Dog Tags
by Mice
I think it'll be the leg room I'll miss most of all. Say what you will about the Blackbird, I've probably said them all myself, but it's times like this, times where you're flying on a commercial airline, that you begin to miss tiny details like that ... even if you've only had about an hour to miss them.
I have to promise myself that I will not pull a Luke Perry. I will not say that I won't be coming back to Westchester 90210, just to come back. For once, I, Robert Linus Drake, will not wuss out.
Even if that's exactly what I'm doing.
It's been getting too hard, lately ... when I was a sixteen year-old who was to be following in my father's footsteps towards the exciting world of accounting ahead of me, being a super-hero was swell. When I was in college with the exciting world of accounting quickly approaching me, it was fun. And now, I'm a fully grown man with the exciting world of accounting behind me, running around New York in ice covered underpants.
Personally, I'm amazed that I've lasted this long - physically. Jeannie's died. Warren's died. Scotty died. I thought Hank has diedƒand then there's me who's never even really had a near scare once - physically.
It's only been recently that these thoughts have been creeping into my mind ... I guess I've been doing some belated growing up. Ever since my dad had his "accident", I keep getting this gnawing with the feeling that I'm next -- that I've been too lucky so far. I mean, my father got hurt. Fatally. The worst that I've ever had done to me was having Emma Frost taking over my body ... and, personally, that's not a near death situation, it's a plotless dream come true. There's just something so wrong about that ... the thing about my father, not Emma.
Recently ... I've been getting panic attacks. Me. It's the icing on my cake. I feel that it's just a matter of time before my luck catches up with me. Whenever I change into my uniform, I get a new kind of chill and I think, "This is what I'll be wearing when I die." Then I go and throw up.
I had to quit. I've quit before, to pursue school, a normal life, whatever that is, but this situation was different. It wasn't that I wanted something else, I didn't want anything at all. It was getting to the point where I couldn't sleep anymore, just dreading that damn alarm or knock on the door. But after a while...it wasn't just that, it was also the fear that someone might attack us in the night with no way of knowing it. And the fear of waking up and not being in my bed or my solar system. And anything else I could think of that has happened to the team or that might happen to the team. That's when I began to refuse going to sleep.
I had to do this for myself, and for my parents. What if I had stayed on and died while on some sort of mission that was in another continent, dimension, or planet? How long would it be before Mom and Dad found out? Or what if Mom and Dad had died while I was on one of these missions, how long would it be until I found out? What if they never found out?
I have this nightmare -- had this nightmare. In it, I die, and nobody ever finds out. The X-Men just assume that I'm at my parents, and my parents assume that I'm with the X-Men. It has happened plenty of times that we don't leave all together after just such a scene ... and just the thought of my mother making her usual Sunday call to me, talking to one of the guys and having them say to her, "You mean he's not there with you?" No mother deserves an answer to that.
And it goes on. Nobody knows if I'm dead or alive. My body just rots where it lies and I can feel it in my nightmare; as each moment goes by, I feel my body getting accustomed to a new kind of cold, one that leaves me rotting as my friends and my family live on, none the wiser.
See, in my nightmare, nobody finds me.
I just have to take this trip, first, and then everything will be fine. I have calm down before I tell my folks and the X-Men. Otherwise, they'll just make me get counseling and convince me not to leave because of the state I'm in. But if I spend a few weeks somewhere relaxing (r)¢ which the Carribean is - and then come back -- calm and collected -- and explain it to them, they'll see my side and see that I'm doing the right thing. I have to show that it's not Bobby being silly or pulling a stunt, which is what they all will assume at first and gloss it over. My jocular disposition is what kept me at arms length from all of this throughout the years, and it may have been the thing that would have killed me. Sometimes, a man has to joke to bluff his way through his day.
It's only a matter of time...
Hank McCoy gathered the yellow sticky notes that littered his door as he went into the rec room to watch "West Wing". Hank couldn't suppress an amused smiled as he read them out loud. "Bobby must have been bored today...'Dear Cosmo, Help me, I'm a victim of fashion -- what do you recommend for someone who's flat chested, has a yellow complexion, and has certain patches of skin that are sticky?' ... 'You got peanut butter in my chocolate' ... 'You got chocolate in my peanut butter' ... 'FYI, It's springtime for Hitler and Germany...'... 'Do you like Pina Coladas?' ... 'And getting caught in the rain?'... 'Hank, will be gone too--'" Hank looked up to the television as his show went off and a news bulletin came in.
"About five minutes ago, a Boeing 707 exploded in mid-air and crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. Officials say that they don't expect there to be any survivors who were on board this plane that was destined for various spots in the Caribbean. We plan to cover--"
Hank turned off the television. "I suppose watching television is out of the picture tonight..." Hank left the remainder of his messages on the coffee table and went up to Bobby's room. "Are you in there, Robert?" No answer. Hank sighed. "Must be visiting his parents again..."
The End.