DISCLAIMER: None of the characters used in this fic are mine -- but I'm using them anyway and without permission, too. Imagine that... Since I'm making no profit of the monetary sort, I supposed it's all to the good...and I'll just carry on, then... And declare, here and now, that whatever transsexual characters I devise are mine, and I don't care WHAT Marvel thinks. You hear that, Marvel?! They're MINE!! BWA HA HA HA HA! <cough>
THANKS: Thanks and hugs to the #plotting crew for their help and to my third-favorite Jaya for her once-over -- she knows who she is *bg* -- and my girl Sparks! S'up?!
WARNING: Some folks might be offended -- turn back now -- or rather, read a little and stop at page 3. That should be pretty tame enough for ya, I think. ;) Overall? PG-13. And whatever bits you get through...I'd appreciate a little feedback -- hook it up, aiight? Thanks ever so much.:) And no flames! Flames ain't right, man!

The Flip Side
Chapter 3

Bobby had just ... blinked. He couldn't do much more than that -- not with THIS before him.

It has to be the blow I took to the head -- it just HAS to be.

He told himself this repeatedly, but it failed to make what he saw before him any less of a reality.

Ororo. Lying there unconscious. Lying there unconscious and no longer a woman.

I-it can't be, he stammered inside his head. It CAN'T. The laws of nature just wouldn't allow such a thing to happen -- not to HER.

But it HAD happened, hadn't it? And he was silent witness to the fact.

No longer of slender and tone feminine body that had sent a quake or two through his own body at one time or another, she was now of slender and tone masculine body...a body that just couldn't fit into that uniform.

Her musculature expanded out past the material, causing it to rip and tear in places. As she was longer than before, her now-broad shoulders had punched through up top as her now-manly feet had below. Where her chest should have distended outward with her breast now lay a shallow puddle of fabric that somewhat helped to keep the rest of the top portion from going the way that her belt had -- which had snapped and now lay off to the side.

Her foot protruded through her shoes -- HEELS, he said to himself on a clearer note -- and the arms of her clothing no longer reached her wrists -- it was as if a dude had snagged one of her uni's and tried to fit into it -- fitting wrongly everywhere.

But that wasn't the case.

A woman had been in there a few short moments ago, and now in her place lay a man. A man of wide shoulders and sturdy frame, of strong chin, now that he looked closer -- a handsome man if he were to go that far.

He could see that sovereignty that was so much a part of Ororo Munroe even now -- and a bulge that hadn't been there moments ago.

He wondered if the gathering X-Men would be able to, too.

"Wh-what happened?!" Jean gasped as she landed, her TK sparking out.

"Where's Ororo?" Scott questioned as he skid to a halt beside the crouching Iceman.

"And who the hell is that wearin' her uniform?!" Rogue wondered.

Bobby said nothing, unable to stop staring, his mind whirling.

"Bobby? Bobby?! Answer me!" Scott ordered -- then shot a look to his wife when he got no answer. "Jean? Is he alright?"

Jean ran a brief scan. "He...he's in shock, I think."

"Bobby!" Remy yelled. "Snap outta it, homme, and tell us where Stormy is!" Not'ing had better have happened ta 'er, he thought angrily. And de ice cube ain't helpin'! "Who IS dis guy?" he wondered, too, about the man in white lying unconscious before him. For some reason, his usually quick mind failed to recognize the costume just yet.

Still, Bobby said nothing. It was all TOO incredible to believe. The beautiful, unreachable, and sadly untouchable goddess, star attraction in many a wet dreams of many men across the globe...was now a MAN.

"Bobby?" Rogue kneeled down beside the frozen man as she gently called his name. "Can ya heyah me, sugah?"

Slowly -- ever so slowly -- he turned to look at her at the sound of her voice. For a long and frightening moment, he was the very picture of stupefaction. He raised a hand to point at the dark-skinned body beside him.

"HOLYSHITSHE'SAMAN!" he blurted out, eyes wide.

"WHAT?!" The collective team members exclaimed.

"A MAN! She's a MAN!" he blathered, unable to sound rational. Oddly enough, he sounded like an extra out of The Wizard of Oz.

"Who's a man?"

"Storm! Storm's a MAN!"

"No, way..."

Bobby turned his head towards a stern looking Remy LeBeau. "SweartagodIsawit!"

"Calm down, sugah, and tell us what ya saw," Rogue said.

"That's what I saw!" he told her, speaking half as rapidly now as he had been a moment ago. "That girl! She did it! The one in all the black -- the one that HIT me! Ow!" He flinched in memory of being wailed over the head with a length of conduit, massaging his neck and checking for flaws that might make his transformation back to human more difficult than it would be otherwise.

"What's the mattah?"

"Forget about me -- Ororo needs far more help than I do." He turned his icy eyes back to the fallen co-leader of the X-Men.

She'd better turn back to normal before she wakes up...or it's gonna get ugly.

"That's Ororo?!"

"Apparently so, Jean," her husband answered, frowning. "Apparently so."

Jean's gaze turned from surprised to perplexed to...almost appreciable as she looked down at Ororo again.

Damn, Ororo, she thought to herself, her husband unable to hear it.

"Bobby, who did this -- where is she?"

Bobby paused just then...and straightening slowly, he turned and pointed --

To a charred spot on the ground a dozen feet away.

There was a perfect silence for about ten seconds.

"...That's all that's left?" Rogue asked quietly, gloved fingertips slowly lifting to red lips as she blinked at the sight before her.

Bobby nodded. "Other than some smoking leather over there -- yeah. That's it." He pointed to a black, smoldering remnant of said leather scrap draped over a piece of plank that jutted out of the wreckage of the battle site.

"Damn," Remy muttered, almost wincing. "Got dat girl, but good." And Stormy, she ain't gone be likin' dat she took a life, either -- do', she might not be too upset, considering... Considering that she was now of the male persuasion.

"Let's get her to Hank -- see what he can do for her," Scott ordered. "Let's go."

When they arrived back at the mansion, Bobby had about three immediate options. He could go down to the medlab and wait for results on Ororo's condition, go with Scott to inform the Professor of what had happened, or he could go and gossip about it with everyone else in the kitchen.

Bobby went to his room instead. He really needed the rest, and Hank told him it'd be okay for him to get some sleep, seeing as he hadn't quite caught a concussion from his introduction to a certain piece of pipe earlier that day.

"God. I don't think I've ever been this wiped out," he muttered as he dragged himself up the stairs, not even enough strength left in him to ice-slide himself up to the second floor and evaporate the thing once he'd reached his room.

It seemed like forever and a week before he was pulling the door open and stumbling to his bed, yanking off his uniform as he went, where he lost consciousness before he hit the pillows.

He rolled over with a sigh, smacking at the taste in his mouth he'd acquired after sleep -- which he hated.

And it would remain, nagging and mocking him until one of two things happened: he either fell back asleep -- wherein the nagging taste would assault him later on, with possibly more of a virulent edge to it than it'd had before -- or he could wake himself up and do something about it. Namely, brushing his teeth.

He lay where he was, though, for a few moments more. He felt just a tad bit too groggy to brave a trip to the bathroom -- 

And then he was 'reminded' of that damned taste in his mouth, so he forced himself up and out of the bed, eyes less than half-lidded, but still open enough to make sure he didn't smack into everything that might be in his way.

Yawning, he ran his fingers through disheveled hair, then scratched at the back of his neck to relieve that 'welcome back to the land of consciousness' itch he was prone to getting there.

At the doorway, he forwent flicking on the light -- no need to assault his eyes just yet -- instead moving straight over to the toilet. He needed to go to the bathroom.

Casually, as he'd done countless times, he reached down to...make a grab for the requisite equipment --

And blinked sleepily when he missed.

He paused for a moment, just KNOWING that he couldn't have just missed no matter HOW half-asleep he was...

He reached again.

And missed.

He blinked again, clearing all sleep from his eyes, suddenly very wide-awake. He grabbed again, this time a little closer.

And missed yet again.

Slowly, his eyes went wide.

And he frantically began to grabble...down there.

And STILL didn't find what he was looking for at all despite his efforts.

What the fuck?!

In a lightning movement that might've made the resident Cajun proud -- well, in one perspective or another -- he dropped his head and eyes and flung his hands away from himself for a full view.

Why the hell can't I --  Oh. My. God.

It... It...

It wasn't there!

It was gone!

The strangest sound fought its way from between Robert Drake's lips -- a sound that could never -- EVER -- be described as ANYTHING in the masculine range of yelps, yips, or yowls.

"Wh-where-?! What the -- ?! H-how the -- EEP!"

It...it was so FLAT down there...

Naturally, he began to panic. His equipment was gone! His plumbing, necessary accessories, jewels, one-eyed weasel -- it was GONE!

And as his boggled mind struggled to process this -- grappled at the illusion that it might, some day, understand what in the hell was going on, Bobby Drake realized something else.

He hadn't exactly a clear view as he looked down at his misplaced manhood.

There was definite...impediment.

Blinking, Bobby drew his eyes up -- slowly, very slowly...

He gasped, all air being driven from his lungs as he took a staggering step back, eyes flying wide open as they never had before -- not even earlier that day when he'd found Ororo.

"AHHHH!"

He... He had...

He had...

Breasts.

"What the HELL?!" he breathed hoarsely, this time aloud -- in more tones that could never -- EVER -- be described as ANYTHING in the masculine range.

Suddenly wildly disoriented, not trusting what he was seeing before him, he rushed over to the mirror, flipping the light switch --

It can't be -- it just CAN'T be!

Light filled the room -- and so thunderstruck was he that the glare barely registered -- and Bobby found himself in the mirror.

Or should that be 'HERself'?

In the mirror was NOT Bobby Drake.

Bobby just WASN'T that pretty.

And Bobby -- though some might argue the fact -- was a MAN.

What he found in the mirror most definitely wasn't a man -- unless that man had had some serious work done.

For a long moment, he could do nothing but stare.

My. God, swam up in his thoughts from some murky abyss of incredulity.

A slender-fingered hand reached up to touch a face that was totally unfamiliar to Bobby -- found soft skin waiting, skin softer than he could remember finding on his own face.

Whom he saw in the mirror couldn't quite pass as stunning as several other women under the roof of 'X' could -- but she was unmistakably good-looking.

Possessing Bobby's soft brown hair and hazel eyes, she also had a delicate jaw, ears that could be described as nothing less than 'cute', a nose that seemed to be tailored to her face, an elegant neck --

And a nice rack.

Distantly, he thought, Hell. I'd do her.

She was, after all, totally attractive.

She.

As if what he was seeing in the mirror wasn't HIM.

Because it was.

And he knew the 'why' and the 'how' of it.

A certain young, short, darkly clad, tattooed, pierced, blue-eyed, spiky-haired girl with a certain strange power that had changed Ororo Munroe into a man.

A certain and strange power that had been charged into a length of pipe -- a pipe that had been brought down over his head.

Maybe that had been enough to change him -- maybe a blast of it wasn't necessary as in Ororo's case --

What am I wasting mind-breath on -- of COURSE it had been enough! Lookit me!

Yeah. Just look.

A beautiful woman stared back at him.

But from the wrong angle, his mind was so quick to point out.

A woman.

His eyes fell again -- against his own will.

The missing plumbing.

He sighed deeply, wistfully -- a whispering moan. No... Not Willie Shorthairs... I LOVED that guy!

And Willie was gone --

To be replaced by a woman's...parts -- and breasts!

There's a bright side to this already, Bobbo! Buck up!

"A bright side," he murmured aloud -- and was treated to the sound of his new voice. A woman's voice. It seemed to fit the face it was given to, though he couldn't precisely describe it. Not too deep and not too high -- it was just...normal. No detectable accent, like say, Ororo or Betsy -- or even Jean, what with her originating on the east coast -- and why would she? Had Bobby an accent?

No. Even IF he'd been born and bred in Long Island-or 'Lawn Gisland' to those with the accent.

And would suddenly turning into a woman change that?

...He should hope not.

But whether or not he had gained an accent was irrelevant.

Either way, he was a still WOMAN now.

A woman.

What the hell would that mean when he left this bathroom -- his room -- and others saw him?

Suddenly, he could barely breathe.

What will my father think?!

'What the-?! You're a WOMAN?! Bobby, how in the hell did you manage to get yourself turned into a WOMAN?!'

He could just see his face...

"Holy shit," he breathed, his face a work of perplexity.

And mom?

'I always wanted a girl...' seemed to fit pretty well.

He didn't know whether to grimace or be...relieved at that one.

"Holy friggin' -- "

Who CARES, man?! You've got hooters! Lookit 'em! came a voice from the inside.

And he did.

What a set.

They weren't all terribly large like a few pairs he could think of -- but enough to fit in his hands -- technically 'her' hands -- when he slowly cupped them.

"Ooh," he breathed at the sensation of him -- HER -- self in his -- HER -- hands, a smile spreading across feminine lips.

Smooth and supple, he wished that this was a separate woman -- while at the same time glad it was NOT.

It felt great, what he doing.

Eyes narrowing just a bit...he uncupped one breast...and reached for an, as of yet, unresponsive nipple -- was only vaguely surprised that someone hadn't smacked his hand away and given him an admonishing look of 'Bad Man! Bad Man, You!'

He teased it -- and it soon stood firm.

"Ooh!" he breathed a little louder. "Oh, I like THAT," he said as he began to grin. Further attention to him -- HER -- self led to an almost hysterical giggle that echoed throughout the room to the tune of insetting psychosis.

"This is SOOOO cool!"

Looking back up into the mirror, Bobby found a nearly lewd smirk looking back. With a wry twist of now-womanly lips, Bobby began to turn this way and that, watching the way his new body moved, the shape of shoulders and collarbone, of hips and firm buttocks --

"I am FINE," he gloated to him -- HER -- self, as toned muscles played beneath smooth skin and young bosom stood pert. "I might be able to get used to this."

But he still missed Willie.

Not only because Willie had been WILLIE -- had always been there, a very precious part of the male anatomy -- the MOST important, actually -- almost like a friend -- a friend that went through all his good and bad times, was nearly always awake moments before him in the morning as if in greeting of the new day --

But, also because Bobby still had to go to the bathroom.

And he wasn't accustomed to sitting unless he had to go number two.

Number one was up for this particular event.

And Willie wasn't there to...well, help out, or anything. He'd cut and run -- or whatever had happened to him while the Iceman slept. Wherever he was, he wasn't doing anyone any good -- which had been sort of true of Willie for too long of a while, anyway, Bobby thought a bit bitterly to himself. Nothing really new on that score, or rather, lack_there_of.

Just me and Willie...and no one else. What a bitch.

And now he was a woman -- a woman who'd have NO use for Willie -- at least, not as he had in his former capacity, anyway.

He was no longer a 'giver'.

He was on the 'receiving' team now, a part of his overworked brain informed him.

"Damn," he muttered as he was hit with that realization.

Sex for him was totally changed as he knew it -- if he would ever know it again. How was he supposed to deal with that?

You COULD be a lesbian, ya know...

He instantly perked at that.

"Hey... I COULD, couldn't I?" That insane grin of his was coming back... Unknowingly, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, as if he had a date already lined up. He'd always wanted in on a session of that -- two women together. Well, in this body, he had more of a chance of that happening, right?

And as he had the requisite equipment now, he could go into women-designated places! Ladies rooms, locker rooms -- the communal showers of the mansion!

"Oh, yes!"

Yeah, like Ororo would let you anywhere near the showers...

"But the ladies at the Bally's wouldn't know a thing, now would they?" he said evilly to himself.

You are bad. Very bad.

"You know this, man," he said, in a bad impersonation of Chris Rock's character out of the movie Friday.

But I'm really gonna miss Willie -- miss 'im already. I want 'im back.

It didn't occur to him just yet that he was conducting a conversation with himself. "We can't have him back -- that girl is dead, and without her, we probably won't change back. We have to get used to it -- just like 'Ro is."

'Ro... She's a dude now. She's got equipment now! I'd like to see the look on her face when she wakes up and realizes --

"Hey! Watch your mouth!"

What?! Aren't you waiting to see it, too?

"What do you mean, YOU? There's no YOU -- there's only ME."

If there's just YOU, then why're you talking to ME?

Bobby blinked. Why was he talking to 'him'?

I think you're cracking up, man.

"Oh, shut up."

You gonna make me, WOMAN?

"Don't start -- "

You're the one that started it -- thinking all disassociatively and everything.

"Dammit, I don't want to argue with you!" Bobby shouted in his lady's voice.

"Uh, 'allo? Who's dat?"

Bobby froze.

That hadn't been him who had said that. As Bobby has pointed out himself, earlier, he had no accent.

"'Allo?" the voice came again -- a man's voice with a Cajun's drawl.

"Remy," Bobby breathed, instinctively crouching low as if Remy could see straight through the door with those alien eyes of his and could possibly spot the naked woman that had been the male Bobby Drake and was now 'Roberta' Drake, standing in Bobby's bathroom.

A knock -- and probably not the first to have been rapped upon the door during 'Roberta's' discussion with herself -- sounded with impatience.

"Bobby? Dat you soundin' like a femme in dere?" Jokingly, he added, "O' do ya finally got somebody in dere wit' ya?" He sounded highly doubtful that the answer to that second part would be in the affirmative.

Bobby was simultaneously angered and agreeable with that tone. Hell, when was the last time he was in the position to have a woman in his room -- a separate one, that is?

A long while. He sighed.

You can't let him see us like this!

"You think I don't know that?!" he hissed to himself.

He might hit on us!

"He wouldn't..."

This is REMY we're talking about, Drake.

"Point. What should we do?"

We gotta hide!

"Where?"

Under the bed, man -- er, girl! Quick!

"I am NOT -- "

More knocking. "Bobby?"

Bobby flew out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom, arms across his chest in an oddly feminine display, feeling as if Remy's eyes were already all over him. Now, he knew what it was like for all those women that hated to be ogled.

"Pig," Roberta mumbled tersely. After dropping to the floor -- the cold, cold floor -- it was quickly decided that that would not be the best place to hide.

But, you LIKE the cold!

"Yeah, but, it's still freezing!" he whispered. "I don't know why!"

Well...under the covers! Quick!

Roberta was only too happy to comply. "What the hell is up with my powers, anyway?" he wondered softly.

"Bobby? Answer me, homme," Remy said in an annoyed tone.

"No can do," Roberta whispered.

"I gone come in if ya don', Bobby. Give ya till de count o' tres, and Remy'll charge de door down."

What the hell is his problem?! Why won't he just leave?!

"Ya know it's time fo' dinner, nes pas?"

Oh. That.

"I don' get ya down 'ere, and dey start bitchin' at Remy 'cause you didn't get none o' de special biscuits."

Special biscuits? Roberta sighed. There was no way he was gonna get out of this without answering -- which he couldn't do with his present voice.

He's gonna break in!

"Please don't," Roberta prayed softly. "Just go. Leave. Eat all you want -- I woulda said something by now if I cared!"

"One," Remy began.

Oh, shit.

"Two."

Another strange sound worked itself loose from inside the former X-MAN.

Ex-man. X-Man. Heh. Almost kinda funny. Almost...

"Tres. Okay, den. Be dat way."

There was a perfect moment of silence where Bobby could almost -- ALMOST -- believe that Remy was walking away, only having been kidding, and seeing how his bluff had been called, was bowing out gracefully --

No such luck.

NEVER any such luck.

The doorknob jiggled three times -- he made no point in being secretive, for there was simply no need -- and then...the door came open.

He'd picked the lock. Just like that.

At least he didn't blow it open...

Does the guy carry lockpicks everywhere he goes?!

Red on black eyes peered inside. "Bobby, wake up. Dinner time."

'Roberta' made not a move, lying flat on her back, hoping to God that Remy would just believe he was asleep and be gone.

Boots tread softly over hardwood floor as he approached. It was like being inside a horror film with Michael Meyers or Jason -- hiding and hoping that they couldn't hear your breathing or smell you sweat or see you shaking beneath the covers; hoping that they'd find no evidence that you were even there and would just _go_away_.

No such luck.

NEVER any such luck.

The comforter was yanked back --

Revealing a startled woman to Remy LeBeau rather than a disgruntled Iceman -- an attractive woman, too. He blinked, gathering composure. "Pardonnez-moi, chere," he said with an apologetic, yet debonair smile -- and some wonder that not even he could hide at finding an actual chick there and in Bobby's bed, no less. And naked, too. "Remy not know Bobby not alone."

Roberta could only pull together a faint semblance of a smile -- one where you couldn't believe you were getting away with something -- wasn't' even sure if you even were, yet -- but were riding it out for as long as it lasted, hardly able to believe your luck.

He...he doesn't recognize us! Yay!

"Bobby, he not de kind ta typically have a woman willing go ta his room, nes pas?"

HEY! He's doggin' us out, man -- er, um, girl! Can you believe him?!

Bobby bit back the expression of contempt that would have overcome his new face rather easily if he'd just allowed it to, covering it with a chuckle and a shrug, as if she'd known that particular bit about Bobby -- and hadn't minded it.

"Why don'tcha have de ice cube escort ya down -- ya eat wit' us, 'kay?"

Again, 'Roberta' only shrugged this time to communicate that she would be okay with that -- even though she really wouldn't have been.

"Bien," he said, that smile never faltering. In a graceful move, he captured her hand and brought it to his lips, bending in a suave bow. "Look forward ta seein' ya lata', chere."

Roberta stifled a cough of surprise at the motion. Can you BELIEVE that?! He's hitting on our date! ...Sort of... And with US in the bed! The NERVE of that guy!

It was about this time that Bobby realized he was gonna need some help -- with the double-talking AND getting his hand back from Remy before he wretched.

"Uh...okay," Roberta said, forcing a smile.

"Good. Um... Where Bobby at, anyway?" he asked. Obviously, she had to be alone -- there wasn't another body present in the bed and the door to the bathroom was wide open with the light on and no one inside.

"He -- he's not here," she answered a bit lamely, clearing her throat to excuse whatever anomaly that might be found in her voice, though there were none.

"Wha' -- he jus' leave ya 'ere all by ya'self?" He feigned a gentle outrage. "Dat ain't no way ta treat a lady, chere -- 'specially not one as lovely as you."

Ipe.

"L-lovely?"

Gambit nodded softly. "Oui."

And the weirdest thing happened...

Roberta began to feel as if she were falling up into Remy's eyes; they were actually really enchanting, if one took the time to notice -- or if those eyes made you take notice.

Inside, Roberta could feel panic setting in. This damned body is doin' stuff to us!

Roberta couldn't answer -- could only blink up at those strange-weird-alien-outlandish eyes.

"If ya were 'ere wit' Remy, he wouldn't let ya outta his sight," he informed the woman before him in his velvety-smooth voice as he lowered down onto the bed at her side, her hand still held in his.

Aie!

"H-he'll be back -- I'm sure of it," Roberta managed to get out, amazed that she didn't sound half as bewildered as she felt.

"Are ya?" Remy asked as he brought that hand back up to his lips again, gently brushing them -- and most likely not coincidentally, his stubble -- across the knuckles.

Roberta's breath caught.

Aie, yie, YIE!

*Cough* "Yes," she squeaked.

"Gotta lotta faith in 'im. How long ya known Bobby, ehn?"

Whuh-oh...

"A while..."

"And ain't nobody ne'er heard o' ya o' seen ya b'fo'?" he asked softly, never breaking eye contact.

Run! Run! Get us outta here!

Roberta could only work her lips. Nothing would come out, however. All she could focus on was those dark, enigmatic eyes -- and those lips. This close...they were actually very nice.

What in the hell are you thinking?! someone yelled out inside his head.

"I...I don't know," came the reply -- on the outside.

"Non? Dat's a cryin' shame, chere," Remy responded. "Remy'd wanna show ya off to de world."

She flushed red. "Really? But...I -- I'm not really all that...attractive or anything -- "

"Don' e'er say dat, chere. Ya're beautiful. Dis man, 'ere -- he know somet'ing 'bout beauty. Trus' me on dis, 'kay?"

Roberta found she should just couldn't say 'no'. "Wha -- well, okay." She blushed a deeper shade of demure.

Suddenly, a hand was at her face, tracing the line of her jaw as inhuman eyes watched...fell down to admire chin, throat, collarbone, shoulders...a revealed breast.

"Jus' beautiful," came a soft voice -- a voice that did NOT belong to the woman lying back on the bed.

At those words, Roberta became aware of something distinctly -- odd. New, too.

A tingling.

Between her legs.

Uh-oh. Oh, no -- NO! Snap out of it, man! Snap OUT of it!

But Roberta -- BOBBY -- didn't want to snap out of it -- not with this peculiar sensation, and this odd fluttering in her stomach, and those odd eyes staring down at her with heat and fiery irises, and relish that caused her breath to quicken and chest to rise high with each inhalation.

A hand that was not her own brushed across her breast -- she gasped softly, eyes slipping shut of their own volition.

What the FU --

"Ohhh..." she breathed suddenly, cutting that voice off like a dead weight dragging down a drowning survivor of a boat wreck down into the murky deep. Once free, that survivor could swim to shore, find a piece of wreckage to cling to -- or simply lay back, so to speak, and tread water.

Roberta wanted to tread water with Remy LeBeau -- wanted to lay back as his hands and eyes roamed about a body that hadn't been there a few short hours ago, awakening sensations perhaps prematurely, but necessarily, making her feel things she, as Bobby Drake, never thought she'd want to experience.

You're not missing Willie anymore, ARE you?

No answer. Not to him...

Hazel eyes came open -- found those weird eyes so much closer now -- so very close. And those lips parted in such a mischievous smile --   "Ah -- !" Those hands... Probing, touching -- heedless of the fact that 'Bobby might return', or that someone might pass by the open door --

"Chere," an accented voice whispered in his ear. And then a breathy string of French...

A skilled hand passed beneath the covers, brushing a breast, over a flat, taunt belly, fingertips tickling lightly and coercing another gasp...stroked down over a thigh -- between thighs as they parted in aching awaiting --

What the hell -- ?!

"Yes," she whispered, arching ever so slightly, a leg rising, her free hand grasping at the sheets beside her --  "Yes..."

No! No!

"Guess ya don' mind if Bobby come back, neh?" Remy murmured, a smile in his voice.

YEAH! Stop that, ya bastard!

Her head began to wag immediately. "No. No," she repeated vehemently. "Don't stop."

NO?! Whaddaya mean 'NO'?! Yes! YES! STOP!

"Who said Remy was gonna do somet'ing like dat, ehn?" He chuckled deliciously as his fingertips neared expectant warmth --

And Roberta _could_not_WAIT_ for him to finally reach that place -- that undeniable place that Bobby never thought he'd ever know from this side, and as Remy came closer and closer still, she thought she would burst if she wasn't touched where she needed to be and NOW! -- that she would incinerate on the bed sheets, lit by flames of yearning frustration and impatience --

"Hurry -- please. Now," she heard herself say from far away.

AGH! NOOO!

"Waitin' is one o' de bes' parts chere."

"Now..." she insisted in nearly a whimper, beginning to writhe beneath Remy's ministrations.

Snap OUT of it!

Remy brushed his lips across a bared throat. "Jus' 'bout dere," he whispered as he brought his fingers closer and closer yet --

"Yes..."

NO! Are you MAD?!

"Yes," she murmured.

NO! You're supposed to be saying NO!

"Hmm..." A soft, masculine chuckle sent a delightful shiver up her spine that caused her to arch up again -- and into those dexterous fingertips.

She felt as if she were exploding inside.

Oh, no --

"YES!!"

"NO! NO! NOOO!"

"Bobby! Wake up, boy! Bobby?!"

He flailed feebly, his hands swatting at empty air. "S-stop! No! NO!" he shrieked in his sleep, eyes clenched shut. "Get away!"

Strong hands shook him awake -- caused him to bolt up from sleep with his fist cocked back and ready to fire --  Green eyes greeted his wild eyes -- beautiful and concerned green eyes, and white-striped auburn hair...

Rogue.

"Ya okay, hon?"

Blinking at her, unable to remember how it was that she came to be in his room and that close to him, he was also unable to answer her question. "R-Rogue?" he all but gasped, panting.

She nodded, looking at him with a weighing glance. "Yeah. How are ya, sugah?" He looked a bit wild -- almost delirious, the way he was sheathed with sweat as he was and having been yelling out in his sleep like he was being chased by some terrifying monstrosity.

How am I..?

He couldn't answer that, either --

Until recollection slammed into him like a Mack truck -- powerful, surging, breathtaking, appalling, dizzying recollection. Hazel eyes flew wide open as his hands flew down to his crotch.

"Bobby?! What in the hell are ya doin'?!" Rogue questioned as she reeled back from what seemed to her to be obscene fondling of himself. He was, after all, undressed under his blanket, which she'd gotten a glimpse of as she tried to rouse him from slumber.

Bobby hadn't heard a thing she'd said. "Yes!" he cheered to himself, his eyes slipping closed and his head falling back in deepest relief as an absolutely silly grin broke out on his face. "Willie," he mumbled as he felt his missing equipment not so missing in action anymore.

"Willie?!" Rogue breathed in what looked to be horror.

Then, Bobby's eyes snapped open, still ignorant of Rogue's bewilderment.

He felt his chest.

Flat planes of muscle.

No breasts.

"Aw, damn," he hissed.

" -- I said, wha' de hell ya t'ink ya doin', ice cube?!"

That voice...

That Cajun voice.

Bobby whirled, suddenly hyperventilating as he floundered back as far as he could from the advancing red and black-eyed man, pressing himself against the wall on that side. "St-stay the hell away from me, you pervert!" he shouted as he snatched his blanket to cover himself like a prudish old woman.

Remy halted dead in his tracks. "Me? You de one feelin' ya'self up in front o' a lady," he growled.

"ME?! You're the one that -- that..." He hesitated, an accusing finger hanging in the air. "...That..."

He couldn't just TELL him what had happened -- what had gone on in his head, now could he?

Oh, HELL naw!

"Wha' Remy do, ehn?" the offended Cajun wondered, folding his arms as he glared.

"Uh..." Bobby glanced at Rogue who was still eyeing him strangely. "Uh...nothing," he said. "Nothing at all." He shook his head and cleared his throat, his eyes falling to his bed covers.

That had to be about the WEIRDEST dream I've ever had -- and the most traumatic... he added with a gulp.

"Den, why ya call me a 'pervert', huh? Ain't like Remy in 'ere 'cause he wanna be. Was just passin' by when we 'eard ya yellin' like a woman -- "

A woman?!

"Remy, please," Rogue berated, her eyes flashing to his in a quick admonishing glance. "Cain't ya see he's all shook up?" She turned back to Bobby. "This ain't got nothin' ta do with what happened out there in the field with that girl, do it?" she asked. Meaning the freaky-deak that had smacked him one good over the head.

Bobby, paled, wondering how she'd come to that conclusion -- she was right, yeah, but still...

"N-no," he denied with a vehement shake of his head. "Wh-what made you think that?" He tried to smile and knew he was failing miserably at it.

But he didn't care.

It wasn't like they knew -- that they'd EVER find out, either. About the dream.

"Yeah, Rogue. What did make you think that?"

Rogue turned around at the voice. "Jus' wonderin', is all. Ah mean, after what her powers did ta Storm and how she was usin' 'em in close proximity ta him, and all..." She left off, letting Jean fill in the blanks.

Bobby had slowly leaned to his right, hardly hearing a word Rogue had said...and caught sight of Jean leaning against the frame of the doorway, previously just out of sight behind Remy.

In her own green eyes twinkled a comprehension -- a knowing that made his guts twist.

She smirked. <Wild, wasn't it?>

Oh.

No.

Meep.

She chuckled in his mind and it danced in her eyes. <You know you liked it.>

He wanted to scream, and he would have, too, if Remy and Rogue -- albeit it, a blinking-rather-dumbly Remy and Rogue -- weren't there right then.

I wanna die. I wanna curl up somewhere and DIE, he moaned inwardly, his thoughts so clear in his sickly pallor.

Jean chuckled aloud this time as she stepped out of the door and back into the hall. she informed him as she went on her way.

The mention of Scott Summers made every shade of color he could claim to own drain even farther from his skin -- and the thought of Cyclops being let in on his mortifying dream made him want to faint.

Aie, yie, yie!

Bobby hated that expression more and more every time he used it.

"Wha' de hell is goin' on?" Remy asked for the second time in as many minutes.

Bobby tried to look innocent, his still being pressed up against the wall and clutching his blankets and that look on his face notwithstanding. "Uh, nothing. Nothing at all," he repeated as he chuckled nervously -- such a dead give away that he was lying through his teeth.

"Yep. Looks like nothing to me," Jean added with a quirk of a crafted eyebrow, her hands stuffing themselves in the pockets of her jeans as she went on her way.

Bobby let his face fall into his hands as if he were going to cry. "Can you two, like...leave now? Please?" So I can die in peace?

Remy shrugged, no longer really giving a damn what was going on. "Le's go, chere. Look like he wan' his privacy."

Rogue nodded as she stood, still looking at Bobby in that odd way. "If you gon' be alright--"

Bobby waved her away. "I'll be fine." Sooner or later...

Remy reached for her as she walked away and she allowed his hand to come to rest at the small of her back when she neared him. "That boy got problems," she mumbled when they had gotten out into the hallway.

"Oui -- and dat's sayin' somet'ing if Remy sayin' it, too." Considering everything he'd gone through as of late -- Antarctica and all.

"Ah hear ya."

Back in his room, Bobby slowly raked his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply as he leaned his head back against the wall, and as he curled his legs up against himself, he all but reveled in the feel of his nearly-lost 'friend'. God, I just want to forget this EVER happened.

<You are SUCH a bad liar.>

JEAN! Quiddit!

<What?> she asked innocently. <Just stating the facts -- Roberta.> A telepathic grin -- an evil one.

ARRGGH!

<Ha, ha, ha...>

continued >>

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