Throw My Head Away

by Alestar

Jean talks to Bobby and uses words like "chapter" and "symbol" and "period" because her life is like that. Everything is so categorical in Jean's life, it can be written down chronologically and bound into Volumes I, II, and III. Jean and Marvel Girl. Jean and Phoenix.  Jean and Frank Oz.  whatever. Bobby's life just isn't like that. and when Jean uses those words, they never make sense.

Bobby has always been Bobby.  He's moved a few times and stuff has happened around him; but he's always been Iceman, or Bobby, or Robert, or B-Mak, which only Jubilee calls him and sometimes Hank.  and this one time Ororo.  But he's never, say, lost his wings.  Never grown fur. Never eaten whole galaxies, or hung out at the bottom of the ocean for years and years while everybody thought he was dead.  He's just always him-- him winning the game or him losing the game.

His life doesn't have any punctuation. It's one long sentence.

Even the gay thing-- it was traumatic, yeah, but it wasn't sudden. The realization that he was what he was, it was a years-long blur, and so was the decision that it was-- livable, maybe, and inevitable, definitely-- to be whatever he was gonna be. There was no before and after; it was like trying to remember when he realized he was right-handed.

And he'd become an X-Man at so young an age-- there really hadn't been a Bobby Drake before the Iceman.

The point is this:

This guy, Steven, has a hand on Bobby's thigh, squeezing, and Bobby's mind is wandering. He's remembering kissing Lorna, in this same way, and kissing Remy that one time, and the music video he saw last night, and years and years ago when he fell in the Danger Room and broke his leg. The point is that he has no chronology, no linear context, and all of these things seem fitfully and equally relevant to the moment at hand. Steven's hand finds Bobby's zipper and cups there, and Bobby's mouth falls open; Bobby throws a leg over Steven's thigh and presses in, groin against groin.

***

Hank looks up from his laptop. "How was your date, B-Mak?"

Bobby plops down on the couch, beside him, remote in hand. "fine."

***

"I'm thinking of something."

Jean smiles. "Animal, vegetable, or mineral? --if I guess it in three tries, you have to buy me a cheeseburger."

Bobby waits while Jean pours detergent into the washing machine, dangles his legs from his seat on the dryer. When she stands up, he says, "I'll buy you a cheeseburger anyway. I'm thinking of changing my name."

"We've discussed this. I'm not calling you Shaft."

Bobby grins but shakes his head. "I'm serious, man. My codename."

Jean's smile softens into thoughtful regard. She says, "Why?"

"I dunno, y'know. Feels like time for a change."

Jean hefts herself up onto the washing machine, to sit beside him. "So I guess you're not a proponent of the if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it theory."

Bobby shrugs. "maybe it's broke."

They sit in silence for a little minute, and then Jean nudges Bobby with her shoulder. "I've always thought that your codename should be reflective of whatever is inside you. If what's inside you has changed, then I'd say, yeah, a change of codename could very well be in order. Just don't put the horse before the cart."

"What d'you mean?"

"well. Okay, example-- you all gave me such a hard time over going so long without a codename, when I dropped Marvel Girl. And you were right to. Because my codename is Phoenix, has been from the moment my memories merged with the Phoenix force. In many ways, I . . am the Phoenix. I tried for years and years to deny that fact by hiding from the codename, but it doesn't work like that.  You can't change the name and hope that the insides of you will follow."

"Yeah, because that would be really gross," Bobby says, looking at his hands on his knees. "The insides of you, following you. ew."

Jean hops off of the washer, telekinetically ruffles Bobby's hair.

"Lame, Drake."

"Yeah, I know. I'm working on it."

***

Bobby lets himself into Warren's apartment, goes to the kitchen and makes two sandwiches, then wanders over to the bedroom that Warren had converted into an office. He knocks on the door, opens it without waiting for an answer.

Warren is at his desk. Bobby says, "hey, man."

Warren looks up, looks surprised. "Hey."

"You want a sandwich?"

Warrens pushes his laptop away from him, nods. "Sure." Bobby hands him a sandwich. Warren takes it with a nod, takes a bite, chews, swallows. He asks,

"What's up?"

"There's no food at the house. And I want to come to you for all my sandwich needs.  I think it'll make you feel more secure in our friendship."

Warren snorts.  "Yeah, I feel very secure, thanks."  He takes another bite.  "You could, you know. go grocery shopping."

"But what if evil strikes, while I'm lingering in the frozen foods aisle?"

"And so you go without. That's heroic, Bobby." Warren finishes his sandwich quickly. "But, really. Why are you here?"

Bobby finishes his own sandwich, and says, "I'm thinkin' of something."

"Animal, vegatable, or mineral?"

"We have all been around each other for way too long."

Warren smiles, until Bobby says, "I want to change my codename." His face goes still and he says, "Did something happen?"

"No, no," Bobby says, shaking his head. "No. no, everything's good."

Warren's eyes are cautious. "Are you sure?" he asks.  meaning, you would tell me, wouldn't you. Bobby grimaces. He says,

"It's not like that. I just want a change, y'know? And," he grins. "y'know, I'd change my costume, but the blue on blue is so *in* this year."

Warren leans back in his chair, his smile comes back. "You're not going camp on us, are you?"

"Yeah-- I was thinking, for the new name, maybe Captain Princess, or Dorothy's Decimator."

"You realize that would get shortened to Dorothy on the field of battle, right?"

"All the better."

Warren laughs. Then he says, "So, why are you here, again?"

"I dunno, man. I've never changed my name before. I feel like there's supposed to be a process to it, or something."

Warren makes a face like a muted cringe. He shrugs. "well, my name was changed by a brainwashing megalomaniac, so I don't really have any experience there, either."

"But you were calling yourself Angel before you hooked up with the Professor."

"Yeah, but. I was sixteen. And I had wings. It's not like I needed a thesaurus."

Bobby cocks his head. "A thesaurus."

"Oh, Bobby," Warren laughs. "You can do better than that."

"I know, I know," Bobby says. "I just, it's a thought."

"Trust me, there is no synonym for Iceman."

Bobby stands. "'Awesomeness' is a synonym for Iceman!  'Spectacular' is a synonym for Iceman!  See also: 'stunningly handsome' and 'fabulously competent'!"

Warren grins. "So why are you changing your name again?"

Bobby's smile falters.

***

"I'm thinking about changing my codename."

Remy glances up briefly from the computer screen. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, y'know. Something more reflective of. I dunno."

Remy passes three cards to the computer, nods. "good, good."

Bobby thinks for a moment, and says, "So, hey. A gambit is a chess move, where you sacrifice a piece to get some other piece where you want it."

Remy makes a small affirmative noise. He double clicks on the eight of spades.

"And that's your codename."

Remy nods.

Bobby blinks. "So what the hell does that mean?"

Remy looks up, frowning. "Didn' your mama ever teach you it's impolite to question a man's codename? You only do that t'your opponent when y'tryin' to distract him."

"dude, you make fun of Chamber's name, like, constantly."

Remy snorts. "Oui, but.  'Chamber'. What the hell does that mean?"

Bobby grins. Remy looks back at the computer.

"So what do you think?"

"I'm tryin' to concentrate here, Bobby."

Bobby peers over his shoulder at the game.  "Are you even playing real people?"

"shut up."

***

"Hey, Rogue," Bobby says, leaning in the door. Rogue looks up from her book.

"What?"

"You want some puddin'?"

"No, thank you."

"Good," he says, coming in and plopping into the recliner across from her. "I don't got no puddin'. Talk to me."

Rogue sighs, slips a bookmark into her book. "You're determined to never see me read, aren't you?"

"well, I figure-- everyone concentrates on saving the world from supervillains and terrorists and whatever; but who's gonna protect the earth from romance novelists?"

Rogue flushes. "It's not a romance novel."

Bobby grins. "Whatever."

"Did you wanna talk to me? Or can I go back to my book, and you just sit there an' ridicule me in quiet."

"no, no, I wanna talk. I wanna ask you something."

"What?"

Bobby clears his throat. "You've been called Rogue ever since you were little, right?"

Rogue nods.

Bobby asks, "Why?"

"'Cause I was a hoodlum child, I guess."

"But, so-- it didn't have anything to do with your powers?"

"Nope. Had the name long before the powers kicked in. I think I actually--" Her eyes go distant, her fingers move absently over the dog-earred pages beneath them. She says, "I broke this one lady's window with a rock, when I was six. or five. I don't remember. That's when the name started."

"Why did you break a lady's window with a rock?"

"I don't really remember what happened. I guess I's pissed off."

Bobby grins. "You were a hoodlum child."

Rogue returns it, big, fond. "yep."

"so, but," Bobby says. "That's, what. like, twenty years, with the same name. Don't you ever think about changing it?"

"Why're you askin', sugar?" She leans in, toward him.

Bobby shrugs. "I'm just trying to, y'know. I'm thinking about changing my codename."

"To what?"

"I dunno yet. I just--" he shrugs again. "I haven't had my codename nearly as long as you have, and it still seems like, I dunno, it's been a really long time. Some of these guys around here, they break a nail so they change their name. You've gone through, like, huge changes. Don't you ever want to. I don't know."

Rogue says, "Bobby, sugar, if I changed my name every time I was a different person inside, y'all wouldn't ever know what to call me."

Bobby says, "I'm not a different person inside."

Rogue cocks her head. "Then why are you changin' your name?"

Bobby is silent for a moment. Then he says, "I'm lying, actually. I am a different person inside. I have been assimilated. Resistance is futile."

Rogue grins, stands up. "Dork."

Bobby smiles up at her. "that's in top running for the new codename."

"I like it."

"Me, too."

***

Jubilee thinks it's a great idea, when Bobby mentions it to her over the phone.  She says,

"it's about friggin' time, yo. Nobody has 'man' in their codename anymore."

Bobby frowns at the phone. "What, like, Superman? Batman?"

"fictional, slizzle."

"What about Spiderman?"

"--Spiderman is different."

"Spiderman is not different. He's a spider-man. Spiderman. 'Look out, it's that spider-man!' It's the perfect name for him."

"And you're, what," Jubilee says, voice thick with smirk. "You're that ice-man?"

"I am," says Bobby, straightening in his seat.

"Face it, man. it's a lame name. It's almost as lame as. like, Speedball."

"It is *not*."

"Okay, fine-- you think it's so un-lame, so why are you changing it?"

There's a pause. Then Bobby says, "Joaquin Phoenix is really hot."

Jubilee says, "dude, he really is," and that's what they talk about for the next half-hour.

***

"Hey, Wolverine!" Bobby yells, leaning out the door, to the yard where Logan is working. "How'd you get your codename?"

Logan rakes the leaves up, shovels them onto the pile, leans down to rake up more.

"Right," Bobby yells, pointing back inside. "I'll fuck off."

***

Scott is wearing his workout uniform-- he must have come from the Danger Room-- when he finds Bobby in the kitchen.

He says, "Jean told me you're thinking of changing your codename."

Bobby nods. Scott says, "Did something happen?"

"No, it's nothing like that. It just seems like time for a change. I've had the same name for almost twelve years."

Scott frowns. "What's wrong with that?"

"I dunno. It's just, that's a long time."

"I've never changed my codename."

"Yeah, but." Bobby checks his smile, shrugs. "No offense, man, but you're kind of psycho."

There's a moment of silence, and Scott says, "How am I not supposed to take offense at that?"

Bobby opens his arms. "Kiss me, you fool."

No one can see it when he's wearing his visor, like he is now, but there's this thing that Scott does-- his chin lifts a little bit-- and you can tell he's rolling his eyes. Bobby grins, and Scott does that thing.

***

Maggott shows up unexpectedly.

"don't," says Bobby, holding up a hand, "even talk to me."

***

"This is what I'm gonna do," Bobby says to Hank, in the lab, in the evening, sitting on a stool, frowning, holding a dictionary. "I'm just gonna open this up to a page and pick a word. and that's gonna be my new codename."

"I think you're asking for trouble, Robert."

"Have a little faith in serendipity, homeskillet," Bobby says, cracking his knuckles.

Hank grins. "Touche."

Bobby closes his eyes, opens the book, drops his finger onto a page, and then opens his eyes. He reads,

"Lingo. Language that is unfamiliar or unintelligible." Bobby shakes his head.  "That's not even what lingo means."

"The difference between conotation and denotation, my friend. The plot thickens."

"okay, so, that doesn't count."

"No, no-- it certainly wouldn't."

Bobby closes the book, opens it again. Bobby says,

"Educe. To evoke or elicit." Bobby looks at the page. "well."

Hank cocks his head consideringly at Bobby. "A fitting name indeed, I believe."

"Well--" Bobby looks up. "yeah, I mean, I guess. I . . evoke cold. Elicit your ass behind bars. that kinda thing."

Hank tests the name in his mouth, squinting in concentration. "Educe. Educe.   Watch out, Educe. Good job, Educe. You're missing an arm, Educe."

"and, of course, y'know-- it would inevitably shorten in the heat of battle.   It'd be Duce. which is, you know, duce. 'Duce!' it's cool."

"Duce," says Hank. "very cardsharp. very . . Gambit."

Bobby says, "you know a gambit is a chess move where you sacrifice a piece for a better position?"

Hank nods. "I did know that, yes."

"so what the hell does that mean?"

Hank laughs, hard. Bobby cracks a grin, then laughs. After a moment, Hank takes a deep breath, recovering, and his smile remains-- his gaze is happy, relaxed, so is Bobby's-- but Hank says, "seriously, Robert. Why are you changing your name?"

Bobby looks down, shrugs. "well. I dunno. I've had it from the very beginning.  Don't you think it's time to change it?"

"I've had my name since the very beginning. So has Scott."

"Yeah, but you've gone, like, you've done completely other things, grown fur and stuff. And Scott has *died*."

Hank nods. "And you haven't."

Bobby holds his arms open, gesturing in. "Well, no."

"And that makes you feel . . "

Bobby grins.  "It makes me feel like I have abandonment issues with my nanny and I might be a bed-wetter."

Hank shakes his head minutely.  "How does it make you feel?"  Bobby's hands fall back into his lap.  He looks around the lab, sighs.

"jeez, I dunno.  It's weird."  He thinks for a moment and then says, "like-- okay, it's, um.  It's like that old Lucille Ball sketch.  where she's working in the pie factory or wherever, and her job is to get the pies as they come off the conveyor belt and put them in a, I don't remember.  In a refrigerator, I guess."  He grimaces at Hank.  "okay?"

Hank nods.  "Go on."

"Okay, so.  but the way the sketch goes is that the pie machine starts going really fast, and the pies come out too fast and they start falling off the conveyor belt onto the floor.  And she can't keep up, so the pies keep just piling up on the floor, and it makes this huge mess."  Bobby sratches his head, squinting.  Then he looks back at Hank.  "I feel like.  I'm not even catching my pies anymore.  They're just landing on the floor."

"Because they're coming too quickly?"

Bobby shakes his head, grins reflexivly.  "I don't know," he says.  "Not too quickly, I don't think.  The refrigerator is full.  I don't know what it is.  It's just."  He looks up, at the ceiling.  "This place has been rebuilt so many times, y'know?  and I'm.  I go out with all these guys, and it just, it doesn't mean anything.  I wake up in the morning and I can't remember if it's today or yesterday, or tomorrow, and I wake up in a panic because I feel like I'm making this huge mess.  with my.  pies."

Hank watches him, and eventually one of Bobby's fidgeting hands runs into the other and Bobby says,

"The stuff I do," quietly, as though his voice were hiding from the desk, the ceiling, the windows, "it's getting less real."

"And you feel that if you change yourself, you'll have another place to store your pies."

"yeah."

Hank is silent for a long moment, they seem to be volleying silences.  Bobby's picking absently at a thumb nail, and Hank's hands are folded on the table.  Hank says,

"What do you want to feel that you aren't feeling?"

Bobby stands up suddenly.  "I just wanna change my name, Hank."

Hank's gaze follows him up and a few steps away.  "Instead of dealing with the real issue."

Bobby nods.  "Exactly."

"And what will happen when you fill up that refigerator?"

"I'll donate my pies to a soup kitchen or something.  that Food Not Bombs thing, on Sundays in Market Square.  Or Wednesdays.  Is it Wednesdays?"

"Bobby," says Hank.

"What, Hank?  What?  People do this."

"You are never going to be able to taste your pies, Bobby, if you are unwilling to eat them."

Bobby shakes his head.  "okay, can we leave the pie metaphor behind?"

Hank spreads his hands.  "I like the pie metaphor."

"I think you're just hungry."

"No," says Hank, he shakes his head and gestures for Bobby to come back, sit down, and Bobby does.  "It's a good metaphor."

"Thanks."

"An excellent metaphor.  Definitely professional-quality.  You ought to look into a career."

"In case this hero thing falls through.  And the accounting thing."

"Yes."

"Are you trying to sneak up on me?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's not gonna work.  I'm onto you."

Hank leans forward.  "I'm onto you."

Bobby's mouth twists.  "I doubt it."

Hank pulls back.

"I'm trying to help you, Robert.  You're telling me you're suffering from some kind of disatisfaction with your life, and I'm trying to understand why that is."

"Hank, jesus.  You make it sound like I'm going through a mid-life crisis or something."

Hank glances down at his hands and then back up at Bobby.  Bobby's eyes go wide and he jumps up again.

"Oh my god!"  he points at Hank.  "You think I'm going through a mid-life crisis!"

"Bobby," Hank says, holding up a hand.

"This is not a mid-life crisis!  I'm not-- I plan to get much older than fifty-eight, okay?  This is not the middle of my life!"

"In the lives we lead, time--"

"No," Bobby says.  "No, no.  People who are having mid-life crises get red convertibles and hot girlfriends.  That's not what's happening."

"What's happening?"

"I don't *know* what's happening!  I know that," Bobby looks away, his head shaking in sporadic negatives, "this is not like people do.  People go from here to there.  There's this wall in my head.  Not a wall, I don't--"  Bobby lifts his hand.  "I don't.  My life doesn't make any sense to me."

"Bobby, come sit down," Hank says gently.  It's strangely reminiscent, suddenly-- Bobby looking around the lab, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, small grimace-- of the talk he and Hank had in this same place two years ago, when Bobby made the decision that he was going to have to be what he was, and Hank was going to have to know about it, about most of it.  Almost plainly saying, 'I need to talk about this, and I can, but I'm going to stand over *here*.'

"Come sit down, Bobby."

"yeah," Bobby says.  He runs a hand through his hair.  He laughs.  "I'm getting a little hysterical.  I'm gonna be all, like, 'Nobody understands my pain,' and, 'They didn't love me!  They never loved me!!'"  He sits down.

Hank thinks for a moment, and then says, "I want you to understand something.  Most people-- in this house especially-- would swim whole oceans to have consistency like yours."

"well, I don't want my consistency.  I want."  he puts his hands up, like he's prepared to catch the thing that he wants, were it dropped from the ceiling.

"What do you want?"

"I want to.  do.  things."

"what things?"

"Things!  that I don't do!"

"what things don't you do?" Hank asks, and his voice gets gentler on every question, more afraid of startling.

"Things that I want to do!  Things that I want to do but I don't because I'm me and I don't do those things."

"Bobby," Hank says.  "You don't have to change who you are.  If there's something you want to do, you should do it."

"It's not that simple, Hank."

"It is.  I know you think of me as rather a simpleton, Robert--" Bobby's eyes dart up to his, Bobby smirks.  "But I happen to be a fairly intelligent man.  And I'm telling you that, in this case, it is that simple."

"Y'know, you don't actually know what this case is."

"I would know if you would tell me."  Bobby's eyes flit back down to his lap, his hands in his lap, and Hank sighs.  "Do you want to hurt someone?"

"jeez, Hank.  No."

"Then it doesn't matter, Bobby.  Bobby."  Bobby doesn't look up, but he nods in acknowledgement.  Hank says, "You can do the things that you want to do."

Bobby scrubs a hand across the back of his neck.  He laughs quietly and says, "dude, I bet I could prove you wrong."

Hank smiles.  "I will take that bet."

Bobby returns the smile, he can't help it, even though his head is bent and his gaze is down.  "Will you bet me a smoothie?"

"I will."

They sit in silence for a moment, and then Bobby takes a deep breath.  He moves like snow, or cloth blown by slow wind, putting his hand on the table and pushing himself up, forward.  His hand moves in first, moving across the table, followed by his arm, his shoulder, his forehead-- when his hand reaches the edge, he leans down until his cheek touches Hank's very still cheek.  He waits.

Then he presses his mouth against Hank's without waiting anymore, tilts his head and kisses Hank without waiting anymore.

After a moment, he pulls back thinly, a breath away, his hand fitted around the edge of the table.

Hank whispers, "I win."

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