As You Were: Part Two
"Busy?"
Nate looked up from his terminal and managed a faint smile at the sight of his father standing in the doorway and watching him with a poor facsimile of a casual expression. "Just finishing up the mission report," he said, taking a moment to save the file. The paperwork wasn't usually his responsibility - whether it was her controlling nature or just a perverse streak, Clare preferred to do it herself - but he'd found it unfinished when he'd gotten in today. For lack of anything better to do, he'd been hacking away at it, and discovering just how complex verb tense could be when you were writing about a temporal paradox.
"Well, ah certainly wouldn't want to interrupt," Sam Guthrie said, with a hesitant smile that made him look even younger--which was frankly scary, given that he looked only about thirty at the most, and that was on a bad day. Still, no telepath would ever be fooled by the youthful exterior, Nate reflected tiredly. His telepathy was the reason he hadn't had too much trouble adjusting to the idea of looking older than his father. He could feel the weight and complexity of his father's presence and knew it for a sign of age, even if the outward facade was indecently young.
"Oh, please. By all means, interrupt me," Nate said wryly, feeling a flicker of weary amusement at how quickly his father abandoned his watchful post at the doorway and came in. Nate toyed with the idea of pointing out that he'd sensed him lingering in the outer office for the last five minutes, but decided to let it pass. "I'd ask you what was up," he went on, "but that would involve me pretending that I don't know why you're here." He'd wondered how long it would take, actually.
Still smiling tentatively, Sam shrugged and took the nearest chair. "Ah ran into Nicholas on the way out to find you yesterday," he confessed, his smile broadening a little as Nate flushed. "He told me what his plans were, so ah just thought ah'd stop in and see how you're feeling."
"Better than I should be feeling," Nate said, stifling any comment about conspiracies. He must have looked really ghastly yesterday. "A bit of a headache, but not too bad." By all rights he shouldn't still have the headache, but his concentration was still--off, somehow. He couldn't seem to meditate for more than a couple of minutes at a time, and that wasn't enough to get very far into even the simplest Askani biofeedback technique.
"Logan's drunk me under the table often enough over the years," Sam went on, a mischievous spark in those incongruously wise eyes. "Ah'm assuming you and Nicholas carried on that fine family tradition?"
Nate smiled slightly and shrugged. "I'm missing twelve hours or so," he confessed with a soft chuckle that turned a little desolate as it trailed off. "Though I'm not sure what it accomplished."
And that was putting it mildly, he thought, angry at himself for a moment. The drinking session with Nick, everything that had happened with Zara--none of it had accomplished anything. The whole hideous mess was still there. All he'd succeeded in doing was distracting himself for the space of a night, and what the hell good was that? Realizing he was gripping the edge of his desk a little too tightly, Nate grimaced and forced himself to let go.
His father noticed, of course. For someone without a trace of telepathic or empathic ability, he was scarily perceptive about these things. "Ah'm not usually in favor of getting drunk as a coping strategy," Sam said quietly, "but ah thought you and Nick might take the opportunity to talk about things."
Nate made a face. "We may have, but I honestly don't remember."
From the vague look of disappointment he got in return, that wasn't his answer his father had been wanting. "Well, you do look a little better than you did yesterday at the debriefing," Sam said, slouching in his chair. "A little more relaxed, maybe."
Nate flushed bright red before he could stop himself. "You--could call it that," he said, struggling to keep his voice level. His father gave him a puzzled look, eyes searching his, but Nate kept his mouth resolutely shut. He was just--not going to explain. Not to his father.
Sam watched him curiously - letting him squirm, Nate thought balefully - and then shrugged again, his gaze shifting to the window far too casually to be anything other than a sudden reluctance to maintain eye contact. "Ah wanted to find an excuse not to send you on that mission," he murmured, and Nate flinched at the tangle of guilt and sadness that underlaid the words. "Ah really did."
"I know," Nate said, managing to keep his voice absolutely neutral this time. Only it was the wrong tone, because his father gave him an anxious look, as if detecting some condemnation in his voice. Nate forced himself to smile, and went on a little more gently. "But it would have been the wrong thing to do, Dad. You know that."
And though he'd spoken to reassure, the truth of his words suddenly hit him. If he hadn't been there, would Clare have gone back after Stef herself? His mind was already subtracting himself from the events of two days ago, calculating variables and possibilities and not liking the picture that emerged at all.
"Ah'm not so sure," Sam said, breaking Nate's train of thought. He looked at his father concernedly, wondering at the sudden self-directed anger he was sensing. "Ah wish the rest of us could remember it all."
"Why?" Nate blurted, astonished. He'd been so relieved to discover that none of the people his other self had encountered on his trip through time remembered the events the paradox had created--well, he wasn't positive about Sulven, but he knew better than to think he'd ever get the truth out of her.
The look in his father's eyes were bleak and very old all of a sudden. "If ah remembered, maybe ah'd understand why ah let it go on until you wound up dead."
"Dad," Nate protested, not having any idea what to say to that. It had happened, there was no way of getting around that - he knew that better than anyone, he'd WATCHED himself die - but he was here, wasn't he? Alive and well. There was certainly no reason for his father to blame himself for any of it. "The memories I got from the other me are getting a little--weird, but I don't think you had much of a choice."
"There's always a choice," Sam said harshly, and Nate shifted in his chair as the guilt he was sensing from his father rose a few notches in intensity.
"I take risks every time I go out on a mission," Nate said, hearing the irritation in his voice but unable to help it. Sam's gaze hardened, but Nate went on, thinking this was maybe something his father needed to hear. "The possibility of dying in the line of duty is always there--even for people with your particular advantage, Dad. Apocalypse was proof enough that even Externals can die."
"Ah think that's called changing the subject."
"Just trying to reinforce the point." Nate sighed. This was one of those situations where 'what is, is' was really more trouble than it was worth. "All the paradox did was give me - and I was the one who was there, Dad, remember? - an up-close and personal view of what's probably happened a hundred times in other timelines." Given the life he'd led since he'd joined the XSE, all the close calls he'd had, he'd be surprised if that wasn't the case. Not that it was a comforting thought.
Sam snorted. "Fatalistic much, son?"
Nate shrugged. "Character flaw," he said lightly, wishing he knew some way to put a permanent end to this particular conversational trend. He was having a hard enough time dealing with his own thoughts and emotions today. "I'd prefer you to stop kicking yourself, but Mom's not here to talk sense into you and I'm no good at it." He sighed and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he should just break down and stop at the infirmary for an aspirin or seven. The headache was only getting worse. "Everyone's kicking themselves in the ass over this one," he said. "Me, you, Clare--everyone except the son of a bitch who should be feeling guilty."
His father's expression was suddenly understanding. "Nick told you what Stefano said about Rio," Sam murmured, his voice carefully detached. He was shielding a little better now, too. Nate couldn't imagine why.
"Yeah," Nate rasped, and the reminder was suddenly just too much. He sent the neat stack of file folders on his desktop crashing to the floor with an angry sweep of a hand. "Damn it!" he spat, as his father sat up straight in his chair. "I want to hate him--I DO hate him--" Misery welled up inside him, and Nate clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly. "It just makes me feel sick to my stomach to think about it," he said hoarsely, unable to look away from his father's steady gaze. "I just--can't sort it out. I don't know why--after what he's done, it shouldn't be that complicated--"
"Ah'd be worried about you if you were sure of how you felt," Sam said quietly, his eyes troubled as they lingered on Nate's face. "Something like this--you can't just sort it out with logic, Nate. It takes time."
"I know." He was already regretting his outburst. The occasional lapse in self-control was forgivable, but he'd been making a habit of it the last couple of days. Definitely a bad trend.
Sam straightened a little further, his expression turning resolute. "Speaking of which, ah actually had a little official business to take care of while ah was up here," he said, a bit more firmly. Nate froze, visions of disciplinary action dancing through his head, but his father's next words managed to be both reassuring and infuriating. "You--and your partner in crime, if you happen to see her before ah do--are on seventy-two hours leave as of 1500 hours."
Nate gave his father a mutinous look. He'd had leave. Twenty-four hours, post-debriefing, just like the regulations said. "I'd rather--"
"Bury yourself in work? Ah know." Sam rose from his chair, coming around the desk to his side and laying a hand on his shoulder. Nate tried not to shrink back as the physical contact intensified his awareness of his father's less-than-setled mental state. "Three days," Sam said firmly. "Psych Division suggested it for both of you, and ah agree." He gave Nate a stern look. "At the very least, son, you need to get some more sleep. You really don't look all that much better than you did yesterday."
Psych Division had suggested it? Of course--they would have had someone sitting in on the debriefing. Standard procedure. "All right," Nate muttered grudgingly, seeing in his father's mind that he really didn't have much choice in the matter. Realistically, he did need some time to center himself, regain his mental equilibrum. But he had been looking forward to throwing himself into some new investigative work, just to get his mind off things.
Sam nodded almost briskly. "Stop by the apartment for dinner? Ah don't think your mother's going to be satisfied that you're all right until she sees you for herself."
"Tell Mom I'll be there," Nate said, and grimaced, reflecting that if he'd thought Zara had seen right through him, he was going to be discovering whole new levels of transparency once he was in the same room as his mother.
"Six o'clock?"
"Fine. I'll see you then."
***
Leave meant that his time was his own, Nate told himself firmly. It didn't mean that he was banished from the Tower for the next three days. At least, it didn't mean that unless one of his superior officers told him that it did, and so long as he avoided anyone who might give him that particular order, he was fine.
It would probably have made more sense to go home and get some real rest - which was undoubtedly what his father had intended him to do - but he was still too restless. The conversation with Dad really hadn't helped either. If anything, it had just stirred things up more. It had been hard to talk about Stef with someone who felt even more guilty about the whole thing that he did.
So he'd left his office, and started walking. Just walking, not heading anywhere in particular. The Tower was good for that. You could make circuits of each floor, use the emergency stairs, and walk for miles. There were actually organized groups that ran the stairs as their morning workout. A little too dull for his tastes - he preferred the Danger Room - but sometimes 'dull' wasn't such a bad thing. Right now, it felt very good to walk in circles and let his mind go numb.
Eventually, he wound up at ground level, although it took him nearly an hour. The main lobby was unbelievably crowded, packed almost to bursting with tour groups who were very slowly shifting in the direction of the auditorium, where they'd see the usual multimedia presentation on the history of the XSE and then be given a tour of some of the Tower's less sensitive areas.
The noise was appalling, not just on a telepathic level but on an aural level as well. It didn't look like he had a hope in hell of making it through the crowd to the exit with any kind of speed, and his nerves were too raw - and his shields too shaky, still - to handle much exposure to this. Hurriedly, Nate ducked into the first elevator that opened, figuring he'd head down and take one of the service exits.
The elevator was empty save for a lieutenant he didn't know, a slim, confident-looking woman maybe ten years his junior, wearing the shield emblem of Security Division on her collar. "Where to, Commander?" she asked him politely, fingers poised over the control pad.
"Down," Nate muttered with a short laugh. "Anywhere away from that." He gestured helplessly at the packed lobby as the doors slid shut, and the lieutenant gave him a sympathetic look.
"Hard on a telepath, I'd imagine," she said, and then smiled whimsically. "I do sometimes wonder when we became a tourist attraction."
"Sign of the times," Nate said distantly, and noticed she'd pressed the button for sublevel 8, the main Security level.
The level where the holding cells happened to be. He felt something close to a physical shock at the thought, and his stomach twisted as his mind took the next logical step.
"Commander? Are you headed to SL-8?" the lieutenant ventured hesitantly after a moment or two of silence.
It was a colossally stupid idea, the more rational part of his mind pointed out immediately. He needed to rest, get his emotions back under control before he even considered going to see Stef, but--
"Yes," he heard himself say in a cool, distant voice, the words coming out surprisingly even. Outward control didn't equal inward balance, but it would have to do for now. "I have to check on a prisoner."
"Ah."
The mission against DaCosta International was common knowledge, of course, but the sudden suspicion and concern he sensed from her suggested that the usual inverse relation between the size of the Tower and the speed at which gossip circulated around it still held true. He could hear enough of her thoughts to realize she knew exactly which prisoner he was talking about, and was debating whether she should tip off her superiors as to his intentions.
Let her, Nate thought wearily. He wasn't going down there with the intention of throttling Stef, as tempting as the thought might be.
She was still silently arguing with herself when the elevator reached SL-8, but by that time he'd tuned her out and missed whatever decision she'd made. Bidding him a good day, she hurried down one of the secondary corridors.
It didn't matter, Nate told himself. Whatever she did, it didn't matter. He stepped out of the elevator and paused for a moment, forcing himself to take one more clear look at his options.
He'd have to see Stef at some point--at the trial, at the very least. But Nate knew himself, and knew that if he left it until then, he'd never resolve any of this. It would give him too much time to distance himself, to repress the emotions he couldn't untangle.
There were other considerations, too. Change a heart, change the world--that was what Uncle Nathan had said about Stef to Nate's alternate self in the paradox timeline. Only he wasn't contemplating anything quite so noble at the moment, Nate admitted to himself bleakly. He just wanted to see Stef, to hear what he had to say for himself--to understand, damn it.
And he wanted to vent. He couldn't lie to himself about that, either. He wanted Stef to know just how furious, how revolted he was by what he'd done. He needed to say it. Wanted to see if hearing it had any impact on Stef, if there was enough left of his friend to care.
As far as motivations went, they weren't particularly good ones. Selfish, at best--dangerous, at the worst. He knew his self-control was shaky at the moment, so did he really trust himself to keep his temper? Nate tried not to grind his teeth, knowing he should turn around and hit the recall button for the elevator, get out of here before he did something he regretted.
But he was right here, right now. If he left, he was definitely unsure whether he trusted himself to come back.
The thought of giving in to his own skittishness about emotionally charged confrontations - sometimes he really wished he'd inherited a little less of his mother's pure empathy - was all the goad he needed. Taking a deep breath, Nate strode resolutely down the corridor in front of him, towards the holding area.
The Tower's holding area was relatively small, able to accommodate only fifty people. Only the most important detainees - those who'd committed particularly grievous offenses, who had information the XSE needed for ongoing operations, or whose cases had some element of political sensitivity - were held here, and even then, it was only on a temporary basis, until their cases came up before a tribunal. Even with all the years he'd been in the XSE, Nate had only been down here maybe a dozen times. He rarely had anything to do with the interrogation of prisoners, even ones his own division brought in, and there weren't many other reasons for him to be involved in Security business.
The lieutenant sitting duty at the monitors looked slightly less than thrilled to see him. "Good morning, Commander," the younger man said in a voice that didn't quite manage to be neutral. "Here to see Mr. DaCosta, are you?"
"That's right."
"I figured. Commander Summers was here yesterday."
Nate twitched at the image that flashed out at him from the other man's mind--Clare, swaying dangerously as she turned away from the front of a holding cell, her face ashen but her expression blank. Her eyes like black glass, reflecting nothing.
Swallowing a sudden surge of nausea, Nate nodded. "I know," he said, and took off his sidearm, handing it over. The lieutenant gave a gusty sigh, as if of relief, and Nate bit his lip hard. "I also know procedure," he said tightly.
The lieutenant flushed. "Oh, I know you do, sir. I just thought--"
"Save it," Nate cut him off, knowing his tone was harsh, perhaps unwarrantedly so, but there was no need for the conversation to go any further down that particular road. "Respectfully, Lieutenant, I have no interest in your opinion on this or any other subject."
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said, beet-red by now. He shot an ever-so-slightly-desperate look down the corridor. Nate noted it darkly, and then sighed as he plucked the reason for the delay from the man's mind. The female lieutenant in the elevator had been unable to leave things alone after all, it seemed. "Can I get you to step over to the scanner, sir?"
Nate did, telling himself that extra security down here really was a good thing, even if it was being used in this situation as a delaying tactic. He leaned forward to the eyepiece to let the system check his retinal pattern, and then laid his hand on the palm scanner, not flinching at the prick of the needle as it took a blood sample. Ruby light washed over him as the scanner verified his power signature, and by the time the system was announcing in an entirely too chirpy voice - he preferred the soft alto of the Tower's main AI, Jenica - that he was indeed Lieutenant Commander Nathan T. Guthrie, Counterterrorism Division, security clearance Gold, the 'back-up' the lieutenant had been waiting for had arrived.
Nate turned away from the scanner and glared balefully as the tall blond man in a uniform nearly identical to his, save for the different divisional crest - and a few less medals, Nate thought a bit pettily - strode casually up to the monitoring station, giving the relieved-looking lieutenant a reassuring nod.
"Lieutenant Commander," Nate said, trying not to snarl. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Lieutenant Commander," Dane Summers, another of his legion of honorary 'cousins', said with a knowing smile, the look in his blue eyes a mixture of sympathy and concern. "Mind if I ask you who you're here to see?"
Biting off Dane's head was not appropriate, Nate's conscience told him sternly. He liked Dane. He wasn't going to start a fight because he was feeling edgy.
He and Dane were the closest in age of any of the 'X-children', only three weeks apart. Alex Summers had returned to civilian life and married a fellow grad student two years before the battle at Akkaba, but he and Lily Beck-Summers had waited until they'd finished their degrees and gotten settled as professors before starting a family. Dane hadn't grown up at the mansion, but he and Nate had been classmates at the Academy. They'd even served one of their internships together in Genosha.
"You know who I'm here to see," Nate said as evenly as he could.
"I know. I was just being facetious," Dane said cheerfully, heedless of the snap in Nate's words.
It was very difficult to rattle Dane. He had a disposition sunny enough that most of their extended 'family' had speculated at one time or another on whether he'd actually inherited any Summers genes after all. Dane was generally so relaxed and easy-going that Nate sometimes wondered how he'd wound up as second-in-command of Security, which was generally the division that tended to attract the paranoid, obsessive-compulsive, painfully uptight types. There was a story that Dane had once taken down a fleeing suspect with his electrokinesis, and jokingly dubbed himself the Walking Taser.
"DaCosta's in 33-B," Dane went on, as casually as he might have observed the fact that the sky was blue. "I'll walk you down."
"I'm sure I can find my way on my own, Dane," Nate said stubbornly, even though he could sense there was no getting around Dane on this point. His cousin had better shields than the lieutenant, but he obviously knew what had happened between Clare and Stef yesterday. There was real caution lurking beneath the sunny facade.
"I'm not walking you down because I think you have a bad sense of direction, Nate," Dane said with a blithe smile.
"I know," Nate muttered.
"āAn ounce of preventionā, as they say."
Nate decided he was somewhat offended. Here he thought he had a reputation for being the quiet, self-controlled one who tended to do a little too much thinking and not quite enough acting. Yet Dane was the third person who seemed to believe he wanted to get into Stefās cell and carve his heart out with a spoon or some such damned thing.
"Dane," Nate finally said when Dane seemed prepared to wait out the silence. "Just do what you have to do, all right? But I promise, I'm not going to do anything besides talk to him. You have my word."
For a moment, Daneās cheerful expression cracked. "I imagine that's what Clare told herself, too," he muttered, and Nate sensed a strong flash of worry from him.
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Tell me she didnāt do anything thatās going to get her in trouble."
"No, but she sure as hell wanted to," Dane said, and this time, his faint smile held a trace of uncharacteristic bleakness. "Not that I blame her. I went in there to check on him afterwards, and the smug son of a bitch was bragging about it." His mouth twisted, and the way his eyes burned reminded Nate, suddenly and eerily, of Uncle Nathan. "Do you know what he said to me? He has a copy of the vid-record the Helix made of what they did to her. Apparently one of his computer specialists broke into the database and made a copy while it was still being held as evidence. The bastard said he showed it off to some Īfriendsā who shared his opinions about the XSE." Dane's jaw clenched. "I nearly took down the forcefield and fried his ass myself."
Nate was beginning to feel nauseous again. "Never tell Clare," he gritted out, hoping Stef hadn't gotten the chance to tell her himself. One more reason to make sure the two of them were never in each other's company again.
"The only person I intend to tell is the head of the team cleaning out DaCostaās mainframe, to make sure the vid winds up in oblivion where it belongs," Dane said very quietly. He took a deep breath, as if cleansing himself of the memory, and squared his shoulders. "I believe you, by the way, when you say youāre not going to do anything stupid. Iām just going to be there to make absolutely sure thatās the case."
Nate forced himself to smile. A convincing front would be a necessity when he saw Stef, so he might as well start now. "I forgot rule number one, didn't I?"
"What would that be?"
"Don't try to outstubborn a Summers."
"Oh, that," Dane said dismissively, and gestured for Nate to follow him. They went past the monitoring station, into the holding area itself. Every cell they passed was occupied, and at their posts, the guards were tensely watchful. Nate knew that some of the prisoners had to be from the raid on DaCosta International, but there were others who seemed totally unfamiliar, and he made a mental note to read the week's reports and see what was going on with the other divisions. It didn't pay to have your head stuck in the sand, and personally, Nate didn't like to be surprised by what was happening around him. Maybe that was evidence of some preference for the routine and predictable on his part, but there was no crime in being meticulous. Attention to detail was a good thing--
And he was definitely trying to distract himself. Which was really not a good idea, all things considered. Babbling silently to yourself and being focused enough to stay in control of the situation he was about to face were definitely diametrically opposed states of minds. He really did need to snap out of it.
At the end of the hall, just past the last cell, was a set of metal stairs leading up to the second level of cells. "I heard about what happened," Dane said tentatively as they climbed. "Or what didn't happen. However you want to describe it."
"The paradox, you mean?"
"Yeah. It sounded like things got a little rough." Dane stopped at the top of the stairs, looking back over his shoulder at him. "You going to be okay?"
Nate sighed. "I'm dealing," he said, and managed another smile, more wry this time. "But ask me that question again in five minutes or so." It wasn't quite a joke; Nate suspected he was going to need a reminder to continue coping, one way or the other.
"Fair enough." Dane gestured for him to precede him down the row of cells, and Nate swallowed, steeling himself.
No wimping out, Guthrie, he told himself angrily, and kept walking. Cell thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two--
Thirty-three.
The holding cells weren't palatial, but there was a certain spartan comfort about them. Each had a bed, a chair, a desk with a library terminal - limited access, of course - and necessary facilities behind a translucent partition. There were telepaths monitoring the holding area at all times, so the prisoners could be given a certain amount of physical privacy. As far as prisons went, this wasn't such a bad one.
Now he'd gone beyond trying to distract himself to out-and-out stalling. Taking a deep breath, Nate stopped in front of the forcefield, turning to face the cell. Inside, Stefano sat at the desk, reading something on the terminal - news reports, looked like - and quite pointedly ignoring Nate's presence. He was putting on a good show of looking completely at ease, as if Nate was some annoying person who'd just happened to wander into his office, and would be removed by security shortly.
Nate gritted his teeth at the thought, surprised at how angry it made him. How much he suddenly wanted to show Stef that he was no longer the one in control. He quashed the urge ruthlessly, blanking his expression. "Stefano," he said sharply.
Stef scrolled down through another page or two, and Nate was about to call his name again when he finally looked up, almost casually. "Hello, Guthrie," he said with a thin smile. "Come to gloat?" Nate shook his head silently, and Stef's smile grew, turning harder. "What's the matter? Isn't this what you wanted?"
It was such a transparent gambit that Nate had to remind himself again to keep a firm hold on his temper. "You son of a bitch," he said as calmly as he could. "You think you're going to sit in there and manipulate me?"
"The thought had crossed my mind."
"Let it," Nate replied instantly, the words coming out colder, angrier, despite his best efforts to keep them neutral. "In one ear and out the other, just like everything else."
"I see," Stef said, his voice sounding almost brittle suddenly. "Is this where you tell me how badly I've fucked up? Or how I'm such an embarassment to our extended family of freaks?" He stood, facing Nate fully for the first time, his dark eyes burning with some indecipherable emotion. Nate didn't want to touch his mind to figure it out. "Come on, Nate. I know you want to tell me how disappointed you are in me. Here's your chance."
Disappointed? His telekinesis slipped, just a little. Enough to make the floor shiver, and he immediately sensed Dane's wariness. "Dial it back a little, Nate," Dane said softly, his voice pitched for their ears only.
"I'm fine," Nate forced out from behind gritted teeth. Lying through his teeth. The thought was almost enough to make him laugh. "Disappointed," he said to Stef, trying not to snarl. "That's funny, Stef. Really. Cute choice of words."
Stef was watching him. Smiling again. "She told you, didn't she?" he asked almost mildly.
There was no question what 'she' Stef was talking about, so Nate didn't bother asking him to clarify. "I heard, yes." He stared fixedly at Stef, somewhat surprised when Stef met his glare without looking away. "I also heard you had a personal copy of the vid they made. I really didn't know you were that sick, Stef."
"Oh, but it was so entertaining to watch," Stef said, still smiling as he went over and sat on the bed. He leaned back against the well, his relaxed slouch only serving to put Nate's teeth even further on edge. "I'm surprised she lived through three days of that, actually. Some of the things they did to her--very creative."
"Stop it," Nate nearly hissed, rage mingling with anguish now. He knew perfectly well what the Helix had done to Clare; he'd seen her physical injuries, before his mother had healed them, and their old childhood link was enough to let him get some sense of the mental scars she was still carrying around, even if Clare was no longer inclined to let anyone in much beyond the surface level of her mind. He had no intention of standing here and letting Stef gloat over the details.
"She only screamed the once, though. Terribly disappointing. The rest of the time, it was just the occasional whimper--" Stef stopped suddenly, visibly paling, and Nate's head whipped around at the crackling noise coming from Dane's direction.
Dane smiled back at him cheerfully, bouncing a ball of electrokinetic energy from hand to hand. "Look, Nate," he said pleasantly. "I can make it turn different colors--isn't that cool?"
He could, too. The ball of energy was flickering from white to blue to pale green, a trick that had to be taking a fair amount of concentration on Dane's part. Nate paused for a moment to admire the indirect, yet effective way Dane had chosen to phrase what was unmistakably a threat.
"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Summers," Stef spat, and Nate could sense the fear he was struggling to control. "My lawyer's going to be so fascinated to hear that I was threatened with electrocution while in custody."
"Oh, lighten up, you sick bastard," Dane snorted, flicking his hand so that the ball of energy spun out into strands of crackling light that he quickly reabsorbed back into his body, yet another impressive show of control. "Did I even wave it in your direction? It's not my fault you've got a persecution complex."
"A complex?" Stef's voice actually cracked, and Nate flinched, shaking his head as he sensed Stef's emotions shift rapidly from near-panic to fury. "I'm sitting in a cell!" He sprang to his feet, and for a moment, Nate thought he was going to charge the forcefield. "You think you can get away with anything, don't you?" Stef went on bitterly. "All of you do. And you wonder why I wanted to change history? Better to take a few risks than resign yourself to living the rest of your life in a world ruled by mutant freaks with an inflated sense of their own importance." He straightened, something of the old haughtiness returning as he smiled almost condescendingly at them. "So yes, I did like seeing the Helix put Clare in her place. I might only have had the vid to go on, but it seems to me that she's much more attractive when she's had the arrogance beaten out of her--"
"Shut your mouth," Nate snapped, then bit his lip hard and looked away from the cell. "What you did--" He swallowed, forcing himself to look back at Stef, who gazed back at him disdainfully, putting on a very good show of being completely indifferent about whatever Nate had to say. Only a show, though; he was every bit as tense as he had been a moment ago. "If we weren't where we are, I'd show you exactly what I think of what you did," Nate went on. "But I want to see you put on trial, Stef. For all of it."
It wasn't quite the truth, Nate admitted to himself bleakly. He did want to see Stef fairly tried and punished for the mutate project and for his attempt to change the past--though given the paradox, it would be interesting to see what kind of charges the Judiciary came up with to cover what had happened.
But he wanted to see Stef suffer for what he'd done to Clare.
Stef's lip curled. "I'm surprised you didn't just kill me in the Tinex chamber," he sneered, "but I suppose it would have gone against that Guthrie self-righteousness." He folded his arms across his chest, the sneer turning back into that aggravating smile. "I really don't have any regrets," he went on casually. "Well, except maybe one, about what happened in Rio--"
"What," Nate said harshly, cutting him off, "that you weren't there to take part?" He had the dubious satisfaction of seeing Stef stiffen and his facade crack, just for a moment. Knowing he'd hit home, he exploited the opening, an ugly part of him wanting to see Stef squirm a little. "You want her as much as you hate her, Stef. That's been the problem all along, hasn't it?"
It had been the clearest thing in the memories he'd gotten from his other self, the one irrevocable truth that Farouk's manipulations had forced to the surface in the other Stef's mind. Nate had had a whole day to come to terms with the knowledge, and it was still enough to make him queasy.
Stef shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance that wasn't even the slightest bit convincing. "Did you get that from your doppleganger before he died?"
"I just wish I'd seen it before." Nate didn't know how he'd missed it--so blind, he'd been so stupidly blind. This obsession of Stef's with Clare wasn't a recent thing, and if he'd only figured it out earlier, he could have prevented so much--
"Amazing how dense telepaths can be," Stef said, looking back at him with a fixed, glassy smile. His voice was hard and oddly bright. Not cheerful, but unnerving. "Tell me, does she know I'm not the only one in this room lusting after her?"
Nate froze. He opened his mouth, then closed it again when no words took it upon themselves to come out. Of everything he'd expected Stef to say at this point, that hadn't even made the list. He could sense, as if at a distance, Dane's surprise - and amusement? why amusement, at a time like this? - and told himself that no, he was not going to take a step back, or break eye contact, or do anything that would let Stef know that hit had just scored some major damage.
But damn it, it wasn't the same--what he felt for Clare had no relation to the discordant lust and hate he sensed in Stef every time he spoke her name. Even the hint of a parallel was enough to make him feel nauseous.
"Don't look at me, DaCosta," Dane said suddenly, undisguised mirth in his voice. Nate wished he knew what Dane found so funny. "Related and all, you know."
Stef ignored him completely. "Or am I behind the times?" he asked, eyes still locked on Nate. "Did Rio make you change your mind about her?"
If he'd needed any proof that Stef had parted company with sanity a while back, the fact that he kept bringing up Rio would probably have done it.
"Not that I could blame you if you'd put her behind you and moved on, Nate. You were always a romantic, and it's hard to cherish any illusions about a woman who spent three days entertaining almost as many men as that slut Zara sleeps with in the course of six months." Stef's gaze roamed the confines of his cell, his eyes unfocusing. "Whores, both of them," he muttered.
Oh, he'd had just about enough of this--
Nate took a step towards the forcefield, and Dane reached out, grabbing him by the arm.
"If you're thinking of going in there to shut him up," Dane murmured, "please don't. I'd hate to have to drag you out of here."
"Fine," Nate growled at him, and took a step back just to prove his good faith. Dane peered at him for a moment longer, and then let go. Stef was watching them both, his eyes intent and mocking, and Nate swallowed his rage, wrestling his features back under control. "Point for you, Stef," he said in a low voice. "You always did have a talent for getting under my skin."
"You make it so easy," Stef said, making a careless gesture. "Who am I to turn down the opportunity?"
"Yeah, I guess I do." Time to stop being so vulnerable. Stef was the one sitting in the cell. The only control he had over the situation was whatever Nate gave him. "Getting used to the cell?" Nate asked, managing a faint smile. Playing bored and malicious might help to crack Stef's shell. If he thought Nate wasn't taking him seriously, he was bound to let something slip.
Stef's eyes narrowed. "It'll do for now," he said calmly. His voice sounded slightly tighter than it had been. "I hear the ones at New Leavenworth are a little more spacious."
"I wouldn't know, but you'll find out," Nate said lightly, and suddenly it didn't take much effort at all to make the smile wider and nastier. "After all, you're going to be there for the rest of your natural life."
"Maybe." Stef looked away, and if Nate hadn't been watching, he might have missed the sudden, barely perceptible rigidity of Stef's posture. His mind was abruptly shuttered, too, as if he'd thrown up every defense he had. Nate could have penetrated them with ease, but if he did and Dane caught on to what he was doing, he'd probably wind up sporting the 'I stuck my finger in the electrical socket' hairdo for the next week. "The tribunal might see things a little differently than you do," Stef went on, almost defensively.
"I wouldn't count on it."
Stef shot him a look of pure loathing. "Once the press gets involved, things tend to get really interesting," he said harshly. "You'd be surprised how much anti-XSE sentiment there is out there."
"I doubt it," Nate murmured, not having to put any effort at all into sounding sarcastic this time. "Given my job. Working counterterrorism is educational that way."
"Of course. Your job." Stef went back over and sat on the edge of the bed, quite obviously trying to look relaxed again. Not doing a particularly good job of it, this time. "Do you like taking orders from her, Nate, or does the leash chafe sometimes?"
Nate took a breath, and then smiled calmly. "Are you really that obsessed with Clare, or do you just have a one-track mind?"
Stef shrugged again, the gesture almost restless. "Just trying to get a reaction," he said, his gaze roving the confines of his cell again. "Don't you ever get tired of always being in that bitch's shadow?"
"Don't you ever get tired of being in your father's?"
Stef went white, and was on his feet again instantly, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Fuck you!" he snarled.
"Point for me," Nate murmured, a bit surprised by how easily that bit of insight had sprung to mind. He went on, keeping his voice casual, as close to indifferent as he could manage. "You know, Stef, if your father were here now, he'd probably disown you. You've managed to spit on just about everything he cared about."
Stef smashed his fists against the forcefield, and it flared, sending him stumbling back a few steps. He didn't seem to register what had to have been a painful shock. "You don't know anything, Guthrie!" he hissed, his face as red now as it had been pale a moment before.
Nate smiled thinly at him. "I wouldn't bother pleading family honor, either," he said mildly. "I know your father valued that, but you've warped it until it means shit, and the only one who can't accept that is you."
Stef's shoulders slumped. "Fuck you," he muttered, but it sounded almost sullen now, hardly angry at all.
Was he actually starting to think about the consequences of his actions? Nate asked himself, and then wondered why the thought didn't give him any satisfaction. "You made your choices," he said more quietly, biting back a sigh. "Now you get to live with them." He started to turn away, but Stef gave a short, wild bark of laughter that broke Nate up short.
"This isn't over, Guthrie," he hissed. Nate turned back to the cell, nearly flinching as he met those dark, almost feverish eyes and felt Stef's hate lash out at him like the crack of a bullwhip. "You think I limited my temporal analysis to the time-jaunt itself?" Stef laughed again, scornfully this time. "I knew this might happen, that I might wind up in a cage. But every action has a reaction. You'll see."
Dane gave a theatrical sigh that managed somehow to break the screaming tension of the moment. "You're boring us, DaCosta. Though I must admit, that's pretty tough talk from a man who's scheduled for another interrogation tomorrow." He laid a hand on Nate's arm. "They'll get the details out of him, don't worry," he said more quietly. "Whatever it is, we'll know soon enough."
Stef gave them both a strangely triumphant smile. "Oh, but see, I factored that in, too. I don't know the details, just the targets." He shrugged, the smile lingering. "Although I might have specified one target in particular."
Nate gritted his teeth. Dane was right. The telepaths supervising the interrogation tomorrow would find out what Stef was talking about, if this wasn't just bluster.
And yet.
"If anything happens to her," Nate said warningly, maintaining eye contact and trying to let Stef see just how serious he was about this, "and I find out you were responsible--"
"What? You'll kill me?"
Dane's grip on his arm tightened, and Nate winced. "Not another word," Dane said warningly. "You don't want to screw up the case against him by making death threats." He gave Stef a baleful look. "However good it would feel."
"Too bad I didn't include you in those contingency plans, Summers," Stef sneered at him. "But maybe I'll get lucky."
Nate shook his head slowly, sickened by what he was seeing, what he was sensing. "I don't know you," he muttered, suddenly wanting out of here, away from the blazing, nearly mindless hate emanating from the man in the cell. "I don't think I ever really did." One last flare of anger lit the bleakness inside him, and he gave in, welcoming it. Anything to distract him from the sense of loss that was slowly beginning to overtake his rage at what Stef had done. "Rot in hell, DaCosta," he said as coldly as he could, and walked away.
to be continued...
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