Disclaimer: Bobby's not mine, the guy he's dating isn't mine either. So don't sue, I'm poor.
Okay in the scheme of things, since this looks like it's going beyond one story, this one comes before "And Time Marches On." In fact I'd say it's quite a bit before that story. Just so you know.
The pairing, well I don't want to say just yet (even though I know one of you has figured it out and I still can't believe it! You know who you are) but I do want to say, just to clear up any misunderstanding the other guy is not with the X-men. Not even affiliated with them, he isn't a mutant...and he comes from a series I'm hooked on that has nothing to do with the X-men. Yes folks it turned into a crossover. Let me know if you figure out what the other series is though *G* Probably shouldn't be too hard.
Um I can't think of anything else so I'll just go hide behind Bobby now. Feedback to susie2@peoplepc.com

Wave Goodbye To Sanity
by Shera Crawler 007

It was Friday. At least it better be Friday, he hadn't waited all week imagining little conversations with his -- his mind shied away from the word lover -- friend that were never going to happen and just generally driving himself crazy for no stinkin' Monday. He felt a little better thinking that, and carefully avoided looking at the phone.

Vaguely he was a little shocked to be doing something so ... conventionally normal as waiting for Friday. After all it wasn't a normal thing for him, superheroes didn't get weekends off, so there wasn't really anything to wait for. Well except Friday night dinner and Saturday morning cartoons, and now, calling his ... friend.

No scratch dinner, Gambit had managed to let Jean talk him into cooking Fridays this month which made him especially glad he wasn't going to be here tonight for it. Or at least he hoped he wouldn't be ... maybe that was assuming too much ... At any rate even if this didn't work out, he'd find some reason to leave ... like maybe go to a movie ... or see if he could threaten Hank out of the lab long enough to go out and do something ... or plead brain surgery ... Anything as long as he wasn't staying home and being forced to eat whatever blistering, nuclear-waste, killer fish food Remy could think up, that the first bite of would no doubt burn a hole not only through his stomach but the chair and floor underneath him too.

It just wasn't an option, no matter how much fun it could be to watch Scott and Warren suffer through it too. Unlike certain Cajun cook-wannabes, he was fond of his body as it was. Which meant he wasn't turning his blood into acid just so he could eat Cajun, and he wasn't going to live with a hole the size of the Empire State building through him, and he didn't care if it was being impolite. If he wanted a hole in him that bad, he'd just look up Sabretooth. At least it'd be for a good cause like saving the world or something, and not cooking.

Besides he wasn't just doing this for him, he was doing it to save the floor from having a Bobby sized hole melted in it, after the food melted him. See it was all for a good cause.

So. There.

To bad that had all been in his head, he could have at least gotten a smile out of someone with that.

He risked a glance at the phone, it was still there ... still on his dresser waiting to be used, still looking like a phone. Very phoneish. Plasticy too in a white ... phone sort of way. He could do it ... he could call him. It would be simple to dial the number; he'd even memorized it from taking the little piece of paper out that his ... friend ... had written it on, a million times. Hell he'd even memorized his messy chicken-scratch handwriting. Which was probably a good thing because the paper was beginning to get worn into oblivion from being folded and unfolded at least fifty times a day.

As many times as he'd looked at it he still couldn't believe it. He had a guy's phone number ... a guy that he'd ... that he'd ... he'd ... he ... He broke that off before his mind started going into gibberish syllables trying to force it out. What did it say about him that he couldn't even think about what he'd done with him? Talk about repressed. Or maybe he could pretend he was just being cautious, after all he was living with telepaths. Yeah, cautious ... that was it.

Okay maybe he should just try jumping into it ... you know like everyone said you should when you got in the pool the first time. Just jump in and it won't seem so cold ... not like just dipping your toe in first ... not that cold bothered him. He was Iceman after all ... but it was still good advice he guessed. Yeah jump in ... just grab the phone and dial before he'd had time to think about it. Could you actually jump into a phone call though? Didn't you have to rehearse what you were going to say first so you wouldn't sound too much like an idiot?

It probably wouldn't help any ... He'd think he was an idiot no matter what. What if he wasn't even there? Or was avoiding him ... or didn't want to talk to him, or see him. Maybe he'd rethought all of this and wished he'd never given him his number. Maybe he was sitting in his apartment right now, in that apartment that he had barely had a chance to look over, with the really comfortable leather couch that they'd spent and hour on having --yeah. Maybe he was sitting there wondering what had gotten into him last weekend giving his number to some nut he barely knew ... Maybe he was having his number changed right this minute. And when he called all he'd get was that really annoying phone company voice telling him the number was no longer in use or whatever it said; because he really didn't know because he always just hung up instead of actually listening to the message.

Or maybe he'd misunderstood him when he handed him the little slip of paper with his number on it and gave him that smile that made him tingle all the way to his toes and want to stay. Made him want to, you know just say, screw the danger room session, screw running around in little spandex outfits, screw saving the world, screw Scott -- well ... maybe not Scott ... no, definitely not Scott, he shuddered a little at the thought -- forget Scott, screw responsibility, screw being a mutant, just forget all of that and stay here with this man that he'd just met and ... just ... do that stuff he couldn't think about because there were telepaths around and yeah-aren't-I-the-cautious-one. Maybe that wasn't his number and it was the number to some mental hospital, or shrink or something. He took a little time out to mentally gasp for air and wonder if he maybe did need that number the mental hospital, he was starting to sound a little nuts.

But still ... maybe he just shouldn't call him at all and just avoid seeing if a man dumping you was really any different than a woman. God that was a depressing thought. He wanted to call him though ... he wanted to see him again really bad. And if he wanted to see him he was going to have to call him because like an idiot he hadn't given him his phone number in return, so it was up to him.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, thinking hard about Cajun cooking, while reaching for the white plasticky phone, so maybe his mind wouldn't notice he was going to call. Cajun cooking ... horrible volcano-hot Cajun cooking that made you inhale Tums by the economy sized bottle, and made Scott make that goofy little face that meant I-really-want-to-live-off-salads-to-avoid-eating-this-but-don't-want-to-piss-off-Jean-so-I'll-just-look-constipated-instead. It got him through dialing and through listening to the rings without hanging up.

He got the answering machine. A nice ... short answering machine message. He was shaking from it, from just hearing that slightly nasal, deep sexy voice and knowing that the guy was probably sitting at home listening to his answering machine wondering why he had given out his phone number. The beep brought him out of it and he started rambling not really knowing what he was saying, voice shaking a little.

"Uh, hi it's Bobby. You remember me right? From um a week ago, Friday, bar ... we talked ... and stuff. You gave me your number, so I thought I'd uh call, so I'm calling ... I guess you aren't there. I was uh wondering if you know when you um get home, if you aren't home, but I guess you aren't home so I--"

The answering machine cut him off mid ramble. He stared at the phone stunned, wondering if he should get upset, just call back, call it fate and just remember him fondly or what ... He called back.

Beep. He laughed shakily, "It's me again ... I um got cut off. But um still if, I mean when you get home, um I'll give you my number and maybe um we could you know ... go out or something or... stay in or you know anything you want to do, just--"

Cut off again.

This time he cursed under his breath inventively suddenly reminded of a movie he'd watched not to long ago ... Similar situation except it was a girl the star was trying to get a hold of. Her answering machine kept cutting him off until she finally just picked up the phone and chewed him out for being such a loser and not taking the hint that she didn't want anything to do with him.

That made him a little shakier, but he'd said he would give him his number ... and he hadn't ... so one more call wouldn't be too pathetic would it? Right? I mean it was sort of important maybe ... His shaky hand hit the redial button one last time. And this time when the machine picked up he just rattled off his number immediately, "Okay this is Bobby again that's my number and um--" For a minute he thought he'd gotten cut off again.

Stupid damn answering machine.

The rather breathless laugh from the other end of the phone clued him in that the answering machine hadn't cut him off and that ... well that he'd said that out loud. Suddenly his face felt hot. "Hi Bobby." He shivered, voice a little weak, "Uh hi." At the moment that sounded like the most intelligent thing he'd said all day, he briefly wondered if he was going to get told to get lost. Another laugh, was it mocking or genuinely amused? "I take it you're giving me your number because you want to get together?"

Bobby nodded but realized that it was going to be a few years before he got a videophone, "Uh yeah." Yep he was starting to sound like Einstein here. But the voice on the other end of the phone only got a bit huskier and definitely pleased, definitely, "Great, how about you come over tonight for dinner then? We'll order out."

"Um ... 'kay."

"Bobby? Are you okay?"

"Um..." That was a hard one...was he? Probably best to just say fine and figure it out when his brain wasn't seeping out of his ear, "I'm fine."

He didn't sound too convinced but seemed to let it go, "Okay ... about six. You know how to get here right?"

"Um yeah, I'll be there." Wow, more than two words, intelligence was just oozing off him now.

"Okay ... see you then. Bye." Bobby thought he mumbled something that vaguely sounded like bye. Wow ... dinner ... again ... he didn't get called a loser.

In a little daze he got up and started getting dressed, he didn't want to be late and he'd need a few hours to steal one of his friends' nice cars and get to Washington, DC. Maybe Scott's bike, he grinned a little to himself, after all the look on Scott's face when he found out that for once it wasn't Logan would probably be worth it. Oh yeah, tonight was going to be great.

continued in "still waving goodbye" >>

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