Thunder Chasing The Wind

by Alicia McKenzie

For one fleeting moment, as she hovered on the border between sleep and waking, she was back in her own room, at the mansion. Sleeping in her own bed, curled up beneath the silk comforter that had been a gift from Yukio on one of her visits. Warm and relaxed and safe--

But as her mind cleared further and awareness of her surroundings slowly sunk in, the comforting illusion fled, gone like the ghostly shadows that were all that was left of the life she'd known. Ororo Munroe fingered the rough, scratchy blanket covering her, and blinked up blearily at a smooth metal ceiling that seemed far too close.

Bed--she was lying on a bed, she realized, set back into some kind of an alcove. A faint vibration came right through the thin mattress. She laid a shaking hand against the wall beside her, and felt it there as well. A gentle, persistent hum filled her ears, an odd thrumming that was somehow comforting. The near-silence was a blessing beyond words, after the constant noise of the prison camp.

The camp--this was not the camp.

Goddess--where am I? Wariness warring with incredulous hope, she turned over to face the open side of the alcove, squinting until her eyes adjusted to the dimness.

The room beyond was completely strange to her. It was cramped, narrow, longer than it was wide. There was no windows that she could see, no visible exit. Computers and weapons racks lined the side facing her, the lights on the consoles the only illumination. But her night vision was keen, and she had no trouble seeing the tall, broad-shouldered figure slumped in a battered chair a short distance away.

And her heart nearly froze in her chest. Sweet Goddess--HIM?

Pushing the blanket aside, she noted distantly that she was not wearing her prison coverall, but strange clothes, too large on her but soft and clean. She probed a sore spot at the crook of her arm--had he given her some sort of injection?--as she swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed and stood, swaying a little with weakness.

For a long moment, she simply stood there, her exhausted brain struggling to absorb the simple, undeniable fact of her freedom and his presence. Alive--he was alive? Her vision blurred, despite her best efforts to remain calm. They had thought him dead in the first Sentinel attacks years ago, mourned him as they had so many other loved ones lost--

"It is--good to see you alive," Ororo said finally, her voice breaking on the words.

He didn't move for a moment. Then, slowly, moving with visible stiffness, he rose and turned towards her. His silver hair was longer than she remembered, framing a face with a few more lines, a few more scars than she recalled. But his left eye still blazed with that same unearthly golden glow, and the faint ghost of a smile he gave her was familiar enough to break her heart.

"Likewise, 'Ro," Cable said, his voice suspiciously hoarse. "Love the hair."

She ran a hand self-consciously through her cropped hair, trying vainly to smile. "Goddess, Nathan," she said shakily. "When did you--HOW did you--" The room seemed to spin around her. She put a hand against the console for support, and immediately he was at her side, supporting her to the chair.

"It doesn't matter," Cable said. His voice was a little clearer, stronger than before, but his gaze flickered away as he touched her, as if the physical contact was somehow too much to bear without a certain distancing on his part. "I've still got some connections, even in this brave new world of ours." He lowered her into the chair gently, as if she was made out of porcelain. "Easy enough to find things out, still, when you try. And your capture wasn't precisely a secret."

She reached out to take his hand, but flinched as he pulled away. "Nathan--" she whispered. "Please--"

"Are you hungry?" Cable turned away, and she watched him rummage through a cupboard of sorts set over what looked like very rudimentary kitchen 'facilities'. Now that she could see the other side of the room, she realized just how small this place was. Besides the bed, there was the tiny kitchen, and equally cramped sanitary facilities behind a partition. A ladder in the corner led up through an opening in the roof--to another level, she wondered aimlessly? "I don't have much, I'm afraid. Need to resupply one of these days, I guess--"

"Nathan--what is this place?" she asked softly.

"A shelter," he said, turning around with a ration bar and a cup of something steaming in his hand. He still wouldn't meet her eyes, she realized, troubled. "Safe. That's all you need to worry about."

Ororo took both the ration bar and the cup, turning the chair around to face him as he backed away and sat on the edge of the bed. The cup was full of some sort of broth. It smelled delicious, and she took a cautious sip, reminding herself that she hadn't had proper food in weeks.

"You--rescued me from the camp," she said slowly. "By yourself?" It hardly seemed possible. The level of security--she had indeed been a very important prisoner, if such a thing was possible--had seemed so impossible. She had not held out any hope of rescue; she had, indeed, hoped that none of her friends would risk themselves so.

Again, that faint flicker of a smile, barely there and gone before she could react to it. "Do you see anyone else around, Ororo?" As soon as he said it, he glanced up and down the narrow confines of the shelter for a moment, a strange sort of puzzlement on his face. As if he wasn't sure, himself, of the truth of what he had just said.

"No," she said very softly, and took another sip of the broth, watching him. "I do not." She rubbed absently at the sore spot on her arm.

"I gave you a couple of shots while you were out," he said abruptly, startling her. "A vitamin shot, a broad-spectrum antibiotic. Conditions in that camp weren't good. I didn't want to go to all the trouble of getting you out and then have you get sick." He got up and went back to the tiny kitchen, his back to her. She couldn't see what he was doing, but he seemed very absorbed in it.

"Thank you," she whispered. He froze for a moment, and then shrugged, almost apathetically.

"You would have done the same for me."

"Certainly I would have," she said, straightening in the chair. "Until today, however, I never thought I would ever have that opportunity."

Eight years. Eight years since that last telephone conversation with Jean, smiling at her friend's delight that Nathan had come up to Alaska to meet his new baby sister. Ororo remembered every word of that conversation as clearly as if it had been yesterday. We'll see you soon, Jean had promised fondly.

It was the same night the first of the Sentinel attacks had taken place. With Jean, Scott, Alex, and Nathan all gathered together, four 'primary threats' in one place, the house in Alaska had been one of the first places targeted in the strategic sweep. The mansion had been hit as well--it had not been until weeks later that they'd discovered what had happened in Alaska.

"They--took us by surprise," Nathan suddenly whispered. He had stopped moving again, but he didn't turn to face her. "Scott and Alex and I--we tried to hold them off while Jean got the baby and Phillip and Deborah out of there. But the Sentinels were psi-resistant. I got hit--I remember hearing Jean scream--"

Ororo set the cup down on the console beside her before she could drop it. Her hands were shaking badly, tears leaking down her cheeks despite her best efforts to hold them back.

Rachel Ororo Summers, Jean's remembered words echoed in her mind, warm and affectionate. So, feel like playing godmother?

Control, she told herself painfully, swallowing past the lump in her throat and beginning to unwrap the ration bar. It was the only thing that had let her survive this long. If she stopped to contemplate losses, if she allowed herself to remember too deeply that world that had ended in fire, she would crumble. And there was far too much left to be done to give up now.

"We thought you had died with them," she said, trying to keep her voice level.

His voice, when he spoke, was soft, so unsure that it hardly sounded like the Cable she remembered at all. "I should have."

"Nathan--"

"You should rest, Ororo. You're still weak." He headed for the ladder in the corner of the shelter, without so much as glancing at her over his shoulder. "I need to--I'll be back in a while."

He was up the ladder and out of sight before she could say another word. Ororo briefly contemplated following him, but discarded the idea almost instantly. Her head was spinning, even from simply sitting up for these few minutes. She doubted she could make it over to the ladder, let along climb it to see where he'd gone.

Oh, Nathan, she thought sadly, looking around the bleak, cramped little shelter. How long have you been alone here?

Alone. At least she had not had to endure that. Before the camp and that last raid that had gone so badly, there had been Logan and Remy and Kurt--a sob escaped before she could stop it as Kurt's dying scream rang in her ears. He had been struck down by the very Sentinel that had then turned and captured her.

At least Logan and Remy had escaped. She had faith that they were out there still, surviving. They were survivors, after all. There were others of the X-Men out there, she knew. Remy had claimed that he had seen Sean at a distance, once, and there had been other sightings, other encounters. In one skirmish, years ago, she had found herself face to face with none other than Lorna Dane. But the tide of battle had swept them apart, and she had not been able to find Lorna afterwards--

One stopped searching, after a while. The loss became easier to endure than the uncertainty. But to know that Nathan had been alive all this time, that he had been alone, all this time--

Her eyes widened slightly. Or had he been? Rubbing her eyes, she started to examine her surroundings with a little more care.

A bed, just wide enough for two. Two mugs sitting by the tiny sink, arranged just so. Two towels, hung precisely over one of the pipes connecting the narrow shower stall to the water recycling unit.

A leather jacket, slung over the only other chair in the shelter--a jacket that was far too small for Nathan. Sitting on the console in front of that chair was a book--a book of poetry, from what she could see of the page from here. It was lying open, and although she couldn't be sure from here, there seemed to be a definite coat of dust on the book, as if it hadn't been touched for--

Growing increasingly unsettled, Ororo continued to study the shelter. Two weapons racks. The weapons on one were much larger, the kind Nathan had always favored, while the ones on the other rack were smaller and more eclectic. And while the weapons on the first rack had the look of heavy use about them, the ones on the second rack were pristine, looking somehow--untouched. Again, arranged just so.

Ororo shivered, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. There wasn't anyone else here now, not unless there was a level above this one. But why would Nathan have all but said there was no one else here, then?

She rose, feeling dangerously unsteady on her feet, but managed to stumble over to the other chair. Sitting down, she reached out with hands that trembled despite her best efforts to keep them steady--Goddess, she hadn't truly realized how weak she was--and picked up the book. And it was, indeed, poetry--


When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget...

"Don't touch that!" Nathan suddenly snarled from the direction of the ladder. Ororo's heart nearly skipped a beat, and she fought the urge to shrink back into the chair as he stalked over, wrenching the book from her hands and setting it back exactly where it had been, smoothing the pages almost frantically. "You shouldn't have touched it, Ororo, I left it there for a reason, why did you touch it?"

There were tears pouring down his face, tears that were totally at odds with the savagery of his words. She reached out, taking her hands in his and not letting him pull away, this time. "Nathan," she said, her voice soft and full of the grief she couldn't manage to suppress. "What happened?" He didn't answer, and she swallowed past another lump in her throat. "Nathan--you were not always alone here, were you?"

Cable was more in control of himself, now. "It doesn't matter," he said hoarsely, kneeling down beside her chair as if he realized she wasn't going to let him go. She stared into his face, so close to her own, her heart aching at how blank his expression had gone. He wasn't looking at her, but at the book, as if it had some significance, held some answer he had been seeking for years. "We've all--what is, is. It doesn't matter."

She reached out with one hand, brushed his tears away. "It matters," she whispered, unable to keep the anguish from her voice. "If it does not, what are we, Nathan? No more human than the Sentinels." He remained silent, unresponsive, his gaze fixed on the book.

Not really here, she realized. Elsewhere--elsewhen. She had seen Remy look this way when he thought of Rogue--this same withdrawn expression on Logan's face when anyone spoke of Jean. She imagined she had worn one similar more than once in the last few years.

Watching him carefully, she freed one hand and reached behind her, pulling the jacket down and across her lap. A tremor went through him, as if she'd struck him. Seeing his reaction, the words came of their own accord. "I found out, three years ago," she started slowly, "that Yukio had been killed."

"I'm--sure she died the sort of death she would have wanted," Cable said in an eerily detached voice, staring now at the jacket. She let go of him, to see what his reaction would be, and her heart twisted inside her as he pulled the jacket off her lap slowly, almost hugging it to himself.

"Oh, yes," she said softly. "The kind of death she would have wanted--a death with purpose, with honor." Ororo reached out, quite deliberately, and closed the book. Nathan flinched. "But she died," Ororo continued, keeping her voice expressionless. "She died, and even though I had not seen her in years, even though our paths had strayed far from each other, I felt as if a part of my soul had been ripped away. That I had lost something of myself when I lost her--because I loved her."

A faint, almost involuntary smile flickered across his face. "You've changed," he said unsteadily. "Ten years ago, you never would have admitted that."

"No," she admitted, her voice growing thick with tears, "and you have--no idea, Nathan, how much that pains me. How much I regret all that time wasted."

"Time," he said, the flicker of a smile more sardonic, this time. "Let's not get started on wasted time, shall--"

"Nathan." Ororo reached out, taking his face between her hands, meeting those dazed eyes with all of the cool, compelling authority she could muster. "What happened to Domino?"

***

For a long time after Nathan finished telling her what had happened to Domino, there was silence in the shelter. She had lost any appetite for what was left of her meal early on in his tale, and she did not believe it would return anytime soon.

She sat there in the chair, staring down at him. He was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the base of the console, his eyes dry, expression numb as he stared into empty air.

"How long ago did it happen?" Her voice sounded nothing like it should. She had had her own encounters with the bands of lawless scavengers who roamed the countryside. Mostly human, some were as full of hate and resentment as the disillusioned among the mutant rebels. Some had lost just as much. Sentinel rule had not been any kinder to those the Sentinels had been meant to 'protect'.

This had been surprisingly painful to hear. She had seen more than her share of atrocities, seen horrors inflicted on those closest to her heart. She had not known Domino all that well, but to know what had been done to her simply because she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, because she was a mutant, and a woman--her stomach clenched with something very close to nausea.

"Two years," Nathan murmured, breaking her train of thought. His eyes were still vacant of any emotion as he looked over at her. "I handed over control of the resistance cell we'd been working with, afterwards. I wasn't any good--leading, anymore." He gestured aimlessly at the bank of computers. "I still keep an eye out, send them information--take on the odd solo mission. I try to do what I can--"

Her eyes widened slightly. "You've--been alone here ever since?" she asked in horror. Alone with nothing but memories and grief--it was a wonder he was as rational as he was. "Goddess, Nathan--"

"Not quite alone," he said softly. "She's still--here, you know. Everywhere I look--every time I close my eyes--" He frowned suddenly. It was a puzzled frown, yet somehow distant. "I was with her," he whispered. "I knew what they were doing to her, I felt it--"

Ororo was suddenly sure she was going to be sick. "Nathan," she rasped, appalled at the thought of what his words implied. Their link--sweet Goddess, I had forgotten about their psi-link. "You do not have to--"

"I--took her out of her body, kept her with me." Nathan's gaze was faraway now, dazed and sickened, as if the spirit behind his eyes was swaying on the verge of some great precipice, struggling to keep its balance. "We both--still felt it, but it wasn't as bad. Pain halved is pain shared--who said that, someone--"

Ororo slid out of the chair, down to her knees beside him, sliding her arms around him as she struggled to hold tears back. "She knew you were with her," she whispered. "I cannot imagine how much--that comforted her."

"But--" A sob shook his broad shoulders. "But she didn't--she was alive when I got there, after I killed the rest of the scavengers, but she was so badly hurt, Ororo, I couldn't do anything for her--" Tears were falling freely down his face. "I couldn't do anything but keep her with me in my mind, but she didn't LET me--she told me she loved me, and just slipped away--"

She tried to think of something to say, something comforting, but there were no words. Not for this, not for any of it, she thought wretchedly, remembering the scenes of loss she'd seen played out, day in, day out in the camp. Some of the prisoners had taken comfort in the likelihood that they would not survive the ones they had lost for long. She had not permitted herself to think that way, even when she woke up from every snatched, fleeting period of sleep screaming Kurt's name, the smell of burning flesh and fur choking her. But she had been tempted--

Death was far too easy, in this world. It was living that tested your limits, that took all your strength. And every instinct she had, every forlorn bit of insight she possessed, told her that Nathan had come to the end of his a long time before. Two years--two years with only his pain for company as he faded away into this ghost of the man she'd known--

It was not until she felt his arms go around her, in turn, that she realized she was crying openly now. "I thought I was too late to help you, too," he whispered into her hair, his voice rough with some different but no less intense emotion. "You were so still--"

She remembered, now. That guard, the one who had been watching her with such interest for so long--a shudder went through her entire body. He had singled her out as they'd returned from work detail--she remembered him striking her when she had not responded to his 'compliments'. Then, the sound of explosions, somewhere close, but growing more distant as consciousness had faded.

"I killed him, Ororo." Nathan's voice was savage again, and as she pulled back, staring into his eyes, she saw a flash of the old fire, that driven, angry determination that had been as frightening as it had been admirable, sometimes. "I saw what he was about to do, and I killed him. But I thought--" The fire faded, and he seemed to wilt, his shoulders slumping, his whole body trembling with suppressed sobs. "I thought I was too late. I thought I'd waited too long--"

"Shh," Ororo said through her tears, embracing him as tightly as she could. "You saved me, Nathan. You were in time, you were--shh--"

"I wasn't sure, until you woke up--"

"But I did," she whispered gently. "And I found you there, waiting for me--" She pulled back, smiling up at him through her tears. "Do you have any idea what a gift that was, Nathan? Not only my freedom, but to know that you were alive?" She caressed the side of his face gently, her smile growing, turning wistful. "I only wish we had known earlier. We would have welcomed you, you know--"

"Logan and Gambit?" With a weak chuckle, he brushed the back of his hand over his eyes. "I don't think so, 'Ro. But thanks for saying it." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, almost fraternally. "And thanks for being alive, windrider. At least I know I did something right, this time--" His voice broke, and Ororo made a small sound that was half-sob, half-denial at what she saw in his eyes, the memory of Domino and the tearing, self-loathing certainty that he'd failed her.

She would wonder, afterwards, what made her do it. Whether it was a sudden renewal of defiance in the face of her own multitude of ghosts--Kurt and Rogue and Betsy and Bobby and all the others--or whether the sudden blaze inside her was something else entirely, something deeper and more primal.

Whatever it was, he seemed to share it. A tremor went through his body, and then he returned her far-from-sisterly kiss, clinging to her as if she was a rock in a sea and he was a drowning man struggling to save himself.

A space of time only, stolen from the world that had robbed them of so much, but somehow, together, they reached a place beyond the darkness. And perhaps, in the end, that fleeting glimpse of peace was all they could hope for.

***

She looked so--fragile, Cable thought. So tiny, in the feverish light of dawn. It was strange. He had always seen Storm as a commanding figure, but she had seemed so delicate, so--human, last night.

She had wept, afterwards. Stress release, he'd known; not anything to do with what had happened between them. After all, he'd spent several months in one of those flonqing camps himself--he knew the effect they had on a person's heart and soul.

He'd tried to comfort her. Hadn't done a very good job, he thought resignedly. He'd never been the sensitive type, to begin with, and two years of near-solitude had only made him more clumsy, it seemed.

Ororo adjusted the strap of the pack he'd given her. "Nathan," she said softly, her blue eyes studying his face anxiously. "I cannot leave you here."

He smiled faintly. "And I can't come with you, 'Ro. I told you that." She had asked him, last night, after he'd told her that he knew where to find Logan and Gambit. Told him that they could use his help. Come back with me, she'd urged, her eyes seemingly glowing with a light of their own in the darkness. If there was ever a time where we all needed to stand together, Nathan, it is certainly now.

He'd been--grateful enough for what they'd shared, for her attempt to comfort him, that he'd managed not to laugh at the idea. Barely. There wasn't any place in the 'good fight' for him, not anymore.

He didn't have anything left to give.

Those beautiful, soulful eyes filled with tears. "This is not fair, Nathan. You expect me to turn and walk away--to leave you here, alone like this?"

"That's exactly what I expect you to do, Ororo," he said, keeping the faint smile. "This--" There was a lump in his throat. He ignored it. "This is the way it has to be, windrider. Old soldiers don't die--they just fade away."

She straightened, something of the old imperious Storm returning for a moment. "You are doing yourself and the rest of us a disservice," she said tightly. "If you would only trust yourself--"

Cable flinched. Close--she was getting too close. "Trust isn't the issue," he said, his voice rougher than he liked. "I've fought wars in a dozen different eras, Ororo. I've lived in places that make my shelter here look like the Ritz Carlton--in worlds that make this one look like a paradise." He reached out, laid a hand on her shoulder. A comradely gesture, soldier to soldier. "I can't fight anymore," he said more softly. "Don't you understand?"

"I think perhaps I do, much as it pains me to admit it," she said, the queenly facade crumbling. She tried to smile, rubbing at her reddened eyes helplessly. "But that does not mean I have to like it, my friend. Perhaps--in time--you will change your mind?"

"Maybe," he whispered, glancing at the sun, creeping up over the horizon. "You should get going if you're going to hitch a ride on that transport I told you about. You've got the papers I gave you?"

She straightened again, nodding. "You seem to have grown as skilled at manipulating information as you were at combat, Nathan."

"Trial and error," he said dryly, checking the strap of the pack. "Even an old dog can learn new tricks. Take care, Ororo. Give the hairball a boot in the head for me."

"I shall pass on your good wishes," Ororo said, a little severely. "I am sure Logan will appreciate it." She hesitated, and then kissed him lightly, on the lips. "Thank you, Nathan," she whispered, her eyes bright as she leaned back. "For everything."

"Likewise, windrider," he said just as softly, and took her hand, bringing it to his lips briefly. She smiled at him, so very sadly, and then turned to leave.

He watched her go until she was nothing but a faint dot against the barren landscape, then waited longer, to make sure she would be out of earshot and sight both. Then, taking a deep breath, he went back inside.

Ororo had insisted on 'cleaning up', as she put it. Why she had been so set on domestic chores, he didn't know, but it had seemed to reassure her somehow, so he hadn't said anything. All of this had been for her, after all. The weeks of planning, the flonqing insane risks he'd taken to get into the camp--all because of her.

He had put his own plans on hold, when he'd found out she'd been captured. Why, he wasn't sure. Over the years, situations like hers had come to his attention far too often, but he'd rarely had the ability or inclination to do anything about it.

Oh, there had been a few exceptions. He smiled faintly, remembering how he and Dom had gotten Bishop out of that high-security installation in Seattle, five years ago.

"I wonder if he's still alive," he said, lifting Dom's jacket off the chair and stroking it lightly. "Probably not, I suppose. Remember how set he was on 'striking back', Dom? Flonqing suicidal idiot--at least we managed to steer him towards a resistance cell where they could keep him on a short leash."

He reached out with one hand, entering the proper sequence into the computer. No trite 'countdown', here, he thought with a flicker of amusement. "Sam will have gotten word to Logan and LeBeau that Ororo's on her way back," he continued. "He's reliable that way."

The silence seemed almost accusatory.

"What? You think I should have told him about this?" Cable gave a strained laugh. "Be serious, Dom. He would have been up here like a shot. Oath, he'd probably have taken it upon himself to beat some sense into me."

Now it was half-amused, half-resigned. Scolding him, at the same time that it understood.

She had always understood. Even if she'd wanted to kick his ass for it.

"Yeah, babe, I know that was your point. But that's easy for you to say." He reached out for the book, opening it to a different page. "So easy for you to say," he said in a softer voice, his eyes scanning the page avidly, almost hungrily.


Oh why is heaven built so far,
Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
That hangs afloat.

I would not care to reach the moon,
One round monotonous of change;
Yet even she repeats her tune
Beyond my range.

I never watch the scatter'd fire
Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,
But all my heart is one desire,
And all in vain:

For I am bound with fleshly bands,
Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope;
I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,
And catch at hope.

The vibration of the generator was more noticeable, now, as it began to cycle up to overload. He felt a faint quiver of something close to anxiety, deep inside him, but quashed it immediately. He'd made his choice; he had to stick to it. He'd never backed away from a decision in his life. Consequences--he sometimes though consequences had shaped everything, for him.

But still--"Dom?" he asked softly. "You don't hate me for doing this, do you?"

He'd known, when he rescued Ororo, that his shelter had been irrevocably compromised. He'd used his powers at the camp, left too much of a trace for the Hounds to follow. There was too much information in these computers, too much that could compromise too many people. They had to be destroyed. The whole shelter had to be destroyed.

He'd rigged the shelter with charges that would detonate simultaneously when the generator hit overload. There would be no trace left of the information, the shelter--these last eight years.

Or of him.

"It's the coward's way out, I know," he continued, his eyes stinging with tears. "But flonq it all, Dom, I'm so tired--"

Something, a breath of wind, maybe a caress, brushed up against the side of his face. He closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he breathed, the tears pouring down his cheeks now, the grief draining out of him, replaced by a relief so profound that it was almost dizzying. "Can't wait to see you again, Dom--"

And his world ended in fire.

fin

[FOOTER]