Night Owls, Paternal Instincts, and Questions Better Left Unasked
by Alicia McKenzie
DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. Set during the time when X-Force was living at the mansion, post AOA, pre Onslaught. Thanks to Dia and Oberon for beta-reading. :)
Scott Summers hesitated warily in the doorway, resolve warring with caution as he studied the woman sitting cross-legged on the floor of the den watching the late news on CNN. He had to be realistic, he told himself firmly. He'd been wanting to have this conversation for a while now, ever since X-Force had moved in and he'd become aware of the. . .situation, but with the madhouse the mansion had been lately, he hadn't gotten the chance to speak to her privately. If he didn't seize this opportunity, he was probably going to be. . .out of luck. . .
He rolled his eyes at his own choice of words. Okay, so carpe diem and all that. . .but why did she have to be cleaning her guns and humming happily to herself? As Hank might have said, the ambience was NOT reassuring.
"Are you going to come in, Summers, or just stand in the doorway?" Domino asked casually, without looking around.
"Um. . ."
"It is your house, after all." She finally glanced at him over her shoulder, those unbelievable violet eyes of hers gleaming wickedly. There was no other word for that look, Scott decided. "I don't bite. . ."
*Bite the bullet, Scott. . .* He forced himself to smile, and moved forward into the room, sitting down on the couch. Domino carefully, almost lovingly, laid the piece she was cleaning down on the floor and then put her hands on her knees, straightening as she met his eyes.
"Well?" she asked challengingly.
Scott blinked. "Well what?" he asked tentatively, wilting a little under her keen regard. And he'd thought JEAN'S 'looks' were expressive. He felt like he was being analysed, dissected, and examined on a microscopic level, by a mildly amused and somewhat diffident scientist.
"Well, what do you have to say that you're trying to avoid saying so badly that you've been skulking around watching me out of the corner of your eye for the last two weeks?" Domino elaborated helpfully, crossing and recrossing her legs, the movement almost unconsciously graceful. "You don't think I've noticed? I've noticed. I would have to be blind AND stupid not to have noticed."
"I haven't been skulking," he protested weakly. This conversation wasn't going quite the way he'd envisioned it. "Really."
"Right." Domino smirked and had the gun sitting in front of her assembled in slightly less time than it took Scott to flinch. "There we go," she almost cooed to the nasty-looking little weapon. "The small ones always pack the biggest punch. No phallic substitutes for me, oh, no. . ."
She was talking to her gun. Scott digested the fact for a moment, and wondered rather uneasily if Nathan did the same. "Domino," he started, and then blinked. "Do you. . .mind being called Domino?"
Domino smiled up at him pleasantly. "Of course not. It IS my name."
"Your name? Don't you have. . ."
"Several. Dozens. Aliases for every occasion known to man, and a few just for fun."
"But you don't have. . ."
"A real name?" Those violet eyes sparkled, and it hit Scott just how attractive she was. He'd never seen this woman in anything other than casual clothes or her uniform, and he wondered suddenly if that wasn't deliberate on her part. "Depends on how you define real, Cyclops. Besides, identity can be such a fluid thing, don't you think?"
"Um. . .call me Scott," he said helplessly. It was the only thing he could think of to say. "I mean, you shouldn't be so formal. Not when you and Nathan are. . ."
"Knocking boots? Doing the horizontal tango? Indulging in the Great American Pastime? Making things go bump in the night? Boinking each other out of our tiny minds? Screwing like rabid minks?"
*Too much information,* part of Scott's brain said, and retreated to a corner to gibber at the mental imagery. The rest of him digested her words quite calmly, and manipulated the appropriate muscles to produce a faint smile.
"Something like that," he agreed. "Since you and my son are so. . .close, I just thought it might be nice for us to talk. You know, more than the usual mumbling over coffee after breakfast. . ."
*Did that sound too paternal?* he wondered frantically. *That might have sounded threatening. The 'my son' bit, especially. . .*
Domino smiled broadly. "What would you like to talk about?" But there was a bit of an edge to her voice, and Scott winced, hearing it.
He'd been afraid of this. She was such a private person; he didn't need to know her very well to see that. Her coolly professional demeanor with anyone other than Nathan and the X-Force kids was the most visible sign, but there were others. He'd noticed them; he'd been watching.
"I just thought we might get to know each other," he persisted bravely. *Why do I feel like I'm taking my life in my hands?* "You've known him for longer than I have, technically. . ."
"Now you're making me feel old," she snorted. "TECHNICALLY, Nate and I have been running around overthrowing Third World governments and flonqing each other silly at regular intervals for as long as you and the other 'originals' have been X- Men. Or maybe longer."
"Overthrowing. . ." Scott swallowed. Of course they'd have been doing things like that. They were mercenaries. . .had been mercenaries. . .very GOOD mercenaries. . .well, as good as mercenaries could be, and it really depended on your definition of good, didn't it? Skilled. That was better. Skilled. Right. Okay. . .
"You're really not very comfortable with that part of his past, are you?" Domino asked, arching an eyebrow elegantly.
"Um. . ."
"I mean, I do understand. There's not much about Nate that IS comfortable." Domino's smile was slightly malicious, and Scott sighed.
"True," he admitted. "I sometimes think he likes it that way, too."
"Of course he does. Except for the rare times when he feels guilty for being such a perverse son of a bitch. You learn to take advantage of those opportunities, eventually." Domino peered down the barrel of her gun, and Scott shuddered. She glanced up at him and snorted. "It's not loaded, Summers."
"Good to know," Scott said, and looked longingly at the door. Why had he thought this would be such a good idea?
"I know that look."
"What look?" Scott blurted out before he thought about it.
Domino smiled slyly. "That look. The 'I wish I could go back and redo the last five minutes' look. Nathan gets it regularly. Only I'm not completely sure he doesn't do it, in the end. I mean, it's pretty suspicious when one minute he looks like he wants to hide and the next, he's giving you the 'I know something you don't know' smirk. . ."
Scott's mind flinched wildly away from the concept. "You don't really think he. . ."
"Sometimes," Domino admitted mischievously. "Especially when he jokes about 'making time' to do such and such. Kind of boggles the mind, doesn't it?"
"Um. . .yes."
"Better not to think about it, that's my philosophy. And definitely best not to ask."
Scott thought about it for a few moments. Sounded like a definite plan, he decided finally. "Domino?" he asked after another long pause.
"Yeah?"
"Is he happy?"
She looked up at him, her eyes widening slightly with something that looked like surprise. "Happy," she murmured finally, a faintly wistful smile flickering across her features. "Sometimes. Usually when he doesn't think anyone's watching." Scott stared down at her, not sure what to make of her words, and her smile returning, growing. "Look, you want to get some coffee? After all, when you're talking about Nate, that's not a bad place to start."
fin