Between Battles And Blankets

by Alicia McKenzie



DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. Thanks to Persephone for on-the-spot feedback and the title....:)

DEDICATED: To Lynxie, with a big hug attached. :)

It was the sound of branches slapping lightly against the window that finally drew her from sleep. Shivering, Domino pulled the comforter up to her chin and glared blearily out at the world she hadn’t expected to see until at least noon. Too bad there wasn’t anyone she could kill for waking her up. She’d threatened the kids with death and worse than death if they did, but Xavier would probably have a problem with her cutting down one of his trees. *Stupid tree, waking me up. . .I hope it gets root-rot or something.*

She started to turn over onto her side and cringed. It hurt to move. *Big surprise. . .* After the pounding she’d taken yesterday, she was pretty much one big bruise. Sure, it would have been a lot worse without her luck powers, but that wasn’t much comfort when every muscle in her body was screaming at her.

She turned her head in the other direction and stared balefully at the large lump under the comforter beside her. “Bastard,” she grumbled, and tugged at the covers, fully intending to steal them and quite maliciously unrepentant about it.

His loose hold on them tightened into a death-grip, and he cracked one eye open. “Don’t you dare,” he muttered, and then closed the eye again with a wince, as if the light hurt.

“I’m cold. . .”

“You’ve got plenty of blankets,” Nathan grumbled and disappeared completely under the comforter. "Stop whining."

Seething, she drew the comforter back up to her chin and sulked. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“Why?” his voice asked, muffled. “Just because it was my idea?” She heard the distinct sound of a snort, even through the intervening layers of blankets. “Very funny. Like you’ve never gotten us in over our heads. . .”

“Fuck off,” she muttered, and poked him in what she hoped corresponded to his shoulder, seeing as though she couldn’t really tell at the moment. “Speaking of heads, how’s yours?”

#Sore.# His mental voice was unusually weak, and she scowled.

“That’s what happens when you get so distracted that you let a FoH Neanderthal sneak up. . .” she yawned widely, her jaw cracking, “behind you and use your head as the baseball and his rifle as the bat.”

#Go back to sleep. It’s probably your fault he hit me with it. . .I bet he was aiming at you, and your power made the gun jam or something. . .#

“You’re reaching.”

#And you’re making my headache worse with your bitching. Go back to sleep.#

“Or what?” she muttered, turning on her side to face in his direction and stifling a curse of pain. “And what’s with using your telepathy NOW, lout? Would have done you more good yesterday,” she said, more than a little snidely. “Good thing you’re worse than rock-headed. . .”

He flipped up the covers and sat up abruptly, clearly about to retort. At which point the color drained from his face and he slid from bed, staggering in the direction of the bathroom. The sound of him being noisily sick interfered with Domino’s determination to be irritable. Wincing and grumbling to herself, she sat up, trying to get her eyes to focus as she stared towards the bathroom.

“Nate?” she called. “You okay?”

He emerged a moment later, looking dizzy and pale. “That’s a flonqing stupid question,” he grumbled, making his unsteady way back to the bed and nearly collapsing on the spot he’d just vacated so suddenly. “Do I look okay? Did any of that SOUND okay to you, just now?”

“Poor baby,” she said, half-mocking, half-serious. But he looked so pitiful lying there, all curled up on his side and blinking up at her like a puppy dog that someone had kicked in the head. . .sighing, she reached out and pulled the covers back over him before she laid down again. “Kids are going to be wondering where we are. No telling what kind of mischief they might get into. . .”

“Flonq the kids,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Let them do whatever they want. Burn down the mansion, dye McCoy green. . .I don’t care.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She sidled closer to him gingerly. “You’re much cuter when you’re asleep, you know that?” she muttered, reaching out and stroking the silver hair out of his eyes gently. “Not nearly so grumpy.”

He sighed, without opening his eyes. “Come here,” he said resignedly, and she settled herself in his arms as comfortably as she could. “And you’re much cuter when your mouth’s shut. You’re not nearly so mouthy.” She felt a faint chuckle rumble through the broad chest she was leaning against. “Did that make as little sense as I thought it did?”

“Less,” she snickered. “How about this? You go to sleep, I’ll shut my mouth and do the same, and we’ll wake up twenty years younger.”

He laughed weakly. “Tempting. Back to the days when we could fight all day and flonq each other silly all night. . .”

She couldn’t help the blush. “You were never that young.”

His arms tightened around her just a little, not enough to bother her bruises. “You were.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“Not tonight, dear,” he said, his tone deadpan. “I have a headache.”

She bit back an amused sigh. “You’ve been waiting years to say that, haven’t you?”


“Well, congrats. Now go to sleep before I break a chair over your head.”

A soft snore was his only answer, and she closed her eyes with a snort. Not very often that she got the last word. *Better enjoy it while it lasts. . .*

On that thought, she fell asleep.


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