Cammie and Jake, Jake and Jean-Paul

[x-courier.livejournal.com]

Cammie and Jake run into each other - literally. A Toxic Death Cloud ensues. Fortunately, Jake's hard to poison.



Crap, crap, crap, crap!

The one word was on repeat in Cammie's mind as she ran down the hall at Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters. She had taken it under her own advisement to try to see just how long she could keep from discharging anything and now it was about ready to fire on its own.

Since Dr. Grey and Dr. Bitch had a plan on file for this, Cammie was running full tilt towards the medical lab, not paying any attention to anything else other than getting there now.

It was weird being back in the mansion, Jake thought. For one, he still wasn't convinced that they hadn't moved some of the hallways since the last time he was here--the mansion still had that weird ability to make you feel lost even when you knew right where you were.

For another, he kept expecting to see people who didn't live here anymore. It was a little disorienting.

He headed for the kitchen--that, at least, should be the same. He'd just turned a corner when someone plowed into him. "Hey!" he started, then his thought processes came to a grinding halt as he realized that he was surrounded in a thick, green, toxic cloud.

Normally, Cammie's control was perfect. As perfect as it could be, anyway, with it being honed on the streets. But when she ran into whoever it was in the hall things just snapped and there was a toxic spill over in the form of a cloud and wherever her arm came in contact with light clothing with the skin.

Well over what would normally be a deadly dose.

"Oh shit... oh shit!" She paused. He was still standing.

Cammie gave the guy an odd look, "Not that I'm upset by this or anything, but why aren't you dead?"

He gave her an odd look right back. "That must suck," he said carefully, trying not to breathe in. Breathing in meant filtering out the green gas that was currently surrounding them like a halo--which, while easy enough to do, still meant tasting the awfulness. And oh, was it awful. He waved a hand through the air, trying to dissapate the green nastiness. "You do this a lot?"

"The cloud of toxic?" Cammie asked, "No. No I don't. Normally it's right into the skin via my fist," she said dryly. And honestly. The cloud was a sign of her putting out way too much way to fast without it having anything right there to hit with. Skin to skin contact worked best. The toxic cloud was great for clearing a room, but not much else.

"Either way, you're not dead and there's poison everywhere," Cammie said, "I suppose I should thank you for keeping me from having to deal with the evil doctor."

"Lucky me," Jake said dryly. He meant it, too; he could only imagine how much fun anyone else would have had without his abilities had they run into Cammie. He closed his eyes for a brief second, concentrating to make sure he'd gotten it all; he'd probably need a shower, and his clothes were almost certainly ruined, but that was easy enough to deal with. "Besides, I bet you say that to all the boys," he said, opening his eyes again. He looked Cammie over, noting her curious post-panic look as it was slowly replaced with attitude. "Nice hair."

"Yeah. Lucky you're not dead," Cammie said, "And no, most guys I try to kill stay down," it was a dark joke but she really didn't mind.

"Like it huh?" she said as per her hair, gesturing up with a green left hand that was now a few shades lighter, "At least I don't try to bleach it. Then it would be violet. And I'd need a new color scheme."

The cloud was mostly gone, although he could still smell it on his clothes. He stuck out a hand casually, not sure how twitchy Cammie was going to be about physical contact if her power involved poisoning people. "My mother always told me that it's impolite to try to kill people if you don't know their name. I'm Jake."

"Well, nice to meet you," she said dryly, "Congrats on not being dead," she looked down at her left hand, a paler shade of green now, but still very, very dark. "And yay for me not having to go all the way to the medlab," she took his hand with her right. Not her left hand. Her hand of death, as she could call it.

"Call me Ishmael. Except don't. Because that's not my name."

"So then I should call you not-Ishmael?" he teased. "Or are you now afraid that if you tell me your name that I'll try to kill you? 'Cause I'm not planning on killing anyone today."

"Sure, knock yourself out. Not-Ishmael is as good as anything. As long as you're not like not-Ahab or something," she may not have been the world's most rabid reader, but everyone knew that book. "And you couldn't kill me if you tried."

He laughed. "Not really a fan of the whaling, myself. And that's not fair," he protested, "you have no idea what I can and can't do. For all you know I have the power of a thousand suns or something."

"Even if you did," Cammie said simply, "I know how to beat any guy."

"I'll take your word for it," Jake replied, leaning against the wall casually. He wasn't trying to challenge her or fight with her, and he made sure his body language said as much. "I would think your Toxic Death Cloud would be enough, though."

"One," she ticked off a finger, "The death cloud is an accidental thing. Like a tornado. Two: You seem to be unaffected by the death cloud. Three: you're a man. Any man that doesn't fall into the category of my hand-to-hand teacher can be beaten by a kick to the balls," Cammie said brightly. "I mean, this is assuming I feel like beating/killing you at all. Which I really don't. Bodies are a bitch to hide."

"Not that you should take this as an invitation, but you'd have to find my balls first," he smirked. "But I'm absolutely fine if you feel like we don't need to escalate things further. It could get awkward. "Tell you what," he said, inclining his head to one side. "I was just headed to the kitchen. How about we call a truce, and I'll share the food I was going to steal from the fridge with you?"

"So," Cammie said, "You're saying you have no balls," she said, making sure she was getting this straight. Or just being mean, the smile on her face indicated it might be a bit of the latter. "Sure ballless, you can have your food to yourself I don't eat human chow."

Jake grinned. "I never said I don't have balls, just that they don't have to be where you'd expect them. Shapeshifter," he said by way of explanation. He blinked a bit at her last comment. "You don't eat food?"

"Sure I do - eat food, that is. Just not the way you'll like it. But now that I'm not running to the doctor's screaming 'FIRE' I think I'm thirsty," and there were house hold chemicals in the kitchen. "And whatever, Ballless."

"So what constitutes food in your world, then?" he asked, rolling his eyes at his new nickname. "Nuclear waste? That would explain the death gas," he mused.

"Never tried it; ya got any?" Cammie returned. Secondary reason for running to the kitchen was just to sit down. That always shook her up, as much as she hated it.

He pretended to check his pockets. "Nope. Must've left it in my other pants," he said with a shrug. The action shook loose some of the smell that was still sticking to his clothes, though, causing it to waft past him. "Actually, I should probably change before I go anywhere near a kitchen. I have the feeling I wouldn't be appreciated there in my current state."

"Meh, I don't mind the smell, but I like curdled milk," Cammie said with a slight shrug. "I suppose I may meet you there, if it doesn't take you that long to change. If that IS what you're planning to do."

He took another tentative survey of himself. "I should probably figure out some way to shower, too." He glanced back up at her. "Although I've got to say, if you're drinking curdled milk, I might just have to pass on lunch anyway. No offense."

"Damn, Ballless, you're a wuss," Cammie returned shaking her head, grinning. "Just about everyone else here has seen me eat at some point and you chicken out?"

"I lived through your Toxic Death Cloud," he protested. "Isn't that enough?"

"Not really. Other people here can be punched, hit and possibly death clouded by me and come out fine. You're still a wuss," Cammie said with a laugh, leaning against a wall for support. It had taken a lot out of her, more than her banter accounted for.

"Fine. At some point, I'll watch you eat. But really, I think I have to shower first." He eyed her, noting that she seemed to be using the wall to keep herself upright. "Unless you need someone to walk you to the kitchen?"

"I'm fine," she said, standing up, "Unlike you, I'm not a wuss."


Jake borrows Jean-Paul's shower to wash off the Toxic Death Gas. Jake gets free lunch, Jean-Paul gets free distraction. Everybody wins.



Of course people would insist on knocking at the door during awkward moments. Jean-Paul managed to set his books down on his way through the living room, but still answered the door with one rat on his shoulder and the other having settled comfortably into the (thankfully) empty coffee cup in his left hand.

It turned out that Jake Gavin was at the door, but before Jean-Paul could say anything in greeting, he was nearly knocked over by the toxic pungency wafting from his visitor. He retreated several steps at once, one hand rising automatically to his nose and mouth.

"What the hell--?"

Jake looked sheepish. "Green hair, yea tall, cloud of Toxic Death Gas," he said by way of explanation, holding up a hand to indicate his assailant's height. "Ran into her at full tilt. Could I borrow a shower or some clothes? Better yet, maybe you could just point me to a garden hose or the local hazmat crew."

"Ugh." Jean-Paul spared a moment to cage Jenner and Nicodemus -- who were both fluffed and bristling at the scent of Jake -- and pointed the way to the bathroom. "Shower's through there." A blur of motion and then there was a trash bag being tossed in Jake's direction. "And make sure you dispose of those things before you come back out."

"Trust me," Jake said, catching the bag deftly, "they won't live to see another day."

A short time later Jake emerged from the bathroom, a towel cinched around his waist and his hair sticking up every which way. "Much better," he declared. "I don't feel like a science experiment gone wrong anymore."

In truth, Jean-Paul had thought that his guest would take longer to scrub off and only just avoided collision as he headed toward the bathroom with an armful of clothes as Jake stepped. Finding himself unexpectedly nose-to-nose with an attractive, barely decent man who was still radiating warmth from the shower was perhaps a decent enough excuse for his behavior -- he shoved the clothes into Jake's arms with some force just to regain a sense of personal space.

"'Much better' will be you getting covered up," Jean-Paul noted dryly. His tone successfully covered his flustered state; the slight bloom to his cheeks did not.

"Sorry," Jake said, even though he wasn't sorry at all. He took a step back as he accepted the clothes from the other man, turning to set them on the bathroom counter. "Any idea what the name of the femme fatale was? She was a bit...evasive," he said, starting to dress.

"That would be Cammie." Jean-Paul blinked as the towel dropped, then closed the bathroom door firmly.

'No, Jean-Paul, we do not ogle guests. Not even a little. Not even the unexpected ones who are just begging to be objectified.'

"I'm surprised that you're in so chipper a mood," Jean-Paul went on, raising his voice to be heard through the door. "Most people do not take so well to being splashed with venom."

Jake frowned at the clothes in his hand; Jean-Paul was taller and skinnier than he was in his current condition. He shrugged; fitting into the speedster's clothes might have been an issue before the lost arm, but it was easy enough to compensate for the missing appendage by losing width instead of height.

"Venom might have been a problem, actually, especially if it were at all acidic," he replied as he stretched to fit into the other man's clothes. "But this was a cloud of Toxic Death Gas. Which might be a good band name," he mused, pulling the t-shirt over his head. He ran a hand through his hair, checking the reflection in the mirror--as easy as it was to be shorter, it was nice to have everything back at the correct height, even if it made him look like he was on a hunger strike. "But it just made things inconvenient."

He emerged from the bathroom pulling a sweater over his head. "Does she do that often? I would imagine most people don't react well to Toxic Death Gas."

"She is working on her control." Jean-Paul tried not to sound too defensive of his culinary guinea pig. He turned to look at the taller, leaner figure that stepped from the bathroom. It didn't pass him by that the clothes he had anticipated as being too long in the arms and legs were nearly a perfect fit. "Let me guess -- your mutancy has blessed you with the ability to be a perfect clotheshorse."

"Everyone seems to think so," Jake said with a half-hearted roll of his eyes. He really didn't want to think about Adrienne right now. "Anyway, I don't blame her--I really did run smack into her," he said, wiping at his mouth absently with one hand. "It can be hard to keep control when you're startled. Questioning my manhood, now, that I think I'll take offense over." He smiled at the other man to show that it was a joke.

"I doubt she got the same view of you that I just did," the speedster said, his tone slightly wicked. "Then she would not have questioned." He regarded Jake's new leanness again and shook his head. "It is getting close to lunch time and I am going to feel bad if I kick you out looking like that, especially on an empty stomach. You can stay if you like." And it would be good to have someone to distract him while he cooked. He was almost back to normal on that front, but still...his mind wandered.

Jake grinned, although it was hard to tell whether it was related to Jean-Paul's comment or the offer of food. "I'll never turn down food. I'm pretty sure it's a flaw in my character that'll lead to my doom one of these days, but at least I'll be well fed. Even if I don't look it." He followed Jean-Paul into the kitchen, leaning against an out-of-the-way section of counter. "What's on the menu?"

"Shrimp stir-fry over rice." He was getting sick of seafood, honestly, but at least the texture of fish against a knife didn't remind him of his hand going through St. Ives the way other meat did. "It won't take long to throw together."

"Sounds good. Better than the curdled milk Cammie was offering." Jake wandered around the small kitchen, careful to stay out of Jean-Paul's way. He picked up a postcard from Morocco that was tacked to the fridge with a magnet, flipping it over to glance at the signature, then putting it back hastily when he realized who it was from. "How was your trip?"

"Miscreants with cameras aside," Jean-Paul snarked, smiling slightly, "Scotland was fine. Stormy weather, interesting food, and quality whiskey. It is hard to ask for more from a vacation, non?"

"Depending on how interesting the food--and whether or not you let Moira cook--" he shuddered in pretend horror, "it sounds almost perfect. Were there incriminating photos taken this week?" Jake teased, returning to lean on the counter once more. "Or just the ones that were posted?"

"I think those were quite enough. If it were not so damnably hard to sneak up on telepaths, there would have been appropriate retaliation by now." Jean-Paul went through the motions of chopping vegetables at speeds that were more or less human, as there was someone in the room to be hit by any debris that might go winging through the air. "And you. I assume you did not make the trip out here just to be poisoned and use my shower."

Jake smiled. "They weren't that bad." He stretched, the sweater and t-shirt riding up to expose bare skin. "Neither poisoning nor showering were on my agenda, no. I thought I'd drop in and see some people. Not," he said wryly, "that I've managed to see anyone I've known yet. Present company excluded."

Jean-Paul had turned to fetch his wok just in time to get a peek of well-maintained abdomen. Yes. The man was definitely a distraction. "They have this wonderful invention these days -- the telephone? You have heard of it, perhaps?" He busied himself scraping vegetables and shrimp into the wok before he spoke again. "Are you still on your quest for the best bakery in New York?"

"I think I came to find people who don't live here anymore," Jake said thoughtfully. He shook his head--he didn't want to dwell on how much things had changed since he was here last. "And such a noble quest could never truly end!" he said with mock horror, gesturing grandly. "The greater metropolitan area has literally thousands of choices. By the time we work our way through them all, half of them will have closed and another thousand will have sprung up to take their places." He grinned, leaning towards Jean-Paul. "Think you're up to the challenge?"

Jean-Paul laughed softly, spooning garlic into a small hollow he'd made in the pile of fixings.

"I cannot possibly turn that down without losing face, can I?"

"Absolutely not," Jake said, still grinning as he reached in to snag a snow pea from the wok. "Otherwise I'd be obligated to tell everyone how you failed to keep up with me."