Gethsemane

by Dyce

Cable was running on instinct.

Check for intruders.

Put down the big gun.

Turn on the coffeemaker.

Shed the more uncomfortable gear.

Check again for intruders.

Put down the smaller guns.

Get a mug.

Switch on the CD player.

Find the-

'I only want to say,
If there is a way,
Take this cup away from me...
For I don't want to taste its poison.
Feel it burn me.
I have changed,
I'm not as sure,
As when we started-'

His fist slammed down, stopping the music with a jittering squawk. How could he have forgotten!? How could he have forgotten what he'd left it set to play, what he always left it set to play, for the times when he - self-consciously - needed to hear the words. Wanted to feel as if someone, somewhere, had felt what he did, had pleaded for release from a duty too hard to bear, that must yet be borne.

Domino had always teased him about it... calling it a 'messiah complex'... telling him that he was trying to bond with the only other person ever fool enough to think that his death would change the world. Cable had always pointed out that Jesus, at least, had been right... assuming he'd ever existed at all.

The song was the only damn thing he liked about the man, anyway.

Sometimes, on bad days, after a few drinks, he would sing along.

Badly.

Now, on the very worst of days, he slowly hit play again, humming very softly along with the words.

'Then I was inspired -
Now I'm sad and tired.
Listen, surely I've exceeded
Expectations,
Tried for three years.
Seems like thirty.
Could you ask as much,
From any other man?'

He smiled mirthlessly, mouthing along with the words.

'But if I die,
See the saga through,
And do the things you ask of me.
Let them hate me, hit me, hurt me,
Nail me to their tree...'

'I want to know,
I want to know, my God.
Want to know,
I want to know, my God.
Want to see,
I want to see, my God.
Want to see,
I want to see, my God.

And he sang the words along with the CD, hands raised to the ceiling.

"WHY.... SHOULD..... I.... DIE!?!" He roared the words to the uncaring universe. "Would I be more noticed, than I ever was before? Would the things I've said and done, matter any more??"

"I have to know, I have to know, my Lord. Have to know, I have to know, my Lord," he sang tunelessly, raising his empty mug mockingly.

"Have to see, I have to see, my Lord. Have to see, I have to see, my Lord. If I die what will be my reward? If I die what will be my reward?" He threw the mug across the room. It shattered against the wall.

"Have to know I have to know my Lord Have to know I have to know my Lord..." He filled his lungs, and his voice rose to the same tearing scream as the singer's. "WHY!?! Why should *I* die? Oh, why should I die?!"

It almost felt good, to finally let himself scream.

Almost.

"Can you show me now, That I would not be killed in vain? Show me just a little, Of your omnipresent brain Show me there's a reason For your wanting me to die! You're far too keen on where and how, But not so hot on *why*!!" He shouted, he screamed at Rachel, at the world, at the huge uncaring universe that had rendered his entire life a hollow mockery. "How could you do this to me!?" he demanded of them all. "What right had you!?"

There was no answer.

There never was.

"Then I was inspired, Now I'm sad and tired. After all I've tried for three years, Seems like ninety." He whispered, his broken voice again matching the song issuing from the tiny stereo.

"Why then am I scared To finish what I started?"

His voice hardened again.

"What you started... I didn't start it!" he shouted.

Then his shoulders slumped, and his lips clamped shut as the last verses of the song poured into his ears, tearing at his heart and soul like shards of diamond.

'God thy will is hard,
But you hold every card.
I will drink your cup of poison,
Nail me to your cross and break me!
Bleed me, beat me,
Kill me, take me now...
Before I change my mind.'

With one single, convulsive movement, the cd-player followed the same path as the mug, smashing loudly against the far wall.

"And it wasn't even true!" he raged, fist driving into the scarred wall. "You lied to me, you flonqing lied to me!" His voice rose again to a scream, tears pouring unheeded down his face. "IT WASN'T ME WHO DIED, DAMN YOU!! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME WHO DIED!!"

But it hadn't been.

It had been Cyclops.

It had been *his* *father*!

And it should have been him. It was what he'd been born for, what he'd been *made* for......

Hadn't it?

No.

Fate had lied.

Rachel had lied.

Somehow, his eyes focused through the tears on the wreckage of the cheap little cd-player. An edge of the CD was visible, an innocuous silver disk.

Despite what Domino had said, he *had* listened to the other songs.

He hadn't been Christ, after all.

"God, I'm sick," he whispered numbly. Then he reared back, his voice a raw scream. "I'VE BEEN USED!! And you knew all the time, Godess!! And I'll never know why you chose *me* for your crime! For your foul bloody crime! YOU DAMN ASKANI GODDESS-BITCH, YOU KNEW!"

fin

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