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Frostbitten	By : fuzzybluelogic Category: X-men Comics > General Views: 2223 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Kurt carefully made his way around piles of debris and
puddles of murky water, as silent as the asylum around him. Something was
decidedly wrong. There should be some sound---the groans of an old building
settling in its foundation, the scuttle of vermin…
Anything.
Wait.

Vermin.

The elfin X-Man slipped the flashlight from his belt and
clicked it on, blinking as his eyes adjusted. He let the light trace down the
corridor’s baseboards. Nothing. No rats darted away,
no roaches fled the light—he aimed the flashlight at the ceiling above
him. No spider-webs. That just made no sense at all. He could understand the
exodus of squatters with this sighting of an ‘ice man’…but
the vermin? Kurt knelt and drew his belt knife. He scraped the blade along the
floor and brought it to eye-level. Droppings. Old droppings. So rats and mice used to be here, but weren’t any longer. He stood and crossed
the room to an abandoned campsite, gingerly avoiding a broken crack pipe and a
few scattered syringes. A discolored newspaper—dated three weeks ago—lay
strewn about, stinking and peppered with insect droppings.

Three weeks was right on the timeline that the vagrant had
said he’s seen the ice man.

Bobby Drake. Someone had taken Bobby Drake. Kurt had never
met the youngest of the Original Five X-Men, only seen photographs and heard
stories of his exploits. Henry had waxed nostalgic about him for a few hours when
the news came. Kurt was leading Excalibur when Iceman had returned home to the
house that Xavier built. Excalibur disbanded only a month ago. Bobby had headed
to California
to help “a friend” only days before Kurt and Katzchen returned. And
then Bobby was gone. Scott traveled to L.A.
himself, only to come home empty handed and short
tempered. Jean, as usual, tried to hold everyone together. Warren and Hank bickered almost constantly
and the Professor was troubled and quiet. Gambit, on edge by the environment,
had departed to Los Angelos to look ‘his way’ with Ororo on his
heels. Kurt suspected they just wanted an excuse to escape the mounting tension
of the Mansion.

Katzchen had met Bobby. She said Kurt would like him…he
was funny. Aaaaand then she embarked on a long dissertation
on how she and Bobby ran into each other while playing Worlds of Warcraft and how he was playing a Night Elf and she was
playing a warlock and orcs and scourge and quests …and Kurt’s eyes
had glazed over by then. Kitty announced him as an unenlightened heathen and
stalked away. Kurt, having never felt the need to main-line Red Bull to stay
awake for thirty-six hours so he could stab a Pit Fiend in the face with three
thousand and ninety-six of his closest online friends, had just shaken his head
and returned to pirating music on Nicotine (Linux, of course, because Windows
was the Mark of the Beast according to Kitty…and when he pointed out that
that only occurred in Revelations and
wasn’t she Jewish, she had thrown a plushy twenty-sided die at his head).

Two weeks out of leading Excalibur and he was back on the
X-Men, a team leader this time, walking through a condemned asylum looking for
Iceman.

Something was wrong here. He didn’t know if Bobby
Drake was involved, but in his gut, Kurt knew
something was –bad?—about this place.

Three weeks ago, a schizophrenic alcoholic derelict had seen
a man made of ice moving through these hallways. Kurt reached up and attached a
small camera to the wall. He didn’t know if it was Bobby, but something
was going on. His hand strayed to
the hilt of one of his swords as he made his way down the passageway. The
flashlight flickered and dimmed. Kurt frowned. The flashlights were Hank’s
own creation and he’d never known one to die on him. Odd.
It could be that it was just broken but still--. He glanced down at the pack at
his waist. The red LED of his COM link pack was dead. Okaaaay.

Not good.

Kurt’s tailed swayed in wary figure eights near his
ankles as he continued on his way toward what the blueprints said was the
therapy room.

Suddenly, a gust of something
burst down the hallway. And Kurt, startled, dropped into a crouch. His
flashlight winked out. He let out a guttural string of profanity in German and shoved
it back on his belt. Was zum Teufel? Kurt let out his held
breath slowly. It clouded before his eyes. The temperature had dropped at least
forty degrees in less than a minute. Kurt whipped around. Even without the
flashlight, Kurt’s Night Vision allowed him to see that something was
lacing across the walls…

Frost.

“Iceman.” Kurt
whispered, breaking into a sprint toward the therapy room. He jerked on the
handle of the door. It was stuck. Ice spider-webbed across
the glass.

<Jean? Jean, are you seeing
this?>

No answer. No comforting itch that reminded you of her telepathic
presence.

Kurt halted, his breath caught in his throat. Something was
wrapped around his thigh. His eyes flicked down before he could teleport away.
A tendril of ice was lashed around his leg.

“Bobby?” He called. “Bobby. I’m—“

Kurt gasped. Something wicked and hot and sweet and freezing
flooded his veins. He cried out and then everything was white—
The floor rushed up suddenly, and then everything melted into blackness.
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