Kicking And Screaming All The Way Out To Pasture
by Alicia McKenzie
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. Clare, however, is mine. As is Barney. Don't use them without permission. ;)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Technically, not REALLY part of my Pantheon series, given that Clare only makes a brief telepathic appearance, but there's no other easy way to describe it. ;) This is set ten years after the end of the Outsider's Arc.
He hated waking up alone.
Then again, Nathan Summers reflected glumly, he was getting used to it. The unfortunate truth was that he'd gotten into the habit of sleeping like the dead somewhere along the line, and thus he'd apparently slept right through Domino's departure, whenever that had been. *I wonder if she left a note,* he thought with a sigh, sliding awkwardly out of bed and nearly managing to fall flat on his face before he caught himself. Somehow, he doubted it. Her team was on-call this week, so she probably hadn't had time.
Not that it made him feel any better about sleeping alone, but whining really wouldn't help. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his cane and hobbled painfully across the room, noting the open closet door and a missing suitcase. He paused and glanced over his shoulder, telekinetically prodding at Domino's pillow. No gun beneath. So she WAS off somewhere. Again.
*I really hate mornings.* Especially lately. Lately, waking up and facing the day seemed a little more difficult with each subsequent morning. After ten years, he knew flonqing well that he'd recovered as much as he was going to recover from the injuries he'd suffered in that last battle with Apocalypse. He'd learned to cope with reduced mobility, resorting to his telekinesis only when necessary. It had even become something of a point of pride for him, not to use his powers as a crutch--pride, and common sense, given how much relying on his TK to get around would exhaust him if he did it all the time.
But part of him had assumed he'd STAY on this nice plateau. Backsliding was no fun, no fun at all. *I suppose I'm getting old.* And what an appealing thought THAT was--
The face that greeted him in the mirror was noticeably haggard, and he grimaced. Late nights had never been any trouble for him when he'd spent them fighting, or blowing things up. Staying up until nearly two am going half-blind over paperwork was another matter entirely. *Next time, I leave it at the office, and Admin Branch can go flonq themselves if they have a problem with that.*
#DAD!#
Nathan almost cringed at his daughter's very loud telepathic outburst. #Clare,# he sent back, shaking his head and wishing his eyes would hurry up and uncross. His daughter had had a penetrating telepathic 'voice' since she was in the flonqing womb, but he'd cherished some hope recently she'd learned to modulate it at least a little. #Lower the volume, please.#
#But I'm late for band practice!# her silver-blue presence in his mind vibrated with anxiety, and he got a few stray flashes of drawers being thrown open and books being shoved hastily into a knapsack. #I'm supposed to be doing my solo today, and if I'm late, EVERYONE'S going to notice--#
#You won't be late.# He tried to make his tone reassuring, even while he winced at the time and wondered exactly how he would be able to keep THAT promise. #Besides,# he ventured, #what is--#
#Dad, it's EIGHT THIRTY!#
#That late?# he joked weakly.
#DAD!#
Nathan rubbed at his temples, wincing, and shook his head. #Ten minutes, Clare, I promise,# he sent, and limped back into the bedroom to use the phone. High-ranking desk jobs did have their perks, and fortunately, X.S.E-trained drivers didn't tend to have much of a problem with breaking the speed limit.
#But, Dad--#
It wasn't a whine, of course. Clare didn't whine. But her protest had that whole, quite righteous 'I can't believe I'm risking reneging on an obligation because my ancient father won't move his ass' edge to it, and Nathan scowled. #Ten minutes, Clare,# he answered, a little more sharply than he intended, and she fell abruptly silent.
#Okay,# she finally sent back, meekly. Too meekly. Nathan scowled. Clare might not whine, but neither was she meek. A meek Clare was a Clare who bore careful watching, just like her mother. #I'll, um, wait by the door then, Dad.#
She would, too. She'd be there right at the door, French horn in hand, probably looking as fresh and eager as only the young could look, and almost certainly ready to tap her foot and glare at him as soon as he appeared. With another sigh - he seemed to be doing an inordinate amount of sighing this morning - he finished making the phone call and then headed in the direction of the shower.
***
"Bishop?"
"Yes, Nathan?" Bishop looked up inquiringly from the papers neatly arranged on his desk, and Nathan glanced at them enviously. Probably intelligence reports, post-mission briefings--interesting things like that. "You're in early this morning."
"Clare had band practice. I didn't see the point of making two trips." *Especially since Accounting would probably end up interrogating me about why it was necessary, if I did. Can't have reckless spending from the man who makes out the funding requests for the UN, after all--* Realizing that Bishop was still staring at him, expectantly, and he cleared hs throat. "Especially since the house was--on the empty side. I don't suppose you can tell me where Dom went this time?"
"With her team, on business," Bishop said amiably. Nathan couldn't quite stop himself from glaring, and his fellow founder of the X.S.E. almost managed to look apologetic--just for a moment. "Need-to-know, Nathan."
Three little words. Three very irritating little words. Bishop was right, of course, but still--"Oh," Nathan said, gritting his teeth and giving Bishop a bright, false smile. "Well. Of course. Whatever you think is best." Bishop's eyes widened very slightly, and Nathan continued, each word dripping with acid. "I'll just go sit in my office and see about that invisible demon that keeps stealing my paperclips. Maybe I should have Intelligence look into whether or not it's some old grudge left over from Inferno." He turned and started to hobble back through the door. *I really miss being able to stalk.* "Or maybe I'll just sit there for a while and see if death by papercut doesn't start to appeal to me!" he shot back over his shoulder.
"Nathan!" Bishop said, sounding half-shocked, half-exasperated. "Would you--Nathan!"
"Flonq you," Nathan grumbled under his breath, but stopped anyway. There were two security guards and a secretary in the outer office, and if they saw him and Bishop arguing, it'd be all over headquarters by lunchtime that the Founders had been trying to kill each other, or some such flonqing thing. Gossip around here moved at the speed of thought--inevitable, given the sheer number of telepaths in this building every day. "What?" he asked balefully, turning and glaring at Bishop.
"You know I'm only following procedure," Bishop said irritably, leaning back in his chair and glowering. "Procedures you helped write, remember, even if you complained about my paranoia every step of the way."
"Oh, don't tell me we have to rehash that again--"
"Nathan. Stop trying to change the subject." Bishop's glower faded into a concerned look, still edged with annoyance. "You have the most infuriating tendency to harp on things, in case no one's pointed that out. Now, are you going to sit down and tell me what the problem is, or do I have to guess?"
"The latter," Nathan muttered, easing himself down into the chair. Sitting down was an admission of sorts, confirmation that Bishop had read him right and he did indeed have a 'problem' and Nathan bristled at the faint smile that tugged at the corner of Bishop's mouth. *Self-satisfied son of a--* "Go ahead. Guess. The day's been short on humor already--I could use a good laugh."
Bishop shook his head. "You're in an unspeakably foul mood," he said. Rather pedantically, Nathan thought snippily. "If you keep on like this, every telepathic agent in the building will be echoing you by lunch. We'll have hand-to-hand combat going on in the halls. You KNOW that."
"I know."
"So what's the matter?"
"I'm bored." Nathan blinked. *I did NOT just say that.*
Bishop raised an eyebrow. "Bored," he said, after a long, long moment.
"Bored." Nathan glared at him defensively, irritation at Bishop's reaction overcoming embarrassment. "Is that really so hard to envison? Let me clarify. I'm being smothered by paperwork. Stranged with red tape. I'm drowning in bureaucratic bullshit. Are we seeing a pattern here, or do I need to go on?"
"Nathan--"
"You have me filling out FUNDING forms, Bishop." It came out in something very close to a hiss, and Bishop winced.
"I thought--I didn't want to overload you." He shifted in his chair, summoning up a stern look from somewhere. It was the look he usually gave to first-year candidates. Nathan wasn't impressed in the slightest. "You're supposed to be cutting back on your workload, remember? Cecilia threatened me with grievous bodily harm if I didn't--"
"What business is it of hers?"
"As chief medical officer, she--"
"Oh, flonq that," Nathan fumed. *Condescending son of a flonq!* Though he hadn't known about Cecilia's role in this--although, comes to think of it, she HAD given him a slightly more vehement than usual lecture at his last physical. "You didn't want to overload me. How kind," he continued, not bothering to keep the snarl out of his voice. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I spend two months running this entire organization last year, on my OWN, after SOMEONE went out with the field teams during the last Prime Sentinel outbreak and wound up in rehab because he inexplicably forgot how to duck?"
Bishop grimaced at the reminder. "Point. I'm not disparaging your abilities, Nathan, I trust that you know that. I'm sure I can find you something more interesting to do if you're really that--"
"Oh, sure. If that was an attempt to placate me, you're doing a really lousy job--"
"Nathan, really--"
"I suppose it's not as if I'm actually of any USE around here anymore, now that my old network's been integrated into Temporal Branch and we have so many trained telepaths to take over my instructional duties," Nathan continued sarcastically, aware he was maybe enjoying this a little too much. Bishop looked like he was getting seriously annoyed. *Not that I'm going to let that stop me.* "I do my best to do what little I can, these days. But would a pat on the head every so often be too much to ask? It doesn't really seemed like it's too much to ask--"
"Nathan, WOULD you shut up for a moment?"
"Make me!" Nathan snarled in a sudden outburst of belligerence. Just to be petty, he telekinetically swept Bishop's neatly piled paperwork off the desk and onto the floor.
The silence was deafening.
Bishop finally took a very visible deep breath. "Nathan."
"Oh, for the Bright Lady's sake, never mind," Nathan snapped, gathering the papers a little clumsily and levitating them back to the desktop. That had maybe been a little much. "You have better things to do than sit here and listen to me bitch about how useless I feel."
"Nathan." Bishop smiled faintly. "I'd ask you if you really feel that badly that you need to keep busy, but I'd prefer not to have my desk thrown at me, next."
Nathan flushed, but didn't look away. "I--apologize," he said, forcing the words out from between gritted teeth. "My behaviour was completely inappropriate."
Bishop blinked. "Apology--accepted," he said, very clearly trying very hard not to look quite so incredulous. "Not really necessary, mind you--"
"I'll let you get back to your work," Nathan muttered, getting awkwardly to his feet. *Did I just apologize? Sulven would be laughing at me.* Then again, this whole conversation had been going wrong from the beginning, so what the flonq did it matter?
"No--wait a minute, Nathan." Bishop studied him intently as he sat back down. "I didn't intend to sound condescending," he said quietly, after a brief silence. "I'm also troubled by the fact that you feel this way." Nathan grimaced, but Bishop shook his head and continued before he could protest. "The last thing that I--that ANY of us would want is for you to feel that you're not making any contribution. I'm not going to bring up Apocalypse and the Merge--that goes without saying. And by Xavier's ghost, the X.S.E. was OUR contribution, in the fullest sense of the word. We did this together, remember?"
"I changed my mind," Nathan said a little sullenly. "I don't want a pat on the head." Didn't Bishop see? He was talking in the past, and that was the problem. All of that was in the past--
"But we have to be pragmatic," Bishop said, ignoring him. "You're on restricted duty for solid medical reasons, and that has certain implications for how much you CAN do around here. Security protocols apply to all of us. There's no such thing as mitigating circumstances, not in the regulations as we wrote them." Bishop grimaced. "Still, if I've been--ill-advised in the sort of duties I've been assigning to you, I apologize."
"That's the problem," Nathan muttered. Bishop raised an eyebrow. "Duties you've been assigning to me. Flonq it all, Bishop, I know damned well you need to be--taking the lead here, now. A person who can't lead from the front doesn't have any business leading a military organization, and we both know that's what the X.S.E. is, no matter how much the UN advertises us as a peacekeeping force. That's your job now, not mine." It stung to admit, but it was true. Infuriating, but true. He went on doggedly. "It doesn't even bother me to be taking on some of the administrative end of things to free you up for what actually MATTERS--"
"It obviously does bother you," Bishop pointed out.
"Well--fine, so it does bother me a little," Nathan said drearily. *I've gotten so transparent. I need a refresher course in how to be mysterious and enigmatic.* "But I'll get over it. You'd think I'd have gotten used it to by now."
Bishop shrugged, that faint smiel trying to escape again. "Things haven't ever been this QUIET, before," he pointed out. "Up until the last couple of years, we've all had more than enough to keep us occupied. But there hasn't even been any significant Sentinel activity lately, let alone threats on the level of the Scions of the Morning Fire, or Cortez's Brotherhood. Genosha's a blue zone, ever since you took the UN teams in there, and Intelligence hasn't heard even a whisper about what Sinister's up to lately--"
"Your point being?"
"My point being, we should be grateful for that." Bishop's gaze was suddenly very direct. "I am. And part of the reason I am is that it allows me to nudge you into the sort of semi-retirement where you belong."
"I beg your PARDON?"
"Nathan! I didn't mean--oh, never mind," Bishop said impatiently. "You're clearly not listening to what I'm saying. Try and see it a little more objectively. We have close to eight hundred young and eager mutants perfectly willing to take on the world at our word." Bishop leaned forward, his gaze suddenly very intent. "Let them be what they are--don't try to be them. You can't, not anymore, and you play a more important role now, in any case."
"Right. Everyone's favorite figurehead." Nathan shook his head. *Enough with the self-pity, Dayspring. You're beginning to sound like a six year-old.* "I'll let you get back to what you were doing," he said, rising. "I'm sure I've got plenty of work waiting for me back in my office."
Bishop muttered something under his breath. "Why do I even bother talking to you when you're in this kind of mood? You'd think I've have learned better by now."
"I've had more years of practice at being a complete bastard than you have," Nathan said dryly. He looked down at Bishop for a moment, and then shook his head. "Forget I said anything," he continued, more quietly. "It's not important."
"I beg to differ," Bishop said wryly. "Do me a favor, Nathan?"
"What?"
"Take the day off. Try and remember what real life is. Then come back tomorrow morning and we'll talk about finding you some work to do that won't drive you slowly insane."
***
/BEEP!/
"Hi, Dad! I'm sleeping over at Zara and Nick's tonight. I'll see you tomorrow after school!"
*Would have been nice if she'd asked permission first,* Nathan thought grouchily as he sat on the couch and listened to the answering machine. *I mean, it's not as if she couldn't have just reached out and asked me telepathically--she's got NO excuse. Sneaky little brat. I wonder what side she gets THAT from.*
/BEEP!/
"Hey, Nate. You'll never guess where I am! Hell, I suppose I should stop teasing you, shouldn't I?"
He slouched, unable to help a groan at Domino's cheery voice. "Yes, Dom, that would be REALLY FLONQING NICE!" he hissed at the answering machine.
"Vancouver, believe it or not. We had a bit of an eventful morning, but everything's fine, and we're about to head back for debriefing. I should be home by dinnertime--I'll pick up Thai or something. Try not to work too hard, babe. See you soon."
"Work too hard--WORK TOO HARD?"
The answering machine went flying into the wall with a crash. Nathan folded his arms across his chest and proceeded to sulk.
Ten minutes of that turned out to be more than enough. He got up, went into the kitchen, and put the coffeemaker on. That didn't take long. He could work the coffeemaker in his sleep, after all.
Sitting down at the table, he looked around the kitchen glumly. *This place is a mess.* He flipped restlessly through the newspaper as he telekinetically transferred the dirty dishes to the dishwasher and turned it on. A damp cloth danced over the countertops and then hung itself neatly over the base of the faucet.
A day off. Take the day off. What the flonq was he supposed to do with a day off? *Find a hobby, maybe?* he thought sourly, scanning the international section. Nothing going on. Bishop was right. Dull, dull, dull, the world was dull as shit these days--
*Would you really prefer things were exciting?* his conscience asked him. Nathan shook his head irritably. No, he didn't miss the days of crisis after crisis--and there had certainly been enough days like that. He wasn't THAT much of a masochist. Peace and quiet was a GOOD thing. People were happy. That was even better.
So why couldn't he be happy with that? Why was he getting to the point where he was climbing the walls in his flonqing SLEEP? Maybe Bishop hadn't been too far off the mark when he'd made that comment about 'needing to keep busy'.
The simple truth was, he was too used to being there on the front lines of--whatever was happening, to put it bluntly. He'd come to terms with the fact that he couldn't be much of a front-line soldier anymore. The incident with the so-called Scions of the Morning Fire had taught him that--*flonqing lucky that wasn't my LAST lesson in life, too.* That had been three years ago, and he still got periodic lectures about his 'irresponsible and reckless behaviour'. As if he'd been about to watch an Apocalypse-cult start digging around in Akkaba and not do something about it. Nur was dead, but too much of his technology was still hidden here and there around the world--
But there had been other times, too; other, more productive chances to make a--contribution, as Bishop had put it. Leading the UN teams in Genosha, running the XSE while Bishop was recovering--but opportunities like that had been growing increasingly rare. The last couple of years, they'd been next to nonexistent.
He felt like he was being gently herded off to the sidelines. And he hated it.
He'd actually picked up a pencil to start doing the crossword puzzle - a flonqing CROSSWORD PUZZLE! - when he became aware of a distant, persistent sound from somewhere in the house. Frowning, Nathan limped out into the hall, listening intently. It was fairly faint--if his hearing hadn't been sharper than the norm, he wouldn't have heard it.
*But WHAT is it--?* Recognition hit the moment the question went through his mind. His eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head in disgust, hobbling towards the stairs and cursing under his breath in Askani. *Figures. I can't believe I'm doing this--why am I doing this? I should just leave him there--* But by the time he got to the top of the stairs, the noise was louder, more insistent, as if its 'source' knew he was coming, and was determined to milk the situation for all that it was worth, now that there was an audience to appreciate the effort.
"I'm coming, Barney," Nathan grumbled, limping down the hall towards Clare's door and opening it. As soon as he did, a black and white blur shot out into the hall, yowling. Nathan dodged awkwardly, a louder curse escaping him, and the cat stopped a few feet away, regarding him with appraising green eyes. "Flonqing thing," Nathan said balefully. "You hide under her bed, she shuts the door when she leaves, you get stuck in the room. Haven't you figured that out by now? I thought cats were supposed to be intelligent creatures."
Barney hissed at him, and then proceeded to wash his paws. Those green eyes were continued to rove, rather alarmingly, throughout the grooming session, and Nathan leaned back against the wall for a moment, regarding the cat cautiously.
"I don't trust that look. What have you been into?" Green eyes blinked at him innocently, and Nathan cursed under his breath again. "Catnip?" he demanded belligerently. "Has Dom been drugging you again?"
Barney was a relatively new arrival to the house. He was a stray who'd first started coming around about four months ago and won Clare's affection almost immediately. It hadn't taken him long to become a permanent fixture. Nathan had eventually decided that it was better to give in gracefully, and taken the cat to the vet himself. Barney, once permitted into the house, had discovered the joys of warm rooms, soft couches, and regular meals. Dom and Clare doted on him disgustingly.
Barney and Nathan didn't get along. Nathan distrusted those big, innocent green eyes, the deep, mournful meow, the affectionate behaviour--he pretty much distrusted the cat, on principle. Maybe it came from growing up in a time where the fauna was generally homicidally hostile, he didn't know. But the whole idea of having a pet just--made him nervous. After all, how did you know that your cat - or dog or fish or gerbil - wouldn't turn on you in the middle of the night?
Barney flopped over onto his side, and stretched laconically, incidentally managing to block the entire hallway. He was a fairly large cat, as cats went, a trait particularly noticeable when Barney decided to jump on your chest at four am. Which happened fairly often, given that Dom often refused to shut him out of the bedroom at night.
Nathan took a few careful steps forward. Barney rolled upright into that unmistakable hunting crouch, his tail lashing back and forth.
"Don't you dare."
Barney's eyes were fixed on Nathan's feet.
"I said no," Nathan said threateningly, and took another step forward.
Only to wind up in a heap on the floor as the cat leapt joyfully at him and wrapped himself around his ankles.
***
Limping more than usual, Nathan sat down on the couch and glared at the cat. Sitting on the coffeetable, Barney returned his stare with perfect composure, tail still lashing slowly.
"I'm not impressed," Nathan growled. His ankle felt sprained, and he'd hit his head on the wall in the process of falling. Actually, he was somewhere beyond 'not impressed'--with Barney and with himself. He hated being so clumsy. He'd had the coordination of a drunk with an inner-ear imbalance for ten years, and it was beginning to grate on him. "Go away," he growled at Barney. "I mean it. I have nothing for you, so get out of my sight." Barney laid his ears back for a moment. Nathan bared his teeth at him. "You heard me."
Barney, managing to look somewhat disgusted, hopped down from the table and stalked over to the rocking chair on the other side of the room. He jumped onto the seat, curled up, and proceeded to ignore Nathan completely.
Nathan pondered pointing out that he could still see him, but decided not to bother. He looked around idly, then spotted the thick hardcover book sitting on top of the bookshelf. *Not a bad idea--* He tugged at it with his mind, and it sailed smoothly through the air and into his hands.
'New Lands, New World: The Founding of the First Mutant Nation', the tasteful dust jacket read. It was a picture of the New Lands complex from outside, the domes standing out sharply against the blinding white of the Antarctic landscape and the clear blue of the sky. On the back was an interior picture of the largest garden dome, the vegetation lush and colorful. Nathan almost smiled as he remembered the author's adamant refusal to have his picture on the back, as the publisher had intended.
*It's not a book about me,* Magnus had said. *Besides, there are still people in the world who will run screaming from the bookstore if they see me scowling at them in full color from the back of a book. That tends to have a bad effect on the size of your readership, no?*
Amelia had talked him into a much smaller picture on the front inside flap of the dusk jacket. Nathan smirked at it. Magnus looked stern, grim, and distinctly unimpressed by the whole thing. *Not hard to know what he was thinking when that was taken--*
He opened the book, pausing for a moment to chuckle at the dedication.
To my wife, proven expert in reverse psychology, who said I'd never finish this book.
*I bet she killed herself laughing at that--* Not that Amelia had been the only one after Magnus to finish it. There'd been a lot of history, these last dozen years, and the New Lands were central to most of it. A lot of countries had not been overly favorable to the idea, even after the role Magnus and his people had played in the war with Apocalypse--
*Thud*.
Nathan looked up from the introduction, frowning. "Barney--" he said threateningly.
*Thud, thud, thud*. The cat was on his back feet, stretching along the back of the rocking chair and using his weight to keep crashing it into the wall, over and over again. *Thud, thud. Thud, thud, thud.*
He was going to leave a dent in the wall. "Stop doing that!" Nathan reached out and transferred the cat from chair to floor. Barney gave him an inscrutable look and then jumped back up on the chair. "Get off!" He tried to grab him telekinetically by the scruff of the neck, this time, but the cat shot off the chair like greased lightning and jumped on the coffeetable, skidding right into a potted plant, which fell off the edge and broke on the floor before Nathan could catch it. "Oath!"
Barney somersaulted off the table and dashed into the kitchen. Nathan seriously considered hauling him back into the room and wringing his sorry little neck--but that would upset Clare, and Dom would never speak to him again.
*Face it, Dayspring. You are SO whipped.*
"Flonqing cat," he growled, and put Magnus's book aside. It was almost funny, but he could remember a time when he'd lived in houses where he'd had NO idea where to find the vacuum cleaner.
***
The constant shrill of the smoke alarm was getting on his nerves. What was with the flonqing thing anyways? So the cookies were a little burnt, was that his fault? Did it have to keep shrieking at him?
It wasn't being particularly reasonable, Nathan reflected a little wildly. Still not shutting up. He had the windows open, the fan above the oven going, and he was even herding the smoke out telekinetically. What more did it want? Was it going to keep screaming at him until it burst his flonqing EARDRUMS?
His patience snapped. Nathan glared at the smoke alarm, and it imploded quite nicely. *There. Much better.* Nathan opened the oven door, waited for the smoke to billow out--and then closed it again, with as much dignity as he could muster, at the sight of the blackened lumps that were supposed to have been chocolate chip cookies.
He'd just leave them in there. It didn't really matter how they'd turned out, did it? It was the thought that counted. The thought. He'd thought it would be very nice if he made some chocolate chip cookies for his daughter. It didn't matter that he'd ruined them, right?
"OATH!" he snarled, flinging his arm out in frustration and managing somehow to knock the cookie dough-splattered mixing bowl off the counter and onto the floor. The crash provoked a yowl from Barney, who had been sitting at the edge of the sink, flicking drops of water from the dripping faucet in Nathan's direction. "Shut up!" Nathan hissed at the cat, who stared for a minute at him and then bolted.
The silence was deafening. Fragments of the smoke alarm had fallen on the floor beneath, along with bits of the ceiling, as well. Maybe he'd hit it a little too hard. Nathan cast a wild look at the pieces of glass all over the floor, the mess on the counter, the smoke hanging in the air--
He turned the oven off and left the room, heading in the direction of the den. Maybe he'd watch some television. When had he last done that? The kitchen could take care of itself. His intentions had been good, so everything else could go straight to hell and flonq itself periodically along the way.
The den was quiet and relatively tidy. Peaceful. Peaceful--hah! Just what he needed, right? Enough peace and quiet to choke on. Nathan slammed the door behind him, almost on Barney's nose. "Sucks to be you, cat," he muttered at Barney's piteous meow, and collapsed on the couch, a much larger and softer model than the one out in the other room.
His ankle hurt. His head hurt. Most of all, though, his pride hurt. It seemed to be doing that a lot lately, Nathan thought a little snippily, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on, flipping at first slowly, then more rapidly through the channels. The flashes of programs began to fit together in some weird gestalt effect, and he kept channel-surfing, bizarrely intrigued.
"--New York Rangers plan to--"
"--brown the onions for just a few minutes--"
"--and really, George, shouldn't we be more careful about--"
"--a federal program to encourage an oral history project, funded by the Center for Mutant Studies and recognizing that there is--"
"--too much crap out there today! What are our kids watching? Why don't we realize it's our duty, as parents, to be more of a--"
"--self-absorbed son of a bitch! I'm marrying David, and nothing you can do will stop me! We're in love! We--"
"--will travel, in the next half-hour, to the ocean floor, where the denizens of the deep will--"
"--treat us to a traditional Irish dance in this glorious old hall. The instrumental accompaniment is performed by--"
"--a solitary eagle, all that's left of--"
"--the Monkees! And people say we monkey around!"
Nathan blinked, and slouched even farther into the cushioned depths of the couch. Why couldn't he seem to switch the channel off the Golden Oldies Network? He wanted to, his finger kept moving on the button, but this show--it was strange. Sick and strange. Like watching a car wreck.
He watched in dull fascination. *People considered this entertainment? This is worse than the Canaanite propaganda broadcasts.*
Eventually, he found his eyes drifting shut, almost of their own accord. This was crazy. He didn't nap. Napping was for the slothful types, the ones who had nothing better to do--*oh, right--*
Nathan had the presence of mind left to switch channels blindly, just as the remote started to slide out of his hand--
And the less than soothing sounds of an impassioned televangelist accompanied him into sleep.
***
Domino wrinkled her nose as she stepped through the front door. "Nate? Clare? What's burning?" She didn't get an answer, so she repeated the call telepathically.
Still, silence. Frowning as she dropped her bag just inside the door, she wandered further into the house, carrying the bag of Chinese food under one arm. Passing by the living room, her eyes widened slightly at the sight of the remains of the answering machine.
*Nate?* She could feel him at the other end of the link--asleep? Still, the fact that the answering machine was in pieces on the floor bothered her--but that was the only damage she could see. *Paranoid much, Dom? Maybe Barney got at it.* She loved that cat, but he could be so damned destructive at times--
She opened the kitchen door.
*Not unlike someone else I know.*
She closed the kitchen door.
It really, really didn't make sense, but as she followed the trace of Nathan's sleeping thoughts towards the den, she was having a very difficult time keeping the laughter inside, where it belonged. Her kitchen, her beautiful kitchen--but STILL. Nate? Cooking? The charcoal lumps she'd seen through the window in the oven door looked like they'd been intended to be cookies.
Cookies. Nate. Nate. Cookies. The two images just didn't go together.
What had he been doing making cookies anyway? Domino wondered idly, sliding off her leather jacket as she strode down the hall. The scorch mark on the back caught her attention, and she shook her head, smiling wryly. *I'm getting too old for this.* She hadn't even felt that, as near a miss as it obviously had been. Getting shot at this morning hadn't been on the mission plan, but then, so few mission plans ever got followed to the letter.
One of these days she was going to have to talk herself into a nice, safe desk job. Not for a while yet, though. Not until she honestly couldn't keep up, and given that she could still outshoot and outsmart most of the young hotshots Bishop sent to her team for 'seasoning', she wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet.
Domino scowled thoughtfully. What had Bishop been on about at the debriefing, anyway? Something about Nate, and paperwork, and wanting to talk to her before some meeting tomorrow morning. She'd been coming down off the adrenalin high, and not really paying attention once the debriefing itself was over. *I'll have to give him a call first thing in the morning, check and see what that was all about--*
The door to the den was open, just a little. She pushed it open the rest of the way, and grinned at the wholly improbable sight of Nathan sound asleep on the couch, Barney curled up on his chest and purring so loud that she could hear him from the doorway.
"Hi, sweetie," she whispered as Barney opened his eyes and mewed softly at her.
#I wish I didn't know you were talking to that cat.#
"Oh, stop bitching," Domino said fondly as he lifted Barney down to the floor, rather more gently than usual. Barney shook himself all over, yawned, and wandered off to curl up on top of the television, which was showing what looked like a choral concert inside a cathedral. Nathan sat up, moving stiffly and visibly wincing. She pursed her lips, but his disgusted expression made her reconsider asking him how he was feeling. "Where's Clare?" she asked instead.
"Over at Logan and Sulven's."
"Did she ask you first?" Domino asked shrewdly, knowing her daughter's habits all too well. Nathan shook his head, and she made a disapproving one. "Nate, you've got to stop letting her do that. Hell, you're the one always telling me that we have to be especially careful not to let her run wild--"
"What was I supposed to do?" he demanded, glaring at her. "Go over there and haul her back home by the hair? Logan would have gotten a real kick out of that--"
"No, just--oh, never mind." Domino reached out for his hand, but he snatched it back.
He glared. She smiled tentatively.
"I got Chinese," she ventured, waving the bag at him.
"Splendid."
"I see you were trying to make dessert," she teased. He turned away, swearing sulphurously under his breath, and she blinked, taken aback. "Just a joke," she said dryly. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing," he muttered, taking the bag and opening it. "I'll clean it up. Did you get any wontons?"
"A double order." Domino regarded him thoughtfully. "You're in a mood." And he'd been sleeping so peacefully, too, when she'd left this morning. Sometimes, she liked getting that early morning call from headquarters, simply because that meant she got to wake up before him and watch him sleep as she got ready to leave. Even after ten years, some tiny part of her hadn't quite processed the fact that Apocalypse was gone, forever, and wouldn't show up tomorrow to take Nathan away from her--
"I try generally to be in a mood. Makes life much less boring."
Domino leaned back into the couch, folding her arms across her chest as he started to take containers out of the box and pile them on the low table in front of the couch. "Are you annoyed at me that I slipped out this morning without saying goodbye?" It was the only thing that came to mind. Then again, they hadn't really talked very much these last few weeks or so--she'd been so busy with her team. It seemed like Bishop was never out of jobs for them to do--and Nate had been equally as busy with his work. *Not too busy to stop him from trying to make Clare chocolate chip cookies,* something that sounded uncannily like her conscience pointed out sardonically.
"Of course not. That would be petty of me," Nathan said flatly, opening one of the containers and wrinkling his nose at the contents. "I think that's yours," he said with a sort of dignity that almost made her giggle. "I do not eat chicken balls."
"Of course not," she bantered, taking it from him. "You haven't come across my fluorescent orange sauce yet, have you?" He actually shuddered, managing a forced smile. She sighed, and started to nibble on a chicken ball.
"There's plastic cutlery in here. And chopsticks."
"I'm hungry. Cutlery is optional when I haven't eaten all day."
"That's not good for you," he said, almost automatically, it seemed.
Domino snorted. "Like you have room to talk, Mr. Work-First-Eat-Later." She polished off the chicken ball and went looking for rice. Nathan had found his wontons, and sat there huddled in the corner of the couch, looking defensive and grouchy as he ate. "Speaking of work, when did you find the time to trash my kitchen? I expected to come home and find you buried in paperwork."
"I burned it."
Domino blinked. "You did not," she said automatically, and then groaned. *Oh, lord, it's the Puppy-Dog Stare of Death--what did I say?*
"I did, too," Nathan said, almost meekly. "On Bishop's floor. In a big pile. I set it on fire, and then I danced on the ashes, singing Askani battle hymns. His secretary was very upset with me. I don't think we're getting a Christmas card from her this year."
"Nate--"
"Or maybe what I burned was HIS paperwork." He somehow managed to look innocent. "I don't know. It doesn't really matter, does it? All paperwork is evil, and deserves to die--"
"Nate. Please tell me you're kidding." He had to be. Only there was a strange glint in his eyes, and she was beginning to wonder--
"I think it screamed as it burned. Possessed paperwork--wouldn't that be funny?"
"Nate. Quit having fun at my expense. Just tell me whether you were playing pyro today--anywhere else besides in my kitchen, I mean." Domino hadn't really meant to tack that last bit on there, but it had sprung to mind, and she hadn't been able to help herself.
Nathan opened his mouth, undoubtedly to make some kind of sarcastic comment, and promptly proceeded to choke on a piece of wonton. Domino leaned forward, concerned, but he waved at her, coughing.
"I'm--fine," he wheezed after a moment. "And of course I'm flonqing kidding, Dom. Don't you think Bishop would have used the opportunity to have me committed if I really HAD set fire to his office?" His face still red, his eyes watering, he nevertheless managed to give her the dirtiest look she'd had in a while.
Domino bit her lip. *I will not laugh, I will not laugh--* But Nate was still ranting, and it was getting increasingly hard to keep a straight face as he went on.
"I mean, that'd be the ideal solution, wouldn't it? Maybe that was the plan all along. Dump a mountain of paperwork on me and wait to see how long it took me to drive me stark raving mad--"
"Nate--"
"Don't give me that look," he said heatedly. "Here you were, out doing Bright Lady knows what and probably having the time of your life--"
"Not really--"
"And here I am, sent home like a misbehaving kid from school and resorting to baking COOKIES to keep myself occupied!" Nathan blinked, apparently just now realizing his voice was a little louder than it needed to be. He plucked another wonton out of the container and slouched, scowling. "Cookies," he muttered. "I was making COOKIES. Don't you see anything wrong with that, Dom?"
"Well, yeah," she admitted with a chuckle, sliding over closer to him. He wouldn't look at her. There seemed to be something particularly fascinating about the wonton. "Sounds like you're bored, Nate." And she should be kicking herself for not seeing that earlier. That had to have been what Bishop had been on about, too--
His expression was half-ashamed, half-pitiful, as he met her eyes finally. "Is that really that bad?"
*Do. Not. Laugh.* "No," she said, drawing the word out in a drawl. "Not bad at all, Nate. Hell, I'd have gotten fed up with your job a lot sooner than this. It's funny--here I thought you were actually getting into the whole administrative thing--"
"Not in a million years," he said fervently. He probably meant that literally, too. "I don't see anything wrong with needing a change. So long as you don't want a new war or something to occupy you--"
"Oh, come on, Dom!" He sounded almost distressed at the suggestion. "You don't honestly think I'm that bloodthirsty, do you?"
"I was just kidding." She snuggled up beside him and stole his wonton. "So what do you want to do?" she asked, staring up at him inquisitively. "That's really the question, isn't it?"
Nathan looked embarassed. "Um--I'm not sure?"
Domino laughed delightedly. "Priceless. You know what your problem is, Nathan Christopher Summers?"
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."
She poked him in the ribs, just to make him jump. "You're an action junkie."
"Oh, look who's talking!" he scoffed.
"Always have, always will be." Domino gave him a wicked look, laying a hand against his chest and gazing up at him. "You just need to find a different kind of--action."
He actually grinned. "You have something in mind?"
Yes, this was much more like it. "Oh, just one of these short-term solutions. But we could give it a try." Domino glanced up at the cat draped over the television, regarding them with sleepy, half-lidded eyes, and snickered. "Barney, stop being such a voyeur."
"Flonq the cat."
"Nate, babe, that's not exactly what I had in mind."
***
A considerable amount of time later, Domino wandered back out to the kitchen, wearing nothing but Nathan's shirt. She walked around the broken shards of the bowl, trusting to her luck to prevent her from stepping on any glass shards, and got two beers out of the fridge. Glancing around, Domino shook her head. *This place is a MESS. How did he do this much damage in a couple of hours?* Well, it didn't matter. They could clean it up later--telekinesis came in very handy, sometimes. Although the cookies were certainly a total loss, she thought, taking a look in the oven as she walked by.
Barney stood in the doorway, meowing. "I fed you before I left," Domino said sternly, "and there's plenty of dry food in the dish. Don't be a mooch." He tried to twine around her legs as she left the kitchen, but she sidestepped him easily. "And don't trip me, either." He was purring, the silly thing. "What was that all about, anyway, sleeping on Nate?" she asked him as he trailed along behind her. "I think you're going soft, Barney."
She jumped, and then froze as a book went floating past her, down the hall. *Okay--* He still surprised her, every so often, with the fine control he displayed over his powers. The Merge had changed him, in more ways than the obvious. She didn't think most of their friends and family had twigged to that yet, even after all these years.
"You decide you wanted some light reading after such strenuous exercise, old man?" she asked teasingly as she followed the floating book into the den. "That is Magnus's book, right?"
"Right," Nathan muttered as he reached out a hand to catch it. "I started it this afternoon. Finally."
Domino passed him one of the beers and sat down, leaning back against his chest. He put an arm around her, resting the book on his knee. "And?"
"It's interesting. But Barney kept breaking things, so I gave up on reading any more this afternoon." He gave the cat an evil look. "Even my powers of concentration aren't infinite." Barney sniffed at him.
"Hmm," Domino said as she took a sip of her beer. Something was formulating in her mind, a very distinct Idea. It was still a little amorphous, and she'd have to talk to a few people first - Amelia might be a good start - but it had potential.
"Hmm what?" Nathan asked. She shrugged, and he gave an odd little couch. She craned her neck around, looking up at him, and was intrigued by the strange smile on his face. "I don't trust your monosyllables."
"Paranoid man. I was just wondering why a long-term situation for your terminal boredom needs to be with the X.S.E." He looked blank, and she inclined her head at the book. "Lots of other options, Nate. Hell, we listen to enough of the recruitment programs for the New Lands to know how badly Magnus and Amelia need more qualified help--"
Nathan blinked, and then took a sharper look at the book. "I guess," he said a little uncertainly. "I just never thought of--leaving the X.S.E."
"Oh, right," Domino said slyly. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to do something you want to do, just once. Instead of doing what needs to be done--"
"But--"
"No buts." She squirmed around, getting to her knees and kissing him, putting her hand on his shoulder to brace herself. The book fell to the floor, and she grinned smugly as his arms went around her."Think about it," she said, leaning back a little. "Because, you know, you're only cute while you're sulking for about a day or so. Then you start to get on my nerves."
"Oh, talk about your double standards," he chuckled.
"Drink your beer, old man," Domino said contentedly.
fin