There had only been time in the morning to ruminate, to think on what had been done, what could be done, and what would avoid the pitfalls that had befallen them every day since he had woken up three, five, perhaps even ten days ago in New Liberty. There had been plenty of variables, enough that it could have kept his head busy for days on end - days he wasn’t even sure he had - but in due time, the inevitable happened: He would fall asleep, get knocked out, blow himself up or be blown up, otherwise die or remove himself from the equation in an attempt to reset with hopes that something different would happen and it would break the cycle.

Nothing changed the course of events though: The humanoid roaches still came. They still got through the barriers. They still tried to imprison and change the humans living there. They still had to be led away which was never any real promise of safety, but gave the residents of New Liberty a chance to secure their gates again. They would still end up traversing urban abandon with roaches on their tails, and forward, ultimately, was the only way to push to keep away from them.

It had been a hard enough task with a baby, being tracked down by a mutant he didn’t know the whereabouts of for two years now, but having another person there, no matter how much he loved her, was another person to worry about and another mouth to feed and another weight that, while he was happy to carry, would slow them down. Unlike the little girl, she was a grown woman and while she could fend for herself in some measure, had likely for some time living in New Liberty, the town had only ever been peaceful since it had disappeared like a new age Roanoke. She hadn’t been outside of the town’s safety net which was an undoubtedly risky venture, but even as he contemplated the options throughout a day that was otherwise spent preparing for the inevitables, perhaps it wasn’t what happened in New Liberty that needed to be changed.

Perhaps it came much later when he had climbed the water tower to collect the little girl, when he had planned accordingly with the residents of New Liberty to lock the door behind them once he rescued his wife, when he had convinced her this wasn’t about him to get her to leave everything she had known behind, and they had all set out on that trek to nowhere on little food and so very little sleep just to keep the roaches away. It didn’t have to be in the town proper, but as he had found out, it had to be while he was awake and resetting was not an option - not that his body would listen to that when the days turned to weeks and even the most steadfast mind had to reset.

It was hard not to fall asleep while in such cherished company, a little girl and his wife for the moment safe in his arms, a temporary moment of peace he knew that he was going to have to fight for again as he felt his eyelids droop heavier and heavier.

Day 589.

At least the start of the day had been becoming routine, robotic, and Nate wasn’t pressing forward with new ideas so much as he was fine tuning what worked. Everything became quicker - getting his gear, finding the little girl, rescuing his wife, even bisecting the first cockroach who dared get in his way - even if it was just by seconds. It might not have seemed like much in the grand scheme of things, but every little second counted when each one could have such deep ramifications as death - of one, of the other or of all.

But it had come to this again, a makeshift razor returned to its original purpose as a knife at the click of a gun when the roaches had finally caught up. Nate realized his mistake much too late to stop what would inevitably come next as his weapon was kicked aside in exchange for a control collar that doesn’t quite get the response the roach wants. It is instantly a shock to his system, a fight for control over his mental landscape that isn’t so readily barricaded by abilities he’s only started to hone again with necessary use and practice, and somehow, despite all the odds against the collar of uncertain origin, the roach wins.

Thankfully, all it takes is a knife to Nate’s own side to stop him from making a grave mistake in the middle of nowhere; and even though it doesn’t save them from what may come next at the hands of the cockroach president and his minions, Nate is proud of the little girl as the knife twists. All she had done was protect her mother, giving them another chance even in the most heartbreaking way.

All she had done was save him.

Day 590.

He really had to stop shaving.

That had been a repeated mistake made for the sake of some normalcy, some hygiene, in a very unorthodox situation for a family to try and endure, but there had been a plan this time in Nate’s attempt to get the roaches off of their tails. He would let them think they got the upperhand; let them point a gun at his wife’s head to get him to surrender; let them pass on the collar so he could put it on, but Nate would be ready for the jolt to his system that would come next.

With orders to kill, there is only resistance. With orders to kill by way of his own two hands, the knife is left alone, and in the hands of a little girl who has watched her guardian time and time again dispose of the threats that dare try to harm her, the knife is the the thing to worry about - not the towering super soldier in a collar his wife can easily remove. Not that she wants to; for the first time, she says, maybe he’d list if she kept it on and Nate knows she’s right.

She’s always right.

“Australia got it first. Nukes. Nobody knows who started it - not even terrorists would take credit. Then just a year later came the Great European Water Panic.” With the tables turned, it is the roach’s turn to give them some answers, Nate keeping his hand on the trigger to the collar around the insectoid’s throat, no remorse given to the creature that had been tracking them down for some time now. How long, he doesn’t know, the repeating days screwing up his internal calendar enough to keep him off-kilter, but apparently there had been years between the present and the history recounted under not the threat, but the promise, of death.

“Followed by the South American wildfires and civil war in Africa and Asia.” One by one, each disaster had been recounted and the world was suddenly much, much smaller and Nate found himself swathed in uncertainty again: He had said once this wasn’t about him, but now, he knew it was. It was Bishop, cutting down the places Nate could go until North America had been the only place to go, providing Bishop a smaller section of the world to track through time.

The roaches stopped being a problem - at least for the moment - with disposal of their so-called president who held no claim to North America - no one did - but that didn’t mean they were out of the woods yet. All it takes is the right people with the right guns to go up against a tired, starving soldier and his family, and even though he does his best to incapacitate them, even if he does incapacitate most of them, there’s always that bullet that cuts through the spray to reach her and no amount of pressure stops the bleeding of passed through rounds.

There are only a few flowers to be spared for the burial site, a mix of purple and red hues that he isn't quite sure are natural, but unlike his former experience with this part of the loop where he had stood tall, strong, stable in light of such loss because there was still a mission at stake, Nate kneeled down with the little girl in his arms, bundled up in his robes to keep her shielded from the wind passing through. He doesn't show it as she mourns, but he feels everything unraveling amond the flash of heat behind his eyes, not tears but something far more powerful than the sorrow felt for a lost loved one, and Nate holds onto her a little tigher as if she had become grounding point in a sea of uncertainty of what was to come.

But he does know one thing, something his wife had nagged at him about time and time again in a voice that he could still hear, even now: Her name.

Hope.