[Peter]
The room was quiet, machines beeping softly. Bobby was in a bed, tubes and wires connected to him. The bandages on his chest looked stark white against his skin. He looked so… vulnerable. Like a regular person. Not the powerful mutant who could conjure blizzards.
I pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat. Just sat. Watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, listened to the machines. My eyes could barely stay open from tiredness. But I couldn't leave. Not him. Not after being… not after almost being too late. I should have known. Should have checked in. Should have been there.
The hours blurred. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of monitors. I must have dozed off, my head resting on the edge of the bed, before the sound of the door opening quietly jolted me awake.
I lifted my head, blinking in the sudden intrusion of light from the hallway. Standing in the doorway was Shadow.
She looked small, hesitant, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, shoulders slightly hunched. She was wearing a simple jacket, maybe having rushed here as soon as she heard. Her gaze swept the room, landing first on me, then fixing on Bobby in the bed.
A small, choked sob escaped her lips. Tears spilled over, tracking silently down her pale cheeks. She didn't say anything, couldn't seem to form the words.
My heart ached for her. I knew Shadow was close to Bobby, and to me. A quiet part of our little trio. But I hadn't realized how much. Seeing her like this, so raw, so visibly hurting… it broke something inside me that was already pretty fragile.
I stood up slowly, pushing the chair back. My limbs felt stiff. I wanted to offer comfort, to say something reassuring, something that would fix the pain I saw in her eyes. But the words caught in my throat. What could I say? "He'll be fine," when I wasn't sure? "I'm sorry," when I felt like I had failed him? I was good at cracking jokes under pressure, at swinging into danger, at fixing tech. I wasn't always great at… this.
She finally moved, taking a shaky step into the room, her eyes never leaving Bobby. Her nervousness around strangers usually made her quiet, but this... this was something else. Deep, silent grief.
I just stood there, watching her, my own eyes stinging. The silence stretched between us, heavy with sorrow and the low, steady beeping of the machines keeping Bobby alive. Forest Park, the blood on the ice, the frantic flight, the endless wait, the ghost of 3D-Man whispering 'too late'... it all culminated in this moment. Two friends, standing vigil over another.
"Hey, Shadow," I said softly, pushing myself up. My movements felt stiff, rusty.
She shuffled forward, her eyes fixed on Bobby. Her lip trembled. She didn't say anything, just walked to the other side of the bed, her steps unnaturally slow. She reached out a hand towards Bobby's arm but stopped short, hovering just inches away, as if afraid her touch might shatter the fragile peace he was in.
Seeing her like this... it hurt.
"The doctors said he's stable," I offered, trying to fill the silence, to offer some hope or relief for her grab onto too. "The surgery went well. This is just... to help him recover."
She nodded, finally lowering her hand to gently rest on the sheet near Bobby's arm. Her fingers clenched the fabric. "They... they said it was bad," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Really bad."
"It was," I admitted. "But he's tough. Bobby's one of the toughest guys I know, this nothing to him."
More silence. Just the monitors beeping. The low hum of the hospital's life support.
Then, barely audible, she asked, "What if... what if he doesn't wake up?"
It was the same question that had been echoing in my own head, the one I'd been desperately trying to silence.
I took a deep breath, the stale air doing little to calm the tremor in my hands. I looked at Bobby, then at Shadow's tear-streaked face. Her quiet terror was a mirror to my own deepest fears. My usual instinct was to crack a joke, make it seem like everything was ok even when it wasn't. But looking at her, so exposed, so scared... I couldn't. Not to her, not about this.
"That feeling," I said, my voice low, rough. "That fear... that you weren't enough. That you could lose someone... and you had a hand in it, or you couldn't stop it..."
I trailed off, the ghost of 3D-Man standing just behind Shadow's shoulder in my mind's eye.
Shadow looked up at me, her eyes wide, searching.
"During... during the Battle for New York," I continued, the words feeling heavy and foreign on my tongue. It wasn't something I talked about. Not really. Not with anyone. It was locked away, part of the secret weight I carried. But Shadow's vulnerability felt like a key. "It was... a mess. Everywhere you looked, people were in danger. I was... I was doing everything I could. Trying to be everywhere at once."
I looked away from Shadow, focusing instead on the patterns on the hospital floor. "3D-Man... he died. Right there. While I was... too slow. Not good enough."
Shadow didn't say "I'm sorry." She didn't offer platitudes. She just looked at me, her own tears still flowing, but her expression shifting. It was empathy. Deep, quiet understanding. She was facing the potential of her own loss, right here, with Bobby.
After a long moment, she finally spoke, her voice still shaky but clearer now. "That fear..." she echoed softly. "That grief and pain... does it go away?"
"I Don't know," I managed, a small, humorless laugh escaping me."For some maybe... but for me? I don't know if it'll go away."
She looked back at Bobby, her touch now resting gently on his still arm. "He's... he's so kind," she said, her voice a little stronger, less fearful, more... fond. "He always makes time. For anyone. Even when things are crazy." A small, watery smile touched her lips. "He never makes you feel like you're... too quiet. Or in the way."
"He does," I agreed, my own voice softening. "He's a good friend."
We sat there for a while longer, the silence now less empty, filled instead with shared worry and quiet understanding. My confession hadn't magically fixed anything, hadn't woken Bobby up. But the weight felt... just a little bit lighter.
Looking at Bobby, then at Shadow, who now rested her forehead gently against the sheet covering his arm, I could only hope he would make it.