Title: Blue Moon In Your Eyes
Author: kbk
Rating: PG-13, I think
Fandom: X2 (is Pyro-centric - sort of pre-Bobby/John)
Summary: "Holy shit! Johnny, you've got tits!"
Notes: I only have myself to blame, which is unfortunate. The title comes from "Woke Up This Morning" by A3 - not for any particular reason, it just does. Mim read over part of it for me and seemed amused. This is just over 10000 words and thus the longest thing I have written in yonks... since I did NaNo two years ago, probably. And I'm thinking about a sequel but will not start it until after the end of term. No, really.

Bobby was woken by a sustained and inventive bout of cursing coming from the bed on the other side of the room. This wasn't particularly unusual, but the more conscious he became, the more he came to realise that there was something subtly wrong with the voice. Dismissing that for the moment, he addressed what he assumed was the problem without raising his head.

"It's probably still in your jeans," he said, "and there must be half-a-dozen Bics squirrelled away in here, so lay off it." Instead of the expected insults to his phrasing and his intelligence, he heard an even more desperate profanity and the sounds of his roommate scrabbling for a lighter. The familiar click-hiss was followed by a sigh of profound relief. Intrigued, Bobby sat up and looked over.

"Holy shit," he said. "Johnny, you've got tits."

Oddly enough, Johnny had noticed that. In fact, it had woken him out of a peaceful early-morning doze. He had turned from his side to his front, realised that his chest hurt, and raised a hand to investigate. That was about when the swearing started.

He hadn't even worried about how whatever had happened might have affected his powers until Bobby had spoken up. He was frantic for the four-point-two seconds it took him to locate a lighter and fire up. His fireball was wobblier than usual, but he wasn't exactly in a calm and concentrated frame of mind, so he let it pass and went back to freaking out about his new body.

"No shit," he told his gawping roommate, suddenly glad that he slept in a vest as well as shorts. The thin cotton stretched across his new breasts, but it was better than the alternative.

"How did you... I mean..." Bobby gesticulated helplessly at Johnny's chest, still gazing spellbound. Johnny suddenly understood why girls got pissed off at that sort of thing.

"I don't fucking know!" he snarled, or attempted to with his softer voice, "and stop fucking staring!"

"Sorry, dude," Bobby said, and to his credit, immediately averted his eyes. "But you gotta admit, it's weird."

Johnny took a deep breath, ignoring the disturbing way he... shifted when he did that. "Yeah, so how about you go get someone?"

Bobby blinked at him.

"Dr Grey, perhaps?" Johnny offered.

"Oh, right!" Bobby said, and jumped out of bed. "I'll just... I'll go."

Johnny let him get to the door before he spoke up. "Bobby? Clothes."

With his roommate safely dressed and sent on his way, Johnny threw off the covers and looked at himself. Different, definitely. Curvier, and that went for further down as well. Legs still hairy - a vague surprise there. And, of course, no Little Johnny. He winced and pushed himself out of bed. Unwilling to examine his altered self in greater detail, he left the vest and boxers where they were. He managed to pull on a pair of jeans without falling over, though it was a near thing, and had to raid Bobby's closet for a belt to stop them sliding down to hang off his hips. Turning up the ankles once kept him from tripping over, and he grabbed his sneakers before a visual comparison told him there was no way they would fit. He left his feet bare for the moment, and moved on. A t-shirt came next, but it still looked weird, so he threw a baggy sweatshirt on top, annoyed that neither he nor Bobby had sufficient trouble with the cold to warrant possession of a thick jumper. He flicked up a minor fireball and ran it over his fingers while he tried to think. Then he looked in the mirror, and promptly freaked.

Even his face was wrong. It was recognisably him, but it had changed. His features were softer, his nose smaller, his cheeks rounder, his eyelashes longer, his lips fuller... He still looked like St John Allerdyce, but he looked more like his own twin sister. His twin sister borrowing his clothes. He looked ridiculous. He wanted to cry.

Johnny shook his head fiercely - he hadn't cried since he was five! - and sent distracting wisps of fire dancing round the room. Out of habit, he started trying to form them into female silhouettes, then realised what he was doing and snapped them all out of existence. At that moment, the door opened.

"Well, Bobby," said Dr Grey, obviously stunned, "if you're mad, I just joined you."

Johnny looked to the other boy for an explanation.

"She thought I was lying," said Bobby, ushering their teacher into the room and closing the door behind them, "but I believed what I was saying so she thought I was delusional."

"Well, you are, but not about this," Johnny snarked automatically.

"You're entirely female, physically?" Dr Grey asked, her professionalism regained.

"Yeah," Johnny said, and glared at Bobby when he opened his mouth, knowing whatever comment ensued would be unsuitable.

"I'd like to do some blood tests," Dr Grey informed them, "so John, come with me. Bobby, you stay here, and then... tell your classmates John's ill, I think that would be best for now." She swept out of the door, John trailing in her wake.

Bobby stared after them for a few seconds, then closed the door and turned to survey the wreck of his room. Truthfully, it wasn't much worse than most mornings, but normally Johnny helped tidy before he left. Normally Johnny hadn't caused most of it.

"Poor Johnny," he muttered. Then he set to work.

A couple of hours later, Johnny was once more shuffling miserably along behind Dr Grey, but at least this time his feet weren't bare. Jean had lent him an old pair of flip-flops - flip-flops! on him! - and while the straps dug in a little uncomfortably, they were better than nothing. This time, though, they weren't on the way to the lab - which had been one of the most scarring experiences of his recent life, as Dr Grey had not been content with drawing what felt like three pints of blood, she also wanted to conduct a full physical examination - they were going somewhere far worse. They were going to the Professor's office.

"Ah, Jean, good, come in. St John, please, sit down." John sat in the indicated place, unobtrusively attempting to shift the chair closer to the wall. The Professor looked a little more intrigued than usual behind the customary geniality, and it was frankly worrying.

"I've run some tests," Dr Grey said - and oh, boy, had she - "but as of yet, I haven't found an obvious cause. Hormone levels are within statistical norms for a female teenager, which frankly surprised me, as I had expected to find only relatively superficial changes. DNA tests are still running, but I've been unable to find any trace of a y-chromosome..." blah, blah, blah. John didn't mind biology most of the time, was even interested sometimes, but right now, no. Jeannie looked to be utterly fascinated with the problem, and he was happy for her, but all he cared about was getting back to normal.

He hunched further down in his seat and stared balefully at the floor. It wasn't fair. There were plenty of other kids in the school, but no, it couldn't happen to one of them. It had to happen to him. It almost made him believe in vicious deities.

He didn't realise he was playing with his lighter until Jeannie levitated it out of his hand. He really hated when people did that.

"St John, if you'd come over here please?" the Professor asked. Or maybe ordered, it was hard to tell. He grabbed his lighter out of the air and moved to the chair freshly placed in front of the Professor.

"If I knew anything, I would tell you," he muttered, feeling the need for some sort of protest.

"I know, St John. If there is anything to explain what has happened to you, it may well be buried in your subconscious, where you are unable to access it. I'd like to look, if you'll allow me."

Like he could stop it. Like anyone could, if the Prof decided it was necessary. He tried to push those uncharitable thoughts out of his head, and exhaled sharply.

"Sure," he said. "Go for it."

The Professor smiled. "Just relax, St John," he said. "This won't take long."

Johnny relaxed. He stared at his toes and tried to ignore the sensation of a telepath riffling through the dusty corners of his mind. It felt like it took a while.

Next time he looked around, Mr Summers had joined them - classes must have changed over - and was sitting with his chair pulled very close to Jean's. They had their heads together over some pieces of paper, and didn't look up until the Professor cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid I can't seem to find any reason for your transformation, Mr Allerdyce, but we will get to the bottom of this." Johnny slouched in disappointment and defiantly clicked his lighter.

"Scott brought me the DNA results," Jean said. "There's nothing obvious."

"If it was obvious," Johnny snapped, then clenched his jaw. Yelling at teachers never did anything but make the situation worse. Jean gave him a look that purported to be understanding, and Johnny glared at the floor again.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Mr Summers spoke up. "Since it seems it might take a while to find a solution, perhaps we should think about room assignments."

Johnny's head snapped up. "What?"

"You get on quite well with Kitty, don't you?" Scott said. "We could call her in and..."

"No," said Johnny. "No way. You can't put me in with the girls." He gazed flatly at each member of staff in turn, trying to convince them.

"St John," Scott said, since nobody else seemed about to enter the confrontation, "right now, you're one of the girls."

"Not in my head!" Johnny cried, voice going embarrassingly high. He swallowed, and tried again. "You can't put me in with them when I can't even do anything about... y'know." They didn't seem to know, though John suspected they just wanted to make him say it. "Attraction."

Slightly stunned silence ensued. Johnny could feel himself blushing, very, very brightly.

"You know, Johnny," Jean said slowly, "women do have... sexual feelings."

Johnny's blush did not decrease, but he managed to look at Jean, and saw she looked amused beneath her own more delicate blush. He blinked.

"You are not saying what I think you're saying. Right? You're not... oh hell no!" He felt himself go impossibly redder. It was bad enough admitting to jerking off as a guy, he was not about to... No.

"You might learn something," Jean said, an irrepressible smile curling her lips. The men, when Johnny glanced round in horror, were desperately blank-faced.

"That's it," John said, determination chilling his cheeks. "I'm sticking to guys from now on."

The Professor now bore a slight smile of apparent pride, but the other two just looked vaguely confused. "I'm sorry?" said Jean.

Johnny stood, not quite knocking over his chair. "Thought you were telepathic, laughing girl," he said. "Hello, bi!" He turned to the Professor, not letting himself look at their faces. "Mind if I go down the lake, sir, check my control?" he said, hoping there was no nervousness in his voice. It was one thing to know there was no discrimination allowed; it was another to invite it.

"Go ahead, St John," the Professor said: before he'd finished speaking, Johnny was gone.

The first thing Johnny did after the nerve-wracking dash to the lake - he'd managed not to run into anyone, and keeping one arm cradled round his chest had stopped most of the bouncing - was light up a cigarette. He didn't smoke much, but sometimes... It was funny, really. Most kids had lighters to facilitate their smoking. John started smoking to excuse his lighters. He played a few little streamers of fire over the top of the waves while he steadily chain-smoked until he felt calm enough to do some serious work.

The streamers merged and came back to him, growing to a foot-wide fireball that spat and flared in front of him. He calmed himself. He really did. But the fire struggled in his grasp.

This was not good.

Ororo wasn't surprised to see a small, dark figure skulking into her classroom through the French windows, just after the beginning of lunchtime. She had been waiting for St. John all morning, but hadn't expected him to show up while there was a class in progress - not out of respect for her teaching, simply to avoid seeing and being seen by that many people. She bent her head back to the papers on her desk, and waited.

It only took a few moments for her visitor to speak up: "Hi, Miz Munroe."

Ororo put down her pen and smiled. "Hello, St. John. How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right." came the reply, not even aimed in her general direction.

She sighed. That was John all right - stubborn. "John. Really."

Johnny glanced at her. "Really. I mean, it's freaky and wrong and I want my dick back, but I'm dealing."

Ororo gazed at the child for a long moment - he seemed to believe what he was saying, which may be what really mattered - and carefully tried to word her next question. "Have you considered the possibility that this may not be temporary?"

"Considered and dismissed, Miz Munroe," he said, voice determined and eyes reaching her face for the first time.

"I see," she said, and she really did. Sometimes if one actually acknowledged all the possibilities, it became almost impossible to avoid hiding in a corner in hysterical tears. Hence the entirely unsubtle subject change of, "Now, do you feel up to a shopping trip or should I just bring back a selection of sizes?"

Johnny paused the solemn inspection of his toes, his eyes flashing briefly up. "What are you talking about?" he asked, strained and polite.

Ororo kept her voice absolutely level. "Bras, primarily, and some jeans and shoes to fit you."

"Sneakers," Johnny corrected instantly, before coming up with a plaintive, "Can't I just borrow stuff?"

"Not if you want it to fit properly," Ororo told him with a mock-stern tone. Seeing the expression that produced, she hastily continued, "And even if you don't care, most of it would be a little too... girly for your tastes."

John sniffed contemplatively. "Let's blow this joint."

They got out of the school unseen, as far as John knew; everyone else was still in getting lunch, and he probably ought to think about eating because that was the second meal of the day that he'd missed, but he didn't exactly feel like it. He didn't even attempt to ask if he could drive, simply slid quietly into the passenger side of Ms Munroe's hot red sports car (and how come the teachers here were so cool? each and every one? not that John had been to a regular school in a good few years, but stereotypes told him normal teachers chose cars with good safety records and plenty of room in the back. Still, normal teachers didn't go out in the jet hidden underground to fight the good fight.) and didn't bother with the seatbelt after he discovered that it sat uncomfortably between his breasts.

He glanced over as they pulled out of the garage, and Ms Munroe didn't seem to mind the seatbelt, but she hadn't told him to use his in that oh-so-responsible tone of voice that everyone, even big bad Wolverine, seemed to pull out especially for John. So that was fine. He could just slump down in the seat and watch the world rushing past the window, clench his hand around his lighter and studiously not-think about the way it felt oddly large, listen to the increasing traffic outside and the awkward silence inside the car, wait until they got to the mall.

It had been weird enough earlier, dodging out of classes and messing around by himself, but now he was actually off school grounds during the school day, and not as part of a field trip. Well, it was sort of a field trip, in that he was with a teacher, and he was sure the experience of shopping for female clothing would be an educational one, but field trips normally involved a lot more students and Bobby sitting beside him - or lately, sitting in front with his arm around Rogue's delicate and so-heavily-loaded shoulders - checking how much money he had on him for candy and tacky souvenirs.

There was a thought. His allowance wasn't exactly generous, and he'd spent the most part of this month's already...

"Miz Munroe?" he said, and she might have looked over at him for a moment, but he had no way of knowing.

"Yes, John?" she said.

"Maybe we should head for the charity shops in town," he said, in as nonchalant a voice as he could muster. "I mean, it's not worth spending money on new stuff when, y'know..."

He was sure Ms Munroe looked over that time. He could practically feel her eyes on him.

"Most of the students wouldn't worry about the expense," she commented softly.

"Yeah, well, I'm a little short of cash right now," he said, and dammit he'd practised that sarcastic little twist, it wasn't fair that it didn't quite work any more.

Whatever he'd expected Ms Munroe's reaction to be, it hadn't been the soft, surprised chuckle that she let out. "Oh, John," she said, in an amused version of her usual reproving tone, "the Professor's paying. I thought you'd know, there's a special faculty account for, ah, students' gift-related expenses."

John glanced at her, at the little smile playing around her lips, and quite wanted to hit her for laughing at him. But she was driving, and she was going to buy him clothes, and she was probably laughing more at the misunderstanding than at his ignorance, and she could kick his ass in ten seconds flat, so he kept quiet and stared at the passing cars.

Sitting in the parking lot, John debated with himself whether he should face the numerous people inside or just wait in the car, but he would be noticeable out here on his own and there would be no point to his having left the school if he didn't go in and try things on.

The first shop they went to was a sports store, supposedly, that sold various types of sneakers and a few t-shirts. Johnny chose it, having been in once before when Bobby had been spending his birthday money. He thought he recognised the assistant as the same friendly young basketball-fan, but this time he seemed a lot more interested in flirting with Ororo ("That's a pretty name, Ororo," he'd said, ignoring the fact that she'd been telling John to use it, not him) and asking if Johnny had a boyfriend in typical patronising-of-teenage-girl fashion. That hadn't been what made John swear at him, since he was making a determined effort to be nice and bland - he'd made a joke about wishing Scott were single, loving the expression on Ororo's face before she riposted with a threat to tell Jean - but when said assistant attempted to correct him ("don't you mean "Bobby's hand-me-downs"?") John broke. He only said fucking, and that only twice, but he still got a reproving "St John!" and had to apologise to both adults before storming outside for a cigarette.

"You let her smoke?" the man had asked Ororo, before John was even out the door, and he'd dawdled a little to hear her response.

"It's not really a question of "letting" her do anything," she'd said, and John found himself contemplating that for the second half of the cigarette. It was only petty annoyance that had sent him out there, and that didn't take long to work through, and he couldn't exactly play with fire in public, so he had to think. Her words had suggested that he, John Allerdyce, was in control of whatever he did. Which didn't exactly ring true, given the current situation, but...

When he'd come back after leaving with Magneto, he'd been surprised at the lack of lectures or punishment or attention of any kind. True, they were still reeling from the loss of Dr Grey, but still. All there had been was a minute or two with Professor Xavier.

"There's a saying, St John," the Professor had told him, "that home is the place where, when you turn up on the doorstep, they have to take you in. I told you some years ago to consider this school your home, and I will never retract that. Welcome back." He hadn't asked why John had come back, why he'd left in the first place, what he'd done in the few weeks he'd been gone, whether he planned to stay for long: at the time, it had been a stop-gap while Magneto and Mystique visited "fellow revolutionaries" overseas, but then Erik had set up shop in North Africa and hadn't even bothered to seem disappointed when John declined to join, though he had extended an open invitation. And then Dr Grey had turned up, conveniently amnesiac, and almost overnight it seemed that John himself was the only one who remembered he'd been gone.

Ororo was sitting on the bench outside that first shop when John went back in, and had done no more than acknowledge his return with a nod before standing and taking his elbow. "Underwear next, I think," she had said, steering him towards one of those intriguing yet terrifying stores that specialised in women's lingerie.

Just stepping inside was enough to worry John. There was a whole lot of lacy stuff. And it all seemed to have bows on. And he was expected to wear it. The worry increased exponentially when Ororo informed him that he would have to get measured.

He was oddly reassured when Ororo accompanied him into the changing rooms. She did most of the talking, somehow making it sound perfectly reasonable that a sixteen-year-old girl had never before worn a bra. And was called John. The woman with the tape called him Joan, though, and he didn't feel the need to correct her, especially since she was running a tape around his breasts at the time. What would he have said, anyway? he wondered, slipping the straps onto his shoulders and bending forward as instructed. "My parents didn't believe in gender-specific nomenclature," perhaps, though in that case he'd have been better off as a Sam, or one of those mad hippy names, and dammit but how in the hell was he supposed to hook the damn thing together when he couldn't even see it?

Eventually he managed, straightened, and glanced in the mirror. Flesh bulged unattractively over the lace. He swore, then poked his head around the curtain and grimaced at Ororo.

It took trying on three different sizes and four different styles before he found one that fit - thankfully it was also fairly plain, with only a few small bows. They walked out of the shop with one white, one black, and two "flesh-coloured", and Johnny had been hard-pushed not to ask if they were serious when the price was well over a hundred dollars.

He was surprised when Ororo started down the stairs to the toilets, but when she handed him the bags he understood. "I won't take long," he said, hoping that was the truth, since he hadn't really got the hang of the hooks and such yet. He'd only taken a few steps when he heard Ororo clear her throat and say his name. He turned and looked at her questioningly.

"That way," she said, tilting her head meaningfully towards the ladies' sign. He blushed.

Wearing a bra was a little uncomfortable but, along with getting rid of the flip-flops, restored some of his confidence. Therefore, John was in quite a good mood when they entered one of the stores that he knew some of the girls frequented. That didn't last long.

"They're all hipsters!" he cried when he exited the changing rooms, glaring at Ororo. "And half of them have glitter on! And none of them even bloody fit! It doesn't take me half this long when I'm normal!" Really, was it too much to ask that there existed a simple pair of jeans in his size? Apparently so. He realised that he was acting like a petulant two-year-old, but that didn't stop him crossing his arms just that bit lower than usual and staring at the floor. So he didn't see Ororo place the items on a rack, but he did feel it when she dropped one arm around his shoulders and turned him towards the door.

"I know what'll stop you feeling cranky," she said, and raised an eyebrow at him when he automatically raised his head to deny, deny, deny. He grumbled a little under his breath, but went along with it.

John looked up at his teacher doubtfully when they stopped at the ice-cream parlour. "Trust me," Ororo said, and ordered two large sundaes. John took the strawberry one.

It really did help.

Ice-cream was followed by sodas, and then they got back to shopping. Ororo led the way into one of the biggest stores and pushed John into the changing rooms with two different sizes of the plainest jeans they could find and an armful of T-shirts with the warning that he had better pick ones that actually fit because if he wanted baggy he could wear his old ones. The jeans gapped at the waist and were tight across his ass, but they were acceptable. And he was surprised to find that with one of the fitting T-shirts on, he actually looked like a regular girl. He was even amused by the slogan on one of them ("Yes, I have tits. And?") though he had the feeling it hadn't been designed for his situation.

Ororo took the one pair of jeans and three T-shirts with an approving smile. "Can you think of anything else you need?" she asked, and he thought for a second before shaking his head. She smiled, and headed for the checkout, pausing only to pick up a multi-pack of black knickers and wave it at him questioningly. He blushed, nodded, and didn't quite run out of the store.

Back at the Manor, Bobby had been fretting. He'd been distracted in all his classes - not that he was always the most attentive student, but he generally managed to at least have the right book on his desk - and now was sitting staring out of the rec room window instead of joining the conversation. Rogue joined him on the window seat, and it took him a full fifteen seconds to notice her, which broke the record by quite a way.

"What's the matter, Bobby?" she asked when she was sure she had his attention, leaning companionably against his shoulder. He shrugged.

"Guess I'm just worried about John," he said, watching the convertible slide into the garage and only then looking up to smile at Rogue.

"Go up and see him then," she said. "I don't mind." That wasn't entirely true, because she remembered the intensity at which John felt and was almost scared of it, but she knew that Bobby would hate it if she tried to make him choose. For a moment, he looked confused but then he forced another smile.

"I don't think so," he said, "he won't be in the best of moods." Bobby looked out of the window again, and Rogue followed his line of sight to see Ms Munroe and a girl she didn't recognise walk out of the garage, shopping bags on arms. "Shit!" said Bobby, and she looked at him, bemused. "Actually," he rushed, standing up and nearly knocking her over, "I think I'll... yeah, I'll go see him. Later." He practically ran out of the room, and she could see him turn towards the front door instead of the dorms.

"Huh," she said, and frowned.

Bobby was propping the front door open when Ororo and John walked up.

"If you need to talk about anything, John," Ororo said, handing over the shopping she carried, "then you know where to find me. I expect to see you at dinner, all right?"

John nodded, not looking happy, and she looked like she was about to hug him, but then decided against it and went inside with a brief smile for Bobby.

"You want a hand with that?" Bobby asked, but John shook his head and dropped the bags where he stood. Bobby gnawed at his lip for a second, suddenly awkward. "Um. Have fun?"

John gave him a sideways look and started flipping his lighter. "OK," he said after a few moments. "Ororo's pretty cool."

"Well, duh," Bobby said automatically, used to defending the teachers against imprecations, then thought for a second. "Wait, "Ororo"? Dude, you have a crush on Miz Munroe!"

John glared, and blushed. "Do not!" he said. Then, looking the other way, he said, "Well, kinda, but not like that. Like..." It took several seconds for him to organise his thoughts into words that would make sense. "Like, if I have to be a girl I wanna be a girl like her, that kinda crush."

"Johnny," Bobby said, leaning forward in agitation, "you're a lesbian!" His voice squeaked embarrassingly on the last word.

John glared again. "Fuck off, Drake."

"My roommate's a lesbian," Bobby continued in a shocked voice, then paused and looked John up and down in his new clothes. "Wait a second. My roommate's a lesbian! Dude, you have to!" he said, a pleading note entering his voice.

"What?" asked John, annoyed and quite, quite lost.

"You gotta score while you're, y'know..." Bobby told him.

"I really don't," John said, not quite believing that his friend had even suggested it.

"But, dude!" Bobby cried. "Lesbians!"

"Dude!" John cried in imitation, "Not if I'm one of them!"

Bobby eyed him again, contemplatively. "I dunno, you're kinda pretty. I mean, if you put some make-up on you'd look like a proper girl."

John thought he might as well fix a glare to his face and be done with it. "Fuck off, Drake," he said, and picked up his bags to go inside. Then a thought struck him. "They didn't move my stuff out, did they?" he asked tentatively.

Bobby frowned at him. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Summers wanted to put me with the girls," John admitted sullenly.

"But... I mean, I guess, but..." Bobby looked utterly floored.

"I argued," John told him. "Then I left. Dunno what they decided."

"I don't care," said Bobby, suddenly decisive. "You're my roommate, nobody else's. C'mon, I bet Scott's in his office."

John was about to follow, but the scene in the Professor's office flashed through his mind and he knew without a doubt that he could not face Mr Summers. "I don't wanna see him," he said, not about to offer an explanation.

"Well, I'll go, then," Bobby said, used to John's avoidance of authority. "Unless you want..."

It took John a good few seconds to realise what the end of that sentence was supposed to be. Unless he wanted to move out. "No!" he denied, a little too loudly. "I mean... couldn't sleep in a strange bed, y'know?" He didn't quite look Bobby in the eye that time.

"Uh-huh," Bobby said, also used to John's avoidance of emotional issues. "Take your stuff up, then, I'll tell him." He dashed off, leaving John to trudge up the stairs alone.

Having a student burst into his office and launch straight into voluble and none-too-coherent complaints wasn't all that unusual for Scott, but Bobby was normally a little more polite, and at least said "Hello" first. So it took Scott a few seconds to gather his thoughts and attempt to gain control of the situation.

"Why, hello, Bobby," he said, cutting across the boy's babbling, more amused than annoyed, "perhaps you'd like to start again?"

"Hi, Scott," the boy rushed out, blushing slightly, "and sorry, but..."

Scott raised one hand, and Bobby blushed more, scuffing one foot against the ground. "Sit down, Bobby, and tell me what's wrong," Scott said, hoping that the calm in his voice didn't sound as artificial to Bobby as it did to him. He didn't like dealing with the emotional stuff - didn't understand why the kids insisted on coming to him with their problems - and Bobby definitely seemed upset.

"It's about Johnny," Bobby said as soon as he was seated, and this time managed not to babble on. Scott barely restrained a deep sigh. He'd been half-expecting this; had been surprised that Bobby hadn't turned up earlier.

"I understand that it's a difficult situation for all concerned," he started, wishing that he'd thought to work on his arguments beforehand.

"No!" Bobby interrupted. "I mean, it's weird, yeah, but it's still Johnny, yeah? so it's just like normal, and I'm used to having him around, and, really, if anyone's gonna freak out it's gonna be him and honestly, who else does he trust around here? I mean, certainly not any of the girls, and if you put him in a room with someone he doesn't trust when he's this close to freaking out you are just asking for property damage, y'know? and, and he's my roomie so..."

Scott had the feeling, from the expression on Bobby's face, that he was visibly gawping. This was not what he had been expecting. The babbling, he'd expected, but he'd thought the argument would play out the other way round.

"You want to keep sharing with John, then? Even though he's currently female?" Scott asked, and bit his lip against the rest of the questions he wanted to ask. It would be totally unprofessional to discuss one student's sexuality with another student. It would be even more unprofessional to ask about that second student's sexuality, especially in connection with the first student.

"Duh! He's my roomie," Bobby said complacently.

"As it happens," Scott said, emphasising the pre-existence of the decision, "we thought it would be best to leave John where he is for now."

"Oh!" said Bobby, a grin flashing onto his face, "cool! He thought, like... yeah. I'll go tell him." Bobby bounced out of the chair and towards the door, calling behind him, "Thanks, Mr Summers!"

"You're welcome," muttered Scott, hoping that next time either of the boys - well, teens - had a problem, they would choose someone else to confide in. And that he would be out of the school. Preferably out of the state. He did not want to see what they came up with next.

Bobby swung into his room, catching himself on the doorframe when he saw the clothing scattered across the floor and John staring mournfully into his portion of the closet. This wasn't actually unusual. Nor was Johnny absently flicking his lighter while he did so, but when the lighter suddenly clattered to the floor, Bobby jumped. The lighter was practically sacred. He quickly and quietly closed the door, then leaned against it and waited for Johnny to explain.

It took a minute or so, but Johnny broke. "My hands are smaller," he said, clenching them into fists that looked just as vicious as always. Bobby sighed with relief before he thought about it, and regretted it when Johnny's anger took him for a focus. "That's all right then, is it?" he asked, marching carelessly across the floor to prod Bobby in the chest and glare up at him, pausing for a moment with his eyes on Bobby's mouth before jerking his head the requisite extra few degrees back. "In case you'd forgotten," prod, "my hands are smaller because," prod, "I'm currently a girl!" A two-handed shove that time, pushing Bobby flush against the door. "And so none of my clothes fit!" Another shove, though it only served to push Johnny away so he almost tripped over the shirt wrapped around his foot. "Fuck," he said conversationally, and glanced around the room. "I'll clear this up, don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Bobby said, though of course that was an out-and-out lie. John was usually volatile, but he normally used threats before resorting to physical violence. Also, Bobby was apparently too imaginative for his own good if the number of explanations he'd come up with for the lighter thing were any indication. John didn't deign to answer, busying himself picking up the mess. "Scott said I was stuck with you," Bobby offered, almost wishing he had some irritating habit to fill the pause. "I mean, he didn't say it like that, he said, um... I dunno, something. But you're staying. I guess you, uh, you guessed that, though, right?"

Johnny finally glanced over. "Bobby," he said, half a smile stealing onto his face. "Don't babble."

When the room looked almost tidy, Bobby suggested going down to the rec room. Johnny didn't verbally answer, but somehow managed to string out his self-appointed tasks until the bell rang for dinner. Bobby jumped up from where he slouched on his bed and dropped a hand on his roommate's shoulder.

"If you don't come down," he said, "Miz Munroe'll send out a search party." Johnny scowled at the floor, flicked his lighter open one last time - the flame seeming higher than usual - before shoving it decisively in his pocket, and shrugged off Bobby's hand.

"Whatever," he said dismissively, and stomped as far as the corridor before stopping and waiting for Bobby.

They didn't talk on the way down the stairs, or when they joined the tail end of the rushing mass of hungry kids. Bobby almost slung a comforting arm around Johnny's shoulders when he noticed curious glances in their direction, but one look at the set of said shoulders informed him beyond doubt that any attempt at comfort would be violently rebuffed. He settled for nudging his friend with an elbow and grinning when he looked up. "Ice-cream today," he said cheerfully.

"You better keep mine cold this time, Drake," Johnny muttered, sliding in front of him to take a tray.

"Me?" said Bobby. "Use my powers in the dining hall? Would I do a thing like that?" He laughed out loud at the look Johnny gave him. They traded insults the rest of the way up the line, until Bobby saw Rogue scowling at them from her usual seat. He didn't work out why she was unhappy until he and Johnny, still side-by-side, approached the table and Rogue stood up to take his arm.

"Hi," she said to Johnny. "I'm Rogue, Bobby's girlfriend."

Johnny looked at her, then at Bobby, disbelief writ large over his face. He looked around, seeing the blandly welcoming expressions on nearby people's faces, set his tray on the table, and then jumped up beside it.

"'scuse me," he said to the hall at large, only a little louder than his usual voice, and waited for quiet to descend. He only had to wait a few seconds for every face to turn in his direction, and Bobby was probably the only one close enough to hear him curse under his breath. "Right," Johnny said, "I've heard... you know, what you've been saying, and I'm not new. I'm not sick, either. I'm John. Pyro. I woke up this morning and I was... like this. A girl. If you laugh!" He pulled his lighter out, held it up, knuckles white. "If one of you laughs," he continued, voice calming, "I will burn you. And I will blame it on psychological trauma, and that will be true, so the only one in trouble will be the fucker in Intensive Care." He flicked open his lighter and pulled out a long streamer of flame, wreathing it about his head. "That prove it?" he asked in his most obnoxious tone.

Bobby put down his tray and sat. He knocked one hand against Johnny's ankle. "Put it away, Johnny," he said, "and come eat, yeah? Nobody's gonna laugh."

Johnny gazed down at him for a long moment. Very quietly, he said, "They always laugh."

"They won't," Bobby said confidently, "'cause it's shitty, and 'cause they all know I'd back you up." He really hoped he was right. He held Johnny's gaze for another few seconds, until the flame dispersed and John crouched to step to his chair and then the ground. He sat and pulled his chair closer to the table and to Bobby, and then pulled his tray in front of him.

"I didn't know," said Johnny, just as quietly as before, and started eating.

After dinner, which was a quiet affair following Johnny's announcement - some of the younger kids apparently believed that if they talked too loud they would end up extra-crispy, and the rest of Bobby's table had been obviously restraining themselves from asking questions - the older teenagers commandeered the main recreational room, and John was subtly surrounded in preparation for interrogation. Bobby thought about rescuing his best friend, but then he remembered that John was entirely capable of looking after himself. Also, he spotted Rogue coming to take his arm again and decided that he was probably in more trouble than Johnny was.

"Bobby, darlin'," Rogue said, steering him towards the window where they had sat earlier, "why didn't you tell me?"

"Jean said just to say he was sick," Bobby told her, hoping against hope that that was all Rogue was annoyed about.

"But you could have told me," she said, pulling him to sit next to her and leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Um. Sorry?" he said. "I just, I thought maybe he'd just change back and, and... anyway, it would have sounded ridiculous."

Rogue nodded. Bobby could feel her hair brush against his skin. "I guess," she said, "but you might have said before dinner."

"Well, I had to talk to Scott," he told her, "make sure he wasn't moving Johnny out, and then..." He paused when Rogue's grip on his arm tightened.

"John's staying in your room?" she asked, voice high.

"Uh-huh," Bobby said, wondering what the problem was.

"You're staying there too?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," he said again.

"Bobby!" she cried, sitting up straight and glaring at him. "You can't share your room with a girl!"

Bobby was a little confused. "It's not a girl," he informed her. "It's Johnny."

"But he's a... she, now!" she spluttered.

"Rogue, seriously, it's just Johnny," Bobby told her. He could see she wasn't convinced, and thought frantically. "Well, would you share with him?" he asked, relieved when she replied instantly.

"Hell no!" said Rogue, then paused, inhaled, and visibly thought. "All right," she said. "I get it. I don't like it, but I get it."

Bobby relaxed and guided her head back to his shoulder. She went willingly, and they sat together and watched the commotion.

Johnny unhooked his bra and let out a gusty sigh of relief, surprising himself a little. He hadn't realised quite how uncomfortable he'd been - in the physical sense, at least. The rest of it, he'd definitely noticed. It was hard not to notice when what felt like half the school was asking the same few questions: "You really just woke up like that?" had narrowly beaten out the salacious queries on how he'd spent the day as the most popular. Even more disturbing was the offer of a girly night in, highlight of which would be his makeover. When he overheard the words, "I bet that slinky green dress of yours would look fabulous on John-girl," - also, John-girl? though he didn't know why he'd expected creativity in a place where a boy who dealt in frozen water was known as "Iceman" - then, he ran. He'd been hinting about feeling tired for over half an hour before that, after all, and it was... he looked at the clock and winced. Not quite half-past-nine. Oh well, not like he had any rep left after dinner.

He looked down at his breasts. It was very odd. The concept was terrifying, the reality... They were just these random lumps of flesh attached to his chest. And they wobbled. He pushed them up, then dropped them again. He pushed them together, creating a reasonable cleavage, as far as he could tell from the unfamiliar angle. He wandered over to the mirror to check. Not exactly stacked, but then he was on the skinny side normally, and... they were all right.

He prodded them a bit, trying to provoke some sort of reaction, but he got nothing. Pinching a nipple just hurt a little. He frowned at himself in the mirror - at this girl with the hair and the breasts and his eyes - and tried a couple more times. Interesting to look at, in a disinterested kind of way.

He gave up pretty quickly after that, pulling on a baggy old T-shirt and only just remembering not to fling himself front-wise onto the bed. Grabbing Drake's latest trashy novel off the other boy's bedside table, Johnny settled down to read.

John was still reading when Bobby crept in almost two hours later. He didn't comment, didn't even raise his head from the book. He could feel Bobby's eyes on the back of his head, hear the way he inhaled and then audibly decided not to speak, then listen to him going through his nightly rituals.

It was oddly comforting, the hushed rustle of discarded clothing followed by the creak-sproing of Bobby climbing into bed. The protracted sigh as he realised that yes, the book he was looking for was in John's hands, and the muffled thump as he let his head fall back to the pillow.

"You wanna know what happens?" John offered, voice automatically falling into that late-night mutter typical of boarding schools.

"Yeah, that's why I'm reading it," Bobby said, patience infusing that same low tone.

"I could tell you, if you want," said John, glancing up for just a moment, intending to share a grin - they had played this scene a good few times before, and the outcome was always the same - but Bobby was looking away.

Bobby sighed a little, clearly annoyed. "I don't want," he said.

John read to the end of the chapter, not particularly interested - it really was trash, the attempts at science were laughable and the sex wasn't much better - but irked enough to keep the light on. He considered reading further, but that would be punishing himself as much as Bobby, so he tossed the book on top of his roommate and pushed himself out of bed.

"Light off, then?" he asked. Bobby made a noise that sounded like agreement, so John flicked the lightswitch before he climbed out of his jeans and pulled on his sleep pants, hoping Bobby was smart enough not to comment on John's new-found modesty. Apparently he was, because he stayed quiet while John climbed into bed (sparing a hand to arrange his breasts as he lay down) and didn't comment when the clink of the lighter being set down on the bedside table echoed through the room.

In fact, Bobby stayed quiet for a whole five minutes, and John was starting to think he'd fallen asleep. Normally John passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow, so he didn't know whether Bobby did the same or tossed and turned for an hour, but tonight, of course, things weren't that easy. He couldn't seem to stop thinking.

"Hey," Bobby said, apparently not noticing that he'd startled John into an aborted grab for his lighter, "maybe you'll just wake up and be a guy again."

Oddly enough, that hadn't actually crossed John's mind, but now that it had... "Oh, thanks, Drake, now I'm never gonna get to sleep."

"What, you wanna stay like that?" Bobby asked, actual confusion in his voice.

"Fuck off," John spat, reaching out and actually grabbing his lighter.

"No, really," said Bobby, turning over to look at his roommate, "I don't get it."

Johnny glanced over and caved instantly at the intent look on Bobby's face. "Night before your last birthday," he said, remembering it none-too-fondly.

"I... you practically had to tie me to the bed," Bobby said, chuckling slightly.

John swallowed, twice, but didn't trust his voice. That was an image he really didn't want to pursue, not with Bobby awake and aware and right there. Also the whole problem with having turned into a girl and thus not even being able to jerk off. That was really annoying. It was probably worse than pissing, because that was just sitting down and letting his body do the work.

Anyway, that was not something he wanted to think about, but neither was Bobby with a tie wrapped around his wrists anchoring him to the bed, stretching his arms above his head in a long lean span of muscle covered in that pale gold skin that just went on and on...

Bobby jumped out of his bed, startling John out of his reverie. "C'mon," Bobby said, "kitchen time."

"Huh?" John blinked, and didn't move.

"First," Bobby said, grabbing John by the shoulder and urging him up, "we find you some chocolate."

John sat up, but didn't move to leave his bed. "I don't want chocolate," he said petulantly, cringing when he heard the whine of his voice.

"Girls always want chocolate." Bobby grinned at him.

John glared back. "Not a girl, Drake."

"Physically, Allerdyce," Bobby said, imitating his tone. "Rogue says it's a hormone thing," he added carelessly, and was surprised to see the pout on his roommate's face deepen. "Anyway," he leaned in with a conspiratorial grin, "then we find some booze and work out your new tolerance."

Johnny leaped out of bed. "That idea," he said, "I like."

Bobby had been quietly amused when John, despite his continued protestations, fell on the chocolate with gusto. The quiet part had been sensible, probably, because he knew from long experience that Johnny didn't like being laughed at. When his friend looked at him suspiciously, Bobby attributed his smile to the ice-cream in front of him, and they ate peacefully for a little while, the only sound that of the television in the next room being flicked idly through the channels.

Glutted with sugar, they moved on to the next stage of the plan, and sneaked into the sitting room in order to liberate a bottle of vodka. Sometimes Bobby suspected that the alcohol there existed specifically for such liberation, because it was difficult to imagine the Professor buying anything but the highest quality, and this was not exactly quality stuff. Not that the Professor would drink vodka - in fact, Bobby didn't see any of the faculty as the vodka type, really, so it could only be there for the convenience of any students desperate enough to risk punishment.

They settled on the floor behind the couch, and after two shots each, Bobby was confident enough to share this theory with John, who simply snickered at him and demanded he ice the bottle again.

Peeved, Bobby nearly refused, but then he reached out. The wicked smirk on his face should have been warning enough, but Johnny was surprised enough to yelp, "You bastard!" when he realised that a large chunk of ice was plugging the neck of the bottle and blocking access to the alcohol.

It took a good few minutes of dedicated work on John's part to melt enough of the ice, and in the right places, to slide it free. By that time they were well past their mutual pique, chuckling their way through a discussion on sexual politics that mostly consisted of Bobby insisting, "Nice girls don't," and John, from his new perspective, elaborating on the utter unfairness of that statement. Bobby stopped arguing when John threatened to hold the alcohol hostage.

In truth, it wouldn't have made much difference if he had, as Bobby soon realised that it would be wise for at least one of them to remain vaguely sober, and since the intention was for his companion to get utterly wasted, Bobby would have to be the 'designated driver', as it were.

He would probably still have been fit for that duty if he had matched John shot for shot, because it took only a few more drinks for John to become disturbingly maudlin. Unfortunately, he was more willing than usual to share his pain.

"And they like me better like this," Johnny said, tears welling up in his eyes, "even though I'm just me, they're being nice to me," sniffle, "and I don't wanna stay like this, I don't," an imploring gaze, "but if I turn back then they'll hate me again," and Bobby didn't have the heart to stop him taking another sip from the bottle.

"Nobody hates you, Johnny." Bobby rolled his eyes when he was sure Johnny wasn't looking.

"They do! They never say anything when you're around..." John trailed off, biting his lip thoughtfully. "You were right. You'd get angry and they know it. I'm sorry I didn't know."

Bobby thought John was talking crap, to be honest, and probably over-reacting as he so often did. Still, the dejected slump of the shoulders was painfully familiar, and for once Johnny was relaxed enough not to immediately shrug off contact, so Bobby slung an arm around those shoulders and pulled that smaller body to lean against his own. "No reason you should know, Johnny," he said into hair that held the same citrus scent as always. "It's all right."

He was pleasantly surprised when Johnny relaxed into his hold, and even more so when he felt thin arms creep around his waist. He breathed slowly despite the the way his heart kicked into high gear, and after a few breaths raised his free hand. It hovered, uncertain, at the side of John's face, then brushed back his hair and moved on to skim down his body, depositing fleeting touches here and there that Bobby hoped were somehow comforting. He nearly let go when Johnny shuddered briefly, but found himself being clung to, with John's face buried in his shoulder, and ragged breaths feathering across his throat.

Bobby raised his hand again and started to rub John's back, hoping it was the right thing to do. He didn't have much experience with situations like this. Not that the overall situation was one that anyone had experience with, but the immediate situation, with the crying and the holding and such, that was the situation that was troubling him. But Johnny didn't seem to mind, so they sat like that for a while, with only John's sniffles breaking the silence.

Eventually Johnny sat up and wiped off his face. "I think I could sleep now," he said, gazing at the deplenished bottle of vodka.

"You sure?" Bobby asked, reaching out and swiping the bottle before Johnny did something stupid like drink even more. He capped it, then looked up to see Johnny nodding.

"Sure," said John. "But I don't think I can walk that far." He kept nodding for a few moments, then abruptly caught himself and looked at Bobby with a rueful grin.

Bobby couldn't help but grin back. "We'll try it, yeah?" he said, and pushed himself off the floor. "You can just lean on me."

He stepped away to replace the vodka, and barely heard Johnny's quiet acquiescence.

"It's not like you haven't done it often enough before." Bobby crouched next to his friend and put an arm around him, considering for a second the possibility of just carrying John up the stairs. He had already decided that was a bad idea when John grabbed his shoulder and started to get his feet under himself. They stood in a surprisingly coordinated fashion, swaying only a little, and set off.

Halfway up the stairs, John stopped. "You don't like me better like this, do you?" he asked, blinking up at his support. "You're being nice, but... just like I got beat up, or something." He made as if to move again, but Bobby stood firm.

"I always like you, Johnny," he said, giving in to the urge to cup Johnny's cheek for a moment. "You know that."

They moved slowly onwards, keeping going even as John started to talk again. "You like me better when I'm me, though, right?" he asked.

"You're always you, Johnny." Bobby rolled his eyes, but pulled John closer for a moment.

"Am not," said Johnny, slightly louder than was wise. "Sometimes I'm a girl."

Bobby couldn't help the giggle that slipped out, but for once John didn't seem offended. "You're still you," Bobby said, grinning.

"But I'm wearing... oh, I took the bra off." John frowned at the stairs.

Bobby made an incoherent noise at the mere mention of women's underwear and then another at the realization that he had his arm around a girl who wasn't wearing any.

"You looked at my tits," John said, still frowning. His voice grew progressively quieter. "You said I was pretty. You like me better 'cause I'm a girl now."

Bobby made a couple more incoherent noises, then got himself together enough to make words. "Johnny. You're... I mean, I..."

John's hand tightened on Bobby's shoulder. "You want to fuck me but it's just 'cause I'm a girl."

"No, it's... I mean... crap, Johnny, give me a minute?" Bobby winced at his own ineptitude, but he honestly had no idea what to say. He hadn't exactly anticipated this conversation.

John didn't answer, but after a few steps he started to sniffle again.

"Oh Christ, don't cry, Johnny, please?" Bobby did not like it when people cried. He opened their door with a sense of relief. "Look, we're here, just... please don't cry."

John kept sniffling. "You just want my body." He didn't seem to notice Bobby closing the door behind them and sitting them both down on the nearest bed.

"No, that's..." Bobby took a deep breath. "I'm attracted to you like I'm always attracted to a pretty girl but I wouldn't want to sleep with you if it wasn't you, because I like you."

"But you don't want to sleep with me when I'm me." Johnny crossed his arms and pouted.

"Because I'm not attracted to boys," said Bobby. His patience was waning but his hand was gentle on John's waist.

"So if I want you..." John gazed up at Bobby, and leaned in, pressing his breasts against the boy's arm, "I should just sleep with you now."

"You want me?" Bobby asked, not at all sure how he would or should react to whatever answer he may be given, or even which answer he might prefer. When John's eyes flinched away from his, he realised what a crappy question that was. "Wait, don't answer that, you'll hate yourself." Johnny hating himself was a bad thing for anybody who happened to be in the vicinity. Really. "And you'd hate both of us if we had sex." Johnny hating someone else was definitely a bad thing for that person, especially if Johnny was hating himself at the same time. And especially if it was for the same reason.

Johnny sniffled. He pushed himself away from Bobby and unhooked the arm from around his waist. He turned and crawled up the bed, his ass swaying enticingly, and then he wobbled. His head landed half-on the pillow and his legs flailed until he reached an approximation of fetal position. The duvet lay rumpled between them.

"Johnny... please don't..." Bobby knelt on the bed and leaned over his friend. "Johnny... I... I mean..." He sighed. Johnny stared resolutely in the other direction. Bobby thought about trying to wait him out, but John could be the stubbornest bastard in the world if he felt like it, and he probably did, so Bobby simply pulled the duvet over his friend and sat back. It took him a few moments to gather the courage for his next question. "Do you want me to stay?"

John tugged the cover over his shoulder. "'s your room too," he muttered, resettling his head on the pillow.

"I meant, stay here." Bobby lay down, careful not to touch Johnny and not to fall off the edge. Oddly enough, single beds were not conducive to sharing. He waited.

It didn't take long. John flailed a hand behind his back, almost hitting Bobby in the face, and relaxed when Bobby grasped it. "Please," John said.

Bobby held onto that hand even while he clambered under the covers and settled himself comfortably. It was awkward, and he thought he'd probably twisted Johnny's arm more than once, but that hand remained pliant in his own. "Night, Johnny," said Bobby. His only answer was a quiet snore.