Dreamweaver: Part Thirteen
Hank shook his head grimly as he examined the more detailed results from the Shi'ar scanners. This is worse than I thought.
A short distance away, Jean and Scott sat on either side of the ICU unit where their injured son lay in a coma so deep that his mind was unreachable even to Jean's telepathy. She kept trying, of course. Hank would have expected nothing less. Under normal circumstances, she might respect Cable's ambiguous feelings on the whole issue of family and keep a certain emotional distance, but all of that was gone, now, and she was as fiercely determined as a lioness protecting her cub.
Scott, pale and silent, held his son's hand. The very picture of stunned apathy, in sharp contrast to Jean's intensity--except that Hank knew damned well there was a great deal going on behind that blank-faced mask of shock. Scott hadn't said a word since they'd returned to the mansion, not even when Cecilia had treated his own injuries. Hank wished he knew whether it was due to the concussion he'd suffered, or needless--if highly characteristic--guilt over what had happened to Nathan.
"McCoy?" Cecilia came up beside him and winced as she saw what was displayed on the screens. "Damn. I sure hope this healer of yours is good at her work."
Hank felt a moment of almost paternal pride in the young doctor. After only two months, she was using the Shi'ar equipment as if she'd been trained on it all her life.
"Dana's healed people on the brink of death before," Hank said.
"I know--I've read the files," Cecilia answered, a note in her voice that sounded almost envious. Hank raised an eyebrow, and she continued hurriedly. "But his injuries are massive--broken bones, third-degree burns, a punctured lung, internal bleeding, even brain damage from this device you refuse to remove. And that's not even considering the cellular damage this--Phoenix-energy is doing. If this incredible equipment of yours is barely maintaining him on life-support, how is this girl supposed to help?"
"I believe Dana will be able to heal both the cellular damage and his more--mundane injuries," Hank said calmly. I hope, I pray-- "Her ability is very taxing, but highly effective. What concerns me is the possibility that in healing him she will purge the Phoenix-energy from his body--a strong likelihood, considering how her ability functions."
"That concerns you?" Cecilia asked, a little too loudly. Scott looked up dully and she immediately lowered her voice. "McCoy, it's killing him. Isn't getting rid of it what we want to do?"
Hank sighed. Sometimes she was a little too focused. "Cecilia, despite Sinister's amplifier--which I admit is doing as much harm as good--the levels of psionic energy in Nathan's body are dangerously low. If we 'get rid' of the Phoenix-energy and he can't use his own telekinesis to control the techno-organic virus, he will die. In minutes."
"So what do we do?" she asked, her gaze straying to Scott and Jean. Hank saw a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes, which didn't surprise him. Cecilia had a better bedside manner--and more compassion--than she gave herself credit for.
"We do nothing," Hank said briskly. He went over to Jean's side, laying a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, startled. Her eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion, but she managed a wan smile. "Any luck?" he asked gently.
"His mind has retreated so far that I can't even get a telepathic sense of his presence," Jean said, her voice hoarse. "It's almost as if he's shielding himself."
"An instinctive reaction, perhaps?"
"Possibly." Jean shook her head, rubbing her temples. Though Hank was not empathic, he could almost feel the desperation coming off her in a wave. "I can tell you have something to say, Hank," she continued. "Tell me."
He did, hating himself as he saw her struggling for self-control at the news of this new complication. Scott gave no sign that he was even listening. "We're walking a very fine line here," Hank concluded softly. "Dana will be able to take care of his injuries and the cellular damage. Once that's taken care of, I'll be able to operate and remove the amplifier, which should be fairly simple. But there is still no way we can treat the T-O virus. If he loses control of it, I won't be able to do a thing."
"Cryogenic stasis?" Jean suggested in a weak voice. Hank shook his head.
"Weeks ago, I ran an experiment on the sample of the T-O virus that my doppleganger took--just to see if we could use that method if he ever lost control of the virus again. The cryo-process had no effect on the virus, Jean." She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears, and he shook his head. "It's a totally alien biochemistry we're dealing with here. Moira once postulated that the virus was sentient--I'm not willing to make that conclusion, but it certainly resisted my attempts to freeze it." He took a deep breath. "Jean, is there any way you can control it telekinetically?"
"I tried," she said hoarsely, sinking her face into her hands. "When he was twelve years old and the virus began to spread again after being dormant for so long. I couldn't even hold it for a moment, Hank. I'm just not strong enough." She gave a helpless laugh devoid of humor. "This is--so much like that night, Hank. I couldn't reach him then, and I can't now. In the end, he had to save himself." Her shoulders shook, and Hank gritted his teeth, trying to think of an alternative.
"What about Nate Grey?" he asked, hopefully.
She looked up at him and shook her head. "He and Cable go through agony every time their powers intersect. And I don't even know if he'd be willing--he resents Nathan, you know."
He hadn't, but that wasn't important now. "Jean," he said as gently as he could when she stared down at Nathan, her eyes narrowing as she tried to reach him again. "Jean, we have a limited amount of time to solve this problem. Dana will be here soon."
She flinched as if he'd startled her, but then rose from her chair and gave him a shadow of a smile. "I suppose I have to try. I'll need to use Cerebro," she said almost absently and left the room.
Hank looked over at Scott, who didn't seem to have registered her departure. "Scotty," he said carefully, "you really need to get some rest."
"No." Scott's voice was flat. "I'm not leaving him."
Hank sighed. You'd think I'd know better than to even try. But he understood. With another sigh, he went over the communications terminal and re-opened the channel to Muir Island, hoping Moira had had an inspiration.
***
Logan was wandering aimlessly through the halls, feeling too restless to sit down. In his mind, he kept running through the events of the battle with the Marauders, trying to figure out what he could have done differently. He knew it was pointless to be second-guessing himself, but he felt a certain amount of responsibility for Cable's condition. Watching Jean and Scott in the Blackbird on the way back from Alberta had been hard. He hated to see them in such pain. If he could have lent Nathan his healing factor, he would have.
As he passed by what had been the Professor's ready room and was now Jean's workroom, where she'd painstakingly integrated Cerebro's systems into the rest of the equipment, he heard the sound of muffled crying.
Jean, he realized with concern, and stepped carefully into the room. Inside, it looked like a cyclone had hit, except that a storm wouldn't have driven pieces of smashed equipment into the steel-reinforced walls. The air shimmered with ionization, and Logan gritted his teeth, feeling the hair all over his body standing on end.
Jean was huddled in a corner, weeping. She didn't look up at him as he came over and knelt at her side. Her misery was palpable, and Logan's heart ached for her.
"Hank tells me you were lookin' for Nate Grey," he said softly. "I'm guessing by the look of the room that you didn't have any luck." She shook her head, but said nothing. He sighed and reached towards her. "It'll be all right, Red--"
She slapped his hand away, whirling on him with open fury in her green eyes. "Spare me, Logan!" she snarled. "Why do you care one way or another? You've always hated him! I don't care what happened between the two of you, what started this in the first place! With all he's done since, you should have given him a chance! But you could never let it go, never move on--"
"Stop it, Jean!" Logan snapped, reaching out and shaking her lightly. He half-expected her to blow him through the nearest wall, but although he felt her power crackle through the air around him, she didn't attack. "You're not thinking straight right now--"
"My thinking is perfectly clear!" she hissed. "Do you remember what you said to him on Mount Everest, when we were climbing into the Phalanx citadel? You told him the slate was clean between you!"
"And I meant it, Jean--"
"Don't compound one lie with another! You never tried to start fresh with him, Logan, so don't delude yourself! I don't blame you for what happened with Tyler, but the way you acted afterwards sickened me!" Her eyes were like lasers, piercing his soul. "Didn't you realize how you sounded at the picnic when you accused the man whose son you'd just killed of being inhuman?"
Logan swallowed hard. This was a side of Jean he'd never seen before. "I'm assuming you didn't hear us talking later that night, then," he said in as level a voice as he could manage. "We settled things as best we could, Jean. Neither of us are dumb enough to pretend we could ever really be friends, not after what happened. That doesn't mean I don't respect him, Red, or care about what happens to him. He's Scott's son, damn it--your son too, in every way that counts. Whether I get along with him or not, that makes him a part of my family, too."
She stared at him, tears pouring down her cheeks, and then gave a soft moan, half-collapsing against him. He put his arms around her and held her close, stroking her hair and trying to project as much reassurance as he could.
After a while, she stiffened slightly in his arms and he reluctantly let her go. She looked up at him, wiping tears away, and gave him a shaky smile.
"I'm sorry, Logan. That was really out of line."
"Don't worry about it, Jeanie," he growled, taking her hand and squeezing it firmly. "I'm tough enough to take it. Besides, I'd have thought less of you if you didn't lose it at some point. This is your kid we're talking about here, after all."
She sighed, rubbing her eyes. She looked forlorn now, rather than angry. "I wish--I wish you could have known him when he was a boy, Logan. We didn't have an easy life, those twelve years, but he never complained. Every morning, he woke up with a smile--" Jean took a deep breath. "That's what hurts the most, you know, looking at Cable. That light in his eyes isn't there anymore."
They sat in silence for a few moments, until Jean abruptly stood up. "I've got to go tell Hank I couldn't find Nate Grey," she said softly. "We've got to figure out what to do before Dana gets here."
Logan rose to his feet, looking around the room with a wince. "You sure did a number on this place, Jeanie."
She blushed. "Me and my temper."
Logan gave a tired laugh as they headed for the door. "Darlin', you wouldn't be you without it."
***
Rogue stepped outside, blinking a little at the brightness of the sun. It was a beautiful day, she noticed with some irony. She scanned the backyard, not surprised to see Ororo tending her roses. Whenever she was stressed, Storm invariably headed for the garden.
"Roses are lookin' good, 'Roro," Rogue said as she went over and joined her friend. Storm looked up at her for a moment, but then turned her attention back to the roses.
"Thank you," she said stiffly. When Rogue didn't leave, she set her gardening tools down. "Is there something I can do for you, Rogue?"
In other words, back off, Rogue thought wryly. "Ah just wanted to make sure you were okay," she said. "I know you and Nate--"
"Are friends," Ororo said coolly, rising gracefully from the ground. Rogue raised an eyebrow, but Ororo met her eyes almost challengingly, as if daring her to say more.
"Ah'm surprised to hear you say that," Rogue said. "Watchin' the two of you over the last few months, ah've kinda' thought you were startin' to have feelings for him."
Storm gave her a level look. "You were mistaken."
Rogue sighed. "You sure, 'Roro? You're not just--distancing yourself in case the worst happens?"
Storm's blue eyes flashed, and Rogue saw beneath her calm demeanor for just a moment before the walls came up again. "Even if that were the case, Rogue, it would be none of your business." She took to the air and flew off towards the lake. Rogue watched her go, shaking her head ruefully.
Well, she'd tried. She shouldn't be surprised; Ororo had never been particularly good at dealing with emotions. Still, it wasn't healthy for her to be avoiding the subject completely. Pot callin' kettle black, girl, she thought with a sort of dark humor. What do you call what you're doin' about Remy, then?
She sighed, and headed back towards the mansion, her mind awash with memories of when Nathan had been born. That had been a hard time for the X-Men, with Magneto's trial and the Professor nearly dying and then going off with Lilandra--they'd all taken Nathan's birth as a sign of hope for the future. Maybe that's what we all need t'remember right now, Rogue thought. The feeling of hope that had made them think things would work out for the best after all.
***
"Scott?" Bobby said hesitantly, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. Scott gave no sign that he'd heard. "Scott, you have to get some rest. I'm sure Cecilia will call you if--"
"No!" Scott rasped, sounding almost angry. "First Hank, now you--don't any of you understand?" He looked up, and Bobby saw tears trickling from beneath his ruby-quartz glasses. "I've left him too many times already, Bobby. I won't do it again."
"Scott--you can't do anything for him right now," Bobby persisted. "And you're hurt, too. I'm the first to admit that I don't know Nathan all that well, but I don't think he'd want you to sit here and torture yourself like this."
"Drake," Cecilia said quietly, coming up behind him. He looked over his shoulder at her, and she shook her head. Frowning, he followed her back over to the monitoring station, half-expecting a lecture. He got nothing of the sort.
"Drake, I know you're worried about him," Cecilia said in a low voice. "And you're right, he should be resting with a concussion like that. But I think it's a little more important for him to be with his son right now."
"Doc, I know that--"
"Listen to me, Popsicle," Cecilia said firmly. "I'm not going to pretend that I understand what's going on in Cable's head. They didn't exactly cover psionic shock and techno-organic viruses in med school. Don't even get me started on 'inherited fragments of cosmic entities'. But even in this state, he might sense Scott there with him, and if that gets any sort of response, it could help."
Bobby sighed, leaning back against the wall. "You're right. I just hate seeing Scott like this." He shook his head, feeling his eyes sting with tears. "It's going to hit him and Jean so hard if--"
Cecilia took his hand, squeezing it gently. He looked down in some wonder--the usual sardonic light was gone from her eyes. She even smiled at him. Bobby suddenly found it very difficult to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.
"You know," she said in an almost conversational tone, clearly trying to lighten the atmosphere, "it's pretty hard to believe that Cable was really that baby up in the picture in the front hall. It must have been pretty tough for all of you when you found out who he was."
Despite himself, Bobby chuckled. "Oh, that's one way to put it." He shook his head, remembering when Scott, Jean and the Professor had returned and told the rest of the X-Men what they'd discovered about Cable and Stryfe. "Logan nearly had heart failure on the spot, and Rogue just kept staring and staring. Hank was actually rendered speechless, and Warren went around shaking his head for the next two days." He sighed. "It was hard, though, once the shock wore off. Most of us were still angry with him for turning the New Mutants into an outlaw group, and I have to admit, it was hard to get past what had happened with Stryfe. We knew it hadn't been Cable who shot the Professor, but still--"
Bobby shook his head. He couldn't help but remember other times, too: escaping from their prison in the Phalanx citadel to find Cable holding off a whole horde of Phalanx; Cable risking his life to travel to the Israel of the past and warn Bobby and his teammates of Legion's intentions; Cable pushing himself almost to the point of death in the battle against Onslaught; even what had just happened during Zero Tolerance, when he'd fought his way past Bastion's stormtroopers to rescue the computer files before Bastion could destroy everything the Professor and the X-Men had worked for. And yet Bobby and most of the rest of the X-Men still regarded Cable as a dangerous, unpredictable outsider--a loose cannon with an agenda of his own. Someone who couldn't quite be trusted, family or not.
"We didn't treat him very fairly," he murmured.
"Speaking of people torturing themselves," Cecilia said with a raised eyebrow. "Wallowing in guilt isn't going to do any good, Drake. Think good thoughts--he might hear them."
Bobby shook his head, smiling down at her. She looked away with a snort, but didn't let go of his hand. There was a suspicious amount of color in her cheeks. I could get used to this, he thought almost contentedly. Cecilia's a great person to be with, when she's not verbally flaying you--
"Any change?" came a faintly amused, Southern-accented voice from the area of the door. Cecilia gave a startled yelp and wrenched her hand out of Bobby's as she turned to face Rogue and Joseph. Bobby felt his own cheeks color as he saw the disguised mirth in Rogue's green eyes. Joseph, thankfully, looked only confused.
"No," Cecilia said brusquely. "I'll let you know if there is. Why don't the two of you go find something productive to do?" She leaned over the monitors, keeping her back to Bobby. "And take Drake with you. He's getting on my nerves."
Rogue gave him a significant look, and Bobby obediently headed for the door. "Slim, y'want a sandwich or something?" Rogue asked softly, her expression concerned as she saw Scott. "We can bring somethin' down for you."
Scott shook his head, and Rogue sighed. "Okay. But let us know if y'change your mind."
As they headed down the hall, away from the infirmary, Joseph looked over at Bobby, still appearing puzzled.
"Drake, I was under the impression that Dr. Reyes disliked you."
"Oh, she just thinks she does, Joseph," Rogue said slyly.
"Would the two of you knock it off?" Bobby asked in a strangled voice. "Don't we have more important things to be worrying about?"
"Sure thing, sugar," Rogue continued. "Wouldn't want t'pry into your personal life--"
"ROGUE!"
***
Sitting on his bed, Sam sorted aimlessly through the shoe-box full of mementoes from his X-Force days. None of it was particularly impressive, or valuable. Just little things he'd saved, things that had special meaning for him. Like the sketches Cable had made for linking the bunkers at Camp Verde together and then left them where Sam would find them, a first clue that he'd returned.
And pictures--sometimes he thought Tabitha must never have put her camera down. He picked out one particular picture, showing him and Cable intent on a game of chess, with Roberto and Rictor clowning around in the background. It had been taken during their brief tenure at Arcade's Murderworld. Sam remembered Cable offering him to teach him the game when they'd still been living out at Camp Verde and he'd complained that there was nothing to do at night except zone out in front of the TV.
It's a good way to develop your strategic instincts, Sam, he'd said. Almost as good as poker.
Sam almost smiled. He hadn't thought it was possible, but Cable had been even more of a cutthroat at chess than at poker. He always went right for the jugular, no matter what. Come to think of it, Cable had been that way in most of the games and sports X-Force had played to stave off boredom on the long Arizona nights. It was like a game gave him the opportunity to cut loose, to shake off the cautious, defensive attitude he usually showed to the world. Sam remembered one particular football game that had left both Cable and Warpath with mild concussions after they'd collided so hard that they'd knocked each other out. When they'd woken up, Terry had given them both a monumental tongue-lashing, breaking into Gaelic every so often in her fury. Jimmy had turned absolutely crimson, but Cable had laughed and offered to teach her how to swear in Askani, a 'real' language.
He let the picture fall to the bed in front of him, and stared fixedly at the opposite wall. C'mon, Dana, he thought desperately. If he hadn't known full well that the Midnight Runner would get her here faster, he'd have flown over to Muir Island himself and brought her back. His stomach twisted as he thought of the last, strained conversation he'd had with her last week.
At least we're talkin', now, he told himself. He felt like such an ass, worrying about his relationship with Dana when Cable was in such bad shape, but somehow, he couldn't quite banish his worries about seeing her again. It had been almost five months--five months in which Onslaught and Zero Tolerance had turned their lives upside down. He didn't even know if she still felt the same way--it was kind of hard to tell over a vid-link.
"First things first, Guthrie," he told himself sternly. He and Dana would talk things over, after Cable was all right. He knew Dana would be able to heal him. She cared about Cable, and not just because he was important to Sam. Sam set his jaw determinedly. He'll be fine. Then she and I are gonna sit down until we work things out. You'd think ah'd've learned by now not t'waste time like this. With the crazy lives we lead, y'never know if today's gonna be your last--
He felt the vibration in the walls before he even heard the sound of engines. Leaping up off his bed, he threw open his window and blasted out.
But as he emerged into the sunlight, he realized that the plane coming in wasn't the Midnight Runner. It was much larger, obviously packing some fairly heavy armaments. On its tail, Sam could see the SHIELD insignia.
Below him, Logan, Bishop, Rogue, Iceman and Joseph had emerged from the mansion, clearly ready to fight. Rogue flew up beside him.
"What the hell's SHIELD doing here?" she asked tensely.
"Well, we had the stealth array off to make better speed on the way back from Alberta. They might have followed us," Sam said, wincing. "But why would they send only one plane? Doesn't make sense--" The two of them trailed the plane as it came in to land, and Sam caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the pilot's seat.
"Wait!" he said swiftly. "Ah think it might be alright."
The plane landed, and Sam brought himself down between his fellow X-Men and the hatch. He heard Rogue cautioning the others to wait, but all his attention was on the hatch as it opened.
Please, God, let this be who ah think it is--
G.W. Bridge, the face he'd seen in the cockpit, stepped out and gave Sam a quick look. Then he turned to help someone else out. Sam felt his heart leap as a tall, slender figure in a SHIELD flightsuit emerged. Strained violet eyes met his, and Sam, seeing the storm of emotions there, began to wonder if the solution Hank and Jean had been waiting for wasn't standing right there in front of him.
"Where is he?" Domino asked, her heart in her voice.
to be continued...
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