xp_logs | Moira and Nathan, late Wednesday night

Nathan can't sleep, even with the Pack safely arrived. Moira keeps him company, of course, and they manage to make a few of the necessary decisions regarding GW's funeral.

Nathan sensed Moira stirring, long before his wife moved soundlessly out into the living room, her robe almost a luminous white in the faint moonlight from the window. She stood there, just across the threshold that separated one room from the other, as if waiting. Nathan shifted his grip on the... memory crystal, that was the only name he had ever been able to think of for it. The crystal forge had given him, after Youra. The 'psionic Polaroid camera' that he had used to store memories of Mick and Tim and the others, for Rachel.

"It's full." The words came out in a whisper. "No more room on it."

Moira glanced back at him and tugged her robe closed a little more, warding off a sudden chill. She didn't ask if Forge could build another one, that wasn't the point. The point was that the crystal was full when it shouldn't have been. Rachel should have been able to grow up with those memories as tales told by greying men and women, making fun of each other.

Not like this.

"Ye need ta rest," she told him.

"I can't." He gave her a faint smile that wasn't a smile at all. "I should be able to, I suppose. Now that the Pack's here and safe..." And now that the first of the hard conversations were done. "I just..." He made a limp gesture in the direction of the nursery. "She's been quiet. I worry. The telepathic atmosphere is running a little hot around here today..." It was a poor, poor excuse, and he knew she'd see it as that.

She didn't. Snorting slightly, Moira leaned against the doorframe. "She's been quiet because someone took mercy on us an' wore her out completely," came the musing, if exhausted, reply. "Th' shields are pretty stron' around her, love."

Nathan reached forward and set the memory crystal gently on the coffee table. "I want to ask you something," he said very softly. "GW had no surviving family. We could bury him somewhere here in the States, I suppose... but if you don't have any objections, I'd rather it was Muir." He stared off into the dimness, his eyes unfocusing from sheer weariness. "He loves it... he loved it there."

Immediately, Moira's eyes started to well up and she blinked them back furiously. "I'd rather it be Muir as well," she said, pushing herself off to go join him. "I cannae think o' any better place ta bury him than tha'."

As she sat down beside him, Nathan reached out and took her hands in his. "Then that's what we'll do," he said a bit hoarsely. "One more item off the list..." It struck him suddenly how callous that probably sounded, and he swallowed past a lump in his throat. "I can't think, unless I try to be... methodical about it." He barely managed to force the words out.

"I know, honey, I know." And she did. They were both like that, it came with his history and with her profession. Everything goes into tight, neat little rows until there was time to step back and feel. Bringing their hands up, Moira kissed his. "He would understand."

"I know he would." Nathan closed his eyes, shivering for a moment. He felt so cold and tired, and he just ached, inside and out. Phantom pain. Part of him was gone. "Muir," he repeated, trying to focus. "We'll bury him on Muir. Then we have to figure out what the Pack will do."

Moira shifted closer to him, giving him as much of her warmth as she could. They both needed the physical comfort right now. "We'll bury him in my family plot," she said suddenly, knowing her parents would have liked him as much as she had.

Nathan shuddered suddenly. "Family," he said hollowly and then shifted closer, wrapping his arms around her and trying to keep his breathing even and steady. "I don't know what to do, Moira." He'd said that to her before, other times when he'd been at the end of his rope, not sure where to turn next. "I just... don't know what to do."