The Rictor Effect: Setting out
Jul. 4th, 2006 03:50 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsThe team prepares to leave in pursuit of Magneto, and Scott and Haller have a brief talk.
The pants hadn't been a problem -- or at least, had been as little a problem as new leather could present. Nor the boots. Slipped on and zipped, simple, easy.
The jacket was another story.
Jim stood in front of his locker, studying the leathers with something like trepidation. Had it only been a month ago that he'd found Cain in here like this? Now he understood.
"One arm at a time," came Scott's voice behind him. His CO gave him a faint smile as he moved past Jim to his own locker. "It goes on one arm at a time. Try to focus on the practicalities, rather than the symbolic aspect. You do a whole lot less frozen staring that way, trust me."
Jim laughed, a little nervously. "Okay, so it's obvious," he said, glancing up over at the man. He rubbed his right hand with his left, not yet making a move to reach towards the uniform. "It's possible I should've followed procedure and worn the greys first . . . but no. We had to be difficult." He gave Scott a half-smile. "Tell me it was at least this hard for you."
"The people who like to make mock of the leathers would probably have a hard time believing this, but the first time I looked at my original set, my very first words were 'What the FUCK?' With Charles sitting right there, which was kind of embarrassing." Scott adjusted his own jacket, which looked very little like that original set at this point. Given the sort of situations they were increasingly involved in, making the leathers a little more nondescript had made a lot of sense. The only Xs on this set were the collar tabs.
"Yeah, I admit to similar thoughts. And with Charles the distinction is kind of moot." Jim sighed and dropped his hands, giving Scott a questioning look. "So what was his explanation? Just curious."
"It wasn't," Scott said very dryly, "entirely his idea. The leathers, the X-Men, the design of the sublevels... the outward trappings had another influence."
The obvious question was "Whose?", but that died on Jim's lips as the pieces clicked into place. All the school's advanced defenses and well-devised escape-routes, the nearly paramilitary approach to the protection of mutant rights -- and the uniforms. A show of solidarity. Of . . . brotherhood.
Of course. Charles hadn't founded the school alone, after all.
"Okay," Jim said, mouth twitching in a faint smile, "that's irony."
"Tell me about it. Especially today." Scott pulled at his collar, then gave Jim a long look. "You're going to be fine, you know," he said quietly. "You're ready for this."
Jim said nothing for a long moment, eyes fixed on the silver Xs that shone in the shadows of the locker. Formally, he'd decided on the leathers because what the boy would need if and when they retrieved him was a feeling of security -- that sense of strength and uniformity of purpose the uniform was meant to promote. It would not be served by having one of his rescuers standing conspicuously apart.
That wasn't the only reason. This could be big. Bigger than he'd ever conceived of when joining the team, if Scott and Charles' suspicions about Magneto's intentions were correct. No one was pressing him, but Jim knew this was no time for personal hangups. Staying in the plane was all very well and good when a mission could be safely plotted and strategized, but the cold, hollow twinge in his gut told him better than to expect anything to go as planned.
Cthon. Ushuaia. Masque's victims. The FoH offices. Marie-Ange's mind. Mauritania. He may have stumbled a few times, but he hadn't fallen. Now was no time to stop.
Wordlessly, Jim drew the jacket off the hangar. One arm, then the other, just like Scott had said. The leather was still stiff and new. For a moment he only stood there, motionless as he felt the weight of it settle across his chest and shoulders. Then, in a slow, purposeful movement, he slotted the zipper into place and drew it up.
"Yeah," he said at last, voice equally soft, "we're ready."
Jim went to Nathan's locker and removed the leathers hanging there, carefully folding them over his arm. With his other hand he extracted the psimitar, leaning it against his shoulder to push the locker door closed with one heel. He turned to Scott and nodded.
"Okay. All set."
The pants hadn't been a problem -- or at least, had been as little a problem as new leather could present. Nor the boots. Slipped on and zipped, simple, easy.
The jacket was another story.
Jim stood in front of his locker, studying the leathers with something like trepidation. Had it only been a month ago that he'd found Cain in here like this? Now he understood.
"One arm at a time," came Scott's voice behind him. His CO gave him a faint smile as he moved past Jim to his own locker. "It goes on one arm at a time. Try to focus on the practicalities, rather than the symbolic aspect. You do a whole lot less frozen staring that way, trust me."
Jim laughed, a little nervously. "Okay, so it's obvious," he said, glancing up over at the man. He rubbed his right hand with his left, not yet making a move to reach towards the uniform. "It's possible I should've followed procedure and worn the greys first . . . but no. We had to be difficult." He gave Scott a half-smile. "Tell me it was at least this hard for you."
"The people who like to make mock of the leathers would probably have a hard time believing this, but the first time I looked at my original set, my very first words were 'What the FUCK?' With Charles sitting right there, which was kind of embarrassing." Scott adjusted his own jacket, which looked very little like that original set at this point. Given the sort of situations they were increasingly involved in, making the leathers a little more nondescript had made a lot of sense. The only Xs on this set were the collar tabs.
"Yeah, I admit to similar thoughts. And with Charles the distinction is kind of moot." Jim sighed and dropped his hands, giving Scott a questioning look. "So what was his explanation? Just curious."
"It wasn't," Scott said very dryly, "entirely his idea. The leathers, the X-Men, the design of the sublevels... the outward trappings had another influence."
The obvious question was "Whose?", but that died on Jim's lips as the pieces clicked into place. All the school's advanced defenses and well-devised escape-routes, the nearly paramilitary approach to the protection of mutant rights -- and the uniforms. A show of solidarity. Of . . . brotherhood.
Of course. Charles hadn't founded the school alone, after all.
"Okay," Jim said, mouth twitching in a faint smile, "that's irony."
"Tell me about it. Especially today." Scott pulled at his collar, then gave Jim a long look. "You're going to be fine, you know," he said quietly. "You're ready for this."
Jim said nothing for a long moment, eyes fixed on the silver Xs that shone in the shadows of the locker. Formally, he'd decided on the leathers because what the boy would need if and when they retrieved him was a feeling of security -- that sense of strength and uniformity of purpose the uniform was meant to promote. It would not be served by having one of his rescuers standing conspicuously apart.
That wasn't the only reason. This could be big. Bigger than he'd ever conceived of when joining the team, if Scott and Charles' suspicions about Magneto's intentions were correct. No one was pressing him, but Jim knew this was no time for personal hangups. Staying in the plane was all very well and good when a mission could be safely plotted and strategized, but the cold, hollow twinge in his gut told him better than to expect anything to go as planned.
Cthon. Ushuaia. Masque's victims. The FoH offices. Marie-Ange's mind. Mauritania. He may have stumbled a few times, but he hadn't fallen. Now was no time to stop.
Wordlessly, Jim drew the jacket off the hangar. One arm, then the other, just like Scott had said. The leather was still stiff and new. For a moment he only stood there, motionless as he felt the weight of it settle across his chest and shoulders. Then, in a slow, purposeful movement, he slotted the zipper into place and drew it up.
"Yeah," he said at last, voice equally soft, "we're ready."
Jim went to Nathan's locker and removed the leathers hanging there, carefully folding them over his arm. With his other hand he extracted the psimitar, leaning it against his shoulder to push the locker door closed with one heel. He turned to Scott and nodded.
"Okay. All set."
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