By The Lake

by Alicia McKenzie

 


DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. It is set after Sabretooth's escape from the mansion in Uncanny X-Men #328, after Bishop's encounter with Fatale in X-Men #49, after Cable's trip to the future and Genosha in Cable #24-28, and after X-Force #50, when Sebastian Shaw had a mind-controlled X-Force try and kill Cable. Warning: There is nothing at all graphic in this story, but some implied stuff that may be disturbing to young and/or sensitive readers.


On the whole, the night was enough to make anyone uneasy. The wind whispered, low and sinister, as it stirred the trees, and tattered clouds streaked across the sky, turning the glow of the half-moon into a wan, broken thing. On nights like these, a man might keep close to home and loved ones, seeking reassurance in the face of a world grown alien and vaguely threatening under the haunting spell of the night.

If one had home, and loved ones, that was. Bishop had his duty, and the Dream. That would have to do.

It was well past midnight, but he turned to circle the Institute grounds once more, stoically ignoring the growing chill in the air. He had to be sure, had to be absolutely certain that everything was secure before he would permit himself to turn in for the night. Too much had happened of late to permit any laxness on his part.

His jaw clenched at the thought of Sabretooth. That Logan and Worthington had succeeded in their quest for the Crimson Dawn and thus saved Psylocke's life did not alter the fundamental failure on his part. He was responsible for the security of the mansion, and yet one of his teammates had fallen to an attack from within.

He wondered, grimly, if that was a foreshadowing of things to come. All this time in the past, and he was as far from identifying the traitor as he had been when he had first viewed Jean's broken message, decades in the future.

He was not used to failure. But--on this matter at least--he was becoming all too familiar with the taste of frustration.

As he headed into the woods, he froze, seeing a shadowy shape moving through the trees. Too large to be Logan, his mind registered immediately. And since Logan was the only one likely to be out here at this time of night--Bishop's eyes narrowed. Keeping his gun at the ready, he started to follow the possible interloper.

The intruder--Bishop followed a stringent policy of 'guilty until proven innocent' when it came to security--seemed to have no fixed destination. He would stop, frequently, and study his surroundings. Each time, Bishop ducked behind the nearest tree and composed his thoughts, as he had been taught, to try and avoid being detected in case the intruder had psionic abilities of some sort. Each time, the intruder moved on after a few moments.

Bishop scowled. It was too dark under the canopy of leaves. From here, he couldn't make out any distinguishing features that might tell him who he was following. Perhaps if he got closer?

Ah-- Bishop nodded. There was a more definite direction to the intruder's movements, now; he seemed to be heading towards the lake. Bishop decided to cut around and try and get in front of him. Unquestionably, it would be more efficient to shoot first and ask questions later, but the Professor certainly would not approve. And in his current state of mind, the idea of a physical confrontation, even with the attendant risks, was curiously appealing.

Quickening his pace, he moved ahead and took up position behind a tree on the path leading down to the lake. After a minute, he heard footsteps approaching--then slowing.

Then stopping entirely.

Bishop cursed. Stupidity! he raged at himself, furious for the lapse in judgement. Raising his gun, he turned to step out and confront whoever it was--

And his gun abruptly went flying out of his hand. Instantly and instinctively, Bishop lept at the figure standing in front of him. His reaction had been so swift that it was only when he was in mid-tackle that he noted the 'intruder's' left eye was glowing a bright gold, illuminating a very familiar face.

By that time, they were both on the ground.

"Oath!" Cable spat, and pushed him away with enough force to make Bishop grunt with surprise. "If you've got energy to burn, Bishop, go play in the Danger Room! The last time I checked, it wasn't a crime around here to want to get some fresh air!"

Bishop sat up, gingerly flexing a wrist that felt sprained. "Why didn't you call out, let me know you knew I was out here?" he asked defensively, to cover his chagrin. All right, so he hadn't chosen the most intelligent course of action, here--

Cable muttered something under his breath in that curious lilting language of his. Bishop didn't understand a word of it, but from Cable's tone, it was clearly a profanity. "I thought you were Logan," Cable said, sounding almost embarassed as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"You couldn't tell the difference? Your telepathy--"

"Isn't working too well at the moment. I could sense someone was out there, but not who," Cable muttered. The light from his eye was fading to a dimmer, less angry glow. "McCoy says that's normal, with a concussion--"

Bishop remembered how close Cable had come to being killed by his own students a few days ago, while X-Force had been under Sebastian Shaw's control. "I didn't realize that you were still suffering the aftereffects of that incident," he said, stiffly. It was as much of an apology as Cable was going to get. The memory of their argument over Boomer's involvement in Sabertooth's escape was still too fresh.

"Yeah, well, I've had worse." Cable gave him a strangely speculative look. "You know, I might not have been actively scanning--and I admit, even what I'm picking up passively has been a little fuzzy since the kids decided to use me as a human punching bag--but I never imagined I could ever mistake you for Logan. I can see how I did, though. Your thoughts are in such turmoil--"

"What would you have done if I had been Logan?" Bishop asked, not wanting to hear yet another telepath's assessment of his admittedly less-than-serene state of mind. His and McCoy's encounter with 'Pamela', the assassin masquerading as a waitress, hadn't really done all that much to reassure his teammates about his overall sanity.

"Worked out some issues, probably," Cable said dryly.

Bishop couldn't help a snort. "The two of you--"

"I know, I know," Cable admitted easily. "But it keeps us sharp. Bothers Jean, though, so we usually take it outside." A faint, wry smile flickered across his face.

"I would imagine so," Bishop said, getting to his feet and offering Cable a hand up. Cable nodded almost gratefully, but as Bishop helped him up, the older man gave him a strangely quizzical look.

"What?" Bishop asked, feeling curiously defensive again.

"Nothing," Cable said, almost diffidently. "Look, I was just heading down to the lake. Why don't you give the patrolling a rest and come along?"

Bishop blinked at the suggestion. "Why?" he asked, a little suspiciously, as Cable started down the path again.

"Just a suggestion," Cable tossed back over his shoulder. "Unless you get off on chasing your tail out here. I'm all for adequate security, but after a certain point, you start looking like a poster child for obsessive-compulsive disorder--"

Bishop bristled. "That was uncalled for," he said harshly, catching up to Cable.

Cable gave him one of those sideways analytical looks and an irritatingly superior smile. "True, though."

"You are HARDLY one to talk--"

Cable chuckled. "Maybe not," he admitted. "But that doesn't invalidate the point."

As they reached the edge of the trees, the moonlight grew stronger, and Bishop got a better look at Cable's face. He was a little surprised to see how tired the older man looked. But it wasn't just simple weariness; Cable looked almost--dispirited. It wasn't an expression Bishop could ever remember seeing on his fellow time-traveller's face.

He could certainly sympathize, however.

"Strange night," Cable said as they came out of the woods.

"Yes," Bishop said, a little more brusquely than he'd intended. Cable gave him a faintly amused look, and Bishop scowled. "What?" he said again, growing distinctly exasperated.

"Nothing," Cable said, shaking his head. "This is getting repetitive." A cloud passed over the moon, casting a brief shadow on the water, and the wind picked up. Cable shivered, and murmured something under his breath. Not in English, either.

"What was that?" Bishop asked, trying to sound diffident.

"I said, the sky is full of ghosts. Don't you think so?"

Bishop gave Cable a level, measuring look. "I think you are most definitely sounding concussed."

Cable gave him another one of those half-smiles, but let the comment go. "It's the sort of night that makes you remember too much. All your failures, everything you left undone--"

Bishop stiffened. "Are you leading up to something, or just rambling?" he asked, not bothering to disguse the hostility in his tone.

"Oh, I always have a point," Cable said with a sigh. "Somewhere. Even when I do ramble." He went and sat down on a fallen log, and stared for a long moment out at the water. "So," he finally said, just when Bishop had decided that he'd given up on the conversation. "Any particular reason you're still patrolling after two in the morning?"

"Why are you 'getting fresh air' at this hour?" Bishop asked bluntly, not thinking how transparent it sounded, to answer a question with another question.

Cable raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough. I couldn't sleep. That your problem, too?"

"More or less," Bishop muttered, and then wished he hadn't. He had no particular desire to share his troubles with anyone. Even if he had, Cable would certainly not have been his choice.

"Sabretooth?" Cable asked softly.

Bishop glared at him. "I could ask you the same question."

"So you could," Cable admitted, not looking away from the water. "But at least I know I couldn't have done anything to stop what happened. Short of partially mindwiping Tabitha--" It was the first time since the incident that Cable had even tacitly implied that Tabitha might have had more of a role in Sabretooth's escape than she'd revealed. Bishop opened his mouth, but Cable continued, cutting him off smoothly. "I don't think you've quite gotten that through your head yet, though. That you couldn't have done anything either, I mean."

"Excuse me?" Bishop asked dangerously. The man had an extraordinary amount of gall, saying such a thing under the circumstances!

"Well, what could you have done?" Cable asked, turning to look at him. "Other than to have arranged an 'accident' for Creed weeks ago, which, aside from the obvious wish-fulfillment aspect, wasn't really an option?" His gaze was unsettlingly direct. Bishop started to retort, and then stopped himself, knowing the sort of response he wanted to make would just prove Cable's point. "I thought so," Cable said with a nod.

The gesture infuriated Bishop, for some reason. "You know absolutely nothing about me, Cable!" he snapped, nettled by the presumption.

"Please. Putting aside the fact that from a twentieth century perspective, you were a cop and I was a terrorist, we actually have a great deal in common, Bishop," Cable said, almost sharply. "I understand you better than you'd like to think."

Part of Bishop wanted to launch an angry protest against Cable's unwarranted claim to any insight into his personality, but his mind firmly latched onto something else and held on with unusual tenacity. "That--that's the first time I've heard you describe yourself as a terrorist," Bishop said, somewhat awkwardly. He frowned. "It doesn't seem to fit what you told Logan and I about your rebellion while we were on Greymalkin."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm just being realistic," Cable said wearily, turning back to the lake. "It's a night for it."

"But--you don't really believe that," Bishop ventured.

"Ask me in the morning, and I'll probably laugh at myself for saying it in the first place. Right now, though--" Cable picked up a stone and threw it towards the lake. It reached the water easily, skipping several times before it sank. As far as Bishop could tell, Cable wasn't using any telekinesis on it, despite how casual the throw had been.

Bishop stared at him for a moment longer, and then, before he really knew what he was doing, went over and sat down on the other end of the log. He laid his gun down carefully on the ground, within easy reach. Cable said nothing, didn't even look over at him to acknowledge his presence. Somehow, that made it easier.

What are you doing? a distant voice demanded indignantly. Bishop ignored it. Maybe he was making a mistake here, doing something he'd regret. But this was a strange night, the sort of night that made you face things you could hardly bear to acknowledge in the light of day. Part of him was suddenly determined to take advantage of it, while this sense of being--apart from the world was still strong enough.

While he still had the courage.

The wind died down, leaving an eerie calm behind. "It's not--just Sabretooth," Bishop said abruptly.

"It never is," Cable said quietly. "Just one thing, I mean. That would be too simple." The corner of his mouth tugged upwards, but he said nothing more. "And our lives are supposed to be complicated. I think it's an unwritten law of the universe."

"They think I'm losing my mind." It felt curiously good to say that, to get it out in the open.

This time, Cable did look at him. "And what do you think?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Well--I was right about the waitress," Bishop said. It sounded rather lame, when put beside his attacks on Scott and Hank, and the nightmares. "But I have been having--lapses. I don't--I don't quite know what to think, anymore."

"Jean doesn't think you're losing your mind," Cable said, offering the statement calmly. "She thinks you're just struggling to integrate whatever happened to you during that mess with Legion."

"Struggling," Bishop said, with a hollow laugh. "A good choice of words."

"Chin up, kid. If you can adapt to this time, you can handle anything."

Bishop shot him an irritated look. "I have not grown any fonder of being addressed as 'kid', Cable," he said acerbically.

"Now you know how I feel when people call me Nate," Cable said, with a sudden, almost irrepressible grin.

Bishop found himself returning a more hesitant smile, before he could help himself. He coughed, quickly trying to smooth his expression. "Domino calls you that," he observed, and was startled--and curiously distressed--to see Cable stiffen, withdrawing into himself as totally as if he'd walked into a room and locked the door behind him. "What did I say?"

"Nothing," Cable muttered, looking back out at the lake, the muscles along his jaw clenching. "Nothing at all."

"Cable--" Bishop started, and then frowned, putting together what he'd observed of how X-Force's co-leaders had been behaving towards each other lately. They hadn't been avoiding each other, or arguing--but there had been a curious stiffness between them, something Bishop wasn't used to seeing. "You and Domino are--at odds?" he ventured.

Cable's shoulders shook in what might almost have been a laugh. "No more so than usual," he said brusquely. "She didn't--enjoy our trip to the future any more than I did, I think."

"I had heard that you had returned to your own time," Bishop said cautiously. "To save your younger self." He could barely even imagine finding himself in such a situation. The temptation to say or do something to change the way things turned out must have incredible. He wondered, suddenly, if Cable had managed to resist it.

"I'm constantly amazed at how quickly news gets around in this place," Cable said bitterly. "Come fire, flood or world-conqueror du jour, the gossip must go on--"

The barb wasn't directed at him, so Bishop let it pass. "I would have welcomed the chance to--return home, even for a time," he said slowly. As soon as he said it, he was struck by how much the idea did appeal to him. His home would be a much emptier place, without Shard and Randall and Malcolm, but there were still people, even places that he missed--

"I imagine you would," Cable said, his voice strangely hoarse. "Until it came time to leave again." He threw another stone at the lake. This one sank as soon as it struck the water. "I've been back to the thirty-eighth century more times than I can count, over the last twenty-odd years. Every time I left, I felt like part of me was dying--and the next time I went back, it felt less like home." He shook his head, his expression strangely angry. "No, Bishop. Be glad you haven't had that chance yet."

"But this IS home for you, in a way," Bishop said with another frown. "This is your birth era--"

"And I should be a happy--what, three or four year-old?--running around without a care in the world, breaking things and giving Scott and Jean gray hairs." He snorted. "Pardon the pun. Instead, I'm older than Scott and regarded with suspicion by most of my 'extendend family'--rightfully so, mind you." Bishop flushed, and Cable gave him a curiously mocking look. "That wasn't directed specifically at you, Bishop."

Bishop looked away. "You know too much," he muttered.

"What was that?"

He was fairly sure Cable had heard him perfectly well, but he repeated it anyways. "You know too much," he said, stubbornly. "About the future. About how events turn out." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cable's expression change to one of undisguised shock.

"Bishop, hold on--"

"No!" Bishop snapped, resentment he'd held back for what seemed like years suddenly boiling over. "You're back here manipulating this timeline, pulling all of our strings for reasons of your own. I only came to this time to fulfill my duty as a member of the X.S.E. All I'm trying to do NOW is to stop the traitor, whoever he or she is, from killing the X-Men, and I don't even have the faintest idea where to start!" He glared at Cable, who was still staring at him in disbelief. "I stumble around in the dark while you play games with people's lives--"

"Is that what you think?" Cable said harshly. He gave a humorless laugh. "No wonder you hate me."

Bishop gaped at him, taken aback. "HATE you? I don't--hate you," he said awkwardly. He had once, perhaps, when he'd thought that Cable had shot the Professor, but not once he'd found out the truth. And anything, any traces that might have remained of that feeling had been banished by Cable's astonishing act of self-sacrifice on the moon during the final battle with Stryfe.

No, he might frequently distrust Cable's motives, and--envy his apparent confidence as he moved through this time, but he didn't hate him. "I would think that, as a telepath, you should have seen that," Bishop said almost defensively.

"Oh," Cable said, sounding just as uncomfortable. "Well, being a telepath doesn't make me particularly perceptive--what?" he demanded. "What the hell's so funny?"

Bishop realized he was grinning at the other man. The expression felt distinctly odd, as if the muscles in his face weren't used to it, but he couldn't help himself. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?" he asked, trying very hard not to laugh in Cable's face. Something told him that he wouldn't appreciate it. "'I can read thoughts, but that doesn't make me perceptive'?"

Cable continued to glare at him for a moment. Then, his indignant expression vanished, and he turned back to the lake, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "It does, doesn't it?" he said, chuckling. "Oath--I suppose I know I'm tired when I come out with something that nonsensical. Tetherblood used to say that it would be safer for everyone if I just had my mouth sewn shut BEFORE I decided to dispense with sleep for days at a time. I remember one time at a treaty conference--" He shook his head ruefully. "Actually, I think I'll keep that story to myself. Wouldn't want to totally shatter your opinion of me."

Bishop snorted, but felt a pang of utterly inexplicable envy at how casually Cable tossed off the reference to his past, as if he was referring to something that had happened yesterday. If Bishop himself had made that sort of comment in the company of his teammates, he would have gotten a smart comment from Drake or a lecture from one of the others about letting go of the past and 'living in the now'. He grimaced. He was as tired of hearing such things as they undoubtedly were of his stories of life in the X.S.E.

"They're full of it."

Bishop glanced sharply at Cable, surprised by the look of real sympathy on the older man's face. It looked curiously out of place, but no less sincere for all of that. "What?" he asked, feeling defensive again.

"Drake and the others," Cable said levelly, shaking his head. "They're all full of it. At least on that particular subject. Although with Drake, I'd be prepared to consider making that a sweeping generalization--"

Bishop ignored the joke. "I thought your telepathy wasn't working properly?" he asked, warily.

"It's not, but I can hardly avoid hearing what you think if you insist on projecting it so loudly while we're the only two out here," Cable said, quite reasonably. But there was something odd in his voice, an undertone almost of anger, and his left eye was glowing brightly again. "You shouldn't listen to them when they start spouting crap like that," he said. "They don't understand."

Three words. They don't understand. A very simple concept, but one that went against everything he was slowly, gradually, with the encouragment of his teammates, teaching himself to believe. "I--but--" Bishop cleared his throat, and continued in a more resolute voice. "They are right, Cable."

"No, they're not," Cable said implacably, not breaking eye contact for even a second. His gaze was so intense, so penetrating, that Bishop almost felt trapped, as if he wouldn't be able to look away even if he tried. "The part of your life you've living here, the part that happened seventy years in the future--it's one life, Bishop, it's YOUR life. And trying to force yourself to--push your past away, to gain some sort of 'healthy' mental distance isn't just futile, it's destructive!" He gestured almost angrily in the direction of the mansion. "They see one world, this world--well, good for them! It's almost charming, in a myopic sort of way. But you and I, Bishop--we don't get the privilege of being near-sighted."

Bishop finally managed to tear his gaze away from Cable, and looked out at the water to gain himself a moment to gather his composure. He could almost feel the anger radiating off the man sitting next to him. "But Drake--all of them, do have a point," he said, not sure why he was arguing, when all he really wanted to do was to bask in the relief of talking to someone who did understand, who didn't think he was being stubborn or self-absorbed or obsessive for holding on to his memories of the world and people he'd left behind. "I had to--change, to become an X-Man rather than a commander in the X.S.E. I couldn't let myself remain--stuck in my past."

"Of course you had to change," Cable said, as if surprised that he'd even felt the need to mention it. "You think I didn't? I'd wager I was even more out of place than you were when I first came here." He looked around almost wistfully. "To me, all of this was totally alien. We had no records of this time. Only myths--less than myths, really. Shadows." He gave Bishop a very direct look. "I'm not saying that some of the X-Men haven't had terrible things happen to them--shitty excuses for childhoods, and so on. But it's easy for them to talk about overcoming the past, Bishop, simply because the past IS the past, for them. For us, it's the future, too; not just something we have to cope with, but something that can still be changed. We both have a second chance." He laughed weakly, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. "Theoretically, at least. I'm sure neither of us is up for a discussion on temporal mechanics at this time of night."

Bishop stared at the man sitting beside him for a long moment, thinking about the years of experience, the repeated, wrenching displacements from what he knew and loved that had must have fueled such painful clarity. And yet Cable kept going, kept fighting--there was a great deal to admire in that. Bishop felt almost ashamed that he'd wallowed in his misconceptions for so long. But it was that determined exterior, that perfected mask of dogged persistence, that had put him off in the first place. Considering his own doubts, Bishop had simply been unable to trust someone who could seem so decisive, so sure of himself and his actions, when he was in a situation so similar to Bishop's own.

Another faint laugh came from Cable's direction. "Don't give me any more credit than I'm due, Bishop. I've just had more years to practice than you have." Cable lifted his head and looked over at him, and Bishop was, yet again, taken aback. There was such warmth, in the older man's expression, such unqualified approval--for him? "You're doing fine," Cable said, his voice curiously gentle.

Bishop swallowed. Maybe at another time, he would have been offended that someone had passed judgement on his success in adapting to this time. Maybe, at another time--in another place. But not now, not here. And not with the only person he knew who had shared the experience.

"Does it ever get easier?" he asked, his voice a little uneven.

"Living outside time?" Cable gave him a wry smile. "Eventually."

Bishop snorted. "You're lying," he said, sure of it.

"Through my teeth, yes." Cable sighed. "Look, Bishop, I know you still don't feel like you fit in, here. Hell, I don't, and I've been here a lot longer than you are." He stared off into the distance, his gaze remote. "There are times when I look around, and wonder what the flonq I'm doing here--days where I feel so detached from everyone and everything that I hardly feel human. But it helps to--make connections, here. Just because you feel like you don't fit doesn't mean you have to walk around wearing the emotional equivalent of full body armor." Cable chuckled, and started to rise. "And yes, I know I should have the word 'hypocrite' tattooed across my forehead for saying something like that, so bite your flonqing tongue."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Bishop protested with a laugh. It hadn't even occurred to him to make the sort of comment Drake or LeBeau would have been unable to resist. To do so would have cheapened himself, Cable, and this entire, rather remarkable conversation.

"Sure," Cable said as he stood up. "Tell it to--" He stopped in mid-sentence, blinking down at Bishop, a very peculiar expression growing on his face. "I wish--the world would stop spinning," he said in an odd voice, just before his knees buckled.

Bishop cursed and leapt to catch him, but didn't move quite in time, and was thus off-balance at precisely the most inopportune moment. They both ended up on the ground again, this time in a tangled heap, and Bishop scrambled up, his heart leaping in something very close to alarm as he heard a muffled groan from Cable.

"Cable! Are you--"

"Oath--" Cable growled. His eyes were tightly closed, but the look on his face wasn't one of pain. Disgust--chagrin, even, Bishop thought with a flicker of amusement as his heart resumed its normal pace. But he didn't seem to be in any distress. "I'm glad I did that out here, and not anywhere where McCoy would've seen it. He would never have let me live it down." Cable opened his eyes, glared up at the innocent sky. "'You require rest, Nathan'," he said, in such a good imitation of Hank McCoy's voice that Bishop was impressed. "'I'm afraid I won't be held responsible if you refuse to follow the dictates of common sense.'" Cable swore under his breath. "Flonq him and the flonqing horse he rode in on."

"Are you--all right?" Bishop asked helplessly, not knowing what else to say. It really wasn't something one should be laughing at, but he was definitely feeling the urge. Real concern--people who were 'all right' did not simply fall over--and the certainty that Cable would not only resent being laughed at but probably take direct action to express his displeasure, helped him overcome it.

"Fine, just fine," Cable grumbled. "Thanks for asking. I'd apologize for falling on you, but it's against my religion." Out of the blue, he started laughing again. "Ohhh---" he muttered, covering his eyes with one hand. "Maybe I should try that move the next time I'm in battle. 'Hello, I'm tired of shooting people, so I'm just going to fall over on you now.' That's be new, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed," Bishop said, trying very hard to keep a straight face. "Perhaps I should help you back to the mansion, Cable."

Cable started to sit up, but stopped mid-motion, his chuckle turning into a wince. "No--" he said, lying back again. "I think I'll just lie here for a while, thanks. Much safer down here."

Bishop lost the urge to laugh. "I shouldn't have knocked you over in the first place," he said apologetically, offering a hand up again. "That probably didn't help." Cable might not want a lecture from Hank, but that was just too bad. McCoy was going to take a look at him, even if Bishop had to drag his fellow time-traveller down to the med-lab by force.

Cable gave him a suspicious look, as if picking up on his train of thought, but took the offered hand. "Probably not," he muttered, letting Bishop pull him up to a sitting position. "But I forgive you," he added, magnanimously.

"Good of you," Bishop said dryly.

"I know. Usually I hold grudges."

"So I've gathered." Bishop studied Cable's face intently, still concerned. He looked pale. It might just be the light, admittedly--

But he wasn't willing to take that chance. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. Bishop tried not to let his perturbation show on his face. When in the course of this conversation had he suddenly become so concerned for Cable's welfare? A man he mistrusted, envied, had become a man he--

Cable was watching him. Calmly, thoughtfully. But beneath the mask--and it was a mask, just like any other--Bishop thought he could see an echo of the same appalling loneliness he tried to deny in himself--the same, barely-articulated yet desperate need to find some sort of refuge, even if only briefly, from a world that could still be jarring and alien, despite your best efforts to live in it.

The same faint spark of incredulous hope that you had actually found someone who understood both the pain and the yearning.

"Cable--" Bishop started, his voice almost breaking.

"I do have a name," Cable pointed out quietly. He could havegotten up, moved away or said something to lighten the atmosphere. He didn't. He just stared back at Bishop, waiting.

"Nathan, then," Bishop said, struggling to keep his voice level. How the hell was he supposed to explain any of this? he thought a little wildly. It was the first time he could remember WISHING a telepath would read his mind. "I don't--I--"

"Say the word, and I'll let you drag me off to see Hank." Cable's voice was utterly even. No attempt to pressure him, or influence his decision. Leaving it entirely up to him. "Your choice, Bishop. Do we call it a night?"

No.

He didn't want to 'call it a night'.

Cable nodded slowly. "It's a fringe benefit of coming from a different time," he said, almost conversationally. "You can tell prejudices peculiar to this era to take a flying leap."

There hadn't been any such prejudice in his time, Bishop remembered. In Cable's either, to judge by his attitude towards the idea

And by all that was holy, he wanted this, craved the simple fact of physical contact with a hunger whose intensity shocked him. Living and fighting beside the legends of his youth wasn't something he'd trade for the world, but it imposed a certain isolation, both emotional and physical, that could grow quite wearing after a while.

"Why?" he asked. He glanced around the lake and the woods, resisting for one last moment the force of what was, so suddenly and unexpectedly, building between them.

"You need to--step out of this time. Figuratively, I mean--to get your perspective back." At Cable's sigh, Bishop turned back to him in time to see an oddly sad smile cross the older man's face. "Me, I'm still trying to find my way back from the thirty-eighth century. My body's here, but emotionally, I'm still stuck in transit. I thought we could maybe meet each other halfway. Fair enough?"

It was more than fair. It told Bishop that Cable needed this as badly as he did.

It was what he'd wanted to hear. What he'd needed to hear.

"Fair enough," he said, almost gruffly.

And then surprised both himself and Cable by being the one to reach out first.

***

"Strange night."

"I think I already said that, didn't I?"

"It was worth saying again."

"I suppose so--at least it's clearing up. Look at all the stars."

"Hancock taught Shard and I the names of the constellations, when we were children. Do they name the stars two thousand years from now?"

"Hmm--I can't recall."

"You can't recall?"

"Cut me some slack, Bishop. When you've lived in enough centuries, your mind starts jettisoning non-critical information."

"So what you're saying is, you're getting old."

"..."

"It was a joke, Nathan."

"You need to seriously work on your sense of humor. I suppose you've probably heard that before, though."

"Probably not as often as you have."

"Touche."

"Thank you."

"Shut up."

"Strange night, isn't it?"

A sigh, resigned and yet amused at the same time. "The strangest."

Fin


continued in In The Bushes by Kaylee

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