xp_logs | Nathan and Angelo, Sunday

Back at the mansion the next day, Angelo finds Nathan back on his feet - sort of - but definitely not right in the head.

Angelo was sitting against the wall of Nathan's infirmary room, knees drawn up where he ignored the chair in favour of the floor, watching Nathan pace. "Nate," he said wearily for the fifteenth time, "you should get back in bed."

"I don't want to be in bed." Nathan was pale, save for two spots of hectic color high on his cheekbones. His gray eyes would have been close to panicked if they'd been focusing properly. "I don't want to lie down. I won't be able to breathe if I lie down."

"Sure you will," came the would-be soothing answer. "It might be easier, even."

Nathan yanked at the sling on his arm, still pacing. It was strange. A day ago he hadn't had the energy to pace, and if he'd tried, the dizzy spells would have introduced him to the floor very quickly. Now, he couldn't stay still. "It's choking me," he muttered feebly, even though the sling's strap was nowhere near his arm.

"Nathan," Angelo said sharply, half-rising. "Leave your sling alone. It's not chokin' you."

"I want it off," Nathan said disjointedly, still pulling at it. He couldn't move his arm. Trapping him, it was trapping him like half a straitjacket. They put crazy people in straitjackets. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't.

"Well, you can't take it off. Your arm's broken, you need it." He pushed himself the rest of the way up, taking the few steps to pull Nathan's hand back down.

Nathan flinched away from him, blinking rapidly. "I don't remember how my arm got broken," he said, sounding confused instead of anxious now.

"You wouldn't," Angelo said quietly, trying not to flinch at Nathan's wariness of him or whatever it was. "With the concussion an' the power overload as well."

"Why won't anyone tell me?" Or had someone? He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he think? Nathan went back to pacing, shivering as he walked. "It's too cold in here."

"I can get Moira to turn the heatin' up, but I don't think it'd do much good. Your fever's up."

"My fever?" Right. He was in the infirmary because of the virus. That much he remembered. Nathan took a cautious breath, listening to the rattle in his chest. "I can breathe so long as I stay on my feet," he muttered, then rubbed at his chest. It hurt. "I can't lie down or I'll die."

Angelo settled back against the wall, watching Nathan warily in case he started trying to pull the sling off again. He looked down suddenly at the last words. "You're not gonna die. You're not."

"Moira keeps saying that too." More pacing. "I can't... I can't," Nathan said disjointedly, not knowing what he meant. His thoughts were all scrambled. He was afraid. He knew he was afraid, because this wasn't going the way it should be going, wasn't predictable.

"You can't what?" Angelo asked quietly, hiding the flatness of his voice. He was trying to hang on to what hope was left, but... it wasn't as much as it could have been.

"I can't... think," Nathan said almost violently - and then reeled against the wall, fortunately on the side with the unbroken arm. "There's no cure. It killed them all." Wait... no. Only Dawn had been infected. The others... gunfire, explosions, why couldn't he think?

"There was no time to find a cure for them," Angelo tried to remind him, though it was more than half a guess on his part. "It hasn't killed you yet, an' it isn't goin' to."

"I dreamed it was all a dream and I was back on Muir, after China..." His voice was low, gravelly with the increasing congestion in his lungs, but still more or less completely hysterical at this point. "I don't want to lie down, because ten years shouldn't go away like that!"

Angelo scrambled to his feet again, hands out in front of him. "It was just a dream, you know that. Just a dream, an' dreams go away... but you need to sleep."

"The room's too white. I can't sleep in a white room," Nathan said just as violently, despite the fact that the walls were the usual metal of the infirmary. They wouldn't stay put.

Angelo glanced around. "The room isn't white... an' if you want, I can go find some curtains to pin to the walls, or... somethin'..."

"No! You don't get to go out and lock me in here." Nathan was teetering noticeably on his feet now, still blinking rapidly as if he couldn't focus at all, and appeared to be in serious danger of sliding down the wall. "I won't let you!"

That got a definite flinch. "I wouldn't do that. But see, I'm not goin' anywhere, okay?" He moved, cautiously, to be ready to support Nathan if he needed it and maybe try to get him back over to the bed.

"I don't want to be here." His breathing was sounding increasingly raspy, and whether it was the onset of a coughing spasm or the beginnings of a panic attack wasn't clear. Nathan jolted forward, swaying. "There are no windows and the doors lock. And the walls won't stay put! They've done it before."

"No one's tryin' to hurt you here," Angelo told him again, watching him miserably. "Really."

"You keep saying that. You should have left me in the desert," Nathan said almost accusingly, blinking at him. His good hand went out, bracing against the wall. "I told you to leave me, damn it."

Angelo blinked back, confused. "I'll never leave... wait. In the desert?"

"I told you. I told you to leave me..." Nathan gave him an unfocused, angry glare that was somehow full of hurt at the same time. "You don't get to force me into this. Fuck you, sitting there watching me like a hawk... what did you do with my gun?"

"It's... somewhere safe?" Angelo hazarded, still very far from sure what was going on here. "An' I'm not tryin' to force you into anythin'."

"I don't owe you this. I don't! I should have left you by the side of the road in Cambodia," Nathan hurled at him bitterly, his eyes suddenly bright with what had to be tears.

...and there was the click, as he remembered suddenly, something Nathan or GW had mentioned once. "Nate... what's my name?"

"Shut up, GW!" Nathan snapped at him, real anguish in his voice. "I'm not crazy. I just don't want to be here!"

Yeah, that was what he'd thought. Angelo slumped back against the wall, eyes closed. "You're hallucinatin', Nathan. It's the fever. I'm not GW, I'm Angelo."

Nathan shook his head, then winced, his hands going up to the sides of his head. "Ow..." he said feebly as his knees started to buckle.

Angelo's eyes snapped open sharply, hearing that, and he darted forward to try and hold the bigger man up. "What? Is it worse?"

"My head hurts..." Nathan muttered, slumping against him. "I don't remember why..."

"You got a concussion," Angelo said again, patiently, steering him towards the bed as best he could. "And you overstretched your TK again."

"I think I need to lie down."

"That's what I've been tryin' to tell you, Mr. I'll Die if I Lie Down."

Nathan blinked down at him, still not focusing, and managed a hazy smile. "Did I say that? Silly..."

"Yeah, you did, an' yeah, it is. Do you know who I am now?"

"Annoying person who sits in my office and talks back to me. It's not endearing," Nathan mumbled as Angelo eased him down onto the bed. "Even if I grin..."

"Sure it isn't," Angelo said lightly, hiding a smile of pure relief. Much as he'd liked GW, it didn't mean he liked being mistaken for him by someone who should know better.

"Don't lock the door," Nathan said, barely audible now as his eyes drifted shut. "Don't... I don't want to be locked in." It was close to a plea.

"I'm not gonna lock the door," Angelo promised him. "I'm not even gonna leave. I'll just... stay right here, an' I'll be here when you wake up."