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If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. That was how it was with New York City - everything happened here first. One would think that a seasoned police officer would be used to it, but these really weren’t things that you got used to. Possessed Halloween costumes, evil dopplegangers, crazed robots, split realities, it seemed that anything and everything could happen here. How does one prepare for that?

Jorge sat in the War Room, his expression neutral as he listened to Becca’s story. He could feel the shift in the air the second he walked into the room. Being around her and her magnetic abilities left kind of a funny taste in his fillings. It was subtle but just enough for him to recognize when he was around her. Now it was different. There was no odd sensations, no strange taste, just a somber-looking redhead recounting a tale - a tale in which part of herself was taken away with no possibility of return.

It saddened the watermancer, truly it did. But he knew better than to say anything until the right time. In his years working as an officer he dealt with all manner of people who had something taken away from them. It was not his place to say anything until the right moment.

Sam, however, seemed more than willing to step in and speak his mind. Jorge turned to Sam as the ice-mutant visibly grew colder. He was not happy. Becca was talking like she couldn’t be part of the team anymore and Sam was quick to squelch that thought and demanded more information. He wanted a target, someone or thing to direct his anger towards for daring to touch anyone on this team. It was a sentiment that Jorge understood all too well.

”Listen, I...I know I’m the semi-retired member here, and I share the same sentiment as Sam…” Jorge said, looking at Becca but then glanced to the icemancer. ”...but whether or not she stays is her decision, not ours. That being said, whatever you decide do, I doubt the X-invitation will ever expire,” he said as he gave Becca an encouraging smile. ”Of course do whatever you feel is best for you and yours. We’ll support you no matter what.”

He smiled, but Jorge was far from happy. Becca was a cornerstone of the team but he understood her reasoning as to why she would leave. She would have to get used to this new way of life, whatever it may be. That was going to take time, training, and with a family of her own now, there is no telling how that might change her mentality. They were just going to have to wait and see.

But, in the meantime, there was another threat to consider -- the Mystics. Magic had entered the world. The MRC had been receiving strange reports about phenomena happening beyond that of the usually mutation-driven incidents. Some new players had entered the scene and it seemed they were already taking long strides to altering the face of the world as they knew it. What else was new?

Jorge sighed. Maybe he was getting too old for this.

”I’m sure you’ve told us all you can,” Jorge said. ”But with time and processing, hopefully you will remember more, even the smallest bit of info so we can get to the bottom of this. What’s been visited upon you and Kalos, it won’t go unanswered. Promise.”

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!”

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 flashed Gemma a small smile. Whether she saw it or not, he didn’t know, as the second they caught one another’s eyes again, his smirk had disappeared and returned to neutrality. Things still felt so awkward. It was easy how quickly he returned to that state whenever he was around her. It seemed that her betrayal, if it could even be called that at this point, managed to twist whatever feelings he was having towards her. But even he, at this time, knew that it was getting harder and harder to maintain.

Yes. He had a reason to be upset. She sat on information about himself and dictated how he would react to it. While he understood her attempts to spare feelings, there was a wife and kids that he could have at least tried to know while going through this insanity. She had no idea how lonely that was.

Then again, she had her own loneliness to deal with.

”Hrm? Oh, yeah, Peter…” Jorge checked into the conversation again. ”...he’s a...he’s good kid. Just dealt a bad hand with no resources. Good thing he’s got this place and people like you to look after him. And...yeah, of course I’ll check on him every chance I get. Thinks my powers are ‘cool’ and hopes to be able to do the same thing with the smoke he produces.”

Jorge had a soft spot for kids. He always did. Whenever he would get called on cases with kids, he was always referenced as being better equipped to handle them. His demeanor and way of speaking with kids often allowed him to get a better understanding of them and guide them through whatever traumatic event they had just witnessed. From what he was able to gather about his older self, it was a talent that had not changed with age.

He watched as she continued to gather the necessary paperwork. He was blanking on any further topics and found himself looking around her office. However, each time his eyes swept the area, they returned to the older, beautiful woman who stood before him. And each time he saw her, he was confused, angry, sad, and mournful all over again. They couldn’t continue like this.

”Damn it,” he grumbled. Turning around he marched towards her door. However, instead of walking out he closed and locked it so they wouldn’t be disturbed. After that he turned back to her. ”We need to talk.” he said firmly. ”Things have been so up in the air, and confusing, and I’m...I’m mad at you, Gemma,” he said. ”And this...whatever what’s going on between us...it...has to stop.”

Jorge really wasn’t sure how to feel about everything. Well, not everything. Job wise, everything was perfect. Peter was going to get the help and safety he needed. The school itself was the best place for him, and certainly had everything in order (from what he’d read). So everything in that respect was going in the best possible direction. But there were other things on the watermancer’s mind -- namely the woman who called himself his wife that he had no recollection of.

It was strange. It felt right to be around her but the officer was completely unsure as to what to do. She had lied to him, after all, and didn’t offer him the chance to try and work out how he should feel given that he was supposed to have been married to her this whole time. But, on the other hand, he could understand why she would want to keep it a secret. Why saddle someone with no memory with the knowledge of a life they couldn’t remember?

He was conflicted. As much as he wanted to get past it, there were still just so many questions and so many concerns about how he should proceed. In the meantime, he would focus on his job.

A plate of the most delectable looking pancakes was placed in front of Peter and, as the boy began to chow down with vigor, Jorge glanced at the second plate that was set down. This clearly had been for him. He glanced at Gemma awkwardly. Her cooking was top notch. It was because of her that he managed to get some home cooked meals while he was trying to figure himself out. It was a hard lure to ignore.

As Peter looked at him, Jorge gave the kid an encouraging smile, stepped up and took a forkful of the hefty, yet light-as-a-feather pancakes and took bit into it. Ugh. No one should be allowed to cook this good. He offered Gemma a small smirk before turning back to Peter. That was a lot of things they needed to figure out, and a big decision for the boy to make, so Jorge would stay at his side.

After swallowing he spoke up. ”Everyone here is here to truly help, Peter, okay?” Jorge smiled to him. ”I haven’t met Maya yet but if Ms. Taylor can vouch for them, I’m sure they’ll be awesome. You want me to stay until you get settled?”

A look of relief washed over Peter’s face. Quickly he nodded his head, carefully chewing his mouthful of pancakes before swallowing. “Y-Yes, please,” he asked. And then looked at Gemma. “Thank you, ma’am, for the pancakes.”

Jorge nodded his head. He then turned to Gemma, awkwardly looked to the side before he shrugged. ”So long as you don’t mind another tag along?” he asked. ”I’ll stick around until the boy gets himself a room and settles in.”

Jorge did still have mixed feelings about the guidance counselor -- who happened to be his wife. When he found out it was more hurt than angry, but it was a feeling that was only compounded the longer he spent in her presence. That was why he had stayed away for so long because he couldn’t get his thoughts together accurately. Everything just felt so confusing when he was around her. But now that time had passed -- he was even more confused.

Jorge had hoped that his time away from Gemma would be enough for him to clear his head. Then he had hoped that by burying himself in his work that he would be able to bury some of those feelings and instead let time heal the wound. But sadly it seemed that betrayal and longing had managed to find a way to constantly vexxed the deaged police officer, no matter how much time had passed.

But that wasn’t what this meeting was about. This was a chance meeting in an attempt to do something good for a poor kid who needed a break. And though Jorge would have rather stepped away so that he could collect himself, that wouldn’t have been in the kid’s best interest.

He smiled a little to Peter who looked between him and Gemma, marveling at the explanation as to how his powers wouldn’t work near her and at the idea of a warm meal and bed.

“Um...um...I...guess I’m a little hungry…” Peter softly squeaked out. He winced and closed his eyes, but when he opened them he was surprised. Waving his hand in front of his nose, he noted that there was no smoke and was astonished.

Jorge gave him a lopsided grin. ”It’s okay, kid. Like she said, she can cancel out powers. But if you take a couple steps away, you’ll get them back. She’ll be as close or as far as you need her to be.”

His gaze swept back over to Gemma. She really did have a way with kids. He could see, partially, why an older version of himself would be attracted to her. Wait...what? He shook the thoughts loose as he took a breath and followed the counselor into the mansion.

Jorge was silent for several moments, only looking at Peter or surveying the surroundings. It took time before his eyes found Gemma again and, when they did, he cleared his throat and spoke.

”Ugh...sorry. I hope this is not too..um...hi.” He shook his head. ”Sorry. When they assigned me to bring the kid here I...guess I thought one of the teachers was going to greet us.” After a pause and a second to clear his throat he continued. ”How are you?”

Things had been interesting for Jorge since his last conversation with the guidance counselor. He hadn’t spoken to her since that day but his life had moved on. Most of it was shrouded in confusion considering the bombshell of information that he had discovered. The picture, the admission, the fact that he had been married to her this whole time but never once said as much despite every passing day? That was a hard one to wrap his mind around -- but he supposed in some miniscule way, he could understand.

But that didn’t mean he forgave her. Not yet. No, Jorge took this time of revitalized youth to throw himself into his work. That was his pattern -- and a major reason why he never had long lasting relationships since joining the force. Jorge needed time to come to term with certain things and, in doing so, often focused on his work

This was one of those times. The MRC was running pretty well though it seemed that he had been a major playing in the department. One of the few cops to last so long, he had apparently managed to leave his mark. Sadly, the biggest issue with this fountain of youth B.S. was that he didn’t remember achieving any of it. So, even though he had managed to put in the time, he couldn’t remember any of it. Those old instincts were faded and, therefore, of no use to the department.

He was back to square one.

Jorge found himself just a step up from foot patrol. Not that he would have complained, really, but it was still a slight kick in the teeth. It felt like so much of his time had been wasted and now he was starting over. Still, that wasn’t what he was in this job for. He was here to help and to defend, that was something that was truly important.

Today, for example. Today he was making his way to Xavier’s mansion to drop off a poor kid who had the cops called on him.

Earlier the police had been called into the case. A freaked out bookstore owner was fearful that a mutant was planning to burn down his store in an act of terrorism. However, when the MRC arrived, all they saw was an innocent looking boy who had lost control of his abilities, which essentially only resulted in smoke spewing from his nose. A sad state of affairs, yes, but not something that the police needed to be called for.

To make matters worse, the boy had no family and was seemingly living on his own, struggling to make it day by day. While the next step for most kids would be calling protective services, Jorge knew that there was one place that could give the kid a much better chance.

In the squad car, Jorge looked at the high gates and the sprawling lawn of the mansion. He hadn’t been here yet, not since he had been deaged. But there was certainly a pang of familiarity about it. But as he drove up to the front door, all Jorge could feel was the spectres of memories and that was more infuriating than anything.

With a sigh he glanced out of the corner to his eye to the morose looking boy. When they caught eyes, the officer gave him a smile. ”Hey. Do worry, kid. I hear they do good work here. Got a good rep with use back in the department.”

“Yeah?” the boy asked sheepishly, a small plume of smoke rolling out of his nose. “Y-You’ve been here?”

Jorge looked ahead. ”Been...sometime…” he replied. ”But...I have a...good friend that works here…”

His voice trailed off. There, outside the doors of the mansion, was the woman he still felt so conflicted about. Tall, dark skinned, with a kind smile, the officer felt himself overcome with a bevy of emotions. Should he still be mad? This was his wife after all. Or were they? What happened to those deaged when trying to return to a relationship they were supposed to have? Jorge, again, found his head hurting as he tried to think and thought it best to shrug it off and do his job.

He would think about her later.

About where they are in their relationship, that is.

The squad car pulled up and Jorge turned, giving the boy and encouraging nod before he unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out. Once out, he guided the boy gently towards the towering woman and gave her a curt nod.

”Ma’am...I mean...Mrs…” he cleared his throat. ”Miss Taylor? This is Peter Drago,” he said, introducing the smaller, blonde-haired boy. ”MRC contacted you concerning his case?”