xp_logs | Nathan and Jack Leary, early Wednesday afternoon

Nathan and his ~~superhuman~~ long-suffering therapist go over the events of the week. Amazingly, Nathan is doing better than he was the last time Jack did grief counseling with him, and not just because he should be getting used to this.

"I'm just going to give you fair warning," Nathan muttered, rubbing his hands over his face before he picked up his coffee cup and slumped more deeply into his chair. "I am managing coherent sentences, but yesterday was not good, and I don't know that it wouldn't have been a better idea to put this off for a couple of days." He took a shaky breath. "And I'm a little on the drugged side, thanks to my father blowing up my brain. At least he only did it a little."

"Seems oxymoronic, but I suppose when it's your brain having it only a little blown up is a small mercy." Jack sighed, shaking his head. "Nathan. Knowing full well the circumstances under which this is being asked: how are you holding up?"

"Terribly?" Nathan gave him a shaky smile and took another sip of the coffee. "Terribly's the word. I thought I was doing better. Thinking things through, coming to... to decisions, and then I look up from my salad and my father's sitting at the table over there." He gestured a bit wildly at the opposite side of the room, where there was no table.

"What did he do?"

"Tried to talk to me. To convince me to come with him and talk things through, or something along those lines. Of course, then Haroun walked in and wanted to pummel him, and before I know it I'm on the floor and Saul's telling me that he's psionically electrocuting me for my own good. At least, that was the gist of it. I think." The reply came out a little fast, the rapid words at odd with the too-casual tone, almost manic. "At that point I really wasn't sure where I was, because, well, flashing back to the memories that aren't real, which is sort of funny when you look at it from a certain angle."

Jack frowned. "Memories? What memories?"

"Saul standing over me, telling me that I was... stupid, or slow. Always one step ahead of me, and I was such a disappointment when I couldn't keep up. Not fit, not strong, just a weakling he was going to leave to freeze to death in the woods one of these nights." Blinking rapidly, Nathan rested his head in his free hand for a moment, trying to slow his breathing down. "Except I know they're not real, because he swears he never raised a hand to me and that he doesn't lie, he just omits. It's like he has no concept of a lie of omission, really. Which is a major intellectual lapse for an intelligent man, don't you think? I really ought to point that out to him one of these days."

Jack let the last breathless rush of words pass. "A memory that you knew wasn't real," he said, circling his mug with his hands. "It obviously upset you. Can I ask what it was that bothered you the most? Was it the memory of your father's abuse, or the possibility that it might not have happened?"

"It was just... being helpless, again," Nathan said hoarsely, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. His head hurt, despite the painkillers. "I remembered being helpless. Saul's just like Gideon," he said disjointedly. "They're both standing above me, and I can't do anything."

"Are they the same?" Jack asked. "Has Saul ever confronted you alone before?"

Nathan stopped, blinking for a moment. "Since I found out?" he asked hesitantly. "... no. He's emailed a couple of times. And the hospital... he was at the hospital, after what happened with Pete in September. I think he called the paramedics... I don't know."

Jack nodded. "I didn't think so." The older man turned the coffee mug around in his hands thoughtfully. "You said Saul's the same as Gideon, but I'm not so sure that's true. They may work together, but their methods are obviously very different . . . and yesterday, for whatever reason, Saul broke from his." He glanced at Nathan. "I think part of their power over you is the perception that they are one united being. Unassailable. But no matter how powerful they are, they're also individuals -- and even the closest friends are never in total agreement."

"He told me he didn't like to see me in such pain." Bitterness laced the words. "Then he turns on a miniature EM generator. Does that make sense to you?" Nathan bit his lip, hard. "He told me that there was more going on that I realized," he said hoarsely, wrapping his hands around his cup. "As if there was some good reason for Gideon to have done what he did to GW."

"Your father obviously has a . . . unique concept of reality," Jack admitted, "but even his version must have its limits. Maybe not in the conventional sense, or even the sane sense, but I suspect they exist. For instance, any lie other than that of omission, if he was telling the truth." Jack shook his head. "I'm not suggesting you forgive him. What I do think is worthy of consideration is the possibility that he and your uncle may not be as invulnerable as they seem. Think about it. In war we tend to demonize our enemies, because stripping away their humanity keeps us . . . sane, in a way. Men would go mad if they thought of every soldier they killed as a father, or son, or husband. However, dehumanizing the enemy also runs the risk of attributing him with an edge of almost supernatural terror -- like your father and uncle hold for you."

Nathan opened his mouth, then closed it again, straightening in his chair and flushing. There was a sudden, hard glitter in his gray eyes, and something close to calculation. "Well," he said. "That's really an interesting and useful distinction, I think. Am I going to react like the abused child, or am I going to act like I'm fighting a war?"

Jack gave him a look. "A reasonable question, but give careful thought to the kind of war you have in mind. You don't have the luxury of dehumanizing Saul and Gideon, because, in a very real sense, that's what they've done to you. You told me Gideon thinks it's a game. It's not, and I think it would be the height of foolishness to perceive it as such. Even if you turn yourself from a pawn to a queen, you still lose -- because you're still seeing yourself in their terms." Jack leaned forward, his hands clasped, his blue eyes locked on Nathan's. "You are not a piece on a board, Nathan. But neither are they."

Nathan was silent for a long moment. "GW made me promise not to do the revenge thing," he finally said, stiffly. "And I won't. I want to think I wouldn't have, even if that hadn't been the last thing he'd asked me." He blinked rapidly, slouching in the chair again. "I know better," he said more softly. "I came back from that once, I don't know if I could do it again. And I have too much reason to stay."

Jack nodded. "Good. I understand how hard it is to maintain perspective, especially after all they've done to you . . . but you owe it to yourself not to become what they want you to. And to your wife and daughter as well." He sat back, some of the tension leaving his body. In a gentler tone, he said, "GW believed that, too, otherwise he wouldn't have used his last moments on earth to make you promise. He must have loved you very much."

"He was my best friend." The stiffness and tight control was gone suddenly, the mask vanishing abruptly. The look in Nathan's eyes was absolutely shattered, his grief almost a palpable thing, making the air in the room charged and heavy. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. He saved my life, saved me so many times. I... I don't know what I'm going to do without him." Tears spilled over again, and Nathan wiped at his eyes, his movements jerky. "You think I'd be used to it," he forced out. "I lose people. That's what I do. But... he was always there. My rock. Just as much as Moira is."

"He's still there," Jack said softly. "The things he did for you. The things he's still doing for you. As long as those remain, no one has the power to take him from you. Not in any way that matters. Not even Gideon."

"He's still there," Nathan repeated, almost in a whisper. "He is, you know. I was in his mind when he died, trying to... hold his thoughts together." His voice faltered, but he forced himself to go on. "I dream about him. I'm not entirely sure I'm asleep when I dream, either."

"Sometimes the mind gives itself what it needs," Jack said. "You're a telepath, so I admit that in your case this could be more literal than for most, but for now . . . we'll see. What happens in these dreams?"

"We just talk. It's like none of this ever happened... except he knows it did." Nathan scratched at his beard, part of him distantly reflecting that he needed to shave before Moira sat on his chest and did it for him. The thought was so... mundane, and for a moment he was stuck on that before he made himself continue to answer Jack's question.

"But he's not angry," he went on. "He doesn't blame me... it's not like when I dreamed about Tim and Mick after Youra."

Jack smiled slightly. "Then ghost or fabrication, I think you should listen to him."

"He tells me to eat, or sleep, or play with the baby. Or with Moira." Nathan surprised himself with a laugh, although it was an exhausted sort of laugh without too much in the way of humor about it. "And he reminisces... we had such good times, Jack. Between all the bad times." Tears again, damn it. "Sometimes during the bad times, even. I'd look over and he'd be wearing his 'Well, isn't this a fine kettle of fish you've gotten us into this time' face. Even when it was his fault."

"Very definitely a good friend, to continue badgering you into taking care of yourself from beyond the grave," Jack agreed, softening the joke with a smile.

"I asked him why he was such a mother hen, once." Nathan swallowed, remembering that particular conversation. "Well. I shouted at him. Wanted to know where he got off, since technically he'd saved my life in return multiple times, so it wasn't as if we owed each other anything..." Nathan smiled, tightly and wanly. "He wouldn't answer me. Just sort of smiled and told me that my driving-away-people technique needed work."

"Even people who thrive on taking care of others need someone to turn to, every once in a while," Jack said. "I think GW wanted to be that for you."

"Do you know what he did?" Nathan asked, his voice catching again. "He brought pictures. Of the kids from this last camp the Pack liberated. He brought them for Pete, so that he'd be able to see them and feel a little less like shit on one score, at least... it wasn't just me, Jack. He was just like that." Nathan set his coffee cup down, staring at it for a moment. "I hate talking about him in the past tense," he said almost violently. "I hate it."

"But you can speak of him with fondness, not just pain," Jack said, "and that's good. Much as I hate to say it under such terrible circumstances, you were right at the beginning of this session: you're doing better. Compare this to the way you were after losing Askani. It may not feel like something to be grateful for, but you've made progress. And GW would be proud of you for that."

"There's... more similarities, than not," Nathan said a bit vaguely, then tried to explain. "I loved them both. I wanted... I want to be what they believed I could be." He found himself blinking rapidly again. "It wasn't... not what I can do. What I can be. They saw me. I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"I think I understand. They loved you for the person you could be, not the weapon they could make you. Is that it?"

"More than that. It wasn't just that they didn't see me as a weapon..." Although Askani had started a little slowly in that respect. "They both saw value in just... living. Beyond what you did with your life. In just being, and feeling... they never lost their grip on that. And I was always so afraid just to be. They helped me get over that." Nathan swallowed past the tightness in his throat.

Jack smiled. "Then you owe it to them not to forget it, don't you?"

Nathan nodded, unable to answer for a moment. "We buried him in Moira's family plot," he finally said. "She insisted. I was so... after what happened with Amanda, I was so skittish about thinking about anyone who wasn't Moira and Rachel as family. The kids here, I mean. No more paternal crap. But GW..." Nathan stopped, wiping his eyes again. "He always called me 'bro'. And that's what he was. The only brother I'll ever have."

"Life is an organic process, Nathan." Jack took a drink of coffee, his voice thoughtful. "We lose friends, and we gain them. Friendships end. Love grows. Lives end, and begin again. You can't close yourself off from the world because you've lost someone you love. You can't say 'No more, I will never care for another person, I will never let another human life touch me.' Once you do that, you undermine your life at the root. After that, all that's left is to wait for the rest of the organism to die." Jack set his cup down on the table. "No one will replace your brother, but that doesn't mean the family stops growing."

Nathan nodded after a moment, but was silent again for a little while. "I think I'm going to take a few days off," he said. "Just... not for any real reason. Just tell the work it can stay on hold for a little while. I need to get some rest, and just... think, I guess."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Giving yourself time to rest and recover?" he said. "If this was a concept inspired by your dreams, I owe your friend a drink. Metaphorical or spectral regardless."

Nathan actually managed to roll his eyes at him. "I should have done it after the funeral, rather than trying to bury myself in work. But I felt like I had to keep going. I always feel like I have to keep going." Nathan looked away, towards the window. "But I don't keep going very well when I'm this frayed," he said more quietly. "I've got to stop for a bit."

Jack nodded once, briskly. "A good decision. Trust your instincts, Nathan. Part of strength is knowing when you're pushing yourself past endurance, and slowing down isn't the same as giving up."

Nathan smiled again, wearily. "I do learn, you know. It's just a very slow process."

(OOC: Many thanks, again, to Tap for socking Jack for me.)