Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. The canon ideas and original characters (Charles Xavier, Kurt Wagner, Robert Drake, Jean Grey, Erik Lehnsherr, Tom Cassidy, Peter Rasputin, Sean Cassidy, and Elizabeth "Betsy" Braddock) were created by Stan Lee and Marvel comics; therefore, X-Men belongs to them. Jennifer Kaneshige, David Forslund, and I co-own our original character David Forslund, but his nickname "Blacklight" belongs solely to me. I also created and own the characters Jet Black, Kristina James, Tamiko Kaneshige, Caleb Tucker, Deanna Barnes, Matthew James, Tina Andrews Black, Hanna "Evie" Black, Jason McCleod, Lauren "Sable" Shadoan, Dennis Owen, and any other character ultimately unrelated to the original Marvel universe. This story, "The Hunt for Black Tom", is © Kristina Jones 2003, and any plagiarism or copyright thereof without the explicit consent of the author is prohibited.

X-Men: "The Hunt for Black Tom"

"If I'm wrong, then I'll pay for it. If I'm right, yeah, you're gonna hear about it. Cause I'll try, yeah I'll try for it. I'll try! I'll try! Even die for it!" ~Van Halen, "Don't Tell Me What Love Can Do"

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Chapter I: Most Hated

A cold blast of wind stung at Jet's fingertips as he made his way out of the taxi, causing him to pull his long black trench coat tighter around his strong and slender frame. Blinking his strangely violet eyes against the snowflakes, he grimaced and proceeded up the marble steps into the massive courthouse. Clutching the handle of his briefcase, his palms beginning to sweat, he checked in at security clearance and made his way to the courtroom.

Running his free hand through his wavy black hair, he pushed open the door with his shoulder and headed down the aisle to the defense table. The courtroom was empty at this time, empty and silent. His shining black shoes clicked professionally on the alabaster floors, complimenting his clean-cut grey Armani suit. Placing his briefcase on the table, he removed his trench coat and folded it over the back of his chair. Reaching for his briefcase, he punched in the code and the locks clicked simultaneously. Opening it up, he began to sort through some of the case evidence and specifics.

"Were you always so professional?" a voice asked out of the silence. Looking up, Jet blinked twice when he spotted a young woman most likely in her early twenties. Leaning her elbow on the witness stand, she smiled and ran a hand nervously through her chin length blonde hair. The raven skirt she wore fell inches past her knees, accenting the fair skin of her legs.

Straightening slowly, Jet grinned maliciously and answered, "No, I guess not." His gentle English accent slid over his tongue gracefully, rising and falling in a wave of sound. There seemed to be a slight hiss in his speech, barely noticeable but still there. The woman laughed, biting her lip habitually and swaying on her knees. "Is that really you, Kris?"

Cracking a wide smile, the woman nodded her head and stated, "All twenty-five years of me. How are you, Jet?"

Gesturing at his clothes and then the room, he replied, "I couldn't be better. I was made for this job." At this, Kris could not help but chuckle, causing Jet to cock his head to the side in curiosity.

"I'm sorry," she let out. "It's just that ten years ago, I could not see you as a lawyer. You were more likely to be the guy taking inventory at the tattoo parlor." She laughed again, her blue eyes twinkling in the florescent lights.

Laughing, Jet shook his head and asked, "Where have you been for the past, what, eight years?" She smiled and held up nine fingers. "Nine?" he inquired, astonished. "Wow, that's about as long as Tina and I have been married." At this, his voice caught in his throat and he let his head fall slightly. "I mean," he restated softly, "that Tina and I were married about that long ago. So, where have you been?"

Softness growing in her gaze, she answered, "Germany. About two months after yall got married, I went to Germany to continue my studies."

"You were only sixteen then, right?"

"Yeah, but the Professor suggested I go. I had been taking German classes for nearly five years, and I was getting pretty fluent. So, Xavier asked Kurt if he would like to take me to Germany to finish with my academic studies and, you know, immerse me in the language." With a knowing shake of her head, she let out a chuckle and muttered, "It was probably the best thing for me at the time anyway…" There was a moment of silence as Jet nodded in understanding. She ran a hand through her hair nervously and added, "I actually studied in normal Gymnasium, and after that I even completed my studies at a university in Kärnten, Austria." Staring over at him, she asked, "So, what's up with you?"

Glancing around the room, he shrugged and muttered, "There's so much to tell. But as of late, nothing really. I've just been trying to get back to the normal pace of things."

Hearing that, she strode forward and gave him a huge embrace. He returned it, holding her tight against him. Her eyes sparkling on the edge of tears, she kissed his cheek and said, "I had to see you. After the news about Tina, I had to." At this, she stopped, because Jet still held her as tight as ever as though he was afraid to let her go.

"It's been difficult," he whispered softly, holding her even tighter. She ran a hand over his hair to comfort him as he muttered, "It's been about three months now. Damn Tom Cassidy!"

"Shh..." she soothed him, "it's okay. She'd want you to be doing this. She only wanted the best for you." Nodding, he released her, but she continued to rub his arms to soothe his nerves. "Don't worry about it right now. We'll talk about it later, okay."

"Alright," he consented, absentmindedly leaning over and shifting through some of his papers.

Looking down at him, she smiled with a look in her eyes that showed only love. "What is this case about?"

"Forslund, David, age twenty-seven. He is being tried for first degree murder of PFC Richard Weylen," Jet started, rattling off the information tonelessly as though he had done it a million times. Nodding, Kris realized that he probably had. "He was sixteen when it happened. He's been appealing this case for seven years. It doesn't look good, but we have this one last chance."

"How did it happen?" Kris asked quietly, as though if she talked any louder, she would be tried herself.

"Oh, the usual. It was the first time his powers, well you know. Richard just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." Adjusting the papers, he placed them back into his briefcase, only to take out another notepad and a pen. Checking his watch, he shook his head and muttered, "Thirty minutes... people will be coming in soon. You better go, unless you want to stay and watch. But this place doesn't take well to…."

"I'll stay," she said, smiling. "I'm the Phantom, remember. No one will even notice I'm here." At this, she winked, and Jet let out a laugh.

"Okay," he muttered, smiling in return, "it will do me well knowing you are here." Nodding, she smiled brightly and disappeared right before his eyes. He listened as her heels clicked as she made her way to the back of the room. "Better take those heels off, Phantom, if you don't want anyone to hear you."

"Astute observation, Captain Obvious," her voice came from nowhere. And the removing of her boots could be heard from the back of the courtroom. There was a long pause before something heavy dropped on the table. Looking over, Jet stared at her heeled boots, lying lackadaisically on top of his briefcase. "I'm leaving them with you," she said, laughing. "Put them under the table or something."

"Alright," he breathed, placing the boots under the table next to his chair. "If one thing has remained true about you, Kris, it's that you still don't act your age." He heard her quietly giggle from far off.

"Whom on earth are you talking to?" someone asked loudly. Turning quickly, Jet looked into the round face of a man standing in the doorway.

Drawing himself up, Jet gulped and stated, "I was just thinking out loud. Good afternoon, Dennis." The man scoffed slightly, making his large belly shake up and down against his broad chest.

"It's still Doctor Owen to you, boy," he commanded firmly, sending the young man a glare that ran his skin cold. Walking down the aisle and closer to Jet, he scanned his figure and said, "I see that even in the court you still where those silly colored contacts. When are you going to learn that your generation has grown up?"

"Do you want me to hit him?" Kris's voice whispered into his left ear. Shaking his head, Jet elbowed her invisible form nonchalantly. An audible gasp escaped her lungs, causing Dennis to look at Jet curiously.

Biting his lip, Jet muttered, "The storm must be picking up with the sound of that wind. I hope this won't last too long. I have some more things to do today."

"Ooh, nice cover," Kris whispered again, faking his accent in a teasing manner.

"Shh..." he let out, only causing more stares from his opposing attorney. Clearing his throat, Jet opened his briefcase and stated, "I--um--better do some last minute catching up."

* * *

"This court is now in session," the tall judge said, slamming his gavel down hard. Everyone in the crowded room sat, a rustle of restlessness spreading like a wave over the courtroom. The appeal then began, Kris looking on in anxiety. "Bring in the accused," he called from his high pedestal, and the doors in the back opened. There was a clanking of shackles as a pair of wardens escorted David into the silent room. His was dressed in the customary orange jumpsuit that all prisoners wore, and his ankles and wrists were bound in heavy metal shackles.

Catching a breath in her lungs, Kris could not understand the wave of emotions and amazement that suddenly overtook her. She leaned against the wall and stared at him, her mouth slightly open, although no one could see it. Her eyes searched his form rapidly, over and over until she had taken in every aspect of his physique. He was a strong man, standing inches taller than she, with a pair of broad shoulders, and a strong and slender neck. His dark brown hair glistened in the florescent lighting, and it hung down to the base of his neck in thick wisps. His eyes were behind a pair of thin glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose, and his thick lips were drawn tight as he walked in, his eyes focused on the creamy floor. Holding in her breath, she took a step forward and followed him with her eyes. Something inside of her had jumped into her throat, wanting to escape in an excited breath of air, but she held it in, amazed.

"Please sit," the judge directed as David looked at Jet and sighed. Jet pulled out his client's chair and led him into it, his support and compassion shining brightly in the dank room. "Now, Mr. Forslund, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

Raising his right hand, David leaned forward into his microphone and stated, "I do." His accent was soft but obvious, and Kris could not help but wonder which country he himself had come from. It was obviously Germanic or Scandinavian, but soft and gentle, revealing something somewhat passive and almost shy about him.

"Please give me your name and where you were born," the judge commanded, the pen in his hand ready to scratch the entire testimony in all exactness.

Clearing his throat, David leaned forward hesitantly and said, "My name is David Forslund. I was born in Uppsala, Sweden."

The appeal continued, and at his appointed time, Jet stood and walked forward, placing a manila folder in the judge's hand. "What I have just given you, your Honor, is my client's recent health records, and a transcript of his original confession to this crime. As your Honor will see, my client is in perfect physical and mental condition, and he also confessed to killing the late Richard Weylen." The words spilled out of Jet's mouth almost too rhythmically, like water flowing over smooth stones, and the judge examined the documents carefully, his lips pursed. "And from that honest confession, your Honor, one can see that he is no more responsible for the death of Private Weylen than Richard was."

"But, Mr. Black, how can that be possible if he himself confessed to committing the crime?" the prosecutor interjected, standing from his seat across the front of the room. Jet glanced to the judge, who nodded for him to proceed with an answer.

Drawing himself up tall, Jet adjusted his suit jacket and answered, "Because, Doctor Owen, it was accidental, and David had no control over what was happening to him."

"And what--may I ask--happened to him exactly?" Dennis asked with a sneer. There was a silence, and Jet sighed, letting his head fall for a moment.

"My client," he began hesitantly, "had a moment in which his body was--fighting against him. A seizure, if you will. He had no control of his muscles or whether or not he could even move."

There was a pause, and Dennis asked, "If it was indeed a seizure, Mr. Black, how then, did he manage to fire strange bolts of intense light energy in Private Weylen's direction, charring the victim's body?" At this Jet opened his mouth but closed it again, his thoughts tangled in a knot of confusion. Kris accidentally whimpered slightly, bouncing on her heels, hoping he would regain his footing. In this moment of silence, and while he had the courtroom's attention, Dennis shouted astutely, "How many of your clients have actually been acquitted, Mr. Black?"

"Two, Doctor," Jet answered quietly.

"And how many cases have you defended, sir?" Dennis continued slyly.

"Six, sir," Jet replied.

"And how many have actually been put to death by means of execution?"

"One," Jet barely whispered, his voice catching in his throat. "Shellie Kimball, age twenty. The others all either somehow escaped and were never seen again, or in the case of Kevin Josephs, they committed suicide, sir."

"That's strange," Dennis began, taking a step away. But turning he stated loudly, "There are some that say that you harbor and defend your clients, because they are mutants, Mr. Black." Jet's eyes shot to Dennis in sudden trepidation, and his jaw set itself as he bit down the back of his teeth. "Do you," Dennis asked crudely, "indeed, do you harbor mutants, Mr. Black?"

From what she could see, Jet was struggling with an inner battle between his rebellious spirit and his newly acquired law-abiding beliefs. He stared over at David who stared back, fear in his deep blue eyes. Opening his mouth, ready to speak, he closed it again and his eyes searched the room as though he was looking for his reply in the people around him. The silence reigned even longer and Dennis finally looked at the judge and said, "I believe, your Honor, that you have your answer." With that, he returned to his seat, a smug grin spread across his face.

"Is this true, Mr. Black?" the judge asked quietly.

Heaving a sigh, Jet stared up at the judge and whispered, "Yes, your Honor." There was an audible mumble that swept over the people, causing the judge to call for order. Walking to the table, Jet took a drink of water and stared at the back wall. "It comes not down to the fact whether or not my client is a so-called 'mutant', your Honor," Jet started, his self-assurance returned. "It comes down to the fact, that Mr. Forslund had no control over his actions. You see, sir, that when the mutant gene is first triggered, it can sometimes cause violent side effects."

"We all know this story, Mr. Black," the judge interrupted. "We have all watched the news, we have all heard the speeches given for pro-mutant organizations, so there is no need for a biology lesson." It suddenly seemed as though the judge's attention had been switched off, and he no longer cared about Jet's case. "I am not a prejudice man, Mr. Black, but this man is a danger to society, and obviously committed his crime knowingly. I have no other choice but to deny your request. I hereby declare that David Forslund will be executed by means of lethal injection in precisely three weeks. This case is closed, and this court is adjourned." And with that, he slammed down his gavel and exited the room before Jet could say a word.

The wardens then came to David and hoisted him out of his seat as he stared forward blankly. Jet merely stared after him helplessly as they ushered him out of the room, watching the tears run from David's eyes.

The courtroom slowly emptied, and Kris ran to her friend, making sure to only appear once the room was clear. "Oh god, Jet, what are you going to do?" she cried, putting her hands on his shoulders. He stared at her stiffly, tears on the edge of his violet eyes. "Not a prejudice man, my ass!" she shouted. "Is there nothing left sacred anymore? Even our justice system hates us!"

Shaking his head, he muttered, "I can't lose another one, Kris. I cannot." Stamping his foot childishly, he ran his hands through his hair and shouted, "God, I'm so stupid! I should have stopped while I was ahead. I will not let Tina die again!" This last sentence he yelled loudly, his soft voice going harsh, echoing off of the marble walls. And he sank to the floor, weeping openly. Kris sat down beside him, holding his head against her chest as she let a stray tear escape her eyes. The room was now silent and empty except for the sound of Jet's tears, and the wind outside whistled against the window panes, a draft of air sending her into a spell of shivers as the sunlight faded and darkness crept in.

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