xp_logs | Alexander's Wall: After The Dust Settles

Waking up in Russian custody, Nathan and Haller find themselves unable to answer some fairly tough questions. Thankfully, they find themselves the beneficiaries of a rather unexpected save.

"~...and I'm going to tell you for the last time, we had nothing to do with this,~" Nathan ground out, trying to ignore the sick pain in his head. The ambience wasn't helping, and he wasn't just talking about the very angry Russian military officers shouting questions at them. They'd woken up in what had to have been Saidullayev's cell, and while the door was missing, the way they'd kept him in here for months was perfectly obvious. Not inhibitors, but scramblers, putting out enough psionic distortion to prevent focus entirely. Even if they hadn't done anything to Saidullayev but keep him in here, it would have been enough to make him snap, Nathan thought groggily. It was like perpetual nails-on-chalkboard, but inside your head, and it itched.

"Do I need to be here for this?" The speaker was nominally Jim, but the words were Cyndi's. Between the knock to the head and the annoying buzz that was making the telekinetic parts of him twitch he was lucky he had enough presence of mind to form words right now, let alone keep track of who was supposed to be saying them. Why am I here? Jim wondered. He looked at Nathan blearily. "Can we at least get an interrogator who speaks English?"

Nathan gave a bark of pained laughter. "Be glad you don't speak Russian," he muttered, "they're not making any sense..."

One of the Russians yelled another slightly hysterical-sounding question, and Nathan closed his eyes for a moment, wincing. "~We're not part of any conspiracy, you idiot,~" he growled back at the man, his already-tenuous grip on his temper slipping. He did not like being handcuffed to a chair. At all. "~Why would we have been left behind if we'd been part of this? Try engaging your brain, you-~"

That earned him a solid blow upside the head. He'd expected as much, but even as the room spun around him, he managed to give the man a look that at least suggested that if he did that again, Nathan would find a way to feed him that hand.

The younger man winced at the sound of flesh on Nathan's skull. "Do you not already have enough blunt force trauma today?" he asked wearily. The aggrieved tone was probably uncalled for, but at the moment he was more fixated on a desperate need for aspirin than politeness. Besides, grasp of the language hadn't been necessary to interpret the rising sharpness in Nathan's retort. Dear Journal: Today a whackjob telekinetic tore up half a city, Magneto hit me with a pipe and Nathan got himself smacked by twitchy military personnel. It was the very best vacation ever . . .

"~Tell me where they've gone!~" the very agitated officer in front of him demanded. And pulled a gun.

The urge to be a smartass died immediately, and Nathan gave him as level a look as he could. He was not getting himself or Jim shot by a Russian prison guard, however panicked the man was, likely over needing to explain all of this to his supervisors. "~We are NGO staff,~" he repeated doggedly - not entirely accurate for Jim, but now was not the time for niceties, "~working with a local humanitarian program. For the fifth time, I will give you their contact information!~"

Guns never carried pleasant memories. Jim's eyes slitted. "Reckon we can take him, I hook my leg just right," he muttered through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the gun and faint Texan drawl in his words.

"No," Nathan muttered back, more sharply, and would have tried to express further disapproval if it had not become abruptly and rather surprisingly unnecessary. Another officer, this one higher-ranking to judge by the way the others snapped to attention, appeared at the door. An older man, he looked substantially calmer, if oddly irritated. Nathan could sympathize.

"~Let them go,~" the older office ordered. One of his subordinates opened his mouth to protest, but he shook his head warningly. "~No. It's for the best, and they were obviously trying to stop him. This will be difficult enough to explain without creating a diplomatic incident.~"

Nathan blinked. Diplomatic - oh. "I think your aunt's been busy," he said hoarsely, his eyes shifting back to Jim as two of the soldiers moved to undo their restraints.

Slightly dazed and consumed by the release of his handcuffs, Jim did not fully appreciate the implications of this. Until the second newcomer entered the room, that is.

Gabrielle slowly appeared from behind the officer, her movements steady, calm, and quite obviously those of an old woman. "~We appreciate your cooperation,~" she said to the policemen, her voice hoarse but no less firm. She nodded at Nathan and Haller, and beckoned them to follow her. "Come."

As a child Jim had never had nightmares involving showing up for class in nothing but his underwear. At this moment, however, he entertained the possibility that the superhero equivalent might be having to be bailed out by one's mother.

But still . . . there were worse fates than having someone there to help you out of trouble.

"Thank you," Jim murmured to her as they trailed from the room, the interrogator's eyes hard on their backs.

Nathan didn't speak until they were safely out of the prison. Partially because walking in a straight line was something of a chore, partially because silence seemed like the better part of virtue just now.

There were still sirens, he realized as they reached the questionable safety of the open air. "Where do we go from here?" he asked a bit groggily, tottering slightly.

"I imagine that you will be returning to Westchester." Gabrielle's fingers itched to reach into her purse and smoke her entire carton of cigarettes, but that would hardly be professional. "After Ms. Munroe makes a stop in Tel Aviv. I think that my business here is complete, too."

Jim surveyed the distance through eyes that were protesting even faint sunlight. The sky was still gritty with dust. Chaos, fear, dread, and everything is on fire. Yep, our work here is done. Jim sighed and rubbed his forehead. Shut up, Cyndi.

"Is bailing us out going to cause you any problems?" the telepath asked aloud.

Gabrielle shook her head. "Let me worry about that. I have more leeway with such concerns than do either of you."

His head was spinning. I am not faceplanting on the sidewalk, or even what's left of the sidewalk. Or throwing up our savior's shoes. Increasingly tempting though the thought might be. "Explanations for everyone," Nathan said dazedly. "I have no clue how I'm going to explain this to Joel. He's going to stop letting me go on trips."

"Yeah." Jim sighed and rubbed a hand through his damp hair. "Can we make a quick detour? I need to return a bike."