Dreamweaver: Part Four
Scott Summers leaned over the control console and adjusted the difficulty level of the simulation. Below him in the Danger Room, the setting was suddenly the cavernous Guild Halls beneath New Orleans, as Brood war drones replaced Genoshan magistrates. The two X-Men in the scenario reacted very differently. Storm propeled herself to the ceiling on an updraft, taking a moment to adjust, while Cannonball simply shifted in mid-move and kept fighting. Scott raised an eyebrow, impressed.
Beside him, Hank chuckled appreciatively. "I wonder sometimes how much Danger Room time our dear Mr. Guthrie truly needs," the Beast said, watching respectfully as Sam made short work of the holodrones and went to help Storm. "In terms of combat skills, he's a match for anyone on the team--barring Logan, perhaps. And creative, too. Remember what he did to Gladiator?"
Cyclops grunted in agreement. "He had a good teacher," he muttered, grimacing at the thought of his son. By now, Nathan would have joined Logan and Bishop on the trail of the two mutant bank robbers. In his opinion, this hadn't been one of Jean's better ideas. He didn't even want to think about the trouble those three could get into together.
Hank raised an eyebrow at Scott's scowl. "Looking fairly dour today, fearless leader." His expression somehow managed to be sympathetic and measuring at the same time. "Speaking of Sam's teacher," he continued carefully, "would it be out of line of me to inquire as to whether you have spoken to Nathan lately?" Scott glowered at him, and Hank raised a defensive hand. "Just asking," he protested mildly. "But you have been brooding rather noticeably lately, Scotty. A blind man couldn't miss the fact that you're preoccupied. Now, I know you have a number of things on your mind, these days, but still--"
An awkward silence ensued, until Scott could no longer resist the subtle encouragement radiating from Hank's direction. "Not since he left," he muttered darkly, sinking into the chair next to Hank's. "He's called once or twice, to speak to Sam, and I know Jean keeps tabs on him telepathically, but I just--I can't seem to--" He sighed in frustration, his fingers drumming an agitated rhythm on the edge of the console. "I must be a coward, Hank, because I can't bring myself to talk to him." The ugly scene preceding Nathan's abrupt departure kept replaying itself in his head. He couldn't shake the uncertainty that it had been entirely his fault.
"It's not a simple thing to relate to a son old enough to be your father, is it?" Hank asked, only sympathy in his voice now. "Particularly one who's survived more pain and loss that most of us could endure and remain sane. It's a wonder he's not a raving sociopath like Stryfe."
"Go ahead, Hank, remind me!" Scott snapped, flushing with anger. Sometimes Hank was too insightful for his own good. "Do you think it doesn't bother me to remember that I abandoned my son in a future like something out of our worst nightmares?" He'd seen that future, lived in it for twelve long years, and while he wouldn't trade those years for anything, he knew all too well what kind of a world he'd left Nathan in.
"Scott, you had no choice," Hank insisted, clearly disturbed by his outburst. "I'm sure Nathan understands that, now that he knows the whole story"
"Does he?" Scott demanded. "Does he really?" It was such a relief to admit his feelings. Jean knew, of course, but they didn't talk about it, not really. "Even if he does understand it, Hank, can he ever really forgive me? I left him, I lied to him--I told him he'd never be alone, Hank!" Scott sighed, sinking his face into his hands. "God. He must look back on that moment and laugh."
"You hardly had a choice, Scott," Hank said, reaching out and squeezing his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "You and Jean were pulled back to this time, to your own lives--"
"We had a life there, Hank! The three of us--"
"Scott!" Hank snapped, and Scott started at the harshness in his voice. "This is entirely unproductive, my friend. What's past is past. And I know that if you and Jean could have brought Nathan back with you, you would have."
"That doesn't matter!" Scott growled, rising from his chair and pacing the narrow confines of the control booth. "I should have been there for him, Hank! I should have found a way!"
Hank sighed. "Scott, for the love of God, you're only human!" His eyes narrowed, and he suddenly nodded, as if something important had just occurred to him. "I see--all this self-flagellation, it's about what happened between you and Nathan before he left, isn't it?" Scott nodded reluctantly, and Hank winced. "Scott, you shouldn't take what he said as any true sign of his feelings towards you. He was injured and exhausted, which is why he interpreted your perfectly reasonable concern for him as an insult."
"He shouldn't have been going out Sentinel-hunting in the first place," Scott grumbled, a trifle resentfully. "He was in no shape to be--"
"Of course he wasn't!" Hank said loudly, an odd twinkle in his eyes. "He needed a long vacation and some pleasant female company! But do you think he wanted to hear that from his father?"
"No," Scott admitted, smiling in spite of himself.
"Exactly. He lost his temper because he knew you were right, and he was wrong. Add that to the fact that he inherited his stubborn streak from both sides of the family, and some sort of eruption was inevitable--"
A piercing psionic scream echoed through the mansion, its sheer volume agonizing. Scott toppled, overwhelmed by the fury and anguish pouring down his psi-link with Jean, but Hank, realizing the danger to Storm and Cannonball, lunged forward unsteadily and terminated the Danger Room program.
A moment later, the door to the control booth was flung open by a hammer-blow of telekinetic energy that actually warped the metal. Jean stalked in. Her face was chalk-white, and her eyes were dreadful. She didn't even look at Hank or her husband as she strode over to the observation window and stared down at the two dazed X-Men who had just suffered rather abrupt collisions with the floor.
#Storm, Cannonball, prep the Blackbird for immediate departure,# she sent to them They struggled to their feet and hurried from the room. Jean turned to regard Hank, who flinched at the touch of her blazing green eyes. # Medical supplies, Hank. NOW.#
As Hank vanished into the hall with noticeable alacrity, Scott tensed, his sense of dread growing. I don't know if I WANT to know what's got her so badly upset. But as she blinked back tears, glaring at him, he knew he had to ask.
"Ah--where are we going, sweetheart?"
"Don't 'sweet-heart' me, mister!" she flared, moving towards him with such menace that he took an involuntary step backwards. "If you had just talked to him, asked him to come home--" She turned away with a sob, and Scott sensed her fury fade, swamped by a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry," she said tearfully. "It's not your fault, it's mine. I was the one who sent him--"
Scott felt his heart give a queer little flutter. "It's Nathan, then," he said in a flat voice. Somehow, it didn't surprise him. Nodding, Jean sank into a chair and opened her mind to him, letting him see what she had seen.
He watched the scene through Logan's eyes, and something shattered within him as he saw his son fall to the ground. He cried out in the silence of his mind, a roar of grief and denial. The feeling of Jean's arms around him, supporting him, pulled him back to reality.
"Is he--" His voice broke. He wouldn't say it--he couldn't. The world would fall to pieces around him if he so much as admitted that it might be true.
"He can't be," Jean said harshly, picking up on his train of thought with the ease of long practice. She led him towards the door. Despite her brusque tone, she seemed to have recovered her self-control. Beneath the numb terror, a part of Scott was appalled that she could be so cool.
"You don't know?" he demanded, his voice rising.
"No," she said. Her eyes went distant for a moment. "There's a huge amount of psionic interference in the area. But he can't be dead, Scott. I would have felt it, even if we were on opposite sides of the galaxy." She looked up at him, her delicate features hardening into a flinty expression. "I know it looks bad, Scott, but just listen to me for a minute. Just before this happened, I used Cerebro to try and break through the interference. I wanted to contact Nathan for a status report, but for some reason, I was drawn to Logan's mind instead. Scott, I saw the Marauders in his recent memories."
Scott came to a stop, only now noticing that they were almost to the hangar. Jean had been steering him in the right direction, gently but firmly. He stared down at her, seeing how grim she looked. "The Marauders? Jean, what are you saying?"
"Think, Scott. Sinister looks on Nathan as his most valuable pawn." Her voice was full of bitterness. "A tool to use against Apocalypse--the embodiment of the potential in our DNA. Can you think of any reason why he would try to kill him? It doesn't make sense." They entered the hangar, and Jean nodded with satisfaction to see the Blackbird's engines already powering up.
"Appearance can be deceiving," Scott murmured, vocalizing the thought they both shared. He felt a flicker of hope.
"Exactly," Jean said darkly. Five minutes later, the Blackbird was screaming through the skies over Salem Center, headed north.
***
"CABLE!" Logan roared. A bullet caught him in the shoulder, hurling him backwards into the undergrowth. Bishop dove to join him, firing off a few shots of his own.
Logan struggled to get up, but Bishop grabbed his arm and pulled him back down roughly. "Don't be a fool!" he snapped as the gunfire continued. "It was a head shot, he's dead!"
Logan growled, wrenching free of Bishop's grasp. He could feel himself losing the battle with his feral nature, as if he was slowly sliding over a cliff. For once, he didn't particularly care.
"I'm not leaving him out there!" he snarled. But something whizzed over their heads, and the trees behind them exploded. Debris flew everywhere, and the two X-Men were knocked to the ground. Bishop cursed and returned fire from a prone position. Logan, staring through the bushes at Cable's motionless body, barely noticed.
Standing outside the dome on the moon, feeling sick as he watched Cable fight Stryfe with nothing but courage and sheer bloody stubborness--Watching Cable and Rachel at Scott and Jean's wedding, amazed at how the two of them glowed with happiness almost as intense as that of the bride and groom--Going back for Cable on Muir Island, feeling a twinge of surprise at the rage that had boiled up inside him when he'd seen the gloating Phalanx absorbing Cable. 'The big guy might be a royal pain,' he'd snarled, hurling himself into the battle, 'but he's OUR royal pain--'
Holding a week-old baby who had stared up at him with a strangely adult look of half-amused, half-disgusted tolerance in his cloudy blue eyes. Eyes that had opened so early, as if the kid knew he had a lot to do in this life and wanted to get right at it--
The sound that burst from Logan then wasn't even remotely human. Launching himself out of the bushes, all his senses focused on the sniper, he was a hunter. A killer. Scalphunter, the analytical part of his brain informed him. The rest was howling for blood.
He heard gunfire behind him as Bishop tried to give him cover. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except Scalphunter's blood on his claw. Bullets struck him. Logan ignored him as he would the stings of insects. Nothing was going to stop him--
Something hit him in the chest, a fiery sledgehammer that lifted him off his feet and hurled him to the ground. Logan lay there, stunned by the impact, barely able to breathe. He could feel his healing factor surge into frantic life, trying to outrace the damage--could smell his own flesh, burning--
He blinked up at a flesh-colored blur, squinted until it resolved into Scalphunter's smirking face. The Marauder raised his gun, its muzzle almost touching Logan's face. He saw the forearm-long missile, loaded and ready to fire. At this range, it would blow his head off, and not even his healing factor could repair that kind of damage. He tried to move, to defend himself, but his strength was gone.
"I'm going to enjoy this," Scalphunter promised. "Give my regards to Hades, X-Man."
Then there was a presence in his mind. Jean? he asked faintly, but as the presence grew and strengthened like a warm, golden wind, he knew it wasn't Jean. Odd. Usually he hated to be wrong. But this time, he couldn't have been happier.
Scalphunter screamed as his gun blew up in his face.
As the Marauder toppled, shrieking as he clawed at his eyes, Logan managed to push himself up to his elbows. Gritting his teeth, he looked down at his chest. Remind me to go vegetarian for a while, he told himself. He didn't think he'd be able to stand the sight of meat, raw or cooked, for the next few days. The pain was--excessive, but he'd live, now that it appeared his head was going to stay attached to his shoulders.
Bishop came crashing through the trees, his eyes widening with horror as he saw Logan's injuries. "Logan!" Seeing Scalphunter, he immediately leveled his gun at the clone, although the Marauder was clearly in no shape to fight.
Behind him, much more slowly, came Cable. He walked past Bishop and knelt at Logan's side, moving so hesitantly that Logan got the strange impression that he didn't know where he was going. Even through the pain of his massive injuries, Logan could tell that there was something seriously wrong.
"Nate?" he rasped weakly. An indecipherable expression crossed Cable's face. "You all right, bub?"
"Don't worry about me," Cable replied in an odd voice. "Hold still. I'm going to try and jump-start your healing factor." He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. "This might hurt."
Logan bit back a howl of pain as his healing factor began to work at an incredible pace. Rachel had tried this once and failed, but whatever Cable was doing, it was clearly having an effect. He could feel bones knitting, his lungs clearing. The pain was almost as bad as being shot in the first place--
Cable fell back with a gasp, sweat standing out on his forehead. Logan felt a little light-headed as he looked down at his scorched clothes and the healthy, absolutely unmarked skin beneath. He sat up, feeling better than he had in nearly a year--ever since he'd fought Sabertooth while the rest of the X-Men awaited the end of the world in the Negev. His mind was clear, his senses expanded to their most perceptive without overwhelming him.
He looked over at Cable, not bothering to hide his gratitude. "Thanks, Nate," he said gruffly. Cable nodded, but then winced, as if moving his head hurt. Logan opened his mouth, but before he could ask, Cable smiled tiredly and answered his question.
"It wasn't a bullet, Logan," he said simply. "I'm no use to Sinister if I'm dead. Unless he's decided that Nate Grey would make an adequate substitute--" The joke fell rather flat.
"If it wasn't a bullet--"
"I don't know," Cable said with a fatalistic calm, as if the question was of no importance. "Whatever it was, it probably still wouldn't killed me if it wasn't for the T-O virus." He touched his left arm. "This isn't the only 'metal' in my body, remember? Sinister knew that. I was only out for a minute or so, and by the time I came to, the virus had already sealed over the entry wound."
This was, to put it mildly, 'creeping him out'. Logan studied Cable uneasily. There's something else--something he isn't telling me. Cable wasn't looking at him. In his direction, sure, but not at him--more like through him.
Or not seeing me at all. Logan raised a hand, waving it for a moment in front of Cable's face. His eyes didn't track the movement, and Logan cursed softly.
"You can't see, can you?" he asked, his voice rough. Cable smiled faintly.
"Not really, no," he answered quietly. "But I can sense where the two of you are, telepathically. And I'm generated a light telekinetic field to make sure I don't run into anything." He managed a ghost of a laugh. "Call it sonar, if you like. Jean would be proud of me--I'm being very creative, here."
Logan swore again, this time more loudly, and Cable actually flinched. "Look, Nate, you don't have a healing factor! Whatever's causing this, it could be serious--brain damage from whatever hit you. And we don't even know what that was! Do you want to trust that it's something harmless, knowing Sinister?" He rose to his feet, glancing upwards at the sky. Dawn was still hours ago. This night feels like it's gone on forever. Logan looked back down at Cable, still kneeling on the ground. He looked outwardly calm, but Logan caught an edge of fear in his scent. "We need to get you to a doctor," he said firmly, but a little less harshly. "Or better yet, home so Hank can take a look at you--"
Cable's expression hardened. The fear-scent vanished. "You're right about everything except going back to the mansion," he said implacably. "But it doesn't matter. I'm not leaving without Regina, and if I have to go in by myself, even like this, I will."
"I didn't say that!" Logan growled. That faint smile flashed across Cable's face once more, gone again in an instant, and Logan gave an exasperated sigh. "Damn it, you're more stubborn than Scott and Jeanie put together!" What are you going to do? a dry voice in his mind asked him. Leave him here, like this, when the Marauders are roaming around? Logan surrendered to the inevitable. "Can you link with me, use my eyes?" he asked bluntly. Cable shook his head, without offering an explanation why, and Logan winced. He'd been afraid of that, with how inexperienced Cable was with his telepathy. "Fine, then stay behind me. Let's go get the girl and get this over with. Then, we are going home."
All of us, Nate. Whether you like it or not.
To be continued...
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