He felt--numb. As if he were floating, not quite connected to his body. Drugged, was his first coherent thought. Had to be, because the pain was so distant.There should be much more of it than there was. That much he knew. The physical awareness was there, even if the memories weren't. They were all in pieces, spinning slowly through the fog, trying to reassemble themselves. Wanting to reassemble themselves. All it would take was a little concentration on his part.
Or he could let them keep spinning. Spinning and spinning and spinning--
"Cable?"
The voice came from a distance. Cool, soft voice. He remembered. Remembered her turning away. She hadn't wanted to watch.
So it didn't make any sense, that she should be here.
The fog receded a little, enough to let him register the bed beneath him. He tried to shift, to see if he could move, and the pain pushed forward warningly, trying to cross that distance.
"Don't try and move."
His leg was totally numb, dead weight. He twitched involuntarily, remembering the kick that had broken it.
She touched his shoulder and he flinched violently, his breathing coming more heavily. The fog receded a little more, and he willed her to take her hand away. He didn't want anyone to touch him.
"It's all right." She didn't take her hand away, and numbness or not, he could feel it, feel the pressure of it against the bruises. "You're in the infirmary. It's over."
The fog withdrew a little farther, and he reflected that it must be a relief to have such a simple mind. Over. As if it were that easy. It had been a lesson, and he had to make sure Apocalypse knew he'd learned, or it would all be for nothing. Something too dull to be fear shifted snake-like beneath the haze, and he closed his eyes again, willing it to fade.
When he opened them again, she was gone, and the healer was standing over him, scowling. "You'd heal faster if you stopped thrashing around like that," he said repressively.
There was a brief pressure against his arm that he barely felt, and he descended back into the darkness before he could even think of resisting.
Darkness. It should have been a blessing, but it wasn't. There was a whirlpool in the darkness, tugging the threads of thought out of the tapestry of his mind, shredding them away into chaos.
He let go, let himself sink, barely aware of an utterly still place somewhere just beyond his reach. He didn't try to reach it.
***
Scott blinked groggily up at the ceiling, not sure what had woken him. A quick glance at the bedside clock told him it was just past three AM, and he sighed, pushing rumpled hair away from his goggles as he sat up.
Jean was still sound asleep in the bed beside him. He got up carefully, trying to dampen down the link so that he didn't disturb her. His insomnia was so often contagious that her sleep patterns had been nearly as irregular as his, these last several months. Yet another thing he couldn't seem to do much about. Pulling on a robe, Scott moved quietly to the window, drawn by the moonlight that spilled into the room.
It looked like a beautiful night. He let his breath out on a sigh, folding his arms across his chest as he stared out at the mansion grounds. Everything was so quiet. This was what he hated about being awake at this hour; it gave him too much time alone with his thoughts. And his thoughts, even all these months later, kept straying back to Nathan.
But just as he felt himself beginning to sink back into the same bleak depression that thoughts of his son always provoked, he was yanked abruptly back to the here and now as he realized that there was someone out there, watching him. Scott straightened, staring intently at where the trees met open grass, trying to make out something distinguishable about the figure there in the shadows. Logan, maybe? He was the only one liable to be out in the woods at this hour. But it didn't make sense that he'd be watching the boathouse--and the figure was far too slender to be Logan. He couldn't make out any details, but that much was obvious.
#Come down and talk to me, Scott,# Madelyne's voice murmured softly in his mind.
He flinched and looked back over his shoulder at Jean, on reflex. Then again, his instincts told him that this was probably not going to be one of these situations where three was company. Scott bit his lip and tried not to sigh. Part of him would like nothing better than to ignore Madelyne and go back to bed, but he couldn't. Not just that, he strongly suspected she wouldn't let him.
Give me a minute, he sent back as neutrally as he could. Getting dressed, he went downstairs and out the front door. His link with Jean stayed quiescent all the way; either she was sleeping very deeply, or Maddie was doing something to keep this conversation private.
If the latter was the case, he didn't want to know. Striding across the grass, he felt his jaw tightening as Maddie stepped out of the shadows, staring at him intently enough that he felt the hair on the back of his neck trying to stand up.
She wasn't smiling. She was almost always smiling these days, whenever she chose to drop in on him. It was never a particularly nice smile - usually sardonic, or mocking - but he'd gotten used to it. The absence of any expression on her face now was unsettling. She looked--cold. Numb.
Scott folded his arms across his chest again, not bothering to try and hide the edge of defensiveness to the gesture. "What do you want, Madelyne?" he said, not bothering to moderate his tone, either. "It's late."
"Late," she murmured, hands clasped loosely behind her back. She stared down at the grass, not meeting his eyes. "I suppose it is."
Scott frowned at her. "What is it?" he asked, a bit more harshly than he'd intended.
It got her to look up at him, at least. A flash of heat lit those green eyes for a heartbeat, then died down to seething embers. "Do you really want to know?" she asked softly.
"I asked, didn't I?" Too harsh, still. There was no need to snarl at her, even if she had woken him up. He owed her at least a little consideration, under the circumstances. Nathan was her son too, after all.
"How good of you to remember," Madelyne said, something of that mocking edge back in her voice. No humor, though. Just bitterness, and a cold that chilled him to the bone to hear. "Does it bother Jean that you feel that way? Surely she sees it as a conflict of interest. After all, the cow's convinced herself that she's Nathan's mother--"
"Maddie--"
"Oh, shut up, Scott!" Madelyne whirled away, her slim shoulders shaking for a moment as she quite visibly wrestled for composure. "Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you? I might have tried to kill him as a child, but at least I had the excuse of being insane. You--you were just a negligent, miserable excuse for a father."
Scott gritted his teeth. "Don't go there, Maddie," he said, managing by sheer force of will alone to keep the words calm. "I'm not doing this with you. Not again."
Madelyne looked back over her shoulder at him, her eyes glowing very softly in the moonlight. "Unstable, emotional Maddie," she said very quietly. "Needs regular condescension and reminders of where her place in the world is."
An aggravated hiss slipped out from behind his teeth before Scott could help himself. "I am not going to stand here and argue with you at three in the morning," he said in a low savage voice, quite prepared to turn his back on her and walk away if she kept this up. "But if you want to talk, or have something you need to tell me, let's get on with it."
"Oh, are we on a schedule?" Madelyne asked snappishly, turning back to him. "I need to hurry up and spit it out, so you can go back to sleeping peacefully beside your other wife?"
"Stop it!" Scott snarled, hands clenching into fists at his sides. She could still do it, could still get right in under his skin and stir up all the old guilt. He might know, intellectually, that she wasn't precisely the woman he'd married, but his conscience didn't seem to give a damn. "One last time, Madelyne--what do you want?"
Her eyes glowed a little more fiercely. "What do I want?" she asked in an incongruously gentle voice that he knew, just knew had to be covering something else. "I want to go back to being an amnesiac, like I was when the boy brought me back to life. Barring that, I'd like to scrub the borrowed memories Stryfe just showed me right out of my brain." She took a step towards him, her posture so threatening that he took one back, instinctively. "But since neither seems to be an option, I thought I'd come and talk to you."
Scott straightened, forced himself to take a deep breath. "What happened?" he asked, as evenly as he could manage.
Madelyne gave him a smile he remembered all too well from a demon-infested New York. "Oh," she murmured, and he told himself that those couldn't possibly be tears in her eyes, not paired with that smile. "I was so hoping you'd ask, Scott."
His irritation at her, his wariness, all of it vanished, annihilated in an instant as she smashed through his defenses and slammed images of unimaginable horror into his mind. Scott fell, not even registering the impact with the ground because he was somewhere else, someone else. Someone battered and racked with pain, trying not to cry out as they slammed him face down on the rock, pinning him there--
#Scott!# he heard Jean cry out, and he was caught expertly, pulled free of the maelstorm before his last spark of self-awareness could be extinguished by the brutal weight of the memories Madelyne had forced upon him.
Not hers, though. Not her memories. Shuddering, bile rising at the back of his throat, Scott pushed himself up to his hands and knees and stared up at Madelyne as he fought back nausea. The images still fluttered through his mind, scorching everything they touched, turning his few precious, happy memories of his son and his last shred of hope for the future into ashes. He could feel his self-control shattering, his mind trying its best to shut down rather than face the truth--
--no. Swallowing hard, Scott took refuge in fury and looked up at Madelyne, seeing her as what she was, the nearest handy target. The pain on her face as she stared down at him, the tears in her eyes--none of it had the slightest impact on the rage coalescing inside him. One simple truth was taking shape in his thoughts, and for one of the few times in his life, Scott Summers knew that he could kill. Wanted to kill.
"You knew," he breathed, the words coming out in a growl that would have done Logan proud. "You knew where he was, and you didn't TELL ME!"
Madelyne started to back away, and he hit her nearly point-blank with an optic blast, only the lingering disorientation and horror preventing it from being full-strength. It was enough to send her flying backwards several feet and into a tree, hard.
"That's all you can say?" she gasped out, laughing wildly as he pulled himself back to his feet, swaying. She was sprawled on the ground, her hair spread out like a crimson fan on the grass. "I show you--I show you THAT, and all you can do is try and blast me back to hell because I didn't let you go charging in and doing more damage, like you did the last time?"
"MORE damage?" Scott all but screamed, his hands clenching so tightly into fists that the muscles in his hands started to cramp as he took a step towards her. "How the HELL could I have done anything worse than--" His voice broke, as if his vocal chords had abruptly decided to give up the ghost entirely.
#Scott,# Jean said urgently in his mind, and he looked over his shoulder to see her landing lightly on the ground behind him, still in her nightgown. She gave him a frantic, searching look for a moment, and then turned her attention to Madelyne, who was only now struggling up off the ground, still laughing. Or maybe not laughing, Scott thought disjointedly. That didn't quite sound like laughter--
Jean moved up to his side, squeezing his arm for a moment - in warning or comfort, he wasn't sure which - before she went right past him to Madelyne. "Madelyne," she said aloud, her voice trembling. "Are you--"
Madelyne looked up at her, her face tear-streaked but her eyes terrible. "Stay away from me, Grey," she spat, her voice breaking even worse than Jean's. Scott stiffened as her eyes moved to him, and Madelyne gave one last despairing laugh. "I shouldn't have come," she said, and Scott took another involuntary step forward as she started to turn transparent.
"Don't you dare!" he snarled at her feverishly. For a moment, there was something close to pity in her eyes as she looked at him, and seeing it only stoked his rage further. "Tell me where he is--MADELYNE!"
But she was gone.
***
"Dayspring?" There was a light shining in his eyes. He closed them, about all he could manage, and flinched as the person standing over him sighed and slapped the side of his face lightly. "Don't be difficult," he was chastised. "Open your eyes."
He did, and was nearly blinded by the light again. It was withdrawn after a few more seconds, and he was left blinking up through watering eyes at a blurred, but familiar form. Not a threatening form. Pale, thin. Brittle. The healer.
"You're doing rather well, actually," the healer said, sounding like he was complimenting himself. "I'm reasonably sure you're not going to die on me, if that's any comfort."
The healer. The babbling healer. He closed his eyes for a moment, marshaling what little strength he could, and then looked up at the man again. "How long?" he said, or tried to. It came out as a croaking noise, the words undistinguishable. He swallowed, distantly absorbing the fact that his throat hurt, and tried again.
The healer blinked down at him. "Twenty-four hours. Why, does it matter?"
Twenty-four hours. A whole day. Cable let his eyes drift away from the healer's face, to the ceiling. His body was still mostly numb, but the pain was creeping through the numbness, making inroads. The leg was the worst. He tried to shift on the bed, and found out he was still restrained.
"Take these off me," he murmured weakly.
"I thought it was best to keep you sedated, and, um, restrained, while the machines did their work," the healer said quickly. "You were--unsettled."
Unsettled. His head was clearer, the memories of what had happened two days ago growing increasingly--solid. He didn't feel unsettled. He felt very calm.
Still. "Take--them off. Lost--my taste for being held down," he said, his voice dying to a rasp.
The healer gave a nervous laugh. "I imagine you would have."
Talking too much, Cable thought, closing his eyes. They both were. Wasting a perfectly good silence.
He drifted back into the darkness, barely aware of the healer unfastening the restraints.
***
It smelled like fall, Domino thought, and leaned her head against GW's shoulder as they walked. His arm tightened around her in response, and she managed a faint smile. He was so worried. She only wished she could reassure him.
They were in Central Park, in the conservatory. The signs that autumn was creeping up on them were all around, from the slightly faded colors of the flowers to the fact that coats and sweaters had made a reappearance in response to the crisp chill in the air. Fall. A sign that the year she'd thought would never end was indeed coming to an end, after all.
And leaving nothing at all resolved. Her eyes blurred with tears and Domino blinked determinedly, taking a deep breath. Two days hiding in her room, trying to pull herself together, had been enough. More than enough. The time for crying about what had happened, what she'd lost, was over.
So was the time for trying to deny it by going looking for the bottom of every bottle of alcohol she could put her hands on. Hell, there'd never been a good time for that, and she'd known that. She'd just been too wrapped up in her own pain to care.
GW took a deep breath, and gave her a somewhat forced smile. "Fresh air was a good idea," he said quietly.
Domino shrugged a little. "Thought it would be a good idea for us both to stretch our legs." She looked up at him, finding it a little easier to smile as she went on. "Don't think I don't know you spent most of the last two days parked outside my bedroom door."
"I was worried about you."
"I know," Domino murmured softly and looked away, not wanting to see the expression on his face. She'd fought her way back to a sort of calm over the last two days, but it was tenuous at best. It would be so easy to fracture it, if she let herself feel anything except determination. "But I'm okay."
"For now," GW muttered, and looking away really hadn't helped after all, Domino reflected grimly, because the distress in his voice was all too audible. "But for how long?"
Domino swallowed hard. "For a while, at least," she said, and the words came out hoarse and strained. "He's--very quiet, now. Very cold."
She felt GW tense, heard the breath catch raggedly in his throat. "That's not all that surprising, I guess," he finally said weakly. "No matter what Apocalypse did to him, he's still going to react to--getting hurt in the same way as he always did."
Domino shook her head slowly, something twisting inside her at GW's all-too-euphemistic choice of words. "I'm tired of walking," she said, and GW immediately shepherded her to the nearest bench. She sat silently for a moment, staring at the faded flowers. Wondering how long it would be until they wilted completely and there was nothing left but cold, barren dirt, with spring an eternity away.
"Dom?" She reacted to the near-frantic edge in GW's voice and blinked up at him, managing a faint smile. His shoulders sagged. "I thought you were spacing out on me again."
"No," Domino said, reaching out and laying a hand over his where it rested on his knee. "Just thinking." She swallowed, focusing very hard on that sense of determination and forcing the words out past the lump in her throat. "I can't do this anymore, GW," she said hoarsely. "I can't--wait around for him to reappear."
GW wouldn't meet her eyes. "Two days ago I would have given anything to have heard you say that," he muttered painfully. "Now--"
"I can't let this go on, GW," Domino said, before he could say anything more. She knew what he meant, what he was afraid of. He was right, too. She was letting events stampede her into action, forgetting why she'd had to wait in the first place. She knew that.
But it didn't matter. Not when she stacked it up against what she'd sensed two days ago. "I can't--" Her voice wavered, and she clung to that resolution, held to it like a rock in the sea. "I don't know if there's anything left of our Nate, GW, but it doesn't matter anymore. He's suffering, and I can't let it go on any longer."
GW looked up at her sharply. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded, pulling his hand away from hers. "Damn it, woman!" Domino stiffened automatically at the anger in his voice, but forced herself to relax. "You're talking like you want--"
"To track him down and put an end to this, one way or the other?" Domino straightened, squaring her shoulders and meeting GW's eyes unflinchingly. She managed a thin, humorless smile. "When did you turn into a mindreader?"
"I can't believe you're even considering the possibility," GW said restlessly, getting up and beginning to pace, as if they were back at the house, rather than in the middle of Central Park. "Dom, you of all people--"
"I'm the one who's been linked to him all these months!" Domino pointed out, trying to keep her voice low, despite how vehemently the words insisted upon coming out. "You haven't felt what I've felt, Bridge. You don't know--" Her chest felt tight, again, and she fought the feeling savagely. "You put an animal down, if it's too hurt to heal."
His violent rejection of that idea was written all over his face. "We're talking about Nathan!"
"Don't you think I know that?" Part of Domino wondered very dryly just when in the last two seconds she'd jumped to her feet and wound up all but nose-to-nose with GW. Then again, so what? So she was making a scene in Central Park. She'd probably do worse, before this was over. "It's not HIM, GW!"
GW's eyes narrowed. "How much of that is you trying to make a clean break?" he grated. "If you tell yourself it's not him, then you can end this without feeling like shit about it--"
She hit him. Not as hard as she wanted to, but hard enough to send him reeling back a step or two and attract a fair amount of attention from passers-by. Grimacing, Domino sat back down, and gestured at him sharply to do the same. Rubbing at his jaw and eyeing her warily, GW complied.
"Do you really think I'd do that?" she hissed at him under her breath. That ache was back in her chest, hollowing out the place where her heart had been once upon a time.
GW's shoulders slumped. "No," he murmured, anguish in his voice for a split-second. "It's just--it's like you've given up, Dom--"
A laugh that sounded considerably more than semi-hysterical slipped out before she could stop it. "What, I'm not allowed to do that? Just because he didn't?" The tightness and pain in her choice increased steadily, to the point that it was almost unbearable. "He and I never saw eye-to-eye about the 'come back with your shield or on it' concept." She took a deep, shaky breath. No more laughter. It really wasn't funny. "That's why this happened, you know. He doesn't know how to back down, and so Apocalypse beat him down until he broke."
And after what had happened two days ago--she'd felt a coldness on the link before, since this had all begun, but never like this. It wasn't tense, or icy, or threatening. Just faint, like a breath of a north wind. Barely there at all.
Fading.
"Dom?" GW murmured almost fearfully, and she focused on him again, forcing herself to turn away from the link and the despair the feel of it provoked.
"But I think he finally did," she murmured, trying to keep the grief out of her voice. "I think he's given up." Before GW could say anything else she pressed on feverishly. "We have to find him and stop this, GW. He wouldn't want to go on like this, but I don't think there's enough of him left to remember that." She looked up at him, blinking determinedly. "So we have to do it for him."
GW was silent for so long that she didn't know quite what to expect. He finally managed a ghastly smile. "'We' it is, then," he rasped, not sounding entirely convinced. But it was a start. "One way or the other."
Domino swallowed. Practicalities, she told herself. Focus on practicalities. "We're going to need some help," she said.
"Oh?"
"I have a few ideas."
***
He woke up in a different place. Blinking up at the high, strangely arched ceiling, Cable let the change in location go for the time being, and focused on assessing his physical state. Not nearly so much pain, anymore. His leg still ached, there was a lingering soreness in his chest _ *ribs still healing,* he thought - and his head felt as if the skin was stretched too tight over his skull, but all of it was tolerable. His thoughts were far clearer as well, hampered only a lingering dullness that suggested heād been drugged until very recently.
He took a few deep breaths and then mustered his strength to push himself up to a sitting position. The effort left his head spinning and the muscles in his arms trembling, but he was sitting up, and could see, even with the way his vision blurred, that this was clearly not the infirmary at the mesa base, where heād been--although it was an infirmary, or at least a laboratory of some sort, and one that seemed very familiar.
Iāve been here before, he thought, and looked down at himself to see that he was garbed once more in a skinsuit. There was a brace of some sort on his knee, the same black as the skinsuit - color-coordinated, how thoughtful, - and he didnāt seem to be attached to any of the machines surrounding the bed.
Something flickered at the edge of his perception, and he turned his head to see the healer step around a partition and out into the main area of the lab. "Youāre awake," the healer observed, coming over to the bed. "How do you feel?"
Cable watched him approach, warily. "Alive," he croaked, his voice sounding as if he hadnāt spoken in days. Which was probably the case.
"Hmph," the healer grunted, and turned his attention to the brace. Cable kept very still as he tightened it, ignoring both the sharper pain the healerās manipulations provoked and fighting the desire to take the pale little manās head off for touching him. Just reflex, not anger. He didnāt think he could reach through the cold to find anger, not now. So he sat there and let the healer adjust the brace, and tried not to shake from the sheer effort of restraining himself. The internal tension he felt was overwhelming, but he wouldnāt snap. He would not snap.
"I donāt like letting you out of here when this isnāt healed completely," the healer went on, seemingly unaware of his reaction, "but bones take a while longer, even with my equipment."
"Letting me out?" The words were a bit stronger, a bit more forceful. Cable looked away from the healer, at the door. Thinking. He did need to see Apocalypse. The final exam. He had to tell him that he understood now, that he was done fighting what had to be--
"Youāre supposed to report to Apocalypse as soon as you can walk." The healer gave a strange, almost disconsolate sigh. "And you can walk, although itās not going to be comfortable."
"It doesnāt matter," Cable murmured. It was nothing. Less than nothing.
"You just finished your last absolutely necessary session with the surgical unit," the healer said. "So I cleaned you up a little--threw you into a fresh skinsuit." He shrugged, eyeing Cable watchfully. "Youāll have some--discomfort for a while yet. Not just the leg. Three days has been enough for the surgical unit to repair the--internal damage, but itās not been quite enough time for regen to be complete. Iāll need you to check back in here with me once a day, and Iāve had one of the servitors program the food dispenser in your quarters with some dietary specifications--"
"Fine." Cable slid off the bed, and nearly fell. The healer actually swore and tried to support him, and Cable couldnāt stop himself from flinching away, couldnāt help the way his breathing went ragged. "Back off," he rasped, gripping the edge of the bed to support himself. The healer grimaced, but did take a step back. Not nearly far enough, but it would do. "Where is he?"
"In the control room."
Cable let his gaze roam the lab again, just for a moment. There was definitely something familiar about the place. "And where are we?"
"Back in Akkaba."
Well. Wasnāt that nice. Old home week, indeed. "Iāll see you tomorrow," he murmured, and started to limp towards the door. Pain stabbed up his leg with every step, but he let it be what it was, a reminder of what had happened three days ago. Let it help him focus.
Even with the pain, and the way the simple act of walking across the room was sapping his strength, his thoughts remained perfectly clear. So they were in Akkaba again. Apocalypse must have decided to switch bases sometime during the days heād spent unconscious. It would be interesting to know why, but not essential. Besides, being back in the desert felt right. This was where it had all started, and every circle had to close at some point.
Tal was waiting for him in the hall outside.
***
Tal opened her mouth, then closed it again without saying anything as Cable stared blankly at her, leaning against the doorframe as if he needed it for support. He was alarmingly pale - not all that surprising, Tal told herself, remembering just how bad his injuries had been when they'd carried him back into the base - and the muscles in the flesh-and-blood side of his face twitched erratically as he stared down at her. She took in the brace on his leg, the raggedness of his breathing and the unsteadiness of his stance, and reflected that it was pretty much part for the course. For a Rider, medical treatment was a privilege, not a right, and it was always limited to what was necessary to restore one to duty as soon as possible; the pain and discomfort of healing was not an issue. Apparently the same standard applied to paladins.
"Cable," she murmured. There was no recognition in his expression--then again, there wasn't a terrible lot of anything there. Trying not to shiver, Tal took a careful half-step closer, knowing it was a calculated risk. He didn't lash out at her, though. Did he not see her as a threat? "You have to report to Apocalypse now?"
"Yes." His eyes weren't quite tracking, either. "Move."
She stepped out of the way, but trailed along behind him as he started down the hall. It didn't take much effort to keep up; he was limping badly, and his progress, though steady, was painfully slow.
He was definitely more--subdued than she'd expected, Tal thought, eyeing him intently. Maybe she'd done him an injustice, thinking he'd get back on his feet and immediately charge off to get some of his own back from Seth and the others. Then again, maybe he was just waiting until after he'd seen Apocalypse.
Surely that was it. She didn't want to think that Seth and the rest had actually managed to cow him. Not when she'd risked so much going to him in the first place. Tal really didn't like pointless risks, or wasted effort.
"You were out for a while," she said, still watching him, waiting for a reaction. "How do you feel?"
"Why?" he murmured, his voice rough, but barren of any emotion.
Tal blinked. She'd expected a brusque 'alive', maybe, or a comment that she should mind her own business. "Why what?" she asked a bit warily.
"Why ask?" Cable kept limping onwards, and Tal got the distinct impression that he didn't expect, or indeed want, an answer to his question. As if whatever reason she had didn't really matter.
"Maybe I sympathize," Tal said slowly. "I told you we all had to do that at some point."
They were at the lift, now, and Cable stopped, steadying himself with a hand against the wall as he turned to her. "Empathy," he said in that same bleak, hoarse voice, and Tal found herself fighting the urge to shiver again as those empty eyes looked right through her. "Entertaining, coming from you. Go away."
Tal darted through the doors before they closed. "Are you sure?" she asked, and stiffened a bit as he suddenly backed up against the wall, the tension in his posture increasing exponentially. She needed to give him some space, Tal told herself, and shifted back a little as the lift began to move upwards towards the control room. "Think about it for a minute, Cable. You don't want them thinking they've had any impact on your actions--your choices."
"Couldn't have that," he muttered, his eyes roaming the cramped confines of the lift as if he were looking for an escape route. He raised a hand to the side of his face, tracing barely-visible bruises before his arm fell back to his side. "Have to keep up appearances."
"Exactly my point."
Cable shivered. "Later," he said as the lift came to a stop and the doors slid open. "Much later. I--have to see Apocalypse now."
She followed him out. "I'll wait for you--" she started, and hesitated as she saw the handful of other Riders lingering in the corridor outside the control room. The obvious center of the group was Seth, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and an insufferable smirk on his face.
Tal's jaw tightened. Shit, why didn't I wait? she thought with an inward sigh. She hadn't wanted to be seen with Cable until she was sure that pursuing the association was a good idea. Some of the others were certainly giving her looks that promised dire things in the near future.
Cable had stopped in his tracks as soon as he'd seen them. Tal looked up at him, not encouraged by how tense he seemed again. Much worse than when she'd gotten too close in the lift, too, though his body language gave nothing else away, nothing about what he might be planning to do.
Tal started to seriously wonder about Seth's sanity. Why he would be pushing a confrontation eluded her. Stupidity--or confidence that he'd accomplished more three days ago than simply half-killing Cable. She wished she could be sure which, but no, she'd had to be squeamish and walk away, instead of watching to see exactly what happened, whether or not Cable actually broke.
"Apocalypse is waiting for you," she murmured, her voice low enough that only Cable would hear it.
Cable flinched, and stood there for long enough that Seth's smirk grew even wider and Tal started to think Cable had actually frozen in fear. But before she could say anything more, Cable started to limp forward again, his eyes fixed on the control room doors, as if Seth and the others weren't even there. She couldn't see Cable's expression from here, but judging by the change in Morel and the others, the swiftness with which any trace of satisfaction or amusement vanished from their faces, they were seeing something to be wary about.
Seth, on the other hand, was still smirking. Tal shook her head in disbelief. Was it Marcus's death, making him so incautious? "Come to hear Apocalypse's verdict on your performance, Dayspring?" Seth asked. Cable just kept limping towards the door, not even looking at him, and Seth just kept pushing. "I'd be worried if I were you," he continued as Cable moved slowly past him. "I bet our lord and master is already looking for your replacement. After all, Apocalypse is old-fashioned. He won't expect us to follow you in battle when we've proved just how much of a man you aren't." Cable didn't react, and Seth took a menacing step after him, his voice going savage. "You were supposed to beat the odds, paladin. Not get beaten down by us lesser servants and then just lie there, begging us to stop."
Cable stopped, looking over his shoulder at Seth. Tal saw his face in profile, and bit her lip at the utter blankness of his expression. The muscles along the side of his face were twitching even more noticeably now, and his body language had shifted subtly, as if he were fighting the urge to break and run.
But his words put the lie to her assumption. "I didn't beg you to stop," Cable said, turning completely around looming over Seth. His voice was utterly level, but still so very hoarse. "Don't--flatter yourself, Rider."
Seth kept smirking. "No? Could have sworn I heard it, amid all the moaning and whimpering."
"Keep talking," Cable whispered. The emptiness on his face, in his eyes, was a terrifying contrast to the raw tension in his voice. "Keep at it, Seth. Let's see how far you're willing to go."
Seth's composure visibly cracked, but he recovered and straightened, sneering up at Cable. "Tough talk from a man the healer spent the last three days putting back together. Can you sit down yet, Dayspring?"
Cable shook his head slowly. "Don't know when to shut up," he murmured, and Tal felt a prickling at the back of her neck, as if the hairs there were trying to stand on end. "Very sad. But you'll learn."
"We'll see," Seth hissed.
And Cable gave him a faint, bleak smile. "Yes, we will," he said, and limped onwards into the control room.
***
Apocalypse had ordered him to be present when he spoke to Cable. Sinister wasn't certain what the motivation behind that particular order had been, what Apocalypse was hoping to accomplish by having him witness this, but he had complied. Apocalypse had barred him from both the infirmary in New Mexico and the lab here in the fortress, so this was the first opportunity he'd had to assess Cable's condition.
What had Apocalypse hoped to accomplish by any of this? Sinister thought, truly perplexed as he watched Cable hesitate in the doorway, staring at Apocalypse as if he'd never laid eyes on him before. Surely this would only serve to breed further hostility and resistance. Sinister flattered himself that he knew a fair amount about the psychological make-up of his 'grandson', and he truthfully couldn't see any way in which the events of three days ago could achieve what Apocalypse wanted.
Or perhaps, the problem was that he didn't know precisely what Apocalypse wanted. Definitely a possibility, Sinster thought, watching critically as Cable hobbled forward across the floor of the control room. His gaze fixed on Apocalypse, Cable seemed entirely unaware that there was anyone else in the room, and Sinister saw no reason to draw attention to his presence. The situation was unpredictable enough; why add another variable?
Simple enough to remain silent and gather information. He extended the lightest possible probe, no more than a tendril of thought, towards Cable's mind, seeking the truth behind that defensively blank exterior--and retreated, almost in the same instant that he made contact.
Very interesting, Sinister thought, watching Cable warily, but not what he'd expected at all. Cable's shields were still largely intact but were showing obvious signs of wear, either from the head injury or general trauma. Perhaps both. In appearance, they were almost like Roman glass unearthed from some archaeological site, weathered and cracked by the force of time and trauma, almost irridescent in places but so fragile-looking that it seemed impossible that they could stand up to the lightest mental touch, let alone a determined probe.
But they were just transparent enough to let him get a glimpse of what laid within, and he saw no compelling reason to bring those walls crashing down. The storm so tenuously locked away inside Cable's mind could translate far too easily into a wild explosion of uncontrolled power that would destroy everything in its path. It was seeping through the cracks in his shields already, creeping winter-cold tendrils of something that might have been fear or anger if it had not been so completely encased in ice.
It wanted out, wanted to explode in a frenzy of self-immolation. Only something was preventing that final breakdown of control--delayed shock, perhaps, Sinister speculated. If that was the case, it was only a matter of time, surely.
Cable stopped, perhaps five feet away from Apocalypse. Then, awkwardly, clearly in pain from his injured leg, he knelt. Sinister saw it for what it was - an acknowledgment of defeat, a gesture of submission - and watched in stony silence.
"So," Apocalypse said finally, when it seemed as though Cable was prepared to kneel there indefinitely, saying nothing. "The prodigal returns. Speak, Dayspring. Surely you have something to say to me."
Cable's shoulders slumped for a moment, and Sinister saw quite clearly the pain in the lines of his posture, in the way he was hunched to one side, as if trying to put as little weight as possible on his injured leg. "You told me--to choose. So I have. Never again," Cable said, his voice raw, barely audible. "I will never--allow myself to be that weak again."
Apocalypse shook his head. "An easy answer," he rumbled. "Too easy." Cable's eyes stayed fixed resolutely on the floor, but Sinister saw, even from across the room, the faint tremor that went through his body. "Was it not I who put you in this position?" Apocalypse pressed relentlessly. "The test was of my devising."
It was a challenge, Sinister knew, designed to provoke a reaction. Given what he'd sensed in Cable's mind, he was rather surprised when Cable showed no signs of rising to it.
"You--were right to do it. I brought it on myself," Cable muttered, the muscles in his face twitching almost spasmodically. "You showed me--what it meant to be weak. So I'd know." He swallowed visibly, as if his throat hurt. "So I'd--learn."
Sinister felt almost--angry, witnessing this. Perhaps disappointed was the better word. He'd expected more of Cable, more--resistance, if nothing else. If he'd known that gang rape and a near-crippling beating would turn Cable meek and compliant, he would have encouraged the Marauders to be creative long ago.
"There was more than one lesson to be learned," Apocalypse went on, his tone turning as cold and irrevocable as the passage of the years. "The price of weakness, and the price of defying me. Know your strength, Dayspring, but also know your place."
"I do," Cable said, his voice even fainter. He took a deep, shuddering breath, looking up at Apocalypse and fully focusing for the first time since he'd entered the room. "I won't--forget. I know, now." His eyes went back to the floor, and Sinister watched his hands clench at his sides. "I know," he whispered raggedly, his features twisting with some unreadable emotion. "Truth is truth."
Apocalypse studied him for a few moments longer, apparently well-satisfied with what he saw. "You are excused," he finally said, with a dismissive gesture. "Return here in an hour, prepared to continue your work with the cells," He started to turn away, then paused, as if thinking of something. "It may have been necessary to correct your behaviour, but it has still caused a disruption in the training rotation," he pointed out, with a flash of displeasure. "You will compensate for this, if you must spend the whole of the next three days doing so."
Cable nodded jerkily, and struggled back to his feet. What little color was left in his face vanished as he put weight on his injured leg, and he staggered for a moment, barely keeping his balance. He straightened, and slowly, laboriously, limped from the room. The door slid shut behind him, and Sinister spared a moment to wonder how long he would remain on his feet once he was out of Apocalypse's sight.
"Would it not be more efficient to ensure he is recovered before setting him to the task of completing six days' work in three?" he murmured, turning back to Apocalypse.
"You miss the point," Apocalypse said, giving him a look of mild contempt. "As usual. But Dayspring will do what is required of him."
"You seem very certain of that," Sinister said. Very certain, and Apocalypse's confidence was rarely unjustified. He could only speculate on what Nur knew that he did not. "Shall I tell you what I saw in his mind?"
"Undoubtedly, you saw some evidence of the natural reaction a man such as Dayspring would have to being used in such a fashion by his inferiors," Apocalypse said. "You will note that he did not allow himself to indulge in that reaction in front of me."
"Not now. Tomorrow, a month from now--who can say?"
Apocalypse gave him what, from anyone else, might have been an exasperated look. "Is your logic truly that faulty, Essex?" he asked almost disdainfully. "He will not show weakness in front of me, or in my service, because he now knows how far I will go to punish such weakness." Apocalypse glanced down at the control console, which was currently displayed the location of everyone in the fortress. Sinister wondered if he was watching Cable's progress. "He knows I will not grant him the simplicity of death," Apocalypse said, more quietly. "He understands that if he fails me, I will strip him of his very self--"
"I was under the impression you had done that already."
Apocalypse gave him a cold smile, and for a moment, Sinister started to think he'd gone too far. "What I took," the External said calmly, "is irrelevant. I speak of what I left him, Essex. The thing he holds most dear is his identity as a warrior, as someone who makes his own fate." The smile faded abruptly. "He knows now that I can take that away from him at will, turn him into a thing to be used and broken, so he will cling to that identity all the more fiercely. What you saw in his mind means nothing, Sinister, because he will never allow himself to give in to it."
Sinister reflected that there were some rather appalling gaps in Apocalypse's understanding of psychology. "I still do not entirely understand--"
"Patience, Essex," Apocalypse said as he turned away. "All will become clear. Trust in that."
Trust, Sinister thought. Such a peculiar word for En Sabah Nur, of all people, to be using so freely.
He didn't say that aloud, of course. He had already pushed this conversation as far as was safe. Unlike Nathan, he had known for some time how Apocalypse punished defiance.
to be continued...
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