X-Men: Cochise

Disclaimer: Characters portrayed in the following are not mine and I did not create them.

*

Cochise:

They breached the pastoral wilderness of the Verde River, floating downstream until the borders of Cottonwood. The water, relatively calm, reflected the sun's noon rays in diamond sparkles, creating a glorious glass palace between the banks. Wind stroked its way through Theresa's red hair as she stood at the bow of the raft.

'Don't rock the boat, Therry.' James said, angling the oar from side to side.

On the horizon, in the red heat of desert mirage, rocky spires jutted from the mesa and beneath their looming presence full green poplars fed off lapping waters. Where there was a break in the tree line, stools and gas stoves left out by Valley elders were being prepared for unlucky fish. The route would lead them parallel to the Black Hills and their evening camp site on the side of Mingus Mountain.

'I've never seen anything so beautiful, Jimmy. It's like we're the last people on Earth, and this is what we've inherited.'

With the temperature for shorts and bandana, the two X-Forcers were swept along by gradual sculling and into the breeze sailing downriver with them. Freedom from being at the edge of civilisation and isolated in sky-blue and deciduous wilds revitalised the Bay Area natives.

'Wait til we sit under the stars. When you're on top of the hills and there's nothing between you and space; that's what peace is. Serenity and meditation, the things we did at the reservation -- old Western Apache ceremonies -- they were always in the hills, round the fires under the stars.'

The raft, an inflatable tarnished with the dirt road dust carried their equipment and sparse supplies, Theresa letting James take the load on his back as he had the strength of ten men. There were the few pots and pans, plastic plates and cutlery you couldn't cut a worm in two with, pins and ropes for the climbing that James was renowned for. Boots and rolls of socks, soap and sponges to bathe in the crystal depths if they could stand the temperature and a coolbag to maintain eggs, butter, sausages, tomatoes, bread, carrots and beans. They were going to be away for two nights and in this, their second day, a hole had appeared in the tent lining leading them to consider sleeping out under the stars. Their destination was the confluence of the Verde and the Salt and the Gila, where they could be picked up once they had sailed into Phoenix.

The chemistry between Theresa and James was strong. She found herself wondering why she agreed to venture into his home counties when the two of them had shown restraint in the past. Their friendship meant everything to her, his support early on in the life of X-Force one of the only anchors she had to family affairs spiralling way out of control. Alcoholism and the truth of the uncle that drove her to it were ugly things she wore for a long time after sobriety gave her back some normalcy. Ties to the family never seemed so frayed than when her father made a bid for closeness and was promptly rejected by a confused and angry adolescent.

Suffering as she had, James Proudstar was always a stalwart figure for her admiration. Originally jaded and vicious, James was a poster-child for teenage angst. The death of his brother John early in the X-Men's years meant misdirected fury at Charles Xavier and his ideals. When the native reservation and home were consumed in the fire, James spent much of his later years defining himself through rage. Quick to anger and quick to pick a fight, he was the perfect tool for the wrong school in Emma Frost's Hellions.

Back then, James was the man of blood.

But the view of the past is always corrugated by memory and opinion. Perhaps James seemed less threatening because even on the wrong side Theresa was attracted to him. Once the cloud of pain and hurt dispersed, James no longer held the name "Warpath". He had found himself back on the path so many children continue down, and the opportunity to make peace with his ghosts meant that years down the line, he was searching for who he was, to be greeted this time by something pleasant and beneficial. Something caring and honest. Something that made him a man he could be proud of.

Perhaps that was the quality that was calling to Siryn from afar. The chemistry existed in the similarities. Orphaned from the world, it was easy to be hate-filled. The stupid thing was, hate gnawed at you until it ate itself.

She let the glory of the sun shine down on her face, behind closed eyes all the reds and oranges of a rainbow. 'I want to be free!' She shouted, doing a Titanic at the bow.

James stared into the diamond waters and watched a school of fish dart under the passing of the raft. They moved in perfect formation, difficult to tell one from the other. He angled the oar to the right and carefully pushed the two of them away.

***

When X-Force was rooted in the Adirondacks, James was a bastard.

Distraught, still, over the death of his friends and family and feeling totally alone he lashed out and simultaneously retreated into himself. He was a cauldron and sat in his lodging or went out in the fog and the dew and broke stumps until his skin cracked. The others were not sure how to approach him and the petty contempt he had for Cable, whom James held responsible for Stryfe's continued plaguing meant he was a territorial and violent student. Discipline was not something James could have thrust upon him. He was not rebellious but lazy in the exercising of his capabilities. Brute force although practised by Cable was not enough in a situation, and as much as was drilled into him, James' inherent powers leant his stonewalling attitude a weight immovable by not only himself but everyone else as well.

It was self-discipline the Apache needed. It was self-confidence lacking. Without a stable mind, James was destined to grind himself to dust in a groove familiar to his teachers. The turmoil prevented him from getting on with life, and therefore as much as he fought against Cable, Domino, Theresa, Sam and the world he would never rise above the pain. Maybe he didn't want to. Letting go of the anger was losing his sense of self. If everyone knew him as a bastard, that was what he was. Maybe he didn't know how to be anything else. Perhaps he didn't want to be. Which is what made the memory of this so mouldy and horrid.

Door opens.

Theresa.

Nonchalant. Team-leader. Effort to care for everyone.

Waste.

'James? I've printed an INV for you.'

'Great. Yeah, thanks for that.'

'Cable's doing the rounds, I just thought you might want to be prepared.'

'Thanks. That's great. I'll take that back to my quarters tonight and look at it, and when I've looked at it and read it, I'll frame it so that every day I can look at it and read it and think wow, this is how I'm doing and can't everyone see how good I'm being by remembering it.'

'Don't be flippant with me, boyo, I'm doing you a favour.'

'No really, thanks a lot. I need this to gauge my worth. You're doing me a big help.'

'Just because you don't think it's useful doesn't mean Cable won't. Personally I think it's better to be up to date on your ratings when your boss comes round so if he asks you something, you're not standing there with your dick in your hand!'

'If he does ask me something I'll tell him: sorry Cable, but we've been busy all day busting our butts in the training room for you and while I'm wiping the dust and the grime off my knees and my ass I haven't had time to peruse your oh so significant student reports. Your majesty.'

'And what about all the time during the rest of the week when we're not training, huh? What about when I come in here and you're on your arse burning candles?'

'How much do you want to bet he doesn't ask us a single thing on that sheet, Siryn?'

'I'm not going to bet on anything --'

'How much?'

'I'm just trying to do you a favour, you little toe-rag.'

'Fuck off. Don't.'

Door opens.

Alone.

Angry.

Team-member.

Effort to care non-existent.

In the now, James poked the fire.

Their tent with the hole in the top was pitched on the side of Mingus Mountain with a little gas stove redundant next to it and a ring of stones surrounding the burning logs and bracken. James learnt early how to build a fire the right way. A tipi tripod was used as the basic formation. His father had said it was easy to latch the log legs together if he used a clove hitch knot.

'The running end, Jimmy, must be on the inside of the loop, then you go round the poles again and tuck the end of the twine underneath the crossing and pull!'

Sticks and chips off logs were piled in a compact heap in the middle of the tipi. Small kindling was used to surround the structure and then bigger bits and pieces on top of that. Eventually the stable structure would collapse in on itself but by then the flames would be rampant. To keep it going he would need a good supply of logs. Thankfully, though the Black Hills could be barren, the spot they chose was rife with nature's cast-offs.

As the sun was disappearing under the edge of the painted desert, the sky flowered pink and blue.

'Will you look at that!' He heard Theresa shout from the stream. She was looking at the contrails left in the atmosphere from aerial manoeuvres forty thousand feet up. Amid the cirrus clouds they criss-crossed until the salmon sky ate them up; a sad sight, something so pretty and delicate dissolving into the ozone.

He stole a look her way, the contour of her bare back just visible behind the leaf shields of a small poplar. The trickle of water was faint, but he heard the splashes on her skin and the little yelps she made as she became sensitive.

Should he really have been looking?

The prescience of the fire spoke to him of nothing. He didn't know what to. For a long time, he held a torch for Theresa as long as his arm. She was his companion, his friend, a confidant. She was beautiful. Freckles and long smooth bright red hair. He wanted her so badly for all that time, but recently with all that had happened with Whitecloud, their travel's away from Cable and Risque...

He invited her along because they were best friends. All he wanted now was to see her happy. A life of honour, respect and courage were the things his soul aspired for now. No more the anger. He wanted the love, and he had the power to make it so. He was a good man in a good fight. They both were, and everything Theresa deserved, she should have.

'Have you seen my towel, Jimmy?'

Thoughts circled inside. Responding that time in the Adirondacks with such vicious disrespect. His harshness at a helping hand. What a foul thing to do, to be like. Why had the anger become him? It wasn't just a part of his personality, a temper. He was rage. All the time. A chemical imbalance his brain acclimatized to.

People said to him: 'The anger that once defined you... it's not there anymore.'

Good. Let him stamp it out. Burn it away with goodness, with purity, with love and understanding. Let him be the paladin.

'All the heroes I know are dead.' Whitecloud said.

Not yet, he thought.

'I said: have you seen my towel, Jimmy?'

He shut out the hypnotism of the flame. The fire of her hair stopped him instead. She had the towel wrapped around her body, one hand keeping it that way. Drops of water rested on her exposed skin.

'Looks like you found it.' He said.

She got goose pimples.

'Aye.'

She sat next to him, outstretched palms absorbing tearaway heat from the fire ring. The sun let out the last of its fading red and sank in the west. Birds flew across the sky. It was balmy.

'I need to tell you something.' He said.

'What?'

'I need to tell you that I'm sorry for the way I was back then.'

She batted him. 'Don't be ridiculous. That's all in the past.'

'No, I've been thinking about it. It's not okay. It may be in the past but I haven't been able to put it past me.'

'We were all angry then. That's one of the reasons you were separate from the X-Men. Cable wanted a bunch of violent troops to combat the threats of the new millennium. What did he say? "I'm the right man to train the X-Men of Tomorrow because I've been there?"'

'No, I don't mean that. I mean the way I treated everyone. The way I treated you.'

She put her arms around his shoulders, cheek to cheek.

'I was scum, Therry. All I could do was be rude and arrogant, and throw everyone off me even though they were trying to help.'

'Ha -- and what about me and my drinking? How do you think I feel about that?'

'Yeah... but... we're not talking about you.'

'Do you want to get into it?' She said. ''Cos I could tell you things I felt about how I was...'

'No, I didn't want to dredge up that...'

'That's what I'm saying, James. We've all done things we're not proud of, especially you and me. If all we ever did was feel guilty we'd never get out of the wheel spin. Don't think I don't know how bad you feel, 'cause I do.' She flicked her finger to and fro. 'We feel the same.'

He ushered her away from the ring. 'Don't burn yourself -- look -- let me just say how sorry I am for acting the bastard when I didn't know what else to do.'

'No, you didn't know any better. Now you do, you're not doing it anymore. That's the difference. You didn't do it as a last resort, you did it because you were foolish, and couldn't see past the hurt.' She cocked her eyebrow. 'Leave it alone Jimmy, it's not worth going over. All dead and buried. Yeah?'

'...Yeah.'

Leaning over to kiss him on the cheek she got to her knees and brushed off the grit of the pebbles.

'Let's cook something.'

'Okay.'

She hugged him.

'What do you want?'

***

And into the dimensionless mists of flame they gazed. Two bowls at the rim of the ring, thick polystyrene and easy to clean. The waft of cinders and kindling filled the air, crackling fat dripped from skewers to sizzle. It wasn't much of a meal, but they had eaten less and still survived the next day. The temperature was down on midday, but warm enough to entice rogue mountain mosquitoes and moths caught in the afternoon breeze. Warm enough for night dress.

James lay on his back, the wisps of grass through fine pebble powder tickling his bare shoulder blades. While Theresa tended to the collapsing tipi infrastructure he watched the twinkles of space form the patterns his memory knew.

'They don't look like animals to me.'

'They're only rough guides, son. Sailor's used them to navigate between the shores of far-off lands.'

'What's the biggest one there is?'

'The Argo Navis -- the ship Jason used to steal the Golden Fleece. It's not around anymore.'

'Did it sink?'

'Yes, son. They sank it. And all the souls went down with it.'

'Look at the stars, Therry. Just look at them.'

In the depths they sat, waiting for the day when man would come looking. Isolated and far far away.

She lay on the ground next to him, his body hot from the fire. His face was a little flushed and his hair dusty.

'What am I looking at?' She placed a hand over his chest. Felt his breath. The rumble of the heart valves.

'The swan, Cygnus. The Northern cross. The way they all fit together. If you align three of the stars in three separate constellations,' he said 'you get a triangle in the sky. At summertime it's directly overhead. Facing downwards.'

'Where... which constellations?'

'You see that,' finger in the air 'that one shaped like a stunted tadpole. You see...? It's called Lyra, after the instrument.'

'Hmm?'

'Greek, "lyre", a stringed instrument like a lute. It was thrown in the river by a group of women angry at this guy Orpheus' celibacy. Zeus sent an eagle to pick it out and put it in the sky.'

'Celibacy?' She said.

'Then Zeus ordered that the eagle stay up there too, so you have Aquila to the southeast. It looks like a compass needle with a tail.'

'I see it. Not like the eagle on your back is it?'

'Heh. No.'

The fire spat and popped.

She raised herself on her elbow and stared at his features. Strong jaw, defined cheek bones. Similar to Dani. The glow cast shadows of her resting arm on his chest. She saw his skin bump up. 'Why have you got that tattoo?' She asked.

'It's a mark of puberty. A rites of passage; the honour of bringing down one of the buffalo with my hands.'

'With your hands? They didn't think the appearance of mutant powers a rites of passage then?'

'They knew about it, but instead of tranquilizing and tagging the buffalo like the other children, I had to wrestle it to the floor. John did it, and I did it later.'

'I thought there weren't many buffalo left.'

He stared back into the sky.

'There are some near Raymond. North of here.'

'Why an eagle and not a giant fluffy cow then?'

'Why do you think?' He grinned. 'Eagle eye. Lord of the skies. Tremendous respect.' He balled a fist and thumped it on his right lung.

She laughed and leant in to kiss him quickly on the cheek.

She stopped and there was silence save for the loose crackle of burning wood.

They watched each other's eyes. Searching for a message. Searching for the restraint. That shake inside.

A crooked smile overtook her lips. Theresa laughed and sat up.

'Er. Sorry.'

'What for?' He asked.

'For giving you a peck on the cheek. We're friends, James. I feel inappropriate. We're friends. Aren't we?'

A corona surrounded her head. The blaze of her red locks draped over her shoulders. Skin glowing.

'I care for you,' he said 'more than I've cared for anyone ever.'

Mystical. A silhouette. The spirituality of the open mountain sky and coyote fire.

'I know you do...'

'I don't want to ruin anything, Therry.'

'I know you don't.'

It didn't help things in her head her watching him work his oar all day in the reflection of her Ray Bans. Did she know solidly how she felt about him?

Was she sure that she needed to find out? Tonight? Right now?

Her head said yes but her heart said no. Take the first step. Take it or she would regret it. 'Aye...'

Hands on his legs, his knees, a tremble. The uncertainty. What was he ruining, what were they ruining that was so distant from this?

The awkward smile on her lips was falling away. A pout borne from deep instinct replaced it. This was what he had dreamt of for so long. His feelings hadn't gone away in all this time, they were submissive to the contentment of being near her. It was enough that she be around him all the time. What was he spoiling? Isn't this what he wanted? Wasn't it her that he wanted?

'Theresa...' He whispered, but she knelt up and then falling into his arms came to rest on his chest, hands pressing gently at his firm pectorals while her lips moved with his. They kissed not with urgency but tenderness and respect, eyes closed and heartbeats in synchronicity. He brushed the red away from her shoulder, caressing the exposed skin and then thinking twice as the strap of her cotton vest slipped down whether he should be pushing things. He was being considerate precisely because Risque wasn't. She was savage and wild. His respect for her was non-existent. Theresa didn't so much deserve his reverence; she deserved his love and attention. And as they lay next to the fire ring, basking in the shifting licks, their actions took on a life of their own. Autonomous, as if the process has worked itself over a lifetime of trials.

'Don't doubt, Jimmy,' she breathed 'I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't sure.'

He held her back suddenly.

'What about the past? Wade, Risque... our friendship.'

'Days and nights alone with you in the wilderness. You and me both know it's what we wanted.'

'Then why do I feel guilt?' He asked.

'Because you're a good man, and you like me too much to do otherwise.'