Maybe it is her. Maybe it isn't. Sometimes I wonder if paranoia - if old fears - is going to take a grip on me again... but I can't be found out. I can't. This is my secret, not the world's.
"That bitch," Shaw says - he's just slammed his hand into his desk, and it positively thunders with the retort of the Black King's fist with shoulder-power behind it. The spread of New York's financial district is easily visible through floor-to-ceiling glass - it's a little after lunch, and Shaw has brought Percy up to his downtown office. "This /has/ to be her doing - she must have leaned on Lowe, leaned on someone, used her fucking powers to get them to steal -my- contract, Percy. That /cunt/!"
If the Black Bishop watches this display with irritating serenity, his mutation is likely to blame: his hands are clasped loosely in his lap as he sits in the chair opposite Shaw's desk, and he watches with head slightly tipped, mouth thinned to a grim line. All he says is a very mild, "It's certainly possible."
Shaw spits: "Fuck her," and then he raises his hand again before he takes a deep breath. "Percy," he says. "This is a great time for you to use your fucking medicine before I break a goddamn window." A long beat, as he just holds his fist there in the air and then slowly raises his chin to look at his bishop.
"Oh, good," Percy murmurs. "It was getting a bit--" The soothing pheromonal tide of calm releases as from a floodgate. "Ripe." He smiles, beatific. "So," he says, "we have established that Emma is, indeed, a backstabber, a pushy telepath, and, perhaps, a cunt. For spite? Well, never mind." His fingers flicker away from their loose fold, his hand lifting to scrape nails idly along the line of his jaw. "Are there other avenues you can pursue?"
Shaw takes a deep, deep breath, and very slowly his fist unclenches. He flexes the fingers just a little, and then he nods. "Thank you, Percy," he says, and slowly the Black King takes his seat. "Has Adel come to see you?" The earlier topic is tabled for the moment.
With a slight grimace, Percy shakes his head and sits back a little in the chair. "We've arranged a meeting for Saturday at eleven o'clock," he says. "Our schedules have been a little uncooperative." And neither of them are especially looking forward to it, he'd wager.
"I see," Shaw says slowly. "All right. I'm largely of the opinion, Percy, that Emma is out to screw us. This latest development..." He shakes his head. "It's as if she doesn't know what's good for her." A beat. "I don't get it, to be honest - she knew my plan, she knew I was going to use this to let the Club keep some control. Why scuttle it?"
"Scuttle /you/, Shaw." The words are barely more than a murmur. Percy smiles again and leans forward with his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together to rest his chin against them. More conversational, even, he continues: "You knew what her pride was when you made her swallow it. Why act surprised when she spits the broken pieces in your face? Though I'm sure she'll have no idea what you're talking about, if you confront her. Are you certain this is her?"
Shaw frowns. "No," he says. "But if it's Lowe - scratch that, it /is/ Lowe, if it's Lowe on his own, not Emma's puppeting him?" He leans forward, his chair creaking, and stares at Percy across the desk. "Well, Percy. Then we have a problem."
"Yes," Percy answers slowly, tapping his thumbs together lightly as he regards Shaw over them, "I imagine we do." He straightens up again, troubles ghosting behind the twist of his grimace.
"We need to start considering contingencies," Shaw says after a moment, and he reaches in his desk for a water bottle. The cap is unscrewed, and he takes a long drink. "But right now... Well." A smile. "I need you to betray some confidences, Percy. How is Bahir taking everything? He seemed a little shaken after our last meeting."
"Shaken?" Percy tilts his head slightly to one side. He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. "He followed orders. He didn't like them. I don't blame him. We didn't spend much time on it." He rubs at one eye with the tip of his forefinger. "He wants to register as a mutant."
Shaw smiles, and he begins to screw the cap back on the water bottle. "He's our most valuable pawn, don't you agree?" A pause. "I mean tactically - not just because he plugs your pleasant little rosebud or vice versa - and no, Percy, that isn't an invitation for you to tell me which one of you queers is the receiving partner." A chuckle. "It's a new age," he remarks. "And I don't judge - but I place men having sex in the same sort of category as I used to my parents having sex, Percy. I know it happens, but I don't want to think about it."
At first Percy answers with this silence. He shows his teeth in a brief, unpleasant flash. Then he says, "Indeed."
"Regardless," Shaw says with a wave of his hand. "I can't have your lover off his feed, Percy - and so I want to know what will soothe him, and I want to find something to reward him with." A beat. "I could find you two a reason to get away to Thailand, perhaps? Somewhere else exotic?"
"That won't be necessary." Percy's voice is brisk, clipped business. His expression has gone quite closed. "Can't abide Thailand. Anyway I don't know if--" He stops and brushes knuckles thoughtfully over his cheek, gaze intent apparently upon his shoes. "I know he'd love to see Bahrain again."
"Percy..." Shaw's voice is even. "I need to show Bahir he is appreciated. Help me find a way how."
With a faint sigh Percy lifts a hand to scrub at the back of his neck, emotion leaking into his expression: disgruntled. "He's not good at presents," he answers with rue to dry out his voice. "I'm not sure."
Shaw tilts his head. "Not good at presents?" the Black King inquires. "I don't understand," he says. "I've got a mission for him, too."
"Never mind," Percy says, waving a hand. "I'll try and think of something. Suffice it to say he's a bit difficult to shop for. But he did ask me to tell you he wants to register as a mutant." The significance of this seems to have escaped. He runs that vague-waved hand swiftly through his hair. "What mission?"
"I heard. That seems like a spectacularly bad idea," Shaw remarks. A beat. "I can tell him not to, but I'd rather not give that order... Why does he want to register?"
"Well -- after Adel and Emma were both taken into federal custody, it figures that /they/ are both on lists anyway. What with being identical twins, one's as good as two in that regard." The logic as Percy frames it is -- logical enough, although there is something chagrined to its presentation, as though the Bishop would prefer not to be hearing the words coming out of his own mouth. "To show willing, as it were, they'd both register as mutants voluntarily rather than be dragged into ... Bahir says Adel is pitching the same thing to Emma."
Shaw nods slowly. "Then Emma and I will make the decision," he says. "Tell Bahir to bide for a while." He settles back. "As for the mission... I want him to start gathering mutants - the guttersnipes who infest the city. It seems to me that formerly, one of Emma's advantages was her Hellions."
Slightly startled, Percy blinks. "You want him to start ... cultivating people?" he asks. "Or just find them?"
"Either. Both." Shaw smiles. "I need aces in the hole, Percy - not just against Emma, against all those who seek to use our Club to their advantage. Lensherr, the Xavierites... we've been around too long. They know too much about us, and so we need surprises."
"Surprises." Percy laughs, low and dry, and shakes his head. "Do you want to meet with him, or should I pass this along?"
"I need to meet with him," Shaw says. "But I want your opinion - on Bahir, and on our course generally." The Black King rises, and he starts to pace towards the window. "It's an uncertain time in front of us," he says. "I counted on having Wide Awake in my plans."
"Cultivating people," Percy says lightly, delicately, "is not the first task I'd think to set him. But--" He stands up too, smoothing his hands over the soft grey of his slacks with the motion. "Finding them, certainly." His thumbs tuck into his pockets, diffidence reflected in the faint slump of his shoulders. "Uncertain," he agrees. "Uncertain, uncomfortable, unwieldy --" He snorts. "Contingencies."
Shaw smiles, his hands clasping behind his back at the window. "Then perhaps you can cultivate what Bahir finds?" A pause. "Unless you can think of someone better suited to the task, Percy." He does not turn, his pony-tail a little bit of gray against the black of his suit. "What about contingencies?"
"That might be appropriate." The concurrence is little more than a murmur. Percy watches Shaw's back for a moment, and then says, "Without Wide Awake, our options become a lot more limited."
Shaw nods shortly. "I agree." A beat. "Join me, Talhurst," he says. "Look at them - they're like little ants, scurrying around." He purses his lips, eyeing his reflection in the glass, and then says, "We need a way to avoid registration."
The amber gaze slants over the window as its owner sidles to the Black King's side. "Without getting Lensherr to blow everything up?"
"I think," Shaw says quietly, "that that trick will only work once." A pause. "Anonymity," he says. "That's part of our charm, Percy... and if they can pick us out among the ants down there? I think we've lost something, big."
"If Lowe's bucking the lead," Percy starts to reply, and then stops. He shakes his head, swallowing. He frowns out over the scurrying ants and remarks, "It's a bit like finding out someone's holding a magnifying glass."
Shaw nods slowly. "It's not a feeling I enjoy, Percy. It's one I'd like to get rid of." A pause. "When the machines roll out, we can try to rig a DMV somewhere, but... I'm concerned about the possibility of random testing. It doesn't seem much of a leap, does it?"
"From /here/?" Percy laughs, hollow and bitter. "Right to privacy's out the bloody window. I'll be honestly surprised if they /don't/ start doing random tests. In the interests of national security."
The Black King reaches up a hand to scratch at his chin. "Yeah." He takes a deep breath. "So I guess the question is... where do we go from here, Percy?" He shrugs. "I'm not expecting an answer to that - don't worry."
"I'd have to say something trite," Percy answers wryly, scuffing a hand through his hair again. "Like 'onward' or 'wherever we can'."
Shaw nods slowly, still watching the traffic far below. "Those are in fact useless responses." A beat. "I can't register as a mutant," he says. "I'm not sure what the solution to that is."
"Your cover is pretty solid," Percy remarks, arms folding loosely over his chest. "You might be able to bluster out of being tested at all. Or bluster into it, with some sleight of hand, but," and he scowls bleakly at the window, "that only works if there's someone we can trust at the equipment."
"Can our pawn affect minds to that degree?" Shaw wonders.
"There's an idea," Percy says, smiling suddenly. "I'll bet he could."
"Well, well," Shaw says finally, crossing back to his desk and taking a seat. "Percy - you need to make sure you keep Bahir satisfied. He's important to us, it seems, more than he might know..." A chuckle. "And he's a key, at least, to an immediate problem."
The grin Percy flashes has a sardonic bite to it. He stays standing, following Shaw only in his pivot upon his heel. "I'll surely do my best, my King."
"You're bitter about the queer comment." Shaw isn't even looking at his Bishop. "Calm down, Bishop mine. I didn't mean to ruffle your feathers - and keep them ruffled, and I'll make Bahir co-adjutor of your fond mitre."
"My feathers are fine," Percy answers, almost dismissive. "I'm not especially ruffled. I happen to /be/ queer. I also happen to be a decent lover. And I'd be doing my best anyway." He tips two fingers up by his temple, waggled in a vague imitation salute, and smiles, a voiceless laugh breathing through his teeth before he carols, "Thanks for the order."
Shaw swivels in his chair to stare at Percy for several long moments. "Very well," he says finally. "Keep your eyes open for candidates for our little project-- and oh, we might want to give our streetrats a name. Any idea?"
His Bishop blinks at him a bit blankly. "Rubbish at names," he says. "Uhm. Sorry. Half the time I only pretend to be witty, you know."
Shaw nods slowly. "Really?" he asks archly. "Only half?" A smile, though, to blunt the blow. "Think about the future, Percy - I didn't ask the question about our course now... but in a few days, we'll go boating on the river. I plan on asking it then."
"Charitable estimate," Percy answers with a bland blink. He straightens out of his habitual slouch and nods as he clears his throat. "I'll think on it, Shaw."
"Yes." Shaw's chair settles. "Thank you, Percy. I need to get on a call with the London office."
"Very well. I'll be back to mine, then." Percy ducks his head in a partial nod and then turns and shuffles for the office door.
Shaw eyes the departing Black Bishop. "Do be well." That's it - brief and brusque, as the Black King reaches for his phone and hits the button for the conference line.