All known X-men characters in this story are copyrighted by Marvel Comics.
No permission was obtained, but no profit is to be made from this story. It
is purely for my personal enjoyment and those of its readers. All other
characters, concepts, plots, theories, technology not seen in Marvel Comics
belong to me.
Please don't distribute this without asking me; I probably won't mind if
you did, as long as it wasn't altered in any way. I'd just like to know where
it's going.
Please, enjoy this story, and send me your comments, be they good or
bad, to percy@atlas.webo.dg.com or jpercy@clariion.com.
Thanks for reading!
John Percy
P.S. Sorry this chapter took so long; work, selling a car, buying a new one,
graduate classes, etc, took a lot of my time recently. I'll try to be
better.
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Revelations - Chapter 7
By
John Percy
I leave security central with Alex's look of hate still on my mind. Not
that there is anything I can do about it; Alex made up his mind long ago to
follow this path. There's nothing I can do change it. At least, not anymore.
I walk back to my quarters, determined to soak in my hot tub for a week.
Not just for my shoulder, but also for my bruised ego. I need to train more
than I've been doing. If anything, my fight with Jean Grey has taught me
that I've let my combat skills deteriorate some. I'll talk with Jesse, Terry
and the others later on to set up a new training program.
I arrive at my quarters and key in my access code. With a silent woosh,
the doors open and I step inside. A quick glance at the doorway terminal
tells me that my quarter's security hasn't been breached since I left last.
Not that I was expecting it to have been, with all that's been going on. It's
dark in the room, as the lights automatically turned off when I left. I leave
them off, appreciating the dark moodiness of the room.
I walk through my living area slowly and start to strip off my armor,
grimacing a bit as it hurts to get it off my injured arm. "Computer," I grunt,
"Start the hot tub sequence." With a low, acknowledging beep, the computer
obeys my command, and I hear the muffled sound of the hot tub filling in my
private bathroom. With an anticipating sigh, I finally get the last of my
armor off, and begin to pull my shirt over my head.
A low, female voice comes from the direction of my bedroom area. "All hail
the conquering hero."
Normally, being taken by surprise like that would've startled me, if I
didn't recognize the voice. Finishing taken off my shirt, I glance towards
the bedroom area briefly. "It's not like that all, and you know it, Amelia."
Amelia Voght walks out of the darkened bedroom area, tall and regal.
She wears an elaborate uniform, a variant of a Rook's uniform, but somehow
much more royal-looking. Yellow shoulder guards brightly offset her dark
fushia outfit with red trim. Black leather knee-high boots, a short, red
cape, and some kind of handle to an energy sword round out this formidable,
auburn-haired woman.
Folding her arms across her chest and sitting down on my couch, she
smiles at me. "What exactly is it, then, Scott? A desire to show up Havok?
Or your next calculating step towards being the next Horseman of Apocalypse?"
She looks at me with that smirk I've known for years, trying to get me riled.
I walk over to the kitchen part of my quarters and pour myself a glass of
water. "I was just doing my job, Amelia, nothing more. You know that. How
Alex takes it, that's his business. I don't care what he thinks."
I glare back at the one person I could possibly call a confidant, trying to
get her to drop the subject. I met Amelia Voght over 10 years ago, in the
early years of the Ascension. Even though she was older than me, she had long
taken the sidelines in the human/mutant conflict as a disinterested observer.
I recognized her intelligence, her leadership abilities, and the usefulness of
her power, and tried to convince her to join the cause. Somehow, I succeeded.
Blessed with the ability to turn her body into a gaseous state (or is that
her natural state?), her power makes her the perfect infiltrator and
intelligence agent; it's also how she got into my quarters without tripping
any of the security measures. In the past, her information gathering skills
has ensured victory for us on more than one occasion. And her insight has
saved more lives than I can count. She's universally known as the best source
of reliable information around, save The Angel's underground network.
Unfortuantly, being a woman in the world of Apocalypse doesn't give a
person too many opportunities to advance. While her skills and accomplishments
have gained her the respect and admiration of the lower enchalons, the upper
officers in the army of Apocalypse typically resent her success. So, while
she has earned a bit of autonomy, she doesn't have the influence that a man
in her position would. I make it my business to see that she gets what she
deserves. At least, I try. I make sure she gets good quarters, and is left
alone by the others. Other than that, there's not much I can do.
Over the years, we became more than just fellow soldiers. Perhaps we're
even friends. Though we've shared a bed on a few occasions in the past, it
wasn't out of a sense of love or anything like that. Back then, there was no
time for love; in war, you can't get to close to your fellow soldiers. But,
we've helped meet each other's needs, from time to time, in more ways than
one. In that sense, I guess I'm as close to her as I am to anyone today.
I finish my water, trying to think of what she is trying to accomplish by
provoking me a little. "I do my duty, nothing more. If Alex has difficulty
with that, then that's his problem, not mine." I lean against the counter,
and bend over to unbuckle my boots.
Amelia chuckles lightly. "I'll remember that, Scott, when I find your
plasma-charred body in a back alley one morning. 'Oh, that's Alex's problem,'
I'll say. 'Scott doesn't have to worry about that.'" Her verbal jab makes
me grimace.
"You know Alex won't go that far." Kicking off my boots, I walk back into
the bathroom. "And even if he did try to, I can take care of myself." Quickly
stripping off the rest of my uniform, I climb into the now full, steaming,
hot tub, and set the whirlpool controls to high.
She is right, though. When we were younger, my optic blasts and Alex's
plasma blasts were useless against each other. Mr. Sinister's theory was that
our bodies absorbed the solar energy around us, converting it into our power
blasts. Since my optic blasts and Alex's plasma blasts are just another form
of solar energy, our bodies absorbed them, too. So we were 'immune' to each
other's power.
'Were' being the operative term. As the Ascension carried on, Mr.
Sinister thought it would be a good idea to try and boost our power levels in
order to increase our effectiveness. So, he tinkered with our genetic codes
slightly, increasing our power levels dramatically. But, it also somehow
altered my optic blasts and Alex's plasma blasts slightly. Maybe it is the
frequency or something, but it really doesn't matter. When Mr. Sinister ran
some tests on us, we found out that while our power blasts still cancel each
other out (but explosively, now), we can now hurt each other. I still have
the plasma burn scar to prove it. I've no doubt in my mind that Alex could
kill me without blinking an eye.
I try not to think of that scenario as Amelia walks into the room and
sits on the edge of the raised hot tub. "Sure you can, Scott. We can all
tell that from the way the processing levels look." She idly puts her
fingertips into the hot water and swirls it around.
Narrowing my eyes beneath my visor, I shrug my shoulders and sink lower
into the hot water. "I don't know what you're talking about." Well, I do,
but I really don't want to talk about it.
"Of course you do, Scott," she chides me, "I've known you too long, and
seen too much battle damage to not recognize a big battle when I see one. Our
intelligence on the Grey woman doesn't lead me to believe she is that
powerful. At least, not yet. But you had a hard time with that little woman,
didn't you? Why?"
I hrumph, trying to make light of it. "I'm just a little out of training,
Amelia. Too much paperwork and command crap taking up my time. I can work
on it." That's close enough to the truth.
"It's just not that, is it Scott? Why is she still alive?" she says
quickly, flicking water drops at me.
I frown beneath my visor. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," she says, "that I've seen you fight before, Scott. Even against
stronger opponents, you gave no quarter. You've killed more times than you
and I can remember. In fact, I'd say you are the most efficient, pragmatic,
and ruthless killer I've seen."
I stretch under the water and grimace. "You sure know how to compliment
a guy." I wish she would just drop this.
She stands and slowly walks around the bathroom. "You know what I mean,
Scott. You're a soldier, maybe the best I've seen. If this had happened
a few years ago, even if the Grey woman is powerful, you would've torn her to
shreds. Without breaking a sweat. What happened out there?"
I smack my fist on the edge of the hot tub. "Enough, alright? I'm a
little out of practice, and had a tougher time than I should have. I know I
don't deserve a second chance, but in the end I won, so you'll excuse me if I
don't want to talk about it anymore."
She gives me that little smirk I've seen too many times, but drops then
seems to drop the subject anyways. "Ok, Scott, whatever you say." She walks
around until she's behind my shoulders. Moments later, I feel her strong
fingers working my sore shoulder. "Let's talk about something else, then,
shall we? Hmmm. " She kneads my shoulders a little harder. "How -is- your
brother, Scott?" she says in a mocking neighborly tone.
I groan under my breath. I knew she wouldn't give up that easily. "You
know how he is, Amelia. Why bother asking?" Might as well let her just
get it over with and say what she wants to say.
She squeezes my shoulders hard enough to hurt a bit. "Fine, Scott. I'll
skip the pleasantries. It's Alex. He's getting worse and worse all the time.
And it's affecting you. If you don't do something about him, soon...."
I nod my head slowly in acknowledgement to her unsaid words. "I know."
"Soon, he won't hold himself back anymore. His looks, his little comments,
his attitude - they will be nothing compared to what he will become." Her
fingers dig into my shoulders, accenting each point.
"I know, Amelia."
Her hands pause a moment. "Scott, I've known you and your brother for far
too long. Alex will try to kill you, Scott. Either openly, or in secret."
I nod slightly. It's something I've known for a long time.
"And what will you do then, Scott Summers?" Her hands start massaging
my shoulders again.
"What I've always done, Amelia."
That seems to quiet her, as I can feel her nod slightly, and she begins
to work in earnest at my shoulders. She's known me long enough to know what
I'll do.
Survive.
For the rest of my stay in the hot tub, Amelia just massages my shoulder,
sometimes adding some ointment I keep nearby. Needless to say, it feels good.
So good, in fact, I take off my visor, and really relax. Keeping my eyes
closed, of course.
I start to doze off in the hot, swirling water under her hands, until
she gives me a little smack on the side of the head. Just a reminder to stay
awake, of course. I smirk, and reaching for my visor, climb out of the tub.
As I slip the visor on, she pulls a big, thick blanket off of the shelf, and
wraps it around me, and begins to dry me off. I raise an eyebrow at this;
Amelia and I have been, well, intimate, but she's not the type to 'serve'.
Still, it feels nice, and she doesn't seem to be trying to make this into
something sensual, so I let it go.
Finishing, she wraps the blanket around my waist and with a smirk, tucks it
in and smacks me on the butt. I shrug and walk back out into the coolness of
my living area. Going to the kitchen, I open the fridge and pull out a bottle
of chilled wine, something I don't indulge in very often, but like to do with
Amelia.
Pulling out two goblets, I hold up one in an unspoken question, and she
nods slightly, so I pour her a glass. Going to my couch, I had it to her, and
sitting, let out a sigh of relaxation. Next to me, Amelia sits and folds her
legs underneath her.
For the rest of the night, Amelia and I just talk. Sharing wine, and a
light dinner, we talk about old times, old comrades, and old memories. We
also talk about the present: problems, plans, and ideas. I find her thoughts
insightful and provoking. Her advice spawns several ideas in the training
procedures for the EMF that I might implement.
Later that night, though, she returns to her quarters, shifting into a
gaseous cloud and disappearing through an air vent. No one would ever know
she was here.
I climb into bed, exhausted yet refreshed, and turn out the light. Part
of me wishes she had stayed.
The other part can't stop thinking about Jean Grey.
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