1. Change

Cotton Sheets, Country Music and Clam Chowder

Summary: This will be a Bobby/Sam slash fic (BAM), eventually. I'm hoping that's enough to draw you in, but if it isn't, I promise danger, angst, and kissing. Yay! Rated PG, 'cause Bobby and me say some bad words. But not Sam, cause Sam's a good boy.

Chapter Summary: Basically, Sam's doing some thinking. And Sam's looking at half-naked Bobby. There's a moth in there somewhere that's suppose to be metaphorical but it just kinda makes Sam sound like a pussy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Someone else owns these characters. I'm too lazy to figure out whom exactly. Marvel and probably WB, since they seem to own everything. All I know is that I don't but do I wish I owned Sam 'cause he's a damn hottie. Oh and Bobby's good too I guess. But Sam…Yummy!

Author Notes: My writing is based primarily on Evolutions. I may or may not stay true to comic canon.

Chapter One: Change

Samuel Guthrie lay stretched out on his cot, fingers interlocked behind his head and toes dangling over the edge, staring up at the ceiling of his room. His room currently was no bigger than a closet and was buried two stories underground. Sam tried not to think about that last bit too much. It gave him the creeps.

Even since the mansion had been blown up by its own self-destruct sequence, the students and faculty had been living in an underground bunker, which had been untouched by the blast that had leveled the whole mansion.

None of the students, not even Jean and Scott, had known the place even existed. Sam figured the professor didn't want to worry his students. After all, had Sam known he might have been a little scared. Why would they need a bomb shelter at a school? Sam could understand the professor's discretion, though it was somewhat disconcerting to learn the gazebo was the entrance to this hidden bomb shelter. Of course, it was equally disconcerting to learn that your school could be blown up at the touch of the button.

Sam couldn't wait for the mansion to be rebuilt, minus, he hoped, the self-destruct button. Mostly, it would be nice to have windows again, and sunlight, and fresh air. Sam wouldn't even complain so much about Bobby leaving the windows wide open.

_I wonder if this bunker can self-destruct. _Sam thought and immediately wished he hadn't. The professor was probably right in keeping some things from them. But it was hard not to think of something when there was nothing else to do.

There was no homework because, there was no school. Although the professor was trying, the schools were not letting mutant students back into their classrooms. There was no training 'cause there was no Danger Room. That had been blown-up with the rest of the mansion. Clean-up and construction had ended at six, so there was no point asking if he could help out, not that anyone was likely to take him up on the offer since he had a tendency to break more than build. Supper, split into two shifts because there wasn't enough room for everyone to eat at once, was over. It was too early to go to bed. There was really nothing to do with himself.

Sam had started reading one of Bobby's comic books but it was in the middle of an arc and Sam had no idea who was who. So he abandoned that and started watching a suicidal moth dance around the light. How it had gotten two stories under ground, Sam couldn't guess. Poor thing, fluttering around the light, totally lost. He felt obliged to help it, maybe trap it in a glass and free it topside, but, before Sam could even begin to put his plan into motion, the moth got too close to the light, burnt its wing and fell down to the ground, never to fly again.

The sudden sadness that filled Sam was unexplainable. _It's just a bug,_ he tried to tell himself, _just an insect._ But Sam was always softhearted, silly considering he grew up on a farm where you killed the animals for food. He even considered placing the moth's body into a Ziploc baggy, a plastic shroud.

His thoughts are suddenly broken as the door to the small room opened, admitting Bobby, wet and cursing, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Had he been anyone else, he would also have been shivering. He wasn't anyone else though. He was Iceman, and he was grumbling, mad at one of the girls for kicking him out of the shower.

Another downside to the bunker was one toilet and one shower, for 19 people, not counting the 2-9 extra Jamie's running around at any given time. At least the designer had enough sense to separate the toilet from the shower. A ten minute shower rule had been imposed, which was strictly adhered to due to the crowded conditions, conditions that were becoming less crowded by the week.

Rahne had already been sent home, at her parent's request and there were rumors that Jubilee, Jamie, Roberto or Kitty would be the next to go. Sam's money was on Jamie, him being the youngest and all. Not that Sam was completely confident that he wasn't about to be recalled home. Sam hadn't told anyone yet but his mother had sent him a letter. He could stay for now but that could change suddenly if his parents decided Xavier's school had become too dangerous.

He hadn't written back yet, he just received the letter this morning, but he was beginning to formulate his response. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay. His friends were here and so was his school, if they ever let him back that is. Most important, his mutant abilities haven't been controlled as much as he would like.

Less than two feet away, Bobby dropped his towel and began to redress. Sam quickly diverted his eyes. Bobby had no modesty. It was simply a fact that Sam, like windows wide open in the middle of winter, had to get used to.

Since they had been roommates before the explosion, it made sense that they'd be bunk mates now. They already knew each others annoying quirks and habits. They were used to it, unlike poor Evan, who after always having a room to himself was now finding himself sharing a small space with Jamie.

Sam flicked his eyes upward briefly to test if it was safe to look. It was. Bobby was in his boxers, on his knees, looking under the bed for something to wear. Sam smiled at that. It was good to see Bobby acting like Bobby. Over the last couple of weeks he hadn't been acting completely like himself.

Sam was pretty sure Bobby Drake had changed. Somewhere between barely escaping an exploding mansion and being reunited with his friends, he had changed. Of all the "new recruits" he had been the only one to join the X-men. He had fought Juggernaut and prejudice while the rest of them had hid in the sewers.

Sam wasn't sure what to make of the new Bobby. He was a lot like the old Bobby. He was still full of himself, still a daredevil, still a brat and a prankster and, at times, a jerk. He was more confident, maybe. Not exactly more quiet. That simply wasn't possible with Bobby, no matter what had changed. Maybe attentive was the word Sam was looking for, like he was actually listening to what you were saying. But then he'd say something in jest, completely immature and stupid and he'd be back, Bobby again.

Bobby finally pulled out an over-sized t-shirt that didn't smell too bad and began to pull it on. Sam had to admit that Bobby wasn't bad looking. Boyish and mature at the same time, proportioned decently, none of the gangly too tall for his own good shit Sam seemed to be going through accompanied by a side of clumsy. Not to mention Bobby's friendly smile, that was welcoming to everyone, even those who were not the people he sought out as friends.

They hadn't been roommates by choice. In fact, Sam had been set up with Roberto and Ray with Bobby. (Jamie had received his own room because there could be so many of him at one time.) Sam and Roberto had gotten along, with minimal fuss and noise.

By comparison, Ray and Bobby were the loudest. They became instant friends, with a tendency to disagree. It didn't take too long (Two nights, to be exact) for everyone to realize that Ray and Bobby shouldn't be roommates. When they weren't up all night talking and roughhousing, they were shouting and punching. Which meant Sam moved in with Bobby and Ray moved in with Roberto. (This decision was somewhat arbitrary. It could just have easily ended up with Roberto and Bobby being roommates, except someone thought two Roberts in the same room might be confusing.)

This was fine with Sam and Bobby but caused resentment between Ray and Roberto. Roberto resented the invasion of his space. Ray resented having to move in with a "sulky baby." While Sam and Bobby complimented each other, Ray and Roberto clashed on almost every matter. And though they had gotten passed the point of blatant dislike, friendship was not exactly in the cards.

"Huh?" Sam said, shaking out of his thoughts by Bobby's voice, suddenly realizing Bobby was giving him a scrutinizing look, "What did you say?"

"I said, 'You're staring'. You're not turning into a fruitcake, are you? Cause if you are, you're sleeping in one of the girls' room."

"Sorry, Popsicle." Sam said, turning on to his left side, closing his eyes and trying to get to sleep, trying not to let Bobby's words bother him. They shouldn't. He wasn't a gay. And Bobby was always saying stuff like that. It never used to bother him, so it shouldn't now just like it shouldn't bother him that the moth's lifeless body was now crushed beneath Bobby's foot.

But it did. And Sam had a single fleeting thought before his mind turned to safer, less confusing arenas. Maybe Bobby wasn't they only one who had changed.

End of Chapter One

End Notes: Please review. What did you think? Any suggestions for improvement would be appreciated. -- Catalyst


	2. Sunday Morning

Cotton Sheets, Country Music and Clam Chowder

Summary: This will be a Bobby/Sam slash fic (BAM), eventually, hence the title. I'm hoping that's enough to draw you in, but if it isn't, I promise danger, angst and kissing. Yay! Rated PG, 'cause Bobby and me say some bad words. But not Sam, because Sam's a good boy.

Chapter Summary: This is a Bobby chapter. It involves an alarm clock. Takes place around "Blind Alley". It's kinda boring, except Bobby ends up in Sam's bed.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Someone else owns these characters. I'm too lazy to figure out whom exactly. Marvel and probably WB, since they seem to own everything. All I know is that I don't but do I wish I owned Sam 'cause he's a damn hottie. Oh and Bobby's good too I guess. But Sam…Yummy!

Author Notes: My writing is based primarily on Evolutions. I may or may not stay true to comic canon.

Chapter Two: Sunday Morning

Sunday was the best day of the week as far as Bobby was concerned. The one day the students at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters had completely to themselves. They were allowed to do anything they wanted. And if Bobby wanted to sleep in until 11 in the morning, no one would be waking him up for 5 a.m. training sessions. And he probably would have slept later, if it hadn't been for Sam's alarm clock.

Bobby didn't even know why Sam needed an alarm clock. Sam was one of those annoying people who naturally woke up early, as if the human body was programmed to get up at dawn. But when you had a roommate, it was just one of the many things you had to put up with. Like the twangy country music and complaints about the room being too cold.

When the mansion had been destroyed, everything had to be replaced: Clothing, furniture, toothbrushes and alarm clocks. Even Xavier didn't have inexhaustible funds so some ingenuity was in order. Sam had found his alarm clock at a Saturday morning garage sale for 75 cents and it seemed to work fine, …for the first two weeks.

Then, as Bobby like to say, it went evil. Sometimes the alarm wouldn't go off. Sometimes it went off two hours early. Sometimes the clock would simply die in the middle of the afternoon, so that the next night you'd have to reprogram the time and alarm all over again. And at 11:03 a.m., while Bobby was deep in sleep, the alarm Sam hadn't even set the night before went off.

Bobby was wide awake within seconds, as adrenaline flooded his blood, and practically flew out of bed. Disorientation followed, before he came to realize that he was safe in bed and not under attack. And that the sirens were just Sam's alarm clock. Suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline rush gone as quick as it had come, he flopped back down.

Now it Bobby's opinion, a proper alarm clock is supposed to shut off on its own after a few minutes. Because really, if you haven't woken up and managed to pull your sorry ass out of bed, you should stay in bed. You're probably dead anyways. However, this alarm continued to wail, a horrible, piercing blare that seemed to change pitches and could not be ignored, no matter how hard he tried. Bobby would not be getting back to sleep as long at the alarm clock was going.

Sam, of course, wasn't anywhere around. He'd left much earlier, to go to church. Sam was… well, he was Christian. Beyond that, Bobby didn't know much, except that he didn't go to the same church Kurt did. Bobby didn't go to church. When he was little, his dad had taken him and had given him a quarter to put in the collection plate. He'd gone to Sunday school. But then there had been a move and no more church for reasons a six year old can not comprehend.

The alarm continued to blare, from it's perch on an overturned cardboard box (bedside tables had yet to arrive) next to Sam's mattress on the floor, (the bed frames were in the same order as the bedside tables.), all the way across the room. And he couldn't call out for assistance. Mostly because everyone who was home would be down stairs, out of hearing range. And Jean and the professor wouldn't appreciate at psychic call for help. The last time he had tried that, Jean had dumped a soda on his head.

He was pretty much on his own, so he rolled out of bed. His plan had been to walk over but the moment he was out of bed, Bobby pretty much scrapped that idea. There was no way he had the strength to walk across this room. Wrapping his bed sheet around him like a protective cocoon, he began to crawl across the room.

He got to Sam side of the room and, much to his displeasure, couldn't switch off the alarm. He tried to hit it a couple of times, half heartedly. His eyes were drooping badly and without the strength to keep them open, he was pretty much blind. He tried to unplug it but the outlet was behind the mattress. And if he couldn't keep his eyes open, there was no way he was moving a mattress.

"Oh, fuck it." He grumbled and encased the alarm clock in ice. Blessed silence. Bobby collapsed with exhaustion onto Sam's bed.

Sam, being the good boy he was, had changed his bedding before going to church. The fresh sheets smelled like laundry soap and fabric softener. The smell reminded Bobby of his mom. Whenever she wore a clean night gown, he'd loved to curl close to her and smell it. It was a good smell.

Bobby raised his head just enough to see his own mattress across the room. The distance looked impossibly long; he could hardly believe he had managed to crawl over.

"Fuck that." He muttered, burrowing into the covers and going back to sleep.

And when Sam came home, to find his alarm clock frozen beyond repair and Bobby in his bed, well… Fuck him too.

End of Chapter Two

End Note: I totally relate to Bobby in this chapter. You wake me up at the wrong time in my REM cycle and I simply can't function. I end up crawling on the floor and feeling around because I can't keep my eyes open, too. -- Catalyst


	3. Scrabble

Cotton Sheets, Country Music and Clam Chowder

Summary: This will be a Bobby/Sam slash fic (BAM), eventually. I'm hoping that's enough to draw you in, but if it isn't, I promise danger, angst and kissing. Yay! Rated PG, 'cause Bobby and me (And Ray) say some bad words. But not Sam, because Sam's a good boy.

Chapter Summary: Bobby and Sam play Scrabble. Roberto storms out. Ray makes snide remarks. Bobby gets jealous and scowls a lot.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Someone else does, probably Marvel or WB. Let's move on.

Author Notes: My writing is based primarily on Evolutions. I may or may not stay true to comic canon.

Chapter Three: Scrabble

Bobby Drake had a passion for video games. He was the undisputed champion of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and, possibly, all of Bayville. Unfortunately, the video consol and games had been destroyed in the destruction of the mansion and Bobby found himself playing far more traditional games, such as Scrabble, with Sam.

And Sam was kicking Bobby's ass.

"Zephyr! That's not a word!"

"Zephyr: a light breeze. Dare to challenge me?"

"Nah." Bobby muttered, writing down the points, "Lousy … southern … bastard's … points."

"Don't forget the triple word score and double letter score for the z."

"I know. I know. Stupid, lousy, triple word score."

Bobby took moment to study the board before adding an "ing" to journal.

"That's not a word."

Bobby decided not to give this one up without a fight. "'Journaling: To write in ones journal.' The professor uses it all the time."

"Well, it's still not a word."

Roberto, who had been reading in the corner, suddenly got up in a huff and stormed out. Shocked by his sudden exodus, Sam and Bobby could only blink.

"Passive-aggressive much?" Bobby scowled, just as Ray came into the den with a bowl of pop corn. "What's up with him?"

"He's been like that ever since Rahne went home, moody and shit." Ray answered, settling himself on the couch, getting a bird's eye view of the Scrabble board, "You should try sharing a room with him." There was a pause as Sam and Bobby considered this and Ray studied the Scrabble board, "Journaling isn't a word."

Sam can't help but smile triumphantly as Bobby scowled, taking his letters back. Then after a moment, puts down "gin".

Sam barely has to think before he adds "ism"to journal.

Bobby concentrated on his words, as if to force a word to appear. But he got nothing. "I'm glad Jubes isn't here to see this. I'd never hear the end of it, getting beaten by a hick" He said, trying to lighten his own frustration with jabbing humor.

Sam doesn't mind being called a hick, especially by Bobby who doesn't say it to be hurtful. Besides, Sam was what he was. And Sam knew Bobby didn't mean it about Jubilee either. Bobby missed Jubilee as much as Roberto missed Rahne, maybe even more. Jubilee had been Bobby's partner in crime. If Bobby was up to some reckless, irresponsible act, Jubilee was right there with him and vise versa.

And Sam couldn't help but miss them both, especially Rahne. Jubilee had made life exciting around here. Rahne had always up for a game of Scrabble and she was always a challenge. Not that he minded playing with Bobby. Except that playing with Bobby was different. It was more about teasing and joking and laughing at Bobby's mumblings than it was about winning.

Ray leaned over Bobby's shoulder and placed "Quartz "down on the board for Bobby.

Bobby would have said something but for the first time during the game, Sam actually had to think a moment before putting down his next word. So, for the rest of the game, Bobby just sat back and watched. In the end, Ray and Bobby still lost but not by much and Sam got the feeling that if Ray had been playing from the beginning, it wouldn't have been such an easy victory.

"Wanna play three-way?" Sam offered, sliding the tiles off the board, and blushed as be realizes what he just said. Luckily, no one seems to notice.

"Nah," Bobby said, getting up, "You two play. I have homework."

"Homework?" Sam and Ray didn't buy that.

"Okay, comic books to read. See you at supper."

As Bobby left den, he could hear Sam and Ray talking and Bobby scowled. He hadn't known Ray was good at Scrabble. Ray didn't seem the type. Bobby kinda wished he was good at Scrabble, at least good enough to play against Sam. It was obvious Sam was bored playing with Bobby which made Bobby feel… well, he wasn't sure. He just knew he wanted Sam to have as much fun winning as he had been having losing. At least until Ray had shown up.

Bobby slunk upstairs, feeling … rejected. Stupid Scrabble. Stupid Ray. Stupid Sam, too.

_Stupid me_, he added, annoyed at himself for no particular reason as well. Though he has no particular fondness for Scrabble, he really had nothing against Ray. Ray's a pretty cool guy. And so was Sam, just in another sort of way.

It was funny. One would think Bobby would rather hang out with Ray and maybe so, if it was a choice between Ray and Roberto. But between Ray and Sam, Sam would win. Maybe it was because, like Bobby, Sam was so competitive. You wouldn't think so but Sam loved a good game of whatever. Even at the stuff he wasn't good at, like say, video games. Man, Bobby wished he still had his Xbox. They always had fun playing that, even though it would be Bobby whupping Sam's ass.

Bobby cringed at the particular wording (_Stupid, dirty teenage mind_) of that thought as he reached the top of the stairs. His bedroom door, only a few feet away, was wide open. His fault. Sam wasn't prone to leaving the door open.

Bobby and Sam's room was a study of opposites. On the left, Bobby's bed was unmade, his homework was scattered on his desk, floor and any other available surface and his clothes were separated into clean and dirty piles which ended up one big pile so often that Bobby had to smell his clothes to decide if they were dirty or not.

In contrast, Sam's side looked neat. His bed was made, the clutter on his desk was localized, and his clothes, though not necessarily folded, were in his drawers and closet. It was as if there was a line dividing the two sides and Bobby's mess seemed to be constantly invading Sam's territory.

Stupid Sam. So neat, and kind, and good at board games. Scowling, Bobby stepped over onto Sam's side of the room and leaned against Sam's dirty clothes hamper, "accidentally" deliberately knocking it over, spilling clothes all over the floor. Then he went over and de-alphabetized Sam's CD's, just for the hell of it.

The passive-aggressiveness of it all made him feel a bit better and he went back over to his side, turning on the stereo before pulling out a comic book and plopping down on his bed to read. He was just about to turn on the stereo full blast when the door opened and Sam stepped in.

The first thing he did was right the hamper and replace the dirty clothes. Figured.

"Where's Ray?" Bobby huffed, looking over the top of his comic.

"Got in trouble or something." Sam said with a shrug, "Wolverine wanted to see him for a special session."

Even though Bobby wasn't feeling particularly pleasant to Ray at the moment, he found himself sympathizing. Special Logan sessions were never fun.

Bobby shifted his gaze back to the comic but, sensing Sam hadn't moved, he lifted his eyes once again. Sam was still standing, leaning against the hamper, looking like he wanted to say something but not knowing how to form the words.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering, can I help you with your homework?" And he smiled.

Bobby's scowl, hidden behind the covers of "The Amazing Adventures of Superman", melted away and he sighed in an exasperated but friendly way. "Yeah, sure."

Sam smiled as he jumped onto Bobby bed and picked up the first comic that found its way into his hands. Internally, he sighed with relief. It was good that Bobby wasn't moody like Roberto. It was good that Bobby was acting like Bobby because he hadn't been, if that made any sense.

Sam had hopedeveryone's change in behavior had been temporary, that once they moved out of the bunker and settled back down in the mansion, everything would go back to normal. But it hadn't. Jubilee and Rahne were gone. Roberto was all snappy. Ray was playing scrabble. And Bobby had been acting plain weird. Two weeks ago, Sam had found Bobby inHIS bed, for God's sake!

Sam shifted at the memory and without even looking up, Bobby snapped, "Don't even think of changing the station."

The radio, of course. Bobby hated country. Sam smiled. At least that hadn't changed.

End of Chapter Three

End Notes:

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, we can get to the good stuff. More exciting stuff. Stuff that may actually verge of PG-13, so the rating has been changed accordingly. See you in the next chapter. - Catalyst

"Why was there bacon in the soap?"

"I made it myself!"

- Zim and G.I.R. (Invader Zim, _Rise of the Zit Boy_)


	4. Blame

Cotton Sheets, Country Music and Clam Chowder

Summary: This will be a Bobby/Sam slash fic (BAM), eventually. I'm hoping that's enough to draw you in, but if it isn't, I promise danger, angst and kissing. Yay! I've increased the rating to PG-13.

Chapter Summary: Bobby, Sam, Ray, Tabitha, Amara and Roberto head out for a night on the town but something unexpected happens.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Someone else does, probably Marvel or WB. Let's move on.

Disclaimer #2: My writing is based primarily on Evolutions. I may or may not stay true to comic canon.

Author's Notes: Thank-you for your words of support. You're too kind. No, seriously, you're too kind. I could use a healthy dose of critism now and then.

Chapter Four: Blame

_Sitting on the carpeted staircase, Sam waits for Storm and Scott to return with Bobby. Sam is trying to picture a way to greet his friend but he has discarded every single one of his make-believe scenarios because they seemed either too cold or too corny. _

_Sam is almost convinced that this is his fault. Bobby's not here because he left him behind. His fault, even though he didn't have much of a choice and Bobby would have approved. His fault even though it is not._

Then why do I feel so guilty_? Sam questioned, thinking back to that night, last week._

Friday Night, 7:13 pm

"I'm bored." Tabitha announced to everyone in the rec room, and was basically ignored. Tabby was usually bored.

It was after supper and the new recruits were lazing around the rec room, enjoying the fact that all the week's work was over and it was to early to worry about the homework due Monday. All except for Jamie, who was up in his room, grounded.

Bobby and Sam were playing anti-chess, the purpose being to, well, lose. Bobby, bested at every single board game in the mansion, was determined to beat Sam at this. Unfortunately, losing seemed to take just as much strategy as winning.

"I'm going out." Tabby continued, oblivious that everyone was ignoring her. "Anyone wanna come?"

No one bothered to mention that no one was allowed to leave the mansion after seven without permission because Tabitha seemed to believe that such rules did not apply to her. Probably because she didn't technically live at the mansion any more. No one really knew where she lived exactly, though everyone had their suspicions. Ever since she'd left the brotherhood, she'd been on much more friendly terms with the X-Men and had been coming more and more often but she was still adamant that she and the X-Men weren't a good fit. That didn't stop her from visiting every other day though.

"I'll come." Amara spoke up but these days, rebellion and hanging out with Tabitha were her main hobbies. No one else spoke up. And that pretty much would have been the end of that. Tabitha and Amara would have sneaked out for a movie and ice cream and would have arrived home in time for a lecture.

Suddenly, from the reading chair in the corner, Roberto spoke up, "There's that new zombie movie."

Ray looked up from the tv. He didn't care much for Roberto but zombie movie, he was there.

"I'm in check-mate. Want to play again?" Sam offered with a smile. Bobby shook his head. That zombie movie was starting to sound good.

And even though Sam wasn't a big fan of horrors, he really didn't want to be left all alone to explain the disappearance of the others.

The six of them took the bus into town. Much faster and easier on the feet than walking. But even so, they still ended up missing the early show.

_So, if we end up at the nine o'clock show, we'll be out by eleven. Since the buses don't that late, an hour walk home, which put us back at the mansion at midnight. They might not notice we're gone. _Sam snorted, _Yeah right, we are going to be in so much trouble._

Sam shook his head. He never used to get in this much trouble. But that had been before Bobby had become his roommate. And it seemed hanging out with Bobby you were bound to get in trouble. Some days, Sam really did miss Jubilee.

Ah, who was he kidding, he was getting into trouble with Bobby long before Jubes, left like with the whole joyriding incident. After that, he'd be lucky to get his drivers license before he turned 21.

"Is anyone else hungry?" Bobby asked, which was a bit like asking if you liked food. More likely than not you're gonna say yes. Supper at the mansion had been weenies and beanies which, even at their best are not the most appetizing meal, had also been burnt. So no one was about to object to a second supper. The question was where to go. Eventually they settled on KFC.

All six of them managed to squish into a single booth. Sam found himself between the wall and Bobby. To Bobby's right was Robert and across from them were Ray, Tabby and Amara, equally squished.

Sam was half way though his fries and most of the way through his chicken when he suddenly stopped and just watched everyone, laughing, talking, teasing, being teenagers. And he became very aware, especially Bobby. It was very surreal.

They were all pretty squished, of course, but was Bobby closer to Sam than Roberto? And was that Bobby's arm behind Sam's head? When had that gotten there? What was going on here?

The surreal moment was instantly broken when, out of the blue, Bobby began to snicker.

"What?"

"Kentucky Chicken." Bobby replied with another snigger.

Sam rolled his eyes. This was not the first time someone had made that reference since he'd come to New York.

Amara and Roberto shared the same confused look.

"Sam's from Kentucky." Tabby explained, "You know, Kentucky Fried Chicken."

"Why's that funny?"

"It's not." Sam said to Amara, giving Bobby a glare. But a friendly glare, which Bobby returned with a friendly punch. And then food started to fly and things kinda escalated from there. And that is why none of the New Recruits were ever let back into the KFC across from the theater from then on.

Friday Night, 11:15 pm

Sam defiantly did not like horror flicks. He stumbled out of the theater feeling slightly ill. It would almost have been better to face Wolverine. Almost.

Amara didn't all that colorful either so Sam didn't feel too bad. He would have felt better if one of the guys looked as shaken up as he felt, instead of re-describing the goriest parts.

Not wanting to re-gurgitate the movie, Sam wandered over to the arcade and pushed a quarter into the first game. The quarter didn't last long. And neither did the second one.

"Here, let me try." Bobby said as he came over.

Sam gave a glance around, but he couldn't see the others anywhere. He did, however, get a glimpse of the clock, 11:18. Great.

"Where are the others?"

Bobby, his attention on the gave at hand, gave a distracted wave in the general direction of the front doors. "Amara was tired, so Roberto's walking her home. Tabby and Ray went… elsewhere."

_That doesn't sound like a bad idea,_ Sam thinks to himself. _Going home that is, not elsewhere. _Sam wasn't even sure he wanted to know where elsewhere was. _Maybe if I'm quick, I can catch up with Amara and Roberto. Or, I could just walk home. It's not like zombies really exist._

Sam took a cautious look out the double front doors. The night was completely dark, except for the half moon and the street lights spread far too apart for Sam's liking. It was a long, lonely walk home and even though Sam says he doesn't believe in zombies, he does, along with ghosts, vampires and psychotic serial killers.

With a sigh of defeat by his own coward ness, Sam leaned against the wall to wait for Bobby.

Friday Night, 11:47 pm

Ten dollars in quarters later, Bobby still hadn't beaten level nine and Sam was getting pretty bored watching Bobby loose quarters. So they decided to go home. It also had something to do with the fact that the theater was closing for the night.

Sam was glad he'd waited for Bobby. Bobby had this way of laughing at the darkness, telling stupid jokes and talking about stupid stuff. It was almostlike, if Sam stayed close to Bobby and didn't think too much about the stuff he couldn't see, everything would be alright. It almost made him forget that he thought they were being followed. Almost.

So, maybe there was no boogyman. But there would be Hell to pay when they got home, way passed curfew. No amount of Bobby's cajoling could make Sam forget that and Sam couldn't stop himself from checking his watch every ten seconds or so.

Bobby noticed Sam compulsive watch checking and suggested "Let's take the shortcut."

The short cut was through the elementary school play ground, which is something Sam would have no problem doing in the daylight. At night, it was a bit different. The only light here, where the street lights didn't shine, was the low glow of the moon, peering through the pine trees, throwing bars of moonlight across the dirt and sand. The playground equipment looked skeletal and dead, a mish mash of misshapen tombstones. It was far too easy for Sam to see zombies rising up from beneath the see-saws but before Sam could suggest they take the long way home, Bobby's already jumped the fence.

_And face it Sam,_ he would later think to himself, _you didn't want to look like a wimp in front of Bobby. _

Looking back, Sam realized that he should have trusted his instincts. Wasn't that what Wolverine was always saying. Your gut reaction is usually the right one. Hadn't he felt himself being watched? Hadn't he just wanted to grab Bobby's arm and run? Well, yes, he had but then he also thought zombies are going to crawl out of the ground and suck out his brains. And besides, he had been far to worried about making it over the fence without looking like a fool and catching up to Bobby.

Bobby, unaware of Sam's nervousness, had decided to climb the jungle gym. "Man, I miss grade school. It was pretty fun." He said to Sam, who was standing on the ground, looking up, "No lockers. No algebra. No snobby girls."

"No freedom. No allowance. No Powers." _No Bobby. _The last one Sam thought, barely loud enough for himself to hear.

Sam walked over to the swings, sat down and watched Bobby play. There was no other word for it. Bobby Drake was playing. Sam wished he had a camera. This was prime blackmail material.

Yeah, Sam could totally see the monkey bars were Bobby's favorite. Was he surprised? Nah.

The monkey bars had never been Sam's thing. Even as a kid he'd been tall and the monkey bars just hadn't worked out. No, Sam was more of a swinger. Even before he became a mutant freak, he had wanted to fly. And swinging was the closest think most kids got to flying, unless, of course, they'd tried jumping off the roof with a bed sheet for either a parachute or wings.

Sam would bet 10 bucks Bobby had done that. Kids who liked the monkey bars did shit like that.

_Kids who like to jump off swings like to do that too_. Sam reminded himself as he pushed off the ground and began to pump. He'd been an excellent jumper, back in kiddie school.

Bobby had climbed up so he was walking on top of the bars, his arms out for balance. And he was laughing like a maniac.

Sam couldn't help but laugh with him and he pumped higher and higher. So high, he felt as if he could almost swing over the top, if only he tried a little harder.

Suddenly, without any warning, Bobby lost his balance and tumbled backwards. He fell six feet, landing in the playground sand. It had hardly registered in Sam's brain when he jumped from his swing. Sam hadn't timed it right and his technique was sloppy. His dismount was poor and he ended up in the sand, the wind knocked out of him but otherwise okay.

He was over to Bobby in seconds, who visibly, was okay. Except he was unconscious.

Something stung Sam in his back. He tried to grab it but just couldn't reach. Unconscious came to him as quickly as it had come to his friend and he slumped over Bobby's already motionless form.

To be continued…


End file.
