xp_logs | Nathan and Angelo, Tuesday afternoon

After a frustrating meeting at the UN, Angelo is a bit startled and worried when Nathan has something of a small disagreement with a table. They retire to the Ambassador Grill for a late lunch, and Angelo doesn't find the explanation behind Nathan's bad mood much more reassuring.

"We do not keep records of such things," the Yemeni diplomat said dismissively, flicking his hand at Nathan and Angelo as he headed out the door. "It is not so significant an issue as to require attention from our government."

Nathan rose, trying to forestall him. "Sir, I realize that it perhaps seems that way. But really, we're dealing with a significant number of children who-"

"I have no time for this. Perhaps you will find answers to your questions elsewhere." Or perhaps not, was the unspoken corollary. The diplomat was out the door before Nathan could speak again.

Flushing a deep, angry red, Nathan started to gather the files, not meeting Angelo's eyes. "Asshole."

That didn't mean Angelo wasn't trying to catch Nathan's eye. "Hey. We've had worse."

"Yes, well, maybe that's the fucking problem," Nathan growled. His hands were shaking. "'Have you given any thought to your country's mutant children and their medical needs, sir?' 'Why, of course not. Why would I do anything... that... stupid!"

Telekinesis abruptly shuddered through the table, cracking it in half. Nathan froze at the noise. The door was closed, thankfully, or it would have drawn attention in the hall outside. This was a smaller conference room, but it was on a floor full of them, and it was the middle of a weekday.

Angelo, now on the floor where he'd reflexively jerked back from the table and knocked his chair over, stared up at Nathan. "...what the hell was that?"

Nathan stared down at the table, then went about picking up the files. "I'll speak to the Space Management office about reimbursing them for the damage," he said, his voice clipped. "Before we leave."

"Yeah", Angelo said, voice hard, pushing himself to his feet. "An' after we leave, you're gonna tell me why that happened. I know you normally have better control than that, Nathan."

Nathan didn't respond. Didn't say much of anything, for that matter, until they had taken care of speaking to the relevant office, left the UN building, and were heading across the plaza to the Ambassador Grill. The fresh air seemed to revive him a little, but his jaw was still visibly clenched.

"I'm tired of this," he said finally as they approached the doors of the restaurant. "Tired of having to deal with that level of simple, blind bigotry every second time we raise an issue around here."

"An' you think I'm not?" Angelo demanded, pushing the door open. "You think I don't ever want to haul off an' punch one of them, or break somethin'?"

The maitre'd, looking somewhat unnerved by the obvious undercurrent between them, showed them quickly to a table and departed. Nathan sank down in the chair, not responding to Angelo's question for a long moment.

"I know," he finally said, calmly but flatly. "That was a bad slip, and it could have been a lot worse. I don't have a power that I should be letting my temper control."

"No, you really don't", was the uncompromising answer. "Sure, this time it was just a table. Nobody got hurt... this time."

Nathan nodded tightly, conceding the point - again, and opening his menu.

"So what're you goin' to do about it?" was the next, quieter, question, as Angelo softened just a little but didn't give the point up yet.

An eyebrow went up, but he didn't look up from the menu. "Not take out my frustration on innocent furniture?"

"You tellin' me you meant to break the table, in there? 'Cause it didn't look like it to me."

"It's a question of controlling my temper," Nathan said. He wasn't hungry at all, lunchtime or not, although he probably should eat something. "That's been an issue with me for a number of years now, remember. Call what happened to that table backsliding."

"Okay", Angelo said neutrally. "So the next time we run up against a little bigot like that...?" He wasn't quite at the point of suggesting he handled all the initial meetings with new diplomats, but he wasn't far off.

"The next time we run up against a little bigot like that, I remind myself that he or she will come to a bad end eventually and that I shouldn't get so exercised about it."

"Good", was the answer. "An' if you think you're startin' to lose your temper anyway?"

Oh, this was lovely. Now the boy was lecturing him. "Then I fake food poisoning and excuse myself," Nathan said sourly, closing this menu. "Are we done?"

"Yeah, I think we are", Angelo said flatly, watching him. "You gettin' anythin' to eat?"

The waiter appeared, looking a bit dubious at the obvious mood at the table. "I'll have the soup of the day, whatever it is," Nathan said to him.

"Just a salad for me", Angelo chipped in. "Not that hungry."

"Joel talk to you yet about that conference in January?" Nathan asked as the waiter retreated. A subject change would be so nice. "The one in Moscow?"

Angelo seized on it with some relief, too. "He mentioned it, yeah. Just quickly."

"Looks worthwhile. You could make some good contacts for us, if you went. And I'd like to see you starting to do more than just attending meetings here," Nathan said. "Giving you a broader look at the political side of things outside the US would be good."

Angelo nodded. "You're... you mean you want me to go on my own?"

Nathan actually offered something closer to his normal smile. "Your Russian is rapidly moving towards 'solid'. You're more diplomatic than I am."

"Sometimes", Angelo said with a wry smile. "You don't usually lose your temper with other people actually in the room."

"I save that for special occasions." Nathan paused, his water glass halfway to his lips. "And no, I don't know what that makes today," he murmured a bit dryly.

Angelo just nodded, steering them away from that topic again. "Anyway... sure, I'll go. Never been to Moscow before."

"It's an interesting city. Although January is an awfully cold time to go - you'll have to pack your cold-weather gear. And long underwear." Nathan tilted his head. "You could always take along a friend," he said dryly.

"Sarah's got her own work to do", Angelo replied with no shame whatsoever. "So do all my friends", deliberately leaving off the emphasis.

"Pity. It does get very cold in Moscow."

"Do they have central heatin'?"

"It's a very nice hotel." Nathan gazed at him, with a deadpan look. "I should get you to bring me back some real vodka."

"I can do that", Angelo said cheerfully. "I'm legal in Europe. An' I can hide it in my checked bags."

The waiter reappeared with the soup and salad. Nathan nodded in thanks, picking up his spoon. He discovered almost immediately that he wasn't quite down from the adrenalin rush just yet - his hand was unsteady and he set the spoon back down, taking a deep breath.

Angelo eyed him, offering a napkin automatically. "Nathan..."

"I'm fine," Nathan said with a brief smile. But he took the napkin, dabbing gently at the bit of soup he'd spilled on the tablecloth.

"Sure you are", Angelo said dryly. "So fine your hands are shakin'."

"Just the aftermath of my little temper tantrum." He picked up his water glass again, instead. "It'll stop in a few minutes."

"Does that happen every time?" He was more worried now than annoyed.

"Every time... what? That I break a table at the UN?" His smile was a little lopsided.

"You know what I mean."

"I'm just a little unsettled this week, Angelo. No need to worry." He tried the soup again. It was actually quite good. "I think that's... pumpkin or something," he muttered.

"Interestin' choice", Angelo said, still watching him. "Wouldn't find pumpkin as soup of the day many places."

"Or squash, maybe... there's something else in there, too." And now he was analyzing the soup. Hah.

"Nathan", Angelo said levelly. "Stop talkin' about what's in your soup an' tell me if this... bein' unsettled... doesn't stop soon, you'll go see Jack."

"I've been seeing Jack," Nathan protested. "Twice, since we got back from Prague..."

"Yeah, an' you're still havin' problems. Unless somethin' happened since Prague?" It was little more than a guess, but he knew Nathan pretty well.

"Things are always happening..." When had he started being unable to lie directly to Angelo? "I've had a lot of food for thought," he said gruffly. "It's not been pleasant thinking, some of it."

"What kind of food for thought?" Angelo asked patiently.

"What I'm doing, why I'm doing it. How I'm doing it." He couldn't lie, but he could make an art of vagueness. Well, that was a relief.

"Meanin' what?" Angelo persisted, starting to grow a little frustrated. "Nathan, whatever you've done... why don't you want to tell me?"

"Because I'm not sure that it's anything that warrants heartfelt confessions," Nathan said irritably. "And it would be a much longer story than you realize. Call it a straw that broke the camel's back."

"...fine." He looked down and went back to poking at his salad, looking suddenly very young and very worried.

"I just... wonder if I'm doing all I can." Mystique's words echoed in his mind, nagging and inescapable.

"How d'you mean? You're already workin' yourself into the ground. Again."

"The restraints we put on ourselves... the rules of the game..." Nathan was clearly having trouble putting his thoughts into words, something that was unusual for the man with the law degree. "I don't know," he finally said, frustrated. "I just don't know anymore."

"...you know, I never thought I'd be the one to say this, but we have to follow the rules. We don't make them, but when they're not actually morally wrong..."

"That's not what I mean. I'm not talking about breaking laws." Nathan fell into a pensive silence, turning his attention back to his soup.

"Then what did you mean?" He didn't understand, and it was bothering him.

Nathan looked up at him, and quite deliberately switched to telepathy. #I read minds. I can change minds. Yet very often I do neither. Sometimes it's because of the ethics Charles has been trying to teach me, some of the time it's shame, pure and simple.# "I walk around," Nathan said aloud, very quietly, "at that school, and I try to pretend that I don't know full well that a number of people whom I care about, whose opinions I value, well and truly believe that the only good telepath is one you've forgotten has that ability in the first place."

Angelo looked at him steadily. "Telepaths aren't the easiest mutants to trust bein' around, even for other mutants - an' I'm not sayin' I'm one of those that don't, not for a second - but you know that. But the thing is, Nathan, it sounds like you're sayin' you wonder if you should use it to read minds or change minds more than you do... an' I'm not seein' how that'd help with the trust."

"If you're going to be something... obscene," Nathan said, and there was a tightness to his jaw and a suspicious brightness in his eyes, "something unnatural, that even other mutants fear... why shouldn't you be it? Isn't that better," he said a bit hoarsely, picking up his water glass, "than hating what you are? To care less about what they think, and try and do the good you can without letting their feelings affect you?"

"Because, Nathan", Angelo said, putting down his fork and leaning a little across the table, "you're better than that. An' can't you care less about what they think without changin' who you are an' how you do things, to a way that might be wrong?"

"There's that old saying about the slippery slope. The point is, you can get things done on the slippery slope," Nathan said, quietly but somehow violently. "Standing at the top and refusing to put a foot on it just makes you a coward."

"An' what does it make you if you step onto the slope... an' you fall, before you've even noticed you started slidin'?"

"Then you fall," Nathan said quietly. "But is it really better not to try and keep your footing?" He waved a hand in a gesture that was anything but dismissive. "I haven't made any decisions," he said in a brittle voice. "I just want to start examining options a little more clearly, when I'm in certain types of situations."

"As long as you consider them real carefully", Angelo said quietly. "I don't want to see you fall, Nathan."

"I don't really want to fall, either. But I don't want to keep wondering whether I'm fighting with one hand tied behind my back." His stomach was churning. It was probably a very bad sign that the thought of using his telepathy more actively on a regular basis was making him feel nauseous.

"Talk to the Professor", Angelo said, making it a request. "He manages it. But in the end... better to fight with one hand tied behind your back than take one step too far an' not see it until you can't stop it."

"So practical," Nathan said, almost lightly.

"I try", he said, almost achieving light too. Behind the shields, of course, he was terrified.