When Night Falls

by Riolee

The night air was cold and harsh, an unforgiving chill laying over the city. Cable didn't feel it. The sun had just dropped below the horizon, taking the last dying rays of daylight. Cable didn't see it. Overhead, stars began to twinkle in the clear sky, a strange beauty for the dead of winter. Cable didn't care.

He hadn't cared for over a year now.

A year since Dom's luck had ran out. A year since her helicopter had crashed in the Appalachians, because her pilot had been a traitor. A year since Cable and Wolverine had buried her.

Times like this drove Cable out of mansion, into New York City. Drove him from the constant reminders of Domino, into anonymity in the City. Drove him from the loud crowds of the streets to the quiet serenity of Central Park.

He hadn't been able to deal with today, of all days. Just as he was unable to deal with the anniversary of her death, so he found himself equally incapable of handling her birthday.

He had spent most of the day wandering around Central Park aimlessly, trying to forget. Trying to ease the pain. Trying anything.

He was tired of trying.

"Here. You look terrible," an unfamiliar feminine voice said, a white cup thrust into his hands. A cup of coffee.

Cable looked up, into clear blue eyes. At the long blonde hair. At the ivory skin. "Thanks," he muttered, dropping his gaze to study the coffee.

"One of those days, huh?" she said, dropping onto the bench next to him, her hands curled around an identical cup.

"Yeah." If he was hoping that she would get the hint, he was sorely disappointed.

"Nina Randall."

Cable hesitated, then shrugged. "Nathan Summers."

"For someone with such a cheery last name, you look like death warmed over."

He blanched, then turned and glared at her. "What the flonq do you want?" he snarled.

"Me? I don't want anything." Nina paused. "Well, except maybe to have you stop glaring at the coffee like I poisoned it. It's going to get cold."

"What do you want?" he repeated, his gaze narrowing. "Nobody does anything unless they flonqing want something. So what the flonq is it?"

"Cynic."

"Always have been."

Nina sipped her coffee. "Alright, Mr Summers. Who died?"

Died. She had died, and left him alone. Again. It was hardly her fault. But that didn't mean the pain would stop. "No one you would know, Miss Randall," he growled, matching her formality.

"Says who?" Nina met his gaze levelly.

"Says me. You don't run in our circles. I'd have heard of you." Damn woman. Damn stubborn woman. Just like Dom. "If I don't know you, then I know she didn't either."

"She."

"Yes, she. What the flonq do you want?"

Nina tilted her head, her crystal eyes thoughtful. "A woman you cared for. Very deeply. Not a mother, nor a sister. A wife, perhaps. A lover, at the least."

Nathan blinked at her, momentarily startled. "How the flonq do you know that?"

"You like that word, don't you?" Nina shrugged. "Grief is different, Mr Summers. You aren't displaying the grief you would feel had your mother or sister died. That leaves me to conclude that it was a lover."

He narrowed his eyes, strengthening his psi shields. "Are you a telepath?"

"Me? No. Just a good judge of people." She took another sip of her coffee. "Talking about it usually helps."

Nathan pounced on her opening. "So you want me to talk about my dead lover, is that it? For what reason? So you can offer trite words and phrases? Meaningless noises that won't change the reality of things? She's dead, Nina. Do you hear me? She's dead!"

Instead of recoiling, Nina dropped her gaze to her coffee. "Just because she died doesn't mean you have to, Nathan. Life is for living, and death is for dying."

"You haven't lost anyone you loved, have you?" Nathan instantly regretted his words. A whole flood of pain swept over her features. A pain that said that she did understand.

"I've lost everyone, Nathan," she whispered. "My father left my mother. My mother married a man who would rape me and my twin every night. My sister ran away, my brother committed suicide…and the man I might have married ran off with another woman."

Nathan directed his gaze towards his coffee as well. "My father gave me up to my older sister, who died shortly thereafter. My…twin brother kidnapped and raped my wife. She died, and so did my son. Dom - my lover - was betrayed."

Nina was quiet for a long time. Finally, she stirred. "It's a hard lesson, Nathan. I had to learn that life is for living…death is for dying…just because you lost those in your heart doesn't mean that they've lost you." She looked up at him. "How do you know that your wife, and Dom, and your sister, aren't watching over you?"

"I don't."

She fell silent at that bald statement. "Tell me about them." Her tone was gentle, her words offering a comfort he'd long denied himself.

He resisted. "It's not important, Nina. They're dead."

"You loved your wife deeply. And your son, you loved him. But you belonged with Dom." Nina nodded to herself. "If you ever had to choose between Dom and your wife, you would have eventually chosen Dom."

Nathan had a choice. He could break Nina's neck for being right on target. For making him feel things he didn't want to feel. For offering to be a listener, for offering to be a friend. Or he could drink the coffee she'd gotten him.

He drank the coffee.

"I know what it's like, Nathan," Nina said quietly. "I've been there, and I made my choice." She turned her attention to the cold coffee. "I wish I'd never made my choice, you know. But I did, and I don't want to see you make the same."

He turned on her at that. "Why not, Nina?" he growled. "I'm a stranger. I could be a mass murderer. I could be a terrorist. I could be your worst nightmare."

"You could be. But you're not. Anyone who has such hurt in his eyes isn't a mass murderer or a terrorist or my worst nightmare." She gave him a wry smile. "Besides, what do they say about strangers? ‘A stranger is a friend I've not yet met.' Or something like that."

Nathan glared at her. Nina smiled at him. Finally, he ducked his head. Amazing how such a small blonde woman could make him feel so tiny. "I never told Dom. Never told her how I feel. Never told her what she meant to me." Nathan's eyes glazed. "I never told her how beautiful she was. How beautiful she will always be. I never told her my hopes, my dreams…there's so much I always wanted to tell her, Nina. I never did."

"So tell her now. At her grave, right here in the park, wherever." Nina tossed her cup into a nearby trashcan, and rose. "The where doesn't matter. The words do." She didn't move, though, apparently waiting for him to stand as well.

He rose. "Thank you, Nina," he said softly. "I'll go now…I have something to say to Dom." When she nodded, he turned and trudged out of Central Park.

*****

"Dom…oath, I don't know what to say now. I had it all planned. But…none of it sounds right. None of it means what I want it to say.

"You were so beautiful, Dom. So beautiful, so strong. And you had such confidence. It was a tangible thing, something that the kids admired. Something I admired. Sometimes, Dom, I would question me. What right did I have to mar your confidence with my future?

"But you would look at me with those intense violet eyes. And I wouldn't question anymore. Because I knew that if you didn't want me, you wouldn't be with me. You were that strong.

"A woman I met at Central Park told me I should tell you everything I've ever wanted to tell you, Dom. Oath, but it's hard to do. You know me. I don't spill my flonqing feelings. I'm not even supposed to have them. Except where you're concerned.

"I love you, Dom. I did the moment I saw you. It's a cliché of the worst kind, and I know it. But you were everything I'd ever wanted. And whenever I looked into your eyes, whenever I saw the love, the belief, the faith…I knew I would succeed. Because you had faith in me.

"I miss you, you know. Nina - the woman at the park - said that maybe you were watching over me in spirit or something. I like that image. Not terribly Askani-like of me, I know. Although I don't think you'd be hanging around to comfort me from beyond the thin veil. Knowing you, you'd probably want to kick my ass for mourning you. I can hear you telling me to not mourn you, since you had a good life.

"I can't help it. I love you, and I miss you, Domino. I always will. But, for you, I can go on. For you, I will go on. I couldn't do any less for you.

"G'journey, Domino…and happy birthday."

*****

Nathan stared at the man on the other side of the desk. "Excuse me? Are you sure we have the correct person?"

The surly police detective glared at him. "Nina Randall. Twenty two years old. Single, no children. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Five foot, five inches, one hundred twenty two pounds."

"That sounds like her…"

"I'm telling you, buddy, I have a death certificate for her. She died nine years ago in Central Park. She and her twin sister, Christina."

Nathan blinked, completely bewildered. "How?"

"Looks like they committed suicide together." The detective shifted. "I shouldn't be telling you this, y'know. Her mother died the prior week, at the hands of the abusive husband. Apparently, he slipped jail and went in search of his stepdaughters. So they slit their wrists."

I wish I'd never made my choice. Nina's words rang in Nathan's head. With a polite nod, he rose and left the station.

It was fifteen minutes later before he realised he was in Central Park. In the same spot where he'd spoken to Nina Randall. After that night, he'd been grateful for the woman's insight. So he'd intended to call her, to thank her.

Except the search had proved fruitless. Until he'd run across an old obituary by pure accident. Which had driven him to the police station.

It was crazy to think that a dead woman had reached out to him from the grave. A dead woman he'd never known. But, considering everything he'd ever seen…it wasn't really that crazy.

Finally, he lifted his head to the clear night sky. Just like that night. "Thank you, Nina. And…g'journey."

For the first time in over a year, Cable saw the beauty of the night sky fade into the warmth of the breaking dawn. And felt the harsh cold of winter. And for the first time in over a year…he cared.

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