xp_logs | Nathan and Cain, Sunday night (Reply)

A still-feverish Nathan decides to take it upon himself to yell at Cain over his comments on the staff journal after the blood drive. Cain yells right back, with a number of things Nate doesn't want (but probably needs) to hear. Motives and methods are the topic at hand, and Nathan finally comes to a couple of very important realizations about his role at the school and with the X-Men.

Fuck. Nathan stopped, blinking, and held onto the very nice tree beside him for a moment. He wasn't going to make it to the boathouse at this rate, and Moira was going to kill him for not going back to bed. She'd been very annoyed, finding him dragging himself back upstairs after the talks with Doug and Angie. But he needed to go and see Cain. Yes, see Cain and shout at Cain. Even if Cain got peeved and dropped something on his head.

He took a deep breath, which turned into a fit of coughing, and tottered onwards. Almost there. Mao was sitting on the steps and stretched in a leisurely fashion, wandering away with barely a glance for him as Nathan approached.

He raised a hand and banged on the door. "Cain!" It was supposed to be an angry yell, but it came out sounding more petulant than anything else.

Slapping the last piece of bread onto his Dagwood sandwich, Cain cocked his head at the caterwauling on the porch. Nathan, obviously. Guy didn't sound like there was an emergency, but in his state, never could tell.

Shoving the sandwich in the fridge, Cain grabbed his coat in case someone had done some damn fool thing like fall in the lake, and opened the door.

"Nate? What gives?"

Oh, he actually looked concerned. How nice. "You," Nathan proclaimed, waving a hand at Cain, "are a hypocrite. You know that? A great big hypocrite, and I ought to--" What he ought to have done didn't quite make it out, thanks to another damned coughing fit. Nathan grabbed at the doorframe, wheezing. "Did I mention you were a hypocrite?"

Without even breaking stride, Cain tossed his coat behind him onto the sofa and stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him. Looking down at Nathan, Cain placed his hands on his hips, torn between amusement at the telepath's illness and confusion at his statement. "Do tell," he demanded.

"Why didn't we catch it?" Nathan raved at him. The deck furniture rattled loudly. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to catch anything in that... that PLACE!" He waved at the mansion, violently enough that he swayed. "They yell! At the top of their mental lungs, all day long, half the night.... whether they're angsting over how awful their lives are, or having sex, or thinking about how they want to string up their math teacher, they yell! I can't hear myself think half the time!"

Cain blinked. "Oh, wait," he began. "This is where I apologize and feel sorry for the mind reader, right? Bullshit! Ain't you one of the ones teaching these kids about responsibility? Your job, YOUR watch!" Cain poked Nathan in the chest with one thick finger. "You want to call ME a hypocrite? You fucking know better, Dayspring. Wasn't MY people almost got killed out there, boy, he's one of YOURS."

Cain shook his head. "Jesus, you people and your convenient nobility. So yeah, you've got voices in your head - take a damn Tylenol and fucking cope! Price you pay for being what the fuck you ARE!"

"You ARE a hypocrite!" Nathan snarled, even though the very light poke had nearly sent him flat on his ass. "What are we supposed to do? Line them up for telepathic scans every day to make sure that they aren't planning anything stupid? Not teach them how to defend themselves against other telepaths just because they might use it to hide things from us?" The whole deck was shaking, now. "Figure out some... I don't know, age of telepathic fucking majority where we think they can be trusted not to have us peeking into their minds on a regular basis?"

Cain rolled his eyes. "Pick one, first you can't shut them out, then you can't force your way in. I ain't just talkin' about being a telepath, you blithering little twerp. I'm talkin' about you being you."

Ignoring Nate's confused bluster, Cain pushed past him and into his porch chair. Swiveling it to face his visitor and also look past him to the mansion, Cain crossed one leg over the other and continued. "Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Nate. You know damn well you're not a family man, you're not a teacher, you're not a big cuddly teddy bear these kids can lean on. Sure, you might act like one, but face facts. Push comes to shove, you're a soldier. No," he corrected, "more than that, you're a weapon. Yeah, I read about what those guys forced into your head. Not too different than Lebeau. Except you took it and ran with it. I ain't passing judgement - but you're damn good at what you do."

"Except," Cain continued, "doing whatever it takes to bring your people back safe. Not inches away from having a goddamn bullet in their lungs. You want me to feel sympathy because it's hard? Fuck you, Dayspring. Summers ain't qualified. al-Rashid ain't qualified. Wisdom couldn't care less, and Chuck's got his Peace and Love blinders on. Just by being what they are, these kids are living in a warzone. Try being an example to them instead of their pal, sometimes."

Nathan just stared at him. For quite some time, until it struck him that his mouth was hanging open. "You're not a hypocrite," he said finally, wildly. "You're insane. Me, an example. They want to learn from someone, it sure as hell shouldn't be me, Cain."

"Like hell," Cain shot back. "You can fill their heads with funky languages or history, fine. Any jackass with a degree can do that. Who's going to teach them not to do stupid shit like sacrifice themselves pointlessly? Who's going to teach them to not be a hero, not be the guy who gets the really fancy eulogy instead of sleeping in his warm bed at night?" Cain pointed a finger accusingly. "Like it or not, these kids listen to you, Nate. Hell, half of them see your sorry ass as some weird father figure. One way or the other, they're your people. Same way it is in a fire team, a recon platoon, or one of your secret agent clubs."

"Then again," Cain quipped, "look at you. Sick as a fuckin' dog, and you're out here trying to bitch me out. How many times you put yourself in the damn infirmary because you're too fuckin' proud to know your limits? Any wonder these kids act stupid and play hero, Nate? They're acting like you, you dumb shit."

But if they were acting like him, how was he supposed to teach them any better? He wasn't following. Really wasn't. Nathan took a tottering couple of steps backwards - and stepped right off the edge of the deck. He wound up sitting on the grass, staring up at Cain, who'd half-risen his chair to peer down at him.

"Stupid," he wheezed, breaking into another coughing spasm. "This is all so stupid, Cain... " He wasn't talking about what Cain was saying, he realized suddenly. "I could have caught that bullet. Jammed the gun. Flu or no fucking flu... if I'd known, if I'd had even the faintest fucking idea..."

Cain nodded, walking over and reaching a hand down to Nate. "And you should have been there. But hell, you didn't know. And that's just it - You. Didn't. Know. I see these kids who don't know shit from shit bitching on the journals about trust and disclosure. And then probably one of the only decent ones among them does something like this." Hauling Nathan up to a standing position, Cain stepped off the porch and sat on the edge, putting him close to eye level with Nathan.

"I caught your little Fortune Telling Primer, too. You ask me, you and the French Miss Cleo ain't no more than fancy versions of that damn Magic 8-Ball toy if you can't DO something with it. But that Ramsey kid was damn sure he knew what he had to do. Why? Because he's watched enough of you 'role models' do it."

"I'm not even a fucking 8-ball anymore," Nathan sighed, leaning heavily on the railing. "Can't see the future properly, Cain. Just flashes... 'whoa, this is significant. Maybe. To someone'. She might do more, once she grows into it. If she gets the chance." He swallowed, trying to ignore the rubbery feeling of his legs. Oh, this had been a bad idea. "So what do I do?" he said restlessly. "Take away their illusion of normality? Maybe they're living in a war zone, Cain, but they're alive... they're free to bitch about trust and disclosure and act like honest to God teenagers, between the fucking crises..." He shook his head, then wished he hadn't as the world seemed to tilt around him. "I don't know what to do. You're right, I'm not a teacher, because I can't figure out what to teach them when it comes to the really important stuff."

"The hell you don't," Cain insisted. "You can't tell me you've survived as long as you have on dumb luck. Somewhere in that big mutant brain of yours has got to be some germ-sized concept of self-preservation. Get THAT through to these kids, instead of Swahili or Urdu or whatever silly language you're pushing on them."

Cain reached down to pluck an errant weed from between his feet, looking at it intently. "I've heard a good number of 'em talk about wanting to put on those uniforms one day, play super hero. Hero." Cain practically spat out the word. "You know as well as me, ain't no such thing. There's those of us what survive and come home, and the ones that get the word 'posthumous' used in their obituaries. Tell me, Nate, what do you see your kids up there turning into? Survivors or heroes?"

Nathan sank back down onto the grass, leaning back against the edge of the deck. Not looking at Cain. "Fuck you," he said, without energy or heat. "You want me to try and take that away from them? I know they could die doing it, Cain. Someone will... probably soon. Don't know how it hasn't happened, everything that's gone on this summer..." He took as deep a breath as he could without coughing. "You want me to tell them not to believe they can make a difference? Surviving isn't living, Cain. I survived seven years on the run because I focused on putting one foot in front of the other and killed anyone who came after me. That's not much of a life."

Cain's hand snapped out, grabbing Nate by the collar and hauling him right up to Marko's snarling face. "Am I stuttering here, Dayspring? You just said it - one of these kids is going to get killed trying to be like you and everyone else putting on those leathers. Sure, you're trying to change the world, but every time you walk away from one of those fights, you put the idea in the kids' heads that they can do the same thing." He thrust Nate away from him, looking disgusted.

"You want to tell them something? Tell them the truth. That no matter who you beat up, or what threat you put away - there's always going to be another one. And the next one. And then the next one. Seven years on the run? And look at you." Cain spat into the grass. "Big happy family for you coming up. Everything's going to be hunky-dory for you up until you make a widow out of that woman. And then who's going to be the next one putting that suit on to try and take your place? Sefton? Colbert? Madrox? Pick the next casualty, Nate."

Cain just sat, shaking his head in disdain. "You want a solution from me? I ain't got one. But that don't mean I can't see the problems with kids trying to play the same games you alleged adults are."

"You really think they don't know that it doesn't stop?" Nathan asked, ignoring Cain's disgusted look. "Living here... do you really think that any of them don't know that there's always another disaster around the corner? Assassins and demons and black helicopters landing on the lawn like clockwork..." Nathan stared right at him, the dizziness receding all of a sudden, leaving him more clear-headed than he'd been all weekend. "They know the truth, Cain. They're starting to see it for themselves, without any help from us. And some of them are kicking and screaming about it, like Jubilee, and some are acting like fucking idiots, like Doug, and some are just sitting back wishing it would all go away. There's got to be a middle ground out there for them somewhere, but I'll be fucked if I can see it right now."

"So that's your excuse?" Cain asked. "It's too hard for you to find an answer? Ask around, then. Ask any one of those voices in your head. Ask your mercenary friends. Find an answer, Nate. Or those kids who look up to you so much are going to start trying to BE you, and you and I both know they ain't ready."

"Find that middle ground, huh?" Nathan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pressing the heel of one hand against his forehead as the Askani shifted in the back of his mind, murmuring. "Fuck... I just can't see it, Cain. They won't hide, some of them. Nail that sticks up gets hammered down. And am I suppose to tell the ones that will hide to do it? When I can hear them knowing they could be more, wanting it..."

The big man just shrugged, then paused. Reaching over to his right shoulder, he rolled up his short t-shirt sleeve to expose the "eagle, globe & anchor" Marine Corps tattoo he'd acquired back in '61. "You think I don't know that?" he mentioned, tapping the faded green ink. "Semper fi, man. They tell kids that these days. Be All You Can Be. The few, the proud. Heh. The few, the proud, the dead. Who tells 'em about THAT, huh? Maybe this'll do it. Maybe seeing Ramsey just about kill himself playing hero will get it through some of these knuckleheads' skulls that it ain't the way to go." Cain thought for a moment, then snorted. "Doubt it."

Nathan stood there, silent for a long moment. "I don't know how to hide, Cain," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "I can't teach them that. You said you read my file, that you know the sorts of things that they shoved into my head. Well, I may not have the funky brainwashing anymore, but everything I learned is still there. Go tell the fucking Spartans and all that crap..." He shook his head tiredly, tottering back over to sit on the edge of the deck and not particularly caring if Cain took it into his head to toss him in the direction of the lake the next time. "Most I can think of to do is teach them how to survive, if they decide they have to fight. And you're right... I can do that better than Scott, or Haroun, or even Pete. Better than anyone else here."

Cain nodded to Nate. "Hell, that's a start. Y'know, Alison said something the other day, when she had her little PMS screaming fit. Made some sense, too. She thinks this whole X-Men thing's going to make the world a better place for her kid, for folks like him. But there's got to be that middle ground between being different and having a normal life." Cain shrugged. "You ask me, time'd be better served just teachin' kids how to be as normal as they can. What you said about the nail that sticks up and all. And if they gotta fight, then they gotta fight. But don't you sometimes wish you never had to?" Cain motioned from Nate to the mansion. "Don't you think you oughta give them that chance?"

Nathan sighed, leaning back against the railing. "Cain... for fuck's sake. I got here and I thought I'd been dropped into heaven. It hardly seemed real." His voice wavered a little. "All these kids, getting the chance to squabble and act up and be stupid teenagers... I kept looking at them and seeing the faces of all the kids from Mistra, all those years..." He looked sideways at Cain, smiling faintly. "I ever tell you that's how they broke me, back in August? Showed me the kids here, back there in training..."

"Good," Cain remarked. Noticing Nathan's horrified look, he quickly amended, "Good that it got to you - you give a damn about these kids, Nate. Much as I can't stand 'em, you love being around them." Breathing a quick "weirdo", Cain continued, "You're right. They need the chance to be stupid kids - but in the normal way. Not getting taught it's okay to get yourself killed for some silly cause."

"If it were up to me..." Nathan trailed off, staring blankly into the woods. "I'd boot every single one of them into 'normal' lives so fast their little heads would spin. I tried to do that with Domino, six years ago, you know. But I turned around one day and there she was on our doorstep, telling me that if I sent her back to the nice nuns, she was going to break out, come back, and castrate me in my sleep."

He took a deep breath, coughed, then went on. "It's not my choice, Cain. And you better believe me that I'll do my damned best to rub their noses in their idiocy if they try to put those leathers on out of some idiotic romantic idea about making a better world." He swallowed. "I'll make fucking sure they understand that they're not crusaders. That the emergent mutant they're trying to rescue might turn on them out of panic, or Magneto might kill them because he hasn't had his coffee yet that day, or that the hurricane can drop a house on you even if you're a telekinetic. No causes." He coughed again. "Just blood and sweat and loss. If they can hack it, when they see that, Cain... then they deserve to be there."

Cain grinned sardonically. "Scared straight, huh? That's what I'm talking about. No one shows these kids the grisly side of what happens when you play soldier. They just get the big tales about shit like glory and adventure. Hell, it's a miracle none of you've come back crippled yet. If Ramsey pulls through without a scratch, I've half a mind to go break his legs as a damn object lesson."

"Then why are we arguing?" Nathan asked a bit blearily. "Oh... right. I stormed down here and started calling you a hypocrite. Right." He raised an unsteady hand to rub his eyes. "Me and my sloppy impulse control..."

Cain patted Nathan on the back, swatting him playfully with an overlarge hand. "Because you ain't got the sense God gave a stuffed squirrel, you dipshit. Now, you going to walk back into the house or do I have to carry you down to your bride-to-be and suggest castor oil and a cleansing enema?"

"You would, too. Just to see her reaction. Sadist." With a heave, Nathan made it back to his feet. "I'll make it back. And don't worry about Doug... he's going to wish you would come break his legs by the time the rest of us get through with him."

Cain gave a halfhearted wave and shooed Nathan off to recuperate. For pete's sake..., he thought to himself, if there's a god up there, give these guys a fuckin' clue, will ya?.

Cutline text from Audioslave's 'Show Me How To Live'