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
,Ich hab 'nen grünen Pass mit 'nem goldenen Adler drauf, doch bin ich Fremd hier!" Advanced Chemistry,Fremd in eigenen Land"
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Chapter III: Change in SoundsThe hours were growing very late when Jet came quietly into the house. Dropping his keys into a tray on a table in the foyer, he headed briskly into the kitchen. There, Kris sat quite uncomfortably at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of orange juice. Jet halted in his steps and glared over at her, his violet eyes flashing. "Gute Nacht, Hello," Kris greeted softly, a grin slipping over her lips.
He simply stared at her, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. "I suppose you're going to explain yourself," he stated sternly. Anger was boiling just beneath the surface of his skin, and Kris knew this well.
"Why should I have to," she muttered, taking a sip of her juice nonchalantly. Striding to her, Jet made to hit her, but stopped when he saw a flash of terror in her blue eyes. Letting his hand fall to his side, he looked down at her and sighed in exasperation.
Rubbing his forehead, he said, "I have been up at the prison for three hours—answering all sorts of questions. You are damned lucky that you didn't tell me anything about this. The whole thing was bloody irrational!" Pacing, he gestured toward her and continued, "And you—you think you can rise above the law all you want to—but you just can't, Phantom! You can't!"
"Doch! Yes I can!" She sassed in return.
"Keep your bloody trap shut!" he commanded, pointing at her in his rage. "When you try to do things like that, you get others in a whole shit of trouble!"
"What was I supposed to do? Do it your way?" she inquired loudly. "If I'd done that, David would have died and then you would have retreated back into your guilt for God knows how long."
Running a frustrated hand through his hair, he gestured toward the living room and shouted, "They will never stop hounding me! That court already suspects me for a mutant-lover, and they probably think I've aided in the rescue of all of my clients." Letting out an exasperating breath of air, he added, "And this is going to be the last straw for them…"
"Tell me something, Sidewinder," Kris asked of him quietly. "Does David… does he know that you are a mutant?"
"What!" Jet spat looking at her insanely. She simply raised an eyebrow to him and cocked her head smartly. Sighing, he let out, "Of course."
"Has he seen them?" she questioned further. She could picture them as she stared at his perplexed and worried face—his fangs. They protruded from the top of his mouth, just behind his canine teeth. They were probably folded back against the roof of his mouth at that very moment. Those very fangs were the reason behind the hiss in his speech—it was not a lisp as many had thought.
"Yes, he has," he whispered offhandedly. "What does it matter anyway?"
"I was just curious." She looked down at the floor as she thought.
"Did you hear anything that I said?" Jet asked harshly. There was a moment in which Kris did not respond, and he shouted in frustration, "They're going to find you sooner or later, Phantom! You have to stop now!"
"Nein!" Kris yelled in return, rising to her feet. "I will not stop! My life—it works for me. This is how I want it to be. I'm happy with who I am!" Walking to the back hallway that headed to the bedrooms, she turned and said, "You can run all you want from the person you really are, Jet Black. But I know you better than that. This whole lawyer thing—the whole "I abide by the law regardless the ends"—it's bullshit!"
"Get out of here!" Jet shouted in return. "I want you out of my house by tomorrow, do you hear me?"
"Fine!" she yelled back as she turned and headed toward her room. "I don't want to see you ever again," she added childishly and slammed her door shut.
Approaching her bedroom door, he knocked ever so softly. He could hear her just inside, the soft sobs into her pillow. "Wer ist es?" she called from inside. He froze, unsure of what to say. "Who is it?" she repeated.
Clearing his throat, he let out softly, "David—it's David. May I come in." A long moment passed, he heard her shuffling around and then the door opened slowly.
"Yes," she answered quietly, her hand rubbing her throat in troubled annoyance. With that, she turned and walked to the bed.
He watched her as he stepped into the room and softly pushed the door closed. She was massaging her throat and constantly clearing it in small coughs. "Are you alright?" he inquired gently.
Looking to him, she smiled and let out, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It's just—well, I haven't spoken this much English in a long time. My vocal chords aren't used to this sudden change in sounds. It makes my throat hurt."
"I'm sorry," he whispered in an attempt to comfort her.
"I'll be fine, I think," she replied. "Thank you, though, for your concern."
Smiling, he nodded and said, "That is what I came in here to do. I wanted to thank you, for saving my life. Very few people would have attempted what you accomplished."
Letting out a gentle laugh, Kris smiled and brushed her blonde hair behind her ears. "You're welcome. It was no problem…really."
"I could not help but hear you crying," David continued hesitantly.
"Scheiße! You could hear that?" Kris let out in embarrassment. "I thought the walls were thicker than that." They both laughed slightly, and Kris kicked at a shoe on the floor in restlessness.
"What is wrong?"
She blinked and stared at him for a long moment. Her mind opening, she looked into his thoughts and saw a shadowy picture of truth. Searching just barely so as not to let him know that she was reading his thoughts, she saw only honesty. He truly wanted to know what was bothering her. He seemed too kind. "Ah… It's Jet—and Kurt. They're making me go to New York with y'all tomorrow, and I really don't want to go back there. And Jet—well—he's not talking to me altogether. In fact, we just expressed that we don't want to see each other anymore."
There was a moment in which David simply stared away in thought, his deep blue eyes dancing in the dim light from the lamp. "Can I make a suggestion?" he asked. Kris slowly nodded, ready to hear what he had to say. "I would tell you to perhaps humble yourself and make amends with Jet. A friend like Sidewinder comes around seldom in a lifetime. I know for a fact that you would not want to lose him. And as for Kurt… I would go with him—to New York. It may be hard for you, but it may also do you something wonderful. You have very little to lose."
They stared at each other for what felt like hours before David added, "Of course, I don't know much. I'm not great at giving advice. I just say what seems right to me. I'm sorry if I've upset you."
"No, no," Kris interrupted. "No, I think you may be right. I've been a real jerk."
"Well, Miss James, I would say good night," he said softly.
"Call me Kris… And good night, David. Thank you," Kris said with a loving smile. "I'll see you in the morning?" Her statement became a question in her hesitation, and as David was heading out the bedroom door, he turned and smiled.
"Of course."
Jet sat on the sofa in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a white muscle shirt. His eyes were focused on the television, but he was unaware of what he was watching. His thoughts were elsewhere this late at night. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he realized that it was actually early in the morning, the large hand nearing two.
Coming up behind him, Kris climbed over the top of the couch and sank down onto her knees, adjusting herself comfortably on the plush cushions. Playing with her hair nervously, she sighed and whispered, "Jet, I know that you're angry with me, but I wasn't just going to let him die." Setting his jaw, Jet continued to stare at the television, his demeanor indignant. "Would you at least talk to me?" she asked quietly, her lip trembling. He glanced at her quickly through the sides of his eyes and then set back his stare. Laying her head into her hands, she held her breath, holding back an onslaught of tears. " I need you right now, Jet!" she let out. Letting her hands fall to her lap. "Kurt's angry with me, I'm thousands of miles from home, and now you're not talking to me," she cried, letting her tears come. "I'm sorry… There was nothing else I could do."
Turning to her, he watched her stiffly for a minute, and as her tears ran down her face, his gaze softened. Putting a hand to her cheek, he smiled and whispered, "It's alright." She looked at him a moment, as though she were astonished. "Somewhere, deep inside of me, I was hoping you wouldn't listen to me," he began, sighing deeply. "I'm glad you saved him." The room went silent except for the drone of the late evening news. They stared at each other for the longest time, her eyes glistening greenish in her tears.
"This evening, what is believed to be a startling act of terrorism disrupted our justice system." Immediately, Kris and Jet's attention switched to the television. "Twenty-seven year old, David Forslund was marked to be executed this evening by means of lethal injection. David was tried and convicted for the first-degree murder of Private First Class Richard Weylen over eleven years ago. But his death was brought to a screeching halt when an unknown assailant broke into the facility and liberated him." At this point, a picture of Kris in her black costume, hung in mid-leap, came upon the screen. "The young woman, believed to be the German terrorist known only as 'The Phantom,' is in…"
Jet turned off the TV with a click of the remote. Kris stared at him a moment, and then he explained, "We already know what happened." When he smiled slightly, she let out a soft giggle, twisting her fingers nervously in her lap. Another awkward silence past, then he said, "It must be exciting, getting national coverage like this."
"Oh," she muttered bashfully, "this is nothing. I've gotten international coverage all over Europe several times for things I've done." He laughed slightly, not realizing that he had his hand on the back of her neck, gently stroking her hair. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her head softly against his arm, unaware of what she was really doing. Looking up into his violet eyes, she whispered, "Jet--"
"Shh… don't talk," he interrupted her with a hand to her lips. And leaning in, he brought his lips to hers and kissed her intimately. Instinctively, she returned it and put her hands on the sides of his face in a sweet caress.
In their passion, her mind was suddenly opened in a wave of emotion, and she could hear his every thought, see what he was feeling. Pictures of Tina rolled into her mind: her smiling face, her hungry eyes. But the images soon changed into something Kris never wanted to imagine. Tina lying face down upon the bed, her blood spilling onto the blue sheets. Her hands grasped the pillows, her hold unloosened. At that moment, Kris felt a surge of pain, of anger that filled more than just her consciousness. It flowed into her every pore, suffocating her in an ocean of torment. Overwhelmed, she pulled away, breathing hard. She could feel him staring at her, his confusion swirling around in her consciousness. Turning away, she closed her eyes as he tried to lean in, and she held up a hand and whispered, "Stop. Just stop."
"What? Why?" he asked, his tone confused and anxious.
Looking up into his eyes, she shook her head and whispered, "I can't. I mean, I don't want you to do something that you'll regret." Standing, she climbed over the top of the couch and let out, "I just can't." And with that she left the room at a run. He stared after her in anxiety, his thoughts roving, unsure of what had just happened. Absentmindedly, he put his hand to his head and scratched his hair, yearning for her to return.
The darkness of the room was broken by the glare of the television screen. The bright contrasts of light shined off of Tom's tanned face, accenting the dark color of his eyes. His thin lips were curved slightly downward as he watched the sequence of events unfold on that evening's news. "Fortunately, only one person was injured, and he is now being treated at Northwestern Memorial Hospital for a mild concussion." Hearing this, he let out a laugh and shook his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes.
"What's so funny?" a woman asked from behind him as she came into the room, carrying with her a glass of bubbly champagne. He glanced at her as she sat down on the couch beside him, absentmindedly stroking his hair. She looked to the television and made a gesture. "This?" she inquired curiously as the recording of a young woman in black costume began to play again. The mystery woman fought swiftly and deftly, as she seemed to disappear in one position and then reappear in another as if by magic.
He nodded, his eyes shimmering in the light of the television. "This woman, believed to be the German terrorist known only as 'The Phantom,' is in her mid-twenties. She has chin-length, dishwater blonde hair, and according to eyewitness accounts, she has blue eyes and faded freckles. Standing between five feet, six inches and five feet, eight inches tall, The Phantom is believed to be armed and dangerous. If you have any information, please call this hot-line immediately." He took a gulp of her champagne and let out a chuckle. With a click of the remote, the screen went black.
"That could be anybody," she let out, putting her glass on the coffee table in front of the two of them. "There are too many people I know that could fall under that description."
Nodding, he looked to her and said, "Exactly. And she knows that." His eyes flashed menacingly, as the words slipped over his tongue. His voice was soft and rhythmic, his Irish accent thick and charming. "Notice, Deanna, that she wears the mask to cover her nose and the area around her eyes. And then the dark clothing, the trench coat, gloves, boots, and cape, they hide every aspect of her body that makes her unique. The police can't draw a composite sketch of her wearing a mask, because they all know that she won't go walking around in broad daylight with it on. She has them stumped, eating out of the palm of her gloved hand. Without that costume, she is like every other one of the blonde haired, blue eyed girls in this country."
Deanna stared into him, her golden eyes shining lustfully in the moonlight that streamed in through the windows. "You seemed to have thought this through as much as she," she muttered, her dark red hair flowing smoothly over her shoulders. He smiled, his perfect teeth gleaming handsomely.
Shaking his head, he whispered, "She's no Phantom." And with that, he leaned in and kissed Deanna passionately, a surge of heated energy escaping from his fingertips, exploding in a small burst just above them, only exciting him more. "Don't open your eyes," he let out, and she kept them shut tight as he kissed her again, guiding her down into the cushions. Lying down next to her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. "We should find her," he whispered quite abruptly, causing Deanna to stop and stare at the ceiling.
"What?" she asked suspiciously, as his eyes shot open next to her.
"We should find her," he repeated plainly, his voice catching in his throat. "Let's see who she really is, and what she knows."
Sitting up in exasperation, she said, "But Tom, you promised me that you would take a break for a little while after your last excursion. We don't need to go on some man hunt halfway across the country." She looked at him and he winced as though in pain. Quickly she turned away and continued, "I want to stay here for awhile."
"It's not halfway across the country," he stated. "Apparently she's in or around Chicago, and I've got connections there, Dee." He paused and stared at her back before he continued, "It will only take a week or two. Then we come back here and start where we left off."
Turning, she glared at him, and this time he gasped and doubled over, gritting his teeth in agony. "Stop it, Deanna!" he commanded, his voice hoarse as his insides burned. But she only glared harder, her arms crossed over her chest in indignation. Screaming, he shouted, "I said stop it!" And with that, he thrust his hands upward and a low intensity heat burst caught her in the stomach, causing her to fall back and onto the floor, her shirt singeing in the extreme temperature. She kicked her feet childishly and let out a yell. Putting a hand out, he pushed her shoulder firmly into the coffee table and screamed, "I'm going to do this whether you like it or not, Dee!" She made to glance at him, but he slapped her hard across the face. "I will have no more of that! If you want my love, then you are going to do what I tell you to do! Do you understand me?" She made no reply, but only looked hard into the floorboards as though ignoring him. Slapping her again, he screamed, "I SAID, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!"
"Yes," she whispered meekly, her thin fingers making their way to his wrist, stroking the top of his hand gently. His own fingers played on hers in return as they sat for a moment in the silent darkness.
Running a hand in a caress along her cheek, he smiled and whispered, "It's getting late. Let's go to bed. We have a big day tomorrow." Leaning forward, her kissed her forehead, smiled again and made his way down the hall toward the bedroom. Deanna sat there for a minute, touching her reddened face softly as tears spilled from her eyes. Doubling over, she heaved and coughed hard, a snake spilling from her mouth and onto the wooden floor. She heaved again, but nothing came of it. She stood slowly, her very thin frame trying to balance in her pain. Then, she bent down, picked up the snake as it tried to slither away, and threw it out an open window into the yard. Wiping her eyes, she sighed and made her way to bed.
