Thank you to Timesprite for editing this piece. She did a great job! Any errors, of course, are my own fault. Should you spot any, please let me know! You can contact me at pyrofae@mad.scientist.com.

This is a Cable/Domino story told from Domino's point of view. It takes place while X-Force is living in the mansion, but diverges from continuity soon after that point. (No new characters, don't worry.) Rating (does anyone actually use this?) should be PG-13 for bad language, and for dark themes and images.
 

I finished this story last summer, but then my hard drive kicked and I lost the only copy. Luckily, the weeks before finals got a little boring (What, me study?) and I took the opportunity to rewrite this piece. I hope you like it, and maybe you'll take a moment to send a review my way.
 

X-Force had a wing of the X-Mansion to themselves, and was it any wonder? Between Rictor's tectonic bursts of temper and Tabitha's practical jokes, none of the X-Men knew how long the building's foundations would last, so they tried to limit the damage to one side of the compound. It allowed the teens and their older leaders some privacy—that and their own bathrooms, television lounges and kitchen.

To Domino, the private space—or "the Forbidden Territory," as the kids liked to call it in front of the other team—made the situation livable. Nate still dragged her to Sunday breakfasts with his parents and the other X-Men, and she herself was responsible for coordinating shared use of mansion facilities, such as the Danger Room, as well as for attending the X-Men's regular meetings as an X-Force representative. But all in all, she didn't have to interact with the senior team between duties.

That suited her, for she preferred the kids. They were livelier, more raucous, sharp-tongued and frank. She fought alongside them, and on several levels, she had authority with them.

Not so with the X-Men. But that had to do with Cable and her relationship with him—

Their spit-in-your-eye, push-you-away, cover-your-back, drink-you-under-the-table, go-away-come-back, reminisce-and-bicker, long-long-and-wish-for-you, FUCKING relationship.

Domino was too used to it all to be sick of it.

What did make her sick was sitting next to him on the couch in the smaller television room. The kids had named it the "Little Old Folks Room," because she and Nate were often alone in there, and for all that went on when the kids were off doing who knew what, Domino thought the name perfect.

In short, nothing went on there.

Nate and she simply sat on the couch. They talked, they searched for the ever-elusive worthwhile television programming, and failing to find it, talked some more. Sometimes, they both read. Sometimes one read, and the other napped. They took turns. It was like an exasperating game. Sometimes the kids would silently open the door a crack and try to catch them doing something decidedly adult. She'd once overheard 'Star, Rictor and Theresa—of all people!—laying out the odds of ever opening the door of the Little Old Folks Room and finding their team leaders in a compromising position. The odds had been disappointingly low.

Yes, disappointing. She and Nate shared long hours of company in the their off-time, and through it all, her skin practically quivered, like a magnet near metal. Her heart tried to climb her throat. Her eyes examined every line on his massive body, and her tongue found each one delicious, positively rich and luxuriant, even without actually tasting him. He was like a plush toy set before a child, a dinner before a starving woman, a bottle before an alcoholic.

And he felt the same about her. He had said as much in Israel, as the M'kraan Crystal approached. When she had hesitated then, he had showed her he meant it. For one dazzling moment, he had held her, kissed her, opened up his secret thoughts to her—not using telepathy, but his body.

Afterward, though, when the crystal wave passed over the assembled teams, leaving them alive in its wake, Nate and she pretended their moment had not happened. Like the M'kraan itself, the exquisite moment had simply passed. They never discussed his kiss, for which she had waited so eagerly and which had been so startling in its arrival. Why? In the long nights alone that followed, she wondered.

Still, during those solitary nights when she lay awake wondering, and during all the days in between, Domino wished it were different. And Nate did too.

She could tell. He was tense, even when he slept on the other side of the couch while she read the Times. He was hesitant. He measured his words, even as he teased her out loud, made sly, pointed remarks about her that underscored their intimacy with each other, and told dirty jokes. But the jokes weren't all that dirty; he edited them for her as she knew he wouldn't have for Griz or G.W.

He was so very much aware that she was a woman.

Teammate, compatriot, partner, confessor and—she liked to think—friend. But in all things, a woman. And when he looked at her through narrowed eyes, sliding his gaze over each feminine curve, she could suddenly glance at him, "catching him in the act," and raise one elegant, black eyebrow, and she knew for certain that he wanted her.

That eyebrow was like a gate swinging, a drawbridge lowering, a door opening. It was a signal. When she "caught" him looking her over, all she had to do was raise that one eyebrow, and he knew, and she knew he knew. She was inviting him.

Then he'd smile, chagrined, and turn back to the television or his book or the silence, and she'd shake her head, all the time thinking, "Fucking idiot." Sometimes she thought about thinking it above her mental shields, where he would hear her.

The one time she did that was a Saturday evening when a housefly flew across her vision and she turned her head to follow it. It banged into Nate's cheek, and he snapped his head around. Their eyes met. He grinned foolishly. She quirked one side of her lips. His twitched. Then... he grunted and turned back to the TV.

Domino glared at the side of his head. The fly, caught in her line of sight, fell out of the air, dead. But Nate didn't look her way again. When would he get the effing message?

From the doorway came snickering, then it halted, and very soft footfalls scampered away down the hall.

She looked at Nate again, almost overcome by her desire for him, which anger quickly supplanted.

"Fucking idiot," she thought, well-above her mental shields. He looked at her then, all right, but she was halfway out the door.

"What the hell was that?" he sent to her. She sent back the vivid image of a closed door, with a sign hanging from the knob: "Stay Out."

She retreated beneath the shields, but the psilink kept them attuned to each other. She felt traces of his emotions and wondered if her own leaked through to him. Probably. But that just made her madder.

As she simmered in her room, staring out at the darkening twilight sky, she methodically examined what she felt from him.

First, sexual attraction, but it was muted somehow, like he was trying to deny it. "No surprise there," she muttered.

Second, frustration. "Naturally."

But then.... Guilt?

"Now why would he feel guilty?" Beyond the usual, of course. He'd led a rough life. He was a warrior. He had a life behind him. Didn't everybody? So she thought she understood. She reigned in her desire after that, so that when they saw each other the next morning, it was almost as if nothing had happened.

A good thing, because it was Sunday morning. "Back to the trenches," she thought privately as she and Nate walked over to the large dining room in the mansion proper. On these Sundays, she always felt like a teenager meeting her boyfriend's parents for the first time. A funny feeling, first of all because she'd never had such an experience growing up and second because she'd known Scott and Jean and the rest for quite a few months now.

It was probably because Nate acted differently. In the Forbidden Territory, he was the father-figure. The kids did all but call him Daddy. In the X-Men's part of the house, he was, literally, the son. He was polite, he made table conversation, he smiled, he relaxed.

And Scott and Jean ate it up. So did Storm and Hank and Rogue and whoever else was around. Well, except Logan. He just sat quietly sipping coffee. Once she turned to find him smirking at her over the rim of his cup, dark eyes shadowed by his forehead and hair. Before she could stop herself, she stuck out her tongue, Tabitha-style, and had the pleasure of seeing him spit out his coffee over the front of his shirt. She smiled tightly at him, only to turn back and find Nate and his parents staring at her. Jean had her hand over a grin.

"It's all right," Domino said. "He'll tell people it's blood stains."

A wicked smile crossed Nate's mouth, and she saw a sparkle in his eye. Over the link, with Scott's and Jean's laughter in the aural background, she felt his... pride?

That was when she started to rethink her impression of Nate during these 'family' breakfasts. Polite, conversational, smiling, relaxed—but for whom? Certainly for his parents. But also... for her?

The thought had frightened her at first, and she begged off the following week. It was unusual for her to get scared, especially when she wanted him so badly, but what was he trying to say to her on Sunday mornings?

You're wanted?

You belong?

I want you to belong with me and mine?

Well, obviously. It was more than that.

When a man wanted a woman—for more than just sex—he showed her what he could offer. All her serious pursuers had done that, in their own ways. Even Milo.

These breakfasts.... He was a family man there, and good at it. The X-Men who attended really liked having him, and he liked participating in their please-pass-the-salt—my-pleasure family playacting.

In fact, he'd warmed up outside of those times as well. The kids trusted him. Most of them came to him with their problems. A few, like Bobby, Sam and Theresa, spent extra hours training with him, even though they didn't really need to. And though they called it the Little Old Folks Room, most of the youngsters wandered through it when they were bored, just to say hello to him.

Come to think of it, they treated her the same way.

Shit. The thought made her mouth quirk.

Well, anyway, Nate was mixing his signals. He was showing off his ability to be a family man, a provider, a human being. Yet he treated her like a leper.

She lay in bed that Sunday morning under warm blankets as sunlight slowly crept across her floor and onto the comforter. She could feel him through the link and almost see him as he chatted with somebody. She thought it was Rogue, but she couldn't tell why. Something very subtle about his demeanor let her guess who he was talking to. It was like that sometimes. They could be halfway around the world from each other, and all of a sudden, she simply knew he was talking to Jean or Sam or Scott. Or thinking about them. Sometimes she felt as though he were talking to Tyler or Aliya, but of course he wasn't. Once she'd been surprised to sense him talking to Griz. Since she'd killed him the previous year, she'd freaked out until she realized Nate must have been thinking of the big guy, not talking to him. She was glad he still thought of Theo.

"Hey," his telepathic voice said, interrupting her lazy thoughts.

"I thought I told you never to call me here," she sent back.

"You should have come," he said. "We're having hash and crepes."

"You just want me to let you off the hook," she said, remembering the last time they'd served crepes. He hated them. Too dainty, he'd said in her mind. Why couldn't they just serve pancakes, like real men? She'd sent back: Because Betsy cooked them. And before he could insult the British telepath, Domino had casually stolen them off his plate with her fork. Betsy had gushed, finding the action and Nate's feigned annoyance too cute.

"It worked last time," he said.

She realized he was still talking with Rogue. "Can't you stick with one conversation at a time?"

"One interesting one," he said, in a sort of mutter.

She sent him wry amusement. "Then tell her to shut the hell up! Aren't you man enough to make yourself clear?"

"I'm man enough for anything," he said, "but I'm not suicidal."

"Then stop two-timing," she said off-handedly, beginning to feel sleepy again. "It's me or Rogue, Nate. My room or their dining room." She yawned.

Just as she was about to fall asleep, she realized he hadn't replied. "Nate...?" She could feel him engaged with Scott and Jean, so she turned over and was about to slip into a familiar dream when he sent, "Good night, Dom."

It made her breath catch, the way he said her name, but she didn't broadcast that emotion. "Night, Nate."

In the dream, she lay just like this, only Nate was in the bed too, holding her close.

Times like that were nice, but it wasn't enough for Domino. She wanted more than dreams and thwarted desire; she wanted Nate, body and soul. The psilink teased her, always offering, never delivering. His company in the Little Old Folks Room (and when the hell had she started calling it that?) taunted her and made her weak and angry at the same time. Even the kids played a part in it.

They were expectant. She was mother, he was father. So why didn't mother and father get together? Nothing could be more natural, right? One evening, she heard them talking in the larger living room. She'd been passing by the half-closed door when she heard her name from within. Devoid of guilt, she stood out of their eyeshot to listen.

Tabitha: "—all the time they spend together in there, you think they're innocently cleaning their guns?"

Bobby, lasciviously: "The way you and Sam do?"

Shatterstar: "Tabitha is not permitted near the weapons closet. Not anymore."

Tabitha: "Don't bring that up!"

Rictor: "Crazy chica."

Bobby: "Not everybody's a fucking rabbit, like you and Sammy, Boomer."

Theresa: "All of ye, stop dog-piling on Tabitha. Everybody has accidents."

The wording amid the two lines of conversation jolted Domino, and she was about to go storming into the room to drag Tabitha out by the ear, then go looking for Sam, before she realized Terry meant the laser gun accident. Old news.

Rictor: "Crazy chica."

'Star: "If you have been cleaning guns with Samuel, Tabitha, I will have to report it to Cable."

Tabitha: "It's a metaphor, Shatty! Get a life! I wouldn't go near one of those metal death traps again if you paid me."

A short silence.

Bobby: "No one's gonna pay you, girl. You don't know shit about guns."

Rictor: "Fucking crazy chica!"

Somebody cleared her throat. Terry. "Anyway," she said pointedly, "what were we talking about before?"

'Star: "We were discussing the odds of Cable and Domino... how is it said in this world?"

Rictor: "Hooking up."

Domino almost gagged.

Tabitha: "They want each other so bad."

Terry, wistfully: "You can see it in their eyes."

Bobby: "I believe we had it at four-to-one against."

That bad? She knew they had a long way to go, but four-to-one? Come on....

'Star: "On my world—" everybody groaned, Domino mentally "—when a man and woman want to hook up, they tell each other. Especially if they are warriors. Why can Cable and Domino not do that?"

A lull in the conversation. Domino wondered. If she happened to get lucky (well, luckier) which of her protégés would win the bet?

Tabitha: "It's not that easy, 'Star. You see, I hate to break this to you, but Nate's a Class-A jerk. Dom could do much better."

Terry: "That's not it at all, Tabby! It's more serious than that." She cut herself off.

Bobby: "You're talking about the look-alike thing."

Ah, the look-alike thing. Domino hadn't given much thought to that lately. It had been two years, after all. Life went on. She'd resolved her issues with Vanessa. It still stung, of course, that Nate hadn't recognized the impostor. That Nate hadn't bothered to rev-up his psionic talents until well after her rescue. That Nate had hooked up with—

Yeah, stung. It probably would forever. But it also gave her hope. After all, he had thought Vanessa was Domino, right? He had, he believed at the time, said 'I love you' to Domino and shared Domino's bed. Or maybe Domino had shared his bed. She didn't know how he felt about those kinds of logistics.

She just didn't understand. If he could commit to her then, why not now?

Then it connected. His guilt. Her kidnapping. Was that it? If so, then he'd developed a full-blown complex by this point. If they waited much longer, he'd never get over it. He'd never touch her. He'd never say to her what he had to Vanessa.

Good God! They could even drift apart, and he might look for companionship with other women. Then she'd have to kill him. Or try to. She was strong, but she didn't know if she was physically capable of that. Either way, it meant the end. No more nights on the couch in the old folks' room. No more stupid brunches. No more psychic conversations when they were bored of talking to other people or too cheap to use a phone. No more hope when she felt the longing in her skin and in the edges of her brain.

That decided her. She liked getting turned on by him, damn it! He was sexy, and she wanted him, and she wanted him to want her. Beyond the physical, too. What man existed but Cable?

She was decided, but the timing was unlucky. That night, X-Force went on a training mission. She spent the time in the dark with half the kids, playing a super-powered game of capture the flag against Cable and the remaining kids. Her team won. But Cable (ever a sore loser, in her opinion) yelled at everyone as he critiqued their performance, and nobody went to bed that morning happy. Well, except maybe Tabitha and Sam. Certainly not Domino and Cable.

The following night, the Friends of Humanity bombed a free Legacy clinic in the city. X-Force went off to investigate, found a few leads, but came home in poor spirits. A few rows of civilians in body bags could do that to you. Domino spent the night in the kids' living room with Tabitha, Sam, Terry and Bobby, who seemed to need her company. The others had gone off by themselves, and Terry had only come in after Jimmy had calmed down. A few years back, he'd buried his entire reservation, and the experience in the city had made him mad.

The following night, they hit the Friends of Humanity. In the morning, the FOH had no headquarters, and their leadership was in FBI custody. X-Force came back to the mansion at dawn whooping and congratulating each other, still hyped from all the action and the payback. All except Domino and Cable, who though bleeding from glass cuts on his left arm supported her as she walked.

Scott stood at the front door as they came in. He was frowning and had his arms folded in front of his chest. A few of the kids (high on adrenaline) jeered like they wanted to start a fight, while Terry and Sam looked from Cyclops to Cable speculatively. Cable smiled tautly at Cyclops without a trace of repentance, and Cyclops stalked off after a moment. They'd probably had words telepathically. Cable barked at the kids to keep it down, then went to the Medilab with Domino.

The night had rattled them both, but neither wanted to admit it. With her concussion, Domino struggled to contain her thoughts, to keep them from leaking out of her mental shields—or from her mouth.

Silence worked at first. She bandaged his arm, then he looked into her eyes to see if they were dilating. They weren't, but she needed to stay awake for a while and get checked on the hour through the day to ensure they didn't. Routine post-concussion treatment.

"You're lucky you have a hard head," Nate muttered. Her head was pounding, or else she'd have made a joke. Her decision to address his guilt complex floated to a prominent place in her mind, but she knew this couldn't be the time. Could it? Of course not. But she had to say something, and she had to distract him from the thoughts and desire lurking just beneath her unstable shields.

"Nate, about the incident at the door."

"I'll talk to the kids about respecting our hosts," he said, probably hoping to change the subject.

"You know what I'm talking about."

He scowled. "Look—"

"No, you look. X-Force is different from the X-Men. Either the other team's going to learn to tolerate us, or we're going to move to a place that doesn't kill morale after every mission."

"Is that why you were so fond of MurderWorld," he shot back, "because it promoted the right kind of values?"

"Don't you bring that up again! It's a red herring."

"Okay." That massive body seethed with tension. "Where do you want us to go, Dom? Give me a location that's better than the mansion. Show me some place that's more secure, or better equipped. Or more accessible. And tolerable for that group of misfit—"

Over the psilink, she rapidly showed him five locations that exceeded those criteria. She stared at him as he processed it and saw the glare that entered his eye.

"Started looking, have you." His tone was cool, flat, but somehow petulant. She matched it.

"It's a pet project."

"You're not happy here, are you," he sent over the psilink. His 'voice' felt oddly detached.

"Actually, it's more practical than that," she said aloud. "X-Force loses bases like a gambler loses paychecks. They're gone almost as soon as we move in. And—" she forced herself not to sound too sarcastic "—please tell me which version of the mansion we're inhabiting. Is it four, five? Five-point-one? I never know if it'll be standing when we get back."

Nate flexed his giant arms, trying to relieve tension in his back. His bandaged forearm twitched once, but he ignored it. "Okay," he muttered.

"If a disaster came and I didn't have that list of alternatives, we'd all be homeless for a lot longer than any of the kids are likely to endure—"

"All right," he said.

"It takes a long time to find the right place. Especially for this grou—"

"All right!"

She stopped arguing, to find she'd stepped very close to him. They were nose to nose. He had such a broad nose, leading to passionate eyes. But that was beside the point.

"Look," she muttered, not moving away from his face. "I just wanted to put that on the table for when the time comes. I like living here too. But it's not entirely practical."

Irritation flowed across the link. Domino realized she'd been right to assume tonight was not the one in which to obliterate his guilt complex.

"Do you think I don't know that?" he growled.

"I don't see you with a list," she challenged. Foolish as it was, the argument had intoxicated her.

He bared his teeth very briefly, and something itched across the link. It was very quick, but Domino considered herself the same. She thought a moment, then—

"You do have one. Don't you." Only a scowl answered her, and she crowed victory. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Coldly: "I didn't want to get your hopes up."

"My—"

"Lay off me, woman!" Abruptly he threw up his hands and left.

"Was it something I said?" she sent telepathically, for some reason wanting to annoy him as much as she could. But his shields were up, and he didn't answer.

She stayed awake for a while watching television in the Little Old Folks Room, though its name no longer amused her. She seriously hoped the kids didn't think she was that old.

Soon, though, her adrenaline stopped working, leaving her tired and achy. She found herself relaxing on the couch, and then her eyes were closed.

A soft touch awakened her, but she remained groggy. Callused hands touched the skin on her cheek, gently thumbing the darker area around her left eye. "Nate?" she asked.

He grunted confirmation. She wanted to go back to sleep, but he nudged her. "Open your eyes, Dom."

Concussion, right. She complied as he examined her pupils. "You're all right. I'll be back in an hour," he said.

He was. Then he returned an hour later. "Don't you want to sleep in your own bed?" he asked.

"If I must," she answered, though the retort was only ironic for her. She allowed him to lead her to her room, where she slept until noon. He came every sixty minutes to check on her, never saying much. She thought she caught him standing in the middle of her rug at one point, just standing there with his eyes on her. It made her stomach tingle. "Nate," she said. He started and walked briskly forward, all business again as he leaned to check her eyes. Remembering the moment, she could have sworn she lifted her head to kiss his lips, but she didn't know what happened next. It was all foggy.

Upon waking, her head hurt much less than when she lay down. She showered and made it late to the scheduled training session in the Danger Room, where she watched from the observation deck, offering pointers over the loudspeaker to the members of X-Force who'd bothered to show up. So few of them did right after a mission, probably figuring they deserved a break.

Cable was still pissed. He was fighting the solid holograms with the kids despite his bandaged arm and didn't acknowledge her when she made her presence known. She saw red seeping through his white bandage, but he didn't acknowledge that either. Domino, for her part, had forgotten what they'd fought over. Something to do with bases, but she was inclined to believe it was really over the incredibly high level of sexual tension they'd built up. Hell, even the kids thought they should get it on.

When the session ended, she met Cable at the entrance of the Danger Room. A towel hung over his shoulders, and he used one end of it to wipe the sweat from his face. As she approached him, he looked up. "How's the head?"

"Better," she said. "About our argument—"

"Forget it," he said. He met her eyes with a crooked smile. "But I accept your apology."

"You do, huh? Then I accept yours." He rolled his eyes, and she almost smiled. Almost. But she had an ulterior motive. This business between them had to end, and she knew how she wanted it to play out. "Nate," she started.

"Don't you have a security meeting to attend?"

"What?" Oh, shit! Was today Thursday? She glanced at her watch and saw she had just enough time to run to her room for the materials she'd prepared. Scowling at Nathan, she said, "I'll see you soon. There's something we need to discuss."

There. She'd opened up the subject. The rest would have to wait, but soon it would all be on the table. She knew that from the feelings of dread she sensed from Nate.

To focus in the security meeting, she had to close off the link. Nate's dread hadn't, as she'd  expected, turned into resigned acceptance—or even to nervous anticipation. Domino didn't know what that meant, though somehow she foresaw disappointment. In any case, the meeting wasn't the place to wonder about these things, so she tuned out Nate and gave her presentation.

"There you have it," she told the five X-Men in conclusion. "Fix these seven holes and we'll all sleep better."

"Amazing," said Psylocke. "I would have never seen those last two flaws. How did you find them?"

"I deleted my profile from the security grid and tried to enter the grounds. Three out of four times I managed to reach the compound without being detected. Managed to leave it too."

"The chere is like a clever thief, non?" said Gambit. "We are lucky she be on our side."

"Indeed," said Xavier. "We owe you a debt of gratitude, Domino. Who knows but that your analysis has saved lives?"

"Any time," she said, shutting off the projector. "I always enjoy a challenge."

"Then perhaps you'll help us in implementing the changes you suggested," Cyclops said. The others laughed and nodded agreement, then began a discussion on just how to go about it. Domino sat at the table and let out a quiet breath. She could get used to this.

On returning to the Forbidden Territory, she found most of the kids in the kitchen, impatiently waiting for two pizzas to defrost in the oven. They stopped talking when she came in, never a good sign.

"What's wrong?" she asked, skipping the niceties.

"Who said something was wrong?" asked Tabitha. She raised a thin, blond eyebrow at Theresa, who smiled back blankly. Bobby cut into the silence.

"Are you feeling better, Dom?"

"Yes, thank you. What's the matter in here?"

Sam saw his friend at the end of her stare of authority. "We were just wonderin' where Cable went is all, Ma'am. None of us can find him, and he usually says where he's going before he leaves. Leastways he gives contact info. Um, any chance you know? Ma'am?"

Sneaky, Nate, she thought. Real mature. Opening her mind to the link, she sensed him nearby, but closed off.

"Ma'am?"

"He's close by. Don't you kids worry about him. Was there something you needed?"

"How long are we gonna be cooped up in here?" Tabitha asked. She created a miniature time bomb and rolled it along her arm. "Any longer and we're gonna explode." With a breathy pff sound, the little bomb flared and vanished.

"Tabitha, it hasn't been a day yet!" Domino said.

"Well, I bore easily!"

"You must be really on your toes, Sammy," Bobby ribbed.

"Shut your mouth!" Tabitha returned.

"Enough," Domino said. Attention fell back to her. "We have a few contacts in the Justice Department. They said to lie low for the next week while they cover for us. That means staying indoors."

"But Dom...."

"Don't 'But Dom' me," she said. "They have satellites trained on the grounds. You want to get both teams arrested, let them snap a pretty little picture of your ass on the porch. If not, take it easy indoors for a while. And if it's so boring, I can find a few things for you to do."

Tabitha answered with sullen silence, which was good enough for Domino. "Anything else?"

"That was about it, actually," said Sam. "How are you today, Ma'am?"

She poured herself a glass of lemonade. "Suddenly very tired," she said. "If I go rest, will you kids refrain from killing each other?"

Some of them had to pause to think about that one, but they all gave an affirmative reply. That too was good enough for Domino. She took her drink with her from the kitchen, but something made her pause out of sight and within earshot.

"That makes our second cranky leader for the day," said Bobby. "Sam, if you get moody too, I'm quitting."

Domino shook her head and went to the Little Old Folks Room. Cable must have scared the kids somehow, she thought as she watched news coverage of last night's raid. Somebody had filmed the FoH headquarters exploding. She had to admit X-Force waxed heavy in the fireworks department. The cameraman had caught footage of the team running to the PACRAT. The view was dark and grainy, but she could make out herself and Cable running behind the kids, backlit by the fire. She had an arm around Cable's big neck as he helped her stay on her feet and then onto the PACRAT. She had hit her head so hard that she didn't even remember that part. Just coming to on a cot in the PACRAT with some sort of Shi'ar medical contraption resting on her forehead. Cable had been right there.

Knock, knock, she sent. He hesitated, then opened up his shields.

"Dom."

"Everything okay?"

"Just meditating. How was the meeting?"

"Couldn't have gone better. They made me an honorary X-Man."

His mirth trickled across the link. "They can have you, then—"

"Hey!"

"—but they don't know what they're in for."

"Hungry?" she asked.

"No. But I'll come join you in the little lounge. I think we need to talk."

Her stomach turned over, like a pancake on the griddle, but she didn't betray that over the link. "Good," she said. "I think so too."

While he was on his way—and under the thickest mental shielding she knew how to create—Domino tried to recall from her experience successful discussions of this type. She and Milo had never had one. They had simply hooked up and let the momentum carry them. She didn't think that would work with Cable, mostly because there was no momentum at all. Every time any gathered, they played it off, in that maddening way they had. Why was that?

But it was too big a question for this moment, when she needed—basically—to offer herself to the man she loved. Not just that (had she really just used the term love?), but she needed him to accept her. Failure would be... unthinkable.

Finally, he entered the room. She looked up from the muted television as he closed the door behind him. That was as good as hanging a sign for the kids to know something serious was being discussed, but it would deter disruptions. She moved her feet to let him sit next to her on the couch. He sat on the edge, with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked, and they sat in silence.

Domino sighed. She considered retreating from the room, or making a joke or turning the volume up on the news. Anything to play down the importance of this thing to her or to make them both forget the "no" that she sensed from him. But she wanted this, damn it.

"What's the problem, Nate?"

The side of his mouth quirked up. He liked directness. She slid a little closer to him. "Well?"

He gritted his teeth. "Dom. You know... how I feel about you."

"I can read your mind," she said, looking him in the eye.

"Right. Me too. I know...." He trailed off as he looked back up and found her face closer to his own. "I'm sorry about last night," he whispered, gently pushing her back from him. "I gave you the wrong impression."

She blinked. "What happened last night?" It was all jumbled with the terrible headache. Just a series of hourlong naps punctuated by Nate's visits. "Did we... do something?"

"You don't remember?" The look on his face illustrated the curse words that flew through his mind. "Flonqing—"

"Nate!"

He inhaled. "If you don't remember, then why did you want to talk?"

"What don't I remember?"

Was he blushing? Or just angry? His face was reddening, but.... Then he showed her his memory.

He stood on the rug in her bedroom, looking at her asleep on the bed. She saw herself from his own eyes, a dark, slim form under minimal covers, long black hair pooled around her face. She was sure she didn't actually look that attractive. Her eyes opened, all slanty from resting, and she smiled a thin, tentative, dreamy smile. "Nate," she said. He started forward and knelt beside her. His hand came into view, touching the side of her face, probing around the soft, black skin surrounding her left eye. He leaned forward as she opened her eyes again, and she leaned forward too, almost reflexively, to press her lips against his. Instead of pulling away, he held on, and the kiss deepened. At length, he did pull away, and saw her content smile. Then she passed out again and he left, very quickly.

"You wouldn't have admitted to that if you thought you didn't have to," she said, when she found her voice. "So I'll ask you again, what is the problem?"

He shook his head. "It just wouldn't work out."

"Do you—care for me?"

"Of course!"

"Is there someone else?"

"No."

"Do you have VD?"

"Cut it out, Dom. You know how much you mean to me."

"That's why I'm confused, Nate. Every time we have the chance to get started, you put on the brakes. I want to know why."

Scowling, he looked away, then at her again. She raised both eyebrows expectantly. It was getting easier to ignore how much this hurt.

"You're not going to understand," he said, "but I'll explain anyway." This time, he paused longer than before, fists clenched. She almost prodded him to continue, but decided against it. He looked to be in a kind of agony.

"In my culture, in the future, there are... taboos. Certain relationships are forbidden."

"Are you saying you can't go out with me because I'm not Jewish?"

"Quiet." He shook his head. Then he opened his mind to her, and she saw the problem he couldn't put into words. Also the shame. "Dom...."

She cut him off with her stare. His face was closed, but beneath that was pain. She left quickly.

In her room, Domino locked the door and closed the blinds. She sat on her bed, taking deep breaths. "Tyler," she said softly. "Tyler, damn him."

She'd had issues with Vanessa, the shapeshifter who had impersonated her during her imprisonment, but they had dwindled over time. She had never forgiven Tolliver, the alias taken by Nathan's son Tyler. When she learned of the connection, though, she tried to forget. He'd stolen nearly two years of her life, degraded her, used her against Cable, and left her with nightmares that would not quit, even after all this time. But she'd tried to forget.

She had forbidden herself to think of him. Cable had helped her come to speaking terms with Vanessa; she would not ask him to deal with (or even know of) all that his son had done. They had never spoken of it.

Now, against all her effort, memories surfaced. Chains and cells, sleeping drugs, Deadpool's taunts, abusive minions like Pico, who Cable had killed just before freeing her... and above all, Tolliver, who was Cable's son.

They had overdrugged her again. She couldn't move, and she feared falling asleep in case she never awoke. Maybe that would be the only way to escape the iron cell, in the end, but Domino didn't want to play the game that way. It had only been... maybe four months? They gave her ridiculous numbers each time she asked. No matter. She'd find a way out soon. Just as soon as the drugs wore off. She waited on the floor of the cell, motionless.

"I've come to visit you again—" In her mind, she edited out the sound of his voice, which sent the blood from her skin. The voiceless words assailed her through the conduit of the memory.

"I've come to visit you again, my Domino." His footsteps trod lightly toward the barred niche in the wall. She saw his tailored leather shoes in her line of sight, but the paralyzing drug kept her from turning her head or even moving one finger or toe.

The bars slid open, and he kneeled, careful not to soil the cloth of his slacks. His long, blond hair dipped into her line of sight. She knew he could hear her thoughts, so she cussed a long stream of profanity at him in her mind, to cover up the fear.

His soft hand came toward her darker eye to caress the skin of her face. It slid down her jaw slowly, to her neck, then he repositioned her so that she was looking up at him. She couldn't even close her eyes. "Do you fear me, Domino? I like it when you cuss, because it means you are very afraid. The louder the better. Only I can hear you." He slid his hands around on her body, very slowly. Panicking, she stopped cussing, made her mind go silent, completely silent.

"You're no fun, Domino," he said, blowing into her ear. His hands left her skin. "Did the old man think so too?"

Dimly, she had understood him to mean Cable. Tolliver was always talking about Cable. But she hadn't understood his next words until just now.

Getting up, leaving her dark room and finding Cable was really just a matter of deciding what she wanted. It took her two hours, because she needed to re-bury the memories and stop the shaking of her hands, but the decision was the work of a moment.

She found him in the Little Old Folks Room, on the couch, watching the muted news channel with a seriousness it didn't deserve. Standing in his view, she hoped her eyes weren't red, but he probably couldn't tell in the dark.

"Dom." He stood up immediately, concern clouding his face. She looked him right in the eyes, because he liked directness. She did too, and she wanted to be clear about this.

"One day, early on, he came into the cell," she said quietly. Cable tensed, but he listened. "I couldn't move. I was defenseless. He came right up to my ear and he whispered, 'I'm not so depraved as to touch the old man's old woman.'" She felt her face crinkle and dragged in a ragged breath. Her face smoothed out again. "That's the end of it. He never did. I didn't understand why until just now."

In one fluid movement, he embraced her and held her as tightly as she held in her tears. "I'm sorry, Dom. I'm so sorry." She stood slack against his warm body.

"I don't want sympathy," she murmured. "I put it aside until you said what you did. Which, by the way, was misogynist as all get-out. I don't want your pity."

"Then you'll never have it. But I want to help. Tell me what I can do to make up for what he did."

She pulled away. "That's not your job, Nate. I don't want your guilt. I don't want you taking pity on me all the time."

"It wouldn't be like that. You know me better than that, Dom."

"Yeah." She wiped her eyes. "I was never any good at this sort of thing."

He took her hand and wiped the tears from her fingers. He gave her fingers a squeeze. "Me neither."

"Do you really want me, Nate? Not to help me, but just me?"

He drew closer to her and stroked her cheek. "I want both," he said. "I'm sorry I made it so difficult."

She bit back the sarcastic comment that came to mind, but he saw it over the link, and they both laughed nervously, glad for the release. Then Nathan leaned forward, almost shyly, and kissed her on the mouth, and she kissed him back through her smile, and they were still kissing when Shatterstar opened the lounge door and saw them there and realized he had just won a hundred dollars.
 

Contact Port at pyrofae@mad.scientist.com.