Of Struggling Wings And Besieged Dreams

by Jaya Mitai

They didn't keep him waiting long.

Scalphunter actually caught the tiniest of glimpses of Wolverine come in through the back before Gambit dropped down right in front of him and sent him flying with a left cross that almost broke his jaw.

The barn was alive with them before his back hit the rotten straw.

The abandoned stable was an old one, drafty, dark, and hadn't seen the hind end of a horse in twenty years. As a result, the structure was colder than the outside air, and the straw crackled beneath him as he rolled out of the way of an optic blast that would very well have pulverized him, and had not the temperature been so low, might well have set the place afire. The red glow of the energy was in shocking contrast to the absolute darkness inside, nearly destroying all the virtual purple in his eye.

The roll carried the heavily armed Marauder behind a full hay roller, displacing a nest of mice and getting him to his feet with a pretty good view of the barn and its occupants. A strong kick to the gut sent him right back towards the window, and as he rolled to his side, trying to get to his feet, a very dimly glowing metal blade touched his throat.

"If you want the blonde brat back, I wouldn't," he still managed casually, contemplating the angle and pressure it would take to cut into his trachea. Very little adjustment, actually. A thin trickle of blood was already tickling down his neck.

The blade did hesitate then, and suddenly he was being hauled to his feet by his collar, facing a glowing eye, the only thing truly visible of Nathaniel Christopher Summers' face.

"So you trade me one life and take another? Seems like a raw deal." Scalphunter went flying into the full hay-roller, a metallic click the only sound as he pulled a gun. It hadn't been TK, the bastard was just that _strong._

"Put it down or lose the hand," a female voice snarled, and pale fingers snaked out of the darkness to disarm him, sweeping him with startling efficiency. He used the momentum and the handy hay-roller to push off, bringing her down with him, pinning her almost too easily.

"And you must be Spot, Cable's bitch." She didn't move, other than to sneer, and he heard other feet crackling through the straw. If they hadn't killed him yet, they knew exactly what was going on, and what did a little teasing ever do? "Little bastard was crying your name, for a while. Couldn't seem to understand why yah didn't come for him -"

He felt the air displace, the frigid quality aiding his hearing, and he dodged the boot a split second before it would have cracked his skull. Rolling off her, he regained his feet with some little distance, the teleporting button by his left foot.

"Oh, don't worry," he assured her, eyes taking in the 'heroes' that decided to make an appearance. "He stopped screaming a long time ago. Doesn't even whimper anymore. Good kid." To his relief, Jean numbered among the people he could see, along with Cable, Domino, Gambit, Wolverine, and Cyclops. Looks like they left McCoy in the house, and they left X-Force to keep an eye on it.

Perfect.

Scalphunter bared his teeth, the beginnings of a shiver creeping up his spine. Place was so bloody _cold!_ "I'm sure he's dying to see you." The teleporting beacon was half-concealed beneath the old straw, and they never even saw his booted foot move for it.

* * * * * * *

All Domino saw was his balance shift slightly, and then her stomach decided it wanted to be in the vicinity of her lungs, and her lungs, displaced into her throat, expanded fully, like a puffin fish threatened by a reef shark.

It was a good thing they did, or she would have lost the contents of her stomach, and she was beginning to think she needed that iron in the blood down there.

There was no flash of light, it was more a flash of dark, and of immense, cold nothingness, and then she stumbled forward, balance off as her feet met floor once more, only not quite where it had been before. In her peripheral vision she saw many of the X-Men doing the same, struggling for balance. Only Cable and Gambit seemed immune to it, already striding forward.

They appeared to be in a hallway, only a shining expanse of metal met her gaze, floor, walls, and ceilings. There were rooms to the right and left, parallel, and a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. There was no sign of the Marauder, or any other form of life save the X-Men.

Her sight was clear only an instant, and then it seemed to catch up to her stomach. Her head muzzied, sense of balance gone as well as sight, and she was caught around the waist by someone just before she would have hit the floor. She doubled, fighting nausea, and stared at the blue gloves around her middle, trying to figure out where the floor was.

"You okay?" It was more of a grunt than a question with honest sincerity, but she took it as the latter, straightening swiftly, ignoring the rush of blood in her head, the ache struggling to return. Both the dizziness and the ache passed swiftly and very suddenly, and she stepped away from Wolverine. She didn't fall, thus deciding it was safe to go after the retreating figures of the Summers' without threat of getting comfy with the ground.

"I got it, thanks."

Something tickled her upper lip, and she hastily wiped away the blood. Just a trickle, compared to what it had been, not a big deal –

"Careful," the man muttered, then walked past her without another word, after the team. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, then followed them, a good ten yards ahead, both Summers wandering around like four foot strides were nothing. Why did all the superheroes have to be so _tall_?

Excluding Logan, of course. She knew better than to take his brusque behavior as dismissive; she'd know him too well and too long. He was trying to minimize visible fuss over her. But he knew something was wrong, just as well as she did.

Something was very wrong.

The hallway was large, echoing, and well-lit, though she could find no light source whatsoever. There were few doors along the smooth metal walls, and no sign of cameras or surveillance equipment of any kind. The floors were a solid sheet of metal, rather than panels, so she doubted pressure-sensitive strips could be placed beneath them.

Just how the hell did Sinister run security around here?

Scalphunter was nowhere in sight, a smart move, considering she would have killed him as soon as they'd arrived here. She wondered idly if Sinister meant to pass off another clone on them, or whether she'd get to see Sam, alive, breathing, in one piece.

And if he wasn't, she wasn't leaving a rodent in this place alive. Screw the stupid Prophecy.

The end of the hall was marked by a large pair of double-doors, and it was these that Cyclops was heading unerringly towards. She'd heard some of the tale of his personal vendetta against the man that had created Cable, to be sacrificed to a demon by his mother, a clone of Jean Grey. Sinister had apparently had a lab set up beneath the orphanage Scott had been housed in after his parents 'died' in the plane crash, and they'd had multiple meetings ever since. Not to mention he'd sent Maddie to seduce Scott after the Phoenix had been destroyed by the Shi'ar. It probably hadn't been hard for Madelyne, Scott might have fallen for her even if she hadn't been telepathically suggesting.

Then again, the idea of Stryfe appearing and seducing _her_ after she thought Cable was dead made her even more nauseous than the teleporting. Her jaw clenched itself as she recalled it was Sinister that had introduced her to Stryfe in the first place, at Pryor's grave. That was bound to make Cable unhappy with the asshole, too. Sam better be in one piece, or she wasn't going to get a hit in, between the two Summers in front of her.

The metal double-doors slid open at Scott's approach, and every thought fled her mind save one as she saw who was in the room before them.

"Sam!"

* * * * * * *

The room was empty of furniture save a raised metal table, shining silver, in a style that made her think instantly of a morgue. And atop that table, chest barely rising and falling in blood-caked clothes, was a terribly gaunt, almost skeletal looking blonde man, his eyes closed, face relaxed as though in sleep.

Cable beat her there, ever so gently touching the tiny, wasted form on the metal dais, the bloodied clothes he wore looking ridiculously huge on his shrunken frame. He's lost at least thirty pounds, she thought, and winced at the idea. Thirty pounds in a little under three days was enough to cause very serious organ and tissue damage, not to mention almost impossible. What the hell had the man done to him? Or was it –

Was it another clone.

Cable froze there several moments, leaning over the boy, eye glowing with a furnace fire that was undiminished, as bright as the light in Stryfe's eye when - She broke off that thought, hurrying around to the other side of the slab, picking up one of those painfully bony wrists to find his pulse.

His skin felt . . . strange. Absolutely dry, rough, spotted brown with dying cells and uneven melanin. The texture was almost that of parchment paper, hot to the touch as the veins ran so close to the surface. It wasn't at all difficult to find his pulse, and despite his visible condition, his heartbeat was steady, slow, and reasonably strong.

Cable laid his right hand on Sam's chest, and the man opened his eyes, so slowly, as if afraid, as if he didn't really want to know who they were and why they were there. As if not looking would make them disappear. It clenched Domino's already unhappy gut. Nathan didn't say anything that she could hear, but Sam's body shook, once, and when his eyes closed, twin tears tumbled down that gaunt face, into his oily, matted hair.

Domino stroked his cheeks in an effort to reassure him, leaning forward, studying him for damage. Other than that absolutely appalling physical condition, she found no scars, no cuts, no visible injury besides a slightly bruising needlemark on his neck. Nothing to give her a clue as to what had happened to him, what had left this shell of Sam Guthrie for them to find. Her stomach dropped out of her body completely as she thought of the reaction this was going to get out of Lucinda. To see your own child like this, on top of everything else . . . she didn't know which was worse, a beaten Sam or a broken one.

"Hey, Sam," she murmured, getting his eyes to open, focusing on her well. No concussion, then. Domino almost pulled her gun then and there at the absolutely terrified look in those eyes, a frantic, pleading desperation that horrified her. Whatever Sinister had done, it had been unpleasant on a level she didn't want to think about. Then again, if I suddenly woke up weighing sixty pounds, I suppose I'd be a little freaked myself.

"You feel okay? Does it hurt anywhere?" His eyes squeezed shut, and he opened his mouth, lips moving without speaking, giving up after a few seconds in favor of a quiet, dry sob. She stroked his hair, shhing him gently, looking without looking for the scar she knew was on his scalp from a sparring session with 'Star gone hopelessly wrong. She found it, a slightly raised section above his ear, and carefully masked her relief. There was no need to make him think they might, even for a moment, mistake him for another clone.

Then again, Sinister had had him for a while, could he duplicate scarring? And would Nathan be able to tell even with a scan? He'd mistaken the last Sam, but he'd had no time, and been distracted besides . . . surely a deep scan would reveal the truth.

"We're getting you out of here, just sit tight while I skin Sinister, and then we're blowing this joint . . ." She took Sam's hand and squeezed it tightly, her gaze meeting Cable's absolutely deadly look. "I _do_ get to skin him, right?"

Cable was shaking as he turned from Sam, but his face was completely composed as he glared at the door.

"There's no need for that level of hostility," a particularly strange voice reprimanded, and one of the singularly weirdest looking villains Domino knew came around the corner. A ribboned cape fell from armored, strong shoulders, framing a face as pale as hers, only what looked like a red diamond marring the absolute pallor of that alabaster skin, and unearthly eyes, perhaps more disturbing than LeBeau's red on black. His voice was . . . strange, rumbling without overtones, a smooth, absolutely controlled sound, not robotic, but not human.

She snorted, unable to completely contain in her contempt, at either his appearance, much the same as the last time she'd seen him, or his words, and that unsettling gaze found her. As Sinister turned their way, Sam's hand tightened with painful strength in hers.

"He is alive, is he not? He is useless to me now; you may take him at your leisure." Dismissal if she'd ever heard one. At the sound of his voice, Sam had begun to tremble violently, and his eyes snapped back open, latching onto her like she was the sun, shining above the waters, and he a drowning man reaching for it. Domino's eyes tightened. What had the man _done_ to Sam to cause this? He hadn't spoken, uttered a single sound, like a frightened abused dog that's afraid to bark.

You goddamn son of a bitch, you didn't . . .

"Shh, Sam, it's okay," she whispered, leaning in close to brush a strand of limply curled hair from his face, and the tear that followed its twins. "I gotcha, big guy."

He just shook, still apparently not trusting his voice, and with her help he managed to sit up. She could tell without his trying or telling her that he couldn't walk, and despite the lack of pain in her head she had a general feeling of weakness. Carrying him was out of the question, not if she had a fight with Apocalypse coming up. She watched Nathan, leaving Sam to meet Sinister by the door. Surely that ass wasn't one of the Twelve . . .

She wondered idly what would happen if she killed him, and there were only Eleven to fight.

#I can take Sam,# Jean offered quietly in her head, and Domino tried to quell a sudden, irrational surge of anger and jealousy. What was her brain thinking, this was _her_ student, and if anyone was going to get him out of here, it was going to be her? She almost laughed at the idea of thinking about the kids so possessively, and wondered idly if Jean had picked that up. Seeing Scalphunter walk in instantly killed anything humorous in the thought, and she glared at him icily before ignoring him completely and watching Sam's reaction to him. Not as afraid of the Marauder as he was Sinister. She didn't know whether to be relieved or more upset.

*Sorry about that, and thanks,* she thought loudly in Jean's direction, not paying attention when the telepath jumped, when she felt just a hint of rosy warmth in her mind. X-Men probably never actually _seriously_ thought of skinning people.

Well, excluding Wolverine.

Domino didn't have much time to think about it, as her peripheral vision caught movement, and she turned just in time to see Nathan strike Sinister across the face with his psimitar, knocking the scientist onto his back a good yard from where he started. Scalphunter instantly pulled a weapon, and she followed suit, not even getting a chance to fire before a loud *Zak!* neatly disarmed him. It left Scalphunter looking darkly in Cyclop's direction and rubbing his wrist. Domino was impressed by the reserve Scott had shown, considering his body language was screaming as loudly as Cable's.

Sam jumped at the noise, and Logan appeared from nowhere, murmuring under his breath as he put an arm around Sam. Sam's knees went almost immediately, and he clung to the shorter mutant like a small child, looking like one, his arm was so fucking thin! Anger burned in Domino, and she used it, locking eyes with Scalphunter, his narrowed and obviously considering attempting to re-arm himself as Cable advanced on his fallen employer.

"Don't even think about it," she snarled, coming around the dais quickly, covering the distance between them, Jean forgotten. She knew Logan. She trusted him with Sam, for now.

Shit, Nate, we _are_ taking him back to the house before we go after Apocalypse, right?

"Don't shoot him," Cable ordered, not backing off as Sinister gracefully regained his feet with a venomous look. If he heard her thought, he ignored it. "We need them both."

Scott had remained silent throughout, and when he finally spoke, his voice was neutral, measured. "You're kidding, right?"

Cable's eye nearly spit sparks as he glared at the scientist, not looking at Scott. "I'd been thinking of enlisting Sinister's help for years, actually. The once right-hand man of Apocalypse, and we all know that he doesn't let his minions go easily." His tone was absolutely vicious, and Sinister managed to keep his look only slightly more.

"You're correct." The scientist glared at Domino. "Put your weapon away, woman. It appears we fight on the same side."

Cable laughed, and Domino's heart rose in her throat at the familiarity of the undertones in that mirthless sound. "Same side? Do allies kidnap each other's soldiers for lab rats?!" Sam flinched in Logan's grasp, and the short mutant held him up, talking into his ear too softly for Domino to make out the words. Whatever he was saying seemed to be calming Sam, his look a little less wild-eyed and frantic. Bless you, Logan. She didn't lower the gun, and Sinister dismissed her with an irritated look as he turned his attention back on Cable.

"He is merely a soldier to you, then?"

Cable's fist tightened on the psimitar, and she truly thought he was going to use it. "All of us are. You included, once-slave."

Surprisingly, the name seemed to enrage the scientist, and his hand flew upwards in the air, a gesture that made Cable jump back warily.

Then the cold, absolute nothingness, and this time her organs decided not to line dance, hanging onto her abdominal wall for dear life.

* * * * * * *

The steady, ringing grind of the whetstone was in perfect rhythm with Paige's pacing. Whether the Guthrie girl was pacing to Shatterstar's sharpening or he was attuned to her footsteps, it didn't really matter. It was starting to drive everyone just a little further over a razor edge.

Rictor was the only one who seemed to be taking it in stride. He was keeping a sharp eye on everything outside the house, but they expected nothing. Obviously the Marauder had wanted the X-Men, and he had them. There was evidence that a teleportation device had been used, and there was no sign of any of them.

Theresa had agreed with Dr. McCoy, that it would be best to stay in the house and protect the Guthrie family. No matter how much they wanted to join in the search for their missing teammate. She was watching Paige with a thoughtful expression, though Paige didn't seem to notice.

Tabitha, they had gathered, was bad. McCoy wouldn't say how bad, but he had come out nearly an hour ago and pressed James into service, handing him latex gloves as they'd disappeared into the medbay. There had been no word since.

However, Dani didn't look particularly frightened. She was curled up on the floor with a pillow in her lap, staring blankly at a television that was on just for the sake of being on. They'd muted it long ago, so the only sounds were breathing, and pacing, and a blade gradually being ground sharper.

Mrs. Guthrie herself they knew was fine. She was sleeping and in shock, but had been tucked away upstairs. The kids were sleeping fitfully. Paige had seen to them a while ago and every once in a while she turned her head in their direction, as if intending to stop the interminable pacing and check on them, but so far she had not done it.

No one spoke. No one dared.

At length Ric returned to the den, looking around at the full bowl of popcorn, the silent television, the suddenly expectant eyes.

"Nothing."

Theresa nodded silently. No one really expected anything else.

When McCoy and Proudstar finally came out, two hours more of rhythmic silence had passed. Both the men looked weary, but James tried for a cheerful grin.

"She made it."

"She's stabilized," Hank McCoy cut in gently, wiping the half-formed smiles of relief off the collective X-Force. "That gives me hope that she will recover, but how she does this evening in critical. I understand that in times of absence, Theresa Cassidy is acting deputy leader."

She simply nodded. Hank paused for a breath, then continued wearily, "Then I leave you to discuss as a team what action, if any, you plan to take. I would advise remaining here to protect the Guthries," he added quietly. "My experience with the Marauders is limited, but they have done extensive damage in their time and I would not recommend attempts to track them." And let's not even discuss Nathaniel Essex, he thought to himself silently.

In truth, he was as eager now to find his teammates as the young people around him were to exact revenge. There was no telling what had happened to Samuel Guthrie, if Essex did indeed have him, and knowing the self-proclaimed scientist as well as he did, he knew what he feared might not even touch the surface of what the X-Men were going to find.

If they found anything at all.

Hank nodded to Theresa again, quietly thanked Proudstar for his assistance, and retired to the medbay, apparently with the intention of remaining there all night.

Leaving X-Force standing in the den.

Their numbers were slightly smaller than usual. Caliban and Da Coasta had gone last week, as Roberto had needed some time away to deal with 'something my father left' and Cable hadn't wanted him leaving by himself. There was no telling if Gideon still harbored a grudge and with the anti-mutant hysteria it had seemed prudent. Roberto and Caliban got along fine, it had seemed a logical choice. Now Theresa wished they were back.

Dani picked at the frill edging the pillow. "So. Now what?"

Ric seemed to pick up on her thought pattern. "Look, it's obvious that Sinister or whoever either thinks they killed Mrs. Guthrie or didn't want to in the first place. If they were going to attack again, they'd have done it by now."

"Ye dinna ken that."

"My friends, you are all snarling at the wrong vine."

" . . . barking up the wrong tree . . .?" James hazarded a guess.

"Probably," Dani nodded to Proudstar before turning back to Shatterstar. The room seemed unusually silent now that the sharpening had stopped. The whetstone was silent and mostly forgotten on the large knee.

"Recall the equipment we found at the Guthrie home. Recall what was found in the church. Perhaps there is a threat present we have given no notice to."

Paige stared at him. "You mean you think that inhibiting generator and the gas –"

"We all know this sort of technology is not characteristic of the Friends of Humanity, though unarguably the beating of an unarmed mutant is. Perhaps there is more that we do not see."

Ric shook his head. "Hang on a sec. We know that the blood found at the house was Sam's. We know from witnesses that the family was taken in a big black van. So far, so good. But somehow that Sam became a clone Sam either before or during his stay in that church, and apparently Sinister was responsible for that cloning, so it's a good bet that the real Sam is still with him. I'm not really seeing how any of this fits together."

Paige perched herself on the arm of an overstuffed recliner. "Momma said that she heard different voices while she was being held in the church. From what I could dig up, she heard the voices of Marauders. At least Harpoon and Scalphunter." Her Kentucky accent was creeping in and she fought it. She was upset, very upset, but she needed to keep her cool before X-Force decided she was a liability and made her stay with her family.

Right now she wanted to be out looking for her brother. Maybe hearing Sam's accent in her voice would actually make them warm up to her. But that wasn't the honest approach, and she didn't want to lose their trust, either.

"So they knew that Sam would be at the church."

"Or they tracked him down th' same as we did," Terry said slowly. "But that means they'd have had tae ken where Sam was headed afore we did."

"Not necessarily. They teleported out of that barn, they could just as easy have teleported to the Guthrie farm. They may not have known before we did, they just beat us there." Rictor sat next to 'Star, who was moodily staring at his blade.

"They undoubtedly teleported out of the church," Dani pointed out. "We didn't see them there and not much time elapsed between what Lucinda heard and us finding that clone. But the question is whether the guys in the van were working for Sinister, or they were working for someone else. And if so, who and why."

"Why might be pretty obvious, Dani. Whoever they were, they had the town rev thinking he was doing Lucinda a favor. Coulda been someone he knew."

Paige shook her head. "Mom said they killed Reverend Hicks. There was a plan, they were conspirators, but she said the men that took my family were Yankees. Not from around the Bible Belt, at any road."

"What exactly did yer mum say?"

Paige chewed on the tip of her tongue thoughtfully. "She said the Reverend said that hurting the family wasn't part of the plan. The other man said that there was a change in plans. The Reverend said it was an abomination, what they were doing in the church, and threatened to call it off. Then they shot him."

Shatterstar looked exceptionally cold as his eyes met Paige's. She had the impression he never came across as particularly friendly, but the look he was wearing right now indicated he was very, very angry. "These men that have taken our teammate away are dishonorable indeed."

X-Force sat quietly for a few moments, then Shatterstar sheathed the sword he had in his hands and brought out the other one, staring at the whetstone in his hand before laying it perfectly flush with the blade, caressing the metal almost lovingly with a harsh, metallic rasp.

"How articulate," Ric murmured.

Terry's eyes wandered about the room sightlessly, first running the length of the molding that linked the wall with the ceiling, then falling slowly before refocusing and settling on Shatterstar. "Did ye happen tae write down the license plate number o' that van?"

He considered, not stopping his sharpening. "It was 364 EBL."

Dani frowned. "But it'll be a rental, won't it? I mean, they couldn't be that stupid."

"We've tracked guys down with less to go on that this. I say we get cracking." Proudstar rarely showed emotion, but the big face was stony, and he was already starting to move.

Paige raised her head a little. "Do you mind if I give you a hand?"

* * * * * *

It was hot sand she felt as she crashed to her knees, hot sun above her as she struggled once more with her stomach. She might as well just puke, if she was going to get this sick every time they teleported. Then again, it had always been hard on her, for some reason –

Domino's eyes opened to see the golden desert, blisteringly bright, as bright as the blood that was dripping from her face to land on the glowing, clean sand.

"If we are soldiers," she heard the scientist continue, in a much calmer voice, "then let us battle."

A shadow fell over her as she struggled with the sudden ache in her head and her stomach, and suddenly her chin was in a gentle hand, and Cable's eyes were studying her intently. She pulled away, sitting back and backhanding the blood from her nose.

*It's nothing, really,* she thought at him, the sensation so . . . odd, without the link. How long she had cursed it, how long she had mistrusted it, that she didn't exactly know when she'd come to find it a comfort, then a constant, something she used and found solace in. So strange, that on this day, of all days, she couldn't even tell what he was feeling –

He blinked in surprise, and she felt him tap on whatever shields she'd managed to accumulate in all her time near telepaths. It was a most hesitant of tickles, unsure, a lover asking permission to deepen a kiss. She tried to relax her mental defenses but her brain protested, forcing her to tear them down, one at a time, the process tedious and embarrassing. It was only after she closed her eyes and forced herself to relax that she felt his presence in her mind, hesitant, questioning, a pure, golden glow that was so unlike Stryfe's mind and so achingly familiar that she embraced it, not realizing that he pulled her to him until she felt his fingers in her hair, felt him shaking, smelled the scents of Nathan and sweat, the odd odor of the metal of the psimitar.

She felt him bury his face in her hair, pulling her close, body as tense as his T-O arm. He murmured something to her in Askani, muffled by her hair, and she tensed herself, making him flinch and release his death-grip on her. "Oath, no . . ." It was little more than a whimper.

Confused, she tried to pull away. Of all the times he could be moaning the loss of the link, he was doing it _now_? The last thing he needed was this sort of distraction! His hands didn't seem to want to release her, and it was then she noticed cool on her cheek, but the heat of his chest on her forehead. His muscled chest seemed tenser than usual, harder . . .

Colder.

Her blood ran ice, and she pushed away from him, using her hands to confirm what she already knew.

"Nate, the T-O . . !"

He caught her hands, dropping to his knees in front of her, the two of them like statues, facing each other. His eyes were reluctant to meet hers, full of an anticipation she found alluring, a dread that twisted her soul.

#Meant to tell you earlier, but . . . no time like the present, hmm?# She could almost feel his wry grin, the way it faded into something much cooler. #It's . . . like when you have an accident, and . . . take an injury that makes you forget how to walk, or to use your hands,# he murmured, ever so quietly, in her mind. #It was part of Stryfe's plan from the beginning, to keep himself in power, since he was the only one that could use the TK. There wasn't anything you could have done, confronting him sooner wouldn't have mattered.#

She just blinked, shaking her head. *You mean . . . you can't use your TK? You _forgot_ how??*

He hesitated, his fingers, one hand still human, stroking hers in his grasp. #I could relearn, but not in time.#

*What about Jean? Couldn't she -*

He shook his head. #It's unrealistic to have another tepe fight the virus.# He hesitated. #Besides, it'd be too painful, might do more damage than good.# A snort. #Stryfe made absolutely sure of that.#

She shook her head, not believing, blood forgotten as it trickled over her lip. Here he was, about to have the fight he'd been preparing for almost his entire life, and he was just sitting here calmly in the sand, telling her that he was dying _before_ Apocalypse even got his first hit in?

He seemed to sense her sudden, frantic surge of panic. #It's okay, Dom, it's -#

She fought to her feet, ignoring the dizziness, ignoring everyone around them, the burning sun, the sands, the blood still trickling from her nose. She stumbled back away from him, fingers slipping through his as he tried to catch them.

"No, no . . . no, that's _not_ okay, Nate! That is definitely less than okay!" Her mind reeled as he knelt there, almost at her feet, still calm, the mask warring with that kicked puppy look he sometimes adopted when he knew he'd just told her something that hurt. Why now? Why did it have to happen now? "Didn't Blaquesmith know that? Can't he -"

"There was nothing anyone could do. Even the mother Askani herself would be pressed on how best to handle this."

She whirled at that quiet, regretful voice, and Blaquesmith caught her wrists, the only thing that kept her on her feet. "You've killed him," she murmured, the true horror dawning only after she said the words. Blaquesmith had _known_ what it would do . . . The old Askani winced, releasing her gently.

"Domino, you must understand -"

And then Jean was in his face, and Scott was in Domino's, looking at her in concern as he procured a handkerchief from nowhere.

"Domino, do you feel alright?" She accepted the cloth, wiping her face without answering him, shaking with rage. That son of a bitch! He'd gone in there, he'd seen what would happen, and he'd sentenced Nate to _death_ just so he could have his stupid fight! What if this wasn't _the_ battle, and Nathan died?

"Get out of here," Jean grated at the shorter Askani tutor, hands balled into fists at her sides, shaking with a rage very similar to her own. "I think you've done more than enough already."

Blaquesmith's face twisted into something close to a pained expression, not quite making it. "You don't yet realize the enormity of this situation," he began, and Jean cut him off.

"What don't I understand? You must have seen that damage! The only alternative you've left him with after this battle is letting Stryfe back into control or -" She broke off, furiously, inches away from the bewildered looking Askani. "Get out of my sight, and take that bitch with you."

"Phoenix, please, control yourself," the cold, dark-haired Askani woman advised, appearing from nowhere, coming across the sand as her eyes distastefully ran over the assorted mutants, some watching the conflict, others allowing them their privacy and watching an approaching wave of dust. "You've Gathered poorly, Askani'son."

Nathan was still on the sand, face calm, composed, his psimitar by his side. He was meditating, didn't appear to even know they were there. Preparing for his battle. But Jean laughed at the Askani sister's words, a wild, high-pitched sound. "I suppose Stryfe would have chosen better, then?"

"That was . . . unfortunate, but what is -"

Jean turned away sharply, staring at the approaching dust, eyes glowing an uncomfortable color. "What if this isn't _the_ battle," Jean muttered hoarsely. "What if all you've done is condemn him to either die or live as the slave of that . . . that monster in his head!"

"There are ways to guarantee Stryfe cannot harm him, and I have full confidence that Stryfe will contain the virus in self-interest, giving us the time to repair the damage done to Dayspring's tele-"

"What's this _us_?" Scott asked sharply, before Jean could speak. "Why do I get the feeling you aren't including Nate's team and family in this _us._"

The Askani sister regarded Scott with something akin to surprise, a stray wind brushing a strand of her dark hair from almond-shaped eyes. "You saw the wisdom once in giving him to us to save him from the virus, I see no reason why you should recon-"

"He saved himself," Scott announced, voice hard. "My son isn't leaving this century, certainly not with Stryfe in control, without us." He had stepped forward to stand beside his wife, face hard, jaw set.

The Askani laughed. "I couldn't possibly manage to teleport four to the correct time period, it's difficult enough to carry even one companion with me -"

"Make several trips."

The Askani sister turned to glare at Domino, having taken the handkerchief from her nose. "Because you're going to have to bring me along, too."

It was Nathan that interrupted the sister's indignant reply, simply by standing, eyes opening slowly to take in the scene before him. The mismatched pair settled long on his parents, drifted over the men and women assembled, completely ignoring the sister and Blaquesmith, and they last found the perfectly matched violet pair that sought them.

*Nate, didn't you hear what she _said?_*

"It doesn't matter," he said softly, evenly, not moving, hair being teased by a wind that was increasing with every second. "There will be a wave of Dark Riders preceding Apocalypse. Those that prefer close combat take them, we'll need everything for what comes after."

And without another word he turned on his heels and headed towards the swirl of sand approaching impossibly quickly.

* * * * * * *

Domino fidgeted, watching the approaching sandstorm and checking her clips and weapons. Hard to use guns, didn't know what crazy kook might jump into her line of sight.

Cable was standing before them all, what she now knew to be a completely useless weapon in his right hand. Just waiting, watching the approaching wave of sand, knowing it concealed an army of Dark Riders to dispatch as many of them as possible. His shoulders were relaxed, he watched it all calmly, as he had before so many missions.

Like this one wasn't any different.

It isn't, she told her stomach rather firmly. It rumbled at her, a sure sign it was contemplating showing her what it thought of _that_ opinion. This is just like any other mission, get the job done and get home alive. And, just like every other mission, she looked at the faces assembled, assessed her teammates.

Her eyes first settled on Gambit, that arrogant Cajun, head tilted to the side as he tested the winds and lazily stretched like a cat lounging in the sun. Sand and Dark Riders would fly by him, but those bombs would be useless against Apocalypse himself.

Scott clenched and unclenched his jaw, set in a square line, even as she noted his shoulders were as relaxed as Nate's. Probably writing off the battle as a victory for their side and already trying to figure out a way to keep the Askani from kidnapping Cable afterwards.

Jean Grey-Summers stood beside Scott, eyes still glowing, seething with an anger she'd never seen on the redhead's face. Granted, she didn't spend much time with Cable's adopted mother, but it seemed slightly out of character for those usually deep, thoughtful green eyes. Probably as worried as Scott was about the Askani pulling some shit after the battle went down.

The great Wolverine, claws already bared and teeth as well, stood tall, getting Apocalypse's scent in the air. Unfortunately, he was pretty much useless after the Dark Rider army was taken care of. Other than hamstringing the External, there was little he could really do.

Sam lay in the sand where Logan had left him, about twenty yards behind them all. She thought she saw tears, frustration written on his face as he realized how useless he would be in all of this. One of the Twelve, obviously, and too crippled to play his role. She'd have to keep a good eye on making sure no one came around behind them.

Sinister was watching the approach of the Dark Riders like an engineer watches an avalanche. She knew he was powerful, she knew he had a history with Apocalypse. And she knew she was going to kill him for what he'd done to Sam if this battle didn't accomplish it for her.

Her eyes found Scalphunter a moment later, walking towards her with two strangely shaped rifles in his hands. She knew little of him other than what she'd read, she knew he was tactical leader for the Marauders, very good at quickly slaughtering innocents. He'd given the X-Men a run for their money on more than one occasion, and she'd heard of his skill with weapons in the merc circle. Sam didn't seem terrified of the Marauder, maybe she'd let him live.

Blaquesmith was still there, tears continually trickling down his face as he watched nothing but Cable. For some reason that didn't shock her as it should have. Murderer, she silently accused him. What Nathan would have chosen, had he had a choice, her mind murmured.

But wait . . . she counted again in her head, again coming up two short. Surely the Askani sister wouldn't fight, unallowed by their stupid religion, she probably shouldn't even be counting Blaquesmith as one, but the number . . .

"Only ten," she murmured, and all eyes suddenly found her.

Cable's eyes shifted to Blaquesmith. "Sanctity would have forbidden you to fight," he said slowly, eyes flickering as he searched his memory. "The sister, as well. Askani intervention in the Battle was forbidden-"

"I do not recognize Sanctity's authority here," the diminutive mentor said harshly, the first time she had ever heard his tone change from that perfectly schooled, mediated, sickeningly dry tone. "I broke my contract with her when I acted to change what had already occurred. It could have been Prophecy that Stryfe -"

Domino's gut clenched at the insinuation there. You _ass!_ First you strip away his ability to fight, now you strip away his confidence in things you've taught him since he was toilet-trained?!

Nate's eyelids flickered, once, his tone suddenly hesitant, his calm dropping instantly into something more uncertain. "It doesn't really matter," he said softly, and confidence returned to his voice, if not his frame. "This isn't the Battle. These aren't the Twelve."

"Nonsense," the Askani snapped. "A nexus point as strong as this? Even the most telepathically dull could see the ley lines tonight!"

Scott cleared his throat warningly. "What of Magneto? And oddly, I don't seem to see Xavier here. They were already named as two of the Twelve –"

"How dare you! There can be no mistaking-"

"Fuck it," Domino suddenly said, briskly. That cloud was getting closer by the second, and the last thing they needed was to sit around here counting heads. Eleven, twelve, it didn't matter. Sam was out, and Nate wasn't much better. There was no doubt in anyone's mind there was going to be _a_ battle, and standing around bickering was the last thing they needed to be doing. "All talk and no shooting a bored Domino makes."

The Askani sister teleported away with what sounded like a curse.

Nathan's gut-wrenchingly unsure look faded to something like a smile as he remembered her once-line from an old Six Pack mission, and he merely nodded to Blaquesmith, once, before turning back towards the approaching army.

#Can't have that, can we,# he murmured inside her head, and she had the impression of a warm, tight hug, the kind they had neither the time nor the privacy to indulge in. There was a hesitance, like a man taking a breath and opening his mouth without speaking, but he left her head, pulling her attention back to the Dark Riders, dangerously close.

Almost immediately after he turned the sand cleared, having fulfilled its purpose in not allowing them to size up their opponents until the Dark Riders were on top of them. It was one hell of a group. Forty or fifty snarling mutants, all armored, all armed, tore towards them, some on two legs, some knuckling along on three, still others in the air. All determined.

Not your ordinary mindless foot soldiers.

And Nathan charged into the midst of them, the Clan Chosen's war cry trumpeting from him as he brought his whirling blade down on the neck of the nearest.

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