9/9
"You weren't going to say anything, were you?"
Dom slung the bag back over her shoulder, hand dropping from the door handle as she turned, sunglasses half-slid down her nose. Her eyes didn't meet his, though. "I need..."
"Space." He finished, turning away to watch as wind-blown leaves rattled across the driveway. He heard her shifting her weight, the nylon fabric of the duffel bag scraping across the leather of her jacket. "There isn't enough space in the world for you, though. You can't outrun yourself."
"Maybe." Her voice was carefully neutral, he noticed. She wasn't interested in an argument, she just wanted to make her escape.
Escape. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile as he scuffed absently at the gravel drive with a battered boot-toe. He shook his head and walked back towards the house.
"I would have called," she said when he'd reached the porch steps, poised to go back inside.
"Sure," he replied, and continued inside without a glance back.
She listened to the screen door slam shut, waited a few minutes, half expecting to see him watching from the window. He wasn't, though, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. With a yank, she opened the door of the jeep, dropped her bag onto the seat next to her, and dug her keys out of her pocket. Jamming the keys into the ignition, she cranked the wheel and pulled out, gravel popping under the tires.
----
She hadn't known where she was headed really, and as she walked over the dead grass of the cemetery lawn, wind whipping her dark hair around her face, she decided she still didn't know.
She found the spot with ease; the stone was where the directory had said it would be. It wasn't much. Then again, she hadn't expected frills for two people who were probably remembered more for how they'd died than how they'd ever lived. She set the mixed bunch of flowers down on the hard ground and swiped her hair back from her forehead, staring up at the faded sky, trying to think of what to say. Talking to the dead seemed so clichéd and pointless suddenly. Domino took a deep breath and knelt down in front of the plain granite block, fingers tracing the names and dates, waiting to feel something, anything that would give her some connection to the people they represented. There wasn't, of course. Why should there be? They were ghosts to her at best, half-remembered in the middle of the night.
"Seems like sometimes, no matter how you try, things just don't go the way we want, huh?" She murmured under her breath. She couldn't quite shake the feeling of obligation she felt--she didn't know these people, but she knew what they'd done in the hope she'd have a better life. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and laughed humorlessly. "Fate's a bitch like that." She straightened up again and shook her head, giving the grave a final glance before turning away.
She still felt hollow as she pulled away, the jeep kicking up dust behind her. She fixed her eyes on the road ahead of her, keeping her mind carefully blank. Everything was still too close to the surface, still threatening to break free, and it took all the control she had to hold it at arms length so she could breathe. So she drove, the landscape blurring around her, fall air rushing in through the rolled down window as she sped in the opposite direction of the house in the desert that called like a siren in the back of her head. She lit a cigarette and considered, as she thumbed the lighter, how good it would feel to watch the place burn. Arson wouldn't accomplish a damned thing, though. Flames couldn't burn away the memories she wished she could lose again.
Dom drove until the daylight wore itself out, then pulled into a truck stop to stretch and grab something to eat. She'd unwittingly pointed herself in the direction of Las Vegas--never mind that she was blacklisted in almost every casino there. A few more hours and she'd be bathed in the neon glow of Sin City itself. She went inside and took a seat at the counter, suddenly wishing she'd picked a more conservative outfit when she'd gotten dressed that morning as heads swiveled in her direction. She scowled, and concentrated on the menu. She wasn't in the mood to fend off advances. The waitress came by eventually and she ordered a burger, concentrating on the faux-wood countertop and sipping the coffee the woman had brought as she waited for the meal to arrive.
"This seat taken?"
She looked up from her contemplation of the Formica and scowled. "Yes. My imaginary pet alligator is sitting there, and he'll be pissed if you take his seat."
"Hey, no need to be hostile. I wasn't trying to--y'know."
She arched an eyebrow. "Riiight." She went back to her coffee. The guy looked like Bobby Drake in flannel. Unthreatening--but then, she'd learned the hard way that looks could be deceiving. Unfortunately, this guy couldn't take a hint. She could sense him still standing behind her.
"Would it help if I told you I'm gay?" He laughed.
"Depends. Do I have to believe you?"
"Nah." He took a seat on the stool next to hers. "I really didn't mean to intrude. You're giving off some pretty serious unhappy vibes. Thought maybe you could use someone to talk to."
She gave him an incredulous look. "What are you, a traveling shrink? No thanks."
He shook his head. "So, this alligator of yours have a name?"
"Logan. He bites."
"Ahhh. An attack gator, then." He deadpanned, picking up a menu and looking it over. Meanwhile, her order arrived, and she picked at the fries, eyeing the sandwich. She'd asked for no tomatoes, she thought with a sigh, as she peeled the top layer of toast off the turkey club. She dropped the offending slices onto her plate and put the sandwich back together, talking a bite. "So, heading to Vegas?" She arched an eyebrow at him in lieu of a response, and he shrugged. "Not a whole lot else way out here. Vacation?"
"Not exactly," she replied finally.
"Business?" He asked, disbelievingly.
"It's...more complicated then that." She sighed. "Look--"
"You don't want to pour your life story out to some guy in a diner in the middle of nowhere, when, for all you know, I'm a psycho axe murderer, right?"
She smiled faintly. "Get that a lot?"
He shrugged again. "After awhile, you get used to it." He trailed off as his meal arrived. She finished her own food, and signaled for the check.
"Um...I'm sorry for--"
He waved a hand. "Hey, don't worry about it. Like I said, I'm used to it. You enjoy your trip, okay?"
"Yeah," she replied. "I'll try."
She paid and headed out into the parking lot, pulling out and heading back towards the interstate. Reaching over, she flipped on the radio and scanned through the stations. Finally giving up, she dug out a cassette tape and stuck it into the outdated player, turning up the volume as blues began to play over the speakers.
She wished she knew what the hell she was doing. Following her gut, she supposed, caving into the built-up neuroses that compelled her to turn tail and run whenever a situation threatened to turn into an emotional one. On one level, she felt bruised and raw--that her father had turned out to be a man more concerned with easing his own conscience than addressing the wrongs he'd done was hurtful. Somewhere, deep down, she'd been hoping for closure, for an explanation that would somehow justify the pain of her childhood. That there wasn't one was hardly surprising, but the proof had shattered the last fragile illusions she'd been clinging to for so many years. It rendered all the suffering pointless. In rediscovering her past, she'd somehow lost more of herself than she'd gained.
Domino forced herself to relax her grip on the steering wheel, feeling the ache in her knuckles from clenching her hands too tightly. She was angry, more than anything else. Angry at her father for contacting her after all this time, at the feelings he'd evoked. Angry at her inability to blame him for all the things she so desperately wanted to. Angry at knowing her whole life had been one horrible mistake. Most of all, she was angry for running again, when she knew she should turn the car around and go home, explain everything to Nate and let him hold her while she screamed at the injustice of it all.
Instead, she was just repeating old mistakes. The last time she'd been in Vegas, she'd been 'celebrating' her departure from the NSA, trying to outrun the guilt that dogged her for having run out on her marriage to Milo. Muttering, she dug a cigarette and her lighter from her pocket, lighting up and taking a long drag, exhaling slowly. She wasn't going to think about this now. She was just going to concentrate on the last half hour of her drive, then check into the room she'd manage to con her way into at the Aladdin, and take a long, relaxing bath. No stress, no worrying about all the shit in her life that refused to go away.
----
"And here's your keycard, Ms. Winter. Enjoy your stay."
She collected the envelope from the receptionist and mumbled her thanks, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading for the elevators. There was a decent crowd, people checking in and moving back and forth between the hotel itself and the casino, which she planned to utterly avoid. It wasn't worth the hassle of disguising herself, for one thing, and beating the house out of its money had long ago lost its appeal.
She found the room and let herself in, dropping the bag near the dresser and giving the place a quick once over. Nice room, decent view--there was an outdoor swimming pool, though it was getting to be too late in the year for it. Just as well, she hadn't brought a suit with her. She wandered into the bathroom and started running water in the oversized marble tub. After the drive down, a good long soak was exactly what she needed.
Leaving it to fill, she wandered back into the suite, and unpacked the sparse contents of the bag, tossing everything but her back-up weapon into the drawer. She eyed the phone for a moment, then thought better of it. She really didn't want to deal with Nathan just yet. He was probably still irritated with her, and a yelling match over the phone was really the last thing she wanted. She went to the large windows on the far side of the room and watched for awhile, the neon glow of the strip tingeing the night sky orange. Once the bath was finished filling, she stripped off her clothes, tossing them in a balled up heap in the far corner of the large bathroom, and slipped into the warm water, finally relaxing a little as she rested her head back against the edge and closed her eyes.
----
"There's got to be something I can do! Something my powers--my luck--can do..."
"My luck ran out... the first time... I lost you Dom."
She sat up with a start, water sloshing over the edge of the tub. "Milo... damnit!" She muttered as she tried to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer on the underside of her ribs, and she took a long, slow breath to regain her composure. "Of all the times for my conscience to make an appearance," She sighed as she shoved damp hair out of her face and opened the drain, grabbing a towel from the rack as she got out and walked over to the shower. Once she was clean and warmed up again, she pulled on a pair of old cotton pajama pants and a tank top, flipping on the TV as she towel-dried her hair.
"...in other news, there are still no suspects in the bombing of a biotech facility in Santa Clara late last night. As of yet, no ties have been made to a similar rash of bombings on the East Coast, targeting facilities owned by GenCorp, a genetics research firm which came into the spotlight late last year with the announcement that they had developed a test which would allow expectant couples to test their unborn children for the presence of the gene that causes mutancy. There has been some speculation that the bombings could be the work of a militant mutant organization, bent on--"
Domino clicked off the TV with a sigh, and tossed the remote on the bed as she reached for the phone. It rang four times before someone finally picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey Sam, just caught the news--"
"We're all fine. We were watchin' two different warehouses, actually. Just our luck, Ah guess--" he paused as voices rose loudly in the background, and she heard a muffled request for them to quiet down. "The rest of the gang says 'hello,'" he replied finally. "Is somethin' up?"
"Why would there be?" She asked, keeping her tone neutral. "I was just calling to make sure you little monsters hadn't gotten yourselves into any trouble."
There was silence on the other end for a moment. "Cable already called. So Ah'm assumin' you're not at home, is all."
"Ahh." She sighed. She hadn't thought of that. "No, everything's fine, Sam. I'm fine. Just decided I needed a little R&R after my little pet project, that's all."
"If ya say so..." There was a pause again as he stopped to talk with someone else in the room. "Tab says that if you're gonna be coming back this way, you'd better stop by, or we'll be forced t' crash Oregon some weekend."
Dom chuckled. "Tell Ms. Smith I will make sure to do that. I don't think the state could handle you all. Glad you're all okay. I'll see you soon, okay?"
"Sure thing Dom. Take care."
"I always do. Bye, Sam." She put the phone back in its cradle, shaking her head. She flopped back on the bed, grabbing up the remote again, and settled in to channel surf.
----
She shook her head, trying to clear the hair from her eyes. The movement hurt, but the pain was all that kept her sane, really. She'd given up hope of rescue months ago. The damp, cold air assaulted her exposed skin, causing her to shiver despite herself. A tug on the restraints proved them to be no more lenient than they had been the last hundred or so times she'd tried it. Still, she couldn't help but pray--something shifted in the shadows at the edge of her peripheral vision, and she went rigid.
She should have known--the guards always gathered like vultures after Tolliver strung her back up. Hell, she'd bet good money the psycho was standing there in the shadows too, watching. He didn't seem to care what they did to her, as long as they didn't hurt her too much. Most of the time, they just fondled her like a piece of meat. "Story of my life," she muttered under her breath as her stomach tied itself in knots. Abandoned, left to the whims of men who'd fuck anything with tits.
She closed her eyes and sighed, head leaning against the wall as footsteps closed in, not quite managing to suppress a jerk as a hand ran along the exposed skin of her inner thigh. It didn't matter, she told herself. Just like all the times before, it didn't matter. She held her breath and winced, trying to choke back a sob, and waited for it to end.
----
Her eyes snapped open, heart racing in her chest as she took a moment to orientate to her surroundings. The TV was playing an infomercial, and he right leg had fallen asleep from the way she was sitting. Shifting carefully, she stretched her leg out, wincing at the pins and needles sensation that accompanied the movement. She dug around the covers for the remote and switched off the television as she sat up against the headboard, arms resting on her knees. She sighed, rolling her shoulders to try and ease some of the tension that had followed her from the dream. She was suddenly, achingly aware of the empty place beside her in the bed.
"My own damned fault," she muttered, shaking her head in disgust. She was the one who'd decided to run, after all. As much as Nate's presence might have been welcomed at that moment, there were too many other issues hanging over her head. Besides, she knew damned well the only reason that particular dream had come back to haunt her was because of all the other emotional garbage she'd been dealing with. A chain reaction she supposed, pull on one thread, the rest unraveled. Milo would have made a bad domino analogy about the whole thing, but then, he'd had a certain aggravating fondness of overly trite puns. Some days she still wasn't sure what she'd seen in him. Her chest constricted a little at the thought. She'd told herself she wasn't going to think about Milo, but the city seemed to be bringing out the worst of her introspective tendencies. With a curse, she got up and pulled on her clothes again. Sitting there brooding wasn't the answer, especially when she was sitting in the middle of a city that offered ample distractions twenty-four hours a day.
----
After pacing up and down the strip, finding nothing that caught her attention, Domino finally ducked into an uncrowded restaurant. She didn't feel like dealing with drunk tourists, and flashy shows weren't her style, anyway.
She ordered coffee, secure in her booth near the back of the restaurant, and sank back in the seat, lighting a cigarette. One of the up-sides of Vegas--you could still smoke in the restaurants. She traced idle circles on the tabletop, letting her eyes drift around the restaurant and smiled faintly to herself. She probably looked like hell with her hair a mess and too little sleep under her belt. She wondered, not for the first time, just what the hell she thought she was doing here. Running away had never been a solution--no matter how much she wanted it to be. It always came back to bite you in the end, one way or another. She sighed, and gave the waitress a half-hearted thanks as she brought her coffee.
No, it wasn't a solution, and she'd tried so hard to keep the promise she'd made to herself after Milo had died--she wasn't going to do it again. She couldn't live with the guilt. It made her feel like a coward and a failure, knowing she'd abandoned him twice. Once because she didn't want to hurt him--funny how she'd decided letting him think she was dead was more merciful than breaking his heart by telling him she wanted out. It hurt to think about it now, knowing she'd been afraid he'd somehow convince her to stay, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he would have been right in doing so. She'd honestly loved him, and it still hadn't been enough to make her stay. The second time--she took a sip of her coffee, trying to ignore the way her hands shook, ever so slightly. She'd had years now to reflect on it, countless nights to lie awake and let it eat away at her from the inside, trying to find the weakness that had allowed him to die like that, without ever acknowledging the feelings she'd felt for him. Sometimes, she could comfort herself by rationalizing it all--he knew, he had to have known, after all. She prayed to god he hadn't had time to wonder why she'd never come for him. It was a question she couldn't have answered.
And yet, even with how much all of that haunted her, she'd done it again to Nathan. Twice now, in fact. She didn't want to be here, she didn't want to be hurting him like she was, but it was the only thing that assuaged the panic that sat in the back of her brain, threatening to take over. There had to be a way past it. Milo had been her first victim; she didn't want to make Nate the second one.
She rested her head on her hand and sighed, staring at her reflection in the cup. She'd meant for this trip to give her time to sort out her feelings over the mess with her father--so why was she sitting here brooding over her decision to come instead? She frowned as the pendant around her neck chose that moment to slip free from her shirt, swinging in and out of her peripheral vision.
She fingered the pendant lightly, feeling the upraised symbol at its center. A promise, that's what he'd called it. A promise that he wasn't going to push her away anymore, a promise he'd remember there was more to their relationship than just 'partners,' now. And what had she given him in return? A veritable slap in the face.
He very rarely wore the pendant hers was modeled after--it had become a sort of non-verbal signal to her, letting her know when he was feeling a little more lost than normal. It made sense, in a way. It was one of the few, solid links to his past he still had, after all. In defeating Apocalypse, he'd also destroyed his home. His past, its culture and all the people he had known had vanished from the time stream, existing now in only his memories. She couldn't begin to imagine the scope of the isolation he must have felt at times.
She felt a sudden wave of guilt at having had the nerve to leave like she had, tearing herself away and leaving him bereft of another of his scant ties. Amazing how he could make her feel wretched, even from nine hundred miles away. She finished the coffee and left money to cover the bill, glancing at her watch. It was late, but there was a chance Nathan would still be awake... Digging change out of her pocket, she headed for the payphones at the front of the dinner.
"Hello?"
"Hey, babe." She held the phone tight to her ear, trying to hear over the noise around her.
"Dom."
She sighed at the distance in his voice and leaned an arm against the wall. "Nate... I'm okay. I just--I can't come back just yet. But I wanted you to know..." she trailed off, head dropping at the silence on the other end.
"Where are you?" He asked finally.
"I--I've got to go. But I wanted to let you know... Love you. I'll be home soon."
----
She wandered the strip aimlessly for a few hours more, weaving in and out of throngs of people beneath the glaring neon lights of the casinos. The phone call hadn't done a thing to improve her mood--there'd been far too much tension in the silences between them. She paused to light another cigarette and shook the near-empty pack forlornly. Well, she really needed to quit again, anyway. She inhaled deeply and sighed, wishing she could shake off the tension that was making her shoulders ache. Things had definitely not gone as planned. Then again, who was she kidding? There was absolutely no reason Nathan should have been feeling chatty and amiable. She'd tried to sneak out on him--again, she noted with a wince. She really needed to grow a spine one of these days, she thought disgustedly. She could have at least said she needed time to his face instead of trying to slip out while he wasn't paying attention. It was no wonder he was pissed with her--he had every right to be.
Still, his coolness with her over the phone certainly hadn't helped her mood any. She'd thought she was doing a good thing, the right thing, calling and reassuring him that she was indeed coming back, it was just going to take her a little bit longer. Too little, too late, she supposed. She'd already turned down the hand that had always been there, waiting for her to take. He wanted to help her and she wanted nothing to do with him. Given that, she had absolutely no right to go looking around for comfort from him. She'd made her bed, it was only fitting she lay in it now. She kicked absently at trash on the sidewalk and started wandering back in the direction of the hotel. She'd damn well earned every ounce of the self-loathing she was suddenly feeling. Her fuck up, her consequences to deal with. Same as it'd always been, really, only now, she was wishing she could take it all back. She wrapped her arms around herself and swallowed hard past the lump in her throat, trying to shake off the disgust and apprehension that were clawing at her.
----
She dropped her jacket on the bed when she got back to the room and stuck the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door. She certainly didn't want to be bothered by the cleaning staff in the morning. She collapsed back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, not knowing what to do with herself. She wanted a drink, but even she wasn't that masochistic.
Nate had been right, of course. She couldn't run from herself, and she didn't have the heart to be angry at him. She should have learned her lesson by now; just because she didn't like the situation didn't mean it was going to go away. She'd had more than enough experience to prove that. So what the hell was she doing running away again?
Maybe it was fear, plain and simple. She'd spent so many years relying on no one but herself, not trusting, not feeling. It took a tough skin to walk through the fires she had, but no matter how intact the exterior remained, the inside could still be shattered and withered like a plant devoid of sun. Change could be a heart-stopping thing for someone as set in their convictions as she was. Damnit, she wasn't going to brood about this now. She sat up, cursing quietly under her breath. She'd been planning on apologizing to the stupid bastard, but that idea had died a quick death the second she'd heard the edge in his voice.
He had a right to be mad. She knew that, logically. But damnit, did he have to have such crappy timing about it? Just as well, he tended to frown on apologies in general, Askani philosophy being what it was. Besides, a simple 'I'm sorry' wasn't going to fix the mess she'd made. That was going to take some actual effort on her part. She sighed. Well, there wasn't much to be done now. Calling him back was pointless--he was probably asleep and she was damned if she was going to wake him. She got up from the bed and rummaged through the contents of her bag until she came up with a prescription bottle. Two nightmares were quite enough for one night, after all. She shook out a tablet, filled a glass with water from the sink, and swallowed the medication down. Another thing she didn't want to make a habit out of, she thought dryly as she changed for bed. Well, one step at a time. Maybe if she stopped berating herself while she was awake, her subconscious would cut her a little slack as well. "Fat chance there," she muttered, flipping back the bedding and crawling between the sheets. She reached back and flipped off the bedside lamp, pulling the blankets securely around her shoulders.
----
The sun was seeping in through a crack in the curtains. Muttering, Domino rubbed her eyes and turned her back on the offending light, burying her head in the pillow. She didn't want to be awake. Ideally, she wanted to just lay there for the next few days and forget about the world. She also knew that trying to hibernate through her troubles never worked, didn't work in the same way that throwing herself into pointless risks or running as far as she possibly could didn't work. In the end, they all lead to the same brick wall, and she was getting too old to stand there beating her hands bloody while she cursed everything and everyone in her life.
Losing herself wasn't an option. She'd tried that, after all... She shuddered slightly at the emotions that tried to claw their way up from where she'd safely buried them, and clutched the blankets a little tighter. Her only real option, the one that was the right choice to make, was to head back home, face Nathan and any questions he decided to ask, and deal with the consequences. It was absolutely ridiculous how squeamish she was being about having to air all the sordid details of what she'd learned in Russia. They shared so much already, it hardly seemed something to be so hung up over. Then again, logic rarely won out over emotion, and that's what this was. A primal, gut reaction that told her it was best to say as little as possible.
Why Nathan still put up with her, she wasn't sure, especially when she kept trying to shove him away. A little voice in the back of her head was cautioning that she ought to be careful, or she'd get her wish. She didn't want to be alone. It was too late to start her life over--again--and the prospects for a thirty-something career mercenary were grim, at best. She was still good at what she did, still had her edge, but if the work became her life burnout was an inevitability, and what good was all that effort if you didn't live to enjoy the retirement?
She could have kicked herself for letting this weakness swallow her. Was she really so self-destructive that she'd let that happen? Cursing under her breath, she got up and started throwing things into her bag.
----
He knew she was there even before he heard her pull up. The presence that had lingered only faintly in his mind over the last week lit up like a road flare, and trepidation suddenly gripped him. She was leaning casually on the porch railing as he came to the door, hands stuffed in her coat pockets. Her eyes met his as he opened the door.
"Trick or treat," she said, giving him an uneasy smile.
"You're a bit late for that," he deadpanned.
"Well, I can always come back next year..."
He laughed. "No, stay."
"Well...if you insist..."
End