Crusade: Part 6
by Alicia McKenzie
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This section is rated R for disturbing imagery, sexual themes and violence.
DEDICATION: To Oberon, for a certain cascading stylesheet....;)
"Congratulations," Cable said heartily to the young man sprawled on the floor at his feet. "How does it feel to be dead?"
The boy groaned, stirring slowly. Cable waited patiently until he looked up at him with something close to open hatred in those still-dazed dark eyes. "Fuck you," the other mutant snarled furiously. "FUCK you. That wasn't--"
"What?" Cable asked mockingly, raising an eyebrow. "Fair? Cry me a flonqing river." They were always so predictable at this stage. *They expect me to play by Marquis of Queensbury rules while I'm teaching them how to be good little mutant terrorists. If I started laughing, I'd never stop.* He reached down, hauling his 'student' to his feet and then shoving him away, hard.
The boy - *Something-or-other Dugan,* Cable reminded himself - managed to get his balance back before he fell again. He straightened, hands clenching into fists at his sides and beginning to glow with a pale bluish light. "You bastard. That was a dirty trick--I should--"
Cable smiled broadly. *So predictable.* "Go right ahead," he invited. Dugan was capable of impressively destructive bio-blasts, but he had no discipline--no finesse. "I'll give you one shot, free and clear--I won't even put up a TK shield, how does that sound?"
Dugan's jaw clenched. "What's the catch?" he hissed. Cable had to give him credit for being clear-headed enough to ask, but it was too little, too late. It wasn't going to save him the free lesson in self-control he was about to get. *You'd think they'd learn not to be so conspiciously stupid when I'm looking to make an example--*
"Catch?" Cable asked innocently, not letting his irritation show in his expression. "Do you really think that little of me? I must have made a terrible first impression. There's no catch, kid. But once you get your shot, I get mine." He let the smile return. "That's fair, isn't it?"
Apparently it was, because Dugan was moving even as Cable asked the question--lunging forward, his hands coming up and together almost in a praying position, the light around them blazing into incandescence. He turned his palms outwards in a sharp, jerking - *overly dramatic,* Cable thought disgustedly - motion. The blast wave crackled outwards--
And Cable was already diving beneath it, rolling and coming back to his feet in a single smooth, unhurried motion. Dugan whirled - *he's quick,* part of Cable acknowledged with a flash of approval - but before he could concentrate for the moment he needed to produce another blast, Cable lashed out casually, with a telekinetic sledgehammer-blow right to the boy's midsection.
Dugan dropped, retching helplessly. *Well, there's one way to cure someone of speaking before they think.* Cable reached out telepathically, taking the precaution of cutting off the boy's conscious access to his powers. "You missed," he observed, standing over Dugan. "Six feet away from me, and you missed. I'd point out what that says about your marksmanship, but I hate to state the obvious. It's a terrible waste of time. Rather like you."
He looked up from Dugan and around at the seven other young mutants standing or lounging in various positions outside the bounds of the circle. The member of this cell had met him here, in an installation under Los Angeles that hadn't been used for fifty years, for another training session.
He wasn't impressed. This was supposed to be one of the core cells, with a role to play in the flonqing Grand Plan, and yet they were the sorriest lot of rank amateurs he'd had to deal with yet.
He REALLY wasn't impressed.
"Get up," he said to Dugan. It came out a snarl, and he sensed the tension level in the room skyrocket. Dugan didn't move, and Cable swore, pulling him to his feet again--telekinetically, this time. "I don't think you're paying attention to me," he growled, levitating him right off the ground. Dugan struggled helplessly, choking, his feet kicking wildly. "I think you're in over your head. I think you're a spoiled dilettante who doesn't realize just how serious a game he's playing--"
Dugan was trying to bring his hands together again, fighting Cable's telekinetic grip. Cable watched him, anger bubbling up inside him like lava. The boy had to realize that his powers weren't working by now, and yet he kept trying. Kept fighting--
"It's subconscious, you know," Cable said harshly, watching him. "That little dramatic gesture of yours, whenever you use your power. You've convinced yourself you need it, to produce your bio-blasts." Dugan's face twisted in a rictus of effort, and Cable bared his teeth. "A very bad habit," he hissed.
And, with a thought, snapped Dugan's wrists like kindling.
The howl that the younger man gave shattered the shocked silence that had fallen over the rest of the room. The cell members who had been sitting down shot to their feet, expressions ranging from horror to hostility on their faces. Cable let Dugan fall to his knees and glared around at the rest of them in disgust.
"You're wasting my time, all of you," he growled. He gestured angrily at Dugan, who was kneeling on the floor, half-doubled over and gasping for air, his hands dangling uselessly. "If an opponent gets the upper hand, you ADMIT that to yourself!" Dugan staggered to his feet. Cable turned and slammed a fist into his jaw, knocking him back to the ground. This time, the boy didn't get up. "Going down fighting is not an option!" Cable seethed. "Only winning matters, and if you have to lose the battle in order to win the war, you DO THAT!"
He wasn't reaching them; he could see it in their eyes. Straightening, he took a few deep, deliberately slow breaths, and continued. "Since none of you can seem to focus," he snarled softly, "we'll call it a day. You'll be contacted about the next meeting. I suggest that you all give this some serious thought between now and then."
Not waiting for their acknowledge, he turned and stalked out of the sparring circle, heading for the door. He was already triggering the return portal, so it was yawning open, spiderwebs of blue lightning lashing at the walls, by the time he reached the hallway outside.
Cable stepped through, emerging back into the control center of the New Mexico base. "Do we really need them?" he growled at Apocalypse, who was standing beside the main holotank, studying a projection of the globe studded here and there by glowing ruby lights. "We should replace them with another cell and designate them cannon fodder! Except it'd be a waste of bullets! They're nothing but a bunch of disillusioned adolescents with heads full of romantic notions about a holy war--"
"You seem irritated," Apocalypse observed, almost drolly, as Cable stalked over to stand on the other side of the holotank. "I am relying on your persistence, Nathan," he continued, looking away from the projection and meeting his eyes. "There is steel in those children--steel that can be honed."
"You and your flonqing metaphors!" Cable raged at him, slamming a fist down on the edge of the holotank so hard that the projection rippled. Apocalypse's expression didn't change. For some reason, it only made him angrier, and the dull, pulsing headache sharpened, slicing the last of his patience into ribbons. "They're INFANTS! And I don't babysit anymore--the last pack of ungrateful infants I tried to teach turned around and stabbed me in the back!"
Apocalypse gave him a speculative look. "You are exhausted," he finally said. "You have not sufficiently rested since before the attack on the biowarfare facility." Nettled, Cable started to snap a retort, but Apocalypse continued, his voice calm, steady. "These children are one cell among many. You will return to finish the task with them when you have rested, and regained sufficient perspective on the situation."
"They're not--" Cable started, his voice coming out hoarse and sapped as his anger drained away inexorably. Apocalypse's eyes bored into his, dark and inscrutable, like some vast abyss he was slowly falling into as the heat of his anger faded, leaving him cold and empty, aware of nothing but the pain in his head and a deeper, unexplainable ache in his chest. He tried again to form the words. "They aren't like--" The thought dissolved, and he stared into Apocalypse's eyes, at a loss for words.
"You spend yourself too freely," Apocalypse continued in that same oddly compelling tone. He gestured at the projection of the globe. "Contemplate the wider situation, Nathan, the world entire. They are pieces, these children, nothing more. Pawns. They are used as we see fit, spent as we decide they should be spent. Break them if they must be broken. A tool is of no account if it does not serve its purpose."
There was a lump in his throat. Cable shook off the daze, somehow, and managed to speak. "I--I am tired," he said tightly. "I'll--figure out what to do about them."
"Contemplation, as always, must be accompanied by action," Apocalypse said impassively, turning his attention back to the projection of the globe. "Be aware of that as well, Cable."
Cable nodded jerkily, and turned, heading for the door, before Apocalypse could decide that the philosophical lecture needed an addendum or two. He really couldn't take any more philosophy at the moment, he just couldn't. He needed--space, something. He didn't know what exactly. Other than away. Yes, he most definitely needed away--
The door slid open as he approached, revealing Sinister standing on the other side. The geneticist stopped in the doorway and raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you well, Nathan?" he asked calmly, not moving out of the way.
Not moving out of the way. A little wildly, Cable pondered moving him. He could do it, if he really put his heart into it. "Fine," he said raggedly. "Peachy. Just peachy." He took a step forward. Sinister still didn't move. "On my way out, actually," he continued, threateningly.
"Oh? I trust today's training session was a success."
"Essex," Apocalypse said curtly from where he stood, still by the holotank. "Let him be."
"Of course," Sinster said in that same level voice, and started to step aside. He didn't break eye contact for a moment. Not moving forward to take advantage of the opening, Cable stared into those burning red eyes, trying to figure out what he was feeling, what was--
Cold. A cold, probing needle, boring its way past his shields, into his mind. He almost hadn't noticed it; the slight pain was nothing compared to his headache. His jaw clenched, and he 'reached' out and snapped the probe, pushing the broken pieces away violently, right back at Sinister.
Who didn't so much as blink.
"Do you want to try that again?" Cable snarled aloud, hating the faint tremor in his voice as he spoke.
Sinister arched an eyebrow. "Try what, precisely, Nathan?"
Anger flooded back into the emptiness, and Cable stepped forward and punched him, putting every bit of his strength behind the blow. Sinister took a step backwards, and glanced at Cable in what seemed like amusement as his features rearranged themselves.
"Really, Nathan," he said, his jaw reforming. "Far be it from me to debate semantics, but I don't believe I hit you in the first place."
A single laugh escaped Cable, hard and harsh and ever so slightly hysterical. He hit Sinister again. The geneticist straightened and shook his head, his face rippling slightly as it returned to its normal appearance. Cable bit back more, wilder laughter, and forced himself to grin at Sinister. "You're like one of those stress balls," he said through gritted teeth. "You know, the ones you can hit, over and over again, and they always return to their original shape--"
Sinister grimaced slightly. "Nathan--"
"I could turn your head three hundred and sixty degrees and not do a flonqing thing to you!" Cable took a step forward, finding the idea enormously attractive all of a sudden. "But it would be SUCH a great way to blow off some steam, don't you think?"
"I was under the impression you customarily used the Dark Riders for that," Sinister said with a faint smile.
"Nothing's set in stone," Cable snarled. Something tugged at his attention, and he looked back over his shoulder at Apocalypse, who was still standing by the holotank, studying them speculatively.
Watching. Waiting. Not making a move to intervene. He'd enjoy this, Cable realized; probably a great deal. *I am not in the mood to perform for his amusement tonight--* Cable swallowed, and turned back to Sinister, glaring at him.
#Stay out of my mind,# he sent, very clearly.
#Or?#
#I'll break yours.# Not waiting for a reply, he stepped past Sinister and strode from the room.
***
"If you persist in goading him," Apocalypse said as the door slid shut behind Cable, "you may not enjoy the consequences. And I will not intervene, Essex."
Sinister strode over to the holotank and regarded Apocalypse impassively. The lack of success of his telepathic probe was no surprise - he'd failed numerous times in recent weeks, even with the most subtle of approaches - but it was becoming rather--frustrating. "You'd like to see him kill me, wouldn't you?"
"Eventually, perhaps."
Sinister gave a humorless laugh. "Your honesty is refreshing."
"Do not play the fool, Essex," Apocalypse rumbled, deactivating the holotank with a wave of his hand through the projection. "Our agreement stands, and you will NOT find yourself with the opportunity to repeat your previous offenses." Apocalypse's eyes burned into his, and it took an effort not to look away. "You are useful. Continue to be useful and you will continue to live."
"Our agreement stands," Sinister murmured. "But let us not delude ourselves as to the reality of the situation." A dangerous statement on his part, perhaps. All these past weeks, the truth had been an unspoken thing between them, something both of them knew, and thus felt no need to discuss. To state it openly might be more of a challenge than Apocalypse was willing to let pass.
"Delusion has never been a flaw of mine," Apocalypse said coldly. "Only yours, to think that you could defeat me." An icy sort of pleasure edged his voice as he continued. "Tell me, Essex, do you truly believe I took no precautions to protect my paladin against telepathic assault? Powerful tools have a way of turning against you--best to ensure they cannot."
"Is that what killed the boy?" Sinister asked, as casually as he could. He had tried to gain access to Nate Grey's remains, but had not been permitted. A pity; that would certainly have been--helpful. "Your--precautions?"
Apocalypse laughed. "Cable killed the boy, Essex," he replied, mockingly. "It was no great loss. The child was flawed--all power and no substance, if you would. It was foolish of you to place any hope in such an inadequate vessel. And as for Cable--" Apocalypse suddenly seemed to loom larger. Sinister was not terribly impressed--it was a shapeshifter's trick, nothing more. "You will not 'salvage' him, Essex," Apocalypse continued, his voice heavy with irony. "And if you seek to destroy him, it will be you, my faithless servant, who meets his final death."
"You are very certain of him," Sinister said in a neutral voice. An observation, not a challenge.
"You might say I have faith in your craftmanship," Apocalypse said. "And more in mine."
***
They were in the kitchen at Camp Verde, late at night. Quiet--it was so quiet, Sam thought, looking around slowly. The only noise was coming from the coffeemaker, percolating happily away on the counter.
Normal. Everything was normal. Why couldn't he relax, then?
"Are you just going to sit there, Sam?"
Sam blinked across the table at Cable, who tilted his head and gave Sam a faint, wry grin. "Uh--what?" Sam asked hesitantly.
"I said, are you just going to sit there?" Cable repeated, glancing down at the chessboard, set up for a game. "Places to go, people to see, kid. I don't want to be here all night."
He didn't sound impatient, Sam thought a little bemusedly, studying the older man. This late at night, Cable was wearing civilian clothes, of course--jeans, and a black sweater pulled over his white t-shirt to ward off the chill that always set in at sundown. There was that same weary tightness around his eyes, and the same look in them. The look of a man who was just a little afraid to go to sleep--
"Indecision, Sam," Cable said dryly. "If you don't watch that, it'll get you killed some day."
"But--" The words died on his lips. *But ah can't die.*
Cable raised an eyebrow. "There are different kinds of death, Sam. Your heart can be beating, and you can still be dead."
"Ah know," Sam stammered, thinking of brain death, and people hooked up to machines, and--
"No," Cable said, very softly. "You don't." He reached out and lifted one of the black pawns off the board. He was playing black. He always did. "Funny," he said, rolling the piece back and forth in his hand. "I was always afraid of this. It never occurred to me that there was something worse than being a pawn."
Sam watched in silence as Cable's fist closed around the chess piece. When he opened his hand again, it was gone. Sam looked instinctively back at the chessboard, half-expecting it to have reappeared. It hadn't.
"Magic," Cable murmured.
"Magic?" Sam repeated stupidly, not understanding any of this.
"And reality. You don't get second chances, Sam. Not once you're past the point of no return." Sam looked up, wondering at the sad yet stern expression on Cable's face.
Then he realized what was wrong.
"Your eyes," Sam muttered uneasily, staring. They'd changed. Both of Cable's eyes were glowing gold. It made him look--not human, something--
Cable closed his eyes for a moment, the light seeming to shine right through his eyelids before he opened them again. "Don't cry for me, Sam," he said, his voice so terribly weary. "Mourning's over. Time to close the book, get on with your life."
Sam reached out, instinctively, and somehow managed to knock most of the chess pieces off the board. He froze, oddly stricken by the sight. The white knight teetered on the edge, and he reached out to save it from the brink--
A grip like iron closed around his wrist, and Cable's face was suddenly right there in front of his, twisted by anger. "I said NO!" his teacher hissed, eyes blazing like gates into hell. "Let me FALL, Sam!"
Sam opened his mouth to protest, to say something, anything, but Cable's grip tightened until he could hear bone cracking--
--and Sam awoke with a cry, clasping his throbbing hand to his chest and trying to remember how to breathe again.
*Damn. Damn. Ah--that had t'be a dream. HAD t'be.* He stared blindly around at the darkened bedroom, so disoriented by the nightmare that it took him a while to remember that he was in San Francisco, not Camp Verde. He hadn't been in Camp Verde for quite a while.
*Breathe, Guthrie. Just a dream. Just one helluva dream--* Trembling, he reached over with his other hand and switched on the bedside light.
He almost immediately wished he hadn't. There were bruises rising on the skin of his wrist, bruises shaped just right to have been left there by someone's hand. Sam shook his head slowly, fighting back something that wasn't quite panic. No. Coincidence, or he'd hurt himself in the course of the dream. The subconscious could do funny things.
That was ALL it was.
He was heading down to the kitchen before he really realized what he was doing. It hadn't been a conscious decision, just the recognition that there was no way on God's green earth that he was getting back to sleep tonight. *Coffee'd be good. Lots of coffee. Maybe that's why Cable likes coffee so much--chases the dreams away--*
Thinking of Cable provoked the same stab of pain and grief and fear that it had for the last few months, just as sharp as always, even in the wake of the nightmare. Sam swallowed and rubbed at his eyes. He couldn't believe that damned dream--what the hell had that all been about? He wasn't ready to give up on Cable yet. He WASN'T.
There was a light on in the kitchen. He blinked, pausing for a moment to try and gather his composure, and then poked his nose in. "Hey," he said uncertainly, seeing Tabitha at the table, her head pillowed on her arms. "What're you doing up? Tabitha?"
Her shoulders were shaking. She was crying, Sam realized, and all the awkwardness that had been between them since he'd returned to X-Force vanished in a sudden surge of concern. "Tabitha?" he said softly, walking over and putting a hand on her shoulder as he pulled a chair over with the other hand and sat down beside her. "What's the matter?"
She looked up at him, her eyes red and her face wet with tears. "Oh God, Sam, I had the most horrible dream," she sniffled, wiping her eyes.
Something in his chest clenched, even as he reached out and put his arms around her. She sobbed quietly into his chest, and he just hugged her for a long time, wondering all the while where all this patience was coming from, when his mind was screaming out questions--
"You want t'tell me about it?" he asked hesitantly, when the sobs had trailed away into the occasional shudder.
"I was running--running away from--" Tabitha trailed off with a choked noise, stiffening in his arms. He stroked her hair gently, and she went on after a moment, her voice shaking. "I ran into this warehouse, and I thought I was safe, but wherever I went, I could hear Cable, and he was--"
"What was he sayin'?" His voice sounded odd, a very distant part of Sam noted.
"He was so COLD," she almost wailed. "He kept talking about how I never should have trusted him, how he wasn't any better than my f-father, and I had to remember that--" She burst into tears again.
Sam swallowed, and tried to think of something to say to her, some way to comfort her. The useless words were still trying to fight their way to his lips when he heard footsteps in the hall outside and an ashen-faced Jimmy came in, eyes wide and dazed, barely focusing on the two of them.
"Man," Jimmy muttered desperately. "You wouldn't believe the dream I had."
***
Cable opened his eyes, muttering a curse as he found himself sprawled on the floor of his room in a tangled heap. He sat up, discovering in the process bruises that suggested he'd hit the floor with some force. *Fell--I fell. What the flonq was I doing, meditating?*
He rubbed at the back of his head, and swore again, louder and more bitterly this time, as his fingers came away bloody. Meditating. He didn't remember deciding to do that, but it was the only thing that made sense. He remembered thinking about how much he needed to clear his mind--
It had been Apocalypse who had suggested he go back to meditating if he needed. *If it is useful, use it,* the External had said, almost casually. *Its origin is irrelevant.*
Something had stopped him, though, every time he'd considered it since. Reluctance, something like that--he wasn't sure what, exactly. *So I changed my mind and forgot that I'd changed it?* Something that was half a sigh, half a hiss of exasperation escaped him as he pulled himself to his feet.
*I've got to stop blanking out like this.* Not only was it flonqing unnerving, to lose spaces of time for no apparent reason, but it was dangerous, too. There were plenty of the Dark Riders who'd take advantage if they found him vulnerable--
Movement. In the corner of his room. He lashed out without hesitation, and heard a soft gasp of pain from the tall, thin figure he telekinetically pinned to the wall. "What are you doing here?" he snarled, even as he reached out telepathically and sensed the impenetrable, black-diamond mind of a Dark Rider. *Have to watch out for them, idiot,* he told himself scathingly. He still couldn't read any of them, even after all these months. "Lights!"
The lights came up, and he blinked, anger fading momentarily into bemusement as he realized that the Dark Rider who'd dared to invade his privacy wasn't Longrifle, or any of the other Riders who sometimes let their hostility get the better of them. "You," he muttered a little uncertainly. "What do you want?"
Tal. That was what they called her; Tal. She hung there, utterly relaxed in his telekinetic grip. Not answering his question. Cable gave her a hard look, wishing fervently that he'd found some way to read the Riders' minds. If she'd been cherishing a grudge, looking for an opportunity to do something about it, he'd be pretty stupid to let her walk out of this room alive.
She tilted her head as much as she was able, regarding him levelly. A tall, oddly bird-like woman, plain-looking with a narrow face and cropped dark-blonde hair, she'd blended into the background of every encounter he'd had with the Dark Riders as a group. Even the training sessions. Her mutation was a minor one - enhanced strength, speed, reflexes, some kind of partial invulnerability - but she knew how to use it in combat, and did so with a quiet efficiency that kept her beneath his notice--and out of trouble.
Which made her presence here, uninvited, in his room, even more bothersome. Someone of her personality type wasn't liable to take such a risk unless she was dead-set on doing something drastic.
"Answer my question," he said, softly but insistently. "Or I leave your corpse out in the hallway."
Her eyes, a strange light amber, didn't look away from his for a moment. "I wasn't looking for a fight, if that's what you're asking," she said, her voice perfectly calm.
Cable gritted his teeth. "That can be taken a few different ways," he said more harshly. "The fact that you chose those words makes me wonder if you weren't expecting to stroll in here and kill me in my sleep."
Still, she didn't blink. "I'm not that foolish," she said, with a very faint smile. "I came in here with no hostile intentions. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Cable muttered a curse and let her go. She landed on her feet, straightening immediately, but not moving towards him. "Then what?" he snapped. Foolish of him to let her go, maybe, but he had the distinct impression she was telling the truth. And if she wasn't here with hostile intent--well, he was curious. *And curiosity killed the feline, you stupid son of a flonq,* part of him pointed out acidly as he watched her survey his room, those strange eyes seeming to take in every detail. "What do you want, Rider?"
She looked back at him, and smiled that faint, barely-there smile again. "You're very direct," she said quietly. "Good. That simplifies things."
His eyes widened as she quite calmly slipped off her skinsuit. "What--" he asked a little unevenly as she stepped out of it and left it there, a puddle of black material on the floor as she moved slowly towards him, every step measured, graceful, unthreatening.
"Do you understand now?" she asked, stopping precisely two steps away from him, no self-consciousness apparent in her relaxed posture. A cascade of conflicting, confused emotions spilled through him as she stepped forward and laid a hand against his chest.
"In a way," he managed, his voice coming out hoarse and gravelly. He reached down and removed her hand, his grip on her wrist tight enough to bruise. Part of him wanted to break her arm and throw her out into the hall with a few choice words about presumption. Something else kept him talking, though. "I'm not sure what you think you'd get out of this, though," he said roughly. "There has to be something. You wouldn't be here just because you--wanted me. I know what I look like in the mirror, Rider."
She seemed to consider the question for a moment. "A certain amount of protection," she said, her expression never altering.
He laughed bitterly. "I see I must have been giving the wrong impression, if any of you think I give a damn about your welfare."
"Of course," she said. "But if I share your bed, the others will look elsewhere for companionship." Her smile was slightly more noticeable, and much, much more wintry. "They wouldn't risk angering you. Not even Longrifle would."
He reached out with his other hand and grabbed her by the throat, his grip just tight enough to be the warning he meant it to be. Her eyes widened slightly, but her expression still didn't change. "And you think I'm preferable to them?" he snarled. "Optimistic of you."
Her gaze was utterly steady. "Preferable to being passed around like a whore?" she asked, her voice surprisingly level. "I'm willing to take my chances. There are only three female Dark Riders, you know."
"I'm well aware of that," he growled, releasing her. She staggered backwards a step, and then moved forward again, close enough in the silence that he could almost hear her heartbeat.
"Three of us, over forty of them," she continued a little breathlessly. "Do the math. I could take most of them one on one, but when they take turns holding me down--"
He didn't want to hear this. "Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" he asked contemptuously.
"No," Tal said, a bit of irony creeping into her voice. "I know better." She moved even closer, until there was barely room for a whisper to pass between them. "You're supposed to take me," she said, her eyes darkening slightly as she laid both hands on his chest this time. He flinched, and she smiled that inscrutable smile as her hands started to move, like small, curious animals, stroking the extrusions and ridges of the T-O virus, easily finding the catches and fastenings to the more mundane armor he'd been wearing for the training session. "If you want me. And I think you do."
"You don't know anything about me," he growled shakily. It didn't sound even half-convincing. This was--he'd be so stupid to let his guard down, let himself--
"You're a man. What else is there to know?"
At that point, oddly enough, he found himself without a ready reply. She drew back slightly, as if giving him the chance to tell her no, and the mocking, challenging edge to her smile was enough to shatter those last reserves of caution. If he got a knife in the back for this, so be it, he thought feverishly. He wanted this. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like that. So she wanted to use him. Everyone did. At least it'd be mutual, this time--
He reached for her, almost blindly. There was more than one way to clear your mind.
***
"Partial invulnerability can be useful at times like this," Tal said, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. "I don't think I would have enjoyed this, otherwise."
The floor was cold beneath them, cold even in contrast to the cool, dry air. They hadn't made it to the bed. Cable blinked up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way the smell of sweat and sex made his stomach twist.
"Really." His voice didn't sound right; a tight rasp, almost a croak. "I'm surprised you did." He'd made the mistake of meeting her eyes, as rough foreplay had turned into something more intense. That cold, cold light he'd seen there--he'd flashed back to a different pair of eyes, violet instead of amber, but just as cold. The memory had hit him like a punch to the stomach, and he would have done anything, at that moment, to drive that dispassionate emptiness away, to fill it with something, anything.
And so he had. Maybe that was the reason for the sick feeling at the pit of his stomach--the memory of the satisfaction he'd felt at the fear in her eyes. But she'd been so sure of herself--so cold and calculating. She'd needed to learn that she wasn't the one in control here--
Bile rose at the back of his throat, and he swallowed, hard. "Get out."
She got up, moving smoothly to the other side of the room and retrieving her skinsuit. He got to his feet, rather more unsteadily, and retreated to the shower, in the other room. The cold water didn't do a flonqing thing to make him feel any cleaner.
When he walked back out into the main room of his quarters, dripping wet and shivering, he saw that she was still there, leaning against the wall beside the door, a faint, speculative smile playing on bruised lips.
"I told you to get out," he said, the words coming out a little more strongly as he got out his own skinsuit and put it on. No point in putting the armor back on, no matter how appealing a thought it was.
"Do I take that to mean 'stay away', as well?"
He froze, and then, very deliberately, walked over to the bed and sat down, before his knees gave out on him. *Why can't I stop shaking--this is insane--* "Flonq you," he said roughly. His head was spinning.
"Was that a request?"
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. He folded his arms across his midsection, trying to stifle the impulse, to bottle up the laughter that bubbled up inside him, wanting out. "Get out," he managed, his voice cracking with it. "Trust me, Rider, if I want to flonq you, I'll find you. Stay out of my way until then, or I might just kill you instead of kiss you."
She had straightened, no longer leaning against the wall. He saw the flash of alarm in her eyes, and shuddered at the surge of vindictive pleasure it provoked in him. Laugh or cry or throw up until there was nothing left in his stomach--what a choice. It WAS funny. It really was--
He straightened sharply, lowering his arms back to his sides in a sudden, jerking motion. Weakness. Posture was everything. Huddling protectively, shrinking away from her, gave her control. Not acceptable. He had to pull himself together.
"Get out," he repeated, almost in a whisper.
She slipped from the room without another word. He sat there, struggling with that internal conflict. Gone--she was gone. It was over unless he said otherwise. But he couldn't let it be over, could he? Leaving it here meant that she'd reached him, shaken him, and no one was allowed to do that, not anymore. Aversion therapy. He would have to find her again tomorrow night--or walk in on the Dark Riders' midday meal and take her on the table in front of all of them. Didn't matter how he did it. He had to keep doing it until he could do it and not feel it--
He realized, somewhat belated, that when he'd moved, the T-O spikes on his left arm had slashed the right open, a long, bone-deep gash that ran nearly the length of his forearm. Blood was running down his arm, dripping on the floor--bright, hot, red blood. His awareness of the pain increased steadily. He didn't mind. It helped him focus.
What had happened to being able to leave? Cable wondered suddenly, desolately. It was easy to remember why he stayed when he was with Apocalypse, or off on a mission. When he was fighting, or arguing--when he could see the bigger picture and laugh himself sick at the insanity of it all. It was easy, then. But when he was alone, all he felt was empty. All he could do was hurt, or be hurt.
Pain. Pain was the only thing that was real at times like this. Using one of the smaller spikes along the knuckles of his T-O hand, he drew it down his arm slowly, watching the blood well up, focusing on the pain. A little more pressure, and he'd reach an artery.
Just a little more. He'd shed so much blood, these last few months. Seemed only fair that some of it should be his. Blood for blood. Pain for pain. There had to be a balance--this was his. The shadows on the other side of the fire.
There. Blood spurted, rather than oozed, and he laid back on the bed, light-headed already, but smiling faintly as the world around him dissolved into haze.
He curled into a near-fetal position, his arm clasped to his chest. He could feel the blood soaking the thin blankets on the bed, warmth flowing out of him inexorably. Pain and cold. Better than the alternative.
Everything had almost finished fading when he realized there was someone standing above him, someone with burning red eyes.
"That eager to die, Nathan?" the someone asked quietly, bending over him. "I'm afraid I can't allow that."
"Go--to hell," Cable breathed raggedly. "You--want this, b-bastard--don't pretend--not--"
Strong arms pulled him up off the bed. "As a last resort, yes," Sinister said indifferently. "But I don't believe we're to that point yet, and my--allies would certainly take exception if I acted prematurely. Besides--the fact that you did this in the first place makes me wonder if there is indeed not something in you that WANTS to be salvaged."
Salvage. If he'd had the strength, he would have screamed. But he didn't, and everything was going dark.
He let it.
to be continued...