Nathan and Jean, Wednesday afternoon

Nathan stops by the infirmary to let Jean check his face. She decides it's an opportune time to have a little chat.

"Moira tells me I keep trying to scratch," was Nathan's first comment, and not until he had actually sat down on the examination table. His response to Jean's greeting had been a grunt, and to her invitation to sit down, a curt nod. "I don't actually make it to the scratching. She reaches out and smacks my hand before I've even half-raised it. Links are such fun."

Jean quite freely ignored the implied sarcasm as she started removing the bandages to see how the marks on his face were healing. "Good for Moira, then. No scratching remains the rule."

"The stitches itch." Nathan said but then sat perfectly still, letting her take a look. "They are the dissolving kind, yes?" he asked as she leaned back. "I don't have to come down here in another few days and let Amelia poke at me..."

"They are, yes," Jean said, gently turning his chin to get a better look. "You are free, once more, from Amelia's dread clutches." It looked like there had been a bit of additional bleeding, and Jean sent one of her swabs across the room to dampen it in the sink before gently washing away the dried blood.

"I'll probably have some manly scars for a while." Under any other circumstances, Nathan would have made that joke in Moira's direction, just for the joy of getting smacked upside the head for it. Given the situation, however, the joke wasn't really appropriate. "Ray was trying to figure out what was wrong with my face when I showed up looking like this, too."

"Mmm, very manly, I'm sure. Was Rachel tugging at the stitches?" That would explain the slight bleeding, since she would have stopped when she realized it hurt.

Nathan opened his mouth and then closed it again. "No," he said slowly, "although she did catch me with an elbow this morning. Was having a bit of a tantrum." He gave a thin half-smile. "Ray, not me."

"Oh?" Jean's eyes were level as she met Nathan's. "And what sparked it?" Rachel made such an excellent emotional barometer for her father, and Jean was willing to cheat like anything when it came to finding out how Nate was dealing with things - he had far too good of a poker face when he wanted to.

Nathan shrugged. "Probably picked up something on one of the links she didn't like," he said briefly. "Moira and I have been trying to watch what we project this week, but it's hard sometimes, depending on where the conversation goes. We were talking this morning, and Ray flung her breakfast at the wall and started screaming at the top of her lungs."

"Well, it's not as though being aware twenty-four/seven of every thought you may be accidentally sharing isn't draining enough to allow for some slips." His face properly cleaned again, Jean carefully set new bandages in place. "At least another day with these on, I think, to protect the stitches."

"Poor little thing." Nathan's gray eyes were hooded. "She doesn't know what's going on, what she's sensing, and it's not like we can explain. I thought of suggesting to Moira that we ship her off to Anna and Billie for a while, but I don't know that the separation would actually help."

"I don't think it would really help you, for certain, and no, I'm not sure it would help her." The bandages properly set, Jean stepped back and considered him. "I wish I knew what would help, but the only thing I can really suggest is time. This was pretty much a personal hell for all of us, and now we just... have to find a way to get past it."

Nathan shrugged again, almost irritably. "The kids are what matters right this moment. And damn, I'm a coward. I haven't even been to see Kyle."

Jean frowned and edited her first response - not any point in telling him he was being absurd. "And why would you categorize that as cowardice, hmm?" she asked instead.

Nathan gave her one of those 'You're being pedantic but I'm putting up with it because you have red hair and I'm used to it' looks. "How many people in the house were brainwashed into killers with artificial pack instincts? Oh, right, those three kids - and me. And Kyle, at least, I could maybe help, or at least give him someone to talk to... only I'm too afraid to talk to him or the others because I'm the reason they were brainwashed into killers with artificial pack instincts. For a gibbering lunatic, Rory had a real sense of symmetry."

Jean waved off the look. "As the kids might say, please not to be with the guilt, 'kay thanks. You said it yourself - Rory became a gibbering lunatic. That's why this happened. And Moira was never attracted to him. Even if you had never entered the picture, his delusions of their happy future together would never have come to be, and he'd still have been a gibbering lunatic."

The look he gave her this time was just this side of impatience. "What is, is. We can stick our fingers in our ears and go 'lalala' all we want, but there's not denying that he picked this particular method of hurting them because of me."

Nathan gave his head a tight shake, going on before Jean could interject. "But fine, whatever. Neither Moira nor I are to blame for what happened. We didn't do it, and didn't contribute to it being done. Is that what you wanted to hear?" But there was a whole world of shades of gray here, and Nathan broke eye contact with Jean, flexing his right hand, the one that had still been numb on and off these last few days. "We'll be fine," he said brusquely. "I'll shake it off and go talk to Kyle sometime soon."

"I can't make you actually believe all thoes lines you're saying for my benefit, and I'll back off. I'm just..." Jean sighed. "Well, worried about you. But that was obvious."

"Well, you know me." He managed to keep his voice level, although his throat had tightened suddenly. "People fucking with kids' heads hits a sore spot. I'm supposed to be one of the people who stops that from happening, not-" He managed not to finish the sentence.

"I know, Nate, I know. And I would happily continue beating you over the head with the idea that it really isn't your fault if I thought it would do any good. Instead, all I can tell you is that you did stop him."

It hurt too much to think about it in these terms, still, and the counter-arguments were still too fresh in his mind. Rory had really known what he was doing. Nathan swallowed, then went on more briskly. "Well, I'm thick, generally. We both know this."

"Yes, yes we do." The temptation to project reassurance and concern like he was one of the kids was odd, but controllable. Instead, Jean simply rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment before moving away from the path between him and the door. "You're all done from the doctorly perspective, I'd say. Free to go if you want to get away from me and my meddling."

"You meddle with rare style and grace, Red," Nathan said, slipping down off the examining table and mustering up a slight smile. "I find it doesn't send me running for the hills - quite."

"Only a little bit," Jean suggested, "And only when you're already fairly prone to the idea."