Seven Minutes In Heaven: North
Jul. 26th, 2008 01:34 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsThe X-Men arrive at Eielson Air Force Base to join the SHIELD team and make the last leg of the trip via helicopter. Without knowing what they're going to find, reactions during the trip are variable.
The man who turned to face them as they approached and raised a hand in greeting was maybe Nathan's own age, and just as fit-looking. #That must be Major Baird,# Nathan sent to Jean as they headed over to meet him. He'd clearly been supervising the loading of the CH-47 which was the focus of most of the activity in the hangar; SHIELD had chosen what appeared to be a fairly quiet time to fly out of Eielson Air Force Base.
It felt strange to be in Alaska, Nathan reflected more privately, tugging at the strap of his psimitar case as it slipped across his shoulder slightly. This was his first time back to his birthplace since... well, since leaving in the first place. And there were more important things to focus on today than that vague, unsettling sense that he had come home, like it or not.
So it would be really nice if he could banish the thought.
"Dr. Grey-Summers?" the man said, focusing on Jean first. Very proper, Nathan thought; very precise. He offered his hand. "Martin Baird. It's good to meet you." He divided a slight smile between her and Nathan. "Very good to have you all here, too, especially since we don't know exactly what we're flying into."
"Pleasure to meet you, Major," Jean said, taking the offered hand in handshake and nodding in agreement. "There are definitely more question marks at the end of this trip than I'd like, but hopefully, between our two teams, we'll be able to handle it."
"We've got a number of specialists along, just in case this does turn out to be just a research facility," Baird said, inclining his head in the direction of the Chinook and his team. "Doctor Morrisseau in particular's done some work with mutants, but he was just about over the moon when I told him we were expecting you."
Nathan's eyes slid in that direction, and saw the dark-haired man Baird had indicated gazing at Jean in something close to rapt fascination. Morrisseau twitched as he realized he was the focus of attention, and immediately busied himself with checking his equipment. #Oh Jean,# Nathan sent, not quite flippantly. #I think you have a fanboy.#
#Don't be mean,# Jean sent back, keeping the smile the colored her tone safely off her face. "Morrisseau? I believe I've read his paper on dealing with energy projectors' hyper metabolisms. I look forward to working with them. And, if you like, I can give you a brief run down of my team as well, get you at least moderately familiar with their abilities."
"I'd appreciate that," Baird said firmly. "We were told that you have some specialists with relevant expertise along yourself." He was eyeing Nathan in that 'I've seen your face in a file' way, and Nathan smiled very slightly.
"And we should probably come up with a strategy as to how to handle the situation if we get up there and find working operatives," he said, and didn't miss the way Baird's jaw tightened slightly. That was not, obviously, the SHIELD operative's preferred outcome. Nathan couldn't blame him. At least Jean and I should be able to establish if the place is occupied well before we set the helicopter down.
"Well then, let's take advantage of what time we have before the departure and go over all of this," Jean said, nodding firmly.
--
The hangar might not be abuzz with activity, but it wasn't empty either. Some of those who were clearly regular base personnel were looking somewhat askance at the SHIELD team and their more bizarrely-garbed companions, but no one actually came over and asked any questions. Nathan and Jean were still in conference with the head of the SHIELD team, and the discussion looked like it was getting intense.
Sam knew he was mostly along for the ride on his first mission back, so he decided to enjoy it. While Nathan and Jean continued their discussion with Baird, he sat out on the edge of the concrete foundation, his legs hanging freely and swinging out and back into the side casually. He actually didn't spend much time in any airports so he took this time to watch the jets. There were a variety of types all of varying speeds, Sam liked to guess which ones he could beat in a race.
After a long moment of silence he glanced over to Zanne through his tinted goggles; he knew it was her first time out. "Excited or nervous?" She got a friendly smile from him as he asked.
"Both," Zanne replied after a moment's thought, returning Sam's smile with a somewhat rueful one of her own. "They are both very much tangled up in each other." Nervous definitely had the upper hand, though. Zanne's stomach had been fluttering all morning. She really wasn't sure what to expect. Sam, however, was clearly an old hand at this sort of thing, and it showed in his relaxed demeanor. "How about you?" she asked him, curious. "Are you excited to be back?"
"It's definitely excitement. I haven't been able to really be out and doing something in a while. I really missed it." Sam nodded and smiled reassuringly to Zanne. "I've done quite a few things though, I'll be sure to stick with you just to make sure you have fun and can relax." He was trying to be extra helpful and nice, he still remembered how scared he was when he first went out.
Sam seemed to be the dictionary definition of a nice guy, Zanne mused. Definitely friendly. "Is having fun a prerequisite for these sorts of things?" she inquired a bit mischievously. This was certainly the first time anyone had mentioned that since she'd arrived.
"Most people probably think you ought not but they're wrong. People should enjoy everything they do." Zanne got a friendly smile from him as he said that. Sam knew most people were too busy being scared or nervous; sometimes they even thought they shouldn't actually enjoy these missions but he was convinced that was just wrong.
Zanne grinned. "It's an interesting philosophy. I'll have to try it out. So," she said, hopping up to sit next to him. "Can you tell me what all of those planes over there are? Or share tales of adventures past so I know what I've gotten into?"
--
The Chinook helicopter was far larger than was needed for a mere fourteen passengers, but Baird had pointed out that they might need the extra space on the way back, whether for cargo or extra people. He hadn't mentioned any of the possibilities, but they had all been covered in the briefing prior to leaving the mansion, so none of the X-Men were in the dark on that score.
The terrain passing beneath the helicopter was desolate, to say the least, now that they'd left the mountains behind: vast, flat wetlands patchy with snow, the land itself nearly featureless this far north. Kyle had lost interest in watching out the window fairly quickly, although he kept glancing out every few minutes anyway, and was doing his best to pay attention to a very-abused paperback, and failing. Between the draw of looking out the window again, and the noise of the helicopter, and his case of nerves at putting the leathers back on after the last disaster, his attention span was shot. He flipped the pages in his book, looked back out the window, let out a frustrated grunt, and dropped the book pages-down on his face. "Shoot me now." he muttered, half-audible under the paperback.
"Bang," Clarice replied dully from her seat next to him, her thumb and index fingers shaped like a gun at his temple. This was her first full mission since being back. She'd assisted as a medic, but she hadn't been up for some heavy-hitting bad mojo. This time...the kid gloves were off and she was there for anything. "My turn?" she asked hopefully. She had a fashion magazine and a marker and was marking clothes she liked or editing the ones she didn't into something better. If it blew up well, then no big loss. She really wished she had some knitting, something mindless for her hands to do, but knitting was not something she could take with her on a mission.
"No, we need you both", Angelo said flatly. "No shootin'. Gimme that magazine an' I'll show you how to make good paper airplanes."
Shooting Angelo a Look, Clarice tucked the magazine under one thigh. "Mine," she said, he could make airplanes out of it when she was done reading it. Needing something to fiddle with, she removed the black bandana on her head and retied it more securely. Her head was now covered reasonably well with purple fuzz and Kyle especially liked to rub her head for luck, though almost everyone had at some point.
"Forge already showed me." Kyle said. "And I'd survive being shot. I'm pretty sure anyway." He pulled the book off his face and grunted, slumping in his seat. "Can this flight be any longer? Or noisier? " He grumbled, mostly for lack of anything else to talk about. "Not that I'm volunteering to be shot. I've had totally way more close calls on the dying already this summer."
"Even in the brain?" it was a morbid question, but Clarice asked it anyways. Tact was something she cheerfully disregarded at will. Hopefully it would distract him somewhat though, because he was really twitchy and it was beginning to bother her. And for it to bother someone who was naturally fairly hyper and occasionally bordered on manic, that was bad.
"Logan did, from the files", Angelo put in, to do his bit for the distraction. "Though now I think about it, maybe it never even got to his brain."
"Wow, can we not talk about shooting me in the brain?" Kyle asked. "I was kidding. No shooting me in anything that I need for thinking or breathing or pumping blood. That's a new rule. I just made it up." He shifted around in his seat and adjusted his jacket and stretched as much as he could, trying to ease the restlessness that had him still twitchy. "Brains good. Also no zombie jokes. Those are also bad."
"Fine," Clarice thought for a minute trying to come up with another topic, "What do you think of her outfit on me?" she asked, holding her magazine up and pointing at a model. This was Clarice, she could discuss fashion with a concussion and being nuked. In fact, she had. It had worked for a distraction both times. Sadly, Kyle was not Clarice.
--
Nathan was humming to himself under his breath, almost inaudible over the noise of the helicopter as he gazed out the window at the land passing beneath them. None of the others had spoken to him since they'd gotten aboard the helicopter back at Eielson, not even Jean. The solitude didn't bother him. In fact, it helped. A nice space of detachment, to not-think about what had brought them up here...
Oh, who was he kidding. You're humming 'Minstrel Boy', Dayspring. The choice had been semi-conscious, at best. The words had been echoing in his mind, over and over. He was beginning to wonder if they'd been etched on his soul years ago and he'd just never noticed until now.
Angelo knew the song, he'd heard it before, and he knew the context Nathan associated with it... but he wasn't interrupting. He watched Nathan without breaking the silence, trying not to seem troubled.
Nathan stopped, rubbing at his eyes for a moment, squeezing them tightly shut and then opening them again. #Don't look at me in that tone of voice,# he sent to Angelo after a moment, not quite wryly. Yes, shaking it off would be good. He appeared to be alarming the boy.
#You're singin' war ballads again#, Angelo sent back. #I know what it means when you do that.#
Nathan almost smiled. He got up, came over to the seat beside Angelo, and sat down again. Feeling like he was on auto-pilot, somehow. "Enlighten me. What does it mean?" he asked, almost lightly.
"It means", Angelo said calmly, "you're either thinkin' about your friends, or you think this mission's gonna go bad. Maybe both."
"And I thought I was the mindreader. Silly me." Nathan's voice was mild, and he was smiling slightly, but the look in his eyes was odd. And he wasn't meeting Angelo's. The idle comment had given him some food for thought, and not of the happy sort.
Did he think this was going to go bad? The chances were good, if it was anything but a simple research facility. They weren't precisely here in force. Yet what was the likelihood that there was a second Mistra up here, hidden in the far north? Slim to none, he had to concede.
Still. Taygetos. Did the name have any meaning? If it did, there were whole layers there, none of them good. If it didn't...
He couldn't believe it didn't. We're not that lucky.
"I don't need to be a mindreader. I know you. An' now you won't look at me." That came out with an edge of resignation, but Angelo knew he was right.
Nathan was quiet for a long moment. "Sometimes," he finally said, and was surprised when more words came out, seemingly of their own accord, "I feel like my past is as light as a feather. Like it barely matters at all. Other times, it's almost unbearably heavy. Like I'm dragging this immense weight behind me, and can never put it down." And all the times he'd fooled himself into thinking he could only made the other times worse.
"An' this'd be one of the second times?" Angelo prompted gently.
"I have too many ghosts. And unlike old soldiers, they neither die nor fade away." It was like he knew there was something coming at the end of this trip. Like he was already bracing for the blow.
It wouldn't help, right now, to point out that Nathan wasn't the only one with ghosts. Angelo considered his next words, trying to figure out what would help. "Someday, it'll stop", he said quietly. "We'll clear out the last of it an' it'll be done."
"And what do we pay for it this time?" Nathan murmured. There were no simple transactions, not when it came to Mistra and all its consequences. It was never simple.
"Whatever we have to." That didn't sound any happier than the question it was answering, but how could he say anything else?
Nathan's eyes moved over the occupants of the helicopter. Every single one of those faces would be here on the way back, he told himself. One way or the other. I can do that much. Surely I can.
Maybe that was enough.
The man who turned to face them as they approached and raised a hand in greeting was maybe Nathan's own age, and just as fit-looking. #That must be Major Baird,# Nathan sent to Jean as they headed over to meet him. He'd clearly been supervising the loading of the CH-47 which was the focus of most of the activity in the hangar; SHIELD had chosen what appeared to be a fairly quiet time to fly out of Eielson Air Force Base.
It felt strange to be in Alaska, Nathan reflected more privately, tugging at the strap of his psimitar case as it slipped across his shoulder slightly. This was his first time back to his birthplace since... well, since leaving in the first place. And there were more important things to focus on today than that vague, unsettling sense that he had come home, like it or not.
So it would be really nice if he could banish the thought.
"Dr. Grey-Summers?" the man said, focusing on Jean first. Very proper, Nathan thought; very precise. He offered his hand. "Martin Baird. It's good to meet you." He divided a slight smile between her and Nathan. "Very good to have you all here, too, especially since we don't know exactly what we're flying into."
"Pleasure to meet you, Major," Jean said, taking the offered hand in handshake and nodding in agreement. "There are definitely more question marks at the end of this trip than I'd like, but hopefully, between our two teams, we'll be able to handle it."
"We've got a number of specialists along, just in case this does turn out to be just a research facility," Baird said, inclining his head in the direction of the Chinook and his team. "Doctor Morrisseau in particular's done some work with mutants, but he was just about over the moon when I told him we were expecting you."
Nathan's eyes slid in that direction, and saw the dark-haired man Baird had indicated gazing at Jean in something close to rapt fascination. Morrisseau twitched as he realized he was the focus of attention, and immediately busied himself with checking his equipment. #Oh Jean,# Nathan sent, not quite flippantly. #I think you have a fanboy.#
#Don't be mean,# Jean sent back, keeping the smile the colored her tone safely off her face. "Morrisseau? I believe I've read his paper on dealing with energy projectors' hyper metabolisms. I look forward to working with them. And, if you like, I can give you a brief run down of my team as well, get you at least moderately familiar with their abilities."
"I'd appreciate that," Baird said firmly. "We were told that you have some specialists with relevant expertise along yourself." He was eyeing Nathan in that 'I've seen your face in a file' way, and Nathan smiled very slightly.
"And we should probably come up with a strategy as to how to handle the situation if we get up there and find working operatives," he said, and didn't miss the way Baird's jaw tightened slightly. That was not, obviously, the SHIELD operative's preferred outcome. Nathan couldn't blame him. At least Jean and I should be able to establish if the place is occupied well before we set the helicopter down.
"Well then, let's take advantage of what time we have before the departure and go over all of this," Jean said, nodding firmly.
--
The hangar might not be abuzz with activity, but it wasn't empty either. Some of those who were clearly regular base personnel were looking somewhat askance at the SHIELD team and their more bizarrely-garbed companions, but no one actually came over and asked any questions. Nathan and Jean were still in conference with the head of the SHIELD team, and the discussion looked like it was getting intense.
Sam knew he was mostly along for the ride on his first mission back, so he decided to enjoy it. While Nathan and Jean continued their discussion with Baird, he sat out on the edge of the concrete foundation, his legs hanging freely and swinging out and back into the side casually. He actually didn't spend much time in any airports so he took this time to watch the jets. There were a variety of types all of varying speeds, Sam liked to guess which ones he could beat in a race.
After a long moment of silence he glanced over to Zanne through his tinted goggles; he knew it was her first time out. "Excited or nervous?" She got a friendly smile from him as he asked.
"Both," Zanne replied after a moment's thought, returning Sam's smile with a somewhat rueful one of her own. "They are both very much tangled up in each other." Nervous definitely had the upper hand, though. Zanne's stomach had been fluttering all morning. She really wasn't sure what to expect. Sam, however, was clearly an old hand at this sort of thing, and it showed in his relaxed demeanor. "How about you?" she asked him, curious. "Are you excited to be back?"
"It's definitely excitement. I haven't been able to really be out and doing something in a while. I really missed it." Sam nodded and smiled reassuringly to Zanne. "I've done quite a few things though, I'll be sure to stick with you just to make sure you have fun and can relax." He was trying to be extra helpful and nice, he still remembered how scared he was when he first went out.
Sam seemed to be the dictionary definition of a nice guy, Zanne mused. Definitely friendly. "Is having fun a prerequisite for these sorts of things?" she inquired a bit mischievously. This was certainly the first time anyone had mentioned that since she'd arrived.
"Most people probably think you ought not but they're wrong. People should enjoy everything they do." Zanne got a friendly smile from him as he said that. Sam knew most people were too busy being scared or nervous; sometimes they even thought they shouldn't actually enjoy these missions but he was convinced that was just wrong.
Zanne grinned. "It's an interesting philosophy. I'll have to try it out. So," she said, hopping up to sit next to him. "Can you tell me what all of those planes over there are? Or share tales of adventures past so I know what I've gotten into?"
--
The Chinook helicopter was far larger than was needed for a mere fourteen passengers, but Baird had pointed out that they might need the extra space on the way back, whether for cargo or extra people. He hadn't mentioned any of the possibilities, but they had all been covered in the briefing prior to leaving the mansion, so none of the X-Men were in the dark on that score.
The terrain passing beneath the helicopter was desolate, to say the least, now that they'd left the mountains behind: vast, flat wetlands patchy with snow, the land itself nearly featureless this far north. Kyle had lost interest in watching out the window fairly quickly, although he kept glancing out every few minutes anyway, and was doing his best to pay attention to a very-abused paperback, and failing. Between the draw of looking out the window again, and the noise of the helicopter, and his case of nerves at putting the leathers back on after the last disaster, his attention span was shot. He flipped the pages in his book, looked back out the window, let out a frustrated grunt, and dropped the book pages-down on his face. "Shoot me now." he muttered, half-audible under the paperback.
"Bang," Clarice replied dully from her seat next to him, her thumb and index fingers shaped like a gun at his temple. This was her first full mission since being back. She'd assisted as a medic, but she hadn't been up for some heavy-hitting bad mojo. This time...the kid gloves were off and she was there for anything. "My turn?" she asked hopefully. She had a fashion magazine and a marker and was marking clothes she liked or editing the ones she didn't into something better. If it blew up well, then no big loss. She really wished she had some knitting, something mindless for her hands to do, but knitting was not something she could take with her on a mission.
"No, we need you both", Angelo said flatly. "No shootin'. Gimme that magazine an' I'll show you how to make good paper airplanes."
Shooting Angelo a Look, Clarice tucked the magazine under one thigh. "Mine," she said, he could make airplanes out of it when she was done reading it. Needing something to fiddle with, she removed the black bandana on her head and retied it more securely. Her head was now covered reasonably well with purple fuzz and Kyle especially liked to rub her head for luck, though almost everyone had at some point.
"Forge already showed me." Kyle said. "And I'd survive being shot. I'm pretty sure anyway." He pulled the book off his face and grunted, slumping in his seat. "Can this flight be any longer? Or noisier? " He grumbled, mostly for lack of anything else to talk about. "Not that I'm volunteering to be shot. I've had totally way more close calls on the dying already this summer."
"Even in the brain?" it was a morbid question, but Clarice asked it anyways. Tact was something she cheerfully disregarded at will. Hopefully it would distract him somewhat though, because he was really twitchy and it was beginning to bother her. And for it to bother someone who was naturally fairly hyper and occasionally bordered on manic, that was bad.
"Logan did, from the files", Angelo put in, to do his bit for the distraction. "Though now I think about it, maybe it never even got to his brain."
"Wow, can we not talk about shooting me in the brain?" Kyle asked. "I was kidding. No shooting me in anything that I need for thinking or breathing or pumping blood. That's a new rule. I just made it up." He shifted around in his seat and adjusted his jacket and stretched as much as he could, trying to ease the restlessness that had him still twitchy. "Brains good. Also no zombie jokes. Those are also bad."
"Fine," Clarice thought for a minute trying to come up with another topic, "What do you think of her outfit on me?" she asked, holding her magazine up and pointing at a model. This was Clarice, she could discuss fashion with a concussion and being nuked. In fact, she had. It had worked for a distraction both times. Sadly, Kyle was not Clarice.
--
Nathan was humming to himself under his breath, almost inaudible over the noise of the helicopter as he gazed out the window at the land passing beneath them. None of the others had spoken to him since they'd gotten aboard the helicopter back at Eielson, not even Jean. The solitude didn't bother him. In fact, it helped. A nice space of detachment, to not-think about what had brought them up here...
Oh, who was he kidding. You're humming 'Minstrel Boy', Dayspring. The choice had been semi-conscious, at best. The words had been echoing in his mind, over and over. He was beginning to wonder if they'd been etched on his soul years ago and he'd just never noticed until now.
Angelo knew the song, he'd heard it before, and he knew the context Nathan associated with it... but he wasn't interrupting. He watched Nathan without breaking the silence, trying not to seem troubled.
Nathan stopped, rubbing at his eyes for a moment, squeezing them tightly shut and then opening them again. #Don't look at me in that tone of voice,# he sent to Angelo after a moment, not quite wryly. Yes, shaking it off would be good. He appeared to be alarming the boy.
#You're singin' war ballads again#, Angelo sent back. #I know what it means when you do that.#
Nathan almost smiled. He got up, came over to the seat beside Angelo, and sat down again. Feeling like he was on auto-pilot, somehow. "Enlighten me. What does it mean?" he asked, almost lightly.
"It means", Angelo said calmly, "you're either thinkin' about your friends, or you think this mission's gonna go bad. Maybe both."
"And I thought I was the mindreader. Silly me." Nathan's voice was mild, and he was smiling slightly, but the look in his eyes was odd. And he wasn't meeting Angelo's. The idle comment had given him some food for thought, and not of the happy sort.
Did he think this was going to go bad? The chances were good, if it was anything but a simple research facility. They weren't precisely here in force. Yet what was the likelihood that there was a second Mistra up here, hidden in the far north? Slim to none, he had to concede.
Still. Taygetos. Did the name have any meaning? If it did, there were whole layers there, none of them good. If it didn't...
He couldn't believe it didn't. We're not that lucky.
"I don't need to be a mindreader. I know you. An' now you won't look at me." That came out with an edge of resignation, but Angelo knew he was right.
Nathan was quiet for a long moment. "Sometimes," he finally said, and was surprised when more words came out, seemingly of their own accord, "I feel like my past is as light as a feather. Like it barely matters at all. Other times, it's almost unbearably heavy. Like I'm dragging this immense weight behind me, and can never put it down." And all the times he'd fooled himself into thinking he could only made the other times worse.
"An' this'd be one of the second times?" Angelo prompted gently.
"I have too many ghosts. And unlike old soldiers, they neither die nor fade away." It was like he knew there was something coming at the end of this trip. Like he was already bracing for the blow.
It wouldn't help, right now, to point out that Nathan wasn't the only one with ghosts. Angelo considered his next words, trying to figure out what would help. "Someday, it'll stop", he said quietly. "We'll clear out the last of it an' it'll be done."
"And what do we pay for it this time?" Nathan murmured. There were no simple transactions, not when it came to Mistra and all its consequences. It was never simple.
"Whatever we have to." That didn't sound any happier than the question it was answering, but how could he say anything else?
Nathan's eyes moved over the occupants of the helicopter. Every single one of those faces would be here on the way back, he told himself. One way or the other. I can do that much. Surely I can.
Maybe that was enough.
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