Six

"If you think I'm gonna be there when you call,
You don't know me, you don't know me at all..."


'Need a plan here, Jess.' The words tumbled round his head in ever decreasing circles as he wandered aimlessly down a litter-scattered side street with frighteningly little idea of how he'd gotten there, and even less idea of where he was going. But for all that the statement was painfully accurate, he still didn't seem able to put it into practice.

As was becoming the norm for him, he'd been trailing round this particular burgh for most of the day, as if waiting for someone to leap out in front of him and beg him to come work for them, come join their family - like that was ever going to happen. Problem was, he didn't really know what he wanted to do - more to the point, what he was qualified to do, now he was out of the 'saving the world' business. And that had served to confound whatever vague aspirations he'd felt for the few positions he'd seen advertised in shop windows and the like. So yes, a plan would be a good thing.

But the longer he went on drifting like this, with nothing more than passing human contact, the harder he was finding it to focus on what he needed to do. His world was contracting daily and he wasn't sure what it was going to take to make him part of a community again - even a small one like this.

Or maybe it would be better for everyone if he didn't try.

After all, he wasn't like them, all these people he'd watched enviously as they'd gone about their blissfully normal lives, oblivious to his covert scrutiny. Why did he think he going to be able to fit in?

It's not about fitting in, though, is it? Not right away anyway. Because it really doesn't matter what people think about you - remember that. All that matters is you! And if you play your cards sensibly, carefully, they'll learn to accept you without ever needing to know what you really are, without you ever having to let them close enough to find out...

Furtive movement in the growing shadows ahead distracted him from his mental tirade and with an effort he pulled his focus back to his immediate surroundings again.

A thin dishevelled man, dressed in what seemed to be multiple layers of ill-fitting clothing, lifted hollow eyes to him as he drew near the doorway he was sitting in. His grated, "Spare some change?" sent Jesse's hand reaching reflexively towards his pocket before he remembered that he barely had enough cash to keep a roof over his own head the next couple of nights, and little chance of replenishing his reserves without leaving some marker to his location. And he wasn't ready to deal with the consequences of that yet. But manners ingrained from early childhood kicked in, pushing him to at least respond with an apologetic half-smile and a shake of the head as he passed by. "No. Sorry."

The eyes glinted malevolently, the snarled, "F**k you, then," only serving to harden his resolve again. Charity began at home, right? Look after number one...

So, why did the dumb urge to help others keep sneaking up on him like that? And why did it still have to feel so wrong not to? It wasn't like he wasn't trying to keep himself to himself. Or that he didn't have enough problems of his own to concentrate on. Why should he even be thinking about helping anyone else when he couldn't even help himself?

The smallest of sounds from behind him signalled the passage of something in flight just before it hit him solidly in the back and he spun round to face the threat, inhaling on instinct as he did so. But his lungs were only half full when he remembered his new imperative - mutant powers meant death to innocents. If he needed to protect himself he'd have to do it the old fashioned way, he told himself firmly as he eyed the tin can rattling away into the gutter from where it had fallen.

The homeless man glared balefully from his doorway, hands already lining up another missile from the garbage around him. But something in Jesse's expression must have made him think better of it, because with a few more choice curses he turned and slid into the pile of cartons just visible in the shadows behind him.

Could he possibly need any more incentive to find himself a job and a proper place to stay? But the wanting and the doing didn't always go hand in hand.

A sudden surge of claustrophobia swept through him, the sensation of the alley's towering walls closing in on him sending him hurrying for the comparative openness of the main street visible at the far end. He was keenly aware that the day was waning, making it time to move on again - moving, always moving, like he'd been ever since he'd left... home? No, he couldn't allow himself to think of it in those terms any more, even in unguarded moments like this. Wouldn't. He'd made his choice, and there was no going back.

No matter how it called out to him when he let himself remember...

*

It's time. Sanctuary is finally silent, his bag sitting packed on the bed - a few clothes only, nothing personal, nothing to remind him of what he'd been - and the security override for the garage doors is in place, just awaiting his input code. Why then is he still here? Still hiding in his bedroom, the one place he's felt safe from their looks of silent reproach, their ill-disguised attempts to bully him into being what he could no longer be, their inability to understand. Their pity...

Until this evening, of course. Until Brennan's unlooked for intrusion... Which is why it's time to go.

With a long final look round the place he's called home for much of his adult life, he reaches for his bag and turns towards the door just as a gentle tapping sounds from outside. Indecision grips him, along with the hope that if he keeps quiet, does nothing, the unwanted caller will simply go away. But a second, firmer knock makes it clear that's not going to happen. So, with a sigh, he drops the bag into the partial concealment offered by the nearest chair and moves to open the door, taking bets with himself as to who will be out there. A two horse race, he reckons, given the day's events. And at least in that he's right.

But he's aware of a stab of disappointment that it's not the one he'd wanted to put his money on, even though he knew the odds were against it. The one he might have looked to for the last ditch lifeline that would save him from what he was about to do, if that had still been an option for him. He says nothing, though, as he inwardly chastises himself for even entertaining the thought 'he' might come, just stares back at her until she's forced to break the silence.

"I was passing and saw the light," she says. Yeah, right... as if! After a few seconds, when he still shows no sign of responding, she continues with, "Can I come in?"

He wonders what's really brought her there at that particular moment, wonders if despite the apparent calm that has descended over him since he made his decision she can sense what he's intending.

"What do you want, Emma?" he asks flatly, seeing her gaze flit past him to alight on the obviously full backpack just visible beyond.

"Are you planning on going somewhere?" she counters. He says nothing, though, jaw tightening as he shakes his head slightly, less in denial than out of a clear disinclination to speak. But she knows the answer anyway. "Running away isn't going to solve anything."

He snorts derisively. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Funny, I thought I was just taking control of my life. Just like you've all been telling me to."

She pulls a face. "Not by leaving. By facing up to the fact what happened was just an accident. By forgiving yourself!"

The time the shaking head is clearly a resounding 'No'. "You just don't get it, do you?" he says. "There's only one person who can give me permission to do that. And she's dead. So what does it matter? Besides, like you said, what's done is done. I can accept that. That's why I'm moving on."

There's a silence while she looks at him assessingly, obviously trying to work out his exact intent and he tries to quell his impatience. What the hell more does she want from him? Isn't he doing exactly what she told him?

"Moving on... where?" she asks finally.

He shrugs. "That's not important. Just somewhere that's not here." He laughs jarringly at something he can see in her face. "You can't be surprised. Not after everything that's happened. There's nothing here for me now."

"No!" she protests. "You belong here - probably more than any of us. You care about what Mutant X stands for, the work we do."

"Maybe I did. Once. But there's only one thing I care about now - and that's what *I* need. And I know I'm not going to find it here."

She reaches a hand to rest gently on his forearm. "What's going on, Jesse? This isn't you."

Lifting glacial blue eyes to observe her distantly, guardedly, he sees her suppress a shiver at the chill he's sure she can feel emanating from him, her hand dropping away again. Not surprising, really, because inside him there's nothing but ice. "How do you know?"

She blinks at that. "What?"

"How do you know?" he repeats. "How do you know this isn't me? The real me? That the Jesse Kilmartin you thought you knew was just a temporary show?" He gives her a couple of long moments to reply, but she just looks at him strangely so he goes on. "Maybe I'm not the person you thought I was, Emma. Not who any of you thought I was. It's not like you've really had time to find out the real me. Not like you've really tried."

"That's not true," she protests, opening her senses in an attempt to get a clearer reading of the jumbled emotions hiding behind the static he's been giving off and which she's been skirting around for what feels like days. But to her surprise she can't find a way through it. It must show on her face because he smiles grimly at her.

"No, not this time. I don't want you messing around in my head now, not now I know what I need to do. You told me to find the way, Emma. The way to deal with it and move on. Well, this is it. The only way open to me. So you'd better get used to it."

She moves to stand close in front of him, gazing up at him earnestly. "Don't do this, Jesse. Don't shut us out. Shalimar needs you - *we* need you. And we want to help. Come back to us." And he feels the strength of her will calling out to him, the tendrils of her mind stroking his, soothing, seducing, even as she lures him ever deeper into the bottomless azure pools of her eyes.

It would be so easy to let the barriers he's been erecting fall, let her do now what he's yearned for her to do before - take all the hurt away, make things the way they'd been. But it's too late for that now. Much too late.

He sees her flinch as he rebuffs her insinuating senses again, more forcibly this time and, though he thinks she could still compel him to submit if she chose, instead she seems to shrink back in on herself as if accepting that there's no point, acknowledging that he's truly slipped beyond her reach. And he finally knows that it really is time to go...

*

There'd been times late at night - too many for his new persona's liking - when he'd found himself wishing she'd tried harder to make him stay. Or that he hadn't worked so hard to keep her out. Because then she might have known where he was going, at least a general enough idea to know where to start tracking him. But he'd been so determined on this course of action, so certain he was right. So resolute that no-one would stop him.

And this was no time to go forgetting that.

Breathing deeply, he turned towards the motel and his bike, anxious to leave these hopelessly barren surroundings behind and continue his search.


****

Even deep within the peaceful, quiet place she escaped to during her meditation, Emma knew she was about to be disturbed. And she knew by whom.

Although her shields were very strong now, there was always a small chink in her armour through which she allowed herself to maintain a watching brief over those closest to her. She'd come to recognise the taste of their minds, analogising them with her favourite ice cream flavours - smooth caramel with the unexpected bite of bittersweet chocolate chips for Shalimar, the conflicting slick/rough textures of Butter Pecan for Brennan, the pure sharp simplicity of mint for Jesse, and the dark mystery of Belgian chocolate for Adam. And it was the latter taste that filled her senses right now...'

Opening her eyes to the expected sight of him hovering in her doorway, she greeted him with a small resigned smile and waved him into the room.

"Sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to disturb you." He lowered himself into the indicated chair as she settled herself more comfortably into a cross-legged position on the bed, surreptitiously watching the expressions flit across his face before he finally lifted his gaze to her.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Me?" She raised a delicate eyebrow in response. "I don't think I'm the one you should be worrying about."

"Maybe not," he agreed. "But you're generally the best reflection of what's going on around here. So... how are *we* doing?"

"How do you think?" Her voice was steady, giving no indication of the swell of resentment rising up through her.

He sighed. "Not so good, I'd have to say."

"I can't think what gives you that idea." There was more than a hint of unaccustomed sarcasm accompanying the angrily flashing eyes as she went on. "I mean, no-one's behaving at all out of the ordinary, are they? Let's see... When she's not on-line checking non-existent leads, Shalimar's gone back to those night-time crusades of hers, keeping the streets clean of her version of vermin. Brennan's never here either - out looking for trouble, or more likely out stalking Shal in the interests of saving her from herself, though she'd most likely kill him if she found out. She obviously blames herself for Jesse leaving, blames Brennan for pushing him, you for not helping him, me for..." A pause. "Well, she blames everyone except Jesse, even though it all really leads back to him. Unless we get some news of him soon, somewhere for her to focus her guilt, turn her hunting instincts to tracking him down and bringing him home safely, I think we might lose her to the night forever. And if she goes, you know who'll be right behind her. Then it's goodbye Mutant X." She folded her arms and stared at him. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

He shook his head helplessly, having no answer for her question. Instead he asked one of his own.

"What does she blame you for?"

The look she threw him now was completely inscrutable, but he found himself growing more uncomfortable as the seconds passed without response. He pushed on boldly though, asking, "Is it because you knew he was going?"

There was a long pause, then as soft as a breath of wind, "Yes."

He took a moment to calm himself before asking, "Then why? Why didn't you try and stop him? Or at least tell us what he was planning so we could do something about it?"

He could feel the air in the room become suddenly thick with tension as she considered her answer.

"I did try to dissuade him," she admitted eventually. "At first. But not as hard or as long as I might."

"Why?"

"Many reasons, most of which you probably wouldn't understand, wouldn't like or agree with."

"Try me," he insisted, quietly but firmly, trying not to flinch under the full force of her stare.

"OK, how about... because I could see it was what he really wanted. Because I didn't think I had the right to try and stop him if that was his choice. Because the only way I could have gotten through to him was by force and he'd already been hurt enough." Her gaze dropped along with her voice as she finished, "Because I wasn't certain it wasn't the best thing for him in the circumstances..."

Adam raised incredulous eyebrows. "You really believe that?"

She sighed, continuing to focus on her loosely folded hands. "Yes, at the time. He'd most likely've gone crazy if he'd stayed. But now? Truthfully I don't know. I've been trying to reach him, at least get some kind of sense of how he's doing. But it's like whatever choices he felt he had to make to get himself through this have shut him off from his emotions, to the extent that I can't get any feel for him at all. And I really don't like the thought of anyone being so alone, so isolated - especially someone as naturally open as Jesse." Glancing up finally, she saw him watching her with head slightly on one side, and shrugged awkwardly. "Back then it seemed like the right thing to do. I just didn't expect him to still be out there after so long. Or anticipate the effect that was going to have on everyone."

"None of us did," he assured her, leaning forward to squeeze her arm gently, encouragingly. "And in the end, as you said, this is Jesse's choice. I guess we have to let him play it out." Rising to his feet, he smiled down at her as he turned to the door. "Get some rest, OK? But do me a favour - keep trying to connect with him? Wherever he is, however much he thinks what he's doing is for the best, he can't deny who he really is forever. Right now he's an emotional time bomb waiting to go off, and when he does - and I think it will be sooner rather than later - I'll feel better if we know about it. I'm afraid he's going to need us more than ever then."

Emma could only nod mutely to his disappearing back, and hope very much that they'd be up to the challenge.


****

TBC