Disclaimer: Naturally, all characters and the universe
belong to Marvel and no financial gain is expected
from this story. Many thanks to Mitai, who inspired
the story, provided an incredible line to put in it,
and is drawing the picture whose image the story was
written to surround. Thanks also to Alicia for her
help with Cable.

"Second Sun"
Persephone

-----------------------

Scott's head jerked up as one final crash and
explosion shook the ground. The battle was over. It
should have been over before; he'd thought it was
until the last of the renegade Shi'ar fleet limped
over the rubble-strewn field and plummeted to Earth in
a final kamikaze strike. It failed. A few ships had
come, unbidden, to strike down the "Chaos-Bringer" –
not realizing that Jean, if ever she had been, was no
longer the Phoenix.

He still didn't know what Stryfe had been doing there.
It had been a shock when he showed up, more of one
when he fought on their side. Of course, the fact that
the Shi'ar had been broadcasting demands for the
Chaos-Bringer's blood – and the fact that Stryfe had
been in as much danger from the blasts as anyone else
– probably had something to do with that last. Cable
had been patently disgusted at having to fight
alongside his clone, but not enough so to ignore the
immediate threat... 

They had made a surprisingly good team. By all normal
logic, a battle between a few dozen individuals, even
super-powered ones, and a small fleet of armored and
high-firepower air-to-space ships should have been a
resounding victory for the fleet. But these were the
X-Men (mostly) and the X-Men were family, and normal
logic did not necessarily apply. Strategy did, though,
and had been well applied indeed. It had taken hours,
and brought the team and their unexpected ally near to
exhaustion, but the ships had been forced to land,
maneuvered into the ground, tricked into destroying
each other, or – in a few memorable and somewhat
disturbing cases – crushed or torn apart in midair by
blindingly bright golden tendrils.

Scott caught his breath, recalling one startlingly
vivid flash from Jean's mind: Stryfe loomed over her,
adding his strength to hers -- his telekinetic shield
reinforcing her own against a shot that should have
been deadly. Scott cringed internally at the thought
of what that beam would have done if it had broken
through, as Jean had known it would break through her
unaided shields. Still clearer than the crash of an
energy beam against the combined shield, than her
brush with death, was the peculiar expression on
Stryfe's face as he stared down at her...

Jean was fine. One swift mindtouch had been enough to
reassure him of her safety. That last desperate ship
had fallen nowhere near her. The momentary, unguarded
telepathic shriek of agony had come from the opposite
direction – and it was in that direction that Scott
sprinted, trying desperately to prepare for what he
knew he would find.

His heart racing, Scott tore over scarred ground and
past smoking wreckage until he glimpsed a flash of
familiar, still-bright metal. Seconds later, heedless
of the shards grinding into flesh on impact, he
thudded to his knees beside his son. 

The ground was darkly wet. Blood. Far too much of it.
The ground was red anyway, to Scott, but this was the
wrong red, deeper, soaking the dirt and turning it
black, the odor heavy on the air. No chance, the
analytical part of his mind told him, no chance of
rescue now. Too late, it said. He cursed it, silently,
viciously, as his vision blurred with tears that
wouldn't quite fall.

Stryfe stirred, looking up and blinking as his eyes
refused to focus. Scott stared back into mismatched
eyes and features he saw almost daily on another man.
The helmet was broken; the glittering pieces of the
mask had fallen away with an irritable motion of
Stryfe's head. The glint of light from Stryfe's left
eye was dull, a half-hearted mimicry of the usual
sun-gold blaze. Scraps of bright metal and the strange
dull synthetics of the Shi'ar vessel's exploded fuel
tank littered the ground or dug into the flesh of a
body as surely broken as the armor that had failed to
protect it.

Apparently Stryfe had also thought the battle was over
moments too soon. Scott cringed as his testing hands
discovered that most of the bones in the left half of
Stryfe's body had shattered with the impact from the
explosion. Trembling, he tried to stanch the blood
from the worst of the wounds.

"Oh, stop it." Stryfe's voice was a faint rasp. Scott
saw him swallow twice, convulsively, before he
continued. "There's no point and we both know it." 

Scott watched blood spurt even between his pressing
fingers and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before
gazing again at Stryfe's face. #So like Nathan... if
only...# His lips tightened at the thought. #If only
we'd been able to save him.# He tried, fumblingly, to
reach out mentally and met only an implacable wall. "I
can't just—" His voice broke.

Stryfe laughed harshly. His voice was clearer now but
still rough. "What, no smile? No celebration? Don't
hide your elation on my account, *Slym*. Don't pretend
to regret the death of the son you never accepted!" 

Scott flinched back; it couldn't have hurt worse if
Stryfe had somehow found the strength to seize a
jagged shard of the metal strewn on the ground and
twist it into his heart. The tears did fall then,
tickling by the edge of his visor until they found
their way out and spilled down his face. He bowed his
head and watched them splash in the blood covering his
hands.

The blood covering his hands. It was true; there was
no use in putting pressure on the wounds now – the
blood already lost would have to be restored and
Stryfe would probably be dead before a transfusion
could be of help, even if one could be begun
immediately. "Stryfe, I..."

Stryfe tried feebly to wrench away, hissing, "Don't
even try! It's too late – too late for any false
regrets, too late to save my life." He coughed, and
glared. "If there were the slightest chance it would
help," he stopped to swallow. "You wouldn't even be
making that -- token  effort to stop the bleeding, so
give it up!"

"Yes. I. Would." Scott took a deep, shuddering breath,
and reluctantly conceded his battle with the welling
blood. He moved to cradle Stryfe's head and shoulders,
lifting him very gently to ease a sudden coughing fit.
Stryfe finally caught his breath, wheezing, and tried
to scowl up at him, but his expression grew uncertain
as Scott's tears landed on his face. "Blazes, Stryfe,
do you really believe—you do, don't you? I swear, if
there were anything I could do..."

"You... never... *cared*!" A single tear traced a
jagged path across Stryfe's cheek, glinting in the
sun.

It wasn't even remotely fair, and Scott knew it, to do
such a thing to a weakened, dying telepath. That
didn't stop him from wrapping up every shred of
regret, every sympathy, every moment of the guilt and
longing that had torn his heart whenever he thought of
 the child he'd lost – and the anguish, when he and
Jean -- Redd -- had been unwillingly returned to their
own time, that had been almost as much for leaving
Stryfe there as for leaving Nathan – and thrusting the
emotions, the memories, against Stryfe's wavering
shield. The barrier gave way and Stryfe flinched as
his shields crumbled. Scott, now mindlinked to him,
winced as well before gasping in shock as Nathan –
tactfully remaining several steps back – somewhat
grouchily threw shields around both of the men on the
ground. He could still sense Jean, now finished
skimming through a telepathic roll call and injury
report, go abruptly alert and start in his direction.

Stryfe blinked up at him, his own tears now flowing as
freely as Scott's. "You... did." He closed his eyes
for a moment and tried one last time. "It's... too
late... for regrets."

"I know." Scott swallowed hard, trying to pour comfort
– or at least the sense that he would be mourned – to
his son across their tenuous link. He felt Jean,
rose-warm flooding their own rapport and her shields
wrapping them along with Cable's as she, tears burning
her own eyes, approached, reached out mentally... He
felt her gasp as transmitted pain shot through her,
driving her to her knees even as she blocked it away
from Stryfe and clutched desperately, determinedly to
hold the man's psyche to his failing body with her own
mind. He felt Stryfe's stubborn, lifelong belief that
no one cared, ever had or ever would care for him...
falter. "But if you try to tell me sorry has no
meaning..."

Stryfe made a noise that probably should have been a
laugh. Too weak now to speak, he sent, ~I'm *not*
Askani. Never was. And... it's better... than
nothing.~ 

*******

Cable stood at a distance, left eye blazing, blocking
outside telepathic "noise" from his father and his
clone as best he could. He had hauled Jean to her feet
and now supported her with one arm as she leaned on
him, weeping against his ribs. Through her sobs she
had murmured something muffled about being unable to
keep hold, to keep anchor... She was still trying.
Scott, in now blood-mottled blue and gold, knelt
cradling Stryfe's broken form. Sunlight gleamed
uncaringly off the ruby visor, the shattered armor,
the blood, the torn cape, the tears on both men's
cheeks.

Cable didn't particularly feel like crying.

Anxiety mounted to near panic as, despite his efforts
not to eavesdrop, Cable sensed Stryfe dying – and
Scott, still linked to him, beginning to fade. Jean's
mind held tight to them both, through her rapport with
Scott; she wasn't making any move to withdraw... ~Let
go, let him go! Oath, I know he helped, but he's not
worth both your deaths, stay with me...~ It took
nearly all his will not to send, not to say the words.
In the moment before he would have *had* to step in
and tear Scott free, Cable was stunned to feel Stryfe,
with his last breath and strength, close off the
mental contact and push their parents' minds gently
away. 

~I don't believe... he actually...~ Cable's mind
reeled with the realization of what Stryfe had done –
and the inescapable mindbrush that had told him
exactly how hard it had been to release that ached-for
comfort. He finally went, guiding Jean, to his
father's side as Scott's head bowed and his shoulders
shook harder with sobs.






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