Trinity: Castor and Pollux
Jan. 10th, 2006 11:13 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-cable.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsNathan and Cain head into the city to meet Bridge for lunch. Gideon gets to the restaurant a few minutes before them, makes small talk until Nathan gets within synching range, and then uses his telekinesis to kill GW.
He was maybe the tiniest bit jetlagged still, GW Bridge reflected, sipping at his coffee and letting his gaze roam the restaurant idly. Possibly a little short-sighted of him to have gotten so little sleep this last week and then jumped right on a plane across the Atlantic, but hell, there were far, far worse excuses for sleep deprivation.
Setting his coffee down, he reached into his coat and pulled out the envelope of pictures, unable to help sorting through them again, a smile playing on his lips as he did. He hadn't known quite what to make of Lien getting camera-happy, but the pictures were wonderful. The kids they'd rescued from the camp in the Sudan hadn't known what to make of the ocean once they'd gotten them back to the safehouse in Tunis. It had taken Theo and Gavin a great deal of coaxing to get some of them to even go near the water, but once they'd gotten over their initial fearfulness, they'd taken to the experience with great enthusiasm.
Part of GW wished that he'd stayed another day or two, made sure that they all got off to their new temporary homes. But Xavier's contacts had always been scrupulous about that end of the operation, and he didn't imagine that would change.
"Mr. Bridge," a voice smoothly interrupted his thoughts, the man who had spoken gracefully sitting down in front of him at the table. "Fancy meeting you here, of all places." The waiter drifted by at the new addition to the table though Gideon waved the man off amiably, with a low murmur about not being present for too long. "Mmm. You do look worn out," Gideon added, without sympathy but without any sign of hostility or criticism as well. Merely stating fact.
Bridge's shocked expression was gone as quickly as it had come, reverting to calm and neutral almost immediately. "You look... younger than your pictures, Mr. Faraday," he said, sliding the pictures carefully back into the envelope and slipping it back into his pocket. He picked up his coffee cup, taking another sip and then setting it back down. "And I'm not seeing much of a family resemblance."
Short, quiet laughter greeted that, and Gideon smiled faintly. "You're quite right. My nephew resembles his father, to tell you the truth." His lips quirked, wryly. "More than he'd like to think he does, at that. Flipsides of a coin, if you will, in some respects."
Bridge opened his mouth, then closed it again. Thinking. Was Faraday synched to a mutant somewhere nearby? He spared an ironic thought for his own caution, not carrying a gun in New York. His desire to avoid attention was working against him.
This wasn't good. At all.
He looked back up at Gideon, mustering a faint, humorless smile in response. "Do you suppose that will do for the small talk?" He kept his voice low, calm, remembering what Dom had told him about the hotel in Chad. There were too many people around. He wasn't going to risk causing a scene. "I'm not sure how you knew I was here. I'd like to know what you want."
"I'm afraid it's not really about you at all, Mr. Bridge." For a moment, Gideon's expression showed genuine regret, if fleetingly so. "But things need to follow a certain course, and you merely happen... to be there. And so," Gideon cocked his head to the side, as though listening for something and then nodded to himself, remaining silent for a few instants. "There. Done. And so, as I was saying, the world goes on. With or without us." Rising to his feet, Gideon bowed slightly to GW, politely so - as though one fighter might to another, once the battle was done. "I will leave you now, to say your goodbyes. God bless, Mr Bridge."
He felt... numb, suddenly. Cold. GW opened his mouth to say something to the man as he got to his feet, but he couldn't find his voice. Couldn't breathe. Panic stirred inside him, and he tried to grab the edge of the table, to pull himself to his feet, but his body wasn't obeying the commands from his brain.
Gideon was walking out the door. Not looking back.
---
"... and you should have heard how offended Haroun sounded when he found out I'd plotted the whole thing with Alison," Nathan said cheerfully to Cain as they left the car behind and headed towards the restaurant. "I thought he was going to hit me. Which would have been entertaining, don't get me wrong..."
"They got some rule against having a sense of humor where he comes from, if you ask me." Cain couldn't hide his amusement at the story. Generally, anything that ended up with one of his teammates as the butt of a joke was high comedy as far as he was concerned.
"Eh, it did him good. Less fussing about his recovery, more actual recovering," Nathan said, smiling but still paying attention to the people they were passing. It was a natural thing, eyeing the possibly not-so-innocent bystanders. Just like casting his mind out ahead of them was a natural, instinctive thing, even though it took effort to filter through the background telepathic buzz. "Although he may never trust me again. I think he-"
Nathan stopped dead in his tracks as he sensed a mind up ahead, at the restaurant, go mirrored and impenetrable in a very familiar way. "No." The word slipped out before he could stop it, and then he was running, all but bowling over the people in his way.
Cain worked his way through the crowd, slower than Nathan's rushed pace and more careful of the crowd. "Nate!" he hollered, heedless of attracting attention. "No? No what?"
#GIDEON!# It was as much a scream of denial directed at his uncle's mind as it was telling Cain what was wrong. People literally flew out of his way, if with less violence than they might have under the impact of a telekinetic shockwave. Too much of Nathan's attention was focused down the block, seeing through GW's eyes. Feeling two precise, targeted flickers of telekinesis.
Just flickers. Almost innocuous. Except that they weren't.
"Motherfucker," Cain breathed, flipping his communicator out of his pocket. "Juggernaut to comms, all points alert. Cable's sighted Gideon in New York, our location. Send backup." He stood still for a moment, letting flustered crowdgoers run into his immovable bulk for a moment, then continued after Nathan.
Gideon's mirrored mind was outside the restaurant - moving away, into the crowd. Nathan could have followed, could have attacked right then and there. But it was another mind that snared his attention, a familiar pattern that was losing its cohesion, fading...
His second telepathic howl of denial was heard by every psi-sensitive in the New York area.
Nathan burst through the door of the restaurant just in time to see GW slide from his chair and hit the floor. A waitress cried out, dropping her tray - at GW's fall or Nathan's sudden entrance, he didn't know. Didn't care.
No! No, no, nonono- He all but fell at GW's side, pulling his friend into his arms. GW's eyes were open, if hazy and filled with shock. His mouth moved for a moment, no sound coming out, but he was limp in Nathan's arms. Not breathing. He wasn't breathing.
Cain burst into the restaurant seconds later, looking over people's heads, oblivious to the stares of disturbed diners. In a corner booth, he could see Nathan kneeling by someone. Not Gideon, it was -
"Oh shit," he breathed, recognizing Bridge in Nathan's arms. Instinctively he started looking for anyone remotely matching Gideon's description at the exits, the side booths, the balconies. The slimy bastard loved to watch his plans unfold, he had to be around.
Nate...
#Don't,# Nathan sent back brokenly in response to the faint mental whisper that reached him. He could sense how much effort it took. What had Gideon done? Frantically, Nathan tried to visualize what he'd sensed, trying to figure out how his uncle had done it, whether it was reversible...
"Someone call 911!" he heard a woman said, sounding shrill. "Is there a doctor here anywhere?"
Cain knelt next to Nathan, watching his back. "I can't see shit in here, Nate," he growled, "If your uncle's on the move, I can't find him and we need to get your buddy to a hospital." Turning his head, he stared daggers at the maitre'd. "Did you not hear the lady, you limp-wristed prick? Call a fucking doctor! MOVE!"
"I've got to..." Words failed him, and the rest went to Cain telepathically. He had to hold on. Like he'd done with Alison. Had to hold on, hold GW's mind together until medical attention got here.
But the pattern of GW's thoughts was disintegrating even faster than Alison's had. Something Nathan had learned a long time ago - and had always wished he hadn't - was that the cliche was true, and your life did pass in front of your eyes in your last moments. Images flooded through GW's mind, and Nathan struggled not to lose himself in them, to hold on.
A few stuck.
Rachel sitting on GW's lap, looking up at him with huge, serious eyes.
Moira walking down the aisle at the wedding.
Domino in Billie's pub, dancing with Theo and laughing. In Namibia, holding Pete's hand as they walked across the shattered landscape towards where the Pack's helicopter had landed.
Mina and David in the clinic at Christmas when Moira had told her she was pregnant.
Lien on the beach in Tunis in the moonlight, in a black bikini and an enigmatic smile. In bed, black hair rumpled and pure mischief in her dark eyes.
And himself. In so many moments, but then, lingeringly, in one that he wouldn't have expected. He saw himself lying in the desert in New Mexico bleeding to death, pushing away GW's hands and cursing at him weakly when he tried to lift him into the Jeep.
I won't be there...
"Stop," Nathan said in a violent whisper, tears running down his face. Understanding what GW was trying to tell him, but not wanting to hear it.
GW had been there once, to save him from the consequences of his rage and grief and yearning for revenge. He had forced him to live, told him that one rescue deserved another. But this time...
Don't? Please... promise...
"I promise." It was almost impossible to force the words out. Because he knew. He knew what happened next.
With the promise made, his fear given a reassuring answer, GW's mind went dark.
Cain felt the sudden drop through Nathan's telepathic link. Even with his teammate as a buffer, the wave of loss almost floored him. Cautiously, he put a hand on Nathan's shoulder. "We've got to go," he said roughly.
The words didn't make any sense to Nathan for a long moment as he drifted, lost in the void that shouldn't be a void. But the hand on his shoulder drew him back, like an anchor, and Nathan swallowed, then found his voice again.
"Help me with him."
He was maybe the tiniest bit jetlagged still, GW Bridge reflected, sipping at his coffee and letting his gaze roam the restaurant idly. Possibly a little short-sighted of him to have gotten so little sleep this last week and then jumped right on a plane across the Atlantic, but hell, there were far, far worse excuses for sleep deprivation.
Setting his coffee down, he reached into his coat and pulled out the envelope of pictures, unable to help sorting through them again, a smile playing on his lips as he did. He hadn't known quite what to make of Lien getting camera-happy, but the pictures were wonderful. The kids they'd rescued from the camp in the Sudan hadn't known what to make of the ocean once they'd gotten them back to the safehouse in Tunis. It had taken Theo and Gavin a great deal of coaxing to get some of them to even go near the water, but once they'd gotten over their initial fearfulness, they'd taken to the experience with great enthusiasm.
Part of GW wished that he'd stayed another day or two, made sure that they all got off to their new temporary homes. But Xavier's contacts had always been scrupulous about that end of the operation, and he didn't imagine that would change.
"Mr. Bridge," a voice smoothly interrupted his thoughts, the man who had spoken gracefully sitting down in front of him at the table. "Fancy meeting you here, of all places." The waiter drifted by at the new addition to the table though Gideon waved the man off amiably, with a low murmur about not being present for too long. "Mmm. You do look worn out," Gideon added, without sympathy but without any sign of hostility or criticism as well. Merely stating fact.
Bridge's shocked expression was gone as quickly as it had come, reverting to calm and neutral almost immediately. "You look... younger than your pictures, Mr. Faraday," he said, sliding the pictures carefully back into the envelope and slipping it back into his pocket. He picked up his coffee cup, taking another sip and then setting it back down. "And I'm not seeing much of a family resemblance."
Short, quiet laughter greeted that, and Gideon smiled faintly. "You're quite right. My nephew resembles his father, to tell you the truth." His lips quirked, wryly. "More than he'd like to think he does, at that. Flipsides of a coin, if you will, in some respects."
Bridge opened his mouth, then closed it again. Thinking. Was Faraday synched to a mutant somewhere nearby? He spared an ironic thought for his own caution, not carrying a gun in New York. His desire to avoid attention was working against him.
This wasn't good. At all.
He looked back up at Gideon, mustering a faint, humorless smile in response. "Do you suppose that will do for the small talk?" He kept his voice low, calm, remembering what Dom had told him about the hotel in Chad. There were too many people around. He wasn't going to risk causing a scene. "I'm not sure how you knew I was here. I'd like to know what you want."
"I'm afraid it's not really about you at all, Mr. Bridge." For a moment, Gideon's expression showed genuine regret, if fleetingly so. "But things need to follow a certain course, and you merely happen... to be there. And so," Gideon cocked his head to the side, as though listening for something and then nodded to himself, remaining silent for a few instants. "There. Done. And so, as I was saying, the world goes on. With or without us." Rising to his feet, Gideon bowed slightly to GW, politely so - as though one fighter might to another, once the battle was done. "I will leave you now, to say your goodbyes. God bless, Mr Bridge."
He felt... numb, suddenly. Cold. GW opened his mouth to say something to the man as he got to his feet, but he couldn't find his voice. Couldn't breathe. Panic stirred inside him, and he tried to grab the edge of the table, to pull himself to his feet, but his body wasn't obeying the commands from his brain.
Gideon was walking out the door. Not looking back.
---
"... and you should have heard how offended Haroun sounded when he found out I'd plotted the whole thing with Alison," Nathan said cheerfully to Cain as they left the car behind and headed towards the restaurant. "I thought he was going to hit me. Which would have been entertaining, don't get me wrong..."
"They got some rule against having a sense of humor where he comes from, if you ask me." Cain couldn't hide his amusement at the story. Generally, anything that ended up with one of his teammates as the butt of a joke was high comedy as far as he was concerned.
"Eh, it did him good. Less fussing about his recovery, more actual recovering," Nathan said, smiling but still paying attention to the people they were passing. It was a natural thing, eyeing the possibly not-so-innocent bystanders. Just like casting his mind out ahead of them was a natural, instinctive thing, even though it took effort to filter through the background telepathic buzz. "Although he may never trust me again. I think he-"
Nathan stopped dead in his tracks as he sensed a mind up ahead, at the restaurant, go mirrored and impenetrable in a very familiar way. "No." The word slipped out before he could stop it, and then he was running, all but bowling over the people in his way.
Cain worked his way through the crowd, slower than Nathan's rushed pace and more careful of the crowd. "Nate!" he hollered, heedless of attracting attention. "No? No what?"
#GIDEON!# It was as much a scream of denial directed at his uncle's mind as it was telling Cain what was wrong. People literally flew out of his way, if with less violence than they might have under the impact of a telekinetic shockwave. Too much of Nathan's attention was focused down the block, seeing through GW's eyes. Feeling two precise, targeted flickers of telekinesis.
Just flickers. Almost innocuous. Except that they weren't.
"Motherfucker," Cain breathed, flipping his communicator out of his pocket. "Juggernaut to comms, all points alert. Cable's sighted Gideon in New York, our location. Send backup." He stood still for a moment, letting flustered crowdgoers run into his immovable bulk for a moment, then continued after Nathan.
Gideon's mirrored mind was outside the restaurant - moving away, into the crowd. Nathan could have followed, could have attacked right then and there. But it was another mind that snared his attention, a familiar pattern that was losing its cohesion, fading...
His second telepathic howl of denial was heard by every psi-sensitive in the New York area.
Nathan burst through the door of the restaurant just in time to see GW slide from his chair and hit the floor. A waitress cried out, dropping her tray - at GW's fall or Nathan's sudden entrance, he didn't know. Didn't care.
No! No, no, nonono- He all but fell at GW's side, pulling his friend into his arms. GW's eyes were open, if hazy and filled with shock. His mouth moved for a moment, no sound coming out, but he was limp in Nathan's arms. Not breathing. He wasn't breathing.
Cain burst into the restaurant seconds later, looking over people's heads, oblivious to the stares of disturbed diners. In a corner booth, he could see Nathan kneeling by someone. Not Gideon, it was -
"Oh shit," he breathed, recognizing Bridge in Nathan's arms. Instinctively he started looking for anyone remotely matching Gideon's description at the exits, the side booths, the balconies. The slimy bastard loved to watch his plans unfold, he had to be around.
Nate...
#Don't,# Nathan sent back brokenly in response to the faint mental whisper that reached him. He could sense how much effort it took. What had Gideon done? Frantically, Nathan tried to visualize what he'd sensed, trying to figure out how his uncle had done it, whether it was reversible...
"Someone call 911!" he heard a woman said, sounding shrill. "Is there a doctor here anywhere?"
Cain knelt next to Nathan, watching his back. "I can't see shit in here, Nate," he growled, "If your uncle's on the move, I can't find him and we need to get your buddy to a hospital." Turning his head, he stared daggers at the maitre'd. "Did you not hear the lady, you limp-wristed prick? Call a fucking doctor! MOVE!"
"I've got to..." Words failed him, and the rest went to Cain telepathically. He had to hold on. Like he'd done with Alison. Had to hold on, hold GW's mind together until medical attention got here.
But the pattern of GW's thoughts was disintegrating even faster than Alison's had. Something Nathan had learned a long time ago - and had always wished he hadn't - was that the cliche was true, and your life did pass in front of your eyes in your last moments. Images flooded through GW's mind, and Nathan struggled not to lose himself in them, to hold on.
A few stuck.
Rachel sitting on GW's lap, looking up at him with huge, serious eyes.
Moira walking down the aisle at the wedding.
Domino in Billie's pub, dancing with Theo and laughing. In Namibia, holding Pete's hand as they walked across the shattered landscape towards where the Pack's helicopter had landed.
Mina and David in the clinic at Christmas when Moira had told her she was pregnant.
Lien on the beach in Tunis in the moonlight, in a black bikini and an enigmatic smile. In bed, black hair rumpled and pure mischief in her dark eyes.
And himself. In so many moments, but then, lingeringly, in one that he wouldn't have expected. He saw himself lying in the desert in New Mexico bleeding to death, pushing away GW's hands and cursing at him weakly when he tried to lift him into the Jeep.
I won't be there...
"Stop," Nathan said in a violent whisper, tears running down his face. Understanding what GW was trying to tell him, but not wanting to hear it.
GW had been there once, to save him from the consequences of his rage and grief and yearning for revenge. He had forced him to live, told him that one rescue deserved another. But this time...
Don't? Please... promise...
"I promise." It was almost impossible to force the words out. Because he knew. He knew what happened next.
With the promise made, his fear given a reassuring answer, GW's mind went dark.
Cain felt the sudden drop through Nathan's telepathic link. Even with his teammate as a buffer, the wave of loss almost floored him. Cautiously, he put a hand on Nathan's shoulder. "We've got to go," he said roughly.
The words didn't make any sense to Nathan for a long moment as he drifted, lost in the void that shouldn't be a void. But the hand on his shoulder drew him back, like an anchor, and Nathan swallowed, then found his voice again.
"Help me with him."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}