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FIC: All's Fair In Love and War (Bobby version)

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  • Luvofcourfeyrac@aol.com
    Title: All s Fair In Love And War (Part 1/?) Rating: PG-13 at most Disclaimer: Jenn s mine, everyone else belongs to Marvel! Author Notes: After finishing
    Message 1 of 1 , Apr 10, 2001
      Title: All's Fair In Love And War (Part 1/?)
      Rating: PG-13 at most
      Disclaimer: Jenn's mine, everyone else belongs to Marvel!

      Author Notes: After finishing All's Fair, I decided to write a few
      chapters for the little people who weren't concentrated on majorly in
      the first one. So, here's Bobby's part. Or, the beginnings of it at
      least! Feedback is always welcomed =)
      Summary: For those of you who didn't read All's Fair, it's a little
      bit of Saving Private Ryan and In Love and War. Basically, an AU, WW2
      piece. Hope you like =)


      Resting his head up against the back of the truck, Bobby
      allowed himself the leisure of thinking back to the day when he'd
      first boarded one similar to this. He'd been three years younger
      then, having just turned nineteen. Stupidly, he'd believed the one
      thing he needed to grow-mentally and otherwise, was to leave his
      family and travel overseas, to fight in a war that concerned every
      living American. It appeared to him that he was a total opposite to
      the boy who had entered the war. He was a prankster back then, out to
      make everyone laugh, and have a good time. He couldn't remember
      having done a hard day's work in his entire life.
      Yet he went out the moment he had the chance and entered the
      war. It was no big secret, to anyone, why he'd done it. William Drake
      had never seemed proud of his boy. Robert Drake, after graduation,
      was comfortable with becoming an accountant. After all, the only
      class he'd ever been good at in school was math. Still, William
      Drake, and the rest of the male relatives making up the Drake family
      tree, preached about a day when they'd donned their uniforms and
      traveled across the wide ocean to defend their homeland.
      Not that losing their homeland was a real threat at the time.
      The war was with Europe, not America. Truly, the United States would
      have been well established for some time before being roped into the
      mess there. Still, Bobby supposed it was better to stop things before
      the "What Ifs" became true. So, he'd packed his things, kissed his
      girl goodbye, and left.
      His girl…Jenn Murphy. His father hadn't even accepted her to
      begin with. She was of Irish decent, after all, and presently all
      foreigners were not to be trusted. In that gentle way she had, Jenn
      managed to remind his father that she was born and raised in the
      United States, making her an American citizen, and not "dirty
      foreign scum." His mother, Madeline, had been quite willing to make
      Jennifer a part of the family, and he was grateful for that.
      Leaving her hadn't been easy, though he was proud of the way
      she'd handled herself on that day. He'd packed his bags, not entirely
      believing she would come to see him off. Still, when he made the slow
      decent on the stairs, he could hear her speaking to his mother in the
      kitchen. A small smile crooked onto his lips, despite the nervous
      dread that had begun to well up inside him. "Look who came to see you
      off…"
      Looking at Jennifer that day was probably one of the hardest
      things he'd had to do. The instant he met her gaze, flashes of every
      moment they'd spent together bombarded his conscience, making the
      idea to leave suddenly seem hasty. He was about ready to throw his
      bag aside and declare his need to stay home, when she stepped over to
      him. Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath; at
      least, he had been. Many other girls had burst into tears and pleaded
      with their men to stay behind, to be with them. Jenn, always needing
      to contradict things, simply rested a hand lightly on his shoulder,
      leaned forward, and left him with a small kiss on his cheek. "Do us
      proud, Bobby Drake."
      He could see the tears welling into her eyes, but to her
      credit, they never fell. Instead, she flicked his hat down over his
      eyes and let out a laugh, one so convincing he didn't know, to this
      day, if it had been forced or not.
      They had walked, shoulder to shoulder, in silence, waiting
      for the army truck to travel the long stretch of driveway to his
      small farmhouse. He turned back, despite the urge not to, and gave
      his home one long, hard stare. He memorized the white shutters, blue
      chipping paint, even the half finished gate wrapping around the right
      side of the porch. Faintly wondering why it had never been finished,
      he was broken from his reveries by the sound of an engine, and gravel
      cracking as someone neared his home.
      When he turned his attention back to the road, he paused,
      gazing instead at Jenn. Her curled, red locks danced about her due to
      the present breeze. She had a hand up to shade her eyes from the
      beaming sunrays, and was watching the ugly truck wind its way up to
      where he stood. "You should have met them there. It's a waste of gas,
      coming all the way up here, when you've got two good legs."
      Laughing slightly at the teasing scolding she offered, he
      took her hand into his and pulled her into the tightest embrace he
      could manage. Though she hadn't cried, she'd given into her feelings
      enough to hold onto him fiercely, fearing the time when she'd have to
      let go.
      It seemed to the both of them as though the transport had
      reached them altogether too soon. There were things left to be said,
      promises to be made… "You come home to me, Bobby Drake, you
      understand? I don't care if they have to carry you here in pieces.
      I've been practicing with your Momma…I'm sure the two of us could
      make you good as new again…" He laughed some, nodding slightly, lost
      in the contemplation of her hazel eyes. He wanted to be sure that if
      he forgot everything about home, save one thing, her eyes would be
      that which he remembered.
      "Go on and kiss her already, we haven't got all day!"
      Watching Jenn's face scrunch in indignation, she turned to the truck,
      where several, already-uniformed men hung from windows.
      "They say the war is going to last a few more years at least!
      You can wait five more minutes!" When the men laughed and withdrew
      back into the transport, she turned back around, suddenly finding it
      necessary to wipe her hands on her skirt. "Don't you go turnin' into
      a heathen like that either, you hear me? Else I'll have to beat the
      sense back into you." Offering her a small salute, he captured her
      hand once again and lowered his head to kiss it.
      "You have my word, Jenn. I won't change a bit."
      "Well…now I didn't say you couldn't change. A little change
      does everybody good I suspect…" When he heard the catch in her voice,
      he quickly pulled her into another supporting hug, stroking her hair
      some. "I'm going to miss you…"
      "I'll be back before you know it." Moving back slightly and
      placing a hand around the small of her back, he leaned forward and
      gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Smiling, he slung his bag over his
      shoulder and marched off toward the transport. He was stopped a
      moment later, as a small hand latched onto his arm, turning him
      around. Before he knew what was happening, Jenn had her shaking arms
      around his neck, and her lips against his. Forgetting everything
      else, he dropped the army bag from his hold and wrapped both arms
      around her, lifting her slightly off her feet as he kissed back.
      When the kiss ended, Bobby watched as a red tint slowly
      filtered into Jennifer's cheeks. The men in the transports were
      hollering and giving catcalls. "You just remember that, the first
      time you see a pretty girl, all right?"
      "I'll never see a prettier girl `n you." Lowering her head
      from the flattering, she raised her eyes slightly as a uniformed man
      left the transport to pack away Bobby's things.
      "Just to make sure of that…" Reaching into her apron pocket,
      Jenn quickly pulled out a photograph of the two of them. "Take this
      with you." Not trusting himself with any more words, he took the
      picture from her and moved to get on the transport. Jenn remained
      beside the mailbox, watching as he settled himself in his seat. As
      the future soldiers waved politely good-bye, Bobby blew her a small
      kiss, taking his eyes off her only when she was out of sight.


      Sighing miserably at remembering the memory, Bobby tried to
      think of something other than home. The long trip back was torture
      enough; there was no need to get anxious until they had docked in
      Long Island.
      The men beside him in the boat were swapping war stories.
      They must have only begun, because they currently rested on the topic
      of Platoon leaders. "I dare say, there ain't a man alive who'd
      disagree that Sergeant Longshot was the finest there was." Shifting
      uncomfortably, Bobby managed to rest on his elbows enough to look
      around at all the soldiers, as well as to add in his two cents.
      "I say you're wrong, soldier." Three years ago, maybe even
      two, he wouldn't have dared to utter his opinion to total strangers.
      Especially men who looked as though fighting was their life. But
      then, they were brothers in a similar cause, so he could trust them
      to listen to what he had to say with respect, and without ripping him
      to pieces in the process.
      "Oh yeah? Name one man who was better." The soldier speaking
      rolled his sleeves up, attempting to look intimidating, but really
      only succeeding in relaying his curiosity.
      "The Wolverine." For a moment, the men looked at each other,
      then glanced back at the youngest present.
      "You knew The Wolverine?"
      "He was my platoon leader. Took me from being a sorry excuse
      for a person, and whipped me into shape. Yeah, he could be pretty
      tough sometimes, and he definitely wasn't afraid to take on a
      challenge. Still, more `n once he saved my life, and the lives of the
      rest of our platoon."

      The only thing keeping Bobby's first day at boot camp from
      being his worst, was the fact that he awoke the next day to face Day
      2. Dragging himself out of bed in time to find that the rest of his
      platoon was already gone, he'd scrambled into his uniform, tucking
      the photo of himself and Jenn into his helmet before running to catch
      up to the rest of his group.
      The Wolverine did not look pleased. He'd missed the morning
      jog, which meant he had garbage duty for a week. Knowing better than
      to argue with an officer, Bobby nodded and accepted his fate.
      While the others fell into their respective drill groups, he
      stooped down to tie his boots better. The next thing he knew, a
      bayonet was jabbed into the ground, not even an inch from his foot.
      Swallowing hard, he realized that, though he had no desire to, he was
      meant to turn around and face his opponent. When he was face to face
      with The Wolverine, he swallowed again for good measure and attempted
      to make the guy smile, by grinning himself.
      The smile earned him an ornery growl, as the officer stood to
      his feet and grabbed another recruits weapon. "On your feet, Drake."
      "But I haven't finished-"
      "On your feet, BOY!" falling over himself, Bobby managed to
      get to his feet, though he was highly off balanced. Wolverine grabbed
      the bayonet, pulling it from the earth, and shoving it against
      Bobby's chest. Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Bobby looked from it
      to Wolverine, then took notice of the weapon he was holding as
      well. "Ready to fight, kid?"
      Eyes growing to the size of saucers, Bobby dropped the
      bayonet to the ground and took a step backwards. "I can't fight you,
      s-sir…"
      "What was that, Drake!"
      "I said, I can't fight you, sir!" When he'd gotten the
      courage to open his eyes again, Wolverine was looming right in front
      of him, features twisted in disgust. After a few seconds, he let out
      a bark of a laugh, before throwing the weapon he held down.
      "Soldiers, it seems your friend Drake here wants more work.
      Three more laps." There were a few groans, but for the most part, the
      men didn't seem too upset by this. Until, "That's, three laps around
      the entire camp," was uttered. That's when Bobby Drake received more
      death glares then he cared to count. Grinning slightly, he felt his
      cheeks flush, as he began to run with the rest of them.

      By the time dinner call came, Bobby had made twenty four
      enemies, and not a single friend. He grabbed his meal, some of which
      he probably wouldn't have made his dogs back home eat, under normal
      circumstances, and sat. But then, this wasn't normal...this was a
      nightmare. He'd rather face the wrath and embarrassment of dropping
      out of the army than live another day here.
      Pulling the helmet from his head, he ran a hand through the
      sweat-soaked hair and sighed, pulling out the matted down photograph.
      Right then, he was willing to walk back home, however many hundreds,
      thousands of miles they'd crossed to get here. He'd never had an
      entire group of men hate him, and, being as scrawny and unpracticed
      in fighting as he was, the thought was very much intimidating.
      "Still pouting, kid?" He mustered up the remaining energy to
      shoot a glare at his platoon officer. It seemed like Wolverine's only
      goal in life was to make him as miserable as possible. If that were
      the case, he'd already done his job twice over. Glancing over, he
      watched Wolverine shovel food into his mouth at an alarming rate. How
      anyone could eat the undigestable slop they passed as food was beyond
      him. "Better eat. You're gonna need the energy tomorrow."
      Moaning some, Bobby felt his head slam down against the
      table. Banging it a few times for good measure, he wondered if there
      was ever a time where things had been so bad for him. Thinking back
      to home cooked meals, popularity he'd inherited over the years, the
      prettiest girl in Long Island...he didn't come up with anything
      constructive. "Who's the broad?" Panicked, Bobby lifted his head and
      reached for the picture, only to have it snatched away by Wolverine
      first. "Not bad...not bad...too skinny though. She got a name?" Were
      he not an officer, Bobby would have taken this time to ignore him.
      Still, he needed to speak when spoken to, and remain under control.
      "Jenn."
      "What was that?"
      "Jenn, Sir!" The older man chuckled and returned the picture
      to him. Frowning, Bobby quickly put it back into his helmet. "And
      sir...I'd appreciate it if you would show her a little respect. Her
      being a lady and all-"
      "A lady, huh? Never met a lady before. What's the difference
      between ladies and women?"
      "Well...ladies are...more polite...proper...and..."
      "Boring." Bobby's cheeks flushed red in anger, while
      Wolverine just laughed. "Well...good luck to you, then. Chances are,
      she'll have someone new by sunset." Pulling a cigar from his shirt
      pocket, Bobby watched Wolverine light it before sticking it into his
      mouth. "Don't forget garbage duty, Drake." Lifting his tray,
      Wolverine flipped it upside down, letting the contents from it fall
      into Bobby's unfinished meal. Winking at him, he sauntered off,
      leaving Bobby to stare at his back until he disappeared out of the
      mess hall.
      Sighing, the young man lifted his garbage infested tray and
      carried it over to a garbage bin. The smell already filtering out of
      it was enough to make him sick. Holding his breath, he began to
      fulfill his garbage duty to the best of his abilities, all the while
      cursing Wolverine and looking for a way to get back at him.

      Bobby managed to wake in time for breakfast the next day. He
      was groggy, miserable, and still smelled like last night's garbage.
      Wrinkling his nose at the stench, he kicked the covers back and sat
      up, immediately attacked by pains in every muscle he knew he had, and
      even in some he didn't know about. "Mornin', sunshine." The three men
      he shared a bunk with chuckled before looking at him. Bobby offered a
      small smile, too stiff and tired to register a snippy comeback. "So?"
      "So...what?"
      "Wha' do you t'ink about De Wolverine?" The name was enough
      to get him to clench his fists some.
      "I think he's got something stuck up his ass, personally,"
      One man offered.
      "He's got not'ing on Summers," the French man piped in again.
      "Very funny." Summers, as he was called, threw them a glare,
      before turning his attention back to his finely pressed pair of
      socks. "Maybe he's just got a troubled past or something. You know,
      buried pain and all that?" The room was silent a moment in
      contemplation.
      "I think he's just stuck on himself." When Bobby looked up,
      the three men opposite him sat silently. "What?"
      "Anyone I know, Drake?" Bobby's eyes grew slightly wide as he
      heard the gruff, demanding bark from behind him. Silently cursing his
      luck and wondering why this man had decided to torment him so, he
      tried to come up with a reply.
      "I doubt it, Sir."
      "Too bad. Breakfast is in five minutes, boys. You'd better
      eat up, we've got a long day ahead of us." The four recruits bit back
      a moan of protest, and simply saluted Wolverine as they'd been
      taught. The man grinned some, gazing at Drake a moment longer than
      the others, before leaving the tent chuckling.
      "Whoa...he's really got it in for you, man."
      "Thanks. I couldn't tell..." Bobby finished getting dressed,
      trying to ignore the rising feeling of dread within him.
      "I'm Allerdyce. John Allerdyce. From Kentucky. This here's
      Scott Summers. A little up tight, but other wise all right." Bobby
      smiled tightly and nodded respectfully at the man, who returned the
      favor briefly. "And this, is my man Gambit. Straight from New
      Orleans."
      "My frien's call me Remy Lebeau. I'd prefer it if you called
      me Gambit." Raising an eyebrow slightly at the comment, Bobby nodded
      and shook the hand offered to him.
      "Nice to meet you." When they'd finished getting ready, Bobby
      found it in his best interest to tag along with John, as he seemed
      pretty inclined to include him in his newly founded group.

      Breakfast was faster than dinner had been. Wolverine was
      intent on getting out before any of the other groups had. Said he
      wanted to set an example for the others. In reality, they were pretty
      sure his chief objective was to make them hurt as badly as possible
      without actually killing them. What doesn't kill you makes you
      stronger, or so William Drake always found it necessary to say.
      Currently, all this exercise was doing was making him feel a whole
      lot weaker than he'd ever felt before.
      Dragging his weary bones about, he took the food offered to
      him, attempting a face that at least appeared grateful. He watched
      for The Wolverine out of the corner of his eye, knowing full well he
      wasn't in the mood for any more of his "friendly conversation."
      To his luck, he caught the man shoveling breakfast alone and,
      had he not already presented himself as a threat to Bobby's life in
      general, he might have wondered why. He might have thought, for just
      a moment, that the Wolverine was a regular man like himself, and that
      he was just acting this way for the good of his platoon. Of course,
      due to the extra jog that had earned him several threats from fellow
      soldiers, not to mention the constant garbage duty, the thoughts
      never entered his mind.
      One thought, however, managed to creep into the recesses of
      his thoughts and plant itself so firmly there that he found he
      couldn't push it away. Revenge. The more his gaze fell upon the man
      who saw it in his best interest to ruin him, the better the idea
      sounded. After all, what better way to establish yourself in a place
      like this than to pull your own weight against the meanest, toughest
      man on the premises? True, there was a chance he could lose a lot by
      this, such as his position in the army, but the plus side was simple.
      He couldn't lose his life. The Wolverine could beat him to a bloody
      pulp, but would undergo major punishment for killing a soldier.
      Smiling smugly, he decided the chance was worth it. Of
      course, his roommates, presently surrounding him at the table, had
      caught the grin, and wanted in on his little secret. With a small
      quirk of a grin and a raise of one eyebrow, Bobby muttered something
      about their possessing an overactive imagination, and that it was too
      early in the morning to plan something ingenious, and that they
      needed to have their heads examined. With an unconvinced grunt, they
      had all fallen silent and taken the Wolverine's advice, eating
      whatever had been placed on their plate, not currently caring if it
      were truly food.
      Unlike the others, Bobby was in higher spirits than he had
      ever been, by the time breakfast was over. He waited for the mess
      hall to clear out before quickly gathering the large amounts of trash
      and disposing them in their rightful place. Whistling a present war-
      tune, he found himself jogging eagerly toward his platoon, almost
      ready for a days work. It was absurd, of course, but he was driven
      with the comforting knowledge that soon, The Wolverine would realize
      that Bobby Drake was not someone to be messed with and that, given
      the right incentive, he might actually be respective competition.

      The day hadn't been as unbearable as Logan had promised. They
      had mainly gone through man to man combat drills, most of which Bobby
      had been able to keep up with. It made it easier, of course, when his
      opponent wasn't a looming bundle of muscles that looked at his
      opponent as though it would be just any average day to skin you
      alive, then cook your insides for dinner.
      He'd been paired with John Allerdyce, which was entirely
      tolerable, in his opinion. The man at least had a sense of humor. It
      was terrible, mind you, but better than "I have the stiffest upper
      lip" Scott Summers, who probably wouldn't crack a smile if he was
      surrounded by pretty ladies. Bobby had never before known someone to
      look as though they were concentrating hard enough to melt brain
      cells, let alone be sincere about it. The man didn't give up. Of
      course, he was the ideal soldier, which meant little comments from
      Logan.
      Who, incidentally, had plenty to say to Bobby. He suspected
      it was partially his fault, letting the man's comments about Jenn get
      to him so deeply. He should have remained cool and taken it in
      stride, but he hadn't, and that was his fault. But today, it was
      different, because Bobby knew that soon, the Wolverine would get what
      he deserved, and yes, it would be from the scrawny kid who "wouldn't
      know a bayonet if it hit him in the chest."
      After studying each group in depth, Bobby decided that the
      best shooter by far was Gambit, and that he was glad he was on his
      side. The man could hit an apple off a tree a hundred feet away,
      without disrupting the leaves. With a small smile, Drake realized
      that he was the sort of man his father would be proud to have as a
      son. Well built, learned in the ways of fighting, his total opposite.
      Still, somewhere deep down, Bobby was sure he could make his father
      proud, if he was just given the chance...

      Training had ended late today, much to Bobby's delight. True,
      he was exhausted, and just about every muscle in his body ached, but
      the next day was open for soldiers to head into town. It would give
      him a chance to relax, as well as to relish in the success he was
      going to make for himself that evening.
      It was past midnight before the last of the recruits left the
      mess hall, which seemed almost too perfect for the garbage patrolman.
      He went about his work, a faint whistle on his lips, knowing that
      Wolverine had long since departed for his quarters. Contrary to
      popular belief, the man was not up til all hours of the night,
      deciding on punishment for the following day. Bobby had found out,
      through bribes and inquisition, that the man stole away to his room
      in the Officer's building at around nine thirty every night. Once
      there, he'd meditate for an hour or so before turning in for the
      night.
      This made things all the better for Bobby, who was now so
      anxious to begin his plan that he found himself grinning. The last of
      the garbage bags disposed of, he slipped into the kitchen, going
      straight for the refrigerator. Pulling a pot from inside a cupboard,
      he filled it to the brim with ice, then slipped out the back door,
      being sure not to leave a trace of anything that would point out his
      guilt.
      Making it to the Officer's section of the camp without any
      mishap, the boy set the pot silently down next to Logan's door.
      Pulling a spoon from his back pocket, he began to quietly dig a hole
      in front of the steps leading into the small cabin. It took a great
      deal of time, and he was grateful that the night was cold. It kept
      the icecubes from melting before he could finish his work.
      When a suitable hole was created, he tucked the spoon back
      into his pocket and rubbed his hands together before unloading the
      icecubes into it. His heart pounded in his ears by then, every noise
      causing him to freeze in momentary panick. A few times, he even swore
      he heard Logan himself, standing right behind him, promising him
      broken bones at the least, for this little stunt. Swallowing hard and
      gathering some backbone, he continued, until the last of the icecubes
      was gone from the pot.
      Drawing the canteen from his belt, he quickly poured the
      contents onto the ice, knowing that by morning it would create a sort
      of solid block of ice. Counting on a few of the rumors about Logan's
      sleeping habits, Bobby capped the canteen cautiously, latching it
      back onto his belt, before standing to his feet. His knees cracked
      from having been in a kneeling position for so long, and a quick look
      at the horizon told him a good deal of the night had been spent on
      this task. Still, he had no doubts that it would work, and that it
      would certainly be worth it.
      Stooping to pick up the pot, he glanced at the door to the
      cabin, an impish smile crossing his features. "Sweet dreams,
      Wolverine." Satisfactory grin permanently ingrained on his visage,
      Bobby Drake turned on his heels and returned to his own tent, after
      returning the last of the evidence to the kitchen. His stomach was in
      knots and, despite the long day of manual labor and strenuous
      training, he found it hard to sleep. Anticipation reigned high as he
      shifted from his back, to his side, unable to quell the many pictures
      of Logan waking to find the present left outside his door.
      At last, he fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of nothing more
      than the small revenge he could take on the man who seemed to live
      and breathe to torture him. These first two days had been torture,
      physically and emotionally. But tomorrow? Tomorrow was Bobby's day.
      And he intended to enjoy it to the fullest.

      Unfortunately for Bobby Drake, the previous night's strain,
      mixed with lack of sleep, lead him to sleep in late that morning.
      Instead of rising with the sun as he intended, he opened lazy eyes to
      the mumbled whisperings and chuckles of his bunk mates. Blinking back
      the sting of the sun rays, Bobby hoisted himself up onto his elbows,
      running a hand through matted hair. "Bobby, man, you missed all the
      action!"
      "Huh...?" For a moment he remained clueless, until his plan
      came surging back to him. His eyes opened instantly, though he fought
      as best he could to contain his excitement. He wanted to know if he
      had succeeded, but not at the risk of giving himself away. "What
      happened...?" He looked from Summers, who, much to his surprise, was
      actually grinning slight, to Gambit, who was gazing at him with a
      small look of admiration. Bobby got the sinking feeling that he knew
      about what he had done, but also had a small feeling of hope, that
      the man wouldn't speak a word of it to the others who appeared to be
      unaware.
      "Seems somebody decided de Wolverine needed a bit o'
      humblin'."
      "That so?" Bobby pushed the blanket off himself and swung his
      feet around to rest on the ground. He felt the dirty edge in between
      his toes, which oddly enough felt strangely refreshing. Still, the
      cold bit at him, enough so that he hurried into warmer clothes, all
      the while awaiting some explanation about what had gone on that
      morning.
      "Yes, Mr.Drake, that's so!" John Allerdyce was practically
      bouncing around in excitement, though Gambit elbowed him in the ribs
      to cool him down some. If the platoon leader were to come by at that
      moment and hear them rejoicing in his little mishap, the four of them
      would be made to stay back at camp while the others went into
      town. "Saw it with my own two eyes as I went to breakfast. Seems
      somebody nearby was telling a joke of some sort. Yelled out somethin'
      about an attack. Well, you know Wolverine and his sense of hearing? I
      guess he picked up on it, but was still half asleep.
      "So, he gets up, not a stitch on him, and comes flying out
      the door. He hits an icepatch, and lands right in a pile of horse
      manure!" The excitement got to John so much so, that by now he had
      sat back onto the cot to tie, untie, and re-tie his boots, all while
      talking. Bobby let out a laugh, shaking his head. It was better than
      he imagined. Though he hadn't placed the horse manure there, he sort
      of regretted not thinking about it sooner. It was the topping to the
      wonderous revenge that, though he hadn't seen personally, still felt
      nice.
      "Weren' no ice patch, homme. Someone dug a hole, filled it
      wit' water an' lef' it dere."
      "You saying it's a prank, Gambit?" John looked skeptical, and
      Bobby's heart sank slightly. Suddenly, secrecy wasn't the best
      solution. How was he supposed to get his recognition, after all, if
      he kept quiet about all of this? Frowning in deliberation, he decided
      to think about how to remedy that while in town. "Who'd have the guts
      to do something like that? Especially to Wolverine, of all people?"
      "Don' know. But I reckon de camp will be one man shor' come
      Monday." The others nodded in agreement, all standing to their feet.
      "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm going into town.
      Something tells me, after this weekend, we're done for." Bobby's
      moment of glory passing before his eyes, his shoulders slumped some,
      though he was still proud. Chance had played a part in making his
      revenge on Wolverine successful. Pulling a shirt on, he quickly
      buttoned it up, watching the others leave the tent.
      Following shortly after, he was met by Gambit, who just stood
      silently and stared for a moment or two. Finally, he moved, offering
      a hand. "Nice job, Iceman." Letting a grin captivate him, Bobby shook
      the hand offered to him, before they started toward the transports
      that would take them away from this life.
      "Thanks, Gambit."
      "Remy. M'frien's call me Remy." Grinning a little more at
      that, Bobby buried his hands into his pockets and nodded, watching
      the ground pass beneath his feet as he walked.
      "Okay then, thanks Remy."
      "No problem. Now, le's go find us some ladies, neh?" Before
      he could protest, the Frenchman gave him a light shove onto the
      remaining transport before taking the seat beside him. Glancing back
      at the camp, Bobby saw Wolverine watching them. Unable to resist it,
      he brought a hand to his forehead and saluted his platoon leader,
      just as the transport pulled away.
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