xp_logs | Nathan, Sooraya, and Jean, Tuesday (Reply)

Sooraya heads out to the boathouse to feed Nathan, who's been noticeably absent all day - for good reason. Several hours later, Jean reads him the riot act in - you guessed it, the infirmary.

Sooraya was still a bit fuzzy on the whole X-Men thing - mentions of 'bondage leather' and 'saving the world' made even less sense if English was your second language - but she did know that every time the team returned from a 'mission' the teachers seemed a bit more sore and overly tired than usual. It wasn't like Elpis, where most (though not all) the expenditures seemed emotional... they were worn out, both physically and mentally. Luckily, though, Sooraya knew just the remedy for that.

The boathouse was quiet and still as she let herself in, balancing the tray expertly in one hand. By now she knew her way around the kitchen and had perfected the art of whipping up warm, homemade meals, which she lugged around with her on a surprisingly regular basis. It wasn't her fault people seemed to forget to eat in times of stress... or that the times of stress were so frequent.

The boathouse was also dim, the curtains drawn. There was a noise from the couch as Sooraya stepped in, a rather appalling-sounding burst of coughing followed by a stifled groan. "Sooraya?"

"Yes, it is me," the Afghan girl said, immediately furrowing her brow as she walked more quickly towards the sofa. "I have food for you... but you are not sounding well. You are sick?"

"I fell in the river." Nathan blinked, making a face. Why did I say that? His head felt very odd. "I mean, I'm okay. I just... overslept." And what was he doing down here? He remembered, very clearly, taking a shower upstairs - turning the water on as hot as it would go - and then faceplanting on the bed last night. "I should check on Rachel," he said, pushing himself up to his feet.

"You will need a jet plane for to do this," Sooraya said, setting down the tray on the table and reaching out to pluck at his shirtsleeve. She let it go as soon as she had touched it, but the expression on her face told him she wouldn't hesitate to do it again, if need be. "She is not here, she is at Muir. You do not need to worry for her, only for you. Please sit?"

Nathan's expression was puzzled as he looked from Sooraya's determined face towards the nursery, then back again. "But... I thought she was there." He tilted his head, wincing a bit as he tried to concentrate. The nursery was quiet. "Okay, that's kind of weird..."

Weird indeed. Sooraya didn't like the raspiness in Nate's voice, or the pallor of his skin, difficult as it was to see in the dim light. Hopefully a good meal and some more sleep would help him, though plenty of students were getting sick as well in the mansion and using funny-looking syrups with strange names to help them feel better. Maybe Nate needed one of those.

"Rachel is with Dr. Moira," she said again, bending to tidy the tray and unfold one of the napkins. "You must only eat and sleep today, I think. That is all."

Nathan didn't quite register what was admittedly very good advice. Rachel was with Moira? And they weren't here. Frowning, he looked back and forth, then towards the stairs. "What did I do with my phone?" he asked vaguely. "I need to call, and-" He'd breathed in too deeply, and the subsequent coughing had him half-doubled over, the pain in his chest hitting him like a blow.

With a quick intake of breath Sooraya darted nearer, hoping that if he fell, he'd at least land on the couch. "Nathan!" she said, debating whether she should attempt to catch him in that eventuality. "~What's the matter, what happened? Are you all right? Should I get help?~"

The soft, frantic voice was not speaking English. Dari. Sooraya. Nathan managed to straighten up, to actually draw some air into his lungs, and the spots he was seeing started to recede. "I'm okay," he wheezed. "I'm fine. Don't-"

There was probably some cosmic justice at work, not letting him get out the third lie in as many sentences. Thankfully for Sooraya's peace of mind, when he tottered it was backwards, and although he didn't quite land squarely on the couch, all of the important bodily parts missed the floor.

...okay. Definitely not fine, then. Nate seemed to be breathing, albeit not as well as he normally did, and he wasn't bleeding from anywhere Sooraya could see. Food and sleep wasn't going to be enough to fix him, though, and she didn't think pouring syrup down his throat would help, either. This definitely called for a doctor.

Determinedly she picked up the nearest phone and dialed in the mansion's extension (having been given a crash course in this very thing by Juliette not too long before) and before long was able to relay the message about Nate's collapse to someone in the medlab. They told her they'd be right out to check on him, and thus assured, she went back to hover anxiously by his side.

--

There were tubes up his nose. He knew that feeling. He'd been actually rather hoping never to feel it again, after curing himself of the virus. But they were definitely there, and he was definitely flat on his back in what was definitely an infirmary bed. And that was definitely a redhead leaning over him looking disapproving. Nathan thought he should say something suitably witty, but his chest hurt, his head felt very strange, and Jean was not looking like she was in the mood for wit at all.

Oh no, Jean was definitely not in the mood. "Pneumonia," she said, eyes sharp and voice flat. "Acute classic bacterial bronchopneumonia. If you tell me you've been coughing up anything for more than about five minutes before you passed out and didn't tell me, Nate, I swear to God I will lock you in your room and not let you out until Moira is back to yell at you again. You fell in a fucking river, in the middle of a snowstorm, in January, in RUSSIA and you didn't think it was worth mentioning when you started feeling ill?"

She was swearing at him. Crap. "Just thought it was a cold starting," he croaked, and then switched to telepathy, hard as it was to concentrate. #I wasn't feeling like this yesterday, or I would have come in. I would've come in today, when I woke up properly...# He was hoping this was still today, at least.

Glancing up at the clock on his monitor she shook her head. "Officially yesterday as of about ten minutes ago. I should sedate you until you learn some common sense." But there wasn't nearly as much bite to her tone. The more severe symptoms of pneumonia could creep up unexpectedly. She was going to have to screen the kids in his classes, though, to make sure it wasn't a contagious strand of bacteria, which was adding to her annoyance.

Nathan started to cough, wincing at the pain in his chest. Oh, this felt familiar. Familiar and he didn't like it at all. #... don't think I've ever had pneumonia,# he projected faintly once he could at least semi-breathe again. #I'm branching out.# Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Why had he not remembered he'd tried to breathe Moskva River water?

Jean watched, concerned, until the coughing died down. "Yeah, but your lungs have never been that strong to begin with. At least now I don't have to worry about quite so many drug interactions. I've got you on a cough suppressant and anti-inflamatories to keep that fever down, but neither can be that strong until the bacteria's been killed off and I can take you off the anti-biotics."

#Shit. I'm stuck in here for a bit, aren't I?# "Moira's going to kill me," he rasped aloud; the telepathy was making his head hurt worse. "Did you call her?" At least Moira had Rachel with her; he'd have hated to see Ray's reaction to him passing out on the boathouse floor.

#Rather,# was the dry response. "And yes, Moira knows. Was nice enough not to tell me I should have been watching you after you took that little swim." Although Jean wasn't letting herself off that hook. Particularly not with Nate's history of both respiratory ailments and ignoring the need for medical care.

"Not your fault," Nathan said, correctly reading her expression despite the fever. "Should've said something yesterday..." He smiled a bit wanly. "Thanks for not leaving me to Amelia, though."

"Amelia has far more experience than I have with both pneumonia cases and Russian rivers, and had some choice words to describe people who end up in the latter and the inevitability of the former. She agrees with you that it's not my fault, and may have called you the Russian equivalent of a moron." Jean's smile was a tad on the wry side. "I think we should all be grateful that her bedside manner is... inimitable."

"Moira will beat me up enough for all of you." He was going to start giving her a complex, having crises while she was away on Muir. No, honey, I'm really not doing it to get attention, honestly... "Do I really have to be in here?" he asked more fretfully. "I promise I'd rest, if I was back in the boathouse..."

"Keeping you away from any and all possible complications and secondary infections, which means keeping you away from the kids during cold season, at least until the anti-biotics kick in, yes. Besides, you and voluntary rest are ideas which somehow fail to mesh in my mind. Two or three days," she relented at his distressed look. "I know you hate it here."

"Can I have my laptop?" Fever or no fever, the puppy-dog eyes were just as devastating. Possibly more so. "I promise not to do any actual work..." He just hated being down here, cut off from everything. And he'd been working on a really nice no-infirmary streak. Almost seven months.

Jean knew when she was being manipulated through puppy-dog eyes, but she didn't mind, and wouldn't have denied him his laptop anyways. He needed physical rest more than anything, and the laptop would at least keep him busy enough that he wouldn't attempt to sneak out. "All right, yeah, we can do that."

"You're my third-favorite redhead." Nathan closed his eyes with a ragged little sigh. The concession having been extorted, he didn't feel up to following up on it right now. He just wanted the laptop to be there later. When he was feeling better. "The other two are so going to kick my ass." He coughed again - only twice, thankfully, although it didn't mean his chest hurt any less.

"They are," Jean agreed, only the faintest tinge of sympathy in her voice, "and I'm not going to help you get out of it. But I would reccommend sleep and rest and yet more sleep as being the most effective way to get into a shape that will survive said ass kicking."

"It's not my fault if the psycho Chechen me threw a bridge at me." And now he was whining. "... going to sleep now," he muttered.

Jean couldn't help but smile faintly at Nate. "No, it wasn't your fault, and yes, sleep would be good. There's a call button on the side of the bed, as usual. You can reach me or Amelia, whoever's on duty, whenever you need." And Jean should head upstairs. She'd been determined to stay down here till Nate woke up and she could tell him off properly, but the awareness in her mind told her that Scott wasn't going to bed until she was there.