Disclaimer: The X-Men characters, and all
other recognizable characters are copyright to Marvel Entertainment
Group. This work of FanFiction is not meant to impinge on that copyright
or defame Marvel Comics or the X-Men and related characters in any
Copyright: This work of FanFiction and the original characters
described within are the intellectual property of K-NICE and her IRL
persona. No copying, distributing or editing of this material is permitted
without the express permission of the creator, K-Nice, under United
States copyright law.
It was one of those rare picture-perfect afternoons that found its
way into university brochures. Yet here on the grounds of Xavier's
School for Gifted Youngsters, the students were not being posed for
photo-ops. They were enjoying another rarity: free time.
Jean Grey lay on a beach towel, trying to tan on the shore of Breakstone
Lake. Her bikini straps were off her shoulders and she lay on her
stomach, reading a paperback book. She also had a great view. However,
she had to keep a TK shield up to protect herself from the monstrous
splashing of Hank McCoy, who thought it was appropriate to hurl his
300 lbs at the water from the tops of nearby trees. Even now, he bounded
out of the water in his blue swim trunks and began to scale another
"Hank, you're a football player, not a diver," Jean teased,
doubting it would make him let up.
"Indeed, Jeannie, but I am an athlete par excellence and I shall
master my swan dive before the day is through." He prepared to
execute another belly-buster.
Yet even with his super human agility and those oversized hands and
feet, he still could not get any higher than Xavier's resident fly-boy,
Warren Worthington, III. Warren wore his swim trunks, though his were
probably RL Polo rather than JC Penney. He had earlier waded into
the water a bit but was more comfortable among the clouds. He swooped
through the air on the wings of an angel, hoping to distract Jean
from her perusal of a Stephen King novel.
His efforts were wasted, since she had already diverted her attention
to Scott Summers, who was painting the boathouse. The sun's heat had
caused him to take his shirt off, and Jean found his naked chest far
more interesting than IT. His cutoff jeans were already covered
in paint, which also flecked his shoulders and face. Scott tried to
ignore the fact that he was being watched (and stared at like a slab
of meat in the desert) by one of his classmates (the hottest girl
in the history of humanity). He instead focused on his chore, re-staining
the boathouse's weathered wood. If he stretched a little there and
flexed a little here, it was of no consequence.
It was a beautiful, peaceful day. No Sentinels, no Magneto, no Brood,
no nothing. Just a chance to relax like the nearly normal teenagers
Bobby Drake sat under a tree, trying to stay in the shade. The sun
still seemed to beat down on him. He wore a white tank t-shirt and
a pair of khaki shorts. His shoes and socks were off in the grass
somewhere, wherever he had kicked them off when they had grown unbearable
on his feet. It was at least 85 in the shade, and Bobby could feel
the sweat dripping off him. While his friends basked in warmth, he
roasted. There was Jean, mostly bare, sun-worshiping. He wanted to
go talk to her, but he couldn't stand to be so hot. He felt sticky
and dirty. Bobby didn't like this kind of weather. He preferred the
clean, clear cold and would do anything to get it. He wished he could
have stayed inside, but the Professor had insisted they go out and
enjoy the day. He didn't want to seem like any more of a freak than
he already was, but he just couldn't take it anymore.
Jean shivered suddenly as the sun skirted behind some clouds. Hank,
too, noticed the change, saying jovially, "You best make the
most of it now, Jeannie. It seems a cold front is coming in."
He was looking at the cloud mass that was gathering on the western
As the clouds drew closer, the group became more subdued. Warren
worried about static electricity and began to fly in lower and lower
arcs until he was just clearing the tops of the trees. Hank moved
to where Jean lay and began to read her novel as she watched Scott
dutifully apply himself to getting the boathouse finished before the
rain came. He was no longer flirting, just working with swift strokes,
warily eyeing the darkening sky.
As the first drops fell, they began to gather their things and move
inside. Jean erected a TK umbrella and they all ran, laughing, for
the house has the downpour began. It looked to be a typical summer
shower in New York, the kind that came out of nowhere and left just
as quickly. They settled in the kitchen to wait it out, vowing to
play a game of volleyball as soon as it was clear again.
Bobby came out from under the leaves as the rain began to come down.
His clothes were promptly drenched as the drizzle became true rain.
He tilted his head back and let the cool water run over his face.
He slowly began to cool off. Yet he could still remember that feeling
of heat, that memory of sweat and stink.
He lay in the grass as the rain began to pound. The grass itself
was warm and stuck through his clothes, scratching his skin uncomfortably.
The driving storm was cold, but Bobby reached out and made it colder.
Soon, the summer shower became winter sleet. Bobby started to feel
better. He was nice and cold. Well, almost. His skin was cold, but
he could still feel heat radiating from within him. He didn't like
that idea, hot and sticky emanating from himself. He much preferred
cold and dry.
Bobby reached out with whatever it was that made him a mutant, and
it started to snow. It seemed like he touched every drop of rain and
made it colder, like him. Much colder, as cold as it could possibly
At first the snow was centered around him, but as Bobby grew more
accustomed to the process, the swirl of snow filled the whole yard.
Bobby spun around in a circle. All around him was white, white, white.
"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!" he sung out at
the top of his lungs. This was his element. This was his world. Not
the shiny, happy people sunshine hot that everyone seemed to relish.
Even his friends, who were supposed to be freaks like him, preferred
the sun to the cloud, the oppressive heat to the freedom of cold.
Beautiful as it all was, it still wasn't enough. Bobby could still
see and feel the snowflakes melting where they touched his skin. He
wanted more. He wanted to be cold everywhere. Deep down inside he
wanted to feel that clean, that pure, that frozen, like an icicle.
He had covered himself with snow before but he wondered what it would
take to be snow. Was it possible? He was afraid. It was a nice
idea but didn't people die from being too cold? Mutant or not, Bobby
was sure he could not survive what it would take to become as cold
as ice. Yet the thought played in his mind as he played in the snow.
Finally, he came to a decision.
Bobby lay down again, this time in the arms of a snow angel. Everything
seemed to stop as he pulled at his power and prodded his body. He
lay there for an eternity. Still. Quiet.
"I wonder what happened to Bobby?" Scott said thoughtfully
as he rolled the dice.
"Doubles, you roll again," was all Warren answered. True,
it wasn't like Bobby to miss a Monopoly game, but lately Warren had
noticed that Bobby spent a little more time by himself. Bobby was
younger than the rest of them, but it usually didn't make a difference.
Lately, though, he had been withdrawing a little bit from the group.
Warren knew it was hard being 16. He had been that age only a few
years before. But it didn't seem to be anything worth brooding over.
"Yeah, I can't really sense him anymore." Jean had adopted
Scott's pensive frown as she accepted payment for Reading Railroad.
"Never fear, my good friends, Sir Robert of Drake is surely
around here somewhere." Hank moved to the window and looked out
for the first time. "Oh ... my ... stars ... and ... garters!"
"What!!!" the other three exclaimed in unison. They had
never heard Hank use that particular turn of phrase before.
"Come see for yourselves." Hank moved from the window and
grabbed a coat as he headed out the door.
"Snow! In July! Are you kidding me!!"
Jean looked out quickly and then followed Hank out the door. The
others were close behind her.
Hank lead the way as they marched through the snow to dock by Breakstone
The lake itself was frozen solid. In its center, ice flowed up into
the sky. At the top it blossomed like a flower on a 20 foot stalk.
In what would have been the petals stood Bobby Drake.
He stood there, a brand new being. A man made of organic ice. Bobby
came down to the dock on an ice slide, rapidly replacing the ice at
his feet so that it propelled him forward and downward. He stopped
right in front of them.
He was cold as ice. Not hot, not warm, not even cool, but deliciously
cold. Arctic, tundra, frozen, ice -- that is what he felt like.
He smiled as they shivered. It was a wonderful day. A cold front
had come in.
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