Nathan and Cain, Saturday morning

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Nathan goes for a spin - literally - outside, and runs into Cain. They make their way down to the quarry, chatting about strategy, the wedding, and family along the way.


If he got himself stuck outside somewhere, Moira was going to kill
him, Nathan thought with a certain amount of sheepish glee as he
wheeled himself down one of the paved paths that criss-crossed the
back lawn. But it was such a nice day, and the fresh air was
downright intoxicating. Of course, you could have just stayed on
the back porch... But what fun was that?

Cain crouched in the woodline, checking the property map he had spread
across his knees. Another year, another attack of erosion along the
hillside. If his understanding was correct, the mass earthmoving that
must have taken place to build all the mansion's underground
facilities had resulted in a change in the water table, altering the
soil's ability to drain off rainwater effectively. Couple that with
the aftereffects of Ororo's power, and landscaping was about to become
a full-time reactive strategy.

Turning around, he caught the glint of metal wheels from the back
lawn, passing the large fountain. Kind of early in the morning for
Chuck to be on a constitutional, he thought, before noting the
lack of tweed jacket and the presence of hair. With a half-smile, Cain
unfolded himself from his crouch and strode across the lawn.

"Dammit, Nate!" he called jovially. "You know if Moira catches you out
here, she'll have you strapped back into that traction bed."

"So don't tattle on me," Nathan shot back cheerfully as Cain
approached. "Besides, she's immured in the lab, and I'm pretending to
be napping. So long as I make it down for my rehab session on time,
she'll never know the difference."

"Playing hooky, eh?" Cain showed a predatory grin. "I know how that
goes. After I got walking again, I don't think I spent more than an
hour indoors at a time when I could help it. And if you keep heading
down this path," he pointed up ahead, "there's a mudhole there you'll
get stuck in where the paving's given way. C'mon, we'll go check out
the quarry." With apparent ease, Cain grabbed the back of the
wheelchair and smoothly lifted it and its occupant off the ground and
began trekking to the familar path to the northwest.

"So I was going through the trainee stuff the other day," he mentioned
offhandedly, "and something Ramsey said hit me. How come you're always
right up physical in the thick of things when you go out in the field?
Seems to me with your powers, you don't need to be anywhere near the
center of stuff."

Part of Nathan had been half-tempted to protest that he could get
himself down to the quarry just fine, but then, if Moira caught him
levitating himself, let alone himself and the wheelchair, he'd be
getting the tongue-lashing to end all tongue-lashings. He was on a
very strict weight limit with his TK for the time being.

"It's the way I'm used to doing things, I suppose," he said, answering
Cain's question. "Using the TK to beef up the hand-to-hand stuff was
one of the first things they taught me at Mistra." He thought about it
for a moment, frowning. "I can work from a distance, but you make
yourself just as much of a target doing that. Plus the time it takes
me to react over distance... it takes more concentration, and
sometimes a few seconds is all you need for a situation to go south on
you."

Cain nodded slowly, stepping over a log and placing Nate's chair down
on the gravel path, assisting it with a gentle push as he walked. "I
suppose I'm used to thinking of things like we did on patrol - the
farther away you are when you engage, the more likely you'll make it
out alive. You ain't invulnerable," Cain repeated the same admonition
he'd given to Doug earlier in the week, "and so far, the worst the
rear-echelon folks seem to have been hit with is Polaris getting a
little busted up in Greece. Just sayin', you ever thought of taking
yourself out of harm's way a little?"

"Suddenly the training exercises I was doing the week before Youra are
making more sense," was Nathan's slightly chagrined reply. "Scott and
Alison had them set up so that I had to work at a distance." He
shook his head, wheeling himself down the path. "Mindset problem,
again. It's kind of comical to think that I blamed so much of this on
the damned conditioning, when it's just the way I was taught to
think."

"I ain't no strategist," Cain explained, pushing Nathan's chair to a
stop at one of the small areas on the path overlooking the quarry,
hemmed in by a safety rail. "All I'm saying is that it seems to be a
waste to use you as a wrecking ball when you ain't the one walking
away from things half the time. Ain't really your fault, though," he
admitted. "Marie and Logan walking away from the team kinda left a
big hole in the tank department, and you kinda fell right into it."

"I can be functionally invulnerable, you know," Nathan said wryly,
then glanced down at the wheelchair and sighed. "It's just that there
are usually so many better things to be doing with the energy I'd be
using for that, once I get into the thick of things. And it's harder
to work through a shield."

He looked out at the quarry, then up at Cain. "Something else to think
about, I suppose," he said. "It's not like the wrecking ball stuff is
all I can do. I do have the fine control..." He proved that with every
day the damned virus didn't kill him, if nothing else. "I need to work
on thinking outside the box, though. And if I ever manage to get that
telepathic switchboard trick down, I'll have to start hanging
back a little as a matter of course."

"Yeah, about that," Cain half-growled. "Gonna have to get used
to that idea, having one of you in my head from time to time. Ain't
got the shield I used to - it don't work anymore since December. You
got no idea how long it took me to actually go talk to Summers about
the team stuff, making sure it wasn't Chuck putting the idea in my
head. But if it works better than those fragile-ass radios we used on
Youra... suppose I'll have to learn to deal with it."

"Too much interference from all the energy-projectors, I think was the
conclusion." Nathan flexed his right hand, still not liking the
numbness. Was going to take a while for that arm to start working
properly again, he suspected. "The same thing happened in Canada, with
Tim and I turning the forest into glass. Situations where there's
going to be that much potential interference aren't going to be the
rule, though. Although there's the security issue, too. It's a lot
harder to listen in to telepathic conversations."

"Don't mean I'm gonna be comfortable with it," Cain grumbled. "Too
long of having someone poking around in there, plus something
taking up residence all those years, makes me a bit antsy, y'know?" he
snorted, remembering the problems he'd had in Greece. "Besides, the
way things tend to fall on me, them radios break more often than you
and Haroun put together. So," he clapped his hands, changing the
subject, "once you get walking, you and Moira set a date for her
making an honest man out of you?"

"Narrowing it down," Nathan said with a chuckle. "We're looking at
early May, maybe... not absolutely sure yet. Depends on how fast I get
out of this thing." He glanced down at the wheelchair again, unable to
keep the flash of irritation from reflecting on his features. "I'm
sure as hell not wheeling myself down the aisle."

"Especially not if you're wearing a skirt," Cain teased. "Because you
know Moira. You'd wear a skirt, and she'd come in pants just to spite
everyone. Wicked sense of humor on that woman."

"She keeps looking at herself sideways in the mirror and muttering
darkly. The phrase 'I'll look like a beached whale in white' might
have come up." Nathan grinned up at Cain. "She's full of shit, of
course."

"A pregnant bride in white for her second wedding?" Cain snorted.
"Back in my day, you guys would probably be moving out of town and
finding some discreet justice of the peace rather than have that
particular faux pas. These days, though? Not like anyone here's got
any room to talk." He laughed, sitting on the edge of the quarry's
lip, hanging his feet over the dropoff. "Anyone says a word about the
bride not being appropriately dressed, and they're gonna find
themselves chucked into low orbit."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it. And I keep telling her she'll look
beautiful in whatever she winds up wearing, but apparently I'm biased
and thus not to be trusted." Nathan stared out at the quarry. "It's
funny, that it's coming down to just picking a date in the end. All of
the preparations are happening pretty damned quickly. Mostly because
of who she is, I suppose. You should have heard the florist falling
all over herself in glee at the idea of doing the flowers for Lady
Kinross's wedding."

Cain cocked his head slightly. "That make you the new Lord Kinross?
Funny, you don't look Irish." He leaned back, squinting at Nathan a
moment. "Welsh, maybe. I dunno, maybe a little Welsh, little German,
half-concussed on your mother's side..."

Nathan snorted, but couldn't help a thoughtful look. "I don't have any
idea 'what' I am, you know? I seriously doubt Dayspring was actually
my father's name." His mouth twisted a little. "That's something Moira
and I haven't talked about yet. I don't have any intention of giving
the baby my name. Sh--the little prodigy can be a Kinross. I think
that's a better solution all around."

Cain caught the slip and smiled. "Well, well, well. Suppose that's for
the best, really. Moira's got a bit more family history there. So what
about you? Parents, family invited to the big day? Someone's gotta be
crying on the groom's side, and I ain't about to turn on the
waterworks, you know."

"The Pack'll be there," Nathan said wryly, catching the smile. At
least he could trust Cain not to go blabbing to Moira. Damned
precognition... "Ani, too, and I'm going to ask the others that
made it out of Youra if they're all up for it by then. That's about
all the family I have, Cain."

The big man shrugged, then gave another smile. "Hell, I take up about
three seats, I can fill in rows. Just lucky it ain't me up there. All
I got left is Chuck, and even that only on a technicality. Had two
cousins on my mom's side passed away a year or so back, so I'm pretty
sure I'm all that th' Marko side's got left. Ends with me, I suppose.
Of course, that's assuming I ever croak." He sneered briefly at the
thought. "Who knows if that'll even do it? Old age, I mean. Moira
tells me stuff about cell progression and whatnot, but I don't know if
I'm gonna slow down in another sixty years, even."

There were any number of things Nathan could have said about that
giving Cain plenty of time to make new ties, but he refrained,
addressing the other subject at hand instead. "It's funny, you know.
What it does to your mindset to have those ties, or at least to have
had them," he said speculatively. "Or to rediscover them - look at how
Charles dug up Scott and Alex's grandparents. Big change there in both
of them since they found out they had family left after all. You can
almost see it."

"Slim's definitely taken the stick out of his ass since then, yeah,"
Cain admitted. "Me? Only family I got left is this place. S'pose
that'll be good enough for me."

"Jack's been looking for mine," Nathan said, almost idly, although
really, when the subject came up, he felt anything but. "For months
now. My actual blood family, I mean."

Cain paused for a while, thinking that over. "You know," he finally
said with a bit of a wry grin, "I just realized that in all
likelihood, your folks would be around my age. How's THAT for a
brain-bending thought?" He tried for a moment to imagine having a son
Nathan's age, but couldn't wrap his mind around it. "If he could, what
then?"

"I really don't know," Nathan said. "Don't know if I'd do anything
with the information even if he found it. My parents and I didn't part
on the best of terms." He had told Cain once about the commune, but
not about how he'd left it. He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged
mentally. "I was twelve when I took a snow shovel to my father's head
and ran out to the highway to hitch a ride south. I suppose part of
me's afraid that if Jack finds anything out, it'll be that I killed
him."

Cain mused on that for a moment. "Last thing I ever said to my old
man," he finally said, "was that he could take his expectations and
his idea of what I ought to do with my life, and shove it up his ass.
I got my degree and went off to the Corps. Three months later, he was
dead. I don't know if he ever understood, hell, I don't know if he
ever even gave a damn. But I know it's a closed issue." He nodded to
Nathan somberly. "Moira and I talked a lot about that, back when I was
seeing her regularly to get my head straight. She helped with that,
the closure. Might be good to talk to her about it."

"We have. Probably will again, too." Nathan shrugged with his good
shoulder. "Between her and Jack, I've dragged the first twelve years
of my life out and had a good mental romp around in it. Well. What I
remember of it. It's all out in the open now, which is good, but
you're right - it's still up in the air." He gazed out at the quarry
for a long moment, thinking. "As much as I'm maybe not keen on the
idea of getting answers one way or the other, I've got to think of the
baby, too. Eighteen years from now, am I going to want to be saying
'Sorry, sweetheart - I haven't the foggiest clue what happened to your
grandparents'?" He snorted softly.

"Never knew mine, not really," Cain shrugged. "My granddad on my
mother's side, kinda. Complete wacko. Mennonite, if you can believe
it. Real old-school bible thumper - suppose that's where my mom got
the idea for the name, go figure. Just because they're blood don't
mean they're important," he snorted. "Would've thought Amanda taught
you that by now."

"They may not be," Nathan said stubbornly, trying not to react to the
mention of Amanda and not quite managing it, "but that doesn't mean
that at least knowing where you came from isn't important. Not having
any kind of a grasp on your past..." He shook his head. "Maybe it's
just the history degree talking, I don't know. But even simple things,
like not knowing your family medical history, Cain... even that can
come back to bite you in the ass."

"Seems like you just answered your own question, then." Cain smirked
at Nathan. "And who knows, eighteen years - your old man might not be
so much of a son of a bitch anymore. I hear rumors that age is
supposed to mellow people out." He carefully hauled himself up to his
feet, kicking rocks down over the cliff as he walked behind Nathan's
chair. "And speaking of age, Moira's going to keep you in this chair
until you're fifty if she catches us out here. Feel like hiding out in
the boathouse with a beer for a few?"

"Sounds like a plan," Nathan said, mentally shaking off the turn the
conversation had taken. "I can tell you the story about Moira's third
cousin Callum and how he's going to require a complete rearrangment of
the seating chart we were tentatively drawing up. It has to do with
something he did with his aunt's sister's sheep." He glanced up at
Cain and grinned. "Apparently there's an undying grudge involved."

"Never get in between a Scotsman and a sheep," Cain intoned with a
grave nod. "Especially not in the lonely season."