Cain and Nathan, at the boathouse, Thursday afternoon.

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The Grumpy Old Men (tm) of the mansion talk for the first time since the accident



Cain sat up roughly, flexing his arms awkwardly across his chest.
Madelyn had remarked about the rapid progress he'd made in the past
few days, regaining some gross motor control in his upper body, and
going a week without any breathing problems. Still couldn't move his
left arm well, and that side of his face hung mostly slack, but Cain
figured that any improvement was, well, more than he was entitled to.

He looked down at the device sitting in his lap. A small speaker, with
what looked like two stethoscope-type leads coming off of it. He
placed one against his throat like he'd been shown, and held the other
to the right side of his jaw.

"Tsstng. Tsstng. N, dy, fyy." Cain frowned once more, adjusting the
dial on the device with a finger. "Testnng, tesstng, nn, two, free..."

Nathan had crossed paths with Madelyn on the way over to the
boathouse, and she'd told him to go right in, that Cain was awake and
in the mood for at least certain visitors. He let himself in, smiling
a little at the sight of Cain sitting up and working with some sort of
device.

"Hey," he greeted the other man quietly.

"Nate." The speaker didn't convey the emphasis that Cain's half-smile
did. "G'd to see y'. C'm t' pl'y nrse?" Cain frowned and whacked the
speaker gently. "G'd'mmt. Sound like Mo'ra."

"I thought actually I'd stick to just visiting," Nathan said wryly,
coming over and sitting down. There was purple cat hair on the bed, he
noted, his smile growing a little. "I mean, the idea of me playing
nurse is a terrifying one, no?"

The big man managed almost a full smile. "Don' give me th't m'nt'l
image. So," he continued, the voice from the speaker sounding tinny
and raspy, "how Ch'rs'ms go?"

"Christmas was nice. New Year's, on the other hand, sucked." Nathan
paused, giving Cain an almost hesitant look, wondering. Moira had
certainly been out here since they'd arrived home. Would she have told
him?

Cain just nodded. He still had his access to the reports (Charles'
concession to Cain's concerns about the repercussions of the X-Men's
actions on the house being his reasoning). While Moira hadn't broached
the subject yet, only having stopped by briefly to check the machines
and make small talk, Cain knew that it was eating at her inside.

"Bastard." The word was probably the clearest he'd spoken since the
injury, and though the speaker couldn't properly express the contempt
Cain felt, it showed on his face. "If I get... hand on 'im..." Cain
flexed his right hand into a fist and shook it. "Kill 'im."

Why it was such a relief to know that Cain knew, he wasn't sure. But
it was. Maybe because he knew Cain would understand. "She made me
promise not to kill Joe," he said very quietly. "Father of her child
and all. Which is, you know, a shame." He managed a very strained
smile. "Because it would be so easy. I wouldn't have to do it myself.
It wouldn't be traceable back here..." He took a deep, slightly shaky
breath. "Essex, however, is another matter entirely. This is twice."

Cain let out a long breath. "Ess'x? H'lped Betsy. Can' think he's
horr'ble, but..." Cain shuddered at the thought of what Moira would
have had to go through, seeing a mutant who was that much like her
dead son, and then watching him die again. And knowing that one of her
colleagues was behind it.

"Appr'c'ate the... discr'shn," Cain mumbled. Smaller words,
definitely. "Not good, kill'n' the ex. Shows... too poss'ss've."

Laughter was not appropriate. Really. Really, it wasn't. Yet it seemed
determined to come anyway. Nathan at least managed to limit himself to
semi-hysterical snickering. "Fuck," he managed finally. "How am I
supposed to stomp around here in a homicidal fury when you make me
laugh?"

"Stomp 'way," Cain droned, "one of us can." He balled up a fist and
smacked his thigh, watching the muscle twitch reflexively, but unable
to command it on his own. "Doc B'rtlett says... good recov'ry, but
slow. I say... too damn slow." Cocking his head, Cain paused, then
leaned his head back and forth. Hmm. Couldn't do that on the left side
yesterday. Maybe not so slow.

"Honest, tho'," he began, "how's Mo'ra? Can' be easy f'r her."

Nathan rested his chin in his hand, staring a bit blankly at the
purple cat hair on the bed. "It's helping her to be back," he said
after a moment. "Plenty of people to distract her, keep her mind off
it. She is going to be talking to Charles about it." He took a deep
breath. "And I make sure she doesn't dream about it, when she's
asleep."

"Dreams not good," Cain agreed. Every night, he'd had the same dream
since the accident. Enough to where he knew it was a nightmare,
because he woke up seconds from screaming - but he never could
remember quite what about. Just this incredibly weighty sense of
disappointment and shame.

"How... kids do?" he asked, trying to get Nathan's mind off of his
wife for a moment. The guy was noble to be concerned, but Cain knew
he'd burn himself out with obsessiveness, even despite Moira's amazing
resiliency. "H'rd things... problems?"

"Well and badly, depending on the kid," Nathan said with a sigh,
rubbing at the back of his neck. "The ones who held the fort in the
castle kept things together well. That ass Shiro needs a brain
transplant. Paige Guthrie impressed the hell out of me." He smiled a
little.

Cain thought. Paige was always level-headed, it seemed. And Shiro - it
was a shame, Cain thought. He'd just started to like the kid, once the
young man had gotten past his blatant xenophobia. "Th' drills," he
mentioned, "Kuk said... been goin' well." Cain and Remy had worked
with Mr. Lee to set up emergency drills in the mansion for the kids to
evacuate to in the event of a crisis. So far, according to Lee, the
kids had taken to the program like ducks to water.

"They got... good heads on... should'rs, Nate. Some... bad appl's. But
alw'ys are."

"I know that," Nathan muttered, then smiled a little bit more broadly.
Cain was definitely mellowing. "And even Shiro didn't actually screw
up too badly. Just didn't do as he was told and acted like an arrogant
little shit about it after the fact. I was not in the mood to hear
from a seventeen year old that his judgement in a combat situation
trumped mine, that night." He laughed again, wryly. "I'm sure Alison
said something to him, too. She and I didn't do too badly for being on
the disabled-list, if I do say so myself."

"Least y'r doing som'th'ng..." Cain mumbled. After a brief pause, he
looked up at Nathan. "Need fav'r. Hon'sty. I...gotta know." Looking
briefly down at his hands, he met Nathan's eyes steadfastly. "What
happ'ned to me? Doc... won't say more than 'acc'dent'. Need more."

He didn't know. Nathan's eyes widened a little. Why hadn't they told
him? He bit his lip, gazing at Cain for a long moment. "I made you a
promise once," he finally said, assessing Cain's mood and mental state
as best he could without doing more than a passive scan. "Told you
that my mind would never go anywhere near yours. But if you really
want to know - " And it wasn't as if he could tell Cain the whole
story; he'd been on the unconscious side for the latter half, after
all. " - this is something that's easier to show than to tell, I
think."

Cain brushed his chest. He'd realized that the gem was gone, that much
had been obvious from the moment he regained consciousness. The alien
feeling in his chest had been taken, and he was left with this oddness
- somewhat akin to having a chronic migraine, and then having it just
disappear. Not that Cain remembered headaches. It had been forty years
or so, after all.

"It's gone," he rasped, "I rem'ber... hurt. Hurt a lot. And... Alison
there, but she's okay. But I'm... not okay," He looked over at Nathan,
confusion in his eyes. "Not s'posed to hurt, Nate. Show me... what
happen'd."

Hoping he was doing the right thing, Nathan closed his eyes, reaching
out and establishing the lightest link possible with Cain. Just enough
to be able to show him that night from Nathan's perspective. The
panicked call from Moira. Running downstairs to find her trying to dig
Alison and Cain out of the ruins of the safe room.

The hole in Cain's chest.

He sped up the recall a little, not wanting to dwell overmuch on his
own feelings from that moment. He showed Cain that hurried conference
with Moira, Amanda's arrival. Conveying to him the nature of the
three-way link was a little more difficult, and he flinched a little,
instinctively, as he reviewed the memory of forcing the gem shards
into Cain's DNA. So much light. Even just in a memory...

#That's... pretty much all I remember,# he sent softly as the light
washed over everything. #Think I passed out. You'll have to ask Moira
and Charles for the rest.#

Cain blinked, feeling the mental link fading. "Wow. So... it's in
me?" He held up his hand before his face, wiggling his fingers and
frowning. "Feel... too weak. But... alive. Fair trade."

Leaning back against the padded back of the bed, Cain let out a deep
breath. "And... Sefton? G'd job. Owe her big. You too. And... Al'son's
okay?" As Nathan's answering nod, Cain smiled. "Fair trade," he
repeated.

Nathan smiled suddenly. "I somehow thought you'd say that," he said
quietly, aloud this time as he gently severed the link. "Of course,
trying to tell her that at the time, or at least not to blame herself,
wasn't all that successful."

"Saw j'rnals," Cain remarked. "She's... bett'r. Good thing. She's...
good kid. Me? Old. Busted." He let out a rasping noise that was
probably meant to be a laugh. "Show'ng... my age."

Nathan gave him a long, measuring look. "A little more, maybe," he
said finally. "I don't think you're suddenly going to start showing
your actual age, Cain, or even feeling it. Like you said, the gem's
still in there."

"Point, I--" Cain paused, running a hand over his jaw and feeling the
rasp. "--need... shave?" He fumbled awkwardly with his right arm,
trying to find the mirror that he'd seen Madelyn with before. Finally
grasping it, he managed to move it in front of his face.

It was the same one he'd looked at every morning since he was
twenty-four years old. And as far as he could tell, it hadn't changed
except for the layer of thick red stubble along his chin and jawline.
"No sense..." he breathed, "I don't... didn't..." He exhaled deeply,
looking over to Nathan as he dropped the mirror to the bed. "Shave.
Sleep. Breathe. Eat. Hurt. Back to... real world. Fin'lly."

"Not such a bad thing, maybe?" Nathan suggested quietly. A slight
smile tugged at his lips as he wondered just what kind of less
tangible changes this might mean for Cain. "Less distance between you
and the rest of the world, too."

"Wishf'l thinkin'," Cain rasped, arching an eyebrow at Nathan. "Ain'
like them, an' we both... know it. So not... big 'n' strong no more...
still me." He leaned back into the pillow and closed his eyes,
listening to the silence of the boathouse, broken only by the beeping
of the machines next to his bed. "Fin'lly me."

Still smiling, Nathan leaned back in the chair and sat there, quietly.
He had been trying to convince Alison that good had come out of this.
Looked like there was one more thing to add to the list after all.