xp_logs | Domino and Nathan, Friday, 2am

Hours after her encounter with Haroun, a distraught Domino shows up under Nathan's bedroom window. The two of them have a talk that was long overdue in a lot of ways, and good for both of them, however difficult it is.

The light, irregular clicking was what woke Nathan up. Blinking up rather blearily at the ceiling of the bedroom, he frowned, his head turning first to regard a sound-asleep Moira, then his mind reaching out to Rachel. Who was also asleep, if what he was sensing through the shielding on the nursery was accurate.

The clicking was coming from the window. Nathan got out of bed, carefully so as not to wake Moira, and nodded to himself, almost absently, as he sensed the agitated thoughts outside. He found socks, shoes, and a sweater, and then opened the window, floating out and closing it behind him before he floated down to where Domino was standing in the snow.

She wasn't dressed for the cold, was the first thing he noticed. "What's going on?" he asked quietly, lowering himself to the ground. "What did you do to Haroun?" Domino, her arms wrapped around herself as if to ward off the chill, just stared at him mutely. Nathan gazed back at her, then sighed, moving towards her and taking her into her arms. "Talk to me," he murmured. She was shaking. "I know he's not hurt more than bruises. Whatever happened..."

Domino didn't answer for a long moment. "Pete's probably wondering where I am," she said. Her voice was low, hoarse. Broken-sounding. "Couldn't go back to him in this kind of state, though. He's got enough to worry about."

Nathan didn't let go of her. "Forget about Pete for a second," he said very softly. "Talk to me?"

"I c-can't."

"Then why were you throwing rocks at my window?"

"P-Pebbles. Not rocks." She was rigid in his arms suddenly. He could still feel the tremors jolting through her slender frame, but she made no move to pull away. "Nate. What... would I have to do to make you hate me?"

Nathan blinked. "More than you're capable of doing," he murmured. "Unless you hurt Moira or Rachel, I suppose..."

"Like Amanda?"

He did draw back this time, if just a little. "Dom," he said blankly. "What..."

"I was just wondering. What was beyond the pale. What I'd have to do." She was ghost-pale, avoiding his eyes.

"I don't... I don't hate Amanda," Nathan said after a moment, his voice breaking. "Is this what you wanted to talk about at two in the morning?" What you wanted to throw in my face? He'd wondered why she hadn't mentioned it yet, but had written it off to her understandable preoccupation with Pete, not to mention what she herself had been through.

She shook her head suddenly, violently, and Nathan froze as he saw the tears on her cheeks. "No... I'm messing all of this up, that's not how I wanted it to sound... I just don't think I could ever stand it if you hated me. If you looked at me and saw... a wh-whore."

"What?" He stared at her, shocked for a moment, and then stepped forward again, holding her tightly. "What the fuck?" he asked more softly. "No. I would never. Never."

"I just... I just want to stop feeling like this." It was a muted wail. "Like I've got to put up this show..."

"Dom..."

"I've been trying, I've been trying so hard to do the right thing and then what happens, I get used as bait again..." She lashed out at him suddenly, hitting him in the chest. He didn't let go. "I nearly killed Pete!"

"But you didn't. He's alive, you're alive... that's what matters, Dom," Nathan tried to reassure her. But she crumpled against him, sobbing so desolately that pain twisted in his chest. Her knees were buckling, and he sank gently to the ground in the snow, holding her as close as he could. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "About what happened. I didn't say that, and I should have..."

Not your fault. The thought was disjointed, unfocused, but very fierce, and the love and dogged rejection of his guilt that was behind it made his eyes sting. She was still crying, if more softly. Not your fault, she thought at him more clearly. Love you, old man. Some son of a bitch trying to hurt you through me isn't going to change that.

Something that might have been a laugh if there'd been any strength behind it slipped out. "How did I ever deserve you?" he murmured, then flinched as she started to sob again. "Hey..." Her thoughts were tangled, confused and edged in violent self-loathing and a frightening amount of despair. #... no,# he sent soothingly, seeing the conversation with Haroun in her memories and sorting through it gently, trying to understand. It came to him, what the problem was. #You don't get to hate yourself. You don't.#

"But if I d-did all this," she gasped out between sobs. "If I made myself into th-this, and this is what p-people see... I didn't think there was another WAY..." She hit him again, if feebly. "I didn't want to be WEAK! I didn't want to be u-used..."

"You're not weak. You're NOT weak," Nathan said, his voice still soft but vehement now. "Look at the choices you've made this year. I'm proud of you. I'm so proud of you, I have been for months..." He pushed that at her, hard. She crumpled against him, still sobbing, and he took a shaky breath, raising a hand to stroke her hair. "You made yourself," he went on unsteadily, "into what you thought you needed to be. There are things I wish you hadn't done... things I wish I could have protected you from, saved you from. But I have faith in you, I've always had faith in you. You're strong, and you're willing to take risks for the people you love, for total strangers... that's what matters, Dom. Nadia. Not the rest of it."

I'm so afraid... She clutched at his sweater. Pete... what if I can't be what he needs me to be? He needs me to be strong. Everything he's had to do this year... I've got to be what he needs me to be...

"Do you know what he told me, before we came to get you in Namibia?" Nathan asked, his voice stronger. "That you were the only woman he knew that he didn't have to hide the worst parts of himself from." He kissed the top of her head, like he would have done if she had been Rachel. "You are what you are. And you're what he held onto, while he was gone. I think that should answer your question."

She didn't answer. She didn't answer for the longest time, not until she'd almost stopped crying, as if she'd cried herself out, shed all the tears she'd stubbornly not shown to the world for so long. "I am what I am," she asked in an almost childlike voice, "but who am I?"

Nathan stared blankly over her head, into the night. Was she actually... she was. Finally. "You never wanted to know," he said, thinking about how long and hard he and GW had searched all those years ago, trying to identify her - she might have had living family, after all, although in the end she hadn't.

How long they'd searched, and how unwilling she'd been to listen, when they'd finally found out the details of who she was.

"Changed my mind," she muttered, her voice muffled as she kept her face hidden against his shoulder.

Nathan let the air in his lungs out on a long sigh, part of him so very relieved suddenly. He'd thought about what he knew about Dom's family a lot this year, wished that he could tell her. Because it was a sad story, but her parents had been good people. Indisputably good, and God, how he wished he had that himself.

"Your mother was a journalist," he said softly. "A British journalist." It made her spontaneously appearing accent make sense. "Your father was Russian. A politician... a reformer. From what GW and I found out, they were good people. Brave people. It killed them in the end, but before they died, they did good, Dom. You can be proud of them."

She started to cry again, almost silently. He went on, telling her the rest. And didn't let go.