xp_logs | House of Wind: Worthy Opponents (Reply)

Nathan, having a very bad day in Rio, finds a surprising lack of ambiguity in his uncle on a very unexpected subject. He also starts to think about time, and how much he may or may not have to see this through.

He hurt.

For some time after Gideon withdrew to a seat by the window, that was all Nathan could muster in terms of coherent thought. He hurt, every part of him hurt, and if he'd been able to breathe properly through any of it, he would have been screaming. He'd blacked out a couple of times, he thought. Even now that it was over, the pain wasn't really going away. It was like every nerve ending in his body was screaming at him, and his vision kept going dark in fits and starts.

And all Gideon had done was sit there with a hand on his shoulder for... well, he wasn't sure how long it had been, actually.

He had gotten off very lightly in Chad, all things considered. Nathan focused doggedly on slowing his breathing down, using one of the exercises Moira had taught him years ago. Oxygen first. Then everything else. Finally, Nathan composed himself sufficiently to be able to reach out for the glass of water sitting there at his elbow. Gideon had poured it and set it there. Odd little considerate gesture, really.

He wrapped his shaking hands around the glass and took a long sip, then another. It was enough to let him find his voice. "You look... dis-dissatisfied," he said hoarsely. "Didn't work, did it?"

"If it makes you feel better," was the mild, murmured reply, an odd look in Gideon's eyes for a brief moment, "you may choose to think so." He glanced at the glass as Nathan held it, and apparently determining that it wasn't about to be dropped from the other man's shaking hands, dismissed it from thought. "I suspect you're not one to wish to deceive yourself so for the mere sake of convenience, however."

If it hadn't worked, it would. Gideon wasn't about to give up on this. Nathan took a deep, unsteady breath, one hand going to his temple for a moment. "I see your mind, when you're trying to synch to me," he said finally. Not sure why he was engaging his uncle in conversation when what he really wanted to do was find a corner to curl up in and just let the world... go away for a little while. "The mirrors are transparent, when you're close enough. I remind you of her."

A sudden, genuine smile graced Gideon's face, and he chuckled lowly. "Of course you do. Like mother, like son. You're not solely of my brother's provenance, after all." Gideon leaned back in the chair he was occupying, shoulders lowering sightly as he relaxed. "And you certainly do possess her indomitable determination to see things through." The note of admiration, not directed at anyone in the room, but rather at the subject of their conversation...

...was unmistakable.

"She hated you." Nathan stared a bit blankly at the opposite wall of the room. "Or that's the impression I got from her letter. She certainly seemed angry enough." It was funny. Here and now, he wished for the first time that the letter had been longer. That there had been more of them. Anything to have known her better.

"She hated what she envisioned I stood for," Gideon corrected, almost gently. "Your mother was one for great ideals and the following of them - she thought in far bigger terms than most understood, and didn't waste much time on hating any single individual."

"I don't want to see her through your eyes." If he sounded strained, frayed, Nathan figured that he had sufficient reason. "You were the one who took my memories of her in the first place, you bastard. You don't get to replace them with your twisted take on things."

Gideon shook his head, a tired look to his usually sardonic smile. "There's nothing twisted about respecting a worthy opponent, Nathan. Nothing more... nothing less." He rose to his feet at that, careful to keep the chair's scraping on the floor as silent as possible. "Rest. We'll speak again later," he said, as he left the room.

Then it hadn't worked. Nathan set the glass aside with shaking hands and then shifted slightly in the chair, a choked noise of pain escaping him as he tried, laughably, to find a more comfortable position. He wasn't going to try and make it to the bed. He'd wind up on the floor, and that was not where he wanted to spend the night.

He couldn't do this. He had to do this. Did he have any choice anymore? He thought of Moira and Rachel, back in Westchester, and everyone else who was safely out of it - at least for now. This had to happen before the team found him, Nathan thought, his eyes opening, unfocused. Had to.

He needed sleep very badly, but it didn't come for hours.