After years of pushing away men who she deemed unworthy, now she had found the perfect guy - the one who lived up to her impossibly high standards - and she was the one found wanting, unworthy.
With all the things she had been through, all the things she was dealing with, Cassie had to laugh aloud at the cruel justice the universe had dealt her.
Nate must have mistaken her outburst of ironic humor as a comment on his jutting predicament. She felt his embarrassment spike as he turned around and ran for the elevator. She watched his retreating backside as he high-tailed it for the exit.
Damn. He's got a nice ass too.
CHAPTER 19
By the time Cassie emerged from the cavern's elevator and returned to the upper level of the building he called his home, Nate had managed to reclaim both his composure and clothing. When she found him in his workshop, he was wearing a pair of sweat pants and a stained sleeveless tee shirt, the kind of thing one might grab out of the dirty clothes pile without much thought except covering up. His embarrassment, a sensation she understood well, still lingered underneath.
"Good news,” he said, either unwilling or unable to meet her eyes. “The readings are solid, and I think I've got a good handle on what kind of energies you're channeling. I’m running some calculations on resonance frequencies to dampen or nullify the energies you project. I, uh, think I can come up with a blast-proof uniform fabric, too."
"So, you've figured out how to eliminate my powers then?" she asked.
His expression didn't change, and he didn't utter a word, but she already knew the answer. Would she ever get used to reading other people's emotions before they spoke, of knowing how they felt before they decided whether or not to lie to someone they cared about?
That deep thought made her reflect. This empathy of hers, the ability to feel what others were feeling, would have really come in handy growing up. What would high school have been like if she had known the popular girls were probably as insecure as she was? Could she have worked past their need to build themselves up by knocking others down and found common ground for friendship?
Would she have dated her first boyfriend, the smooth-talking ass-hat who had lied his way into a naive sophomore's pants with professions of eternal love, robbing her of... What? Her virtue? She was fairly certain that wasn't what she felt. She knew he had stolen something. It definitely felt like something had been taken. Was it her naivety? Her faith in True Love? No, she had never really been naive, and she hadn't ever given up on meeting someone special. No, what that boy had stolen was the last vestige of her trust. The erosion of her faith in others started when her parents promised to come back, and then didn’t. But that boy’s betrayal, the breaking of her teenage heart, was the capstone on the wall of her cynicism. From that day forward, every guy who asked her out found himself under a microscope. That wariness had contributed to her current state of loneliness and need.
Or was it just an excuse?
Then there was Martin. What if she had been more trusting, more open to his advances? That wouldn’t have worked out well at all. So, maybe her trust issues shouldn't be so easily dismissed. Without all the assholes in her life she would never have come to this instant, where she was asking this beautiful, honest man to do something she desperately wanted, and to actually feel his conflict - his pain and his relief - at his inability to do something that he truly felt was wrong. No matter how much he wanted to please her, to win her over, it was more important to him to do the right thing - for her - even if it pissed her off.
"No," he said.
Her laugh must have startled him. He couldn't have expected her to take this lightly, that much was clear. She walked right up to him and laid a hand on his cheek, on his scarred left side, and smiled.
"Well, that's that then."
She kissed him. Not a deep, soulful kiss. Not the kiss she wanted to give him. It was only a peck on the lips. She didn't want to think of it that way, but it was the kind of kiss that she might have given Martin after that first, weird date. It wasn't an invitation to more - to more time together, more conversation, more intimate moments - to more kisses. No, it was a kind of goodbye. She didn't want to hurt him, but he deserved better than her. She knew that she'd have to be careful as she built him back up not to lead him on. He needed to come to the decision on his own that they weren't meant for each other. He deserved to move on with his dignity intact. She owed him that much.
She walked over to one of his workbenches, where the pieces and parts of one of his projects lay arrayed like an exploded diagram in a text book. It turned out these gadgets were the source of Nate’s income, sold through his deceased father’s engineering company. Using proxies and shell corporations, Nate had managed to keep control of that business even though, as a ‘non-human’, he wasn’t able to claim it as his inheritance.
"This looks interesting," she lied. Once again, she was grateful he didn't have her empathic ability to sense insincerity. She was sincere, in a manner of speaking. It was only her interest in his gadgets that was feigned. Fortunately, he rose to the bait she offered.
"It's supposed to be an anti-gravity emitter. I got the idea from seeing you hovering that morning. It occurred to me that something that replicated your ability could be used to move heavy objects, or even keep planes from crashing. Anyway, it’s still in the theoretical stage, but maybe someday. Hopefully."
What she felt from him was a mix of optimism tempered by a healthy dose of honesty. He wasn’t willing to oversell his skills and ideas. As refreshing as that was in a world filled with braggarts and scammers, she was actually trying to engage him about something he took pride in. She wanted to rebuild his confidence after his ‘wardrobe malfunction’ in the cavern. They needed to put that behind them so she could begin the process of convincing him to let her down easy. She tried again, moving to another work table.
"What’s up with these boots? They're huge."
She knew in an instant that she'd found a winner. He was proud of this creation. It was a broad, expansive feeling.
"Rocket boots,” he smiled. “They let me fly fast, I mean even faster than normal. They’re for away missions.”
“Away missions?”
“One of the things the government expects of us is deploying to different locales when there's a disaster. I get called in for earthquakes and floods - anything where my strength or toughness are useful, or when they need a flyer for rescues. Once I got to rescue a team of firefighters trapped in a huge forest fire. That was so cool. Those guys rock.”
His pride in that feat was a glow in her perception. Flying into a firestorm was surely a cake walk for him, but that wasn’t the point. For Nate, heroism wasn’t about what he went through, what he endured - it was about the people he impacted. She could feel that his sense of accomplishment stemmed from having saved ordinary people who had braved extraordinary danger. He respected those firefighters, and his part in rescuing them was all part of a larger tapestry, a bigger picture where he was but a small cog. His sense of self humbled her.
“Anyway, it occurred to me that the sooner I got there, the more lives I could save. So, I built these. Eventually I'll add a direct brain interface, but for now they activate by pointing my toes. Point and shoot. Eventually I’ll add maneuvering control - like a Segway - so however I angle my body and legs, that’s the way I go."
He removed the clunky boots from the table and set them on the floor. He activated a small control stud on the clasps, and they opened, allowing him to step into them. Once his feet were inside, they closed again, and the lining inflated to conform to his legs and provide a snug fit. They were big, clunky things, even on his oversized frame. He looked ridiculous, but she wasn't about to tell him that.
"How fast can you go?" she asked.
"I got up to Mach 1.2 last month, a hair over 900 miles an hour. That's about four times my normal. The wind resistance is pretty fierce at that speed, like ‘peel your skin off’ fierce, so a non-invulnerab
le would have a hard time. Maybe a bubbler could handle it."
"A bubbler?"
"It’s a classification of exohuman abilities - someone who can create force-fields, you know - bubbles. You’ve never heard that one?”
Cassie smiled an apology. “Honestly, until a few days ago I really hadn’t paid much attention to exos. They’re, I mean you’re, crap, WE’RE categorized?”
“Yeah, there are about thirty categories of exohuman powers. Bubblers, Elementals, Blasters, Scrappers…”
Cassie found the whole idea distasteful, forcing everyone to conform to some grid of pigeon-holes designed by the government. She tried not to let her displeasure show in her face. Nate was warming to his topic and she couldn’t afford for him to mistake her reaction for rejection a second time.
“Most exos have a primary ability - like my strength - and a secondary power – in my case invulnerability. Slightly less common is having a third power that facilitates movement. Mine’s flight. Common combinations also have archetype names. For instance, I'm a Titan archetype – strength, invulnerability and flight. My inventions add Gadgeteer into the mix - Titan/Gadgeteer. Ironhorse had the strength and invulnerability combo, but he couldn't fly, so he was classified as a Tank. He could also run at near-supersonic speeds, making him a combination Tank/Speedster.”
“Sounds so dry and rigid. A compartment for everyone and everyone in their compartment.” Probably something the Nazis thought up. Despite her contempt for this systemization of individuals, she couldn’t help asking. “So, where do I fit in all this? What kind of label will they slap on me?”
Her indignity must have registered with him because his mood deflated a bit. Suddenly he took no satisfaction in helping her to understand this part of her new reality.
“You’re a Healer/Blaster combo with levitation for travel. Blasters deal in ranged damage. I'm not sure if your empathy is part of your healing, or if it's a form of mentalism. Your French friend is a Mentalist.”
She picked up an odd feeling from him when he mentioned Etienne. It was gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Is that what Ballantine is? A Mentalist?
“No. Ballantine falls under a category called Dominators. Very rare. Very dangerous."
The mention of Ballantine brought a dark cloud into the room. Nate unlocked the clasps on the boots and stepped out of them, placing them back on the table. She moved close to him, pretending to examine the boots. When he turned back, he found her proximity unsettling, showing it in the way he pressed against the table.
"Um, that reminds me,” he stammered, “I need to give you some flying lessons. You need to learn how to control your levitation ability. Otherwise I'll have to tie a string around your waist and drag you around town like a kid's balloon."
"At least warn me before we go so I don't wear a dress again."
That made them both smile. His embarrassment had been canceled out by the reminder of hers. It felt good to joke around with him, bantering like old friends. Their faces were close, and she realized she was tempted to kiss him again. She looked at his face, really looked at it. She reached a hand to touch it, the distorted left side. He almost flinched away. If not for her new awareness and the connection she had found to his emotions, she would have missed it. But he held his ground, allowing her touch, then accepting, and finally savoring it. His head turned slightly, and he kissed her palm.
Her senses shifted and she saw him clearly. She saw beyond the twisted flesh that skinned his perfect form. Superimposed on it was another face, youthful and handsome. This was the Nate she had met years ago, the shy nerd. Her fingers slid up to his drooped eyelid.
I can do this. I can give him this gift.
"Remember our conversation in the hospital, after Marissa's surgery? I wanted so badly to help with your scars, but you said I couldn't. All I could think of was how lonely you must be, locked away inside your helmet, hiding your face from everyone. It bothered me so much, even Etienne saw it on the surface of my thoughts when I first met him. Maybe that's why I've been given this gift, so I can take away your scars."
He took her hand and kissed it again. His eyes, so impossibly blue, were like pools she wanted to dive into. But his smile was wrong. She felt a sadness welling up in him.
"No."
At first, she thought she had misunderstood him, or maybe he misunderstood her. She stood there, stunned.
"Why not?"
That sad smile again, and he looked at her hand, held so tenderly in his.
"That day, I told you that this is who I am now. The truth is… This is who I have to be. This," he gestured to include not only his face, but his entire left side - "is the price I paid for my powers. I paid because I lived when others didn't that day. One of those was my father."
He took her hand and placed it in the center of his chest, where the scars ended a little past his breastbone. There in the center, was a small pattern in the twisted tissue. A star, the same eight-pointed symbol she’d seen on the Tarot card.
"L’etoile," Etienne had said. "The star. It symbolizes hope and possibilities, of healing and peace.
"When my parents were dating, he gave her a necklace with a star pendant. She wore it every day until she died. It was a car crash, while I was in grad school. After that, my dad wore it. He was wearing it right up to the moment he decided to sacrifice his life trying to save the rest of us. He left it behind when he locked himself in the reactor chamber. He hung it on the door for me to find."
She found her fingertips tracing the outline of the scar. His voice was soft in her ear, almost a whisper.
"I was wearing it when the super-heated chemical steam changed me forever."
Her inner vision showed her what he was trying to say. The pendant....
"It's still in there, a part of me forever, just like that terrible day will always be with me."
She felt the pain of his loss, scarred over and toughened like his flesh, but still sore and tender.
"I don't think your father would have wanted you to carry this burden because of him. I worked on your dad that time when you rushed him to the hospital, when his heart stopped. Do you remember that? Remember me?”
Nate’s nod was colored with a blush. She got the impression that he remembered their first meeting very well.
“Big Jim Gorman they called him. He was a tough old bastard, and I could tell you two didn’t always get along, but he loved you. I think he only wanted the best for you. He'd tell you to take this chance at a normal life. Well, whatever passes for normal for people like us, anyway."
Nate smiled a little, but she felt the heaviness in his heart.
"My old man was always telling me what he thought I should do, pushing me. I don't know if you saw it back then, but I was pretty much a wimp. I hated making decisions, especially if it involved other people. Dad, on the other hand, was a born leader, bigger than life and twice as stubborn. He couldn't understand why I wasn't more like him. Afterwards, eventually, I did become like him. I found the strength he always knew was inside of me. And these scars are part of that change."
He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing them once more.
"You look at me and you see someone you like. You think you're looking beyond the scars, but actually they're part of who I am, why I am. If you take them away, then maybe I'll be the old Nate again, the one that you never gave a second thought about. The one that couldn't save anyone, not even himself."
She pursed her lips, taking in his twisted logic. She didn't agree with him. His personality, his strength of character wasn't dependent on his deformity. But she couldn't force him to accept her healing. A gift should be freely accepted, or it was no different than what Ballantine did to his victims.
Then she realized he wasn't as tall as he should be. Her face was level with his. They both looked down, at her feet, which were dangling almost a foot off the floor. He grasped her gently by the shoulders and lowered her to the floor again.
"I think
that flying lesson needs to happen sooner rather than later."
*
The lesson that night turned out to be one of the most enjoyable evenings she'd had in, well, ever. Cassie was a bit disappointed to discover she couldn't actually fly. All she could do was hover and move at a leisurely pace, but at least she learned to control it. She and Nate went up high over the sleeping city, where she practiced loops and spins. She even learned to 'cut power' and dive like a hawk zooming after its prey, then brake by reactivating her hovering power. The first time she tried it, with Nate flying right beside her for backup, had been terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
She couldn't believe how easily the control had come to her, especially after spending an entire night floating helpless. She credited Nate's teaching with the ease of her learning. He had a way of explaining things - visualizations and mental tricks to train the pathways in her brain. He'd explained that all exo abilities originate from the mind. The mind of an exo imprinted the nature of their abilities into their bodies during Emergence. Even abilities as physical as his strength were products of the mind and could be improved with the proper mental training.
She could have floated there all night with him, under a canopy of stars, listening to him talk. But after a day filled with exertions and discoveries, she found her eyelids drooping. Without a word, Nate scooped her up in his arms and carried her home to bed. This time she was awake enough to wish him a goodnight before he headed off to bed down on the couch.
Only after he was gone did the tears come.
CHAPTER 20
The pieces were starting to come together for Bill Walsh. Nate's deep analysis of the altered financial data had been the clue he needed. Since the changes couldn't be connected to Ballantine, these latest revelations didn't help with the legal case. They did give them a glimpse into what he was trying to accomplish, and it really was a butt-load of money at stake here.
Burden of Solace: Book 1 of the Starforce Saga Page 15