Logs:Jump Start

Jump Start
Dramatis Personae Charles, Scott, Spencer	2023-07-23 << What are we going to tell him? >>
Location The Blackbird - somewhere over Pennsylvania
The sleek interior of the Blackbird, with its hi-tech controls and usually meticulously organized supplies and equipment, is a lot less sleek now; the well-stocked first aid kit is lying open on a table, surrounded by blood-soaked gauze and ripped paper packaging that nobody has cleared away yet. Scott is not clearing it away either, but he pushes it into one gross pile when he holds his phone out for Spencer to take. Then he is walking away, pulling his X-suit hood off and wiping his brow with the back of one broad hand, to sit in the cockpit behind Hank, clasping his hands between his knees. He's gotten off pretty lightly in this raid, save for the odd absence of the usual red glow behind his visor and a grazed shoulder -- clearly he's not prepared to do anything, yet, about either. He still hasn't tried to remove his visor. << Spence is talking to Jax, >> he tells Charles, though doubtless Charles already knows this. There's a very flat affect to his mental tone; he is scanning meticulously through his recollection of the last half hour, bloody and turbulent and chaotic as it's been. After a long pause -- << What are we going to tell him? >> Charles, at least, can tell who him is referring to, even if Scott weren't lifting his head again to look across the aircraft at Spence. Charles has another, smaller first aid kit that must have been stowed in his battle chair, for it's not a part of the Blackbird's familiar loadout. He does not reach for Scott, but the silent wordless offer to see to his shoulder is clear in his mind. << Whatever he wishes to know. I doubt if Jackson will conceal what he knows of the truth, and neither should we. >> He glances over at the other teenagers, their injured team members, and the medic diligently seeing to their wounds, then back to Spencer. For everyone else on board, he and his phone call just aren't that interesting at the moment. Something happening over there. Anyone who somehow manages to try listening in will promptly get distracted by literally anything else. << I will talk to him if you had rather not, but I think it'll be easier on him if you do. >> His faded eyes flick briefly to Scott's visor, then down to his own faintly trembling hands. The trembling stops. << Besides, I ought to figure out whether his inability to teleport is some sort of psionic compulsion, as seems most likely. >> << I wasn't planning to bullshit him, but how can I… >> Scott's gaze, implacable behind the dim ruby quartz, turns from Spencer back to the Professor, then to his bleeding shoulder -- wordlessly he accepts Charles's offer, removing the body armor and reaching with one hand to awkwardly tear open his sleeve. He doesn't respond at once to Charles's suggestion; he takes a slow breath -- a swell of grief, of apprehension, a little bit of why-me disbelief and annoyance at being the bearer of bad news twice in ten minutes -- before, << Roger that. >> Spence hangs up soon enough, though he just stares at the screen for a long moment after. Starts to rocks back and forth. Immediately stops again. Gets up and returns the phone to Scott. "I'm --" He lowers his eyes from not-looking at Scott to not-looking at Charles. His mind is a chaos of terror and guilt and frustration, but it probably doesn't take a telepath to recognize how close he is to shutting down. "Thank you." He hovers there a moment, then flips up the armrest of the seat beside Scott and drops sidelong into it without really thinking through why. "You don't have to tell me what happened, but" he begins, then just stops, uncertain where he was going. It's monumental effort for him to resolve it into something he's too afraid to say out loud. << who did we lose >> Not you. We. Scott takes his phone back mechanically, taps it against his thigh twice before slipping it into a pocket of his X-Suit. He is not-looking at Charles too, and probably Charles doesn't really need the mental nudge to open a mental link between the two of them. Out loud, though -- "Here," he says; he's reaching awkwardly for a compartment next to his chair to get a bottle of water, and hold it out for Spence to take. Though the question doesn't come as a surprise, it is definitely not the question Scott wants to answer right off the bat. Now he's not-looking at Spencer. << On the team that was evacuating the prison, we lost Mr. Tessier, Mr. da Costa, Ms. Hua, Alma, Scramble, Dusk, Blink, and Ion. On the other team we lost Ms. Pryde, Polaris, Steve, and Ryan. We got -- most of you kids out. We left Remi, Beau, Asva, Lael, and Sriyani. >> He pauses, his jaw twisting slightly to the side. << We would have come to get you as soon as we knew where you were. Everyone knew the risks. >> Charles guides his chair alongside Scott's so he can reach more easily, and starts gently cleaning the wound. He has to make an effort to extend the comforting warmth of his psychic presence, when Spencer comes over. Where it wells up around the others, emotions that threaten to overwhelm are not gone, not eased, but clearer -- more manageable and less slippery where they're suspended in the light. The link materializes seamlessly, but his offer to check Spencer's mind for tampering is hesitant, his worry seeping through where his shields have worn down. He does not look directly at either of them, his eyes intent on the work of his hands. Spence accepts the water automatically. Unscrews the cap and drinks from it automatically, too. Charles's offer receives a kind of disinterested assent. He's not really processing the implications. Not really processing anything at all except the names of the captured, and that only barely. The very first one makes something sink cold and heavy inside him, his horror only growing with each until the last one -- even though he knew it already, could not conceive of a universe where Ryan did not come -- hits him like a physical blow. He starts to curl up and props his hands on his knees to stop it. Tries and fails not to picture his friends -- his family in restraints, at the mercy of those who hate them, whisked away where they might never be found. << (oh God no) (we have to go back we have to go back) (we can't go back) >> He doesn't actually look toward the back of the passenger compartment, but he's firmly picturing the wounded team members, his own traumatized friends, Scott depowered, the Professor...also not fine, though he can't sort out why -- "Hive!" he blurts aloud, paling. << what happened to Hive why isn't he here >> Scott, even after he finishes his recitation, is still ticking through his list of the captured, with a kind of distant, thudding dread in his stomach -- he gets his own bottle of water from the compartment beside him, though he doesn't open it, just lets the plastic crinkle in his grip. << Hive is back at the school, >> he says, to Spence. << I don't know what happened to him. He's still alive. >> On a second line, privately to the Professor, though he doesn't raise his head to look at him, << do you know what happened to Hive? >> Charles's hands still in the midst of carefully applying betadine to Scott's shoulder. He closes his eyes. The warmth of his telepathic aura shudders briefly, then resumes steadier and warmer. << I have some small idea, >> he tells Scott, and beneath the carefully worded answer there is a compressed -- well, he doesn't think of it as a "report", but he's fine with Scott thinking of it that way -- bundle of information about his psionic battle. << Clearly it went worse for Hive. If I'd only found the bastard first... >> And now he has to buffer his aura against the heat of his anger. To Spence, as his hands calmly resume their work, << A mercenary telepath hurt them. Badly. I won't know how badly until we get back, but Jean is watching over him. >> Spence grips his knees. Stares down at the blood spatters on his scrub pants. Ion's blood. There's a lot more of it on his shirt, but he's not looking. << They were captured (right?) No one died (they might kill Ryan anyway oh no oh no --) >> But he's breathing through it. More or less. << They didn't all know what they were getting into. >> This is kind of plaintive as he looks up at Scott. << You didn't know what you were getting into. I knew you (they) (you) would come. I knew it would cost (too much this is too much) >> He squeezes his eyes shut. << I tried to get us out so this wouldn't happen. >> << Nobody has died that we know of. We lost track of Ion. >> Scott, now, is starting to shift uneasily, struggling to keep his shoulder still under the Professor's administrations. His brow furrows slightly. << No, I guess we didn't know, >> he admits. << What we did know is that we had to get you and your friends to safety. At whatever cost. >> Scott doesn't do gentle, but when he bows his head his thoughts seem more subdued, at least, muffled around the edges. << You did very well, Spencer. You kept your friends together, you kept them safe. Without your riot, we might not have heard where you were. >> << Winona has footage of the raid -- Scott's team, which included Ryan. >> There's comfort and solace now, too, in the warmth Charles is broadcasting, but Scott at least can tell it's a strain -- the way it was after Dawson's death. The way it was after Liberty Island. << (Mister) (Luci/en) (Tessier) >> this comes layered with Lucien's image and a more abstract sense of who the man is to the younger men, Charles' identification shifting subtly different in the thoughts he directs to Spencer and to Scott, << is prepared to make good use of it and, I expect, of Ryan and Steve's capture. It guarantees nothing, but it will be a powerful disincentive for Prometheus to mistreat them. >> He tapes down a gauze pad over Scott's wound, and, to Scott alone: << It's devilishly clever, but think I can just about undo what they did to prevent him from teleporting. He -- is very distressed, but I don't think he'll do anything rash. >> He conveys his hesitation as well as his uncertainty as to its justice toward the boy -- the young man, child or no -- who does seem to have a reasonable grasp of his admittedly dangerous impulses. << We're not together now. The kids left there aren't safe (promised I wouldn't leave them behind) >> Spence rubs at the back of his neck, finds the edge of his threadbare kippah where it's slid down. Clumsily unclips it. Clips it back on clumsily, too, its cartoon sun's smile tilted and sitting slightly crooked, but secure at least. "Okay," he says quietly, without knowing exactly what seems "okay" about the situation. << We have to go back, >> isn't a panicked mantra this time, << not right now. >> He looks up at Scott, then Charles, unsure whether he's looking for assurance or preemptively defying their disagreement. << But we're not leaving them. >> << Okay, >> is just for Charles; Scott doesn't think Spencer is likely to bolt either. For a moment, tugging his ruined sleeve back over the bandage, he fights the impulse to apologize for Ion rescuing Spence, which resolves itself into a quiet, << I know. >> He squeezes his water bottle briefly, enough to make the plastic crinkle again, then relaxes, his head still bowed. He drags his gaze up with difficulty to meet Spencer's, though only after Spence has done him the favor of looking at Charles instead, and drops it again quickly. << Not right now, >> he agrees, but silently Scott is still flipping through their losses with numbed-down dread, tamping down the churn of (how can we do this again?) (this is what Jax has been doing for fourteen years) (we knew the risks) (I told him) (almost the entire team --) << We will go back, >> is what emerges eventually from that muddle, quiet and unconfident. << I hope soon. But I don't know when. >> Charles settles back in his chair, trying with dubious success to avoid looking like a slump. << We must see to our wounded, then we will regroup and consult with the others. Spencer, >> he doesn't actually need to think a name -- it's perfectly obvious to both Scott and Spence who he's addressing, and also that the other still hears it, << Prometheus installed a telepathic block in your mind that has prevented you from using your power. I've untangled it and am in the process of removing it altogether. I don't expect you will feel anything, but in a moment you should be able to teleport again. >> He studies the teenager solemnly. << You mustn't go back yourself. You know that will not help anyone. Your friends and family out here need you, too. >> Spencer does not, indeed, feel anything when he says, with only a distant whisper of dread, << There. It is done. >> Spence nods absently. Sips at his water. Suddenly sits up straighter, eyes gone wide. He fights back the urge to try the moment Charles informs him of the block. << Thank you. I know. I won't. >> The corner of his mouth twitches but doesn't quite tug into a smile. << Ryan would kill me. >> He means it, but can hardly wait for the << done >> before he vanishes -- -- and reappears in the co-pilot's seat beside Hank. Doesn't stay long enough to hear the doctor grouse before he's gone again -- -- out where only Charles can sense him falling through the night, well below the Blackbird but still miles above the ground. The wind whips away his tears and his unthinking words of praise and some small measure of his despair. His next jump merely -- reverses his orientation to bleed off the momentum gravity has given him, and at the moment of weightlessness he vanishes from the air -- -- and reappears inside the Blackbird, throwing his arms around Charles. "I'm so so sorry for all the times I've been rude to you you're the best headmaster ever." He straightens up and starts to awkwardly maneuver himself out from where he's wedged between the Battle Chair and the bulkhead. Then remembers he can just blink -- -- back to the other side of Scott, though he doesn't sit back down. He wants nothing better than to go directly to his father. But then he takes a deep breath and lets it back out. "I can get folks back to the medlab real fast now," he says, very serious and still a little breathless. "See to our wounded, right?"