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Wellspring Arms & Meditation Center, Sunday

It was a special kind of weekend.

And Cable paid meticulous attention to the radio.

He had not, in fact, been hiding. He'd just been waiting.

Today, he'd flipped the Open sign on the door. If she was going to show up, it was going to be before the weekend was over.

He settled back. And waited.

[ open ]

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Before the angry redheaded reporter gets him.

Unless you are an angry redheaded reporter.

It had only taken two nights on the island to work up enough righteous fury to go and finally talk to him. Two nights, one very bizarre breakfast with Deadpool and looking at a psimitar in her hotel room far too long.

"You! You- you-" She was finding it hard to get past just that one word. But damned if it didn't have all of the frustration and anger over his latest little escapade packed nicely into that one short word.

And Nathan glanced up from the desk, undisturbed. As if he knew she was coming.

...

Of course he knew she was coming.

"Hello, Irene."

And that just served to up the annoyance. The mind numbing, word stealing annoyance. She was a reporter, words weren't supposed to fail her!

Her grip around the psimitar tightened as she stalked into the shop to slam it down on the desk. "What did you think you were doing?!"

Nathan glanced down at the psimitar, where it pushed down the mostly-empty paper. And then back up at the angry reporter. "Writing you a letter," he offered.

Irene stared down at the paper, trying hard to squash the feeling of nostalgia and that little bit of specialness it gave her.

She was angry at him and no letter was going to change that!

Maybe.

"You are?" She shook her head. That wasn't important! "You know what I'm talking about."

His eyes flicked momentarily to the front of the store, then back to her.

"I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner," Nathan said, "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s still watching for any trace of me. I had to secure the proper channels."

[ conversation NFB from this point. except maybe for the omnious thunder ]

She let out a huff of breath, not finding any flaws in that logic. But then, with Nathan, that could almost always be said. "Alright, I understand that. But... Deadpool? This island?"

"This island," Nathan affirmed. Not that it was ever that simple.

And she had thought working for him had been stressful. Irene pushed her glasses up to rub the bridge of her nose in annoyance. "And everyone back home?"

Getting anything out of Cable was difficult at the best of times; these were anything but.

"I can't go back right now."

Of course not.

"Do you have any idea how much I was offered just to write you obituary?" Irene asked with a sigh.

"Yes."

Of course he knew.

"You should take the deal."

Or course. Stupid question.

"That's not the point! You died!" Again.

"I got better." Because, of course, Nathan just had to be utterly reasonable. "But they don't need to know that. For the moment."

Irene sighed. Someday she'd stop associating idiotic mercenaries and mutant messiahs.

"How long?"

"Until I fix this."

Ah, details. Who needed them.

Which, for Cable, could mean a few days or a few years. Wonderful.

And there was that headache again. "What should I tell-" Her face took on a slight strained look. "-Dom."

You could notice a little twinge of emotion around the eyes, if you knew him well.

"..." Nathan glanced away for a moment. "...Don't tell her anything." He couldn't deal with that right now. "It's too much of a risk."

And Irene knew him better than most people still alive.

She didn't even bother to fight the urge to roll her eyes at him. "She'll find out eventually."

"I'm counting on it."

Nathan got up from the desk, walking towards one of the showcases. He opened it with a click, pulling out a little package of something from underneath the - exceptionally large and dusty - gun within.

"Of course you are," Irene muttered. One of these days she was going to throw up her hands and leave after one more cryptic comment like that. One of these days.

Thankfully for him, it wasn't now.

"There's a group of Believers operating out of Oregon," he said, pointedly ignoring the comment. Nathan turned around to face her. "I need you to take this to my safehouse in the area. They'll take care of it."

Looking at the package, Irene just sighed. Of course she would do it, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

"Oregon?" Couldn't have been New York, no. "Fine, fine."

He nodded. "Thank you, Irene." And smiled. Just a little. "The elections went quite smoothly, don't you think?"

Irene nodded, leaning against the desk. "They did." Be he probably planned it that way.

"I'm a little worried about her water policies."

He put the package down next to her, by the psimitar. Then Nathan picked up the weapon, reaching out with what little TK he still had--

And watched it light up for a moment.

The smile got just a little bigger. Vaguely smirk-like, really.

Irene looked up, alarmed. "Deadpool said you were burned out," She said, eying the psimitar.

"Wade says a lot of things." To put it mildly.

He gave the weapon a twirl. Sorry, manly turn.

Heaven save her from macho idiots.

"So he was wrong?" Irene continued on, not about to take no on this.

"Not entirely," Nathan said, dropping his arm to bring the weapon into its old, comfortable position by his side. "My powers aren't gone, just severely weakened."

Which might be a blessing.

Irene nodded, filing that information away. Not that it would be for anything Nathan wouldn't already have planed out.

"I expect a letter," She told him, grabbing the package. "And... be careful."

He just smiled at that one. With just the slightest hint of sadness.

'Careful' was one thing Cable couldn't afford to be.

"It was good to see you, Irene."

Which was why he needed to be, damn it.

Irene's features softened. "You too."

Modding laws are applicable.

Oh, Irene.

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Wellspring Arms & Meditation Center, Sunday

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Meditation Room

OOC