X-Men: Isolationism

Disclaimer: Characters portrayed in the following are not mine and I did not create them.

Isolationism:

What a basic mistake to make. Elementary error for someone like him. Maybe Cable had other things on his mind, other anxieties, but getting white-out from the Point Barrow tundra midday was dense. He wouldn't even be able to make lunch, the blindness so severe. He had stepped off the ladder, promising himself not to gaze out on the miles of desert permafrost when his receiver fired up just inside the door. One swift turn of surprise -- who'd be contacting him over private comm. channels anyway? -- and straight to his one good eye a visual headfreeze which left him more partially sighted and so stunned he fell thud onto his backside, shovel digging dangerously close to his privates. Canisters scattered, a yell swallowed in on/off wind and snow and his pride wounded, he got up and perched on the side of the steps. It had taken him so suddenly he had to get back his senses. He felt like an old man, slipping on the first frost in cheery old Chicago and cracking a hip. He felt for the items, brushing off frozen earth and frozen freeze, tossing them roughly through the door which had blown open and which no doubt would have chilled the entire cabin by now and staggered blindly up the stairs making them creak like a fat three-year old on an adventure. The wind screamed abuse at his retreat, Stooges playing the northerly gale and battering him breathless.

He struggled with the door. It shut, mercifully, and he could relax somewhat. The light had shifted; silhouettes no longer cast by the log fire for it had blown out, rendering ash and splinters in a pile at his feet. The signal went off again and his hand went out to grab for the small grey device, knocking something off the stand. 'Yes? Online, receiving, go ahead.'

'Nate?'

Domino's voice.

'Nate?' It repeated. 'You there?'

He shuffled, feeling the shivers already rattling his neck. 'Yes yes receiving Dom go ahead.'

'Nate! Nate? Pick up.'

'Yes Dom! Receiving, can you hear me?'

'Nate! Shaky signal -- I'm about a thousand miles off Tuktoyaktuk heading west -- there are no discernable landmarks -- how do I know if I've flown right by you?'

That's what he'd set out to do was put down a beacon, but this damn desert was unforgiving. He'd have to try again somehow. He still had one eye working, even if it was encumbered with techno-organic virals.

'I'm deploying the beacon now, tune in to our wavelength and it'll register. Dom? Keep looking, it'll come up in a few minutes. Tune in to 159.76. You still there?'

Static.

He cursed, and kicked the lump of insulated down at his feet, clambering around essentially in the dark and making sure he had at least the beacon and a shovel. His foot tread on something else, and he lent against the doorframe, bracing himself for a second bout of arctic courage. Not knowing where she was or how long she would take or even if she were going in the right direction would be mind-numbing. The whole idea was for the two of them to get in before the sun disappeared, as the astronomical twilight at Point Barrow dwindled to a few short hours at this time of year. Cable's safehouse here had no external lighting, and shining the flare up at a vacant sky in the dark was bound to attract all kinds of attention. Domino would have a hilarious time zipping this way and that in high winds with no LZ in sight and even less thermal protection on board. He tried to push those thoughts out. What is... is, he rationalized, ignoring the fact he was lacking one of his senses. His fingers activated the panel and the door zuh-zunged its way open knocking him back with the unleashing of the wind. His telekinesis kept most of the gale away, but stepping off the ladder while it shook reminded him how poor the upkeep of this, his most northerly hideaway, was, and how long since his last stay. The abandoned cheese in the fridge was cheese no longer. Why he would choose to store cheese let alone forget to take it with him when he left was one more thing to add to his paranoia of aging. He staggered about thirty metres outside, hearing his feet crunch solid mud when snow wasn't packing his ears, and stopped, very conscious of the fact he had to get back to a cabin he couldn't really see. Although the virus had partial command of the left side of his body he could still see out of his left eye, but with much of his concentration diverted to making sense of this nothing environment, the images being received were corrupted, ensuring a digital loss in whatever it did pick up. Cable unhitched the canister and set it in the ground, really forcing it hard and deep into the frosty earth. It wouldn't go in very well. He couldn't make out the imprint of the instructions next to the cap even though he'd fired more of these off than eaten hot meals. What a time for his wits to go walkabout. He might as well be a decaying octogenarian, sucking stewed carrots through a straw and drooling over Channel U dancers into a bib. Exhaustion bit him in the ass. 'Just fire, you bastard...'

Cold wind knocked him on it and he swore really loudly into the writhing maelstrom of white wind.

Blaquesmith's face came out of the mist of his troubled thoughts. Focus, it told him, focus, focus, focus. He bellowed inwardly, his Ben Kenobi Hoth vision not helping: he hadn't used those Askani teachings in a long time. The face and the words played again, a movie reel of memory flickering across his brain and kicking him up the backside. See with your thoughts, perceive with your perceptions 'not with the gel and the sinew of an enemy's clay' he intoned stubbornly. In other words, 'use your brain, not your eyes.'

'For they can be compromised' continued the incorporeal Blaquesmith, fading into the ether as clichéd as he'd come. His fingers found the tab, and he yanked it out, unsure of exactly how close Domino's ship would be. Would she see the signal hit the sky -- furthermore would it register on her radar? It always had in the past but recollecting the times he'd been in Point Barrow before, he either journeyed there with her or alone, never picking anyone else up and not having to worry about them none either. The beacon gave an audible blip and the top half skyrocketed away, the plume of chemical smoke instantly dispersed in the wind. Cable stood and made back for the safety of the cabin.

By the time he hit the steps the sun had gone down. He was still dazzled. He locked the door and sat down, wrapping himself up and sulking and setting the comm. device loud.

Sometime later he awoke to the smell of spitting fat. His thoughts turned to an infinitely colder and harsher landscape, dug in deep and surrounded by log-lined trenches and blue faces of friends not yet made. The sight wouldn't leave him -- he tried to open his eyes but it again was still there, unpleasant and shocking. His wife he saw, shaking with the permanent chill of Mali's nuclear winter and great great gauges of earth, drought-scarred and unnaturally shifted. The Pan-African vanguard, Gao City, heading east for Akkaba. He was twenty-nine. A long, long time ago.

'Where...?' He muttered, leaning off the fur-lined sofa.

There was soft music playing. Cuban. And the smell of sausages? He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. Whenever that was.

Sight still hadn't returned, he groaned. But with the bionic eye images began to form, a serious orange glow to the right; he stared at the mesh fireguard and its dancing demons shining over the ceiling. He felt his bum. There was a slight bruise, nothing that would stop him sitting on it if the worst came to the worst. Ibrahim Ferrer soloed from the kitchenette. Footsteps -- a padding noise -- as two feet shuffled in well-shielded slippers around the stove and clicked in rhythm while the piano cha-cha'd. Cable flung the wrap away, aware now of the sweat inherent in whatever you wore in Alaska, and got to his feet. Her voice called out from beyond.

'I'm ok,' he said 'but I can't see.'

'Lights on!' She chimed.

'No Dom,' he said, the cabin flooded with ambient yellow 'I can't see proper. I got white-out out in the snow.'

'Shit, are you ok?'

And then she was at his side, a palm touching the side of his face, flesh grazing grey stubble. Appropriate, he thought. 'What?' She said.

He must've had a funny expression on.

He heard her make a clicking noise with her tongue and then she wasn't next to him. 'That explains the mess then; I thought there was a reason but didn't really expect to hear you say that. White-out, hmm? God Nate, you're losing it.'

'Aw get lost Dom, I got confused when the comm. alarm went off and it's been so long since I was last here, I just forgot.'

She was in the kitchen again.

'Your opponent won't get lost Nate, why should I. You made a stupid mistake.'

She cracked an egg.

'Lay off will you, I'm getting old. I know it was dumb, give me a break.'

He heard her crack an egg. There was silence. The fire spit. 'Thanks for clearing up the ash.' Another egg cracking. 'How did you get in? I locked the door.'

She cracked another egg. 'Just how many eggs are you going to use? I need them for the rest of the week.'

'Two. Do you not want me to use them? There's a lot of protein --'

'I thought I heard you do three?'

Silence.

'Noooooo, I did two. Are you feeling alright?'

'Yeah... yeah. I'm fine.' His mind started to wander. 'How long have you been here? How long was I out?'

She appeared in the doorway again, a hazy form leaning on the drawers. 'I got in by our usual code -- the keypad under the cabin? Remember? I got in several hours ago and I don't know how long you've been out but its eight o'clock now. Why were you asleep?'

He heard her ticking off the points on her fingers.

'Tiredness I guess, I don't know... I think I'm just fatigued. My transport broke down in Hooper Bay and I had to stay in some shitty motel overnight. I think I must have been the only person awake at night; the doorman had to get out of bed. The milk burst as I was carrying it onboard as well, and then I had to clean it up...'

'Oh my god, it's a wonder you're still alive.' She was back in the kitchen again, the Cuban music very low now. 'You sound more and more like an old man every day.'

He fingered a rumple in the fur lining where his elbow liked to perch in front of the fire all those years ago. 'Oh for Christ's sakes Dom, give the old man speech a rest.'

She was at his side again.

'Sorry Nate, I'm only joking.'

The truth was he felt it coming. Not today. Not tomorrow, but soon. And yes, it scared the crap out of him. Not least because he wouldn't be around to protect the ones he loved. Sam, Roberto, Tabitha, his father Scott and Domino. Frailty was something weak, something he loathed, because if you had no-one else to stand up for you, you couldn't do it yourself. Sure he would always go down fighting, but they had to suffer a proportionate amount if you went down too. With age, that wasn't about to happen. Blaquesmith taught that with wisdom his understanding and application of his gifts would expand, but at heart Nate was a fighter -- between a boxer and a fighter a definite fighter - and testament to that behaviour, Nate had reverted from his Askani practices. Of course he didn't revile them, they were as much a part of his heritage as being an X-Man -- no matter how hard he had once tried to deny that -- but to lose one's interest in the reasons behind his abilities was just the same not trying to deny the abilities themselves.

She patted his shoulder and smiled.

'How's about I serve up? You got a place to sit?'

'What is it with you?' He grinned. 'All these questions.'

She went back to the frying pan.

How could he have seen her smile?

All right she was right next to him, but on the right side.

What is... is

It must be his telepathy! That would be the reason why he wasn't woken up when she entered. Surely if it was anyone else, anyone he wasn't expecting, he would have shot up and shot out at them, but her activity had been so docile and familiar he had managed to sleep through it. Of course she had only cracked two eggs; he was registering her movements before she made them. Well, it looked like they had enough for the rest of the week then.

'Earth to Nate...' She chimed, clinking the bowls together.

'Did you turn the gas off?'

He 'saw' her roll her eyes, and in that great instant had such a yearning to reach out to her. That pale, comforting face, soft and pleasant like it had always been. Peculiar features, short hair big eye patch like an Orca. Or a Panda.

'What do you keep grinning at? In case you hadn't noticed the fire's low. That's not something to smile about in here. Why didn't you get artificial heating installed?'

'I did.' He shivered.

'Here,' he reached out to accept, 'eat this.'

She knelt down and twiddled with the fireguard, rustling the logs and inciting a brighter glow. He pulled the fur wrap over his legs and sat on the sofa with the bowl in his lap.

'Thanks.' He said.

She shrugged.

'You can sit next to me you know.'

'I know.' She said, passing it off like it meant nothing.

She sat down and he presented the bowl to her. The fire spat again.

'Where's yours?' She asked.

He made a small noise. 'Oh for god's sake, Nate. Here, it's by your feet. Careful!'

She held it up to him. 'You almost knocked it over.' She said.

He kicked her foot with his, making what he thought was a smirk, but probably not pulling it off quite so well. The flames picked up, embers once red and old glowing brightly. 'Is your sight returning?'

'S'coming back slowly.' He could make out more definite lines the longer he stared.

'Can I have some of the blanket?'

He gave her more room and they sat for a moment watching the fire.

'Long way from Afghanistan, huh? Remember that? We had no cutlery there either.'

'Oh dammit.' He reprimanded himself. 'There's some in the second drawer down.'

She got up and went away.

'Er Dom, I dunno how clean it is...'

He felt silly. They were always so ambiguous.

'There's a corkscrew here.' She said. 'Wine? Do you have any?'

He visualised the receipt from the store in Hooper Bay. "Made with real Alaskan berries" it proclaimed. Why did he buy it again? The colour alone should have given him indication. 'This wine is yellow' he told the man.

'I know.'

'What does it taste like?'

'You ever had --'

And no, he hadn't.

'That's what it tastes like.' And a smile and a nod and a why bother good day.

'Yeah,' he told Domino 'it's in the back of the cupboard up top.'

He heard her rooting around. Their dinner was going to get cold. No-one likes a cold sausage.

'Shouldn't you keep this in the fridge?' She said.

'I read somewhere on there that it needs to be served at room temperature. I think that it might be close to what the temperature is in here.' He could make out the bowl now, fine lines returning.

'Yeah, I forgot, we're north of the Arctic Circle. What are we doing here again?' She chimed.

She sat back down with two large glasses in hand, pulling his mechanised wrist toward and placing the wine in it. The wrap was pulled over the two of them again.

He frowned nodding toward her, even though her heat touched his side. 'Sorry I dragged you into this. I could have called Scott. Quality father-son time.'

'Yeah, but you didn't Nate. Tell the truth, there's nowhere I'd rather be right now.'

He paused. She heard a small 'thanks' slip out from his mouth before she leaned in to kiss it.

He was still for a moment, then moved his head a little closer, warm lips pressing tenderly.

'Dom,' he said, resting his head against hers 'you're here for a week...'

'Then you better not do anything to piss me off...'

She nudged his face to an angle, nose to nose, and leaned in again. This time he was more receptive, fears put aside in place of trust and a passion for this woman he'd held for so long in check and only came out very rarely. Domino was his confidante, his partner, his sidekick. She was also his lover, but it only happened rarely. They had been in so many scrapes together. It wasn't necessity that brought them together, or the uncorking of a bottle 'Nate this wine tastes like shit' it was love and laughter, lust and longing. He wanted Domino because he was and always had been attracted to her. When she wore hot pants and a training bra, when she wore a wetsuit and a very big gun, when she donned a Parka and went ice-fishing. When, in the few short times they had slept together, he had seen her moan from pleasure and cry from joy, not shrapnel in the ass and the scream for a medic. She pulled back and took off the alice-band, and unzipped her thermal jacket. Her jet black hair flopped to the side and she ran a palm over his stubbled crown. 'I like you without your hair.' She purred.

He tried to study hers with his non-functioning eyes. He could sense her movements, and effectively see what she was emoting and therefore doing, but the light coming from the fire and reflecting off of her was so ill-defined that he may as well have been totally blind. He touched the side of her face with his right hand, calloused fingers flowing with the felt of her hair downwards, down over her black lips, swollen with a little more passion blood than usual, down beneath her jaw and to the nape of her neck.

'Your hands are freezing.' She said, shaking.

'I'm sorry.' He cursed inside. Why did they have to choose this as their nest for goodness sakes? Why did the two of them have to meet up at the edge of the world in order to sleep together? A place where, if you wanted a newspaper they didn't get one because no news would ever reach them.

'It's ok,' she grabbed his hand and placed it over her heart, the zip of her jacket hitting his index finger 'I'll warm you up.'

He chuckled. 'Dom, I've got really bad circulation.'

'Jesus!' She shouted, tossing his hand away. He thought he had blown it, what a dumb thing to say. The weight shifted on the sofa and he was about to say something when the light in the room got brighter. There was an organic scraping along the stone and she put another giant log in the flames. She turned and ripped the fur wrap out his hands. Cable felt slow in the head. She grabbed his hand again and pulled him to his feet. 'Here!' She said, dragging him to his knees in front of the flames. 'Warm yourself up.' She took a few steps back from him, and as he gazed dumbfounded she proceeded to unzip her jacket the rest of the way. I realise you can't see this, she thought.

But he could, in her mind. So strong was that connection, he could see the purity and one-mindedness in her thoughts, the filth she was thinking, and the way it made her feel just to do it. Just to do it for him.

Domino was back on her haunches, staring at the zipper unconnected and pulling the jacket away from herself. She sank a big gulp from the tasteless wine and began to untangle the belt. Uncertainty reared. She almost stopped for second, eyes unable to meet Nate's gaze. Then she felt a tug at her waist. He couldn't see what he was doing, but decided to give it the old college try. She laughed sympathetically as he struggled, taking his cheeks in her hands and kissing him again and again, softly, sweetly. 'I can't see what I'm doing, Dom.' He said. She grabbed the poker and he sensed her movements. 'What are you gonna do with that?!'

She jabbed the fire rousing it until licks of orange spun and whirled up the chimney. 'Let me do it for you.' She said, taking her fingers to his and making them both take off her belt. She felt the fingers of his right hand. Clammy. Perfect. She worked on the zip of his thick fur-lined parka and hoisted it down, shoving it away from his shoulders in a frenzied movement. It landed on the sofa as she scrambled onto him, knocking them back and onto the mat. The fibres absorbed the heat from the fire, and Nate found himself sinking into his instinctual aura, his hands cruising over Dom's still concealed flesh and grabbing at parts of her he wouldn't normally hold. She was groaning, encouraging his movements, her own eyesight becoming hazy even in the boiling vivid glow next to them. She struggled with his fleece, the zip -- so many zips -- caught on the shirt underneath and being one of those sonofabitch types of garments that you can only get off over your head. She grimaced suddenly as his teeth sunk into her wrist, and she pulled it back to support herself while her knee dug into his crotch. She snarled, a fleeting motion of her waving hair dangling on his lips while he took a deep breath. 'Take off your damn clothes.' She demanded, biting her lip as his shin dragged up between her thighs. She shivered and bolted upright removing her own fleece and leaving her now in just a lime green t-shirt. She was almost grateful he couldn't see her wearing this, but his smile reminded her that what she perceived was what he could see in his own mind. And the way he was grinning as the fleece flew off she knew deep down it didn't look half-bad on her white skin.