[For Bobby] Ghosts that we knew.

[prodigalflame]

John felt weary as he clambered up the couple of steps to the porch. His legs were lead; his brow creased; his spine stiff and uncomfortable. He'd only stopped for one drink and that had clearly not been enough. It wasn't that he was tired, for his head was chasing itself around with unproductive, dark thoughts at fifty miles an hour.

Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out the keys and even sliding them home in the lock seemed too much of a task. Around him the London gloom seemed oppressive, and it didn't seem to lift inside the house, all dark rooms and black windows, papers not done, books unread, the products of a life - his life - aimless and artless.

He hid the rings behind some boxes at the bottom shelf of one of many bookcases in his study, safe in the knowledge that Bobby didn't really infringe upon his privacy, didn't really impose, didn't really push - but god, sometimes he wished he did. Sometimes he was just plain tired of hiding things, of sorting through the truths to tell and parsing them, of biting his tongue, of pushing it down, of being - well, not a good guy, but a dishonest guy. Because that what it felt like.

Who did he have to confess to, now that no-one could ever figure out his crimes?

Closing his eyes, he pushed himself back up, and god, he felt old. He'd set fire to two businesses earlier that day, and it had felt good. Enjoyable, even. Pure. He'd kept himself to strict limits, there'd be no casualties, and he'd walked away with a chuckle in his eyes, but...it was the kind of shit he'd pulled when he was a kid. Petty. Angry. Us versus them. And running into Em, and hearing her story; and then running into Jag - it reminded him there were different ways of using power, of loving fire, of being him.

Bobby was probably upstairs, but John didn't go up. It felt too much like forgiveness. Bobby always did, even at Alcatraz. Then, it had just made him angrier. Now, it shamed him. So he rummaged around in the kitchen for the bottle of vodka he stashed away for nights like this, and retired to the couch to drink, and drink, and drink.

Comments

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby was upstairs on his laptop when he heard John come in, and he fully expected to see him pop his head in the bedroom door any moment. When that didn't happen for a few minutes, he frowned and closed the laptop, setting it aside as he went downstairs to check on his boyfriend.

"...Hey," he said from the doorway, frowning a little at the sight of John on the couch with the bottle. "You okay?"

[prodigalflame]

"...No, not really," John said, and put the bottle down. He knew that just by not getting hostile or defensive all the damn time he'd come a long way from school and yet that day had made him feel paradoxically at his worst and at his best. Sighing, he tipped his head back to look at the ceiling again. "I'd gotten one or two...hints, from Em, about the me that was or could've been or should've been or something. Tonight I got some more of the story and I didn't like it very much. That's all." He knew he sounded lonely, and melancholy, and underneath it all he felt so damn weary, because he'd done nothing but roll that stone up that hill and all it did was keep rolling down again.

"...And I was a bit of a dumbass today, too, and I just. It wasn't a great day, for me. I'm sorry for being a mess- it's why I didn't want to come up to bed." If he was gonna tear the bandage off, might as well do it all real quick.

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby's frown deepened and he crossed the room to sit down next to John, reaching out to rest a hand on his leg. "You don't have to apologize, baby. Do you want to tell me about it?" He wasn't sure he wanted to hear about it, but--the mutants Em had known in another universe, they weren't them. Curiosity about their counterparts was natural, but at the end of the day, the experiences they'd lived were clearly very different in that other world.

[prodigalflame]

John had closed his eyes - not to dismiss Bobby, but just to take a moment to reflect and focus on Bobby's words. Now he cracked one eye open, with just a sliver of a smile across his face indicating that he wasn't entirely in a funk. Bobby had that effect on him, at least. "I bet you don't actually want to hear it," he murmured, softly. "But if you're willing to bear my moaning, I probably shouldn't try to save you." Gathering up his thoughts, he tried pulling them together again. The prospect of starting anywhere seemed...to start in the wrong place.

"...Apparently, that version of me got out early," he said, looking somewhere over Bobby's head, a fixed point in the wall. He didn't need to explain further what this Pyro had gotten out of, but he continued before the silence got too much. "And he and the other Bobby have some kind of...tangled emotional history, so it's nice to see some things are constant. But the other Bobby has a girlfriend - hell, he has an open relationship, apparently; and this other me has a girlfriend. Or had a girlfriend, anyway."

He sighed a little, and reached for the bottle to take a swig, before putting it back down. "...It's Em. They were together. Meeting me has probably completely done her head in and I didn't even know." He was sad for her, and sorry for himself.

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby didn't know what stunned him more; the thought of him being in an open relationship, or the fact that this whole time Em had been looking at the face of her boyfriend. Watching the two of them together must be torture for her. "Wow. ...Shit." He just kind of stared for a second, really at a loss for what else to say.

Finally, he reached for the bottle and took a hefty slug of it for himself, eyes watering a little as he set it back down. "Wow," he repeated softly.

[prodigalflame]

In his mind, John half-formed a grumbling phrase about how Bobby should be careful with that booze, or to stop stealing his liquor: but it was only a rote reflex of snark, and the words didn't pass his lips. He wasn't in the mood, anyway.

"Yeah," he said, heavily. "I mean, I didn't ask for details about everything, I just..." His mouth opened a few times, unable to form words even as the tears started to trail down his cheeks. "I fucked up, Bobby, I fucked up so badly, and ever since then the only way I was able to deal with it was to tell myself that it was always gonna happen, that my buttons were pressed, that it was inevitable. But this guy, this me, he was good enough and wise enough to get the hell away and be okay with living with the team and all the rest of it."

The tears came steadily now, and the sniffling, and John wiped them away. "Tonight I even....I did some stupid things, and I'm the fuck up. I'm the villain, okay, and I don't deserve you."

[cold_blueeyes]

Seeing John cry broke Bobby's heart in an instant, even before the words he spoke had a chance to. "Hey, no, shh. Don't say that," he murmured, scooting close to wrap his arms around John. "You deserve me. I wouldn't be here if you didn't. I love you, okay? Even when you fuck up," he promised fervently.

[prodigalflame]

"Yeah, you do," John told him, sniffling and managing to wipe his running nose on the back of his wrist. Through the blubbering, there was perhaps a trace of a smile. "You really do love me," John breathed, hand reaching to cup Bobby's cheek, thumb stroking at his jaw. He'd never doubted Bobby's love, but John didn't feel that love came under Good Life Choices. Not so much. "And you forgive me, all the time. I yell at you, and you turn away, and you say you're fine the next day. Why do you do that? I'm not a good person, I don't..." Taking a shaky breath, John paused, his feelings a maelstrom: "I know I hurt you. But you don't leave, and you don't fight back. You hate it, I know, I know you hate the way I treat you. But this is what life is gonna be like if you stay."

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby had to consider his answer carefully, because he wanted to make it clear that he wasn't just saying these things to humor John or make him feel better. "I do hate it. But it's not the way you always treat me, and love...love isn't always easy, except in the movies. In real life, there are going to be days when you do things I hate, and days when I do things you hate. But in the bigger picture, you make me so happy. You make me look forward to every day. Why would I ever leave that?" As for not fighting back, he shouldn't have to explain that by now. He wasn't a fighter, and he never would be. Not by choice.

[prodigalflame]

"You mean this isn't a movie?" John teased, after a moment or two of stewing in his own head. It was easy, perhaps predictably easy, to go for the smart ass remark. "You're gorgeous enough for a movie. So am I." They'd make a great documentary on HBO or Showtime, John had always thought: some sort of corrective to the myths, the misunderstandings.

"I know you say that, and I know you mean that, but....you don't talk about things, sweetheart. Some really important things. And I get why, but it's my past too. So if you're avoiding things, then," John said, extra carefully, "why would you want to wake up every day and look at me? I'm a bundle of bad memories."

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby didn't comment on John's observation about them being in a movie. He shuddered to think what kind of a movie John would want them to make, anyway.

He pulled away a bit at the rest of what John said, tensing up a little at the turn in the topic, but out of frustration more than anything. "I'm not avoiding things," he protested, rubbing his forehead. "I just don't see what the point in talking about them is. It's not going to change what happened. I don't want to live in the past. "And...yeah, there are some bad memories. Some memories that I 100% don't like. But there are so many good memories of us too. Way more than the bad ones. And we're building even more good memories together now. Am I supposed to let a few bad memories chase me away from a relationship that makes me happier than I've ever been?"

[prodigalflame]

John sighed, and made himself look at Bobby, and reached out to take his hand. "Okay. I keep raking up the past because I don't believe you when you say I'm forgiven, when you tell me you love me. Not that you're a liar, just...you don't know me," John said, simply, without rancor or blame.

"You don't know what I did, not really. You don't know what I'm likely to do. I did fuck up, but the way I see it was that I selected the wrong target, that's all. If anyone pulled a knife on you in London? They wouldn't last very long. I set off a couple of fires tonight because some people were being bigots and I don't have the patience to deal with assholes any other way. That's the kind of person you're with. I'm a killer. And when you really get that, you'll leave."

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby looked at him, considering the words. "You don't think I know what you've done? Who you are? I do know you, John. I know what you did. I know you hurt innocent people, killed innocent people." He looked away briefly, then back, squeezing John's hand.. "And I'm not going anywhere."

He sighed, rubbing his thumb over John's hand comfortingly. "And for the record, anyone that pulled a knife on either of us in London...would get what was coming to them." Unlike John, he wasn't a killer, but to protect him he would do whatever was necessary, and he wouldn't expect any less from John.

"Although...I want to talk about these fires," he added with a stern note.

[prodigalflame]

As Bobby talked, the words hit John like a blow. He felt it deep in his gut, not as a wound, but as acceptance - the start (but not the end) of something new, something better, as old, black fears and worries started to unwind.

Bobby knew. Bobby accepted John on his terms (now was not a time to get into a debate on who was innocent and who was not) and Bobby was not the kind of guy who would lie to someone in a relationship.

Okay, conceal maybe. John's head hadn't been so far up his own ass back at school that he wasn't able to see the bunch of things Bobby and Rogue never bothered to talk about. But not lie.

"...You're almost as good for me as I am for you," he murmured, with a trace of a small, roguish grin as he pushed himself up to sit properly on the couch, the grin falling away as his face became serious. And it was true: John knew he was good for Bobby, that was plain. Because of or despite of Bobby's capital-I Issues, he needed someone to anchor him and be anchored.

"...Of course you do," he remarked, still holding Bobby's hand. "It's been a big, emotional day, so why don't we just do it now and get it over with." Better to cry once and work through his shit and not be a blubbering wreck more than once a week, in his opinion.

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby laughed a little at John's comment, that flash of ego that Bobby was pretty sure was at least half bravado. The laughter and smile faded quickly, though, and he nodded at John, squeezing his hand encouragingly. He wasn't thrilled that John had set fires tonight, but he was trying to keep judgment out of the equation and just try to understand why. "Tell me what happened," he said quietly, tracing his thumb along the side of John's hand.

[prodigalflame]

Part of John really didn't want to talk about it. It had, after all, been a long day just as he'd said, and he was still processing what Em had told him. Besides, Bobby knowing and John totally understanding that were two very different things - that same part of him that didn't want to talk was considering all the ways Bobby might have misunderstood, all the differences of substance and style and thought and opinion that opened between them like a chasm, sure in the knowledge that when John said he had fucked up so badly, Bobby probably thought he meant something else.

But he wrenched his mind away from black thoughts, knowing that part would never be satisfied, and took a breath. "I was...buying your Christmas present, and two of the stores I went to - they didn't like the idea I was buying something for my boyfriend." He kept a loose hold on Bobby's hand, but didn't press himself any closer as he spoke. "You know, the usual crap, about not having the right range of stock or that I might want to shop somewhere more appropriate. And I just...I got so angry that it's still fucking like this, you know? That the world's still so full of hate and fear and just...stupid fucking assholes. I could feel sparks in the wall from old, faulty wiring, and as I walked away, I just...held onto one of those sparks and kept it going for just a bit longer, enough to catch." John sighed. "I stopped the fire, both times, a few minutes later. No-one was ever in any danger, but I just wanted...I just could stand these fuckers insulting me to my face. Insulting us. Being bigots. All of the above."

[cold_blueeyes]

How could John do that, make him simultaneously want to hug him and kick his ass? He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his cheek and asked, not ungently, "And what did that accomplish, baby? It's not going to stop them. It didn't serve any purpose beyond lashing out, John." And he knew there was anger within his boyfriend, although these days it seemed more tempered most of the time than it used to be, which is why it was a little surprising that John had done something so...petty and pointless.

"The best way to fight a bigot is to stand up to them, not set their business on fire." He took a deep breath and brought John's hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles before adding softly, "But I'm proud of you for stopping it, for not hurting anyone. Thank you."

[prodigalflame]

That seemed to be the worst thing Bobby could have said. John shot him a flat look, lips thinning to a hard line, and firmly took his hand back. God, things had been going so well and then Bobby had to act like John didn't know what he was doing.

"The best way to fight a bigot is to educate people, but I can't do that as much as I used because we don't exist any more," he replied acidly. And while his thesis was looking at some aspects of homophobia, it didn't quite ring true to John the way his mutant tutorials had. "Of course I just lashed out,, lashing out is all I've got left. Not that you'd know, you just dumped me in a jail cell or walked out or whatever. I get it. You play fair and you play nice and you don't like trouble. Everyone gets good guy hugs, in your world. But me? Trouble follows me, and I have never accepted the idiocy of my fellow human beings as something I have to tolerate. Between that and the girlfriend from another dimension it was kind of a shit day."

John took a breath and stood, crossing his arms defensively as he paced a little in front of the couch. "I love you, and I thank you for the good intentions, but you don't know what's driven me to be the person I am now. A lot happened to me since Alcatraz. You know almost nothing about it. I'm sure I'd be more reasonable as a person if I had a nice family and nice friends and built houses for charity and just accepted everything."

[cold_blueeyes]

"You know, you're not the only one that was affected by that night," Bobby said, clenching his jaw. "And if you think it was easy turning you over..." he looked away, pressing his lips together. He was not going to discuss this. He wasn't. Certainly not like this. John's words had made him realize just how raw those memories still were, even if things between them were so much better now.

He was about to add that he thought John went looking for trouble, that it didn't follow him, but then John kept talking, and he shook his head, eyes filling with tears. "You're right. I'm the golden boy, everything in my life has been just great since that night." He stood, moving for the door. "Enjoy your vodka and your self-pity, John. I'm going to bed." In his old room, the one that now sat vacant.

[prodigalflame]

"Of course I know it wasn't easy," John gritted out, standing up from the couch in frustration, staring at Bobby's back. That was just like him, to retreat, after all the progress they'd made. It stuck in his craw, driving him not simply to anger, but to seek understanding. Anger alone was insufficient. "Running out on you in the first place was not easy. Staying away....after I realised what I'd gotten myself into...that was not easy, too. We've both done a lot of not easy things, and they both hurt us, and hurt those we cared about." It was probably insulting on some level to equate their actions and their choices, but John had always wanted to be Bobby's equal.

John's voice broke on the next words. "I'm sorry that I was too busy being locked up to be there for you, to be whatever you needed then. But you're not perfect and you're not the golden child and I don't think you are. The golden child doesn't end up with someone like me," John added, with a sad smile. Because yeah, there was gonna be a bit of self-pity about that. He was entitled. "I just don't get it sometimes, the way you can be so good and so right and make the proper moral choice, the one I never see. But I'm glad you ain't perfect, because that means you can be with me, and I do love you, Bobby Drake. It just hurt," he admitted, face crumpling, tears welling again, his voice a low and broken thing. Waking up in custody had felt like a betrayal, as if he deserved nothing less than to wake up in the mansion basement in some suitably civilised confinement, and get to cook pancakes and engage in snarky banter. "And I hate what they did to me in there. And I hate that they made me feel weak and helpless." A moment passed: he needed a moment to collect himself, drawing in a shaky breath. "And I'm sorry I took that out on you."

John's posture was cowed, even ashamed, seeking something from his boyfriend, trying to ignore the litany of murmurings that concluded that this was it, the end, that Bobby would leave him, that Bobby had to leave him.

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby stopped walking but didn't turn around, shoulders stiff as he listened grudgingly. And at first, he was about ready to keep walking, because really? John wanted to equate him joining Magneto, skipping out on all of them to seek power and glory, to how hard it had been to turn his former best friend over to the police, knowing what it would mean, knowing there was a good chance he would never see him again--and even if he did, John was as likely to try to kill him again as anything else? But what he'd done had been the right thing, despite the guilt he still felt today about it. What John had done...had been the selfish thing.

But then he slowly turned as John kept talking, swallowing hard as tears trickled down his face. "I hate what they did to you too," he said hoarsely. "I never wanted that for you." He wiped his face and laughed bitterly. "What I wanted was to have my best friend back. But I didn't think--" he broke off as a sob caught in his throat, taking a shaky breath before continuing, "I didn't think I'd ever get that, much less what we have."

He took a few steps back toward John, stopping just outside of his personal space. "I know--I know you don't see the world like I do, and I--I'm mostly okay with that, but--I can't just...just stand by and say nothing if you're setting fires just because you're angry, or hurt. You know I can't." He shrugged helplessly. He just wasn't built like that. He did believe in doing the right thing, in laws and compassion and taking care of and lifting up his fellow man. It was just who he was.

[prodigalflame]

"Oh, I know," John said simply in response to Bobby's declaration, a wry smile curving his lips. "It's one of the reasons why I fell in love with you. That you see the world a different way. That you...care." And John cared, he cared fierce and burned bright, but it was a narrow, grudging thing compared to the sort of compassion Bobby demonstrated on a regular basis. Or so he assumed, anyway.

He had noticed the stiff line of Bobby's body at first, and when Bobby turned finally, and he saw those tears glistening, the moment ended. It would have been easy to toss off a bitter, angry remark about how Bobby really didn't know what had been done to him, to spit it all out in a river of venom and condemnation, but that was an old Pyro trick, forever pointing out how wrong people were, or how they didn't get it. Forever seeking understanding and approval.

Since then, John had learned that understanding didn't really happen. He'd learned in in the feel of the cure, cold, deadening his veins; he'd learned in in the smack of a fist to his face, a boot on his hand. He'd learned it in endless sessions with a counsellor that had helped him work on his rage but done little to assuage the simple fact John Allerdyce lived in a fucking unfair world. So he didn't shoot a barb at Bobby, or spill his guts out.

And so John hardened himself, a little. What he'd heard about, from Em - what he'd dared think about - well, fuck it. Maybe some guy with his face and his name had handled things better way over in other universe yonder, but he couldn't afford to think like that. Introspection was for prison cells and therapy sessions. He had been right when he'd told Bobby earlier that the only way he'd managed to keep himself together was to tell himself it was always going to happen. He wasn't that other Pyro; that wasn't his universe, his people, his Bobby. And he got the guy, so what was there to worry about?

He. Got. The. Guy. That was proof enough for him. It had to be. Thinking too hard and falling apart was not an option. But John knew he needed something, something more.

John kept his secrets and held his pain closer and didn't want to see his guy cry anymore. He didn't want to be the cause of tears running down Bobby's cheek. "What we have..." he said gently, taking another step forward into Bobby's personal space, seeing how he reacted, "is good. Is better than good." He took another step, and reached out to wipe a tear away from Bobby's face. "Let's get to bed, okay? It's been a long day, and a rough night, for both of us."

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby closed his eyes for a moment as John's hand gently brushed his cheek. Part of him was still raw and hurt by John's words, wanted to retreat, to pull away, to regroup. That part of him still wanted to sleep in his old room, to give himself time to shake off that hurt, pack it away where it could be easily ignored.

But a much larger part just wanted everything to be okay again right now, wanted to wrap himself around John and show him that no matter what they'd both done, it didn't change what they were together now. It wouldn't. He took a shaky breath and nodded, opening his eyes to give John a wan smile. "Yeah, okay." He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of John's mouth. "Bed sounds good."