xp_logs | Nathan and John, Tel Aviv, Monday

All is quiet, the morning after the funeral. Until it isn't.

The crash inside Nathan's suite in the villa would likely have brought several people running, had the villa not been nearly empty at this time of day with most of its inhabitants at work in the Elpis office, and Mina and Anika off at the beach with the children. The follow-up crash was even louder.

John woke up with a start and immediately rolled off the couch, grimacing slightly as his knees hit the wooden floor. "Fuck..." He ran a hand through his hair and stood up, looking somewhat bewildered. He'd only just left Nathan on his own for a few hours to catch up on some sleep and now what?

He jumped as a he heard another crash coming from Nathan's suite, and John saw bits and pieces of broken furniture before he caught sight of the older man.

"--the fuck?"

One of Elpis's famous rugged laptops flew out the door, barely missing John, and smashed against the opposite wall - quite literally smashed, into pieces. The screen flickered and died, too quickly for John to have seen what had been on it, even if he'd been looking in that direction. Inside the room, Nathan spun in a way that suggested reeling, rather than paying attention to what he was doing. The bed upended itself with a crash, and the window blew out. Nathan's gray eyes were utterly blank, as if he wasn't even seeing the destruction he was causing.

"Jesus fuck!" John realized he'd narrowly missed getting his face smashed by a fucking laptop, and he took a step back as he tore his eyes away from the massive hole in the wall. He stared at Nathan and wondered if the man even saw him. "Nathan?" He held his arms up as he stepped forward. Jesus fucking christ, he thought. If this was how Nathan handled grief, someone should have fucking warned him. He'd prepared himself to deal with handing over boxes of Kleenex tissue even, but this?

There was a rumble like a minor earthquake through the floor, rattling everything in the room, including John. Nathan turned away from him, hands gone up to his temples for a moment, and something close to a despairing snarl escaping him. The ominous heaviness in the air was at the breaking point for a moment longer, before it began to ease. Nathan was visibly gasping for air, his breathing uneven, labored.

"It wasn't a stroke."

He tried not to focus on the fact that his teeth were chattering and he let his mouth hang open slightly. "It wasn't?" John had to wonder what the big deal was. So the man had died of something else. Cancer, maybe. Why the hell did Nathan have to put himself through this shit again? The dude wad dead. He was dead. End of story.

"Someone caused it. Someone killed him." Nathan paused, his jaw clenching spasmodically. He was blinking rapidly, trying to get his eyes to focus. "Someone murdered him. With telekinesis." His voice broke, but he went on angrily. "He had me down as his next of kin, you know? The doctor, at the hospital - he said there was something unusual on the autopsy. He sent me the pictures, so I could show Moira. In case it was because of the-" But John didn't know about the virus, and it was entirely beside the point. "I know what it looks like," Nathan went on violently, his shaking hands clenching into fists. "When you do that to someone. I know! They made me learn."

John's brow furrowed into a deep frown. "But who--why?" He certainly didn't doubt Nathan's ability to know that the man hadn't died a natural death but he didn't quite understand why anyone would want MacInnis dead.

The laughter the question provoked was more than slightly disturbing. Nathan rubbed his hands over his face, trying to focus. "Loads of people," he said hoarsely. "Old enemies. New enemies. My enemies." His eyes were blurring again. It felt like there was a vice closing around his chest, tightening a little further with each passing moment. "I know I shouldn't jump to conclusions, but it's happened before..."

If whoever had killed MacInnis was Nathan's enemy, would that mean that Nathan's life was in danger too? But why? What the fuck had Nathan gotten himself into this time? John's frown deepened but he pushed the thought away and tried to focus on getting whatever answers he could from the man. "It's happened before?"

"Bridge died the same way. Except it was-" His throat closed on the my powers that didn't want to come out. Not explaining Gideon to John right now. "I just don't know who-" Why was it so fucking hard to form full sentences? Nathan took a shaky breath and gestured at the bed, which flipped itself upright again. He went over and sat down heavily, resting his head in his hands. His heart was thundering in his ears, and he felt sick, almost faint. "Who am I kidding?" he said unevenly. "People in my life don't just die."

It was his cue to step forward and try to find some way to get things back into order. The place was a mess and Nathan was a far cry from the Nathan he knew, and John kinda wished there was some way he could get Moira down here so she could help deal with all of this. "What do you..." He shrugged a little helplessly. "What do you want to do about it? ...I could help?"

Nathan ran his hands through his hair, breathing out on a ragged sigh. Think. "I could use some help cleaning up, first of all," he muttered. "I can't tell the others about this yet." A weaker laugh slipped out. "Yeah. Help me cover up the evidence. We can work from there." He pushed himself to his feet, still blinking rapidly.

"I'll do it. Here's the plan." John ran a hand through his hair. "I'll clean this mess up, lock the door, get new furniture in sometime later. You--" He glanced over at Nathan. "Take a breather out in the balcony. I'll get you a drink." Something strong. "Just don't go anywhere, and stay put where I can see you." The last thing he wanted was for Nathan to go looking for trouble on his own.