Ephemeral
by Alicia McKenzie
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is set in the same what-if timeline as my earlier stories, Clarity and Tangible Light. It can stand on its own, though. All you basically need to know is that Cable fought Apocalypse and won, but lost his sight.
Tell me something, Nathan. If you had to do it again, would you? Was it worth it, in the end?
That little bone-girl asked you that question already. I remember what you said to her. And yes, I was watching that day, too.
*I would have traded a lot more than my sight to see Apocalypse dead.*
No expression. Not even a smile. Just a statement of fact.
I like to think that I know how to hate. But I don’t think I’ve felt anything, in either of my ‘lives’, like you felt for Apocalypse.
There was something almost. . .pure about it. Like it was a holy cause, and you were some kind of time-traveling crusader.
Where’s that hate now, Nathan? It shaped your whole life; how did you let go of it so easily? Or did it turn into something else entirely? Come on, share your secret with your poor old ‘mother’. . .
I wish I had the courage to ask you all these questions, instead of hovering here just outside the reach of your perceptions, even more ghostly than usual.
I wish I had the courage to stroll up to the front door of the mansion, smile in Jean’s face, and tell her I was here to see my son. Part of me just LOVES that image. The look on her face would be priceless.
But I don’t really have the right. After all, I’m not really your mother, am I? Not really Madelyne Pryor.
And there is a certain comfort in simply standing here watching you sleep. Real, peaceful sleep, not drugged semi-consciousness.
You’d probably be incredibly horrified if you knew I’d done this before. Not just after you fought Apocalypse, although I was here then too, standing at your bedside. Counting every breath you took. There are some benefits to being an astral ghost. I could be here even when Hank McCoy pried Domino away from your bedside and forced her to get some sleep.
Domino. She’s right there beside you, reaching out to you in her sleep whenever you so much as move.
She’s lovely, Nate. I’ve watched her almost as much as I have you, these last few weeks. I’ve seen how she supports you when you need it. How she gives you a good swift kick when you need one, too.
How she smiles at you. All the time, now. Maybe because she knows you can’t see her anymore.
There for you, even at the same time that she’s every inch her own woman. I can see why it took the two of you so long to get your act together. Terminally stubborn, the pair of you.
I think I like her, Nate. I almost wish I could get to know her better.
Almost. Not quite. I mean, that would torpedo my reputation as a heartless bitch, wouldn’t it? And I couldn’t have that. It’d be almost as bad as anyone finding out that I was here in the first place. I mean, imagine what Sebastian would say. Or Selene. Yes, they’d certainly get a chuckle out of this, wouldn’t they?
Why can’t I bring myself to care?
They’d be laughing harder, now, if they saw me drifting like smoke on the breeze over to your bed. They’d be rolling on the floor in stitches if they could see me make myself just tangible enough to reach out and smoothe the hair back away from your eyes without becoming solid enough that my touch would wake you up.
You’ll think you dreamed this, if you remember it at all.
You looked so young when you slept, before. Not so much anymore. A few more lines, here and there.
And you’re so pale, even sleeping. I see the way you twitch, every so often in your sleep. I know it’s in pain.
Have they figured that out yet? That you’re not quite as ‘recovered’ as you pretend you are? See, I watch you when you’re awake, too, Nathan. I can tell that you’re on the verge of exhaustion all the time. I see how stiffly you move when you don’t sense anyone around who might see you and worry.
I can see that little bit of disorientation beneath the peaceful exterior, too. The lost look that sneaks out, sometimes.
Don’t know quite what to do with yourself now, do you, kiddo?
I saw you, you know. When you fought Apocalypse. The view from the astral plane was pretty spectacular. I’ve learned to be wary of astral disruptions, since I started to explore the limitations of this ‘incarnation’. Flirting with discorporation once or twice was more than enough for me.
But I watched you that day. And I wasn’t afraid, not even for a moment.
Transcendental moments. When you looked at him, right there at the last, and told him ‘G’journey’. . .
Where was the hate, Nate? I didn’t even sense a flicker of triumph from you. Just. . .calm.
I have to admit, it was hard to separate you from the rest. You think it was just the Twelve pouring power into you? Like I said, I’ve made something of a study of the astral plane, and I’ve never seen anything like I saw that day. The whole collective consciousness of humanity, feeding the merge.
You weren’t one, that day, or even thirteen. You were billions.
It was. . .beyond description.
I wish you could have seen it.
It. . .burns. That the last thing you saw was him.
And now the rest of your life is stretching out in front of you, and you don’t quite know what to do with it. The one that saw farther and clearer than any of us is blind.
Someone out there has a weird sense of humor.
You’d probably laugh in my face if I tried to give you any ‘motherly advice’. But I wouldn’t think of it. It’s your life, Nathan. At last. Only yours.
Use it well, kiddo. Hang up the guns. Or the psimitar. Whatever.
Make it real.
fin