She couldn't pinpoint exactly when she fell in love with him. Upon reflection, she realized it was probably something that had happened over time, gradually. Wasn't that how it was supposed to happen? It wasn't like she woke up one morning, and realized she was in love with him ...
...except, that was exactly what had happened.
It was the little things. He was never afraid to reach out for her. He'd give his life to save her. He smiled, sometimes, a smile that she knew was all about her. No one else made him smile like that. No one else made his features soften like that, gave him that look.
She knew he wasn't the only one to smile like that. How many times, especially lately, had Bobby stomped out of a room when Logan had come in? Because of the way she reacted to him. That smile that she had, just for him. The way she wasn't afraid to reach out for him. The way she knew he'd always, always have her back, no matter what.
***
He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he'd fallen in love with her. Maybe the first time he saw her. Maybe that explained everything. Why he let her come with him. Why he did everything he could, to make sure she was safe. Why he occasionally imagined accidentally losing Iceman on missions.
It was the little things. The way she brightened up the room when he walked in. The way she smiled, that always made him feel like smiling back. The way she was so comfortable casually touching him. Even when she was gloved, the others shied away. He never did.
He wondered if it was right, or wrong, or if that mattered. It didn't feel wrong to him.
***
It was an accident, but so much in her life, was. At dinner, her hand brushed against Bobby's, and thoughts flooded her mind. Thoughts that weren't of her, but of John.
Bobby jerked his hand away, but he knew she knew. For a moment, they sat in stunned silence. She was confused; he was mortified she'd found out.
Finally, "I was going to tell you..."
"No, you weren't. If you were going to tell me, you would have told me after the first time ... before you did it again." She rose, moving away from him, numb.
Where to go? Who to talk to, about this? Kitty? Jubilee? They probably knew. The professors? No, thanks. She was moving blindly through the halls, part of her thinking she should just go to her room, but then ... then, his arms were around her, and he was pulling her against him, asking her what was wrong, darlin' please talk to me, and his lips pressed against her cheek.
Perhaps he'd forgotten. Perhaps he simply wanted to ground her. Perhaps he needed to do it, so she'd know, what he couldn't say. She made a soft noise, and crumpled against him, her arms around his shoulder, her face buried against his shirt.
He'd lifted her up, carried her somewhere. She didn't know where; her world was him, his shirt, his face, his scent, and the rest, suddenly, just didn't matter anymore.
"I love you, too," she whispered, drawing her head away to look up at him.
He wanted to know what had upset her, but he figured he had an idea. She was bound to find out eventually ... and he wondered how it had come about. But now wasn't the time for questions. He lifted her gloved hand, kissing the back of it. "You gonna be okay?"
A little smile crept across her lips, and she nodded. "I will, now."