xp_logs | LOG: [Nathan, Haller] Lunch (Reply)

Nate is confronted by a question which, though not eternal, it's helpful to have answers to.

There was probably something very wrong with him, Nathan reflected, that he was perfectly happy to be lying on the couch while work went on in the offices on the other side of the partition. Highly uncharacteristic and all that jazz. But the increased moving around that being allowed out of the infirmary had required meant that he was really feeling the fact that he'd been shot in the back, and it was just nice to lie here and let the painkillers kick in.

Rachel was down for her nap, and Moira had said something amused about how he should follow suit, before heading back up to the house. He was quite tempted.

"Hey, Nate." There was a polite rap on the doorframe, then Jim's head appeared. It surmounted a bowl of pasta covered with another dish.

"Juliette let me in," the younger man explained, stepping into the room. "Brought some lunch. Moira indicated you probably weren't going to be getting it yourself anytime soon."

"Mmm. Walking bad," Nathan said, telling his eyelids to stay properly open. Food would probably be very good too. "Hi. I'm not nearly as drugged as I sound - you okay? Hear things got a little hairy in Iran." He gestured at the laptop on the coffee table. "Moira insisted that I got it back. She told me if I kept resisting she'd keep me in the infirmary for another week because there had to be something seriously wrong with me."

"Considering some of the stuff that's been on the journals lately I don't really blame you." Jim set the tray down on the coffee table and folded himself into a chair. "Iran was . . . well, the extraction went okay, at least, and since it turns out his mutation is a little less dire than advertised the Russians are going to relocate the kid and his family to Turkmenistan. It wasn't a great experience, but I think he'll be all right." Jim rubbed his temples. "Even so, I think we should all agree Tommy's mutation never becomes public knowledge. Ever."

"Yes, let's not contribute to weaponizing the children." Nathan, very gingerly, shifted his legs over the edge of the couch and sat up. It hurt, and his jaw clenched, his breathing gone a bit ragged as he waited for it to ease off. "How I know how far I've come," he said, when he was capable of putting more than two words together. "No more fear of painkillers. Instead I plead for them to kick in."

Jim nodded solemnly. "Truly you are growing as a person."

"You're sarcastic. Rather like my daughter. She sat there this morning at the breakfast table, eyed me, and then said 'Dad? Holes?' I thought Moira was going to have a stroke, she laughed so hard." Nathan didn't sound like a man irritated by being the butt of jokes from his redheads, however, and some of the tension eased from his expression as he spoke.

"It could be worse. She could be trying to telekinetically help mommy with the stitches." Jim stretched his legs out, sinking back in the chair. It was nice to get his mind away from his own weirdness for a while. "How's the wound, anyway?"

"Wounds, plural. The only thing worse than getting shot in the back by a history professor is when she does it twice." Nathan made a face, then reached out to lift the dish off the pasta. "Anyway. I'm getting there. I have no energy and it hurts to move, but that'll pass."

Jim winced. "You know, you have real a talent for attracting people with unhealthy fixations. Usually on you, and usually ending in violence. I'm starting to think you put out some kind of vibe."

Nathan's expression went still, and he stared at the pasta for a moment, remembering what had come to mind while he was talking to Sooraya. "I think you have a point," he said, in almost a normal tone. "I ought to work on that. And she... Trask... is quite fixated, yes. I've actually been kind of puzzling over why she shot me. It wasn't self-defense. I was actually running to help Jean at the time."

Jim frowned. "Um. Hard to say. What was happening right before that? Were you fighting, or did she just, well . . . shoot?"

"Uh... I'd actually just knocked her out of my mind. She and I had a little tete-a-tete in the literal sense. Apparently she's capable of astral-shifting her lunatic self right into my subconscious, shields or not shields - I have no idea how she managed it." Nathan shook his head very slightly. "I might have pissed her off. I created an image of Askani, to distract her."

Jim's blue eye narrowed. "Um. Well, I think pissed is a normal response to finding out the image of someone you idolized was used like that. I suspect you'd be upset if Askani's memory was used to push your buttons, too."

"Yet she didn't aim at my head." Nathan winced and shifted on the couch a little. "I've been trying to think about it, go over what I sensed in the moment she shot me - kind of hard to remember the details, though. Maybe it's easier to just assume it was out of anger."

"I don't know." Jim leaned over his knees, clasping his hands together. "I mean . . . okay, look at it this way. Trask thinks of herself as Askani's disciple. In her mind, she's devoted herself to a movement that won't exist for hundreds of years. She can teach it to as many people as will listen, but it'll always be second hand. There's no one else in the world who knows what it's like to be moved by the one who moved her. No equals." Jim's eyes flicked up to Nathan's. "Except for you."

Nathan gazed at him for a moment, then gave a laugh that had no force and almost no sound behind it. "Remind me not to have this discussion with Moira. She already wants to remove the woman's spleen." There was something sad and pensive in his eyes as he met Jim's, however. "As for Askani... Trask took everything she was, and turned it into everything she hated. I told Tara-" The first name slipped out almost before he realized what he was saying. "-Trask, I told her that Askani would have killed her for what she's done. And she would have. Which, oddly, makes me glad that I am not in contact with any version of her anymore, because I think I was lucky to survive the last time she expressed her rage."

Jim studied the older man for a moment. "I'm inclined to take your word for it that she's completely missed the point," he said at last, "but that doesn't really make it easier, does it? She's so far out of touch with reality, but she really believes -- and I think it's important to her that she win you over, too. Askani's not here to give her her blessing. If she can get you on her side she'll be vindicated." He sighed and sat back in his chair again. "When there's only one person on earth that can ever really mean something from, that's something you're willing to fight for."

"I guess what I need to ask myself, then, is how to use that." Nathan finally picked up the bowl of pasta. Eating would be good, even if the conversation had rather made him lose his appetite. "I can't play along with her. I've blown my opportunity to do that - I suppose keeping in contact with her after what happened in the summer is probably what made her think I might be more inclined to listen to her."

Jim spread his hands. "I wish I had advice for you, but she seems so entrenched in this world she's built up I don't know if there's anything you can do to break through to her. Trying to steer her gently may work better than an outright clash, but gentle influence might not be enough." He shook his head. "Maybe all you can do is wait until this bridge she's building crashes down on her. If we're lucky she'll learn from it, and maybe you can help her pick up the pieces again and do it right. If not . . . at least you'll be there to minimize the damage."

"And what about the damage she does in the meantime?" Nathan sighed, but made himself eat a bite of pasta before he continued. "Two good people, two important leaders, who are only alive now because a few of us were in the right place at the right time. How long until she starts targeting more? And the idea of what she might be able to induce Saidullayev to do is kind of horrifying." He grimaced. "He's lucid," he said more quietly, to the man who'd been with him in Derbent this summer, "but it's not actually much of an improvement. That hate's still there, and now it's got a focus."

"Oh, great. Insanity with a purpose." Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "As for what you should do, I wish I knew. Try and stay close to her and hope to be a positive influence, or pull away and just try to react and anticipate . . ." He rubbed the back of his head apologetically. "I'm sorry. My expertise doesn't really cover averting potential global chaos."

"No, you've helped," Nathan said slowly. "I think the minute I start looking at her as just a threat to be stomped on, we lose this particular fight. It doesn't do the complexity of the situation justice, and I throw away what little leverage we have if I do. That said, obviously I can't be buddy-buddy with the woman masterminding assassinations, either." His smile was faint and very wry. "I may have to be clever about this. You can all be very afraid now."

Jim nodded. "Well, whatever you do, good luck. Um, and give me plenty of warning so I can get out of the way."