On The Stairs

by DuAnn Cowart

Standard disclaimers apply. Adult language in this one, as are references to adult situations.

No children, please. This is a follow-up to Kaylee's In the Bushes, which is a follow-up to Alicia McKenzie's By the Lake. The former deals with an assignation between Cable and Bishop, the latter Domino's impressions after accidentally observing it. This story picks up immediately where Kaylee's left off.

I have sought and obtained permission from both to continue this tale.

Appropriately, this story is dedicated to Alicia and Jaya, two of the finest human beings I know. If you think it's easy writing after those two, you're sorely mistaken.

The heavy oak door slammed behind him, punctuating his mood perfectly. 'Shit,' Cable thought wearily, desperately hoping the sound would go unnoticed in the quiet of the night. 'I just want to get a shower and go to sleep. I'm exhausted.'

A quick glance at the foyer's huge grandfather clock told him the time. He grimaced, face twisting in an ugly snarl. Damn, it was late. Late in the night, late in his life. . . didn't really make much of a difference, did it? The ornate hands of the clock still kept ticking, stuttering out the passing of seconds and minutes and hours and days, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Tonight had proven that.

Nothing ever changed. No matter how hard he railed against it, time was still tossing them all in its merciless tide. History would still come to pass. The skies would darken with pollution, the oceans would sour with acid, and the people's hearts would turn to stone under the command of a ruthless monster.

And he was the only one who knew.

Tonight hadn't helped at all.

The heavy sense of foreboding that had been pressing on him lately was nothing new- he'd struggled against it in one form or another ever since he'd been old enough to realize the oppression of the destiny that was his to bear. Tonight, though- the melancholy had become almost tangible, the darkness a living thing- and he'd had to escape the well-meaning walls of the mansion to take solace alone by the lake.

Not alone for long, though.

Nathan swallowed tightly, thinking of the events that had driven him to the lake tonight. The tension with Domino since their return from Israel, the battle with Shaw and X-Force, their trip to the future- still staring blankly at the clock, he felt his heart squeeze inside his chest. Their trip to the future- that was the heart of his turmoil, he knew.

Born in this century, raised three thousand years later, frequent visitor of ages inbetween, he was a child of time. When he'd had the technology to do so, he'd frequently revisited the future to restock weaponry, surf the databanks, to just take a rest from the chaos and myopic self-destruction of the twentieth century. He'd even occaisionally run into old friends on those visits to his future.

But in all those trips, he'd never seen. . . her. Aliya, the wife who had died in his arms. She'd died, he'd lived, and that was that. He'd had to reconcile himself to that fact and go on alone, struggling against the future and the past in order to ensure a different destiny. That was the only way he could manage it, manage the pain and loss that still haunted him. That was his past. He'd never even allowed himself to look at holovids of her, forcibly closing the door on those days, those memories, forever. Or at least he thought he had.

But even the most guarded soul has cracks, and someone had found his. In Domino, he'd found a worthy partner, someone to watch his back and challenge his mind, even someone to share his bed, a true companion and a friend. And he thought that was enough. Gradually, though, the trust and confidence he felt for her had begun to grow, evolve, mature into something far deeper and stronger than mere friendship. He hadn't even noticed it at first, so subtle were the emotions building between them. Neither had she.

Until it was too late.

He and Domino had become closer than ever- so close it scared him, really, so close that they had both drawn back from the intensity of the feelings that lay so near the surface. Then came Israel- their admissions in the desert had frightened them both, he knew- shaken up the status quo, confirmed what they'd both suspected for so long.

And stab both their eyes, they'd run. He skirted the issue every time she brought their relationship up, and shechanged the subject every time he even obliquely mentioned what had happened. The tension between them had grown so thick with what lay unsaid that every morning when he woke up he half-expected to find her gone.

He didn't know what he'd do if that happened. He didn't know how to go about stopping it.

And then came the fatal blow- their trip back to his future. It had come completely unexpected- to be pulled back without time to prepare himself for the trip had been difficult enough. But to see Aliya again- looking so damn young and idealistic, even more beautiful than he remembered, so flonquing certain that she they were going to win, when, Oath, he knew better-

It was enough to make a man give up.

All during the trip, he'd been forced to pretend not to know what would happen. Not to know how horribly they'd die. He'd been a good soldier and put on the strong cabable face his Clansmen had expected of him, and had watched the inevitable happen. He'd let Aliya go- again- knowing that this time the farewell was forever. He'd done what he'd had to do- no matter that his heart was breaking inside him.

After all, what did one man matter when measured against the ocean of time?

And Domino had seen it all, seen his heartbreak at the replay of his loss and misinterpreted it as a rejection of her. Flonq, it was more than he could bear.

Their relationship, already weakened by emotions brought to the surface but not allowed any further, had suffered greatly from that it. He'd tried to explain to her that it wasn't so, that he still cared for her just as much as ever, but he couldn't find the words. How could he tell her what he felt? There was no way he could possibly explain the aching sense of loss and loneliness, the weight of centuries on his shoulders. No one would understand. She *couldn't* understand, not without prying deeper, looking further inside him into places he didn't want anyone to see.

She'd gotten too close already. And, damn it, he had other things to worry about.

His deadline to Apocalypse was drawing closer, he knew. For several years now he'd felt it, felt the faint tugging on his heart and his mind that had grown increasingly more powerful as time progressed, soft voices, then a whisper, now a scream, sounding from deep within in hauntingly familiar tones. Voices that woke him in the middle of the night that spoke of prophecies and destiny, of duty and obligation, of the holocaust that would ensue if the Chosen One failed in his task.

He couldn't fail. His entire life had been shaped precisely for this battle- if he were to fail, millions of people- and one woman- would have perished for nothing. Death would prevail, and the inhuman monster with cold Egyptian eyes and mocking mercury features would again stand triumphant over humanity.

It was the single most important thing in his life. Over the years, through all he'd been through, through all the loss and death, he'd struggled it, ran from it, but eventually come to accept that this final meeting would take place. It was his destiny.

Through his time in the century of his birth the granite walls he'd locked this secret behind had eroded, slowly worn through by the trust and companionship and love of the one thing time couldn't stop- the strength of human relationships. And so, when the warmth and beauty of this relatively idyllic time had worn through his cold shell, he'd gradually revealed what happened in the future from where he'd come in an effort to seek aid and just possibly understanding for some of the atrocities he'd been forced to commit. Some of them had seen glimpses of it personally- Garrison and Dom, Scott and Jean- but none had seen point blank the horror he knew awaited them all if the present course of history wasn't averted.

So, he told them, told those that wore the X of what was to come, told them why he was who he was, why he had to do what he must.

*And no one seemed to care*.

Oh, sure, they made the appropriate responses, offered support and comfort, but he knew, he *knew*, that no one took him seriously- or rather, they took him seriously, but were powerless to do anything about it. After all, that future was thousands of years away, and the timestream was malleable. Nathan's past- his life- was just another branch off the timestream, just another possible timeline full of death and despair and destruction. To people jaded and cynical of days of future past, his history and what he knew was to come was nothing more than another sad potentiality to be shrugged off and, if worst came to worst, eventually faced when it got there.

They understood nothing. They didn't even try. Closing his eyes, working through the maelstrom of emotions, in this at least honest with himself, he had to correct himself. That wasn't entirely true.

She had tried. Domino tried. Throughout all the years together, this melancholy darkness and ebbed and receded, a grim pattern of depression only exacerbated by the knowledge of the impending resolution of his heart's desire. Throughout all the years, at least since he'd been in this time, she'd been there to help, to comfort, to do her best to understand.

It hadn't been easy for either one of them. Swollen with secrets, he'd been damn possessive of his pain, not willing to voluntarily share any of it. It had been her constant respect for his privacy, her unwillingness to share her own painful secrets that had unwittingly slipped through the cracks in his walls, breaking through the barriers to share and eventually learn to trust again. And he'd done the same to her. As fellow soldiers, as partners, as friends and eventually as lovers, they'd come to share an unlikely, powerful bond. So he could share the incredibly burden of his destiny with her, and though she didn't understand, she believed in him, wrapped her arms around him, held him close when he cried, then soothed the tears with a soft, warm love that was the antithesis of the biting, acerbic mercenary she was in the field. This revelation of trust, this unconditional acceptance, got him through the worst bouts of the depression wrought by the knowledge of what was to come, and it had lasted. Even after the Pack broke up, even after years apart, when they'd finally rejoined after that debacle with Vanessa, the trust had still been there.

He could have shared this with her, and the darkness would have eventually passed. But now, there was so much more to it than that. Now, with all that had gone on between them, with the dangerous metamorphasis from friends and partners to so much more, they tiptoed around the electric line they'd drawn between them, both terrified they'd eventually cross it and have to reveal that which had been unsaid for so long. There was no way in hell he could burden her with this right now, not when the distance between them had grown so far and so short at the same time. Not when a revelation of this kind of intimacy would be sure to plunge them into those familiar waters that both feared were far, far too deep for wounded souls such as they.

So, tonight, he'd gone out by the lake to be alone. The melancholy had grown to much to bear, and he had gone off to muse and brood and wear it down as he always did, alone.

And then he'd found Bishop. Or, rather, Bishop had found him. And Bishop was everything Dom was not, and he knew of being in the unique position of bearing responsibility for the future.

Bishop knew about a lot of unique positions, come to think about it.

Turning away from the clock, he pressed his hand flat against the wall, bracing himself against darkness and a guilty exhaustion. What did it matter, anyway? He was a grown man. He made his choices, made his decisions, knew what he wanted out of his life and how to get it. What is, is, right?

And if that were true, why did he still feel so damn guilty?

He should feel *better*, damn it! Tonight, he'd at least found someone who understood, someone who'd shared some measure of his frustration. In Bishop he'd found something of a kindred spirit, another time tossed warrior stranded in this century, another intensely private man who was hurting almost as badly as he was. Even if the younger man couldn't understand the magnitude of Cable's pain, he at least understood the essence of it, and that should have been enough. He'd understood, and shared, and had helped him put aside the familiar helplessness and futility long enough to step outside of himself and just breathe.

That should have been enough. It hadn't been. Oath, he'd *needed* it to be, needed to release the pain and the anger and loneliness that welled inside him so badly that he did the unexpected and . . . took comfort in a stranger.

A stranger who actually had some idea of what he was going through, a stranger who knew what he meant when he spoke of the responsibility of a future resting on his shoulders. A stranger he'd held in his arms and hid from himself with, physical desires blinding him to everything else while he stepped outside of himself for just a moment. It let him put aside the pain, ignore destiny long enough to just let his body take over.

Just like he used to do with Dom, before they'd both began to care, before the easy physicality he'd shared tonight with Bishop had become too much with her. Before the the thirst he slaked was stronger than the fire that burned between them.

There wasn't much chance of that happening with Bishop, he thought grimly. No matter what had happened tonight, the man was still a stranger. Cable closed his eyes, examining his motivations closely. Bishop was. . . a fellow soldier, a comrade. Someone who knew the unique isolation of the time lost, certainly, but not a friend, and certainly not a lover. Not. . . anything, really.

And Cable had used him as surely as the hands of the clock kept the steady rhythm of the time that bound him.

Disgusted with himself, Nathan made his way quietly across the room. Resting his hand on the bannister, he paused at the base of the stairs, mentally and physically exhausted. 'I'm too damn old for this.'

Eyes focused on the tops of his boots, he began trudging up the stairs, grimacing as a wooden step creaked loudly underneath him.

That's when it happened. Something bright flashed in his peripheral vision, and he instinctively glanced up to see what it was.

Standing at the top of the stairs, pale skin dappled by the wan moonlight streaming in from the upper windows, *she* looked down at him. Left side still bandaged from Shatterstar's attack, rumpled dark hair spilling loose down her back, she looked at him, and he felt his heart freeze in his chest. Violet eyes haunted and knowing, stance taut and uneasy, she stared at him, looking him squarely in the eyes for the first time in weeks, and his blood turned to ice.

She just stared at him, and in the shaded depths of her eyes he saw knowledge, cold and certain. Their psilink, which had been quiet all night, erupted in a blaze of emotion, and he staggered backwards, shook by the power and fury emanating from her. He had no idea how she'd managed to hide feelings as intense as the ones arcing between them from him, but from the look in her eyes, the feel of her thoughts, one thing was for certain.

She knew. Oh, hell, she knew.

His hand dropped to his side, and his lips parted to speak, but no sound came out. Unable to bear the terrible violet gaze, he looked away, rubbing his stinging eyes. "Dom," he whispered hoarsely, throat working convulsively.

Like waters bursting through a broken dam, he felt her hurt and frustration and betrayal come coursing down their psilink, and when she finally spoke, her voice was strange, curiously distant. Without looking away from him, she whispered softly, in a voice of thunder sheathed in silk, "I saw you."

Standing at the top of the stairs, watching Cable fumble through the dark room, Domino felt the a faint ripple of frustration, and ground her teeth impatiently.

'Soon. He'll be here soon, and we can get this thing over with.' Heart pounding within her chest, she felt her stomach twist in nervousness, and she gently laid a hand on the wooden bannister to steady herself.

He was here. He was here, and he'd done what he'd done, and there was no way she could pretend things were as they had been any longer. She'd seen him, felt her heart break inside her chest, and knew she had to do it.

She had to do it. She had to come out and actually say the words, force herself to overcome her own walls of isolation and self containment, and actually confront him with the meeting they'd both been avoiding so long. Running her uninjured hand compulsively through her hair, she exhaled sharply.

She had to tell him how she felt. She'd finally convinced herself of the necessity of it, and now she just had to do it. She really had no choice.

But before she could do that, though, first of all she had to admit it to herself. And tonight, after what she'd seen, after her hidden feelings and frustrations had been so brutally brought to light, she didn't know if she could truly express the depth and complexity of her feelings toward the man who'd shared her life for so long.

The same man who had betrayed her tonight, betrayed her with his body, betrayed her by choice and by design. What hurt worse than the physical act, though, what hurt far worse than the acid images of Nathan in Bishop's arms, Nathan so coldly passionate, so restrained and so free at the same time, was the knowledge, the persistant memory of the words he'd shared, the hearts pain he'd poured out, the secrets exposed.

He'd spilled his heart out to Bishop tonight. He'd released his pent up frustrations to the other man, sharing the grim melancholy that had followed him like a cloud everywhere he went, finally stepping back and letting his true feelings show.

It was a familiar pattern. The weight of destiny bore heavy on his shoulders, she knew, the pressure of the ridiculous role of 'Chosen One' weighing him down so that even his unbreakable spirit was bent. She knew. She knew, because she'd helped him through it. Just as her demons sometimes climbed out of their cages, crawling and screaming and bludgeoning her with the dark nightmares that made up her past, so did his. Just as he helped soothe her soul, she had his. The only difference was she dreamed of horrors past. He dreamed of those yet to come.

She knew all this, because for so many years she'd been the only one he'd turned to to get him through the dark times, through the depression until the inevitable light shone through again.

Tonight had been different. Tonight, in Bishop's arms, he'd taken all that away. Bishop meant nothing to him, she had intuitively known, and the passionate detachment in his face had only proven that. Somehow, someway, that made it worse. By baring his soul to a stranger, he'd cheapened the trust they'd shared, turning it into nothing more than sex and words, cheap and flat and futile, and that was what hurt worst of all.

Through the years, throughout their tumultous on again, off again relationship, throughout the wars and the blood and the sweat and the sex, one thing had remained constant. They'd trusted each other. Even after the Yucatan, even after Stryfe, she'd still trusted him, and she had been the one he'd turned to when he needed help forming X-Force. When he'd realized that witch Vanessa's deception, he'd come to her aid, just as she had his countless times over the last two decades. He was the only one left in the world she'd fully trust to watch her back.

She'd always knew he'd felt the same. There was never any need to press the point. She had her life, he had his, and it seemed they had all the time in the world. No matter the tension that lay between them, no matter the strain and the emotions and the tightly repressed chords of longing that sounded between them, she knew she trusted him, she knew he'd never betray her. He was the only one she turned to, and she thought he felt the same.

Until tonight. Tonight, he'd watched someone else's back, and spurned that trust, and it had been all she could do to keep their psi-link silent through her rage.

Face set in a grim line, she stared down at the dark figure at the base of the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage and stepped into the pale moonlight, arching a raven brow and waiting for the inevitable.

His chin jerked around, and tired eyes opened wide in surprise. Through their link, she felt a wordless, questioning touch, and stunned by the depth of the anger inside her, quickly shut herself off from it. Staring down at him, she struggled to contain the words that wanted to come, instead crystalizing her pain and rage and betrayal into three cold words.

"I saw you," she whispered, and the world narrowed to just the two of them.

He flinched involuntarily at the raw pain in her voice, and had no choice but to turn away. Lowering himself to sit heavily on the stairs, he rested sore elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. He exhaled, broad shoulders slumped in defeat. "I. . .know."

A long moment passed, then he heard her light footsteps slowly descending down the staircase. He saw her shadow pause behind him, then reach out hesitantly, slim hand hovering just above his shoulder. He held himself very still, afraid that any movement, no matter how slight, would send her away. He needn't have bothered. She roughly yanked her hand back as if scalded by boiling water, and stood there, trembling, staring down at him, then gingerly lowered herself to sit down on the next step up from the one he had claimed.

Biting his lip, Nathan shifted slightly, angling his shoulders to see her better. With the added advantage of an extra step's height, they were almost eye level. In the quiet of the night, he looked at his partner, the woman who'd shared his life in one way or another for the last two decades, and saw the changes the night had wrought in her. Tiny lines lines marred porcelain skin, violet eyes were red-rimmed and damp, and her aristocratic nose was red and raw. Full lips were set in a grim line, and her features were set in determination.

She looked ready to cry. She looked ready to fight. He could only imagine what she had seen.

'Dom-' he sent tentatively, repressed psilink bristling at the pent up emotion. 'I'm so-'

"No!" She growled, cutting him off. Her hand came down sharply, banging against her thigh for emphasis. Drawing in a deep breath, visibly fighting for composure, she growled, "No psilink, not tonight. You're not getting off that easy. I want *words*, Nate."

"Words," he repeated, a bit bewildered. What the hell did words have to do with anything when she'd seen what she'd seen?

"Words," She nodded curtly, eyes narrowing to dark slits. "I want fucking *words* from you. I deserve that much, at least."

To that he had no answer. Seconds stretched into minutes, and the silence between them grew louder, the tension stronger.

"Doesn't matter what you say," she prodded, that strange cold certainty still in her eyes. "I'm tired of tiptoeing around this, Nate. Here I am. Here you are. Talk."

"What do you want me to say?" He asked awkwardly, fighting the urge to squirm.

"Doesn't matter," she lifted her chin, examining his smudged face and dirty clothing, nostrils flaring in anger. "I don't think there's too much you *can* say to me right now that will make much of a difference. I just want to hear it from you." The flames were crystal again, cold and clear and cutting, and she took refuge behind the anger.

The barbed words struck him him flat in the face, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping back. "Hear *what*?"

"Hear you tell me just why the hell you did it," she growled. 'Tell me, you son of a bitch, tell me why the hell you'd give that to him. Tell me why the hell you'd throw that all away.'

"I. . . don't know." His voice was soft, almost child-like, and despite her anger she felt a rush of empathy for how very alone he felt, the sensations amplified by the damnable link between them, the link she'd tried all night to shut herself away from, the link he'd been too damn self-absorbed to notice. Too self-absorbed, and then too damn busy with other matters. Too damn busy running away from himself to notice anyone trying to ground him.

"Don't know what?" She asked quietly, holding herself very still, waiting for the answer, knowing nothing he could say would matter.

He closed his eyes, darkness and guilt swirling inside him. Looking up at her, he whispered, "I. . . don't know if I can."

She sat up straighter, cheeks flush with barely held in rage. She spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully, looking him straight in the eyes as she spoke. "You don't know if you can? Trust me, buddy boy, if I can sit here and not rip your fucking lungs out right now, you can bring yourself to talk to me about just what the hell you said to him."

Nathan jumped, startled by the vehemence in her words, and his left eye flashed golden with irritation. With great effort, he inhaled deeply, and managed to answer in a neutral tone "We. . .talked about time travel. About the difficulties of the adjusting to this century, about the. . .uncertainty and futility of trying to mold the future. About how damn heavy the pressure can be."

"Bullshit." Her voice was a slap,a contemptuous, stinging drawl.

"What?" He jerked back as if stunned.

"Don't give me that Cliffs Notes shit, Nate. I know what *what* you said." She paused, and there was a slight crack in her thin veneer of self control. "I was there, remember?"

He swallowed, "Actually, I don't. . ."

She interrupted before he could finish. "No, as I recall, you were otherwise occupied." Not acknowledging the pained expression on his face, she leaned forward, face twisted in a snarl. "What I want you to tell me is WHY you said those words to him! You gave him your bloody soul tonight, Nate, when I was *there*, I was *there* for you. What I want to know is *why* you did it, you selfish prick? WHY?" She demanded, breathing heavily, livid with anger.

"I. . .didn't. . . give him my soul." Cable grated defensively through a clenched jaw, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to handle this attack that he knew would surely come.

"No? It sure looked like it from where I was standing!" Visibily struggling for self-control, she paused, raising a hand to halt him until she'd regained her composure. "Nathan- I was going out there tonight to talk to you, did you know that? I knew something was bothering you, and I was going out there to see if I could help. Stupid me, eh?" She laughed humorlessly, and flicked at a nonexistent speck of lint on her shirt.

"Dom, I didn't know. . ." He ran a hand through tangled silver hair, a concrete lump lodged in his throat.

"Didn't know what? That you could talk to me? That I was fucking here for you?" Her voice rose dangerously as the dark emotions snowballed, anger raging wild and bright inside. "You didn't *know*? You didn't know that even after everything else that has happened between us lately, I still care? You think I don't *know* when you're hurting? Please." The last words dripped scorn. "Give me *some* credit, *Cable*. You're a telepath. We have a fucking *psi-link*. Don't tell me you don't know."

Already weary and on edge, already exhausted by the evening and the pain and weight of the realization of futility, his own dark frustrations bubbled over, and her hypocrisy was too much to bear. He could no longer control the anger her recriminations provoked, and left eye blazing in the darkness, he lashed out, "And how the hell am I supposed to know that? You think the psi-link's a magic gauge into your soul? WRONG! You've closed yourself off from me so completely that I can barely even sense your presence anymore! You won't look at me! You can't stand to be in the same flonquing *room* as me anymore, Domino, so how the hell am I supposed to know that you want to help? How do you expect me to know anything about you anymore?!?"

Incensed, every muscle quivering in fury, she snapped "And since you couldn't get it from me, you'll get it wherever you can? Give me a fucking break! I'm not the only one in this little party who's been avoiding the subject of us lately, so don't even *try* that with me! We've gone through too much shit to play those games." She closed her eyes and looked away, and murmured in a quiet voice, "I thought you knew me better than that."

He grabbed her good shoulder and spun her around to face him, answering plaintively, "I did. I *do*! Dammit, Dom, what do you want me to say?"

"You have a hell of a way of showing it," she spat bitterly, and jerked away from his grasp.

White hot anger boiled inside him, spilling over the ragged edges of his self control. "Maybe I do, but where the hell do *you* get off lecturing me about it? *You're* hardly the poster child for openness yourself, *Domino*!"

"Yeah, and you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Nate? You were so honest and open tonight that your new best friend Bishop probably thinks you're a regular Phil Donahue!" Chin jutting out in anger, she raised a hand against the bannister for support and pressed on. "What are you going to do when he realizes that last night was just fun and games?" Breathing deeply, hoping the sarcasm would disguise the acid wounds of a heart ripped straight from her chest, she mocked "Or am I witnessing the beginning of a beautiful friendship between you two?"

Cable's left eye flashed angrily in the darkness, and he whispered very softly, very coldly, in words aimed to wound, "At least he's not so busy hiding from himself that he can't take a chance on something else."

"Fuck you!" she growled low in her her throat, all pretense of civility gone.

"Too late," he hissed, and was rewarded by a look of absolute shock on her face.

Balling up a fist, she punched him right in the stomach in one smooth, liquid motion, pulling back with a look of pure satisfaction on his face. Cable, completely unprepared for the blow, doubled over, grabbing his stomach for support. Reaching out, snarling at her, he shot out one thick arm to block her next blow, capturing her slim wrist in one hand. In low, raspy tones, he growled "Don't. Do. That. Again."

"Or what?" Her lips curled in disgust. "Just what the hell will you do, Nate? Do you think *anything* you can do to me will hurt as bad as seeing you out there like that?"

Muttering an Askani curse under his breath, he stood, glowering down at her, afraid of what he might stay if he remained. "This *isn't* the time to get into it, Domino. I'll see you in the morning." Stepping around her, he began climbing the stairs toward his room.

Before he got past her, she reached out, and angrily grabbed his arm. Looking up at him, she bit her lip, and snarled "Don't you *dare* walk away from me! We're talking about this right now, you son of a bitch!"

"No! *You're* talking about this! *I'm* going to bed!" Pulling his arm away, he turned from her again, turning his back to her, closing his eyes against the guilt and regret.

In a low, quiet voice, she murmured, "Go. Go, you fuckin' coward, walk away. Walk away from your problems, walk away from me." He paused, and she could see tense back muscles bunch under his shirt. "Go," she continued softly, "Just don't expect me to be here when you come back."

He stopped short where he was, then slowly pivoted so he again faced the wall. Staring at his profile, watching the play of emotions on his lined face, she sighed.

He raised a silver hand and rubbed his brow, muttering, "Dom, don't do this. Don't do this to me now."

"Do this to *you*?" Her voice was low, incredulous, and caught him in her pain.

"Don't do this to *us*, then." His face crumpled slightly, but he bore on, turning to face her, raising his hands palm up imploringly. "Can't this wait until morning? Please? Can we talk about this then?"

Her words were cold, snappish, sharp as knives. "No, it can't. Forgive me if I don't want to discuss this at the breakfast table with you asking Bishop to please pass the butter."

He sighed, looking at the floor. "Why are you making this so hard?"

She exploded. "Do you think this is *easy* for me, asshole? Do you think I *like* sitting here in the dark while you still have his smell on you?" Dark eyes glittering in mad ire, she persisted, and he *felt* her pain, felt it through their link as if it were his own. It *was* his own. "Do you think I *enjoy* the thought of the two of you, talking and kissing and fucking in the grass? I sure hope you do, because when I close my eyes that's all I see!" She drew a ragged breath, and muttered, "Maybe I'm *not* the most open person in the world, Nate, but you above all people should know why!"

Cable groaned aloud, and banged a hand against the wall in frustration, voice rising in confused frustration, all thoughts of leaving gone. "NO! I don't know why! You won't flonquing *tell* me why! We've been together so long, and we've shared so much, but every time we get too close you shut me out! *Why*, Dom?" His voice broke, but he plunged on, riding the wave of real emotion past the hopelessness and inertia of the futility and despair that was haunting him so. "Why do you always turn me away? I'm here. Dammit, I'm here! What more do you want from me?"

"I want you not to have fucked *Bishop*, of all people," she snapped, white hot fury rising in her like the tide, forcing out the truth, forcing out the feelings she'd hidden so long.

'This is it,' she told herself, and with a sharp exhale the words came pouring out, steam venting from the furnace inside her. "I want things like they were! I want us to trust each other, turn to each other. Dammit, I want you to have turned to me when you needed that help, but there's nothing I can do about that, now, is there?" Her voice was razor sharp, and she used it as a weapon, tearing her way through his defenses, not caring for the moment that every word sliced open her soul as well. "It's too late for that, though. Damn! What the *hell* were you thinking, Nate?"

Their link reverberated again with her anger, swallowing him up in her pain, and underneath it all ran a very real layer of betrayal and fear, and in that moment her heart lay exposed for him to see. Cable's anger evaporated instantly. He'd hurt her. He'd hurt her deeply, and this was the only way she knew to respond to it. His whole body slumped in defeat, and with great effort he replied, "I. . .wasn't. That's the point, Dom. . . I wasn't thinking," he said in a faltering voice. "No matter what you think you saw out there, what you think you heard, this wasn't about . . . him."

"Then *why*, Nate?" She looked up at him, and he could see the naked vulnerability in her eyes, echoed by the pounding pulsebeat of her heartbeat, perfectly in synch with his own.

Inwardly writhing, Cable looked away and gave her the only truth he could. "I didn't plan it. It just happened, Dom, it just happened!"

She winced, and he swore under his breath, cursing his choice of words. Instead of the honesty she'd shown him, he'd answered as he always did, with obsfucation and half-truths. She questioned roughly, "It just happened? What the hell does that mean? You tripped and fell on top of him?"

Her words struck his soul, ignited the last sparks of helplessness and frustration within him, and the rage was back as swiftly as it had come. "It means it just happened! Dammit, why the hell am I justifying myself to you anyway? What right do you have to tell me what to do with my life?"

Domino threw her hand in the air, grunting in satisfaction. "Good fucking question! That's it! For once in your entire screwed up life, you've hit the nail on the head! What right *do* I have? You tell me, Nate. You tell me."

"I. . ." He couldn't answer.

She snorted, then looked away, running a hand through her hair and flipping it over her right shoulder, the long dark length of it hanging between them like a shroud. "That's what I thought."

Sucking on a bruised lip, Cable crossed his arms tightly over his chest, then turned back to face her. "Dom. Dom, don't. Just don't. This isn't about Bishop. We may have a similar background, but he doesn't understand me any better than. . ." he trailed off, unable to finish the statement.

"I do?" She asked softly, and he felt the hurt in her voice.

"No!" He cried, voice hoarse with exhaustion and emotion. "No! Damn you, woman, don't you understand, this was about *me*, this had nothing to do with you. . ."

Her lips pursed. "Liar," she whispered, and her eyes glittered in the dim light. "If this had nothing to do with us, you would have come to me like you used to, remember, for a quick cry and a quick fuck? You'd have come to *me*, Nate."

He didn't answer. He couldn't. She was right.

She swallowed tightly, and summoning her courage, pushed aside the rage and indignation, ignored the screaming betrayal that had grabbed her insides with a cold fist and still hadn't let go. Ignoring all that, ignoring the hollow, empty feeling inside her, she asked quietly, "Why *didn't* you come to me? Have we . . . drifted that far apart?"

He looked up at her, and answered honestly, despair shadowing grey eyes filled with pain. "I don't know, Dom. I. . . don't know. I don't know what to think, what to feel, what to do. . Dammit, Dom, I just don't flonqing KNOW anymore!"

A brief pause, then, unbelievably, she smiled. Not a laugh, not even a grin, but a wry upturning of the corners of her mouth. She shook her head sadly, and murmured "That's the first honest thing you've said all night." Feeling her heart twist at the raw pain in his voice, she swallowed tightly, and then choked in a small, sad voice, "So I'll return the favor- I don't know, either, Nate. After what I saw, after what I heard- I don't know, either."

The clock struck five, the low chimes counting off the hours of the night. Nathan just stared at it, unable to speak. Standing there facing each other on the stairs, they mirrored each others' pose, arms crossed protectively, staring at the floor.

Time ticked on, and neither spoke.

"Then I guess there's really nothing left to say, is there?" Domino broke the silence, her low clear voice bleak and small. "I'll be gone by the morning." When he didn't answer, she slowly drew herself up, raising a hand to rest it lightly on his shoulder for just a moment, squeezing it lightly. His flesh burned hot even through the thick shirt, and she fought back tears, made her face and voice cold and impassive, ice outside to match the fire within. "Tell the kids. . . never mind, they know how I feel." He didn't say anything, just nodded miserably, and she turned to walk away.

She was walking away. She was walking away from him, like she always did, and he was letting her. After all the years together, all the trust and friendship and heartache and, yes, love, she was walking away, and he was watching her go.

He hadn't really expected anything else. He'd known she'd find out about tonight- maybe not so soon, maybe not right now, but eventually, and he'd known he'd have to make answer for it.

He didn't know if he could. He'd had reasons for what he'd done, necessity and release combined in one shuddering evening in the bushes, but in the back of his mind he'd always known what he was doing. He'd known the path he'd gone down tonight would eventually lead to this destination.

Heart pounding in his chest, he raised a hand to stop her, but instead, closing his eyes, feeling the weight and pressure and flat grey depression that was his constant companion as of late, he let it fall. Dropping his chin to his chest, gasping at the emptiness and pain he felt there, he drew one shuddering breath, and then let her go. 'It's better for her this way,' he told himself miserably, fighting for breath as the crushing weight on his chest magnified tenfold.

Sensing his decision, she nodded, and without looking back, she squared her shoulders, chin held high, and began ascending the staircase. Despite that, despite the rage and the pain and the abandonment, the hole in her soul she knew she'd never fill, at least it was over, and she knew. Though she'd live without him, though they'd be apart, she finally knew, the horrible indecision and anxiety that had worn at her like an ulcer in her heart had vanished.

Glancing over her shoulder at his hunched over figure, she raised a hand to her mouth, and felt the weight of her years. Inhaling deeply, she stretched out her hand, and whispered "'Bye, Nate. It was fun." When he didn't answer, she swallowed tightly and she slipped around him and to begin the long trek upwards towards the rest of her life.

Nathan watched her go, watched slim shoulders square in determination, watched long black hair flip over her shoulders, and felt his heart crumble to ash within him. Despite his rationalizing, despite the rage and anger she provoked in him, she was leaving, and he was letting her go. In that moment, realization struck, and he then knew that no matter what battles he might win, what he might accomplish, nothing mattered more to him in the world than the thought that he was losing another woman he loved, not to the horror of war, but to the darkness of his own fears.

Domino, shoulders squared against the future, heard a slight rustle, and whirled around to see Nathan standing just below her, and in his eyes she saw something she hadn't seen in a very long time. "Dom," he croaked, and in his deep voice she heard something long lost, something she thought he'd forgotten. In his voice she heard hope.

"Please don't go."

Swallowing tightly, she looked up at him, and he could see damp violet eyes gleam in the pale light of the moon. "Why?" she whispered softly, wanting, needing to know the truth.

Still, though, he couldn't bring himself to say the truth. "The kids need you," he temporized, holding her gaze with his, fighting for time.

She shook her head wryly, fighting the hysterical urge to laugh. "Try again, Nate," she whispered, and in her voice there was both a promise and a warning. This was it. They'd both known deep down this day would eventually come, and now, both dangerously outside of their respective shells, both wounded and hurting from harsh words and harsher actions, future teetering on a thread.

Knowing her decision hung on his next words, he drew deep within himself, past the gray depression and weight of a lifetime of wary conditioning, and told her the truth. "*I* need you," he swallowed, eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

Domino, unaware that she'd been holding in a breath, released it in a long exhale. "You stupid son of a bitch, was that so hard?" She asked in a soft voice, completely shocked by the about face, stunned by the openness she felt through their link, the vulnerability mirrored in his face.

"Yes," he answered honestly, smiling for the first time that night. "You?" He stretched out a hand to hers, palm open in invitation.

She didn't answer, just nodded shakily, still not quite sure what was happening. Still reeling from the events of the night, knowing the pain and betrayal of tonight's events wouldn't be so easily resolved, she drew back slightly, warning "No promises, Nate. This isn't over. I don't. . . tonight was. . .it's gonna take a long time, Nate, a long time until I can get over this. . .If I even can."

"I know," he said softly, and the hazy mists surrounding his heart slowly disipated as he felt their link slowly open again. "But I'm willing to try, if you are."

Reaching past the pain and betrayal, tapping into the golden possibilities of what they might be, she smiled, and murmured softly, "Then what are we waiting for?"

Slipping her hand into his, she let him help her up, and together they ascended the stairs.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Not as the world gives, give I unto you. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. -John 14:27

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