mayachain

So I said I'd been writing a series of timestamp ficlets to How to escape from prison in 210 days? Here they come, to be posted as a mini-series throughout the week.

Title: How to reintegrate into society in about forty weeks (part 1/6)
Pairing: Bobby/St John
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 24 hours ago, St John Allerdyce escaped from his prison in the Xavier Mansion's cellar. Robert Drake is not a happy mutant teacher.
Notes: Thanks to

evilsincarnate for looking it over for me!

One Day

Dark House, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand[.]

from “Dark House” by Alfred Lord Tennyson

He wakes up, and his first thought is This is weird. His limbs are less heavy than they have been for God knows how many weeks. There's also a dull ache in every part of his body, but it's easier to ignore than it usually is. It almost feels as if he's actually had a good night's sleep for once.

The mere thought is ridiculous. These days, Robert Drake never sleeps.

After a long minute, eight years of training finally kick in. He doesn't move a muscle, but his mind commences going through the drilled-in checklist of who, where, how, what and why.

The first one, who am I? he can safely skip. The answer to where am I? also comes easy: the ceiling looks familiar, and the scent of the bedding is familiar as well. He seems to be alone: He can't see, hear or sense anyone else around. How did I get here? - he has no idea, but he forces himself to go over what and why before panic can take him over. What happened? The last thing he remembers is going into the cellar to see John. There, something he can work with. Why did I go downstairs? The panic is closer, too close, his mind refusing to volunteer the reason. He tries to recall what came before the stairs, but his memory deliberately shuts down. Focus. The last thing he remembers is a glimpse of St John Allerdyce. His name is Robert Drake, he just woke up in his own room, and he's here, presumably, because someone – John? – brought him here.

This is the instant Robert figures there must be drugs involved, because there is no way it would have taken him this long to think of his students otherwise. The panic is still simmering at the edges, waiting to attack his senses full force. He only allows himself a few more seconds before sliding out from under the covers.

His mouth feels dry, and yeah, he's definitely been drugged. His mind still remains uncooperative as to whoever's – John's?! – motivation to use a... a syringe, probably... on him even as he drinks down the water someone – John - left on the nightstand.

Unsteady on his feet, he staggers down the empty corridor. There's no-one to be seen. There are no signs of a fight more recent than yesterday, no new damage added to the carnage caused on the night when –

There's a scent in the air that his drowsy nose can't place yet, getting stronger the closer he gets to the dining hall. He can hear the soft sounds of children chattering. The confirmation that his charges aren't in any immediate danger is a relief, but Robert thinks, hopes that Iceman would have been up on his feet long before now if they had been.

He's almost made it to the dining hall when a wall of fire flares up in his path. On a normal day – no, random fire walls surging up to stop him are not normal, even for Iceman – on any other day, it would have been frozen within seconds, but today he just stares at it, mind too slow to catch up but instincts waiting for something. He would really appreciate it if the residual effects of the drugs would wear off about now; his reflexes need to be way better than this when –

The wall of fire morphs into a pattern, forming a word, two words, three even. Robert squints, rubs his eyes once and then reads them again:

GO SHOWER, DRAKE.

Oh, he thinks. Okay, then.

* * *

on to One Week