Wow, okay. A whole bunch of speculation about my thoughts going on in those statements.” Kennedy defensively folded her arms across her chest as she continued to absorb everything he had just said.

“I’m uncomfortable because I don’t like being aggressively flirted with and hit on. Most girls don’t like that and I’ve even told you as much, more than once. I want to have regular conversations, not a bunch of pickup lines and gratuitous behavior.”

“I never said you weren’t a real person, what I meant was you’re deflecting. I tried to get to know you and you avoided the question, I try to talk to you about what the hell is going on around here and you skate past it.”

“You seem to be going through… something. So stop acting like I’m just a bitch who’s treating you like garbage, you know what you’re doing and it’s not fair to make me your scapegoat.”

Bobby was more than ready to return her anger with his own. Yet the more she talked, the more called out he felt. Yelling might work. The impulse was there. But yelling at girls wasn't how he was raised.

By the time she finished, Bobby felt his eyes were glistening. He wiped them dry with his bare arm. Words. This girl and her…her stupid words.

“Want the other waffle?” His tone was deadpan with a twinge of regret.

Kennedy had an icy, angry stare that was cold enough to freeze Bobby. She remained fixed in that defensive frigid position for a long moment after he had asked his question.

“Yes.” She finally replied as her folded arms returned to her sides “Yes, please.”

Kennedy took the offered waffle and covered it in so many strawberries, chocolate syrup and whipped cream that the waffle could even be seen anymore.

She took several bites in silence and he watched as her shoulders softened a bit.
“This is really good.”

“Yeah, I think Bliss made it,” Bobby said. He waited for Kennedy to finish her plate before he asked his burning question. “Why do you care so much? You act like you don't give a shit and then you glare at me when I don't tell you what you want to hear. What gives?”

“I ask questions because I do care, and yeah, I glare at you when you give me some bullshit answer or you completely avoid the question.” Kennedy placed her empty plate on the counter next to her.

“I don’t have anyone anymore, Bobby, I’m alone and sad and scared. Plus I’m conflicted, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, with X-Men. So excuse me for trying to talk to you, to try and find some sort of connection so life doesn’t suck as much.”

Bobby looked away, his face taken over by fear and loathing. “If you came here looking for X-Men, prepare to be disappointed.” He drew little circles on the kitchen floor with his toe. “You aren't alone though. I tried to tell you that on your first day.”

“Looking for X-Men?” Kennedy huffed a laugh “You have absolutely no idea who I am, do you? Oh that’s right because you never asked, I don’t think you even asked what my name was when I arrived. So let me turn the tables on this conversation, why do you care so little? You act like you want me to give a shit about, what? Sex? What’s your deal?”

Bobby's eyes ignited with pain. Unshed tears welled up but he wouldn't let them fall. He couldn't.

“Nothing. That's the problem. I don't care about anything anymore. I'm numb inside and I hate it. Whatever happened to me killed Bobby. He's dead. Now I really am just an ice man.” His timbre piqued with his next question. “Is that what you wanted to hear, princess? Are you happy now?”
Leaning forward, he had to incline his head to look her in the eye. “Or is it just that I don't give a hot shit what hoity-toity ivory tower you fell out of?”

“What do you mean he’s dead?”
The malice left her voice only because he seemed terribly pained by this confession and it didn’t feel like some bullshit deflection tactic.
“What happened to you?”

Bobby's eyes turned to ice, literally and figuratively. “Does it matter?” he snapped at first, though he then relented. “I don't know. I don't remember. I didn't remember anything when they found me. Now I'm back in my room and none of it feels like mine. Not even my clothes fit right.” He flung his wadded shirt on the floor. “So I'm sorry I didn't roll out the proper welcome for you. There are people going through shit of their own, though, so maybe get your nose out of the air.”

“Hey!” Kennedy took a step back from him as if his cruel words actually hurt. “Stop being such an asshole! Of course it matters, it’s obviously affecting you. Are you going to therapy or something?”

Bobby looked guilty for his outburst but that only seemed to upset him more. “Why? You gonna give it to me if I'm not? Bet you have twelve doctors in the family. You could hook me up.” His face grimaced at that. “I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Spinning around, he finally lost it and pounded the countertop. “Fuck!” he shouted. Though his face was to her, the subtle jostle of his shoulders signaled he was crying. The hard sniff only confirmed it.

Kennedy recoiled from his emotional outbursts, she wasn’t expecting any of this. But she wasn’t angry with him anymore, she actually felt bad for him and whatever internal battle he was fighting.

She ripped off another sheet from the paper towels and handed it to him.

“Here.” Kennedy said yet again, the same slender fingers held out the paper towel to him.

“Does anyone else know about this? That you’re having such a hard time?”

Bobby glanced over his shoulder and saw the paper towel. After a quick snatch, he dried his face and left it wadded up on the counter.

“The people who need to know already know,” he said softly. “And then some.” This was hard. He hadn't really said anything but still felt like he'd said way too much. “Don't worry about it. I'll be fine.”

“I don’t think you’re fine.” Kennedy confidently declared “I’m not saying I know what’s wrong with you or that I know what you need to be ‘fine’. But I’ll help you.”

Was that the nicest thing anyone had said to Bobby since he had come back? Maybe.

“What’s something that I can do to help you? And so help me Bobby, if you say something perverted I will punch you in the throat.”

Bobby glared at her. His tears were gone but his bronchials still chucked from the crying. “I don't need anything from you,” he said in a near growl. “A guy flirts with you for a few minutes and you're gonna bust his balls over it for all eternity? Get over yourself.” He took the mixing bowl and splashed what was left of the batter at her. “And get a clue while you're at it!”

She wanted to slap him, to hit him across the side of the face as hard as she could for being such a raging asshole. Instead, the dirty plate she was holding shimmered gold and out of instinct she flung it into the sink where it exploded into a million pieces upon impact.

“God damn it.” Kennedy muttered to herself and went to the sink to inspect the damage she had done. Picking up the pieces, she was relieved to discover that she hadn’t damaged the sink, only the dish.

Ignoring Bobby, she hastily threw the shards of ceramic into the trash and nicked her finger in the process. Kennedy muttered more profanities to herself as she grabbed another paper towel and clutched it to her bleeding finger.

“I guess we can maintain the civility of not letting each other die on missions. As for the rest of the time, you can do whatever this is, and I’ll just pretend like you don’t exist. Deal?”

Bobby’s glare softened when he saw blood. He was still mad as hell at her backhanded offer to help him somehow while insinuating he was a pervert. As if she was a virgin, pure as the driven snow. Hell, maybe she was. Her ass seemed uptight enough.

“Let me see,” Bobby said. When she gave no immediate sign of doing so, he pressed. “Come on. Let me see it.”

Kennedy scowled at him for a long moment. He was making it really difficult for her to even tolerate him. She thought about her original conclusion, that it was foolish for them to fight internally when there were so many outside of the mansion looking to do so much worse to them.

She held out her paper towel wrapped left hand to him but turned her head away from him and the injury.

The scowl didn't faze Bobby a bit. If anything, it made him snort. Feeling’s mutual, babe.

But he took her finger and carefully pulled back the paper towel. It was definitely a gusher as finger cuts often were but it wasn't deep. Just real fine.

“I can fix that,” he said plainly.

Bobby took a breath and prepared himself. This was going to take a level of exactitude he didn't often exercise. He'd done it before with mixed results. Too much and he'd give her frost bite. Too little and the effect would be negligible.

With her injured hand resting palm up in one hand, Bobby turned his top hand to ice form. He held two fingers over her cut and imagined the blood vessels oozing out of her broken skin. They were getting very cold. Not all of them. Maybe half. More than that would be too much. The plasma in which they flowed began coagulating with the loss of heat, especially with the air mixture.

Kennedy’s gaze remained turned to the side, she hated blood and refused to look at it or anything he was doing. But she remained still as he worked, only wincing, her nose scrunching like a rabbit, as the intense cold replaced the burn of pain.

Bobby pulled his hand away and released Kennedy. “There,” he said, his face an unreadable mess of mixed emotions. “Hope that helps.”

She pulled back her hand and examined the cold cauterized wound. It felt numb now but no longer bled. Kennedy looked at it for a long time, her face bland, but internally she was impressed that he could even do something like this. Her abilities were limited to destruction and she was envious of those with a more therapeutic talent.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, the venom gone from it. "You didn’t have to do that and you still did.”

“It was kind of my fault,” Bobby said, looking away. “I don't like the way you look at me but I was still wrong for what I did.” He glanced at the sticky batter clinging to her shirt, then looked away again before she got the wrong idea. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“It’s fine.” Kennedy shrugged, she was tired of the emotional roller coaster that today had provided. She didn’t want to go to bed angry.
“I don’t really know what you mean by the way that I look at you but I stand by what I said, I’ll leave you alone.”

Bobby shook his head in disbelief. “You really have no idea, do you? Okay, so I was over the top when you first got here. Big deal. I'm just that way.” His hands came up, waving around in big dramatic gestures. “But you've been staring down your nose at me from the moment you got here. Then you offer to help me in some mystery way and call me a pervert all in the same breath. See how you ain't such jolly holiday yourself?” The little speech ended with a single hand in the air like a frustrated choir conductor, his brow arched like his point was obvious.

“I never said I was perfect and you’re right I'm absolutely clueless, I’ve never been so lost in my entire life.” Kennedy returned to hugging herself, as if her arms could protect her from him. “You talk like you hate me and I’m the worst person you’ve ever met, who’s done nothing but insult you. I would think you’d be happy to hear that I’ll stop talking to you.”

Bobby met her gaze but only just. His chin was still pointed down and away. “You were mean. So was I though. You lost your family. I can't go home either. Maybe I know how you feel right now.” A slight sniffle, a twitch of his cheek. “I don't know how you could help me. I honestly don't know how to help you either. Still trying to figure things out myself. Maybe you're right. I'll leave you alone.” He turned away, shoulders slumped, and shuffled his feet toward the door.

“My father is Senator Robert Kelly.” Kennedy confessed to him. It was her biggest secret. Powerful information that could damn so many, including Charles Xavier.

At first Bobby kept walking, his mind already elsewhere than in that kitchen. When Kennedy's words sunk in through his thick skull, though, he stopped in his tracks.

“What?” Slowly turning around, Bobby cast a wary eye on the girl. Was she serious? Some kind of sick joke? One look at her face cleared all that away. She was deathly serious. “Holy shit, Kennedy… Kennedy Kelly.”

Bobby glanced back and forth to see if anyone else was around. Of course there wasn't. He was just a little unconfident. “My dad is dead. I … accidentally…killed him. That's why I can't go home. No matter how many times I save the world, I'll never be welcome.”

His eyes began to tear up again but this time they held a look of understanding, that maybe there was a kindred soul with impossible family ties and no hope of saving them. Confusion hit him then. Should he stay? Should he go? What else was there to say? Silence felt heavy. All he could do was breathe and try not to choke on it.

Kennedy walked over to him, her pace slow but deliberate, and without hesitation she wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him close to her before she muttered.

“I’m sorry.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and cried. She cried for him. She cried for herself. She cried for every sad story that she had encountered in this school.

Kennedy didn’t know how she could help Bobby or herself. They seemed like such broken misfits. The best she could offer him was solidarity.

When Kennedy approached him, Bobby felt the room narrow, like the walls closed in. His vision changed aspects like a widescreen format forced onto a box television. Then she hugged him. He held his breath. She said she was sorry. The words ricocheted off him. He didn’t want to be unfeeling but the numbness couldn’t be helped.

And then she started to cry. It wasn’t just self-pity. She wept for everything. Her grief unified the two of them together along with every scared kid who no longer knew what home meant. Bobby could turn himself to ice and protect himself, but he still had a heart.

He began crying too. This time he didn’t hold back. Hands slowly, awkwardly raising up and returning her embrace, he buried his face into her shoulder just in time for the dam to break. It would take hours for him to release the years of pent-up grief and self-loathing he had repressed, even longer to even begin to understand and process the trauma he had endured on the last fateful mission of the First Class. For all the frosty tears he shed into Kennedy’s warm but soon to be chilled shoulder, they were only scratching the surface.

“Thank you,” he said through a raw, scratchy throat. “I’m sorry too…”

“Thanks.” Once that swell of sadness had subsided and they were no longer crying, Kennedy let go of him and took a step back.

Whatever haughty, snobbish demeanor he had once seen in her was gone now. Red rimmed eyes and sniffling, there was a sweetness to her that he hadn’t experienced before.

“You even cry cold.” Her voice was small and meek, her words were merely an observation not an insult. Kennedy wiped her own tears away from her cheeks with the back of her hand as she continued to regain composure.

Bobby blushed, unsure of what to say to that.

Then that awkwardness crept in, two people who appeared to not like one another very much suddenly sharing a rather personal moment. She didn’t know what to do or say.

“I’m going to go to bed.” Her arms returned to hugging herself but her eyes finally met his. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure…” Bobby didn’t know what to say. Words just came out. “I’d like that.” Would he? More feelings and crying? What had gotten into him? “Um. Good night, I guess.” He just stood there, frozen in place while he tried to process what was happening to him.

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