xp_logs | LOG: [Nate, Haller] Holes

After nearly a month of voluntary isolation, Haller finally accepts a visitor. Unfortunately the meeting could have gone better.

It was another meal pre-prepared by Lorna before her trip, he could tell; the arrangement of her dishes always had a very specific style to them. This time it was chicken. He could pick out the taste of garlic and cloves, but other than that he wasn't sure. There were greenbeans, too. Trust Lorna to pressure him into eating his vegetables even while under voluntary isolation. Jim picked at a piece of chicken. His appetite still wasn't good, but at least he was remembering to eat now. That was an improvement.

He had been smart this time, and picked a time Amelia wasn't on duty. Moira had been much more willing to let him at least knock on the door, although she'd warned him not to push if the answer was 'Go away'. Nathan had raised an eyebrow at her, but they'd both known she had to say it, even if he knew perfectly well that Jim might not want to see him.

So he knocked, aware of the smell of food from inside. "If you're eating," he called, not loudly but loudly enough that Jim would be able to hear him, "I can always come back later?"

Even before the words the faint brush of a psi-signature beyond the door had Jim blinking up from his meal. It wasn't a surprise in the telepathic-sense -- he'd been consistently sensing Moira and Charles again for the last week again -- but this particular visitor was a little less expected.

For a moment Jim considered turning the other man away . . . but no. Weeks of Charles' gentle advice was wearing him down. It was about time to start letting the world in again. In small doses, at least.

"It's okay," Jim called, taking a brief swallow of water. "Um, come in."

... that easy? Nathan took a deep, slightly unsteady breath, and reached out with his good hand to open the door, feeling a weird mixture of relief and anxiety. The smile as he saw Jim was real, however, if a bit tentative. "Hey. Um, I'd apologize for being a tardy visitor, but first I was getting chased away and then I was in Afghanistan."

Jim smiled faintly. "It's okay. I haven't really been a good visitee. I'm doing . . . kind of all right today, though." The persistent meditation was helping him self-regulate again, finally, and the fact he'd been able to keep it together around Laurie had helped immensely. It was slow, but he thought he was starting to find his center again. Even so, he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge as his eyes fell on the cast around the other man's arm. His brief smile faded.

"Your, um," Jim began, fork squeaking a little against his dish. He put it down carefully. "Is your . . ." What could he say? Jim was silent for a moment, and finally surrendered. "I'm . . . sorry."

Nathan didn't answer for a moment. He looked around, spotted the chair, and sat down. "I know you are," he finally said, smiling a bit. "But I'm okay. The break's healing well - and fast, like my bones usually do."

"That's -- I'm glad." Are we? Fucking liar. Jim's mouth twitched slightly; the closest the mental flinch got to the surface. You son of a bitch that's you, not me -- no. Stop. We are not doing this now. Jim took a deep breath, hands seeking out the sheets of the bed beneath him. The stiff fabric crumpled between his fingers. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I just, I . . . I never thought it'd happen like that."

"Well. I'd say that stress is an inadequate word for the atmosphere on the beach that day," Nathan said, somewhat awkwardly. The words sounded lame, even to him. Because as many times as he reread the mission reports, watched the footage... he still didn't remember much of anything past the platform.

Jim's eyes fell to the floor. "Yeah. Stress." About, oh, four years' worth blowing up in your face. Repression is a beautiful thing. His hands curled and uncurled on the sheets. He wasn't sure if he could talk about this with Nathan without his already shaky balancing act falling through. The telepath folded his hands in his lap and tried to change the subject. "Your, um. Your powers. How are they?"

"Still gone... mostly, at least. There's some sign they might be coming back." Nathan hesitated. "It wasn't the concussion, or even the powers strain," he said, not sure whether Moira would have told Jim or not. "I had to burn out the virus."

"I read. I've been following the journals." Not responding to news of Scott's abduction, or even minor things like Jamie's leaving, had been difficult, but he wasn't going near the posting system right now. For a start, Jim didn't have complete confidence in who would end up doing the actual writing. But that's okay. All I have to do right now is talk. One thing at a time. "But it, it fixed the virus, right?"

Nathan nodded. "It's gone," he said, and sounded, oddly enough, a little startled by the idea still. "Once I burned it out in my brain, the antivirals knocked out what was left in my system."

"That's good. That's really good." He should pursue, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself. He hadn't been able to talk to anyone about this since San Diego -- no one except Charles, and no talk with him was easy these days. But for all the conflict created by what had happened with Nathan and the others on the beach, Jim thought the other man could closest understand how he felt.

"My powers are . . . back," Jim said slowly. "All -- all of them."

"... whoa." Nathan gazed at him for a long moment, worry and concern chasing each other across his features. "I knew that something had happened to give you access to your TK. I read the mission reports."

"It, um . . . it was the wave," Jim replied, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Mission reports . . ? "I -- I opened it up because of the wave. When I was with you and Jean." His tone raised at the last sentence, almost making it a question. I was in your minds with you . . .

Nathan's gaze faltered, and he looked away for a moment, raising his good hand to rub at his forehead for a moment. "I... I remember a flash of the wave. I do remember being linked with you and Jean. But... the rest isn't there," he said, feeling awkward again and not entirely sure why. "The concussion. My last clear memory's on the platform, and the next is when I woke up back here the next day."

"The concu . . ." For an instant he was drawing a blank, and then, like a half-remembered dream, Jim felt again the force of his mind against Nathan's, and the snap of bone as the blow glanced off his arm -- to strike his skull.

"Oh," Jim whispered. "I . . . oh."

"Yeah. It's... strange," Nathan said, faltering again, "but even watching the footage from the beach, it's like watching someone else. It's not sparking anything, even now."

"Someone else," Jim echoed numbly. Whitenoise filled the world. He doesn't remember? He was right next to David while he broke his brain saving thousands of lives, right there on that beach for the first time the kid managed to use his own powers in fourteen frigging years, and thanks to Jack's whammy he doesn't even remember? Oh, man, hahahahaha . . .

Nathan could almost see him spacing out, and it hurt. "I'm sorry," he said, more faintly. "I can imagine you were... wanting to talk about what happened, with someone who was there." And Jean was not in the right space to do any talking, and wouldn't be here for much longer in any case.

"It's okay. Not your fault." Miles away his hands twisted in his lap, stiff and cold. "Not your fault," Jim murmured.

"It's not yours either. Not really." Nathan was quiet for a moment. "I wish I could remember," he said. "I can tell you I'm proud of you, and mean it, but I don't have the memory of being there to see it."

Well gee, Nate, thanks! The empty praise makes it all better! "I'm sorry," Jim said. "Your memory didn't need any more holes. I'm sorry."

Nathan sighed, leaning back in the chair for a moment. "I hadn't even been looking at it that way," he muttered. "It's all right. I keep hoping it'll come back, once the concussion heals up properly..." And he really hadn't intended to say that, and give away the fact that he was still occasionally seeing double and regularly getting killer headaches, even a month later.

"Yes. Taking care of that would be good. This month has been tough on your brain." Automatically, Jim reclaimed his knife and fork and began cutting at the chicken. White meat parted under the utensils as he began to saw. Careful, economical movements. "You should look after your brain."

Jim wasn't quite here. Nathan thought of pointing that out... but no, he suspected that wouldn't be provoking. And he shouldn't be pushing. Except... dammit. "Is there anything you need?" he asked. "Anything I could bring for you..."

Olives. That was the other thing in the chicken. Olives. Jim smiled a little. "No. I'm okay. But thanks."

"Okay..." Nathan said a bit uncertainly, watching him. Jim's slight smile stayed, but he wasn't looking at Nathan, as if he'd lost his focus on the room around him. A minute or two of awkward silence passed, and then Charles was murmuring in Nathan's mind. "I'll... stop back in, later," Nathan said somewhat helplessly, rising.

Jim nodded slightly. The chicken was cut. Now it was time to pile the greenbeans. "Okay. I'll see you later."

Charles' thoughts touched his, offering support; he thanked the man, and declined. He kept his eyes fixed on the plate past Nathan's exit from his room and the click of the door, held steady even as he sensed the other man briefly enter Moira's office. Time passed, a few minutes, maybe, and then the familiar mind was moving through the infirmary and into the corridor.

He waited until Nathan had reached the elevators. Then David Haller set down his fork, and wept.