Challenge #2: No Learning Curves

Title: No Learning Curves
Author: imadra_blue
Challenge: Education (Also includes a bit of First Time, though I arrived too late for that one.)
Universe: Movieverse (Post-X2)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's Iceman's first day as an X-Man, and he learns a little about missions and even a little about Cyclops, but there's always more to learn, and with Cyclops, there's no learning curve.
Author's Notes: This does not take into account anything that may happen in X3. It follows in a series of a couple of Cyclops/Iceman flash fics I'm writing for stagesoflove, first part here and second part here. Takes place a year after X2 and assumes Iceman was 17 in X2 (I looked it up, but found no info on his age). I'm really sorry, but a bit of comicverse Bobby personality has slipped in here. >.> 3000 words, Cyclops/Iceman (pre-)slash.


x~~x~~x


Bobby was disappointed that there was no ceremony; he'd expected at least some sort of cake, perhaps with buttercream icing and a sparkling candle. Silly, childish, and irrational though that expectation might have been, it was there. Instead, all he got was Scott, ruby quartz visor on his face, pointing at him as he walked into the sitting room.

"Suit up. We're leaving. Now." Scott's voice was audible even over the blare of the soap opera the girls were watching, though he hadn't shouted.

Ignoring the excited looks from Jubilee and Rogue, Bobby flew up to his room, ransacked his small closet, and slipped on the black leather suit that marked him an X-Man. Professor Xavier had given it to him just two weeks ago and told him that he could join the team at any point, as soon as Scott felt he was ready, but considering the frown on Scott's face whenever Bobby walked out of training sessions, Bobby had figured that wouldn't be for another decade. Despite his difficulties with his zipper and a momentary pause to make sure his hair looked all right, Bobby made it down to the basement in under ten minutes, finding Scott, Ororo, and Logan standing in the polished, sterile hallway, waiting for him. Trying to describe the feeling in his stomach as "butterflies" would have been an understatement, as it felt more like a flock of birds trying to escape.

"Let's go," said Scott, turning on his heel the moment Bobby appeared. He headed down the side hallway that Bobby knew led straight to the hangar where the Blackbird was kept.

Bobby licked his lips, trying to contain the flock of birds in his stomach. He straightened his shoulders and tilted his head back, though he had to jog a little to catch up. Logan trailed behind Scott and Ororo, a stogie dangling from his lips. The smoke curled and wafted upwards, obscuring his harsh features and dark, wild hair.

Knowing that Scott was as likely to tell Bobby what was going on as Logan was to start extolling the virtues of tofu, Bobby decided to ask Logan as they walked down the hallways. "So, um, am I part of the team now?"

Logan glanced at him. "Nah. We were gonna take you to the state fair, ride the Ferris wheel, maybe have some snow cones --"

"If you bring the syrup, I'll bring the ice."

"Cut the chit-chat," snapped Scott.

Logan popped out one of his razor-sharp adamantium claws and scratched lightly at his neck. "Just tell me where your chit-chat is, and I'll be happy to cut it for you."

Bobby considered this a good sign. Logan hadn't made a smart comment like that to Scott since Jean had died. Scott only glanced back, and one didn't need to see through his visors to tell he was glaring. "I gave my chit-chat to charity years ago, along with my small talk." This was another good sign. Scott would have just ignored sarcasm after Jean's death. He'd got his sense of humor back now, or whatever passed for it.

"That explains a lot about you, Cyke."

"This is going to be a fast and dirty mission," said Scott, turning back to the front as they reached the thick metal doors emblazoned with an "X" symbol leading to the underground hangar. It slid open after a moment, revealing the sleek, polished Blackbird in the center of the darkened hangar. It was Scott's fastest and favorite ride. Bobby would never get over the fact that the most repressed and controlled man he knew was actually a speed freak.

"Oooh, I love quickies. Did anyone bring protection?" quipped Bobby, grinning until Logan quirked an eyebrow at him. Scott shook his head, and Ororo just massaged her temples. "Sorry," he mumbled. Well, he'd thought it was funny.

Scott continued to march -- there was no other way to describe the way he walked, even if it wasn't marching in the technical sense -- towards the Blackbird. The huge flight deck lit up systematically as they entered, row by row of the lights on the ceiling turning on, and the hatch door on the side of the Blackbird popped open with a hiss as Scott pointed a small remote at it.

"Remy LeBeau, otherwise known as Gambit, has been found and arrested for petty thievery -- again. Unfortunately, he is a registered mutant, and we need to get him out of that prison before he comes to harm," said Scott, monotone as ever. But then, why would he care about Bobby's issues with Remy? Not that Bobby had really discussed them.

Bobby winced, remembering how Remy and Rogue had flirted the last time Remy had been at the mansion, before he'd run off with the Professor's jewelry. It wasn't like Bobby hadn't flirted with other girls -- or guys -- but it had still bothered him. He liked Rogue quite a lot, and things were already difficult enough with her. There was only so deep a relationship could go with a girl he couldn't touch for more than ten seconds before passing out. Maybe that made him shallow, but that was how he felt. He wanted more, she couldn't give it to him, and that made him feel guilty for wanting it in the first place. Thinking about his frustrations with Rogue gave him a whole new feeling in his stomach, one not related to butterflies or birds, but more like poisonous snakes wriggling around.

"Are you coming, Bobby?" asked Ororo.

Bobby realized all three of the senior X-Men were staring at him expectantly, standing in front of the Blackbird's entrance. He hesitated, looking directly at Scott. He wanted Scott to say it, to validate him, to admit they were equals. "Am I on the team now?" he asked.

"Of course you are," said Ororo with one of her dazzling smiles.

To Bobby's disappointment, Scott walked up the ramp and into the Blackbird without even looking at him.


x~~x~~x


One jailbreak, five unconscious prison guards, two ice walls, three unexplained weather phenomena, eighteen sliced open metal bars, four blasted doors, and one mutant thief later, Bobby collapsed onto a kitchen chair next to Scott, feeling as if he'd just tried to build a mountain out of ice.

The kitchen was as bright and picturesque as ever; it was Bobby's favorite room in the whole mansion for that very reason. He often sat in it when he couldn't sleep, and he was sort of pleased to find Scott there.

Scott edged his steaming coffee mug away from Bobby. "It's hot, and I want it to stay hot," he muttered, and sipped at it. Bobby resisted the urge to freeze it just as the liquid poured over Scott's tongue.

"That was... exhausting," said Bobby. He'd taken a cold shower -- hot ones made him sick -- and even put on a comfortable white t-shirt and a pair of drawstring pants, but sleep had eluded him when he'd laid in his bed. Nothing relaxed him -- not music, not jerking off, nothing. He was dead tired, but adrenaline coursed through him still, and he felt as if his skeleton could burst through his skin at any moment, as he had after the whole misadventure leading up to Alkali Lake. As much progress as Scott had made in the year since Jean's death, Bobby still wasn't going to make the comparison out loud.

"They usually are," said Scott. He had his sunglasses back on, and the dampness of his hair suggested he'd taken a shower as well. Bobby imagined it had been hot, knowing Scott. Perhaps there had been steam, sweat and water rolling off Scott's tanned skin as he'd stood in his shower stall, muscles bunching and rolling as he soaped himself up. Bobby shuddered a little at the thought, small thrills of desire shooting through his back and abdomen. He could easily imagine Scott standing under the shower spray, hands braced against the tiled wall as water poured down his neck, rivulets coursing over his strong back, between his shoulder blades, down the bumpy ridges of his spine to the swell of his --

Bobby ended the fantasy abruptly, remembering Scott was sitting right next to him. He willed away his erection by thinking about Fred Dukes naked. That did the trick quite nicely. Scott pushed a bottle of Dr. Pepper in his direction, and Bobby grabbed it, turning it to slush before taking a swig. He needed to stop thinking about Scott like that. It was crazy. Scott had been his teacher just a few months ago. Scott was older than him by at least ten years. Scott had been dating a woman. Well, Bobby was, too, technically, but he was still attracted to men. Maybe Scott was, too.

Crazy. Certi-fucking-fiable. Bobby wanted to smash his forehead into the table, but suspected that might raise a few questions he didn't want to answer.

"Where's LeBeau?" he asked, hoping Scott hadn't noticed his voice was a little higher than normal.

Scott took another sip of his coffee. Bobby took a sniff of the air and realized it was actually tea, not coffee. Some sort of herbal tea, probably from Ororo's stash. "With the Professor," Scott answered after a moment. Though they were sitting next to each other at the center table, Scott stared ahead, as if having a conversation with the wooden cabinets hanging over the counter rather than Bobby. After trying to be Scott's friend for the past few months, Bobby had got used to that. Scott seemed uncomfortable with looking at people for too long for some reason, as if he attached a sort of intimacy to it.

"Oh." Bobby privately hoped the Professor convinced LeBeau he was a small, neutered puppy, but expected that was far too much to hope for. "Where's Logan and Ororo?"

"Sleeping."

"Really? I checked Logan's room on the way down here, and he wasn't in there."

"He's in Ororo's room."

"Oh." Well, that certainly explained Logan's slightly improved attitude of late.

"It's a good way to relieve tension. Happens sometimes after missions. Get used to it."

Bobby wondered if that was how Jean and Scott had first got together, but decided he wasn't brave enough to ask. "Well, if Logan's scooping up Ororo, I guess that leaves me, Kurt, and you to figure out some sort of gay threesome." He kept his tone light, but watched Scott intently for his reaction, studying his lips. He'd never realized how expressive a person's lips could be, until they'd been his only way of determining what little emotion Scott displayed on his face.

As usual, Scott gave away nothing but slight tension. "And Piotr," Scott said, ignoring the joke altogether, apparently. Bobby and Piotr weren't close, but it had been no surprise when Colossus had joined the main X-Men team six months ago. He and Nightcrawler were still in Japan, dealing with a situation involving some sort of fire-powered mutant there.

"I think Rogue and Kitty will probably join soon, too, so you won't be so alone," Scott added. He made no comment about how Johnny would have either already joined or have been at Bobby's side that day. Thinking about Johnny hurt, an old, dull ache in Bobby's chest that he shoved away. At least Scott respected Bobby's sore spots as much as Bobby did his. Bobby wondered if they'd ever be comfortable enough around each other to broach the subjects of dead girlfriends and traitorous best friends.

Bobby thought again of Rogue, of their relationship. They hardly spoke anymore, though they were always together. They watched television, they even watched each other masturbate, but they never seemed to talk. Worse, Bobby knew it was his fault, not hers. She'd try to talk to him, but he'd just shrug his shoulders at her most of the time. He didn't have Johnny to talk to anymore, and conversations with Scott were touch and go, depending mostly on Scott's mood. Bobby seemed to have the worst luck with people -- parents who didn't know what to do with him, a brother who hated him, a girlfriend he couldn't touch, a best friend who'd abandoned him to hang out with a murderer, and a former-teacher-sorta-kinda-maybe-friend who apparently couldn't relate to human emotions. Bobby wondered if he should consider a new cologne or something.

Scott just sipped at his tea, staring at the opposite wall, or at least presumably so, since he was facing that direction. Even with his sunglasses on, he was wearing a hole into the cabinets. Bobby studied them for a moment, found nothing interesting about them, then turned back to Scott, studying his chiseled profile for a while.

"Me and Rogue, we're not so hot lately," said Bobby suddenly, deciding he might as well try a real conversation, if no other reason than to say he had.

"Nothing's hot with you, right?"

Bobby took a sip of his Dr. Pepper, stung. He and Scott were supposed to be friends -- or at least two guys who hung out and talked about motorcycles and cars and the latest mutant news -- but they never talked about anything personal. Scott never let anyone close lately. Couldn't Scott see that Bobby sometimes wanted to talk about things that had to do with their lives? Trying to be friends with someone and never sharing anything personal wasn't even really a friendship.

"I'm sorry. Reflex sarcasm," Scott said after a moment, and turned to Bobby. His lips were soft now, pulled into a more concerned expression. "What's the problem?"

Bobby looked back, finding it both overwhelming and gratifying to have Scott look at him. He wondered what Scott's eyes looked like, how they were shaped, what color they'd be. It was frustrating to never be able to see another person's eyes. Humans relied on them so much to understand what the other person was feeling, but Scott could never convey all his emotions, even if he wanted to -- at least not without knocking someone through a few walls with his optic beams. Bobby wondered if it frustrated Scott as much as it did him.

"Just... stupid teenager stuff, I guess. Having a girlfriend you can't touch... it's like..." Bobby licked his lips again, watching as little trails of frost etched up the side of the bottle he was holding, freezing his Dr. Pepper over. "It's shallow, and I do really like her. I mean, I don't care, but I do, and I... you know?"

"Sometimes we all need human touch. We need to know the other person is there. It's understandable. If you think it's hard for you, imagine how she feels."

"I do, that's why... I get angry at myself, and then I get angry at her because I'm angry at me, and then I'm angry at me for that. It's kinda messed up between us right now."

Scott nodded and looked down at his tea. "You're human. We all are. Sometimes we need to be touched."

Bobby's hand moved of its own accord, before he could even think about it. He touched Scott's forearm, lightly wrapping his fingers around it, the arm hair slightly rough under his palm, though the skin beneath it was smooth. Scott was so warm, as if he had a fever. It felt dangerous, like trying to disarm a bomb without any idea if it was the red or the blue wire that needed to be cut, but Bobby liked it. Scott tensed at the touch, his lips parting in surprise.

"So... you're admitting you're human, too?" asked Bobby, his tone much quieter and more serious than he intended.

"You're so cold," whispered Scott, not answering the question, as was typical of him. "I know Jean --" Scott's voice caught on her name. "-- said your body temperature is normally ten degrees below normal, but it's strange to actually feel it."

"You're hot." Scott snapped back to face him, and Bobby involuntarily swallowed. "I mean, your skin, it's hot."

"I absorb ambient solar energy to fuel my optic beams. I retain the energy as a form of heat. It makes my body temperature a few degrees above normal."

An uncomfortable silence hung between them, but Bobby was undaunted. The warmth of Scott's skin seemed to spread through Bobby's body, right down to his toes and up to the tips of his hair, but it was a welcome warmth. Bobby leaned a little closer, eyes intent on Scott's full lips, the set of his square jaw, the corded muscles of his neck where they disappeared into his faded green t-shirt.

"Do you... ever relieve tension after a mission?" Bobby asked softly, surprised his tongue hadn't twisted into knots as he'd asked the question. His stomach certainly had.

There was one breathless moment, where Scott moved a little closer, and Bobby thought he might just answer with something meaningful, and everything inside Bobby suddenly welled up, as if he were about to explode, but then Scott jerked away, standing up, and everything inside Bobby just faded back to the corners of himself where it all belonged.

"Tea's cold," Scott said in a completely normal voice.

Bobby stared down at his Dr. Pepper. The entire bottle was encased in ice now. "I had nothing to do with that," he said dully, disappointed, his stomach still clenching and unclenching. That had been stupid. And crazy. Couldn't forget the crazy part.

"I'm going to head to bed anyway. See you later... Iceman. Good work today."

Scott lowered his mug into the sink and rinsed it out. Bobby would never figure Scott out, he just knew it. It wasn't until Scott shuffled out of the kitchen, running his fingers through his thick brown hair, that Bobby realized Scott had finally acknowledged him as an X-Man. And even paid him a compliment.

Bobby bitterly reflected that if Hell had frozen over, it totally wasn't his fault this time.