The Longest Night: Part Five

by Kerri

Nate stood at the back door looking at the figure nearly hidden in the snow drifts out behind the mountain house. He was afraid to take his eyes off her, afraid she'd disappear and completely covered by the falling snow.

He was going on nearly 48 hours without sleep and felt every second of it. His mind was playing tricks on him. He imagined he saw someone out there with her, a tall outline of a man behind her. It didn't take much imagination to think he was looking at the Angel of Death.

Crazy, yeah, but this whole area was filled with some kind of energy emanating from the earth, the sky, the very air he breathed. Solstice. It exhilarated and exhausted him all at once, feeling and hearing the low thrum pulsing around him, through him.

Charlotte's body stood out in the falling snow, but her mind was up on the mountain with the shamen and her son.

Jean joined him at the window. "How's she doing?" Was it only 12 hours since she'd stood at her bedroom window with Scott watching the snow fall? They'd been here for about 8 hours; time seemed to move differently here surrounded by the high snow drifts and the mammoth iced trees. It didn't seem like it was almost three in the afternoon.

"She's falling apart," Nate said bluntly.

"You want to talk about it?"

He spared a glance for her. <No, I don't want to talk about it.> He didn't want to give the words substance and life that he wouldn't be able to kill later.

The frown on Jean's face caused him to close his eyes. <There's nothing to talk about.> Why couldn't she be satisfied with a simple answer? Because there were no simple answers. Not when you're trying to change the future and still keep your past.

<You're angry?>

<Yes.>

<At her?>

<Yes. No.>

He opened his eyes again. His hallucinations were becoming more vivid. Now he imagined he saw an Indian with her, hovering over her. <I'm angry at the situation.>

She said nothing, not understanding at all.

<I know how to help her but it isn't my place. Wolverine should be here.>

<There's no way for him to get here. You can't bodyslide in or out with the shields up and she's the only one who can operate the gate.>

<She won't unbend long enough to admit she needs him.> Nathan knew she wouldn't go for him. Charlotte and Domino were too much alike, sometimes. Both stubborn, independent, lethal, secretive to an aggravating fault. Both would kick ass if they thought someone they loved was in need but neither one wouldn't ask for help in return.

Charlotte wasn't blaming Logan for not being here. She was too accustomed to getting through life alone. She didn't lean on anyone but the man who's body was carried up the mountain, and even then it was a conditional need.

She didn't blame Logan, but he did.

<I know how to use the gate.>

<What?>

<She taught me a long time ago. I don't think it changed much in 250 years.> He smiled slightly. <She doesn't know about that in this time.>

<How do you know her?>

<That's the question, isn't it? When in time did I meet her? You and Dom both.>

<Will you answer the question?>

He considered the past, still gazing at the woman in the snow.

***

"She'll be here to getcha pretty quick," the old man said. "Ready?"

"You want to tell me again why I'm doing this?" Nathan scowled at him.

The old man sighed. "Ya been hurt an' ya need time to recuperate. She'll take good care of ya."

"What's wrong with staying here, Hammer?" At 22 years old, the young man known as Nathan Dayspring was a lot of things. A strong fighter, an excellent tactical thinker, a natural leader. He was not known for his patience.

Born and bred to lead, to be the culmination of one man's dream for the world. A man he didn't even know.

And here he was, bundled off to a corner for one minor scrape.

Well, so it wasn't a minor scrape. He'd nearly died from the battle wounds, but the old man was overreacting, again.

"If ya stay here ya won't rest an' ya'll drive everyone else crazy. Ya stay wi' Charlie for a few months, ya'll come back stronger for it."

There was nothing he could do about it, not unless he wanted to take the old man on. He hadn't won a skirmish against him yet. He tried, more than once. One of these days he was going to whip that old man.

It wasn't going to be today.

But it was coming.

With a last frustrated glare around his quarters, he picked up his bag and made his way outside. He could see the old man standing not far from the doorway, one hand tapping impatiently against his leg.

A light flashed out in the open area, then a young woman stepped through it. She frowned, looking around, then spotted the old man. A smile softened her face and she walked over to throw her arms around him tightly. Nate hung back to keep from intruding.

"It's good to see you, Nick," she said, true warmth in her voice. "How you been, sweetheart?"

Someone actually called that old bastard sweetheart. Nate couldn't believe it.

"I'm okay. Getting old, tired. Everyone at home?"

"We're surviving. What's the emergency?"

Nathan saw the old man's shoulders lift as he took a deep breath.

"I got a guest for ya. I don't want 'im back for at least 4 months."

She turned around and walked back the way she came. "I'll give your regards to everyone."

"Dammit, Charlie, y'can't walk away from this!"

"I got out of the rescue business years ago."

"Like hell ya did. Y'can't walk away now, not from this. Ya gave yer word."

That stopped her. "After everything that happened, you're holding me to my word? You've risked my security for him? You're the one that took him in here, not me. You deal with him."

"I'm not holdin' ya to yer word. Ya gave it to a dyin' woman."

"I would have promised anything to her." Nathan could actually see the waves of rage and pain flow off her, whirling around her. "Who?" she asked, as though she knew the answer but still hoped beyond hope she'd be wrong.

"Nate. He'll be out here in a minute. He was hurt in the last scuffle, hasn't mended right. He needs some time to rest before the next time slip . The only safe place is yers."

They stared at each other for long minutes, a clash of wills that she was clearly losing against the old man. Nate could've told her she'd lose against Hammer. No one had a chance. Not even someone who called him sweetheart.

"And exactly what am I to do with him?" her voice still hard but resigned, the whirling sparkles gone.

"Matt's still around, ain' he? Still got his head? B'tween the two of ya the boy can learn more about ancient battle tactics an' strategy, work on his hand to hand. Teach him to garden, make baskets or speak Torelan, I don't care. I got to send him on in the best possible condition, an' that includes his head."

"Nicademis, I swear, I'd turn you over my knee if I didn't think I'd hurt you."

The old man chuckled, then swept her into his arms for another embrace. She hugged him fiercely, her eyes squeezed tight.

Nathan cleared his throat and stepped out of the doorway. He was still angry, but his curiosity was piqued.

"Nate, come over here an' meet Charlie," the old man gestured him over.

She looked at him coolly. He glared back at her. He didn't want to go any more than she wanted him there.

With one last sour, 'we'll deal with this later' look at the old man, she took a hard grip on Nathan's arm and touched a button on the belt she wore. In a flash they were gone.

Nicademis Ashcroft Logan took a deep breath and ran a thick hand through his graying hair, his dark amber eyes sunken and shadowed. He'd done his part, followed his father's last instructions. He'd just forced his mother to keep her word to a dying Jean Summers and take Scott's son in if he ever needed a safe place to go. If she didn't kill him first. That was a distinct possibility but he was hoping her good sense would win out.

The boy sent to him through the time slip, the boy he'd taken in and cared for this last year, trained and guided in the machinations of war and conflict of this time and place, would be responsible in his future for the deaths of nearly everyone Charlie had held dear. Her family, and those she considered her family.

A future that already was already 250 years in the past. Unless they managed to change the course of that history. His father had hoped doing this would make a difference.

Just how his father knew Dayspring would be sent to him here, Nick didn't know, and he didn't want to know. The old man'd had a real control streak when it came to his wife, and this was Wolverine's last chance to control her from the grave.

Time for a smoke and a prayer.

Nathan's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light after the blinding flash. He found himself standing in a small dark room with her. She dropped his arm and walked out, leaving him standing there.

<Move your ass> echoed in his head. He hurried after her, annoyed with himself for jumping at her command. Who'd she think she was, anyway?

Climbing the stairs, he heard her raise her voice. Low tones answered her. At the doorway to what looked like the kitchen he saw her arguing with a tall, blond man. At her every word, in a language he didn't understand, the other man shook his head.

She gave up and stormed out. Moments later the front door slammed shut.

The man winced. "Sorry about that," he told Nathan with shake of his head. "She's not happy right now."

"So I noticed," Nathan muttered.

"Give her a few hours, she'll be better behaved or at least more civilized. I'm Matthew Brouwer. You must be Nathan Dayspring." Matthew played his part of this farce, hiding his own feelings beneath the heavy shielding he'd learned from her over the centuries.

"Can you tell me what's going on? I'm forced to come here to a place I don't want to be, where I'm not wanted, and I want to know why. Just tell me why."

"You don't know? Nick didn't tell you?"

"Nick?" Who the hell was Nick?

Matthew let out a breath. "It would have been easier if you'd been prepared for this. Nick is your commanding officer in this time."

"The old man? Hammer? I don't know his real name."

"Nicademis Logan."

"Doesn't mean anything to me."

"Does the name Charlotte Ashcroft mean anything?"

That name did. He nodded, not liking where this conversation was headed.

"That was her throwing the temper tantrum. She's Nick's mother."

The stuff of legends. One of the ancient X-Men team, she reportedly fought along side and against some of most powerful mutants history had even known. She was the only one of them left, an outlaw that carried a steep price on her head for nearly the last 200 years, and now he was in her care. Damn that old man. He'd sent him here to die.

***

<Except she didn't kill me,> he rubbed his eyes. <They both taught me a great many things. Some of which have come in handy over the years.> Some of those lessons left him hurting for days. Some had saved his life more than once.

<She doesn't know about this, does she?>

<No, and she can't know. I haven't told anyone.>

Jean nodded. <Three can keep a secret if two are dead.>

He looked at her.

She shrugged. <I've heard her say that.>

A reluctant grin crossed his face. <Me, too.> Just before she tried to kill him on more than one occasion. That, and 'You're a walking dead man, Dayspring.'

She turned her attention back out the window. <Where'd she go?>

Charlotte didn't feel the cold, her misery and anguish too deep for the elements to penetrate. She didn't feel grounded here anymore, her soul tossed adrift at the mercy of her emotions. It had been decades since she'd been this out of control. She hadn't felt this way since Raven died.

Raven.

He was all around her, his voice whispering to her. He said he'd never leave her, his soul would find hers. He'd never left this place while she had. She'd left here and continued living without him, going places he couldn't have gone even when he was alive.

She'd fallen in love with another man, given her soul to him. What hurt most now, her fear of losing Thomas, or her guilt over betraying Raven?

Thomas. The gods help her, she couldn't let him go. She wouldn't give up the single most important person in her life.

'....we may be strangers, we may be worlds apart sometimes....and it's hard to accept the things we just don't understand....so blind to each other we only see one side of nowhere.... some things we may never know, if there's one thing you should ever know....'

Memories washed over her. The baby she struggled to bring into this world, Raven holding her, breathing with her, crying with her when he held his newborn son in his arms. He vowed her she'd given him the greatest gift in his son, after her soul.

'....soul of my soul, heart of my heart....the greatest treasure of my life that's what you are.... soul of my soul, child of my heart....I love you more than you know, soul of my soul....'

She couldn't lose him now. What would life be without Thomas? The parent was not supposed to outlive the child. He was aging more quickly than she, the day would come when she would lay him to rest next to his father, but not now, please, not now.

'....there'll come a time when you'll be on your own....but in your heart you're never far from home....every road you take, your every living day....you will always be, you always be....the soul of my soul....'

She felt arms wrap around her, felt herself drawn tight against a firm body, cradled within a circle of love, understanding, caring.

....~My love~....

It was the wind, it had to be the wind whispering in her ear, the cruel gods masquerading as Raven, driving the ice blades deeper into her soul.

Was this her punishment? Was she to lose her son because she'd forgotten she was a shaman's woman, Raven's woman? What would it take to make Thomas whole again? She'd give her life for his.

Raven, help him! Don't let our son die!

The arms around her squeezed tighter.

....~My love~....

She closed her eyes, feeling sun-warmed skin against her forehead, silky hair caress her cheek. Even in the snow she could smell Raven, the scent of his skin, the fragrance of the herbs he used in the rites. She could smell the smoke of the ritual fire, burning cedar and balsam, the pungent tang of spice. It enveloped her.

....~I am still with you~....

She tried to open her eyes but couldn't do it. Didn't want to do it, too tired to make the effort. She hadn't felt this safe and warm since....

....~My soul found yours~....

The wind song voice changed.

Logan?

....~My love~....

Tears slowly escaped her to freeze on her cheeks.

....~'Love knows no boundaries, my soul will find yours'~....

Raven found her.

Then illusion was gone, and she fell into the snow, sobbing, unable to sustain the effort it took to be strong. She couldn't be strong anymore, not while her son's soul slipped away.

[next part]

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