Lynn's POV
Charles was clearly convincing in his debate and it was not just my subjective opinion, for it proved to have swayed the President.
After the climatic spectacle of lightning and thunder, Storm quickly eradicated the gloomy weather. The grey skies were banished into non-existence as puffy white clouds returned. A majestic blue housed the land as orange beams of the dusking evening shone into the President's office, illuminating his camera crew again.
Simultaneously, Kurt teleported Charles and his chaperones inconspicuously back into their aircraft which was stowed nearby at Ronald Reagan. Promptly releasing the humans, Charles lingered to monitor their minds, providing a continuous feed to me that reflected exactly on our large screen.
The crowd gathered in the Oval Office resumed their operations normally, unaware that their lives had been secretly fast forwarded by several minutes. Not a soul spotted the oddly appearing folder but the eerie silence ultimately gained their attention.
Everyone stared at the dumbfounded president weirdly, frowning at his sudden lack of speech. Suspiciously, the main videographer checked the teleprompter and noting that it was rolling properly, he faced back to the President, urging him on in an anxious whisper.
McKenna glanced up, subtly scanning the room. His eyes skimmed over his interviewers and subordinates, discerning nothing out of the usual. For moments, he looked as though he had doubted his previous experience, that it was all but a nightmarish hallucination. Until his fingers brushed over the plastic file generously gifted by Rogue, his brain finally accepted that everything was not the work of his imagination.
He inhaled deeply, resting his hands neatly on the table in an interlocked fashion. Slowly, his lips parted and words of wisdom were conveyed. Charles continued to update me with live scenes but I severed them from Jones and loosened my grasp on him, sensing his inability to cope with the exhaustion.
Gently, I guided the petite Caucasian onto my lap and he plopped lethargically against me, albeit careful not lean against my elevated wrist. He panted heavily as the pack of students gazed towards us, shocked and horribly worried by the abrupt swap of transmission. I smiled at them reassuringly, quietly gesturing to the mainstream broadcast, and they glued their eyes back to the television.
Rhythmically stroking the ten-year-old's back, I discreetly lulled him to sleep as I tuned to Charles' exclusive channel. The President's secretary was the first to be stunned, listening to the improvised version. The press gradually grew alarmed, inferring from the tactful sentences the latent meaning to advocate our assimilation.
Progressively, I felt the area around me saturate with relief. Smiles curved onto the young faces, now radiant with comfort and satisfaction. Shortly, their grins broadened with the return of their intriguing cartoon.
The address was concise but, more importantly, precise. The details had yet to be unveiled but it was for certain, there was going to be an upheaval.
As the special program ceased, Storm switched the onboard displays back to flight mode and fired up the engines of their jet. Before long, the tasked group arrived back on Long Island and the children rejoiced as they skipped towards our private underground shuttle while those more seriously injured enjoyed the privilege of being flown home.
The day had elapsed, retiring into a glittery navy. The stars seemed exceptionally beautiful, but none had much energy remaining to duly appreciate their glory.
The kids were extremely tired, if not from the unruly ordeal then definitely from the taxing clean up. Graciously, the young ones, deceptively mature for their modest age, offered their assistance to pick up after the messes scattered throughout the mansion. With appropriate delegation and significant facilitation from their teachers, our big family eventually restored our extensive abode to sufficiency.
Comprehensive renovations were not quite so available on such short notice, but the damages sustained by the interior framework were fortunately not too disruptive. The smashed walls were still structurally sound, with predominantly destroyed furniture strewn around the house. Beds were thankfully still in adequacy and the children scrambled to nail one each after their tedious volunteering.
Contrastingly, the upper floors hinted less signs of scuffle and the top storey where Charles and I resided lacked even the slightest indication of a forced entry. Scott was summoned by Charles to push me back but I had him invariably sent off once we exited the elevators.
Independently, I wheeled myself through the familiar doors, relishing in the solace of our untouched surroundings. Unknowingly stationed by our windows blessed with a panoramic view, I slouched into my chair but flinched, gasping fearfully, when it was merely Charles wrapping his arms around me.
"Relax, love. It's just me," Charles coaxed in the softest tone I ever knew and yet, I could barely even smile.
"I'm sorry, I just..." I sputtered nervously, not fathoming the intense race of my heart seemingly triggered by negative anxiety rather than pure infatuation.
"It's fine, you're just worn out," Charles consoled, pecking my temple lightly.
"Just give me a moment and I'll help you to the bath," he asserted politely and briskly propelled himself away.
Crisp scrunching of plastic followed the mundane dragging mechanisms of our pull-out drawer and I lazily swung my head back for a peek, spying him rolling up his sleeves.
"Charles, you really don't have to," I pleaded weakly.
"It's my duty, Lynn. I won't be a minute," he affirmed in a determined tone.
"I should be the one doing it," I argued, striving to yank out the string glistening with golden fluid from his hand but his strong grip unmistakably emerged victorious against my feeble struggle.
"Do you not like me caring for you?" Charles confronted in a fierce tone, glaring back at me with ultimate disapproval.
"That's not what I meant," I mumbled sheepishly, meekly lowering my gaze.
"Then drop it, Lynn," Charles ordered sternly and I submitted timidly, hastily releasing my telekinetic clench.
Cruelly, my brain processed his uncharacteristic behavior as an incriminating reprimand but the incessant droplets that burst from my ducts hardly corresponded the minor prick of my heart. I rationally understood that his temper was unintentional, and all his fury was only justifiable, yet my tears streamed from a boundless source, scarily unstoppable.
I heaved difficult breaths, gagging intermittently on mucus, and my stifled chokes obviously aroused Charles' concern.
The serum evidently had not taken its full effect as he haphazardly forced himself on his feet. Clutching onto everything and anything that could conveniently provided him with support, Charles unsteadily hobbled towards me and eventually dropped to his knees as I frantically aimed to hide the liquid emotions gushing down my cheeks.
"Oh, shush, love. Shush. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. Don't be upset, alright? I'm sorry, Lynn," Charles apologized profusely, cupping my face as he diligently wiped it.
"No, it's alright... I'm fine..." I clarified honestly but my shaky voice muffled under excessive saliva was totally unconvincing that Charles' face only proliferated with more aghast expressions.
His features were ensnared in absolute worry as he hurriedly groped my forehead, arm and hand. Yet, when his touches were simple and innocent, moreover originating from the trusted hands of the love of my life, my body weirdly panicked at the delicate contact, inducing more tenacious waves to cascade upon my face.
"You're not fine, Lynn. You're having a fever," Charles notified with a horrified face, automatically draping his jacket over me again.
"We're skipping the shower. I'm getting you to bed," Charles adamantly declared and swiftly scooped me into his embrace.
"Charles... Please..." I begged, unceasingly tugging on the back of his shirt as I flashed him my pleading puppy eyes that were still emitting an endless supply of tears.
Despite the fact that my indisposed condition might be aggravated by the submergence of my body underwater, my stubborn pet peeve persistently prevailed, as with the flood of tears tumbling unhesitatingly.
Surely, Charles recognized my abhorrence for going to sleep without a proper wash up, especially in my disgustingly greasy and grimy state, and his troubled expression basically dwindled into one of helplessness.
"Alright, alright. Just a quick one," he conceded.
