El Scorcho (twbasketcase) wrote,
El Scorcho

FIC: Even In Death

Title: Even In Death
Category: Cable & Deadpool
Characters: Domino
Genre: Angst
Rated: R
Disclaimer: I do not own the poor dear, if I did she would be blowing stuff up and bedding Cable always.
Summary: She followed him loyally to the ends of time and back. Yet still, even in death, he always found a way to break her heart.
A/N: And here I go once again from writing crack to writing something depressing. This is kinda dark and fucked up, so you’re warned.

Barjnov, Rumekistan -- it was dark and silent. The streets around town square had been peculiarly quiet for weeks. Only the fluttering of leaves in the trees around the garden made any noise; everything else was still, blanketed with the black of the night and the thickness of fog. At one time, the area was busy and plentiful; patrons set up shops and people came to sit on benches and enjoy the scenery. Now it was a place of cold, suffocating pain. It was eerie and vacant -- it felt as though someone had died.

Someone did die.

“You bastard,” Domino’s voice came out choked and hoarse. It had already been seven weeks, but no matter how hard she tried she could not move on. This time it really hurt. It hurt more than she cared to admit.

He had died to save millions of people. He saved people he did not know, people that he had sworn to protect, and he saved her. Nathan Summers went down fighting in an explosive battle, just the way he always wanted.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” she muttered more to herself than to him. They had been so close. For years they had been friends, teammates, lovers; they had met and he had this insane amount of bullshit that he was always spewing off to her -- things about being from the future and preparing for wars and battles. So much stuff that sounded so absurd at the time. She had teased him relentlessly, but always followed him no matter what. For so long she questioned why she would put her trust in someone she didn’t know-- someone she had no reason to trust…

But she did know why.

It was a lonely and violent lifestyle they led; they lost people and friends all the time. Dear friends that she had to watch go down before her eyes; people who meant the world to her died at her own hands. It was so easy to turn to Nate just for that camradery, that understanding, for that last shred of humanity left in their lives. He had been there and it just clicked, or something.

“Fuck,” she stared up at the memorial statue. When had she gone so soft? When had things gone from being so casual to being so much more? She fucked up big time in that regard; she should have never gotten so close. He had let her down so many times before and she should have fucking known that he was going to come waltzing back into her life only to pull this shit one more time.

He’d promised.

He wasn’t supposed to die. She could have stayed on that stupid fucking island of his and just helped him fight. Just like she always had done, right by his side. But he had turned her away and given her his word that he wouldn’t pull anything stupid -- he said he wouldn’t kill himself.

He lied.

She took a shaky breath and stared hard at the stone face. Every single curve and imperfection on that flesh was engraved in her mind; so much so that she could easily say that the sculptors had not been very nice to his chin. It wasn’t square enough. That fucking statue-- what an ego inflator it would have been for him. She had heard so many people say that he would’ve liked it, that he would have been so appreciative.

But she knew better. Maybe if only for the fact that people were looking up to him and appreciating him -- then maybe he would’ve loved it. Nate was so secretive; his intentions were almost always seen differently than they were supposed to be. She could not even remember how many times people opposed him, or how many times people made a big deal of him doing something that was so insignificant to him. No one ever saw him for who he really was. For that genuine person he could be, and for that egotistical prick he was deep down inside. The jackass she couldn’t help but pursue even now, almost two months after death -- making her stand out alone in the dark.

Wind whipped her hair around her face; the temperature had dropped in the hours she had been standing there. It didn’t matter though. It was the same thing every night. A bottle of JD in one hand, and a gun in the other, and she would sit and watch this stone.

Because that one last shred of humanity was gone and she was stone, too.

“What the fuck do I do?” she muttered, not even knowing she said it out loud until after it left her lips. Another shaky breath escaped, and she took a long drink. “You lied, you fuck.”

The statue said nothing, naturally.

She did not expect it to, but the thought of getting answers was much too appealing. “I trusted you. God knows why the hell I would, but I did.” The face was so blank and still, and it angered her. “I did everything you asked me to!” her voice echoed harshly through the night, splitting through the deranged silence of the village. “You told me to leave!”

So fucking empty.

Angrily, she swung her arm back and threw the glass bottle as hard as she could; it spun off of her fingers and flew directly up in the air, spinning violently until it hit the strong curve of the statue’s chest. Glass rained down around her, and a big, wet splatter stained the concrete. Remnants of liquid and shards struck her face, but the merc didn’t dare move. She hid from nothing.

“You deserved that,” she spat angrily, one fist clenched angrily in her hair, and the other around her gun. “And you know it too. You fucking lied-- you make me think-- god…” she sighed and hated herself every fucking second she kept standing there and doing this to herself. She was not supposed to feel this way, even though it was so painfully obvious to her why she did.

That humanity he gave her still burned in her memories, and maybe even a little in her heart.

But without him she was just another crazy bitch with a gun. No family, no friends, no team -- everything she had she gave to him. Where did she go from there? There were too many questions. “Why couldn’t you’ve just let me fucking fight!” her voice rose to a near yell. “I fucking hate it when you act like my god damn hero!” her fists clenched. “I don’t need you to fucking save me, you prick.”

The wind carried the silence by her; tormenting her into further pain.

“You should’ve let me fight,” she whispered. “I could’ve helped you, or…”

He lied.

“I could’ve died,” she muttered, looking up into that motionless face. It was so cold. “I would have…with…you.”

The words burned on her tongue in a fit of rage. Her back ached she felt so enraged. Did she actually mean that? Would death be better than life without him?

Her violet eyes scanned the marker. “I couldn’t cry, you know. With…Milo…it was different. There was still something that let me. But when you died I couldn’t cry. Whatever let me do it before probably just died when you did, knowing me and my luck.”

She snorted at the concept of luck; it was all so damn contradictory.

“And you took it,” she hissed. “I’d bet that you knew you would, too.”

The silence taunted her.

Her lip twitched upwards as she raised the gun in the air; it seemed so heavy in her hand for the first time. She pressed the barrel against her temple; cold, hard metal shocked the chalk white skin there, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

One pull of the trigger and that would be it.

“How much would that piss you off, huh?” she spoke to the night air. “After fighting Apocalypse and horsemen, aliens, clones, mercs, mutants, humans…how much would it grate at your nerves if I just fucking ended it right now? By myself?”

Raising her thumb, she cocked the weapon. A loud click was heard; a sound she had heard so many times before, only this time it rang through her ears.

“I bet I wouldn’t get a fucking statue,” she whispered, eyes still closed. “You would’ve been the only person who woulda probably known or cared, too. Poor Domino, the lonely bitch who couldn’t live with herself…”

She let her eyelashes flutter open and she dropped the gun back down to her side.

“…and the coward.”

That would’ve hit him where it hurt, she knew. What a gutless way to die; she would have had no sacrifice, no fight for the greater good. There would be no grand result from her death and no one would hail her a hero. Some begger would have found her brains splashed against the rock of the boulevard, and the city workers would have had to scrap her up and dump her in a bag. They probably would have shipped her off back to the States or something.

The very worst possible thing she could’ve done, in Nate’s eyes.

She raised the gun in the air once more and pointed it at the statue. “Even in death you make me a coward, Nate.”

The blast rang out through the air, echoing madly off the bricks of buildings. A few dogs barked in the distance, and the sound of rock crumbling pierced her ears. She looked up; a dark, ugly hole decorated the left side of Nate’s chest - marking a blatant spot of imperfection on such a perfect hero.

“You take my heart, and I’ll take yours, you fuck!” she spat.

She didn’t feel any better.

Her grip loosened and her gun clattered loudly against the concrete below her feet. Slowly she lowered to the ground and sat beside it, fighting the urge to completely lose control. She sat, knees tucked up to her chest, and her forehead pressed tightly against the leather of her uniform.

She was lost.

“I…” she stammered, speaking into her thighs. “I never got to tell you…”

The wind picked up once more and howled through the trees. Morning would be there soon.

She raised her head and stared up to the face. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to say.

But she knew; she was not able to open herself up when she had that gift of humanity there with her -- by her side when she woke and when she breathed. He was gone and so was every possible opportunity she could’ve had to say it.

It died with him.

Tags: fanfic
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