2013.10.08 - Reporting To Jean

Mid-morning at the Xavier Institute, and Rachel's hair is still wet from the shower. But then, she didn't get home from her trip to Brooklyn until after 4am. Sleep might be for the weak, but she unashamedly crashed out and didn't even move before 10am. Awake, alert, and feeling much more human, she's got a lot on her mind, not a lot of time to deal with it, and exactly one person that she needs to talk to about it. Grabbing the first outfit that came to hand from her closet - and as a result she's dressed in nothing more impressive than a red hoodie and a pair of black leggings - Rachel goes in search of Jean Grey.

It's not a long search. Rachel doesn't even hesitate to use her telepathy to scan first the mansion, and then the grounds. It's swiftly and efficiently done, and even the brush of her psi-pattern will reveal that she's focussed and in some way oddly energised along with it. She walks briskly through the Institute, eschewing the siren call of a late breakfast, and it's not long before her steps draw her to the shore of the lake.

She doesn't wait until she's in earshot to make contact. << Morning Jean. I hope this isn't a bad time. >>

Jean is taking advantage of a rare spare period to get a jump on some marking. She's taken it out here to the lake partly because it's a nice day and partly because she's less likely to be disturbed. But, if anyone could find her, it's the other redheaded telepath. She even senses the searching brush, so isn't surprised by the interruption.

Her head rises and she glances back toward the mansion. << Morning, Rachel. Not at all. What's up? >>

As Rachel gets close enough to see the stack of paperwork next to Jean she knows that the older redhead isn't being /quite/ truthful with her, and her steps slow for a couple of paces, before she gives a mental shrug and continues at her previous pace. She's already here, she's not about to make her apologies and slink off back to the mansion just because Jean's being polite.

Settling down cross-legged on the grass next to Jean, Rachel can't help but look over her and grin a bit. Even after the previous night, even though she needs to leave pretty soon, it's still good to be home. Rachel looks out over the water for a moment to collect her thoughts, something that she should've done on the walk over, but she's still a bit distracted. "A couple of things." She says after a short pause. "I don't know if Kwabena's checked in with you yet...?" She leaves that hanging for a second and then continues anyway. "But we came back to stop a distraction becoming a problem." The particular details are Shift's to share, Rachel figures. "Jocelyn's holding the fort. You'd be proud of her. I know I am." Rachel smiles a bit to accompany her digression, then she shrugs uneasily. "In some ways, you could say it worked out. At least we know more than we did. But what we /did/ run into?" Rachel shakes her head, annoyed with herself. "Do you mind if I..?" She taps her temple. It's far easier when words aren't necessary.

Perhaps Jean was being polite. Just as likely, though, she's actually ok with the interruption. The Genosha mission is one of her many priorities, after all. And she does worry about them. "By all means," she says aloud, as Rachel taps her temple. If anyone understands that mind-to-mind is a far easier form of communication for them, it's Jean Grey.

<< I haven't spoken to Kwabena, >> she admits. <> This goes well, the kid will very likely be invited into the senior team. << So, what did you find? >>

Rachel nods gratefully. "Thanks." She doesn't wait for Jean to initiate the connection between them this time, instead reaching out with her own telepathy and forging a temporary link between them. If nothing else, the Genosha operation has increased the confidence and assurance with which she uses her powers.

Although as soon as the link is formed, it's likely Jean will notice a little something extra in Rachel's psi-pattern. A very faint, but very familiar residue, of something that Jean's warned Rachel off before.

In short, Rachel's mind smells faintly of fire.

Rachel gives a mental wince as she learns that Kwabena hasn't checked in. Not because she's worried anything's happened to him, but because if Jean already knew his side of the story this would be so much easier. << Someone wanted to get Kwabena's attention, and succeeded. We decided to deal with it now, before things in Genosha got too critical, and we couldn't afford the distraction. >> Rachel doesn't share the backstory, but images flicker across the link. A run-down drug den. Shift watching from across the street. Rachel with spiked hair, bad makeup and a punk outfit, spray-painting O D A M E on the front of the building... the images fast-forward. Rachel's mind touching something powerful, old, and very alien. Rachel facing a woman made of shadows, with flaming green eyes, who seems to know her. Or know /part/ of her. Rachel, angry, as Shift derails the plan and takes a direct hand himself... that image is excised swiftly from the stream.

<< Something neither of us were expecting. >> Rachel says, and the link deepens, sweeping Jean along with it if she lets herself go. Rachel, reaching out to the alien presence, the need to know what they were facing clear in her mind. A galaxy of burning green stars. A blink, and the stars align into vast, insectoid eyes. An inhuman voice, introducing itself as "The Daaarkness." Rachel, small against the scale of the presence before her, being drawn towards it - until a voice answers through her. "And I am Fire." The eagerness to burn - and then a glimpse, Rachel and Jean sitting together, as Jean tells her of the Phoenix.

Rachel blinks, and the link fades away. "Was that..." She blinks again, taking a quick, steadying breath. "/Anything/ you've felt before?" From the look on her face, she's unsure what she wants the answer to be.

Jean's expression moves from concern into grimness as the images, glyphs, and thoughts flood over her. She lets them come and doesn't try to censor or redirect them. "No," she says, clearly concerned. "The Darkness? No." The Phoenix, of course, yes. But it's the Darkness that concerns her. "Did you pull on the Phoenix to answer it," because she didn't feel that here, "or did it just rise?" She's guessing the latter.

And it only adds to her concern -- especially as a flash of a memory of Monet's Pale Man rises to the surface of her thoughts in the lingering connection.

Damn. When Jean admits she has no idea what Rachel faced either, the younger redhead is suddenly sure that's the answer she /didn't/ want. "I was afraid you were going to..." She starts, and then cuts herself off, shaking her head firmly. "No. No, I didn't. I didn't /have/ to. Whatever this thing is, it... seemed to call to the Phoenix /through/ me." Rachel pauses again, to be sure what she's about to say isn't wild speculation, that she's sure what she experienced. "It wanted the Phoenix to burn. I don't think it cared who or what got burned." Rachel shivers, then smiles crookedly at Jean. "A cosmic entity speaks through me and all I could think of was you telling me not to touch." Rachel's smile fades. "Thanks." She sounds like she means it, as if she's realised how little humour there really is in that situation. At that last flicker of contact from Jean, Rachel's brows draw together a bit. "Jean? Who's...?" And Jean's flicker of memory is replayed to her by the younger telepath.

Jean is, in fact, glad her earlier admonishment helped the younger telepath. Because it's not lost on her just how dangerous it would be if the Dark Phoenix were loosed. And she has no doubt that it was the Dark Phoenix the Darkness sought. She's felt that power before at least. And she doesn't really want to feel it again, no matter how tempting it sometimes is.

At the other question, however, she sighs and rubs her forehead. "I don't know," she admits. "I really don't know. One of our newest students... well, residents, really... shared his image with me. She calls him the Pale Man." She looks up, now, at Rachel, meeting her eyes. "He's a genetic manipulator and he wants something to do with the Summers." Perhaps the Greys as well. But, needless to say, the threat he represents is precisely why she doesn't hide him from the younger redhead, a Summers.

Rachel is not ready to lose herself to the whims of a cosmic entity of uncertain temperament and morality. Not even when the Darkness mocked her for breaking the link between them. She'd just wanted to get /away/. She refuses to think of it as cowardice.

For all that, it's perhaps a good thing that Jean has something else to distract her with, even if it's another warning. Rachel frowns, recalling the image that Jean shared with her. "Why us?" Rachel's clearly including Jean as a Summers whether she likes it or not. It's a distracted slip, nothing more. "What makes us so interesting?" Rachel looks out over the lake, a slightly dark mood settling over her that she does her best to dispel before looking back to Jean again. "Sorry." She offers. "Did she know anything else? Where did she run into this guy?" There's something else nagging at Rachel, that she needs to tell Jean, but now's not the moment.

Jean snirks now. "Why not us?" she replies, unconcerned about being included in the comment. She includes herself, in any case. "Think about it, Rachel: How many time travellers happen to be Summers or Grey or both? And all of us are powerhouses." Indeed, it could be argued that Cyclops is the weakest of the bunch... and he's no slouch.

"The man wants power. And Monet, the student I referred to... she's got it in spades, too. Another telepath and a strong one." She glances at the other woman. "I can show you what she showed me, but it was shared accidentally and in confidence. So, it can't become public knowledge."

That does seem like the only real answer. Why NOT them? Rachel has to admit that Jean makes sense. "Nate, Hope, me... did I miss anyone?" Rachel lists, attempting to lighten the mood and not really succeeding. She shakes her head. "I know it makes sense, I just wish it didn't." She's mostly saying that to herself, and quietens down when Jean starts speaking again.

Rachel looks intrigued as soon as Jean reveals that there's more to know - and that it's to be kept secret. Rachel's own ethics are sadly not at developed as Jean's own, so she doesn't even have to think about her answer. "If someone's after us I'd like to know everything there is to know." The words are spoken firmly, and there's only the slightest hesitation before she adds. "It won't go any further unless Hope or Nate are in imminent danger." She won't make promises she can't keep to Jean.

Jean is just fine with that promise, since Monet knows that Jean will do whatever she must to protect her family -- and, yes, they are all her family, for all that she will not call them her actual children. "That's all I can ask," she says.

She opens her mind now and shares with Rachel what Monet inadvertently shared with her... the broken fragments of memory.

In a street in Hammer Bay--

"I said... Now I see why your brother wanted you so badly. You really are a special one, aren't you, Monet?" The man begins to close the distance between them, dry voice slowly changing into a silky tone, marked distinctly by an archaic English accent. "I remember watching you and your sisters playing for hours, how frail you were back then. I imagine now you'd be able to rip my head from my shoulders without a thought, wouldn't you?"

And--

The most she's able to learn before the mental walls slam up around his mind is that, despite his already advanced age... he's even older than he appears. Approaching two centuries, in fact, and a lifetime of traveling and learning.

And--

Monet steps back, breathing shallow and fast. She lets the body drop, holding the head of her 'father' before her. There is blood on her dress. Carotid arteries are excitable. Her hands are covered in it. She breathes faster.

In a room in a living place--

She can just--it hurts. If only she could--oh god, it hurts. Monet keeps her eyes open. They are too wide and the muscles around them twitch often. She is forcing herself to see. Every other second, she fights a convulsion. The neural inhibitor is working. The dark figure is not thrown across the room, nor is he suddenly compelled to free her and then kill himself.

And--

The inhibitor does not punish simple thoughts. Monet is very good at building impressive things from simple thoughts. She thinks: don't make a noise. Keep your eyes open. She is not Monet. She is a camera. She is here to observe things for Monet to view later.

And--

"This is the key moment, of course. Getting people together is easier than you might think. It's simple logic, really, and excellent observational skills. Now, however, when my hard work comes to fruition, when the best of the best is finally ready to advance to the next step in evolution, I must be there to see it through. One wrong move and the whole thing fails, at which point I must start over."

The implications are truly terrible. He clearly sees her death as little more than a minor setback, just another obstacle to overcome, and he talks about it like it means next to nothing to him. As if it were nothing to manipulate people for generations until he got what he wanted. "So," he says, tracing her face with the cold steel of the scalpel, "I will try my hardest to make sure you survive. You are special, after all. A clone just wouldn't be the same... I've seen how that can turn out."

And--

As Monet turns to stare at him, he laughs a bit, only becoming more pleased at her refusal to go down. "I certainly did well with you, didn't I? Quite a specimen indeed."

He examines her with an appraising eye, before he murmurs, almost to himself, "Perhaps one of the younger Summers... Now that would be interesting. A few more years, of course. Too soon, now. Far too soon... But in another few years..."

Then his face--

As he speaks, he leans forward and suddenly, just like that, the shadows are gone and his face is displayed for her in all it's pale-faced glory. "You will make a fine example for the others to follow when the time comes for this world to evolve. Sweet dreams."

It's no wonder that Phoenix has claimed the girl as being under her protection.

Rachel feels Jean reach out and link with her, and her breathing slows as she allows the images to wash over her. The sense of her physical body grows tenuous as she concentrates on the scraps of memory, not wishing to miss any detail that might help protect herself or the others she has responsibility for. And trying not to think about how similar these broken fragments of memory are to parts of her own, when she looks too closely at what she remembers from her own world.

By the time the flow of memories end, Rachel has stopped breathing completely. The cruelty was bad enough, but the dispassionate manner in which it was employed is almost worse. If there had been rage... if there had been any emotion at all... but it seemed like there was nothing at all behind that pale face. Rachel sucks in a breath as her mind comes back to her body, and draws up her knees, looping her arms tightly around them as if she's cold, when in truth the temperature hasn't changed. "And that's what's hunting us." She says flatly, eyes turned toward the lake, but unseeing. "If he comes for me, I'll make sure he regrets it." Rachel's voice is low, and just for a moment there's a wash of heat from Rachel as her jaw tightens and anger washes through her. Anger at what was done to Monet, and what lies in wait for the rest of them.

Rachel stays where she is for a few moments, before she finally relaxes enough to meet Jean's eyes again. "Thanks for showing me." She says the words grimly, but her gratitude is genuine. "You'll keep her safe?" The question doesn't need to be asked, but Rachel's not unfeeling. Her lips draw together in a tight line. "Hammer Bay. He's not even going to have to come looking for me." Rachel shrugs, the motion of her shoulders jerky and sharp. "Nothing I can do about it. And I'd better get packed. Again." Rachel abruptly moves to stand, then turns back to face Jean. "Jean... thanks. Again. For everything. And there's one more thing." She takes a quick breath, then plows on. "The Darkness said one other thing, to it's... host, I suppose you'd call him that. It said he'd picked a pawn over the Queen." Rachel meets Jean's eyes. No prizes for guessing who's the Queen. "Be careful." She says simply.

As Rachel echoes her own emotions, reflecting what she felt when she first experienced Monet's memories, Jean gives a grim, humourless smile. "That's what's hunting us," she confirms. "And as soon as I figure out who or what he is, I will atomize him." She just might let the Phoenix truly loose for that purpose, too.

"I'll keep her safe," she tells Rachel, nodding. "I promise. As safe as I can." She looks up at Rachel as the other woman rises and blinks at the mention of the 'queen'. A grimace pulls at her lips. She nods, picking up her papers and rising as well.

"You, too."