Nathan and Scott by the lake

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Set this morning. While Scott's out on his morning run, he comes across Nathan sitting alone on the lake shore. They talk about Nathan's persistent visions, with Scott offering advice on how to change that far distant future. Or at least preserve it, so they will be remembered. And Scott helps Nathan back to the house, to take his forgotten meds.

It was cold, even in the sun. Or maybe it was just him, Nathan thought dimly. He hadn't felt warm since... Nathan pushed the thought away. He was not going to think about yesterday. About her. He was going to sit here in the sun and stare at the lake, which was really quite pretty, and pretend that he was alone. That the little burned girl wasn't there with her friends, playing some sort of game that looked vaguely like hopscotch.

He hadn't taken his pills this morning. Moira would be annoyed with him. Or maybe not; he hadn't seen much of Moira today. Maybe she was too frightened to be around him just now. He couldn't blame her. She had stood up to Her, after all, when he had been huddled on the floor cringing. Moira had done everything she could. It wasn't her fault that this couldn't be fixed. That nothing could be done...

Scott took the lake path this morning, one of his four different routines. It let him catch the lake as the sun rose, and those Miles wasn't with him, he could remember what it looked like.

He caught sight of the lone figure sitting at the lake shore, and recognized it as Nathan. He adjusted his path to take him by the mercenary, and paused nearby. "Morning."

Nathan blinked at him. He had sensed him approaching - his shields had gone down again last night in the middle of--all of that, and they weren't back in order yet - but Scott had come up too fast, while he was still trying to process the fact that he was about to have company. "Morning," Nathan said finally, when Scott started to frown at him. "Right."

"Something wrong?" Scott asked. He thought about saying more, but let him do the talking. Or not, if that's how his mood was today.

"Wrong," Nathan said slowly, and surprised himself by laughing. It wasn't a very pleasant laugh, and he watched Scott's slight frown deepen. "I don't suppose you see the dead kids down by the water?" Scott's expression went momentarily blank, and Nathan pointed, just to be helpful. "There. They're skipping, or something. They seem to have decided to stick around."

"Not today, I don't," he looked across the lake, lost in a memory or vision of his own for a moment. "Skipped the meds this morning?" He asked, raising an eyebrow in Nate's direction, then continued, before he could respond. "Do they need someone to watch them, or do you just like to torture yourself? Because, if it's torture, don't let me stop you. We all have our ghosts, living or dead."

Something twisted in his chest, an agonizing something that stole his voice and left him staring up at Scott in wordless pain for a long moment. "It's what they want," he finally managed, his voice barely more than a raspy whisper. "They're so--angry they won't be remembered. So scared. She saw me watching so she thinks I'm the only one who'll be left to remember--" Another laugh slipped out, even more appalling-sounding than the first, and he looked away from Scott, his eyes burning as he saw the little girl turn his way, giving him an inquisitive look. "None of them have been born yet and they're all dead."

Scott was at a loss for how to respond for a moment. It wasn't the strangeness of Nate's words, but the sound of the pain in the man's voice, and the echo of his own thoughts, the ones he kept from everyone, including Jean. All the mutants they couldn't help, couldn't save. He squatted next to Nathan, looking down at the ground. "Write it down." He looked up, at the other man. "Put it into words. Then you can tell them they'll be remembered." And maybe they'll leave you be.

Nathan stared, wide-eyed, as the little girl left her friends and came towards him, smiling almost hopefully. "She's little," he said hoarsely. "Five or six, maybe..? I first saw her running down the streets of a city like something out of fucking Star Trek, screaming." He stopped, swallowing past the lump in his throat as the little girl knelt down in front of him, extending a hand. "There was--something, some sort of chemical weapon. Her skin was boiling. But she kept running. Screaming for her mother." He reached out tentatively for that tiny, blistered hand.

Oral history works too, though not over the long haul. And from what I've heard, this is a very long haul. "And now she's walking up to you, reaching her hand out? They know you can help them, Nathan. Even if it's just telling everyone that they existed...will exist...one day. Maybe if you make sure ..." he stopped, recalling their earlier conversation, about time travel. It wasn't something he even wanted to consider, not even jokingly. "Maybe you can make sure that what you saw doesn't happen." And THEN it will go away. Except in your memories. And maybe Moira's.

Their hands touched, and Nathan felt the girl's hand, fragile bones and blackened skin and so cold, so very cold--he didn't consciously decide to move, but he was on his feet suddenly, staggering backwards with his heart thundering in his ears. There were flickers of movement at the edges of his vision, and his head whipped back and forth, his breathing going rapid and shallow as he saw them appear. More dead soldiers, more civilians, and he heard screaming in his mind as cities burned and prisoners were lined up and executed or marched into furnaces. And there was a great, dark shape, laughing in a deep voice he remembered. "Salt the earth," he whispered, echoing the words. "Salt the earth and water it with blood--"

"Fuck," Scott wasn't aware he swore quietly, thinking he'd only said it in his head. He stood up, and followed Nathan slowly. "Nathan, can you hear me?" He reached his own hand out to the man, repeating his words, trying to give him something to ground him in the present. "Talk to me, Nathan. Listen to me, to my voice. Come back..."

Salt the earth and water it with blood, the deep voice repeated in his head. Leave nothing to mark their passing. I make no monuments to the weak. The face turned towards him, and Nathan cried out, going to his knees. The images in his mind faded, but only to a point. He could still hear the screaming.

"He's wiping them out," he gasped out. "He thinks they're--weak, not worthy. Something--"

Scott was ... concerned ... about touching Nathan, afraid he might be pulled into the situation. Or delusion. Or precog. Whatever it was. "Can you hear me? Talk to me, let me know you're here, Nathan." He thought about using the Cyclops voice, but wanted to give him a bit more time. "You know they're worthy. Tell him."

"He's not talking to me. He's--I'm there, but--" Nathan sucked in a sharp breath, his head ringing with the sound of gunfire. The vision faded the rest of the way, leaving him huddled trembling on the ground. As if someone had turned the lights out on the world. "Dead," he rasped shakily, massaging his temples. "I was--they were prisoners. Executed on the battlefield." He looked up at Scott, fighting for composure. "I think--I think it's changed. My shields--they went down last night, I can't block it out anymore."

Kneeling beside him, Scott tentatively reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "And we can't use any dampeners on you because of the virus." He sighed. "What's changed? Your shields, or the events?"

Nathan flinched violently at the touch, but forced himself to answer. "There's more of me there than there was before," he whispered tiredly. "It's--I don't know how long before this world starts feeling like the dream."

"Moira won't let that happen. And neither will we." Scott released Nathan as he flinched, but didn't move from where he was before him. "Get a journal. Write what you see, Nathan. Moira had Marie-Ange do it for her dreams. It might help. Put it in order in your mind, so you know where it fits. That it's real, but not /now/."

"I'll--try." Nathan managed, with some difficulty, to rise. Scott didn't move towards him, but didn't move away, either, and Nathan mustered a wan smile. "Right now, though, I think I should maybe go take those pills Moira left me. My--little friends are still there." He could see them, out of the corner of his eye, but resolutely didn't look in that direction.

"Good plan." He stood up, and offered a hand to Nathan. "Need any help getting back to the house?"

Nathan nodded slowly. "That'd--be good," he said, and forced himself to meet Scott's eyes. "Thanks," he murmured, hoping the other man would take his meaning.

"Anytime." He said it off the cuff, then stopped himself. "I do mean that. I ... " Shaking his head, he looked confused for a moment, wondering why he was being so...open. Trusting. To this stranger that Moira was linked to. "If you need anything, at any time, just ask." He paused, a wry smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "Or sit alone by the lake during the sunrise. Now, let's get you inside."