Nathan and Jean, backdated to April 2

[x-cable.livejournal.com]

Backdated to April 2, in the morning. Nathan seeks out Jean to let her know that he's still having difficulty with his shields. Their conversation turns to the various crises and people-in-crisis, but the original problem remains unsolved.


It had taken him far, far too long to shake off the worst of the fatigue and the jetlag; Nathan couldn't remember the last time he'd been quite this wrecked after an intercontinental flight. Stress and still being at the tail end of recovering, he supposed. But even with his head clearer, his shields were still ragged. It wasn't as if he'd been keeping up his exercises in Sri Lanka.

He thought Jean would understand. Probably. Didn't mean he was any less disgruntled about having to go ask for help - again.

It had been a seriously, seriously weird couple of days. She wasn't actually sure which was weirder, finding her husband's previously presumed dead father-in-law, or having him hit on her, but it had, without question, been weird. Jean wasn't quite hiding out in her office in the medlab, but it wasn't quite as far off as she'd like to pretend.''

"Jean," Nathan said from the doorway. "I was wondering if you -who?" He stopped, blinking rapidly at her. "What - why did no one mention that when you dropped the kids off in Jaffna?" Admittedly, it had been very much dropping and running, given that it was not by any stretch of the imagination friendly airspace...

Jean had been so caught up in her mind she hadn't even realized he was here and it took her a second after he spoke for her to catch up, even though he was responding to her own thoughts. "Ah," she said after a moment. "So, not doing so well on the shielding then? Sorry..." A deep breath to recenter and her own shields thickened to make up for his lack. "And yes. Our head pirate... er, the one on the good side. Goes by the name of Corsair but he was born Christopher Summers, father to Scott and Alex. It's been a weird couple days."

"What the hell is it with long-lost parents?" Nathan asked helplessly, coming in the rest of the way. "I hope he's not evil. That would just be too much." He flopped down in the chair opposite Jean's desk, rubbing at his temples. "Your link must be a joy to be on this week."

"Oh, yes," she said, sitting back in her chair. "Given they both slugged each other within about eight hours of meeting each other, I'm calling it a win any day that goes by without someone storming out of a room."

"Still, all in all, it could be worse." Of course, his perspective on long-lost fathers was more than a little warped. Nathan rubbed at his temples some more, and began to wonder if he should have called her from the boathouse. "So, much as I'd like to hear more, I'm having a bit of a problem here. I thought sleep would help, but, well..."

"Yeah, no, thinking about something else works for me," Jean said. "So. Shielding?"

Nathan took a deep, slightly shaky breath. #The patterns are all there,# he sent - that part wasn't the problem, had never been the problem. #But it's like they're resting on sand.# The image had come to him this morning, and was both accurate and more than a little creepy, really. #I have no idea why.#

Jean frowned - she could almost taste the sense of oddity in his mind, his feeling of distress and, under it, the shaky foundation. #I don't know either, Nate,# she back. #But I'm not going to let it go till we figure it out...#

#I worry-# He switched back to words almost defensively, feeling as if expressing it telepathically would be too... vivid. "I worry that whatever went on, all this business with Farouk... my mind's a mess, Jean. We both know that. Scar tissue from here until forever." His jaw clenched. "What if it was just that one bit of damage too much?" What if my mind can't support shields anymore?

"I... No, I don't think so. I mean, it's possible, I guess, but I don't think so. Charles would have a better idea..." Jean paused, thinking over some alternatives. "We could do some medical scans, though."

"The prospect of more brain damage fills me with such glee." Nathan let his head rest in one hand for a moment, then rubbed at his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with my telepathy, though, that's the frustrating thing. I'm picking up as much as I should, I have no trouble projecting..." He smiled slightly. "Being able to say that without my stomach twisting is an improvement over a few weeks ago, I guess."

"Yes, I can tell," she said. "It's what makes me think this can't be permanent damage. I can't really imagine what could affect your shielding so drastically and nothing else." Although the fact that he was regaining control over everything else rather put paid to her personal theory that he'd been sabotaging himself subconsciously. Probably.

"It kind of feels like the old days, you know." The old and not-so-good days when his shields had never been particularly good in the first place. Nathan slouched in his chair, fingers tapping restlessly on the arm. "In retrospect, I think the weak shields are probably why I used to drink so heavily on a regular basis. Not really an option anymore."

"Yeeeah," Jean said wryly. "Might not be the best of ideas just now. Not, mind you, that I don't see the appeal of getting more or less plastered right about now. At least you no longer actually live right in the school with all the teenagers and their fascinating inner monologues."

"I don't know, it can be reassuringly banal at times..." Nathan grimaced slightly, thinking about the conversation with Angelo the other night. "I could go for banal right now. It would be refreshing."

Jean blinked, tilting her head to eye Nate closely. "Leaky, I think, is how I'd categorize you just now. You're not keeping anything out, maybe, and you're having some trouble keeping it all in. What's this with Angelo?"

"He's not coping well. Doesn't seem to want to cope, really -he's so deep into circular thinking that he's not seeing anything clearly." Nathan sighed. "I can see what's happening, but I'm not Jack Leary, or Charles," he said. "I can't do much for him. He's not listening, and I swear, he's throwing himself into the self-flagellation with this... exuberance."

"Mmm, can't imagine where he'd have learned that particular habit, not when surrounded by so many happy and well-adjusted role models."

"It's different. And I didn't do much to help - apparently me taking off for Sri Lanka made the situation worse. How did I ever get along without him watching my every move?" Nathan asked with a slightly bitter smile. In hindsight he could smack Joel for ever bringing up the minder thing 'officially'.

Jean snorted. "Ah. Now that's definitely one of the sins of youth. They get this theory that they know everything and can fix all our mistakes. Little do they know we did the exact same thing when we were their age. And little do they care."

"To be fair, I'm damned accident-prone, and have the self-preservation instincts of a flea sometimes. But it's not dumb luck that's let me survive this far - I wish he'd remember that sometimes. I really... don't have any intention of leaving, anytime soon." Nathan let a bleak laugh escape. "I wish he could believe that, and believe that he doesn't owe me anything, let alone lifetime loyalty. I threatened to fire him, and he told me he'd show up to work anyway."

"That's a hard one," Jean agreed, nodding slightly. "I don't even know how long it took Scott to grow out of it, although he is living proof that it's possible."

Nathan blinked at her, then tilted his head slightly as he contemplated the parallel. "... huh. Well. I'm not Charles."

The smile that stole onto Jean's lips was small and contained, but no less amused for all that. "No," she agreed equably, "you're not. You just inspire intense loyalty amongst the followers you gather around you, more or less by chance, on your personal crusade to save the world."

She got a baleful look for that comment. "And now you're making me sound like the mutant version of Charles Manson. Wait, does that mean I'm allowed to send my minions off to kill bureaucrats? Because I could get behind that."

The look she gave him was entirely Serious and Restrained. Except, of course, for the entertained twinkling in her mind. "Now, now, we've discussed this. No bureaucrat executions. You think it'll be good for business but it never really is."

"I think I could always try and see." The banter sounded a little weak. "But that's part of the problem, you know. Angelo thinks he should be able to kill for me. I would be the biggest hypocrite in the world if I said that I have never had the same urge about the people I care about when push comes to shove... but I've been working on it. I don't see it as a personal failure that I think I shouldn't do that anymore. I see it as progress." And mostly because the people he cared about tended to see it precisely the same way.

"He's not exactly good at moderation, is he?" Jean asked, mildly.

A fond, worried, slightly helpless smile slipped out. "No, he's not. And he was also raised Catholic. I thought I did guilt well."

"It's not just that, though," Jean said. "I mean, guilt, yes, but everything else, too. He's set on emotional overdrive most of the time, it seems, and when he's not he's shut off and shut down. He's never really learned balance. Which, ok, not like he's had any good role models for that, either, but we do all right..."

Nathan made a face. "Yeah, but we're old and weathered," he said, his lips twitching briefly. "I have to think our 'handling' is just... the product of experience, such as it is. After a while, you cope and move on because you have to."

"Mmm, yes. No argument from me on that point, I guess."