Frostbitten

Twenty-Two Minutes.

Time across the
Gate meant very little.

He didn't lift his head, fixing his
eyes on the floor – polished wood, faded from a rug that must
have been rolled up and removed...couldn't have blood and sweat
staining such an expensive expanse of woven wool and silk – as
his captor walked in a slow circle around him.

His lips moved in a silent,
repetitive prayer. He would switch between languages, between
prayers, but his voice never rose above a barely audible hiss of
breath.

The chain-links that stretched his
arms toward the ceiling became his rosary.

It was the only sound he made when
the pain came.

“Why don't you scream, Little
One?” The familiar voice masked a stranger with empty eyes. The
handle of the whip touched his chin, gently lifting his face.

Kurt said nothing, just raised an
eyebrow and studied Iceman's too pale eyes.

His eyes drifted down to the glint
of blue light beneath the hollow of Bobby's throat. Interesting
necklace, a tiny dragon carved from some blue-white crystal dangled
from a leather cord. It was glowing, but very faintly...and
flickering almost weakly.

Little One.

Diminutive pet names. Small moments
of tenderness between strikes. The need to hear him scream.

It seemed Bobby Drake – or
whatever was left of him – had picked up a new hobby.

After seeing himself as a sexually
predatory –and almost foppishly flamboyant – Nazi, that
rode into their world on a swastika emblazoned train powered by a
giant dragon...nothing really shocked Kurt anymore.

But this was Bobby from his own
universe, just void of memory and tainted somehow. Whatever was now
residing inside Iceman's skin was didn't seem to be enjoying this as
much as it seemed to have anticipated.

There was a slight fluttering of his
jaw, and those eerie eyes darted to the right and up.

He was trying to remember something.

Sehr Gut.

The pain from the strikes was
bearable; he'd suffered far worse. The strikes were for the
aesthetic, not to permanently damage. It was a strange realization
that he was regaining his strength while being tortured. He head was
clearing, his senses were sharpening, and he could even feel that
tickle inside his head that signaled that his ability to teleport was
returning, maybe the sting of the whip helped...

He'd be leaving this little
development out of his mission report.

Bobby's hand replaced the whip
handle, cupping Kurt's chin, “I haven't broken you so soon,
have I, Little One?”

“Hardly.” Kurt had to
choose his words carefully. “Hank said you loved extreme
sports, but I assumed he meant something more Shaun White and less
Marquis De Sade.”

Blink.

There. That look to the right again,
a faint flicker of confusion –

Bobby's hand dropped from his face
and dragged down Kurt's chest and then...

Ouch.

“You're hard.”

Kurt had been happily ignoring that
little detail, which was getting more difficult as Bobby's grip
tightened painfully. “I have to pee, I did just wake up.”

“Of course.” The
confusion was gone from Bobby's eyes, which wasn't good. Nor was that
little smile that was anything but pleasant.

He didn't move his hand, but he did
relax the grip.

One firm stroke and Kurt knew he'd
run out of time.

“I like your necklace.”
He said, struggling to keep his voice level. “A dragon, ja?
Drake...dragon. Very fitting, it even looks like ice, Bobby.”

The hand stilled.

Thank Gott.

“What?” Bobby's eyes
narrowed.

“Drake. Robert Drake. That's
your name.” Kurt said, “Or Iceman. So a little ice dragon
suits you, Bobby. Is it made of ice?” Bobby's hand released
Kurt and curled around the tiny dragon pendant, “I'm not
familiar with the limits of your powers, my sister – Rogue –
said you made her a rose made of ice, she kept it in the freezer and
showed it to me when I visited. Can you make ice that doesn't melt
now? That would be--”

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut as the
wave of energy surged through him. Magic. He knew that feeling well
enough to recognize it instantly, but this was – Holy Gott –
like being seared through with silvery-fire, and it was anything and
everything but painful.

After an eternity of dying over and
over again in that white fire, melting the ribbons of sugar that
coiled tight in his belly and strangled his breath from him –
finally it stopped.

“Oh, my god.”

For a moment, Kurt wasn't sure which
one of them had spoken.

“Kurt?”

He slowly opened his eyes, and was
nose to nose with Bobby Drake, who was cupping his head, horror
etched across his face, “Kurt, are you ok?”

“Can I...get back to you on
that?” Kurt gasped, trying to catch his wind.“What...just
happened?”

“I used a spell to read your
mind.” Bobby brushed Kurt's sweat drenched hair from his
forehead, his eyes wide with shock, “Holy fuck, I'm...I'm
sorry. I didn't know. I swear to God I didn't remember anything,
everything was just ...cold. I couldn't feel anything. I had these
memories that weren't mine, from those people...”

“Shhh, it's ok. It's ok.”
Kurt soothed, “That was some spell.”

“It...never did that before.
It was a simple mind-reading incantation. It...I...I think I just
relived both our lives.”

Kurt could feel his panic, could
feel his confusion and shock – resonating in the back of his
head – like a tremor on a cord tied between the two of them.

He couldn't quite tell where he
ended and Bobby began. Everything was chaotic emotion, a mix of his
own and Bobby's, and the aftershocks of what the spell had been like
for himself. Bobby's “simple incantation” had forged
something – a magical bond?

Wait.

Bobby could cast spells?

“I know.” Bobby said, as
if Kurt had voiced his thought aloud, “When they summoned me,
they...died, and everything that was them went into me. Their
knowledge, their memories, their desires, their magic...like a sudden
short in a circuit and I was the capacitor. Or ground. I don't know.
I'll ask Hank.”

BAMF!

Bobby jumped when Kurt suddenly
vanished but spun right to where he reappeared.

“I really do have to pee.”
Kurt said, smiling...reaching out to touch Bobby's cheek, without
realizing what he was doing. He didn't even question when Bobby
caught his hand and nodded.

“There's a water closet over
here.” Bobby led him across the room, pausing to grab the glass
of wine and draining it in one gulp – Kurt would empathize –
before crossing to a door and sliding it open. “It's magical,
everything is. I've been here a very long time, and I've been really
bored and...I'm rambling.”

“It's ok.” Kurt squeezed
his fingers. Bobby managed a weak smile and left Kurt to relieve
himself, walking back into the room to collapse into the chair, his
head clutched in his hands.

Kurt's returning
memory of his lost twenty-minutes was interfering with his need to
get ready for whatever was moving through the trees. He shook his
head to try and focus, his swords drawn and ready as he walked a slow
circle around the edge of the camp, staring into the darkness as he
followed the sound.

“I have a
great idea.” Bobby struggled to sit up, “How about you
un-handcuff me and we can both stalk around the fire like
Logan. I know it's been awhile since I've seen the walking adrenal
gland, but I think I can still manage a good grrrrrr-face.”

“Can't you
just ice up and slip them off?” Kurt asked, his eyes not
straying from the shadow he finally caught a glimpse of.

“Funny you
should mention that. I haven't been able to ice up since you left.”
Bobby managed to rock up to his feet and stand, “At least, not
on command. It only happened when I got injured or was about to meet
some grisly demise. You know how inconvenient that is?”

Kurt grimaced, “The
keys are on my belt...whatever or whoever it is out there, they're
not approaching, just watching, circling.”

Bobby backed up
against Kurt and fumbled at his belt pouches. “What's also
inconvenient is that I'm only sane-ish when you're near, but the
crazy did make the time just fly by.” He stopped
fumbling. “Hey. Now who's forgetting your tail? A little
help, please?”

“Touché
.” Kurt smiled at him and sent
his tail to retrieve the cuff keys, the spade delicately folding and
twisting until the cuffs fell onto the dirt and Bobby was rubbing his
wrists. “There. Better?”

“I'd
say I'd forgotten how incredibly nimble you were with that thing.”
Bobby kicked up his own sword and snatched it out of the air,
spinning it in his hand before stepping up to join Kurt at the
treeline, “But it'd be a big fat lie. That memory kept me
entertained many a lonely night—hey, are you blushing?”

“No. Shut
up.” Kurt cleared his throat and stared even more intently into
the pitch black nothing. Which was very good at staying pitch black
and being nothing. Ja, that was a whole lot of black nothingness out
there.

“You
are.” Bobby
leaned very close, his breath tickling the fur along his neck, “Your
cheeks are flushed, and look...now the tip of ears are violet.”

“Bobby...”

“Kuuuuurt.”
Bobby sing-songed, moving even closer. “'Were'
lovers, huh? That's a little past-tensey.”

“It's
gone.” He turned to Bobby, “I didn't mean it like that,
Bobby. I was – I still am – remembering those months
and--”

Kurt
was cut off by the crash of trees. He barely had time to look up when
the largest wolf he'd ever seen
– or imagined – came tearing through the trees and
straight toward them.