Orare, 'to beseech or plead'

by Lise

Franklin wanted to go after her right away -- felt guilty about the ways in which he didn't help when he could. But Franklin felt guilty about everyone who stepped into the warm confines of the Oasis and voluntarily stepped out again.

He felt that it was his job to make people understand, his job to make sure they wanted to stay.

Kitty couldn't speak, the shock hitting hard and fast. She really didn't speak for two days after that, and then she went back to normal, only a little surlier, and when people came to her for comfort, it seemed a little flatter. Her face a little harder.

At night, Nate could hear her mumbling in foreign languages, and it kept him awake at night, the incessant noise from her studies.

It surely wasn't anything else.

Domino was the only one willing to speak about it all of it normally, but that was rare and never with any affection. Everyone else reserved her name for the tone used when talking about someone who'd passed on. That's how Oasis kin dealt with those who passed through their walls of safety and didn't stay -- with mourning, and then they moved on, their dead buried away in the back of their minds.

Franklin, Kitty and Nate had put her in a mental graveyard. Domino didn't think of her at all.

So it was left up to Lorna to plant a tree in her name, and shed a tear that Irene Adler had passed beyond the reach of the Oasis. Into the underworld, and into the shifts.

No one came to watch Lorna shovel dirt and sniffle, but she never expected them to.

And everything would have been normal, except that the dead don't always stay dead.

It was Nate who started dreaming about it first, but most people ignored him, because he always had nightmares. All were shift-related, none of them were pleasant. Most of all, none of them were unexpected anymore. The people who dealt with Nate on a regular basis were used to behavior that rivalled Stryfe's from time to time.

And speaking of Stryfe.

~

"Why shouldn't I kill you?"

Stryfe grinned, then shrugged. "Because, first of all, you've got no particular reason unless you're crazy or stupid or both, and second of all, you're going to need a bit of help. Unless you're particularly fond of swimming."

Nate sighed, but didn't look any less hostile. "I can manage on my own."

Stryfe rolled his eyes, looking down at him from where he was safely perched on the edge of a rather sheer cliff. "You're hanging from the edge of a cliff. Obviously you're tired, and you're not willing to use teke to get up because of the particular resonances in this ground. Plus, you've broken your leg."

Nate risked a look over his shoulder, then looked back up at Stryfe. "And why haven't you killed me yet? I thought that's what all of you liked doing."

Stryfe raised an eyebrow. "It looks like you're doing a fairly good job of it yourself. How did you break your leg, anyway? Big rock?"

"Flonq off."

"Okay." Stryfe started walking away, but paused about ten steps away from the edge. "I can hear you swearing in your head, you know. I don't think that's even possible."

"I said flonq off."

Stryfe turned around, and chucked his pack off to one side. "Okay, let's pretend we've already argued and insulted, and get to the point where I help you and we get out of here."

Nate was immediately on guard. "And why would you want to help me?"

"Because I'm hoping you might have some food, since I don't." Stryfe looked impatient. "Are you coming or not? I feel an earthquake coming."

Nate forgot about his predicament for a minute to be alarmed. "Earthquake?"

"Can't you feel it? They're like mind-quakes."

Nate grimaced, and Stryfe grabbed his normal arm with the arm not holding onto the psimitar, hauling him up enough so Nate could pull himself up on his own. Too surprised for the simple gesture of aid, Nate went along with it, until he was rolling onto his good leg and away from Stryfe. He then said, "All right. What game are you playing?"

"Mostly the game of life."

"Oh, hah-hah." But it was genuinely amusing, and Nate relaxed a little, his battle stance loosening up a bit.

He'd only been out for a few hours, and already, off the damned cliff. Domino would laugh her ass off when she found out. Fell off a cliff in a rock-slide, broken leg because of a stupid earthquake, and couldn't pull himself up because of the possibility of setting off another one. And then Stryfe, of all people, coming along to lend a helping hand.

Stryfe, meanwhile, was watching him patiently. "Are you going to attack?"

Nate blinked. "What?"

Stryfe asked patiently, "Are you going to attack me?"

"Oh." He seriously thought about it. "I'm not sure. Are you likely to attack if I don't?"

Stryfe glanced around at the pebbles falling down into the valley below them. "Not likely. If you wouldn't mind releasing my psimitar before the teke you're using to hold it in place causes another quake, though..."

"Oh." Nate thought about it for another minute.

"Nathan?"

"Right." Nate let it go, slowly, and Stryfe raised the weapon to alert, resting it against his shoulder. "And don't call me Nathan. Ever."

"I always call you Nathan."

"I know. Don't talk to me."

Stryfe grinned at Nate's irrationality -- he never really expected too much to begin with -- and gestured with the psimitar absently. "There are caves up there, and they're the only shelter for miles. And there's a storm coming. Think that broken leg can go that far?"

Nate nodded, and then caught himself. "Wait, why am I agreeing with you?"

"Because you know that Domino is too far away to help right now, and you don't want to fall down another cliff." Stryfe paused, then said completely straight-faced, "And I know you hate it when I'm right."

Nate growled. It was exactly what he'd been thinking.

~

They always started out the same -- guilt, self-recrimination. The faces and situations changed, but they always were the Twelve, and normally had a lot of gruesome dead bodies. They had a purpose and a function, and were guided by someone that Nate could only sit back and watch.

Nate's dreams tended to go along those lines most nights.

These dreams, though, ended a little differently. Right before he woke up, always, there'd be someone telling him to just keep going. Telling him to forget about the self-pity because it was childish and stupid and it wasn't getting them anywhere. Sometimes the words came from Scott's mouth, sometimes Jean. Often Xavier. Not so infrequently, Magneto, cape flowing regally, stood above him and ordered him to just get over it.

It was his subconscious, too stubborn to give up. And there was something behind it. A telepath spends enough inside his own head to know, even if no one believed him.

Once or twice, Irene had signed to him angrily, shrivelled body looking like it was going to blow away.

And he'd wake up, frightened, and the guilt would be warring with a different emotion. Determination.

~

"I can't believe we're hiding out in some caves from a storm."

"Would you rather be trying to avoid falling rocks and floating because you can't move your leg -- it being in excruciating pain?"

Nate gritted his teeth. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm going to go over here, and let's just not talk."

"Fine." About a minute elapsed. "No, not fine. This is very dull. We'll have a few hours, and then I'm going to leave and you're going to wait for Domino because that's the only sensible thing."

"And?"

"And in that hour or two, we might as well talk, have a conversation. It's better than laying on damp rock and sulking."

"I can't believe-- can you be any more annoying."

"I could try."

Nate prayed for strength. "What do you want to talk about?"

There was a suspiciously casual tone to Stryfe's voice. "Let's talk about the nightmares you have."

Nate was silent.

Neither of them had to ask or answer why Stryfe knew all about them. Stryfe added, "Oh, come on! It's better than the weather."

"You already know."

"Maybe I don't. There are a lot of different things to dream about."

Nate hissed, trying to turn away from Stryfe. His leg was on fire, and it was affecting his head. It must have been, because he was actually considering answering the idiot. "You've probably heard it all before."

"Try me. Hey, I'll even go first," Stryfe said charitably. "Once, I dreamed that Xavier came to my front door, knocked, and when I opened it he was wearing those underwear that you all used to wear, but on his head."

"Stryfe, flonq off."

"Fine. Let's talk about your mission, then."

Nate was instantly suspicious. "Why?"

"Why?" Stryfe sounded like he couldn't believe that Nate was actually asking. "Why do people communicate, Nathan? They get bored."

"Flonq off." It was weak, but the pain in his leg was making it hard to think straight.

Stryfe laid down, against his pack, and crossed his feet. Nate thought, the bastard looks even comfortable. Stryfe said, "Okay... what about what you haven't done? Let's start with that. You can't be giving away any secrets if you tell me that."

It wasn't true -- there were plenty of secrets that fell into that category, and they both knew it. Nate thought for a moment, trying to come up with something that would be sufficiently off-putting to make Stryfe shut the hell up.

He said finally, "I've never fucked an elephant."

Stryfe actually laughed. "Well, I've never fucked you, so we've both got some sexual experimentation to look forward to." At Nate's positively disgusted look, Stryfe shook his head. "What else haven't you done? Besides the obvious save-the-world."

Nate managed to fling a little rock over at Stryfe, which bounced off his armor uselessly. If it weren't for the broken leg, he really would be kicking Stryfe's ass. Really.

Dispirited, Nate said, more to himself than Stryfe, "I don't think I've ever wished I was deaf more. Or, no. I wish you were mute, like Irene was."

"Who?"

Nate immediately felt strange about bringing her up. The familliar anger started bubbling. "No one."

"That wouldn't be Irene Adler, would it?"

Nate looked up sharply, the keen interest on Stryfe's face setting him more on edge. "What do you know about her?"

"I may or may not have met an Irene, once. Possibly a long time ago."

"Bullshit."

"Sure. Nathan, have you ever had an epiphany underground?"

"Don't do that. And no."

"Well," and Nate was glad he couldn't fully see Stryfe's grin, "there's no time like the present."

~

It was when other people started dreaming that Kitty took a bit of notice. She collected up some descriptions, and cornered Nate one day to ask about what he saw.

His answer was nothing. He was lying, and she knew it.

Nate believed it was nothing but fantasy. The way to save the Earth was science and fact. Energy created the tears, and there was a precise way to reverse the effects.

There had to be.

And then one day, his mother appeared to him in a dream, and he asked her, "what does it all mean?"

And she spoke in ancient Egyptian, and named En Sabah Nur as a savior right before she morphed into Apocalypse. He cut her head off mournfully, and woke up crying, not knowing whether to think prophesy or fear.

~

He didn't expect to fall asleep, even for a second, but the minute, the very second, he closed his eyes, Nate started dreaming.

The next thing he knew, Stryfe was yelling, 'what, what, I'm up I'm up, Cable, Oath, by all the gods -- for Ra's sake, just stop yelling already!--'

And Nate sat up, panting. The yelling was all in his head, and it was fading rapidly, but the damage was already done, and the walls were starting to shake. Stryfe snarled something, and closed his eyes to concentrate on keeping them from getting hit by boulders.

When the quake subsided, Stryfe immediately rounded on Nate. "What the fuck was that!"

"It, nothing." Nate coughed. "I thought you knew all about nightmares."

"Oath. Okay." Stryfe sat down, weary, and shook his head ruefully. "For cripes' sake, Nathan. How do you sleep?" Nate said nothing, and so Stryfe prodded, "You were sending images, you know, right before you woke up. Something about--"

"Don't say it."

"Well, that's no version of anyone I've ever seen. And Apocalypse was new, as well. Do you know what it means?"

Nate still didn't say anything, shifting through the things filtering back into his subconscious where they belonged. Domino, hurt-- Kitty, scowling and tears running over her dirty face. Franklin, stoic and calm -- watching over a huge project that Nate couldn't remember and didn't really want to.

Stryfe eyed him carefully. "Why are you having nightmares about a ship with all your dead army on it, Cable?"

Nate grimaced, too tired and hurting too badly to argue on principle. The nightmare wasn't anything new. It never was. Dead friends, dead comrades. He could hear the storm outside, and he could feel Domino close -- the ordeal would end soon, he just had to deal with a nosy yet relatively stable Stryfe until then.

Nate answered, "I don't know. I especially don't know why I'd be flonqing dreaming about Nate Grey."

Stryfe shrugged, a cryptic look on his face. "Oh, he's got his little role, much as I hate to admit it about the little twerp."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Stryfe scratched a bite on his arm, making a face. "I hate those cliches that just won't go away. Like you and me, and a mirror. The universe needs some new material."

"Stryfe," Nate said, fed up, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm going to sit here and pretend you're not really here, until Dom comes back. Then I'm going to leave, and get this leg fixed."

Stryfe actually chuckled. "That's right-- the Oasis can do that for you."

And Nate's jaw fell.

~

But all of that could have been put down to nothing but a bit of superstition, just subconscious issues that Nate didn't admit to.

Except for that Nate had a theory, about the shifts being less than random.

With other people's dreaming starting to get a little more organized, a little less fanciful and a little more structured... people started putting a little stock in his theory.

The storms of reality waged on outside their walls, and he felt, rather than saw, a bit of a pattern... wacky and unreal, like a dream, out of focus but triggering some deep seeded sense. Nate knew he knew something. He didn't know what.

Which is better or worse, depending on whose side you're on.

~

"Don't look like that. Word travels, as much as it can."

"If you come anywhere near it--"

"Save your threat," Stryfe said, tired. "I prefer my freedom, thank you."

Nate picked up the stray thought, 'like Irene,' and he snarled, "Don't say another fucking word."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Quieter, "She was right, though."

The only things keeping Nate from going over there and strangling Stryfe where he sat were a broken leg, the fact that Stryfe had placed himself strategically too far away to crawl to, and Nate was still feeling disoriented from his dream.

Nate asked without thinking, "About what?"

Stryfe's tone took on a slightly condescending tone, "Did you ever consider the very small, yet pertinent, fact that maybe, just maybe, you're not the ship, or the captain, or even the compass for this whole little endeavor?"

"Now what the hell are you talking about! No, forget that, I don't really care. If I could move, I'd kill you just to stop the babble."

Stryfe sighed, and tossed Nate a blanket before standing up and shifting his pack to one side. The psimitar sat well in his left hand. Nate narrowed his eyes, constantly drawing his gaze to it -- the idea of Stryfe with such a weapon made him more than a little uneasy. Before he turned away, Stryfe said, "It's a bit more than just a fancy metaphor, or the ravings of a blind woman, or one of your pet theories about space-time. It's real, it's very real."

"What is?"

Stryfe smiled wide, shaking his head sadly. "So smart, and yet. I'll give you a teeny little piece of the puzzle -- we'll start with an easy one. How many Nate Greys have you run into in the last years, Nate?"

"Don't call me that."

"Well?"

Nate paused, resenting the fact that Stryfe was forcing him through this routine like a child. "Not many."

"Have you seen any?" Stryfe asked patiently.

"--no."

"No."

"So?"

Stryfe hefted the psimitar absently, trying to readjust the bulk of his pack. "That doesn't strike you as strange?" Nate stayed silent, waiting for Stryfe to make whatever maniacal point he had. "Nate, come on, think. You must have felt that twinge in the back of your mind. Something happened to Nate Grey. This isn't quantum mechanics, for fuck's sake. It's a simple fairy tale, a legend. A puzzle. Put the pieces together, already."

Nate's patience was wearing thin, and he was no closer to understanding what Stryfe was talking about. He finally growled. "What are you going on about?"

"There's a reason that things happen out here. You know this, but you never remember it until you're crazy."

"And you know it because you already are."

Stryfe cocked his head, listening for any sign of the storm. "We all have our roles. Mine happens to be that one, from time to time."

Nate had no idea whether to take any stock whatsoever in what Stryfe was saying. More often than not, Stryfe talked for the sole purpose of pissing him off.

"You're very philosophical all of a sudden," Nate said sourly. "I might suspect you of thinking."

Stryfe moved a few boulders away, straining a little. He called over his shoulder before wandering out of the cave, "You still don't get it. Still think you're the important one. Nathan. You're just an oar."

The words rung out, and Nate was suddenly uneasy in the face of wondering whether Stryfe was, uncharateristically, telling more truth than lie.

back to Lise's stories | Shadowlands archive | X-Men archive | comicfic.net