Unexpected Companions
by Persephone
Chapter 8/10
**********
Limbo, Cable decided irrevocably, was weird. It was not going to matter what else he ever saw or heard or felt here. His observations so far were enough to establish the dimension as officially weird even if they were outweighed by thousands of instances of normalcy. Of course, Limbo was probably closer to its version of normalcy than most places now, and that should perhaps be taken into account. Nevertheless, it was weird.
Illyana had teleported them initially into what appeared to be a remarkably featureless plain except for a sort of spiderweb pattern of shallow cracks and thin little blades of sparse, grasslike brown vegetation. He wasn't sure what impulse prompted him to close a fist around one and yank, but when it came up easily, the only root a small, hard white blob, he gave it a much closer look and realized it was a hair.
"Illyana?"
"Hm?"
"Are we walking on skin?"
"No. Just a facsimile of it."
How reassuring.
Silence descended again, while Nathan debated with himself the question of whether he actually wanted to find out what she'd say if he asked why they were walking on a facsimile of skin.
They went down a hill, and walls suddenly loomed in front of them. One rather whimsical section several meters off to the right appeared to be, in fact, a loom. It was weaving. Considering the context, the fact that the walls looked precisely like congealed blood was even less encouraging than it might have been otherwise.
A gate opened for them just as he began to wonder whether Illyana planned to walk directly into the wall. From inside, the walls were still red, but a less scab-like shade of it; he blinked in some confusion as the ornate doors of the gateway swung ponderously shut behind them and a round silver-white light blossomed on the ceiling to reveal a surprisingly cozy living room that would have looked perfectly at home in any number of small, pleasant houses if not for the color scheme, which seemed to be the result of a territorial war amongst red, blue, silver, pink, and black. Red had won the walls, mostly, and silver the light fixtures, while blue and pink mottled the ceiling, black took the majority of the furniture (though the others served as accents), and all five still wrangled for control of slivers of the carpet. Nathan tried to dismiss the feeling that hostilities still continued as paranoia. He was allowed a little paranoia, right? Even if it led him to imagine interior decorating in Limbo as a sort of negotiation process.
The vibrant colors indoors contrasted sharply with the view through the windows on the opposite side of the room, all gray and brown and dull green -- it looked for all the world like a dead garden, with a withered oak tree standing its dismal vigil in the center.
Stryfe crossed almost immediately, though his steps were still slow, to one window and stared out, as if mesmerized; Illyana looked out another for a moment and then pulled a tie loose and let the curtain ripple down across the panes, turning back and gesturing to the low table where food suddenly appeared. Silver dishes, this time, like the armor she only now let vanish with the sheathing of the Soulsword. Water droplets condensed on them as if they were freezing cold, even the ones supporting food that should have been -- and was -- hot.
"You can tell me whether I conjure halfway decent coffee," she suggested with an almost impish smile. "Never tried it on your alternate."
"I'm not sure if that would be such a good idea." He'd become used to going without caffeine, since the beginning of the destruction, and he knew he'd only be annoyed when he couldn't have it any longer. On the other hand, it did smell good. He bit back the urge to make some kind of joke about temptation.
Stryfe, whom he was still shielding, stopped actively thinking about giving him a mental kick in the ankle. Other than that, the man seemed oddly subdued... maybe it was just because he was so drained. Only, there was more than that, tickling at the inside of the shield....
"I promise, you don't get stuck here forever by eating or drinking," Illyana told him, perfectly seriously. She actually sounded worried.
"I didn't think I would."
"Well... it wouldn't have been that unreasonable a suspicion." She turned back toward Stryfe. "Hey. Dinner's ready."
"I'm --" Cable was almost certain Stryfe was going to finish that with "not hungry," but after a short pause he said "coming" instead, voice curiously flat, and started to turn away from the window.
Illyana frowned at him. "Something the matter?"
"I'm fine." Stryfe stopped moving. Same tone, or lack thereof.
She folded her arms and scowled. "That's not very convincing; don't lie to me, please." Stryfe turned back to the window; a trace of astonishment crossed Illyana's face, followed by worry again. "Let me try rephrasing: what is the matter?"
Nathan couldn't see his clone's hands, but knew beyond any doubt that they had both just tightened on the windowsill to the point that wood should have started to splinter. "You don't really want to know."
Trying to get out of telling her about Legacy? Illyana didn't seem, from what Nathan had seen so far, to be the type to let Stryfe get away with that. She didn't disappoint him. "That doesn't usually stop me."
"No. It doesn't."
"So tell me?" She stepped away from the couch and toward the window -- and Stryfe; when she was just beyond arm's reach he capitulated and suddenly began speaking.
"There were several of your alternates in the wards. One...." The voice was still flat, but less dully so; now it sounded... cold. He stopped, and swallowed, then went on. "One was among the... last few I had to attend to personally." A breath. "The next to last, to be precise. She died under my hands."
Next to last. So that was where Stryfe had been just before he dragged in to take care of the little snake-charmer....
So this one did know, now, what it was like to have someone you cared about die in your arms. Except, of course, that for him it hadn't been someone as close as Aliya, hadn't even been the child-friend from his own timeline. Not comparable, Nathan told himself. Not like losing a soulmate.
Not that Stryfe had claimed it was. Stryfe was doing a moderately good job of drawing his mind in on itself to avoid "touching" the shields Cable still maintained and seemed most inclined not to discuss the matter at all with him.
"Of the disease your alternates released." Illyana's quiet voice did a fairly good job of sounding neutral.
Stryfe's... did not. "Yes."
The young sorceress sighed deeply and took the last step to him, laying one hand on his arm. He twitched away; the hand followed. "Christopher...."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
He didn't answer.
Illyana folded her arms. "You aren't fooling anybody, you realize."
There was a pause. Stiffly, and with obvious reluctance, Stryfe finally replied, "Maybe not."
"Chris. You tried. You can't blame yourself for what your alternates did, you know...."
As if Stryfe didn't have enough things to blame himself for without looking to his alternates?
"No?" Stryfe finally took his eyes away from the window again and looked at her; the glimpse Nathan caught was of the right one, surprisingly bleak. "No, I can't, but I came far too close to doing precisely the same thing myself, Illyana. I had every detail planned, everything in place to release an epidemic -- I didn't dismantle the preparations until after returning to Earth, and even then I think when I said I would go back with them, I was at least half expecting it... not to work, seeking occasion against them... looking for another reason to hate them." He looked away, back out the window at the dead tree. "Before I found out I had no good reason in the first place...."
Nathan realized with a start that Stryfe's control over his voice had slipped almost entirely by this point; he could hear in the tone a self-loathing that he'd never have expected, even after what he'd seen of this version's life and thoughts. It just didn't seem to fit.... He would have said the man deserved the feeling, of course, but this somehow wasn't especially satisfying.
Illyana could hear it too, it seemed. "Stop it." This time, instead of simply touching Stryfe's upper arm, she ducked under it and insinuated herself next to his side. He moved as if startled, but didn't exactly protest. "You didn't release it. You changed your mind."
"That -- what happened to your alternate, too many of your alternates, could all too easily have been your fate, Illyana. I almost killed you, don't you --"
"Don't I what?" she interrupted. "Understand? I get the idea, yes. Blame you? No. Almost doesn't count, not for this." She shook her head. "I've almost done too many things myself... and actually done too many, I guess, for revenge or otherwise...."
"I don't think you ever started an epidemic."
"Neither did you," she retorted. "I can plague-cast, you realize."
"Plague-cast?"
She reached through a stepping disc, appeared to be feeling around, and then plunged her other hand in as well and heaved out a massive grayish-green tome. The air promptly filled with a nauseating sour odor, and Illyana grimaced. "No wonder Belasco always kept incense burning in his library...." The title, in letters of a remarkably unpleasant shade of yellow that seemed inclined to blur in and out of focus, read _Pestis Pestis_.
There was a glint of light from Stryfe's eye, reflected in the windowpane, and the book suddenly appeared to be easier for the girl to hold. "And this is...."
"What it says." Illyana shrugged. "A book of disease-related spells, mostly curses. I know it. And I'd best put it back before someone wanted it or looked for it; it's burnt now...." She carefully balanced it back through the disc. "Not to mention while the air here is still semi-breathable. Ugh." A silver candle on the table flared to life and apparently started trying to deodorize the room. "Put it this way, I could make a distressingly good Pestilence."
Stryfe blinked at her several times. "No. No, you would not."
She shrugged. "Well, if not for the fact that if I went that far I'd be more likely to want to conquer in my own name."
This time, Nathan blinked at her too. She couldn't be serious. He thought about Limbo for a while. Maybe she could.
Illyana shifted her weight and sighed, looking up at his clone. "Christopher. Answer me one question? Truthfully?"
"What is it?"
"If Nathan weren't here, would you be trying to pretend you weren't upset?"
As the fact that Stryfe was upset was trying to rearrange Nathan's perceptions of him for the better again, with the expected high level of discomfort for such a procedure, Nathan thought that trying to hide the fact on his account would be rather stupid. It would also be fairly probable, on the other hand.... He wouldn't be inclined to hand Stryfe keys to his psyche either, given the option.
He entertained himself briefly by wondering if Stryfe was likely to come up with a response that would dodge the question successfully. There probably wasn't much point, considering Illyana obviously knew better....
"I don't know."
"Did I mention you aren't being very convincing?"
"I think so." Stryfe sighed and glanced unhappily toward Nathan, who looked back innocently for a moment, then gave up and considerately watched the colors in the carpet wrangle with each other. "I'd probably either not have told you at all or cry on your shoulder like a fool, how's that?"
Illyana squirmed closer to hug him again. Nathan looked up and shook his head slightly. "I won't watch, if you like."
Stryfe glared at him.
**********
They'd left Limbo and started walking again. There was no particular reason to be walking, except that going somewhere was better than not going anywhere, when there was no place you really wanted to be.
"There isn't even any real way to tell time anymore...." He was being morose again. He had the feeling this was starting to get on his current companions' nerves.
"Don't be silly. It's brillig," Illyana announced calmly.
"Brillig?"
"Brillig," she confirmed. "'Twas brillig, 'tis brillig now, and it can STAY brillig. Doesn't matter terribly. But if we meet a tove, I might get worried," she replied, swinging the Soulsword as she walked.
"Are you sure," Stryfe interjected dryly, "that it isn't always tea-time, and six o'clock instead of four?"
Nathan took a few moments to place that one, while Illyana laughed and some other part of his brain, not occupied with identifying what his clone was talking about, wondered if there might be something a little off about the atmosphere here.
Oh.
OH.
He remembered now -- "So we've quarreled with Time, and ever since he won't do a thing we ask?" he inquired acidly.
"I suppose you could put it that way," Stryfe replied mildly enough, after visibly biting back something with more venom. "With no one really at fault but the queen -- Nathan, did I just equate Apocalypse with the Queen of Hearts?"
He thought about it, then started laughing himself. Oath, this was the last thing he needed, Stryfe alluding to _Alice in Wonderland_ -- well, no, actually, it wasn't, he amended. The last thing he needed was Apocalypse talking about _Alice in Wonderland_. Apocalypse as... the Queen of Hearts.... "I think," he wheezed between laughter, "you did. What does -- that make you?" He thought some more. "Knave of Hearts?" he snickered.
Stryfe winced at that one. "I'd rather not, thank you," he managed, eyeing Cable rather uncertainly.
The expression struck Nathan as even funnier. "F-fine then -- how about -- the March Hare?" More chuckles. A look from Stryfe which said, more eloquently than any words, that the source of the look was developing serious doubts about its target's mental well-being. Maybe he was hysterical, the analytical aspect of his mind suggested dispassionately. "Or the -- Mad Hatter?"
Hardly able to walk now, Cable sat down on the ground, which turned out to be a vibrant shade of purple in this vicinity, and abandoned himself to laughter. The other two stopped to wait for him. It was almost definitely hysteria, he decided, by the time a niggling voice reminded him that HE must be the Mad Hatter, given who had "quarreled with Time."
Had that been why Stryfe mentioned the fault being elsewhere? That was unthinkable. That was... almost unthinkable. Only almost, after all he'd seen from the timeline this one belonged to. Only almost. Still helpless to halt his own laughter, Nathan looked up and saw Stryfe's lips twitching slightly.
"As I don't think I want to be a rabbit, and considering what seems to have been the general opinion of my helmet, I suppose I can't deny that last one."
"You make a nice rabbit," Illyana murmured. Nathan wondered if she was talking about the velveteen one again, and only snickered harder when Stryfe, apparently reaching precisely the same mental connection, actually blushed. Chaos-bringers didn't blush, huh? Maybe retired ones did. "But you've got Apocalypse misassigned," she continued in perfect solemnity. "He's the Dormouse! He hibernates, doesn't he?"
Her last sentence was half drowned out as Stryfe joined Cable on the ground in hilarity at the very idea. Illyana simply stood over them, with a smirk composed of equal parts humor and self-satisfaction.
As soon as he had breath enough, Stryfe looked up at her and sputtered, "That -- was priceless, Illyana. We'll be sure to -- stuff him in a -- a tea-pot -- just for you." That sent both him and Cable -- who nodded in vigorous agreement -- off on another wave, while Illyana cast a ward and thanked them as gravely as she could, but with dancing eyes.
"And who are YOU?" Cable asked challengingly as the girl watched them, still on her feet.
"Me? I'm Alice, of course; she was seven, too," she replied smoothly, grinning, and then blinked past him. "And on that note," she continued in some surprise, "we seem to have a flamingo."
Cable looked over his shoulder and gaped as, with a snap of Illyana's fingers, a small gateway formed in the ward and a brilliantly pink flamingo strolled through. Stryfe followed his gaze. The flamingo picked its way past both the men and snuggled contentedly against a rather astonished Illyana, then pressed its beak to her nose. After a moment of wide-eyed shock, she looped an arm around the bird's neck and sank to the ground beside it.
The flamingo seemed to be remarkably amenable to having a sorceress giggle helplessly into its feathers. Cable hadn't been under the impression they were that even tempered. Then again, Stryfe seemed fairly fond of the girl, so a flamingo wasn't necessarily that shocking.
"If we start getting hedgehogs," he suggested thoughtfully, "we might want to leave."
Illyana raised her head. "A pack of cards! You're all just a pack of cards!" she proclaimed, before burying her face in pink feathers again. The flamingo endured this behavior without complaint.
Nathan looked over at Stryfe as his clone frowned and picked a small item off the ground, extending it Cable's direction. Upon examination, the item proved to be... a hedgehog. In fluorescent orange. They both stared at it.
"Not only are we getting hedgehogs," Stryfe said as the creature nosed about on his hand, "we are getting punk hedgehogs." Cable snickered. Stryfe eyed the hedgehog again and added, "I think I agree with you, odd as this may seem. Perhaps we should move on."
"Are we bringing the flamingo?"
"Ask Illyana."
Nathan wondered if perhaps they wouldn't do better to ask the flamingo, which opted to strut daintily alongside Illyana with no apparent concern as to whether it was welcome or not. It periodically munched glowing red land-shrimp off the ground.
**********
They still had the flamingo three shifts later, although ever since they'd stepped through the line, the bird had been pressing closer and closer to Illyana. It was starting to interfere with her ability to walk.
There was something... eerie... about this shift. A little bleak. More... cohesive, somehow, than most of the worlds he'd walked through, Nathan thought, but he had no idea how he was getting that impression. It felt a little like Limbo, too, though he'd never have thought to call Limbo unusually cohesive before....
#Nathan?#
Mental contact with Stryfe was not the eerie part, even if it did come as something of a surprise. They'd both rather gladly relinquished it as soon as Stryfe's shields were back up, and had kept strictly to vocal conversation since that point.
Presumably, however, there was a reason for it. Stryfe had been as relieved not to have to be shielded by Nathan as Nathan had been not to be shielding him anymore. #What?#
#Have you noticed anything... odd... about this shift?#
#Have you noticed any shifts that DIDN'T have anything 'odd' about them?#
#Nathan....#
#All right, all right. I got the feeling when we first entered it that we'd walked back into Limbo instead, but Illyana didn't say anything -- I figured it might be just some kind of increased connection.#
Stryfe turned to stare at him. #Just? She's been peering around looking agitated ever since. Obviously I should have said something to someone by now....#
#Does it matter if we're in a shift closer to Limbo? We've been to Limbo.#
#Yes, and there's a different Illyana controlling the... parts... of it closest to this world.#
Nathan thought about this. Stryfe shook his head in annoyance and turned to Illyana to ask quietly, "What's the matter?"
"Limbo." What a surprise. "It's... not under quite the same management; I can feel it... and I can feel it... bound to this world. Especially where I think New York is." She sounded troubled. "It's been getting more intense as we move; I didn't put a name to it at first...."
"Different management." Stryfe hesitated. "Belasco?"
"No!" Illyana shuddered. "Not him. I can sort of... tell... my alternate's around, but there's someone else."
"That would," said a new but unnervingly familiar voice, grandly, "be me."
Nathan stared. He only just caught at the edge of his vision Stryfe turning, eyes wide, to do the same.
Bright eyes, one glowing bright gold, looked back at them from a very familiar face. Gold hair spilled down over midnight armor shot through with a network of electric-blue lighting.
"Tyler?" Nathan managed, after spending what seemed an unconscionably long moment frozen in shock. His voice, unfortunately, emerged as a rather faint croak.
Tyler lifted an eyebrow at him and produced a glass of water from, evidently, thin air. Cable took it automatically, noticed the odd look Illyana was giving all parties concerned, and just held onto it.
"I'd say 'the one and only,'" Tyler replied easily, "except that I'd run into quite enough alternates of quite enough people to realize how silly that phrase was even before the shifts."
He raised a hand to stroke his chin, the light from his eye dimming as he half-lowered the lids. "Now what shall I do with you? I think my lady would care to meet... you in particular, Illyana."
He stepped closer, suddenly, to catch up her silver-gloved hand and bow a kiss onto it. Stryfe twitched as if his impulse had been to block Tyler away. Something in Illyana's stance and expression suggested that she might have dodged if there hadn't been a flamingo behind her knees. It wasn't exactly hostility, but went a little beyond wariness.
She withdrew her hand a little more rapidly than was strictly decorous. Tyler narrowly but gracefully avoided being bonked on the nose in passing.
"And why would your lady be interested?" Illyana inquired.
"To meet her alternate, and in such company? Why wouldn't she?"
"Illyana is 'your lady' in what sense, exactly?" Cable cut in. Stryfe threw him a look he couldn't quite read, though it seemed to hold both anxiety and, strangely enough, gratitude.
"Both of them... father." Tyler took a half-step back from Illyana and pivoted to meet Nathan's eyes. "Lady of Limbo, my wife and liege."
"Bit young for you, isn't she?"
"Not necessarily," Illyana murmured.
"Isn't Domino a bit young for you, father?"
That cut; Nathan couldn't quite restrain a flinch.
He followed when Tyler started walking and beckoned them along, almost automatically, and tried to ignore the inky-black cape that rippled and snatched at the air in a fashion worryingly reminiscent of --
#Stryfe?#
#What?#
This sounded stupid. #Tyler is not wearing one of those octopus creatures. Is he?#
Stryfe gave him a startled look. #No.# A little too hasty, that. A pause. #It's the wrong shape.#
#Stryfe, it could turn into fog. Why not a cape?#
#I really don't think it is. If it were native to Limbo I think Illyana would have recognized it, anyway....# Stryfe shrugged, reached out, and tweaked a corner. #Feels like cloth.#
Tyler turned to frown at him. "Did you want something?"
"Just checking whether your cape is predatory," Stryfe replied swiftly, then managed a grin to counter Tyler's raised eyebrow. Nathan snorted to himself. It was always fun to tell the absolute truth when you didn't want people to know it and it was too absurd to be believed.... "No, seriously. How did you get involved with Illyana?"
"Still haven't developed a personal life of your own to be nosy about, I see."
Stryfe looked offended.
Illyana murmured something that sounded like, "You want details?"
Cable jumped in. "He wouldn't have to be nosy about his own. And you weren't with Illyana in my world either; I was wondering about that myself."
"Oh, you two aren't from the same timeline, are you?" Tyler looked thoughtfully at them. "Perhaps that's why you get along so well."
"Are you deliberately avoiding the question, or is your attention span really that bad?" Illyana broke in tartly.
Tyler laughed softly at her. "Ask your alternate." She scowled at him. "I could become fond of you all too easily. To put it briefly -- she asked. Less briefly -- hm. The story didn't begin with this, but the telling might as well. Once upon a time my grandmother listened to rebels from Illyana's realm in her dreams, and agreed to help them by sacrificing her baby boy."
So far, so... familiar.
"New York went mad along with her, as Limbo leaked through." Golden-auraed figures appeared alongside them, in miniature, and kept pace, flickering rapidly in a quick and slightly vague silent rendition right up until the point of crisis. Illyana was frowning at them; Nathan reached for her mind to ask why, and ran into Stryfe doing the same thing.
#It's what I remember -- to a point. I have no idea what my alternate's starting to do at that point, though....#
Well, if she didn't know, Nathan certainly wasn't likely to, but it seemed that Tyler was going to tell them. "But my lady thought of a way to repair the damage, restore her control of Limbo, and bind herself to Earth and home: if killing young Christopher was to seal her defeat and loose Limbo upon Earth, giving her foes the victory, what would be the most logical way to thwart them but --"
"To marry his son, firstborn or youngest ideally, who would have inherited the tinges of magic from Limbo and Loki both," Illyana interrupted flatly.
Tyler paused mid-gesture and turned to blink at her. "That was a rhetorical question. I thought you didn't know."
She shrugged irritably. "I wouldn't have known how and accordingly didn't think of trying it at the time. You just made it obvious."
"How did she know he had a son old enough?" Stryfe asked. "You can't assume time travel --" He broke off. "But she could, couldn't she."
"I should hope so," Illyana murmured, in a much more agreeable voice than she'd directed at Tyler. "She wouldn't have restricted herself to the same time if it had been inconvenient."
"Not at all," Tyler replied cheerfully. "I'm not wholly certain she did, though I suppose she couldn't have reached far. And she didn't pick you, by the way, because cloning apparently doesn't -- or at any rate didn't in this case -- pass along the magical exposure."
If Tyler had hoped to get a rise out of Stryfe with this comment, he was disappointed.
He shrugged and started walking again, with a casual wave at his memory-scene as he -- in his role as Tolliver, of course -- appeared in it via stepping disc and began what was presumably a heated argument with the Magik who had summoned him, who looked to be on the edge of being the Darkchilde.
Possibly over it.
"Of course, I wasn't much of an improvement, in terms of rationality," Tyler went on ruefully. "She tried to explain. I yelled at her. She mentioned my infant father; I ranted on about my grievances. Finally she stabbed me in the head with the revenge I kept going on about; oddly enough this actually worked."
The image of Illyana backed half a step and whipped the Soulsword free, lunging before Tolliver could do more than look shocked. He had barely begun to try to dodge when the tip pierced his head.
The tableau froze like that; Nathan couldn't tell at first whether everyone had really stilled or Tyler had paused the memory replay. Then he saw Illyana's extended arm start to tremble ever so slightly with the strain, and her tail lashed once, violently, and recoiled loosely around her own ankle.
Then they broke apart, the sword blade describing a careless arc as it dropped toward the ground, and stared at each other. Tyler touched a hand to his forehead and stared at his unbloodied fingertips for a moment, then back at Magik. His lips moved.
Cable looked away from the image as the exhausted sorceress started to answer. "What did you say to her?"
"You couldn't tell? -- No, I suppose not. I couldn't really see myself at the time. Something along the lines of 'Why don't you go over all that again?'"
"I'm sure she was thrilled to discover you hadn't been listening."
"I'm sure she already knew," Tyler retorted crisply.
"So... you two repeated the entire previous conversation."
"Of course not. Only the important parts, such as what was going on and why exactly my marrying her was supposed to remedy the situation. As you might imagine, I was somewhat disconcerted."
Nathan supposed that those had indeed been the crucial issues at the time. "Never figured your love life would involve a semi-demonic teenager kidnapping you to announce you had to marry her to save the world? Can't say I blame you for not thinking of that...." At least, that appeared likely to be the gist of what the Illyana-image was saying. It might have been nice if Tyler had opted to incorporate sound instead of narrating.
"The possibility had never crossed my mind. Although I will admit that a little investigation into family history might led me to the conclusion that perhaps I should not have been quite so surprised."
"So you married her."
Tyler gestured at the memory-play as the image of him stepped close, enfolded the Darkchilde in his arms, and kissed her on the mouth, heedless of hard reddish skin or forked tongue or the fangs that cut his lips until the blood ran. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan saw the Illyana actually present wince. The image of her alternate, meanwhile, started to relax; horns and tail shrank away, skin softened to her natural color, though armor-clad, and the fangs retracted.
Tyler did open his eyes when the transformation of her face was complete, and looked a little startled at the extent of the change. She sheathed the Soulsword when he reclaimed her lips, though, and the silver melted away.
"What else could I do, really? I pulled out enough of her memories to be fairly certain she wasn't lying, and if the antics in New York were any indication I didn't want to see S'ym and Nastirh spread their influence any farther. Discovering that my lady was in fact good company and very pretty was nice, though."
The image vanished.
"Why does it feel like New York's still bound to Limbo?" Illyana's voice was very cool; Nathan started to wonder whether she had had further interactions with the Tyler of her own timeline that might shed some light on her apparent distaste for this one, or if this one just gave her the creeps on his own merits. The latter WAS entirely possible....
"It is." Tyler sounded genuinely surprised -- for the first time -- at the question. "It's not necessarily an ideal situation, but the closer binding of Limbo to Earth has let us keep track of... well... a lot of the people and most of the planet, we think. We can find most of the fragments of the timeline from Limbo, you see, because of their attachment. Mostly ones that originated after the binding, though. ...I gather they're not so bound in your world?"
"No. No more than before, at least. Not like that. I couldn't do that." She sounded troubled.
Tyler didn't comment.
Nathan finally asked the question that had been nagging at him. "What happened to our alternates? Stryfe and I were both in that part of the 20th century, at least in the timelines I know of where we came back at all. Where are they?"
"Well, little Christopher was sent home with his parents, once Madelyne was calmed down. If you mean your adult time-traveling alternates, which of course you do...." Tyler turned and gave them a dazzling smile. "Naturally, they still work for me."
**********