Jorge didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t mean to scare Gemma when he grumbled and turned to lock her door. This wasn’t going to be some 1-on-1 knuckle fight. He wasn’t that kind of angry at her. It was more emotional than anything else. She lied to him. It was for good reason, sure, but it was a lie that struck deeper than he ever could have imagined. How was he supposed to just forgive that?

Then again, when he looked at her, there was that spark of familiarity. That inclination somewhere in the recesses of his mind that longed for her. Somewhere in the depths of his soul, all he wanted was to draw that woman into his arms, hug her tight, and kiss her lips.

But he didn’t know her...right?

Gemma said her piece. She moved around her desk, leaning against it as she agreed that what she had done was wrong and apologized. He could see the mourning look in her eyes and Jorge found himself breaking more and more each time he looked at her. He grumbled.

He started to pace and before long he found himself standing in front of her, arms crossed, feet shifting, before he finally raised his gaze to meet hers. Behind his eyes there was nothing but conflict.

”I...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Gemma,” he said with a tinge of fear in his voice. ”I want to be angry at you. I want to hate you for lying to me for so long…” his lips parted. One of his hands reached out, the fingertips stroking across hers. ”But when I look at you, when I hear your voice…” he sighed shakily. ”...there’s...something.”

He raised his eyes once again to meet her’s. Slowly he leaned in. His eyes followed the contours of her face. The scent she wore, whether soap or perfume, carried with it even more familiarity. He leaned in further, his hands slipping past Gemma’s waist and gripping the edge of the desk she leaned against. There was no escape for either of them now.

A hoarse, somewhat desperate whisper rolled out from between his lips and stroked the side of her cheek. ”W-What do I do?” he whispered desperately. ”I...I don’t know what to do or...feel anymore.”

Jorge looked conflicted, the way he paced, and the way he finally looked at her when they came face to face. Gemma was at a loss at what to expect. Maybe he was working up the courage to tell her he never wanted to see her again. Maybe he wanted to yell at her for what she had done. Maybe he wanted to ask about the kids. There really was no good option among the ones she could think of.

>>”I...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Gemma. I want to be angry at you. I want to hate you for lying to me for so long… But when I look at you, when I hear your voice...there’s...something.”

He touched her cheek and Gemma caught her breath. He was so close, and at the same time so far away. It reminded her of the time when he'd gone missing in the ocean. She was losing him for a second time, and she was not sure she would survive it. He braced himself with his arms on both sides of her, and she wanted to cry, and apologize, and kiss him. There really was no good option among those either.

>>”W-What do I do? I...I don’t know what to do or...feel anymore.”

"I still love you." she whispered back, leaning her forehead against his. She reached up with one hand to touch his cheek, and they were only a breath apart. "Whatever you do, I love you."

Anger. Confusion. Sadness. Longing. There was a hodgepodge of emotions running through Jorge’s head as he stood there, leaning against the table, his gaze focusing squarely on the woman before him. He was in his twenties. He was living in Miami, Florida. He was a beat cop. And yet all that was apparently untrue. Decades had passed and thanks to the actions of some organization, he was made young and apparently forgot nearly everything that happened after his current memories.

Of those memories forgotten was an entire life that he built in New York City. He was a police detective, a member of the Mutant Related Crimes unit, and on top of all that -- he was married. He had kids. And this woman, the one standing before him, was his wife.

And she had lied to him. When he first was brought to the precinct after the incident, he noted the ring on his finger. He knew he had a wife, a family, out there but no one would talk to him. Gemma Taylor came in, acting like an old friend, one who said nothing about his married life. It had gotten to the point that he figured he was divorced or separated, since the apartment that belonged to him only had enough stuff for one. How could he know otherwise.

For months he was led on; months he was lied to. If anything he should absolutely despise the woman before him but whenever he lifted his gaze, whenever he locked eyes with her, followed the contours of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips, that hate was immediately snuffed out and replaced with longing. He didn’t know her, but something within him did.

And it was maddening.

Her forehead pressed against his. Instinctively he closed his eyes. He inhaled her scent as she offered another apology and permission for him to feel whatever he felt. But it was the last words that hit the hardest: she loved him. She still loved him.

He gulped. His arms drew closer to her sides, hands lifting shakily from the desk before finding purchase on her waist. Their breath intermingled, falling from nervous, unsure lips. He lifted his head, his cheek brushing against hers and, before he knew it, an idea for what to do next popped into his head. All it took was a moment for him to know it was right. If there was any way he was going to find out the truth, it was this.

Eyes closed, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. And it was indeed the sweetest sensation he had ever felt. His grip tightened, he pulled Gemma close, and he kissed her; right and good and square on the lips.

Jorge kissed her. Gemma's head was reeling. Was this even right? Would it make things better or worse? Jorge was the same person, her husband, the man she loved. But he was also younger, someone who did not share her memories, someone who barely knew her. She knew him, but he didn't know her, and yet... and yet he kissed her. And in that moment of hestiation Gemma's body made the decisions for her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and months of self-control cracked under pressure as she returned the kiss. Gemma was a strong woman, with more willpower than most. But no one could be expected to be this strong.

His lips pressed against hers. For a split second Jorge worried if it was a bad decision, but it felt so absolutely good and...well...right. It was a feeling that expanded tenfold once he felt Gemma start to return the kiss. There was a sigh of found longing, where Jorge had felt he had been on an exhaustive journey and just now seemed to find what it was; and it was this woman.

Arms wrapped around her waist, he lifted the statuesque woman up, planting her on the desk as their kiss grew more passionate. With every second that ticked by, the desire and the familiarity began to build more and more. It was her. She had been what was missing this whole time.

Jorge gulped and felt the waves of frustration burn off of him like steam. All the anger, all the sadness, all the negativity he had felt towards Gemma Taylor had slipped away. Now there was only a desire to be as close to this woman as possible. She was home. She was his wife.

”Gem…” he whispered into her ear, kissing her neck. But as soon as the nickname left, he paused. Gem. He always called her Gem. Ever since they started dating…

Dating...a look filled his eyes as he leaned back, his hands cupping her cheeks as he looked at her. In his deep brown eyes, there was no longer the look of a complete and utter stranger, or a tragically betrayed man; there was the spark of familiarity. And it was a spark that grew in a flash.

”G-Gemma…?” he said, stroking her cheek.

He then recoiled and stumbled backwards in her office. He caught himself on a chair, his hair started to gray, but beyond that, his eyes grew wild. He was remembering.

>>Dog. Behave yourself.
>>Lizzie! Stop that...Miss, I am so sorry...I hope she didn’t bother you.

>>Call you tomorrow? Good night Gemma. Have the sweetest of dreams.
>>You'd better.

>>I like you. I really do. And I’m hoping you feel the same about me so…what would you think about making this exclusive? I don’t have an interesting in dating anyone else but you…
>>So, Detective Cervantes, you got yourself a girlfriend.

>>I should probably leave and let you get some sleep...Sorry. I'm acting like a teenager.
>>You…don’t need to go, unless that’s what you want...But I hope you’ll stay.

>>Y-Yeah…I’m…home… G-Gemma…I…I don’t…feel…
>>Jorge? JORGE!

>>Thank you for having us over for my birthday, Jorge
>>"Indeed. Thank you Jorge.
>>You both are very welcome.

>>Gemma Taylor, will you grant me the great honor of marrying me?
>>Yes...Definitely yes.

>>I…know that…face…
>>Jorge!

>>I do.
>>I do.

The memories. They were flooding back so fast and so furious that the water-bending detective had no choice but to black out. And so he drifted into the darkness of his repairing mind, while on the outside, the body of the young officer had aged, once again, into the familiar shape of decorated detective, Jorge Cervantes.

For a moment, Gemma allowed herself to forget everything, and lose herself in the kiss. She held Jorge close, and somehow he lifted her onto the desk, paperwork be damned. She had never really been like this, not even when she was younger, but right now, she could not bring herself to care. Instead, she kissed him back, and gasped for air as he moved on to hissing her neck.

>>"Gem..."

Something snapped. He pulled back, looking at her, and the look in his eyes was... different. Something was happening. He looked at her like he knew her, like he... remembered.

"Jorge?..."

He staggered back, and the change came over him as she watched. He aged from one moment to the next, until he was back to the age he had been... back to himself. Gemma was already moving towards him when he collapsed.

"Jorge!"

She fell to her knees and felt for his pulse first. He had one, and he was breathing. Gemma took a deep breath, trying not to panic. After a moment of pause she grabbed for her phone and dialed the Infirmary.

"Doc, it's Gemma. Jorge's in my office, he's back... he's... he collapsed."

Hanging up the phone, she sat down on the floor, stroking her husband's forehead. Her eyes were burning with tear. What was happening? Would he wake up? And if he did, would he remember...? "Come back to me..."

Radical, amazing changes had occurred outside of Jorge Cervantes’ mind. While his consciousness was bathed in the darkness of a torrent of remembrance, his body itself underwent the changes of reverting back to his real age. Hair that was once thick and black began to shorten and spot with silver. His young, muscular frame turned more lean, with a few random dots of age. All-in-all, it was an interesting procedure to watch, the kind which even DocProf would have to take notes on as he hovered over Jorge and watched him with meticulous attention.

When the last of the changes had occurred, it appeared by all accounts that Jorge had merely fallen asleep. All the rest of his vitals were checking out and after a couple hours of close observation, it was deemed to be in his best interests to awaken in familiar surroundings. Thus, the unconscious body of Jorge Cervantes was moved to his shared room with his wife, Gemma Taylor.

It was another couple of hours that Jorge slept. Every once and awhile he would toss or turn, but the actions were attributed to nothing more than a restless sleep. Despite that, the officer continued to sleep on, and on, and on. It wasn’t until the time pressed on to the evening that there was a slight escape of breath and he began to groan.

Ouch. Everything hurt. Jorge didn’t realize it, but the bones and muscles reshaping and returning to original, god-earned form, was a sore process. But for the awakening police detective, it felt more like had been hit by a school bus.

”Uuugh…” he groaned, trying to sit up. His head throbbed. He rubbed the back of his scalp and discovered that rubbing every single hair was akin to jabbing thousands of needles into his brain. ”...what the hell…?”

But as soon as he asked that question, realization dawned on him. He remembered. He was in that warehouse and everything went black. After that, there was a strange conflict of memories. Somewhere his twenties merged into two different records -- one of him being in Miami, and the other living in his apartment here in New York. He knew that was incorrect but a few more seconds of thought and the fog began to clear. Deaged. He had been deaged and had been living the last several months as a twenty-something!

”Gemma…” he whispered to himself. Their fight. His anger. That burst of passion. It all flooded back and immediately he turned, his eyes searching the room. ”Gemma!”

Gemma spend the whole day sitting by Jorge's bedside. It was like being in an endless loop of déja vu, after the time years before when he was recovered from the ocean. DocProf said everything seemed normal, but re-aging within a matter of minutes probably put a lot of strain on his body. He did not wake up until the evening. Gemma dimmed the lights so that they would not hurt his eyes, and settled into a chair by the bed. She was not going to leave any time soon.

Jorge finally stirred, taking a breath and opening his eyes. Gemma shot up from the chair, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

>>"Gemma!”

"I'm here. I'm here." she told him in a soothing voice. Tears were burning her eyes again, but she could not let go of them just yet. "How are you feeling? Do you know where you are?..."

Do you know who I am?

His head was sore and he was certain that parts of his body were aching that he didn’t even know he had, but all-in-all, he was alive and breathing. He learned that even on his worst days, if that was all he was left with, then he was doing at least somewhat okay. But looking upon the worried, somewhat relieved, face of his dear wife? That was better. Because he feared the possibility of one day waking up and not seeing her there.

He could see the look in her eyes, the glistening at the corner sand he felt a small, sad smile crossed his lips. God, he hated it when she looked at him like that. Not because it was annoying or anything so crass, but because he hated to make her worried. And right now, he knew exactly what she was worried about.

Sitting up more, Jorge sighed as he reached over, and gently cupped the side of her cheek. He brought her close and kissed her softly on the lips, his forehead pressed against hers. ”I remember, Gem,” he said, following a deep breath. ”I remember all of it. And I’m so...so sorry…”

He could remember it all. He remembered raiding the warehouse, and the cloud of mist that took him over. He remembered the painful transformation and waking up surrounded by surprised officiers. Then there was the trek to the precinct, waiting in the interrogation room, and seeing Gemma.

Then the lie. He remembered the months of lying that she gave him and he closed his eyes. His younger self was so, so angry at her once he found out. But him? Now? He kissed her again.

”You did what you had to,” he said with a understanding nod. ”I get it Gem. I get it.”

>>”I remember, Gem. I remember all of it. And I’m so...so sorry…”

Gemma let out the breath she felt like she had been holding for months. There was a wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm her as she saw the recognition on Jorge's eyes, and heard his words. The tears overflowed as he kissed her.

>>”You did what you had to. I get it Gem. I get it.”

The next ragged breath came out as a sob. Gemma wrapped her arms around her husband, as all the strength she had mustered for the past months left her. Once again, against all the odds in the world, she had her husband back, and having gone through this before did not make it any easier at all. Gemma cried for a long time before she could gather her thoughts or words again.