Friday, Lorna, Bobby, Jim, Davey

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Lorna goes to train in the DR and runs into Bobby. She bullies him into nutrition and a nap. How shocking.



Lorna keyed in her training code and was surprised when the computer told her that she couldn't do that because there was already a simulation in progress. Her eyebrows rose higher when she realized who'd programmed the set and how long it had already been running. This was going to take a little bit of planning. Obstinate didn't begin to describe Bobby in a sulk.

Five minutes later, the program paused and the doors cycled open. "This is my hour, Iceman. Quit hogging the room." She flexed her hands inside metal lined gloves, molded more closely and comfortably than the synthsilk that ended at her wrists. "Do you want to run my program or what?"

Bobby looked over as the program stopped, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead with his arm. He looked at Lorna for a few moments, catching his breath, then nodded grimly. "Bring it on, Dane."

It took her only seconds to change the programming from his run to hers. It was a fairly standard regimen for her, or had been when it was written. Things had changed a lot in seven months. Lorna was betting that she could wear Bobby out entirely in under twenty minutes with it. "Why don't you have a spotter?" she asked conversationally as the walls shifted, maze-like.

Bobby watched the change, shifting his weight from foot to foot, mentally preparing himself for a very different scenario than he'd been doing. "Didn't feel like it," he mumbled. The truth was, he didn't feel worthy of asking anyone to spot him. Not after what he did to Scott.

"That's a good way to get you benched. Drone." Her eyes flicked away from him to something just behind him.

Bobby opened his mouth to reply to her, then whirled, eyes wide and hands raised in front of him. He hadn't heard a thing. Maybe he was getting too tired to run this scenario, not that he'd actually admit it.

This was going to take less time than she'd thought. Before ice had done more than frost the edges of the drone another drone flew by him, slamming into it and knocking it back several feet. "Left," Lorna snapped from behind him.

Bobby swore under his breath, splitting his attention and holding a hand out in each direction. He'd been working on not needing the physical gestures to use his mutation, but he was tired, and it just made it so much easier.

He bit his lip, tossing a large chunk of ice at the new drone, trying to watch for anything new at the same time. He wasn't going to let Lorna show him up this fast, he vowed.

Lorna had yet to move anymore more than her eyes and body position, tracking the drones, turning in a slow circle. They would need to move soon enough to get to their target but she knew that spending the time sorting herself out was worth the wait. "In ten, I want you to ice the floor directly behind me and then run for the far wall." The drones were meant for her. Plastic and lightweight, ice should help.

Of course, Lorna was more familiar with this scenario than Bobby to begin with. But he nodded, gamely preparing to follow her instructions and grateful for them. That way he didn't have to think for himself, just act. Which he did when his mental count hit '10'. He leaned against the wall when he reached it, still on alert but allowing his body just a moment or two of rest. Man, he was going to hurt when he finally stopped moving.

Lorna followed him, turning back as she kicked off the newly iced ground and grabbing one of the first two drones to hurl back into the slowly advancing contingent that she hadn't actually know was there, just had guessed. As she reached the wall, she slammed shields around both of them. "We have to get to base and protect the civilian there. I can't shield until we're in line of sight and the maze will change on us." She frowned at him. "If you're not going to make it, I need you to stop now."

Bobby looked at her for a few seconds, then nodded in defeat. If this was a real mission, with real people in peril, he could probably press on for another half hour, maybe even an hour, depending on how much he had to use his mutation--but he'd be near collapse at the end. "I'm sorry," he panted, pushing off of the wall with a wince. "I guess I'm done."

She killed the mission without another word and stripped off her gloves. The room powered down quietly and efficiently, drones picking themselves up and retreating back for whatever minor repairs they required. Once the room was clear, she looked at him, "Come on. You're sweating, you need to get some energy into you." Her workout could wait. The program would need to be rewritten anyway.

Wiping his brow again, Bobby made a half-hearted effort to cool his body, then shook his head. "Nah, I'm okay. You run your scenario." He headed for the door, and then stopped, swaying a bit as a wave of dizziness washed over him. "I'm...just gonna shower and then lie down for a while."

Lorna caught him around the waist and shook her head. "It needs to be updated anyway. You need more than just a shower and bed." Why must everyone attempt to wear themselves to nothing? What did everyone have against proper nutrition anyway? "I'll make you something easy to eat then you can rest. But you need hydration and protein, now."

Bobby rolled his eyes and nodded. He knew better than to fight Lorna when she went into Den Mother mode. "Fine. Force feed me, o Kitchen Goddess." He smiled weakly and trudged to the doors, just wanting to get upstairs and sit down for a minute, before he fell over.

Lorna frowned. Just because she wanted to make sure that her friend weren't actually allowed to work themselves to death that didn't mean that she was turning into her mother. Nevertheless, she hovered in the most casual way possible as they went upstairs.

Bobby collapsed into a chair at the island once they reached the kitchen, folding his arms on the counter and dropping his head onto them with a sigh. He felt dizzy and sick. "Nngh. Water."

She handed him a sports drink instead and turned away to mix up something with nutritional value. "When did you eat last?" Not that he wouldn't need an amazing amount of food anyway but it was always good to know what kind of deficit she was replacing.

"This morning," Bobby said defensively and then drained half of the sports drink. It was technically true, although he doubted Lorna would consider half a bag of stale Cheetos 'eating'.

"What did you have?" A protein shake would be the fastest way to pump food into him. No chewing necessary.

Ah, selective deafness, it was good. "I had dinner last night, too," Bobby added instead of answering. "A burrito." And microwaving them made no nutritional difference from eating them straight out of the freezer, so that was another detail best kept to himself. Though they were kinda good. Burritosicles.

Which probably meant that breakfast may as well have been cardboard. Lorna didn't hit her head on the cupboards and considered that a display of great willpower. She handed him another sports drink and punched the button on the blender with just a touch more force than was needed.

Bobby sipped at the second drink, already feeling a bit better with the replacement of electrolytes. "I just haven't been that hungry this week," he mumbled under the whir of the blender. It seemed to be going around.

IVs. She was going to get IVs from the doctors and strap them to half the male population in this school and no one would stop the crazy woman with the needles if they knew what was good for them. Lorna poured the newly blended drink into a tall cup and slid it to him. "Drink then sleep."

At least Bobby wasn't fighting her. He obediently pulled the shake closer and started drinking, eyes half-closed from pure exhaustion.

That wasn't, in Lorna's mind, a bad sign. If she could get him to finish the drink then get him up to bed, she'd be ahead of the game as far as she was concerned. Then she'd have done the best she could in this whole mess. Lorna hadn't seen Terry, she assumed the girl would have friends to care for her; Lorna was mostly concerned with Bobby's well-being. Idiocy didn't deserve this kind of punishment.

In Bobby's book, it deserved all this and more, but that wasn't a topic of discussion, was it? "...Thanks," he said, if somewhat grudgingly, as he finished the shake his body needed and set the cup on the counter. He wouldn't quite look at her, but at least he'd gotten some nourishment.

He looked dead where he sat. Lorna rubbed her temple, trying to banish what was becoming an everpresent headache and circled around the counter to where he sat. "Okay, Drake, now upstairs to bed. You're going to be in a world of hurt when all this power backlash hits you."

Bobby whimpered in response and got wearily to his feet. "Bed. That sounds good," he murmured, half-asleep on his feet. He might be a bit late to work today, but he'd make up an excuse.

Should probably make sure he doesn't kill himself by falling over the railing or something. "Yeah." Lorna wrapped her arm around his waist again, walking him out of the kitchen. "A nap will do you a good."

"Thank you," Bobby mumbled, letting her lead him up to his room. "For taking care of me. Of all of us." He'd missed her more than he'd realized.

Lorna shrugged guiltily, feeling bad for her increasing exasperation with everyone. "It's nothing. Really."

"This place isn't the same without you," he answered, leaning against her, his arm tightening around her in a one-armed hug. "I'm glad you're back."

She hugged him back and waved open his door. "It's nice to be back." Mostly Lorna helped him across the suite to his bedroom and waved open that door too, leading him in.

A moan of longing escaped Bobby as he looked at the bed. "Oh yes...bed," he murmured, crawling under the blankets, feet hanging out as he curled up.

"Sleep well, Bobby." Lorna said softly and crept back out. One down. Now for the rest of the boys.



After getting Bobby to sleep and her DR run, Lorna resumes her care and feeding activities. Davey is resentful of the intrusion but it works out in the end.



Someone was knocking on their door.

For a moment Davey rebelled. He could let them in -- or not. It was his room, too. And he'd been feeling weird earlier. He'd started out with one of those funny feelings in the back of his head that meant Jim was having a bad day, and that gave him a bad day, at least for a little while. It meant this wasn't a good kind of out.

But the knocking was happening again, which meant whoever it was wasn't going away. That meant someone probably needed something, and that struck harmonics deeper than the need that had taken Davey out in the first place. There was an instant of disorientation, and then it was Jim sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor again.

Jim stared blankly at the half-empty drinkbox in his hand and then at Homeward Bound playing on the tv before the immediate past filtered back to him.

Oh. Door. Time to be a responsible adult again.

"Hang on a minute," he called a little hoarsely, clicking off the set and clambering stiffly to his feet. His back hurt, and the movie had almost been over. Jim wished Davey would move once in a while.

And he'd left a mess. Apparently Davey had felt the need to take out every toy Jim had ever bought for him. With an inward sigh Jim grabbed what he could, dumped it all into the box next to his bed in the bedroom, and answered the door.

Lorna was leaning against the wall when he opened the door, her eyes closed and face strained. She recovered so quickly that it almost seemed like it hadn't happened, her expression clearing to a warm smile that looked just as sincere as the pain moments before had. "Hey, lunch. You're the last on my list." She held out the tray. "Peanut butter and jelly from the Lorna is slacking off school of cooking. It's delicious, nutritious and I even cut the crusts off the bread."

"Oh. Um. Thanks." Jim automatically moved aside to let her in. Part of him was wondering why on earth he wasn't hiding under his bed right now, but the other part was almost unbearably relieved that it wasn't someone asking about Jennie. Remarkable progress you've made, David. Give one piece of bad news and the only way you can cope is by locking yourself in your room and playing with your action figures. He shoved one he'd missed under the couch with his foot as he passed, more tired than anything. Of all the reasons to let Davey out, this was the most self-indulgent. This is why we don't get better.

She set the tray on the coffee table and shrugged.z "No need to thank me. This is pretty much what I do around here these days. Try to force nutrition into men too busy or broken to do it themselves. That reminds me, I should check on Forge and see how his eating habits are."

Jim managed a faint smile. "I guess someone's got to do it. At least Forge has mastered the basic sandwich. I've seen proof." He reached out to retrieve one of his own and paused. "Oh. Speaking of, thanks for looking after Scott. I didn't think you'd actually refuse a request to feed, but . . . thanks. He needs it right now."

She shrugged again. "I saw Jean yesterday. I did not hit her. I can't decide if that's good of me or a serious failing. Everytime I see him I think I did the wrong thing by not breaking her nose." She sighed. "Oh well. I'll let you eat."

Jim studied the sandwich. It was indeed without crust. "I don't know what to think," he confessed. "My speciality's trauma, not relationships. Regardless of how much they've been overlapping this week. Is this just a bad season or something?"

Lorna paused with her hand on the back of the couch, staring down at the bright yellow truck on the floor. "Bad things happen in threes. Jean and Scott, Terry and Bobby..." she sighed and struggled to regain her proper demeanor. "I don't believe in that kind of stuff. This is all just terrible coincidence and I'm sure it will all blow over soon." She sounded forced to her own ears but it was the best she could do.

Suddenly the sandwich was intensely fascinating. Oh, God . . . First Bobby, now Lorna. Why am I even allowed to talk to people? --Don't say 'sorry.' "We should definitely get away from this subject," Jim said carefully. "I declare there will be no unintentional trauma today. Starting now."

Thank God. "That sounds like a fantastic plan." She bent and picked up the truck, spinning its wheels across her palm. "I need to go shoe shopping. It's spring and that means there are tons of boots on sale."

At this point, Jim simply chose not to acknowledge the fact that someone had discovered and was now playing with the physical evidence of the morning's lapse of willpower. Denial was patently unhealthy but oh, so much more pleasant right now. "Shoes are nice," he said, starting on his sandwich. That was safe.

"I love shoe shopping. So many colors and styles. That's the only thing about living here that's better than...California. Lots more styles of boots and stuff. Not so much need for warm shoes there except when it rains." She spun the wheels fast, listening to the buzz of the metal against plastic. She'd always wanted a truck like this when she was little. "Can't afford it right now though. Not until I have a paycheck again."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah, you're going back to staff now, aren't you? I almost forgot. Going to become a cook for real now, then?" Distantly he thought, I like that truck.

"For real?" Lorna looked amused. "I'm always a real cook, that's what all the private schooling was about. But yeah, I'll probably go back to being chef and nutritionist to the bratlings. The Professor pays well and it's not too much to do this and take classes at the same time. Hurrah for Westchester U." She set the truck down and pushed it lightly.

"I wondered about how well the job paid. Then I worked here for a few months. I don't wonder so much anymore." Jim couldn't resist a small smile. "I'm glad to see someone else gets as much enjoyment out of that as I do," he said, indicating the truck.

"It's a very cool truck. My neighbor had one like it when we were growing up. Always wanted one for myself." She pulled it back and pushed it forward again, letting it roll across the floor. "Not a girl toy though. Stupid sexist parents." She laughed.

"I didn't have many like it when I actually was a kid," Jim grinned. "Building toys, mostly. Lots of constructing and deconstructing. It was excellent preparation for later in life."

"I had dolls. Not Barbies, porcelain ones. The kind you put in a case and dust every now and then. And My Little Ponies, hundreds of them." She sat on the ground and drove the truck over her legs. "Teddy bears. Coloring books." Lorna looked up at him and grinned impishly, "I still have those. The ones that are straight up coloring books are the best. Coloring and activity books are lame."

"I know. I remember I was always insulted by how easy the puzzles were. But I was dork like that." He smiled, a little sheepishly, and snuck another bite. "Moira still gives me coloring books. She's such an enabler. Better the books than the walls, though."

"The walls?" Lorna blinked. "Oh god, I'd have been in such trouble if I'd drawn on the walls. Martha would have totally had a fit and then Mom would have grounded me and taken away my TV privileges and...yeah." She laughed. "You didn't mess with Martha."

"Martha?"

"She was...well, I guess she was our housekeeper except that we never called her that. She was just Martha. She made sure that everything was clean and the laundry got done and..." Lorna shrugged, "She ran the house basically. She moved to Rancho Santa Margarita to take care of her daughter when I was thirteen. Mom never really got over it I don't think."

"We had a family friend like that. Uncle Andrew. He did a lot of charity work, but he used to watch me when my parents had to go on trips or work late. I think he knew the house better than Dad. He was always doing home-improvement projects for my parents. No real reason, really." Jim half-smiled. "He liked to fix things."

"Daddy tried once to fix something. I think it was a leaky faucet. We ended up having to replace the bathroom floor." She giggled and drove the truck into Haller's foot then up his leg to his knee, hopping it off to traverse the wilds of the couch cushions. "He was much better at golf and shooting. Not so much with the handyman stuff."

Jim laughed at her. The appropriate response to this was definitely not to get another truck and cheerfully start ramming it against Lorna's. Argh, Davey . . . "My dad was more the quiet-intellectual type. The type that's totally dysfunctional when it comes to practical application. If he was feeling really exciting that day he'd reorganize his coin collection." He shook his head. "I tried so hard to be interested."

Lorna laughed and backed her truck away with a screeching noise. "Mine's a just an exec basically. Long lunches, golf course meetings, sports hunting, tennis and squash. All very proper and country club. Zero practical skills." Her truck vroomed. She really did wish that she'd had one of these when she was little. "Mom's better, her family was more middle class. Daddy came from that world already."

"Yeah, Mom was always the voice of reason in my family. She was the one who kept reminding Dad not to do things like try to reheat leftovers in Tupperware on the stove. Which I still saw him try at least twice." Jim smiled at the memory of the terrible smell, and the subsequent whack with a newspaper his mother had given her husband after she'd had to disconnect the smoke alarm again. The telepathic recall isn't all bad, he thought absently as he finished the sandwich. We have good memories, too.

"Oh ew!" Lorna recoiled and giggled, able to conjure up that smell without any trouble at all. "Daddy isn't allowed in the kitchen. Just me and Mom and Martha." She grinned at him, "Mostly me."

"I was only allowed with supervision. I'm not quite as bad as Dad, but, um . . ." He spread his hands helplessly, grinning. "Well, Mom tried."

Lorna climbed off the floor and onto the couch next to him, still gripping the truck. "I think the cooking lessons were partly to ensure that I never turned out like my father. Or maybe she just wanted to be sure that someone would make sopapillas after Martha left. Mom loves Mexican food. It's like an addiction with her."

"I was allowed to work with baked goods. Baked goods very rarely poisoned us. Or exploded." Jim leaned back against the couch and considered for a moment. "Except for that cake once. Air-bubble."

"Baking is easy," Lorna scoffed good naturedly, "Mix it up, put it in the oven, leave it be and come back later to take it back out of the oven. What's to mess up unless you make the oven too hot or too cold."

Jim smiled. "Not mixing right, apparently. But that only happened once, and I was six. It's a miracle any of the batter was left to bake." He rolled his head around to look at her. "I like this place without trauma we've found. We should visit more often."

She nodded and laughed, flopped comfortably back on the couch. "I do too. It's way better than the rest of the places that do have trauma. And those places don't have trucks!"

Jim nodded solemnly. "Indeed. Trauma gets all the crappy toys. So," he jerked one thumb at the television set, "you wanna finish watching a movie with me?"