Kashmir Waltz: The Enemy Walks In (Nathan, Gideon, Angelo)

[x-cable.livejournal.com]

Back at the hotel in Srinagar, Nathan is enjoying some quiet time watching the sun set over the Himalayas when his uncle appears. He and Gideon have what passes for a civil conversation. Gideon gives him the pieces of a puzzle that's been troubling him for months. It's not done out of the kindness of his heart.


He was not planning to have more than one drink tonight. The celebratory drinks back at Duncan's and the subsequent hangover had been more than enough for one week. Maybe for the month. Even if the Intercontinental's bar served a considerably better quality of alcohol, which it did. Seated at the bar, Nathan nursed his drink and watched the sunset over the Himalayas through the floor to ceiling windows. He'd have sat outside on the long, sweeping lawn like he'd done that first morning, but it was rather cool out there.

The bar was empty, or nearly. A couple of Chinese tourists were sitting over in a corner table, but otherwise, it was just him and the bartender. Hurray for the offseason. This was precisely what he needed, Nathan thought distantly. A little space and time to process the trip, to remind himself that it hadn't been a waste of time. There were other directions left to explore. If nothing else, he would take this as a lesson in how the direct approach wasn't always the most fruitful.

It was the deliberate tickle in the back of his mind that warned him. A courtesy approach, one might think perhaps, judging from the way the man Nathan looked up to see was standing easily ten feet away from him, waving off the suddenly fawning waiter while apparently waiting for Nathan to look at him.

Nathan stared for a long moment at his uncle, his mind turning slowly over the possibilities. Gideon. Here. In Kashmir. Okay then. With a casualness that, surprisingly, wasn't entirely feigned, he looked back out at the sunset, raising his glass to his lips to take another sip. "You'll pardon me if I don't get up," he said, finally.

"Oh, obviously," Gideon replied pleasantly, flicking his fingers absently in the waiter's direction - both a dismissal as well as something along the lines of ordering 'the usual drink' if the man's reaction was anything to go by.

Nathan noticed the familiarity of the gesture. "Lovely view, isn't it?" He should have been getting up, doing... something, but he was tired, and Gideon wasn't provoking any kind of a precognitive ping tonight. "Lovely view, lovely hotel... I'm not in the mood to do any property damage, so I'll just observe that you have an unusual choice of vacation spots. First Chad, now here."

"Well, a man in my line of work travels a fair bit," Gideon replied amiably enough. The barman slid in before them, a bottle of San Pelligrino (on ice) and a tall glass (no ice) smoothly set down next to Gideon's elbow. As his drink was poured, Gideon smiled faintly at Nathan across the bar, reflection in the mirror gazing back at the other man pensively. "It's interesting business that brings you here, really."

"Following my nose." Nathan took another sip of his drink. "This may have been a dead end for now, but they won't always be." He was having what could pass for a civil conversation. With Gideon. Had he passed out on the bar and not realized it? This could be a dream, couldn't it? "Eventually I'll start seeing the patterns clearly."

"Well, it can't always be a grand conspiracy of evil, can it," Gideon remarked smoothly, the sentence not a question in the least. "They're quite satisfied with the whole recruitment process here, I've heard. Something about the whole process being mutually beneficial for all parties involved?"

"I met a father upcountry who wouldn't have agreed." Nathan's skin was prickling at Gideon's proximity, the feel of his own powers being mimicked, disturbing the lines of force. "Novel idea. A father who doesn't want to see their child exploited for what they can do. I should write Saul about it. It might be educational for him."

Taking a sip from his drink, Gideon gravely pondered that statement for a moment. "Exploited?" Staring ahead in the mirror though his gaze was unfocused, the older man shook his head slightly. "I don't believe your father ever wanted you to be exploited, Nathan."

"Intent and result are two different things, aren't they?" Was he having some sort of a debate here? How very odd. Yes, he had definitely stepped through the looking glass. There was a mirror right there, too. That accounted for it. "You can do something for the best possible reasons, but the results you want and the results you get aren't always the same thing. Even if you want to pretend that they are."

"Pretense is the last refuge of the foolish or the willfully blind. I am neither." Gideon's lips quirked, ever so slightly, though neither humor nor a lightening of his mood showed in his eyes. "Intent and result, when the former is properly applied, follow hand in hand, exactly as they should."

Nathan looked flatly at him, catching the emphasis. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice still low but harsh, cutting through the dancing around the subject they'd both been doing. "I don't believe in coincidence anymore. You and Saul have cured me of that."

Gideon's eyes sharpened, focusing upon Nathan's reflection in the mirror, watching his nephew watch him.

"You have a hole in your mind," he uttered, deadpan.

Nathan's eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed again. "If you'll pardon the profanity," he said, each word clipped, "no shit. And that would be holes, plural." His thoughts were speeding up, running in circles again. Gideon knew about the problem with his memory. Of course he did, Nathan thought dizzily, he had told Saul, after all. And Saul would have passed it on. Right?

"Wrong," was the serene answer, Gideon not even looking at Nathan this time, instead taking another sip of his drink, with a tiny crooked smile still curving the corner of his mouth.

Nathan stared at him for a long moment. "So you knew this too. Before," he murmured, his eyes narrowing further as Gideon just stood there. Not pushing, not making any sort of aggressive mental move... what was going on? Lack of aggression or not, Nathan felt like he was being cornered. No, not cornered. Just pushed. Like a rat being encouraged to run through a maze. "What, was it something Mistra did to me during conditioning after all?" Gideon would have had the opportunity to follow his progress that first year; VULCAN had been instrumental in creating the conditioning process.

"You always keep pointing at Mistra. Interesting that, but I suppose to you they would have been the largest formative factor in your life. Well - that or you simply give them too much power over you." Gideon looked into his glass, the cubes swirling gently in a clockwise pattern. "And too much credit."

"Whatever power they had over me ended six months ago," Nathan said flatly. "All they are now is a shadow. Maybe too long a shadow, but you'll pardon me if I don't really give a rat's ass for your opinion on that." He stared at Gideon. "But," he went on, "if I shouldn't be giving them the credit for this, who deserves it?" Absurdly, a light, brittle laugh slipped out as he looked back out the windows at the sunset. The light was dying more quickly now. "Or are you going to tell me I did it to myself?"

The ghost of a smile greeted that, Gideon finally looking over directly at Nathan, rather than use the mirror before them to do so. With a faint tickle of ice and glass, the ice cubes in his glass reversed their direction, swirling lazily in the water.

"We are, each and every one of us, ultimately responsible for who we are, and what we are. Our decisions are ours to make, regardless of any outside influence. That we let others direct our course merely shows how weak we can be." That said, he picked up the glass, barely tasting the water before setting it down again. "What do you think, Nathan? Now that you've broken down that particular wall of yours."

"I think it's not as black and white as you like to paint it," Nathan said after a moment. "I think there's always someone stronger than you, and often enough, you haven't learned how to fight back on their terms when you meet them."

"When you learn to fight people only on your terms, then you'll be ready. Not before." The glass tilted to one side, slowly, then the other, before settling down again. "Of course, that will also involve no longer believing what you fabricate, though I suppose the mind tries to heal despite one's conscious efforts at time. Still..." He shook his head, just a bit. "It's not unexpected, to get confirmation of that."

Nathan felt cold, suddenly. "Fabricate," he said, through lips that felt oddly numb. "When Saul got in touch with me, at first... I had to consider the possibility that my memories of my childhood weren't real. It was the only possibility that made sense, if he was telling the truth..."

Gideon offered no answer at this, contenting himself with child's tricks, the half melted cubes travelling in the water in lazy patterns. It did seem as though he might be satisfied with something, though as to what that might be, there were no clues offered on his features.

"People don't... do that without some sort of external factor influencing it," Nathan said slowly. "Even if it was just enough to start them down that road, there has to be something." He'd listened to Jack's theories on the subject often enough. "I don't suppose you'd care to suggest what that might have been. Since you seem to know so much more about what happened."

"Well, no. People often delude themselves into thinking things just because it's easier to do that than face reality. But in your particular case, well..." The ice stopped moving, the water in the glass going dead still. "Well. Giving you the answer outright would be rather boring, don't you think? I'll give you a choice, instead, I think." Pulling an envelope from within his jacket, Gideon placed it on the counter before him. "Some powers I've gotten very proficient with for a reason."

Nathan set his drink down and picked up the envelope, opening it and pulling out the folded papers inside. DNA graphs, he saw, scanning them quickly. Two of them, the first naggingly familiar - and as he separated the pages, something slipped out and landed facing up on the bar. A picture, black and white and faded with age. In the background was the cabin, in Alaska. One of the two people in the picture was a much younger Gideon.

The other, if Nathan could trust any of his childhood memories, was his mother.

"You... were in Alaska," he said slowly. Stupidly, since it was perfectly obvious... Nathan stared down at the picture, seeing Gideon's hand resting so casually on his mother's shoulder. "You..." He was seeing the pattern. It was coming together. "She was a telepath. Saul told me that, that she was a telepath..."

"Of course. Telepathy tends to be a very solid genetic legacy." The words did not come from beside Nathan, but rather from behind him. Gideon's back was to Nathan as he walked away, his reflection in the mirror waving nochalantly over his shoulder. "Good evening, nephew mine. Have a safe trip home."

Nathan should have watched him go. Should have tracked every moment, made sure he didn't double back, that he didn't go anywhere near Angelo... but all Nathan could do was stare down at the picture, his mind lurching over the pieces of the puzzle he'd never really expected to have solved.

His mother. His telepathic mother, and his power-stealing uncle.

You have a hole in your mind...

He didn't remember Gideon in Alaska. Not anything. Not his presence, not his face, not even a whisper of his existence. Until Saul had introduced him in the restaurant in New York, he hadn't even dreamed he had an uncle.

And yet there Gideon was in the picture. With Esther. With his mother... in physical contact with his mother. His uncle didn't do things by accident, Nathan thought faintly. Didn't make casual choices. There was more to the picture than was obvious, and that was the key. That detail.

...no longer believing what you fabricate, though I suppose the mind tries to heal...

His breath caught in his chest, the tightness there almost painful for a moment. Nathan gripped the edge of the bar, fighting to keep his breathing steady. The DNA graphs sat there. Evidence? Of what?

It's not unexpected, to get confirmation...

Some powers I've gotten very proficient with for a reason.

Nathan lifted his glass with a shaking hand, taking a gulp of the contents, not even tasting it. "He practiced," he whispered, staring at his mother's face. "With your powers. He practiced."

On me.

--


Hours later, Angelo gets worried and comes down from the suite looking for Nathan, who's still sitting in the bar and brooding.


The bartender was seriously considering whether or not to call for reinforcements, Nathan sensed. It was just about closing time for the Intercontinental's bar, and the poor man wasn't so sure about trying to shoo him out all by himself. Nathan could almost feel pity for him - almost. Right now there was a significant part of him which was far too busy feeling sorry for himself.

He took another miniscule sip of his drink. It was his third, actually, and he wasn't sure how long he'd been nursing it. A few hours, at least. Since Gideon had left.

The bar should be just about closing by now. And there was no reason Angelo could figure out why Nathan would still be down there. So it was with some worry that he wandered down to find out where he was.

"Sir?" the bartender ventured, finally.

"What time do you close?" Nathan asked, his voice flat. "Wait, no, I know this. As I can read the sign in front of the door. One-thirty AM. It's only quarter after one right now. Check back with me in fifteen minutes."

"... yes, sir."

Angelo was leaning against the doorframe when Nathan looked up again, dressed casually and barefoot. "...Nathan?"

Nathan eyed Angelo. "I'm not drunk," he said after a moment. "So don't give me that look."

"I know you're not. But you've been sittin' down here for hours."

Nathan looked away as Angelo walked up to the bar. "You're walking around a five-star hotel in your bare feet," he observed. "It's funny, but they won't care, simply because it is a five-star hotel and the guest is almost always in the right."

"Yes, I am," Angelo acknowledged. "An' if that was s'posed to be a subtle way to tell me not to question why you're sittin' down here at 1.15am... I don't work here."

"Pedant." Nathan took another tiny sip of his drink. "I haven't been sitting down here by myself the whole time. Had a nice chat with my uncle."

Angelo's attention sharpened, remembering what Nathan had told him. "Did you now."

"Yes, I did. Imagine running into him here, thousands of miles from home..." Nathan sighed at the wariness in Angelo's expression. "Don't worry. He didn't do anything to me, I didn't do anything to him, and he's gone now. He did just want to talk."

"Gonna tell me what about, if I ask?"

Nathan smiled humorlessly. "The hole in my mind."

Angelo wasn't smiling, even humourlessly. He padded across the room to take one of the free stools, and waited for anything else Nathan might want to say.

"Have you ever noticed how getting your questions answered isn't always a good thing?" Nathan stared down at his glass. "I've been learning that, this summer. Sometimes it's better not to know."

"Sometimes," Angelo agreed. "An' sometimes it just feels like it, right when it happens."

"No, I think... some truths are better not known." Nathan made an aimless gesture with his free hand. "Funny. Used to be hellfire and brimstone about being lied to, and yet here I am, moping about the truth. There's irony for you."

"So. What's he want you to do about whatever he told you?"

"Stop lying to myself. I think."

"About... the hole in your mind?"

Angelo looked bewildered. Nathan didn't blame him. But he wasn't sure he wanted to explain, either. "I know there are a lot of things in your past that still bother you," he said, looking sideways at the younger man. "But at least you own them. You know they happened, you know what you remember... the ground that makes up you isn't constantly shifting beneath your feet. I envy that."

"...So I guess whatever Gideon had t'say didn't exactly help with that", Angelo said after a long moment, frowning.

"No, he likes throwing me curveballs, my uncle." Nathan took a bigger sip of his drink, feeling the weight of the envelope in his pocket like a stone. "He did it," he said flatly, after a moment. "The hole... the holes in my mind, the mess of my memory. He did it with my mother's telepathy." It was the only possible conclusion, from all the things that Gideon had said, and all the things he hadn't. The pieces of the puzzle had been laid out for him elegantly, and he wasn't stupid, even if he was sometimes rash. He didn't need things spelled out for him.

"...Why?"

"I don't know." Nathan swallowed past the tightness in his throat. "To practice, because I knew something... maybe just to edit himself out of my memory, I don't know. I didn't ask." And it probably wouldn't have shown up as damage, not when it had been his mother's telepathy. Nathan was married to a world-class geneticist. He had a solid layman's knowledge of these things. If there had been any traces, all of the damage done by Mistra could have covered it up, easily.

Angelo nodded. "Fair enough. He probably wouldn't've told even if you had asked."

"Truth's a commodity, like any information. He wouldn't want to sell it cheap." Nathan's voice was hollow, and he stared down at the bar rather than at Angelo.

That didn't sound good, at all. "Question is what he wants in return, then."

"I don't know. I just don't-" Nathan bit his lip, rubbing at his forehead as another one of those stabbing headaches came and went.

Angelo eyed him, suddenly worried. "You took your meds today, right?"

"The ones that didn't get swiped, yes..." Nathan muttered, drooping a little on his stool. "I probably should have left the alcohol alone."

Angelo nodded, but didn't seem much reassured. "How much did you have?"

"I think this one..." Most of it was left, too, "is my third. I don't feel drunk, not like at Duncan's. I've had them over the course of hours, after all."

"Okay. Probably should stop now, though." Just because the bar was closed, didn't rule out the minibar.

Nathan looked sideways at him, summoning up a wan smile. "Honestly, wasn't intending to bring you along to be my minder. Funny how things turn out sometimes, isn't it?"

"Sometimes is," Angelo agreed, with a crooked grin in return.

Nathan set the drink down, digging out a little extra in the way of a tip and leaving it on the bar as he slid down off his stool. "Our flight's tomorrow afternoon," he said quietly, starting carefully towards the door. "Gives us a little time to do that shopping, if you want, although we might want to keep an eye on our surroundings. I'm not sure if he's still here."

"Sounds good. I don't know what he looks like, though."

"I'll describe him. Show you." Nathan tottered a little, his balance not quite certain.

Angelo stood up in turn, and followed him towards the door without hesitation. "You gonna send me a picture, or just describe him?"

"Once we're upstairs." Nathan pulled out the envelope, thinking about that, and handed Angelo the old picture of Gideon and his mother. "That's what he looked like thirty years ago, though. And that's... my mother, Esther."

"She was pretty," Angelo commented, looking down at the faded photo.

And how much of what he remembered of her was true? Nathan thought bleakly as they reached the elevator. If Gideon had created those holes, how much of what was left around them was true, and how much was the invention of a child's mind trying to compensate for the loss of days or weeks or months? It made sense. Too much sense. "It'll be good to sleep in a real bed. Duncan's cots were not all that comfortable."

"Real beds are always good," Angelo agreed fervently.

Comments

[x-madelyn.livejournal.com]

"You have a hole in your mind," he uttered, deadpan.

Oh, Gideon, there's a Mr. JMS on the phone wanting to talk about copyright infringement... *snickers* The thlot does indeed picken - I've been enjoying these.

[x-cable.livejournal.com]

The Nate in my head is still hiding under the metaphorical bed. If Gideon had asked him 'What do you want?' I think he'd have been gibbering for weeks.