Walking up to Jorge's apartment was not getting any easier as the weeks passed. Every single time, Gemma's heart was in her throat. Would he be home? Would he be his old self again? Would he be gone...?

She balanced the boxes of food in her arms as she climbed the stairs. It had become routine for her to bring actual home made food once a week. Jorge, being a kind person, did not complain about it, and she was careful not to do it often enough to draw suspicion. She was the school guidance counselor checking in. Making sure the de-aged police officer was safe and doing well. The fact that he also happened to be her husband had been carefully and successfully avoided so far. Gemma usually cried on the nights after she visited Jorge. But that was her thing to deal with.

Gemma balanced the food boxes as she freed up one hand to knock on the door. Hopefully, he would be home. He had been going back to work, from what she gathered, trying to re-learn the ropes in a whole new world that was the literal future to him. Good days and bad days, probably.

Maybe some home cooked food would help.

He needed to clean. The apartment itself wasn’t messy, but while Jorge had been living here, trying to remember something about who he was, he hadn’t been doing much in the way of upkeep. Not that he was a messy person. But a couple of plates had piled in the sink and there was a book he had been reading that was lying on the floor for the, what, third day in a row? No, just because he couldn’t remember the person that lived here, didn’t mean he needed to be a slob.

So, today was dedicated to cleaning. He was starting to go being (go back?) to work for the MRC but they were still keeping him on for limited hours. He didn’t have as high a rank than he had supposedly earned before being deaged, but they knew he was a good cop and didn’t want to lose him. So he would be gradually introduced into his former capacity, for however long this phenomena lasted.

Until then, he had an apartment to clean and organize. Today the young officer was dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, moving around his place, dusting, stacking, and generally trying to make the place more presentable. Not that he had any company...save for Ms. Taylor. She still came by.

Ms. Taylor. He was grateful for her help, truly, but it still irked him that she was hiding something. She flat out refused to tell him anymore about whomever he was supposed to be married to. If he was currently married, why was he being kept from his wife? Certainly she, or he, could help him to fill in some places in the decades of years that he was now lacking. It was frustrating, but Jorge didn’t want to push the guidance counselor. She was being so nice and helpful. That last thing he wanted to do was push away one of his only current friends.

Ducked into the closet, Jorge had pulled out a couple of boxes with books that were stacked inside, some paperwork, and random clothing. He was sure he could clear out some of this or at least put them in a better area than the closet floor. Shaking his head, he pulled out a couple of books from a box, flipping through them before he tossed them back inside.

There was a better way to organize all these. Maybe he’d swap out some of the books from the shelf out in the living room? Rotate them out, make things seem a little fresh. He was about to stand when he heard something clink inside the cardboard box. His interest piqued, he investigated and found that there was a slightly smaller metal box inside. A combination lock was attached, securing the box but, surprisingly, he found himself reaching for it and began turning the lock in perfect sequence without stopping.

Click. The lock opened. Huh. Seems some of that muscle memory was lingering. Opening the lid he found, inside, what looked to be some important and/or official looking documents and well as a couple more books. Among them was, surprisingly, his favorite: “Pride and Prejudice”. It was old, worn, and definitely looked well read from the outside. Huh. His hands were poised to flip the book open when a knock came to his door.

Curious, he stood up, walking to the door and grabbing the edge of his tanktop. Lifting it up, exposing his youthful, firm stomach, he dabbed the sweat from his forehead as he opened the door.

”Oh hey Ms. Taylor,” he said with a genuine smile. He tugged his shirt back down. ”Sorry. Cleaning.” he said, referring to his attire. He tilted his head, smirking. ”Home cookin’ day already?” He teased, opening the door for her to enter. ”I appreciate the company, Ms. Taylor, but you don’t have to keep bringing me food. I can assure you, I know dial the fast food restaurant down the street.”

He grinned, closing the door behind her as he took up his book once more and started to move things around so she could have a seat without being accosted by junk.

Gemma took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she waited for the door to open. Every time she visited Jorge, she had a role to play; that of a friend, that of a guidance counselor, and that of a woman who was not married to him at all. But it was worth it, just to see he was doing alright.

>>”Oh hey Ms. Taylor. Sorry. Cleaning.”

... maybe getting used to what young Jorge looked like would take some more time, though. Damn.

>>”Home cookin’ day already? I appreciate the company, Ms. Taylor, but you don’t have to keep bringing me food. I can assure you, I know dial the fast food restaurant down the street.”

"Oh, I know. But this is not fast food." Gemma smirked back, walking into the apartment she knew so well, and heading to the kitchen. "Everyone needs a decent home cooked meal every once in a while. The kind you don't get in wrappers and don't warm up in a microwave..."

Jorge smirked as he led Ms. Taylor into the apartment, clearing some room for her on the table so that she could place down whatever food she was bringing this week, he moved on past her, setting his book on a nearby table. He grinned at her comment, agreeing that home cooked food wasn’t fast food. Still, he felt a small need to defend his chosen choice of cuisine and shot her a faux-hurt look.

”Hey, those wrappers and microwaves pump the food with all sort of scientific waves packed with superpowered nutrients.” He shrugged. ”At least that’s what the Fast Food Council of Burgermen say. And who are they to lie?” He smirked and headed into the small kitchenette. ”Do you want anything to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee?”

The kitchenette was small, but there was easily enough space for him to move around. Opening the fridge he pulled out a bottle of water and some napkins. He knew how to be a good host, even if the person who was coming by was just doing so to drop off some food. Besides, sometimes Ms. Taylor stuck around and they got to chatting. He enjoyed the company. It was good to have someone to talk to who knew the man he had become, even if it was just in a comradery capacity.

Returning from the kitchen, he set down his bottle of water and the counselor’s choice of drink and some napkins. He glanced at her for a second, offering her a slight smile before he continued to set up the table. It was odd. He was growing used to her visits, even looking forward to them. Though he was frustrated by the decided lack of information she was giving him concerning his marital status, at least she was someone who understood what was happening.

Her presence was...comforting.

Stepping back from the table he glanced towards his bedroom. ”Um, I’ll wash up real quick. Stay for lunch?” he asked cautiously. ”I could use a friendly face today.”

Jorge, even as his younger self, was a fully functioning adult (which was more than what could be said about some of the other de-aged people). He could take care of himself, cook, or order takeout if he wanted. Still, he seemed to enjoy Gemma's home-cooked meals, and the attention that came with them.

>>”Hey, those wrappers and microwaves pump the food with all sort of scientific waves packed with superpowered nutrients. At least that’s what the Fast Food Council of Burgermen say. And who are they to lie?”

Gemma laughed a little at the comment. He still had the same weird sense of humor, at least.

>>”Do you want anything to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee?”

"Water's fine" she started working on setting the table, and warming up the food. It was fresh made, but cooled down considerably on the way here. And there was no way she'd put it in the microwave now. Jorge joined her in setting up, in a nice, comfortable way that almost felt like old times.

>>”Um, I’ll wash up real quick. Stay for lunch? I could use a friendly face today.”

"Sure" Gemma nodded with a smile. She was happy to stay and talk, especially if he felt like he needed her company today. While he washed up, she got the food and the table ready, trying to create the kind of setting that fit a home-cooked meal and friendly company. Napkins and all. Taking one last look around she noticed the book on the side table just as Jorge returned. She knew that book, and it brought a pang of sadness, which she covered up with a smile.

"You have been reading?"

With her water bottle set down and the food being laid out, Jorge knew that it would have been rude to sit and chow down right then and there. He had been cleaning this whole time and managed to work up a bit of a sweat. Even though he wasn’t done yet, and would probably get back to it once the counselor was gone, it was only appropriate that he freshen up a little in the meantime.

So he excused himself briefly from the living / dining room and moved into the bathroom. There he turned on his shower, removing his sweaty and dusty clothing. After he climbed in, he called back out to the woman as he heard her question chase after him.

”On and off,” he said. ”Some of the books I know I had when I was in Miami, and some are new to me. Still they are interesting reads.” He shrugged under the deluge of water.

Now that he was firmly out of Ms. Taylor’s adapted field, he could see and feel the water everywhere in his building. It felt nice. To feel connected with his mutation like this. That was the only drawback of her visits, the constant gag on his abilities. He understood the necessity of her working at the mansion, and definitely kept things controlled when there were tons of adolescent mutants with insane abilities. But too long in her presence? As nice as she was, it did feel a little restrictive. He was honestly glad they kept their interactions to a lunch and chit-chat before she headed off.

Once he was done with his 5-minute shower, Jorge exited, dried off, and changed into cleaner, more fitting clothing: jeans and a t-shirt. As he emerged from the hall, tugging his shirt down over stomach, he offered her another friendly smile as he stepped up to the table.

”What’s on the menu today, Ms. Taylor?” he asked inquisitively.

Jorge had his favorite reads. He was not the most hardcore bookworm Gemma had ever met, but he did have his favorite books, many of which had moved around with him across state lines and between apartments. She recognized the copy he'd left on the table. She smiled. Some things did not change the second time around.

>>”On and off. Some of the books I know I had when I was in Miami, and some are new to me. Still they are interesting reads.”

"You get to read some great ones all over again I hope." Gemma smiled, finishing the table setup just as he walked back in, jeans and a t-shirt this time.

>>”What’s on the menu today, Ms. Taylor?”

"Nothing fancy." Gemma admitted, placing the dishes on the table "Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans with garlic. Got some cookies for dessert. I hope you're hungry."

She allowed Jorge to serve himself. She was not his mother, and did not want to overdo the whole lunch thing... too much. She served herself, taking a healthy portion of the food she'd spent a considerable amount of time making.

"So, how is life with MRC treating you? Are you getting used to the new policies yet?"

Okay so there were some benefits to having a friend come over all the time bringing home cooked meals: they were awesome. Ms. Taylor was an amazing book, so much so that despite his reminders that he knew how to provide for himself, he actually really looked forward to seeing what she would bring. In this instance, it proved to be exactly the hearty, rib-sticking meal that he was dreaming about -- meatloaf.

Honestly he smelled it before he even asked what it was that she brought. The scent of the formed, ground beef, veggies, and potatoes all wafted through the room and hit his nostrils. He almost felt carried off by the scent, like a scene from those classic cartoons he used to watch as a kid. Though earlier he had argued that he could provide for his own meals (which he could) he was not going to turn down a free home cooked meal.

”Wow. If I wasn’t hungry before, I certainly am now.” he smirked. ”You don’t do anything half-heartedly, do you? Smells great!”

Chuckling he moved up to the able, gave her a warm smile and proceeded to grab a few of the serving utensils that he had pulled earlier. Taking up a plate he served both himself and the counselor, leaving her plate in front of her. Once his own plate was filled, he took a seat at the table, and sighed as he unfolded his napkin.

After taking a bite of the food his eyes rolled up into his head and let out a rather inappropriate groan. Then, as if realizing what he had just done, he smirked and took up his napkin, wiping the corner of his mouth.

”Ugh, sorry. That is just...I think that’s the best meatloaf I’ve ever had.” He took a sip from his water before speaking again. ”MRC has been fine. Still get strange looks now and again. They keep telling me I was some amazing cop and I’ll find my feet soon enough, but, eh,” he shrugged his shoulders. ”Doesn’t help with the pressure, you know?”

The meal was good enough. Gemma did some fancy cooking when she felt like it, usually when she was only cooking for family rather than a horde of Mansion students. But for now, the meals she usually brought over were hearty and simple. Something to make Jorge more comfortable, rather than making it feel like she was cooking for a date. Which she was totally not.
But maybe she was overthinking it.

>>”Wow. If I wasn’t hungry before, I certainly am now. You don’t do anything half-heartedly, do you? Smells great!”

"Thank you" Gemma smiled as Jorge made a very satisfied noise. He was probably unaware how that sounded, especially from his current younger self.

Sure, Gemma, go ahead, embrace the cougar. Geez.

>>”Ugh, sorry. That is just...I think that’s the best meatloaf I’ve ever had... MRC has been fine. Still get strange looks now and again. They keep telling me I was some amazing cop and I’ll find my feet soon enough, but, eh. Doesn’t help with the pressure, you know?”

"I can imagine." Gemma knew she was guilty of that too, trying to judge young Jorge by the standards of his older self. He had the same powers, but was missing decades of experience and character growth. "From... what I know, you are already a pretty good cop. You'll pick up on the rest. New York... is a busy place to make you learn fast on the job. Never a dull moment..."

Jorge was really enjoying this meal. But this was just so much more tasty. He didn’t know what Gemma did to the dish, but she absolutely made it better. Yeah, it was a little sad to have to be brought food, but then again, as he glanced over to Gemma, there really could be worse fates.

That was one thing that the watermancer was still having some slight issue with. Ms. Taylor was an incredibly nice woman but for some reason he felt...a certain kind of way around her. Any short of blind could see that she was attractive but Jorge almost felt guilty for feeling that way. She was a bit older than him and while that wasn’t really a concern of his, there was still something that was unsavory about it. As much as he wanted to learn about her, she was guarded. Plus, it wasn’t as if she were sending out signals that she liked him in any way.

Really, all this could be just because she was being nice. No, as much as he felt a lingering attraction to her, now clearly wasn’t the time for him to making any kind of stupid decisions. In essence, she was his only friend right now. No need to jeopardize that.

He shook such thoughts out of his head as he went on about working for the MRC. There was a lot to live up to from the “Jorge Cervantes” that they knew. A cop who had decades under his belt, years that current Jorge was just beginning with. Again, it was intimidating, but he was doing what he always wanted to do with his life. He just had to figure a way around it.

He looked up, momentarily abandoning his meal as Ms. Taylor began to speak about his older self. She went on to explain that he was a good cop and that this was the perfect place to learn to be one again. After all, this was New York City, a place built on the principles of ‘You sink or swim’. He smirked and nodded his head to her.

”Thank you, Ms. Taylor,” he said, nodding his head, and turning back to his food, Breaking off a piece with his fork, he sampled the meat again before continuing. ”But I’ve heard enough about Jorge. And,” there was some slight frustration, but nothing rude. ”you’re probably still not ready to who to tell me the wedding ring I wear belongs to, why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself? At this point, you’re probably my only friend as it seems no one else has come looking for him since…” he gestured to himself. ”...This happened.”

>>”Thank you, Ms. Taylor,”

Mrs.
Mrs. Taylor-Cervantes.

Gemma nodded with a small smile. She hoped he could make Jorge feel a little bit better about his job and about his new-old life, even if there was not much she could change about the circumstances. At least he seemed to enjoy the food.

>>”But I’ve heard enough about Jorge. And you’re probably still not ready to who to tell me the wedding ring I wear belongs to, why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself? At this point, you’re probably my only friend as it seems no one else has come looking for him since...This happened.”

There was a hint of pain in his voice, even though he tried to make light of it. Gemma knew it was selfish of her not to answer his questions about his marriage, and the topic was getting harder and harder to avoid. On the other hand, Jorge did have friends. She wondered why they wouldn't show. Sure, many of them were from work, and they probably found it awkward to hang out with someone who did not remember them at all, and was also decades younger.

"Some of them have been de-aged too, I think" she admitted. "It's... it's been busy at work since this thing started. We have the regular students, and my kids, and then the staff who is suddenly the same age as the students... except their powers are more developed, and harder to control. Sometimes I wish the school would hire a second guidance counselor..."

Jorge watched the counselor as he made a side comment about her not telling him about his life. It wasn’t a ploy to get more information out of her, but rather just an attempt at bringing up conversation. It was a frustrating subject. He wanted to know. He was desperate to. But he didn’t want to appear too overly focused on it. After all, he didn’t know the person he was supposedly married to. And what was strange was the kind of comradery he was sensing from the precinct.

A few days ago, after he had started working there again, he had tried to ask a few of the officers who knew him about his past. Those few that he was close to seemed to grow instantly uncomfortable and denied knowing him that well. It seemed...unlikely. However he knew better than to push the issue. He just wished that someone would say something.

But he couldn’t focus on that right now. There was a lovely woman who had just brought him a lovely meal!

From her expression, she seemed a little tired. Things were obviously hectic where she was. On top of dealing with hormonal kids with mutant powers, she was also dealing with losing coworkers who had been deaged as well. Jorge felt a little bad upon hearing that. Not only because she was being overwhelmed but because he knew that he was one of those workers as well. He hadn’t even gone to the mansion to check it out. She had said that he was only there part-time anyways but...still.

He reached over, his hand resting on top of hers. He gave her a compassionate look as he spoke. ”I’m sorry you are having a hard time. Doesn’t make it any easier that I’m supposed to be partially working there too and have been affected by whatever this is.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles before he pulled his hand back, momentarily taken a little aback by the intimate comfort and cleared his throat before continuing. ”Well, why not ask? I’m sure the school is hurting for employees right now. Probably time to hire another. I...couldn’t hurt to ask, anyways, right?”

Jorge might have been decades younger now, but he was still the same compassionate man she knew. Out of his depth and out of his element (quite literally), but handling it with a lot of maturity. Gemma missed him, more than she could express to anyone. But at least they still got to talk, even if it felt like they were talking through glass.

>>”I’m sorry you are having a hard time. Doesn’t make it any easier that I’m supposed to be partially working there too and have been affected by whatever this is.”

Jorge reached for her hand, and it took all the self-control she could muster not to jump at his touch. He was being comforting, in a friendly way, but it was not easy to touch him without giving her feelings away.

"It's not your fault" she muttered, looking down as he pulled his hand away.

>>”Well, why not ask? I’m sure the school is hurting for employees right now. Probably time to hire another. I...couldn’t hurt to ask, anyways, right?”

"Yes... you are right, maybe I should ask" she agreed, folding her fingers on the table "It's just... not an easy job to fill." Gemma sighed. She need to take a breath. "Excuse me for a moment." she got up from the table and went to the bathroom, closing the door carefully before she leaned against the sink, trying to draw calm, deep breaths. This had gone on too long. She knew she should leave, before it got worse.

The more Jorge watched, his eyes looking over the contours of her face, the more he knew just how dangerous this was. Not in a physical sense, but rather the danger of crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed. She was a beautiful woman and, yes, he was actually feeling just a bit lonely after all this had happened. Of course such circumstances didn’t make for the best of possible decision-making skills.

His hand hovered over hers for an instant too long. Both of them seemed briefly taken aback, Jorge pulling his hand back to his own side of the table, Gemma seemingly conflicted about something. In the end she agreed that it was a hard job sometimes and something she may indeed bring up with her boss. However, as soon as she said it, she muttered something about needing a moment and stepped away from the table.

Jorge watched as she walked away. Not in a leering way, but more out of disappointment. Did he offend her? Was there a misunderstanding (or a standing that he didn’t mean to reveal?)? His lips skewed into a confused, saddened expression. What was he doing?

He really did begin to feel bad now. Maybe he had made her uncomfortable. She was being nothing but nice to a man she used to work with and who couldn’t remember her in the slightest and suddenly he was having some rather inappropriate thoughts because he craved company. This was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. A resolute expression came to his eyes as he made the choice that, when she returned, he was going to be transparent and apologize.

Yeah. That was the way to go.

Shaking his head he picked up the book he had left on the table and sighed as he looked at the cover. One of favorites, and clearly a favorite of his older self. Ideally he began to flip through it, looking at the dog-eared pages and the highlighted passages. He only stopped when he could take a forkful of food, mentally trying to get his thoughts together for when Ms. Taylor returned.

It was as he got to about the middle of the book when something thicker than the pages got his attention. Curious, he opened the pages to that section and blinked when something slipped out and landed face down on the tabletop. He only set the book aside when he read the words that had been written on the back of the photograph -- in his handwriting: “1st Date Anniversary” along with a date scrawled next to it.

Picking up the photograph, he turned it around and stared at the image that looked back at him.

Yoga breathing. She should have paid more attention in yoga class. The one that she went to, at one point. Gemma leaned her forehead against the tiled wall and breathed deeply, trying to calm down enough to make a graceful exit. She would just have to go back to the kitchen, finish her almost-finished meal, then smile, say goodbye, wish her husband a nice week, and walk out. Preferably without breaking down in front of him. And definitely without any touching.

You can do this.

Gemma ran cold water from the tap and held her wrists under it. She couldn't exactly wash her whole face, but it calmed her down a little anyway. She counted to ten, took another deep breath, dried her hands, and looked at herself in the mirror. She could put a nice, neutral face on. In a mirror that had seen her naked.

Ugh.

You can do this.

Gemma walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.
Where she found Jorge staring at a photo.

She froze in the doorway. It wasn't like people took polaroid photos all that often anymore.

"... oh."