ArchivedLogs:X-Gene Evangelists

X-Gene Evangelists
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson	4 April 2014 Have you heard the good word? (Part of the Perfectus TP.)
Location <XS> Chimera Room – FL2
The guest rooms at Xavier's are spacious and comfortable, well-furnished suites readied for visitors. A mid-sized guest suite, its sitting room is large but its bathroom and two accompanying bedrooms -- one a queen, one holding two full beds -- snug and cozy. Its windows look out over the front yard, providing a wide view of the forests and lake in the distance. In here the decor is subdued, tawny golds and ash-grey stone with hints of green thrown here and there to brighten it. Monstrous creatures prowl the room's artwork, amalgam in shape -- lion heads, dragon wings, scorpion tails; small glass figurines hunch on the bookshelf and hang painted on the walls. It has been an impossibly long day, starting with an excruciatingly drawn-out and hangovery de-hived morning, a long work day, a quick break for dinner, and more work out in the van. Micah finally abandoned what still needed doing to go through bedtime rituals with Spence and read him his chapter from /A Wrinkle in Time/ for the night, the boy fortunately not having laid claim to being too old for such things yet. Only with the little one safely tucked into bed does he finally get to his /own/ evening rituals. A Thermos of tea sits on an end table in the bedroom, waiting for him as he returns from the bathroom. His hair is just-showered wet, body clad in green and blue plaid pajama pants, a navy blue henley shirt, and a pair of fuzzy cyan socks. His first stop is to the clothes hamper, where he deposits his plasticky-smelling work clothes before pulling into a long yawn-stretch. Jackson's entrance into the room is more abrupt than perhaps it needs to be, shoving the door open with more of a /thud/ than is good for LittleOneBedtimes. He has changed since earlier in the day, swapping out his old bland clothes for /new/ bland clothes after a descent into the sewers -- jeans, Cooper Union tee, Xavier's sweatshirt. He at least doesn't smell sewery though he /does/ smell rather like -- fried fish? Maybe barbecued /shark/. There's not, actually, much to be read in his expression, kind of quietly blank, but the agitation in his movements is glaringly clear as he beelines for Micah, dropping his messenger bag just inside the bedroom doorway and closing the door with a thump behind him. Then turning to /fling/ his arms around his husband -- though his way-too-tight hug only lasts a bare instant before he is pulling away. /Probably/ because in that bare instant it is /also/ glaringly clear that he is dangerously hot to the touch, a painful heat that, thankfully, is pulling away from Micah to start pacing the room. The sudden loud sound startles Micah out of his yawn, always an awkward position to get caught in. He turns on a heel abruptly, regarding the door with knitted brows. "Jax? Are you okay, honey? Did somethin' go wrong at the fight club?" Perhaps the scent is what prompts his addition of, "Are the twins okay?" His arms open wide to accept hurtling husband-hugs, clinging tight even through the searing too-hot sensations from him until such time as Jax chooses to pull away. Perhaps he's training for a Dune-style humanity test...or could be he's just stubborn when his people are upset. "Honey, what happened? Stop a second an' talk t'me." "The -- huh? What -- no, the pups are --" Jackson shakes his head, waving a hand out towards the windows -- or maybe the lake glimmering silvery in the moonlit distance. "Here. Fine. Shane's healin' up, he took on /Kay/ tonight --" His arms curl around his chest, and he stops his pacing, briefly; the heat from him can be felt even at a distance. Around him light ripples unsteadily. He tightens his arms around his chest, and the room starts to transform around them, grass sprouting from the floorboards, the walls rippling away to become stands of peach trees spreading off into the distance. The bed turns into a large flat slab of mossy overgrown rock that Jackson climbs up on to flop backwards against its (thankfully still comfortable-soft) length. He stares up at the ceiling-now-turned-sky, focusing his attention upwards on a -- bird? No, larger, bat-winged -- silhouetted against the sky overhead. Slowly the heat starts to drain, energy funnelled outward into these sweeping changes of illusion. "This mornin'." His voice is calm, at least, though his muscles are still tense. "Someone kidnapped Dusk an' Ion. Jus' -- /took/ them. Shot Dusk? Shoved 'em in a /van/ an' /drove off/." "Oh, ohgood." Micah heaves an audible sigh of relief, a fair fraction of tension easing from his posture at the report of the twins' safety. "Kay? Ohgosh. Was he...okay? With the fire? Able t'handle it? I didn't know if...they'd been like... You an' Spence /both/ with the fiery nightmares, y'know?" His lips press thin as Jax goes so far as to transform the room into his Happy Place, crawling onto the bed-turned-rock next to his husband. His head shakes in a slow denial of the last announcement. "/Kidnapped/ Dusk an' Ion? How's that even /possible/? Dusk fights like...terrifyin'. An' Ion can zap outta bad situations if he needs to...ain't nothin' t'sneeze at in a fight, neither. Do we know...who? Why? Any leads as t'where they are now?" "They're both terrifyin', Micah, I've /fought/ Ion, Fridays, that boy's near killed me an' /I/ ain't hardly no slouch." Jackson presses the heel of his hand against his eye. Overhead there's a veritable /storm/ of bats that fly by, disappearing into the trees. "I don't know if Shane was okay with it. I weren't there for the start'a the fight. I think he's so /mad/ about Dusk an' Ion he ain't got space for bein' scared, though." The leaves on the trees around them rustle silently, moving to a breeze that cannot be felt. Jackson lets out a small whimper, hand moving from his eye to press against his apparently still kind of pounding temple. "We don't know -- Rasputin was with 'em. He says -- that it was mutants. An' from the sounds'a things they come /prepared/. Had a woman wieldin' water at Ion -- that /can't/ have been no accident. An' jus' -- jus' shot Dusk straight up. But if it was /other mutants/ attackin' 'em, Micah, it -- it coulda been the same people what took Anole." “I know...I know, oh, hon.” At that whimper, Micah moves in to cradle Jax close, too-hot or no. “So...y'think they wanted one or both of 'em specific. An' sent people as would have abilities perfect t'work against 'em.” He shudders as if catching a chill, impossible as that might be in his current proximity to Jax. “Did...are there any leads? I know Jim was lookin'. An' you were gettin' people here t'look into it, an' tellin' the Morlocks. Is there...do we know /anythin'/?” Jackson has, at least, cooled down from dangerously-hot to merely uncomfortably-hot with the continued expenditure of energy needed to maintain the large-scale illusion. He shudders, turning inward to rest his head against Micah's chest. His arm curls around Micah, wrapping in close and tight. There's quiet, for a while. The trees still sway in an imagined breeze; a flock of birds /shaped/ like starlings but plumed in brilliantly rainbow colours swoops by overhead. The images start to fade away as Jackson gets his over-flow of energy more under control, slipping off to leave the bedroom plain once more. "Sage an' I went to the house of -- of one'a the people what was. Holdin' Anole prisoner. We found --" Here he's quiet, briefly. His fingers tighten into Micah's shirt. "... it was more'n a little creepy. Guy had his room just /papered/ in news stories. Seemed like everything about mutants anyone bothered to /print/ he tacked up on his wall. An' reams'a notebooks goin' /on/ about us bein' the -- superior species. An' --" He draws in a slow breath. "An' s'computer had notes. On. Prometheus experiments. In takin' mutant powers." Micah squeezes Jax tighter, chin tipping down to press lips in a light kiss to his bald head. "But the people who were holdin' Anole were mutants, I thought? An' the people who took Ion an' Dusk. Why would they need t'work on takin' mutant powers if they already are...?" His teeth set on edge. "Y'think they're tryin' t'turn /everybody/ into mutants? So there's no...people without special abilities anymore? Like...X-gene evangelists?" This time the teeth meet with his lower lip. "But /why/ would you abuse mutants that way if y'think they're superior an' want t'make other people like 'em? I guess. Like /themselves/. It...don't make a whole lotta sense to sacrifice mutants t'make more mutants." "I don't -- I don't think they /are/ mutants," Jackson answers Micah quietly. "I think we just assumed they was mutants because they had abilities most folk don't. But I don't think they're mutants. I think they /stoled/ those abilities /from/ mutants. I think they're tryin' to make themselves -- somethin' else. An' killin' us to get there." "Y'mean, y'think these're...regular humans." Micah's eyes squeeze closed, fingers scrunching into the fabric of Jax's shirt. "Like Malthus. Stealin' powers...just. More successful in the execution?" He swallows hard, eyes opening again. "But the person's house y'went to...he'd been killed rescuin' Anole, right? So he's kind of a...dead lead. Do we know anythin' 'bout the others? Or where they're workin' out of? It...they /aren't/ with Prometheus, are they?" "Don't know. Malthus seemed pretty successful when -- I saw him down in --" Jackson swallows, pressing his face up against Micah's shirt. "I don't /know/. Maybe they're successful. Maybe they /ain't/ enough an' they keep killin' folks to -- /stay/ powered I don't. Really know anything except --" He shakes his head, slowly rolling back against the mattress and tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling. "Dead guy was a doctor. Don't know 'bout whether he was with Prometheus or not. Might coulda been. Kinda fell off the map for a few years when Sage was lookin' into his background. S'pose Prometheus doctors might do that. He --" Jackson frowns, brows scrunching together. "-- was real active in this church up in the Bronx. That's about the most we know on him an' the others we got /no/ leads jus' yet. His journals read like some crazy /cult/ though." "But he...it didn't... He was crazy an' the powers didn't /stick/. These people sound more...stable. The way they're bein' described. Though I guess they could just be /serial/ ability thieves." Micah pales, looking like he might be ill for some moments. "He was a /doctor/. Maybe ex-Prometheus. Ugh. I just don't /understand/ how people can..." He cuts himself off, looking thoughtful at the mention of the church group and cult in quick succession. "Y'think the church group /is/ these people? Meetin' up to...upgrade humanity?" "Don't know if these people's powers stick or not. Ain't -- had enough experience with them t'know for sure. Don't know much'a /anything/ for sure." Jackson lifts a hand, pressing it to his temple and rubbing there slowly. His eye closes in a long squeeze of a wince. "Could be. S'worth lookin' into, 'least, on account'a it's all we /got/. I mean. Maybe s'just a normal church. But -- maybe." His teeth sink down against his lip. "... wish Jim was in fit state for a stakeout." The guilt in his voice here is thick. "S'a few too many unknowns. We need t'collect some more data. An' /fast/ 'fore anythin' happens t'Dusk." Micah's arms tighten again at the wince and the guilt. "Jax. What happened t'Jim ain't your /fault/. An' besides...this is the /worst/ group t'send people with special abilities after /sneaky-like/. If they're disappearin' folks? Stealin' their abilities? Shouldn't nobody be goin' near 'em. Maybe...should tell the students 'round here what can manage it t'stay on campus as much as possible. For a little while. 'Cause these folks is dangerous an' we can't let people with active X-genes get too close to 'em by accident..." He quiets again, looking pensive. Then hesitant. "I could check out the church." "What happened t'Jim was --" Jackson doesn't finish this thought, words cutting off into a shuddery breath. Around him there is a creeping haze of shadow making its way up his arms. His hand rubs harder at his head. His eye only cracks back open at this last statement from Micah. "You?" This sounds startled. "Micah, these folks is dangerous as heck an' half the /country/ knows you're m'husband they might well shoot you soon as look at you." Micah's hands move to run over Jax's arms soothingly, trying to chase away the shadows. "How many other card-carryin' non-mutants d'we have that'll volunteer for this on short notice, honey? I'm in way less danger from these folks than any of you are. I ain't got nothin' they /want/." He puffs out a breath all at once. "An' they might have somethin' I want. Or...not that I /really/ want, but that they'd /expect/ me t'want." Jackson's eye shifts towards the door, a slow pallor creeping into his face that stands in sharp contrast to the darkening shadows around him. "You got plenty they want. S'just asleep in the next room now." His voice is very quiet, not argument so much as just fear. He returns his gaze to Micah slowly as the shadow around him trembles. "An' folks who'd dismember kids -- you think they'd balk at killin' you if they thought you was tryin' to jam them up?" "But that's the whole point. Y'all would stay /here/. Safe. Away from them." Micah's hands continue their steady arm-petting. "I don't think they'd hesitate, if they thought I was there t'stop 'em. But what if they think I'm there t'help 'em? Out of...pure, deep-seated self-interest?" His gaze flicks over the shadows before resting again on Jax's features. "An' maybe it's /just/ a church group. But how're we t'know 'til someone checks it out?" Jackson lifts his hand to cup the side of Micah's face, fingertips tracing gently against the other man's jaw as his forehead comes to rest lightly against Micah's. "/Someone/," he agrees unhappily. "Someone /not you/, Micah, I /need/ you if anythin' happened t'you I --" He hesitates here, hand a little trembly where it rests too-warm against Micah's skin. "... ohgosh." His eye has opened wider as if with some sudden realization; his voice is abruptly very small. The shadow around him starts to fade. "I love you. I --" And then with an unhappy sort of resignation: "Micah, you can't lie worth a hill'a beans." "Someone like /who/? Who's gonna...find Dusk an' Ion an' protect /our kids/, honey? This needs doin' an' it needs doin' now." Micah nuzzles slightly into the touch of Jax's fingers on his cheek. "I know." He's /already/ blushing. "But...I /can/ act. If I'm puttin' on a /performance/ it'd run dif'rent. That I've done before an' I can do it well." He glances down at his leg, covered though it is in pajama pants and sock presently. "But, Jax. We /just/ stole Anole from 'em. An' he's...missin' an arm an' when I went t'help 'im it turned out he might be /regrowin'/ the thing all on 'is own. If I go in there, an' this is them, an' they're doin' what we think? I'd be...exactly the kinda person they'd expect t'/want/ this. If they could just take a special ability an' give me a leg I ain't never had. An' they /know/ I'm perfectly comfortable bein' 'round special abilities if they know who I am. I could just play up...wantin' 'em for m'self. Self-interest an' envy people /understand/ an' b'lieve." "Someone like not-my-husband," Jackson doesn't-really-protest so much as just whisper, quiet and shaky. "Is this how y'feel every time I -- Lord, Micah, how d'you stand it? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He brushes his lips lightly against Micah's, fingers sliding around behind the other man's head. "You're 'bout the least self-centered man I /know/, though. You --" His other hand is tracing down against Micah's side, brushing down along the outside of Micah's thigh until his fingertips reach the socket of the prosthesis. His eye closes, fingers trembling again. "S'pose it would sound believable. To anyone what didn't know you're already a superhero." "We're gonna need more of a /name/ with that suggestion 'fore it's viable, sugar," Micah reminds softly. "It's...yeah, it's hard watchin' y'all go headlong into danger all the time." He quiets to return the kiss. "I won't be bein' /me/, though. I'll be playin' the role...they expect. Instead. Let 'em see what they want. I mean...with what I /do/. What they're doin's like a twisted version of it, y'know? Makin' people /better/. Just...doin' it with unethical procedures 'stead of with technology. They'll /want/ t'see someone like me agreein' with 'em. It'll make it easier." "Oh gosh. Now I'm jus' picturin' you gone all evil mirror-universe Micah. Twirly moustache an' a -- fluffy white lapcat for pettin'." The very faint note of dark humour in Jax's tone doesn't make it all the way into an actual laugh. His hand slides back up to curl around his husband's waist, pull Micah in practically on top of him. "You jus' -- if things start to go ugly you. Get /out/, yeah? An' hit your panic button an' we'll -- we'll." This time his words just end in another kiss, deep and somewhat desperate in its sudden intensity. "See? Script writes itself," Micah very nearly jokes. "I'll be /so/ careful. As careful as I can without riskin' Dusk an' Ion. If it's goin' south I'll get out. Last thing we need is t'tip 'em off..." /His/ words cut off in the sudden kiss, which he returns readily. "I love you." "I love you." Jackson's fingers knead in against the back of Micah's neck, his other hand slipping beneath his husband's shirt to trace fingertips lightly against the small of Micah's back. The fervent intensity does not diminish for his next kiss, or his next. "Jus'. Come home t'me."