xp_logs | Seven Minutes In Heaven: Memoria (Reply)

Nathan's teammates try to save him, but in the space between life and death, Nathan finds answers he never expected.

Arctic Water. Or somewhat arctic, Kyle wasn't entirely sure if they were above or below the Arctic Circle, but it was ice and so the water was freezing cold and after his long-ass series of lectures on water safety and how to rescue someone who was drowning, Kyle wasn't just going to dive in and try to drag Nate out. He couldn't. The cold water in Iowa had been hard enough to swim in.

He looked around desperately for something to try to reach Nate with, and saw nothing except debris and the broken-off helicopter rotors. Which would've been fine if it had been him underwater and Nate doing the attempted rescue, but those rotors were longer than Kyle was tall and there was no way he could move them.

The wrecked helicopter was half in the water, nothing of Nate could be seen to Kyle's eye and the only sounds were the further cracking of the ice, and the sparse wildlife. With no answer to Kyle's mental shouting, he didn't even know how far under Nate was.

No one else was around, he couldn't find anything to try to pull Nate out with, and even if he could, there was nothing of Nate to be seen. Kyle couldn't see any other choice but to go in after him.

That he knew the water would be colder than the floodwater in Iowa didn't prepare Kyle for the shock of icy water as he stuck his head and shoulders into the water. Actually getting in the water took him longer than he wanted, but diving in carried two risks. First, that he would put himself into shock from the rapid change in temperature, and second, and the larger risk, that he might hit something. Parts of the wrecked helicopter, underwater debris. Cable.

The water was surprisingly clear but with limited light filtering through cracks in the ice, and even with Kyle's ability to see in the dark, he saw nothing clearly until he was all the way in the water. Darker black against the greys of the water and heliopter and ice, and he only recognized Nate by shape, none of the angles of metal and ice, but the softer lines of a still human body.

Zanne reached the water's edge in time to see Kyle slip into the water and under the wreckage. What had happened here? The scene told her nothing at all about what had gone on, although it hinted at much.

The destroyed helicopter groaned alarmingly and shuddered, the tail dipping lower into the water as water replaced air. Instinctively Zanne moved to throw a freeze around it to prevent it from sinking lower, but stopped herself. She couldn't see where Kyle was, and she didn't know what would happen if he was caught in it underwater.

Mild concern that Nate was facing Saidullayev and then Saidullayev and Lense had changed into serious worry as Jean's mental sense of her teammate faded out while he concentrated more and more on the fight. And then had become deep fear as her sense of him vanished entirely and Kyle began mentally yelling his head off for Nate to answer or for her to get there faster. At that point, doors stopped being a concern as she blasted her way out of the compound.

Swimming in the arctic water was like swimming with every muscle cramping at once as Kyle's healing factor fought the rapid onset of hypothermia and he struggled to force his limbs to work despite the cold. It didn't feel at all like he was making any progress towards where Nate was pinned under the helicopter, and then quite suddenly he was in arms' reach of him. Now that Kyle was close, he could see two important things. First, that Nate was very still, which only confirmed Kyle's fears, and second that despite the helicopter, he wasn't all -that far from the surface of the water.

Getting his arms under Nate's was just as difficult as Kyle expected, and no matter how hard Kyle kicked, he barely moved Nate, the older man's weight and the water and mostly the helicopter preventing any kind of movement. Reluctantly, he released his grip, and surfaced. The air was just as cold as the water, and felt colder, and Kyle ignored the ice forming in his hair as he took gasping breath, and then ducked back under.

Nate wasn't breathing, he was underwater, and while Kyle knew CPR, it was one thing to do it on the CPR practice dummy, and another to try to do it on a man under ten feet of arctic water. It wasn't a routine, it was desperation. Breathe air into Nate's lungs, surface, take a coughing painful breath of air for himself, and then another for Nate, and go back under.

The door to the compound crashed off its hinges as Jean blasted out into the snow, taking in the sight, and the salient pieces of information were right there at the forefront of Kyle's mind. Reaching out she yanked the helicopter free of the ice, hurling it away. #Surface him,# she told Kyle. #Can't risk me doing it and ramming either of you into the ice.#

The sight of the damaged helicopter flying out of the water made Zanne's jaw drop. The twisted metal tumbling up and away from them and exploding into a mass of flames as it crashed into a snow covered hill in the distance distracted her so that she almost didn't see Kyle dive under the waters once again. What was down there that he kept going in for?

She didn't have long to wait to find out as he re-emerged with a splash, clutching Nathan's limp form to him. From the shore she could see the pallor to Nathan's features. The pair bobbled under the water again as the older man started to slip from Kyle's grasp. She rushed out into the water, and it was just cresting over her knees when they came back up. She just needed to give them some time so Jean could grab them. The freeze rippled cross the water, the edge traveling out and over Kyle and Nathan, locking them into place just above the waterline. Kyle's lips were starting to blue. "J- Phoenix, can you get them?" she yelled over her shoulder, willing her to stay back so she didn't get caught in it as well.

Jean had observed enough of Zanne's training runs, and participated in a few, so she knew what that shimmer in the air and the unnatural stillness of their other teammates meant and she pulled up before running into the bubble. "Got them," she called out, pulling the two forms telekinetically out of the water. The blue color tinging Kyle's lips was a worry, but even without his healing factor it was nothing compared to the obvious battering Nate had had before he fell unconscious, and whether that had happened before or after he was drowned...

Making a snap decision Jean let Kyle's form settle to the ground at Zanne's feet as she prepared to pull Nate out of the bubble, locked in a telekinetic grip. "I need to deal with Cable," she said quickly. "Please, get Wildchild inside, out of the wet uniform and get some warm liquids in him. Quickly." Without waiting for a response Jean turned and launched herself and Nathan back towards the compound and the medical facility inside.

--

Blackness.

No sensation, no awareness. He wasn't cold, or in pain, or anything. No consciousness.

But as with so many other hypothermia victims, the cold was the saving grace. It staved off the chemical reactions brought on by oxygen deprivation, slowed his metabolism.

But Nathan's brain, like that of any other psi, was not quite predictable in its reactions to stimuli, and with a head injury as well as the hypothermia and the oxygen deprivation to contend with, other things were happening. Synapses were firing randomly, if slowly. Connections once severed were made once more. And the helplessness, the desperation he'd felt in the instant before unconsciousness, only helped trigger those connections.

And he remembered.

Ushuaia
April 2006

He hadn't made it back to the bed this time. Everything hurt. It wasn't just the injuries from the fight with Gideon's goons back in Rio; it was his whole body, every cell. Every nerve ending was screaming.

Gideon had left him here in the chair, telling him to get some rest. He ended each 'session' with nearly those words. Get some rest. As if it really mattered, Nathan thought. Did he really think he was making it out of here? He might be in shock, but some truths were becoming self-evident.

He'd made a choice. Put himself in his uncle's hands, expecting that to resolve things. For some good fairy to come along and wave her magic wand, banish the evil wizard while saving him.... I'm an idiot. I'm sorry, Moira. Rachel...

It hurt too much to think about them. He stared out dully at the windswept Patagonian landscape. Alone at the end of the world... There were dark places in his mind that shouldn't be dark. He thought they were growing. Like Gideon was hollowing him out every time he used his synching ability to try and duplicate his precognition. Hollowing him out, leaving nothing behind...

There was the sound of glass breaking from downstairs. Nathan's eyes moved towards the open door - open, because they knew he wasn't going anywhere, not now.

After the moment of silence, he heard his uncle's voice. "That you came all this way to berate me speaks well for your persistence," Gideon said, sounding almost bored, "but please, spare the furniture. You were always so emphatic."

"Evidently not emphatic enough." It was a woman's voice, the words coming out like ice chips. "The furniture! I haven't broken nearly as much as you have."

"Listen to me," Gideon said firmly. There was something close to patience in his voice, this time. Or not patience, Nathan thought foggily; toleration. Like he was speaking to someone who didn't listen well, but something was stopping him from being as harsh as he might have. "I will not - can not turn away from this opportunity. I thought it would never come again, after Esther died. After you were unable to provide me with another."

Actually, Nathan thought, his eyes closing, that had sounded downright nasty.

"If you treated your financial opportunities this judiciously, you'd be living in a cardboard box," the woman snapped, apparently either oblivious to the threat or indifferent.

"He's as intractable as his mother," Gideon said, more flatly. "Though more vulnerable. I allowed consideration for Saul's feelings to stop me from forcing the issue with Esther. It was foolish and sentimental."

Nathan's eyes opened again, a jolt of anxiety penetrating the fog inside his head at the rising anger in Gideon's voice. His uncle hadn't been angry before. Not through any of this. That didn't bode well.

"I am tired of pandering to the selfish," Gideon said, and Nathan knew he wasn't imagining the bite in his tone. "To those who would hide the knowledge I need to influence events. Your only saving grace was that you never did it deliberately."

"I want to see through his eyes," the woman said, her voice going low and full of a lust that had been entirely divorced from sex at some point in its previous existence, "even more dearly than you do. I would prefer that they be intact at the time. So would you, if you had any sense at all. Are you blind? Do you think he can see you as anything but selfish? You both still say the word as if it's a curse. The world will be remade, but from what you've shown him of yourself so far, why would he think it would do him any good to help you?"

"As always, my dear, your logic leaves much to be desired." Gideon's voice was almost a growl at this point. "Shall we see whether he finds your way any more appealing? Let's," he went on savagely, and Nathan heard footsteps that sounded like one person was stalking upstairs, dragging another. Gideon's voice got closer, but the angry growl remained under the precise words. "You can explain to him this spiritual connection you share. See if he takes it any better than Esther. I may even stop him if he tries to throw you into a wall - here we are!"

Gideon was there, in the doorway, pushing a tall, blonde woman before him. "Shall I introduce the two of you, or do you expect him to recognize you, Tara?"

"Don't be ridiculous, we've never met. Oh, Nathan," she breathed, switching to an entirely different and a tone that would have been alarmingly worshipful, or alarmingly possessive, even if either quality had been present alone. She eyed Gideon. "I suppose you'll insist on staying?"

"I don't put it past you to try and spirit him out of here," Gideon said, not quite contemptuously, "and my security personnel have more important things to do than to thwart your undoubtedly persistent efforts." His dark, suspicious gaze fell on Nathan, who flinched violently.

"So what's with the... lover's spat?" he managed, his voice thick and hoarse-sounding. Gideon's expression went flat.

The woman -- Tara, apparently -- sighed and patted Gideon absently on the arm on her way toward Nathan. "I'm not forward-thinking enough for him, apparently."

Nathan watched the woman approach, too tired and pain-ridden to react. "I think he's very wrong-headed," he said, the words coming out a little slurred, still. "He knows that, though..." He didn't think he liked the way she was looking at him. It was different from Gideon, but still.

"Yes, I gather you've been somewhat... emphatic." She didn't look away from him; in fact, her eyes appeared to be riveted by his. The word choice had the effect of flicking a glance back at Gideon, at least, if she knew he'd heard him, before.

"You should go. I don't know who you are, but you should go," Nathan said somewhat disjointedly, managing to turn his head enough to break eye contact. His eyes kept trying to close. "This isn't going to end well..."

"It will one day," she said, staring at him still. "You could help."

Nathan laughed - and then cringed, hunching in on himself as his ribs protested. For a moment, his vision went white. When it started to clear, he saw her peering at him still, clearly concerned.

"This is... the end of the world," he wheezed, his vision and the blackness at the end of it spinning through his half-delirious mind.

"It can't be; I've seen--" she said automatically, only to break off and stare at him in sudden fear. "It can't be, can it?"

"Oh... you sure can pick them, Gideon." Nathan smiled instead of laughed, and closed his eyes, shivering. He was going to pass out, he was almost positive of it. Somehow he managed more words, as much for the strange woman as for Gideon. "This all... was meant to happen."

"Was it," she breathed, leaning over him hungrily.

A cool hand touched his cheek, and Nathan nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes flew open in time to see Gideon jerk forward and haul the woman - Tara? - back away from him, his hand clamped down on her shoulder. "He's delirious," he said curtly to her. "You know the effects of synching at this level." It didn't quite sound like a threat. More like a reminder.

She was leaning forward in his grip, but not seriously trying to pull away. "I know."

"I won't be dissuaded." That did sound like a threat, but Gideon was visibly calming, that too-serene demeanor descending over him once more. However she'd unsettled him, the effect was clearly transitory. Strangely, Nathan felt relieved. "Come. We can finish this conversation downstairs - he should rest."

"You should listen to him," Tara said, still looking at Nathan.

It wasn't entirely clear which one she meant.

--

"She can still get under my skin." Gideon was more relaxed than he had been... earlier. Whenever earlier had been. Nathan watched him dully, wondering why he was sitting all the way over there on the other side of the room. Why he hadn't started again. "You'd think that wouldn't be the case, after all these years."

Nathan swallowed. His throat felt very dry. "Who is she?"

"A dead end." Gideon laughed softly. "... no, that's unkind. A loose end. Once upon a time, I thought she would be much more than that." He steepled his hands, gazing at Nathan, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You've been married twice now. I assume that means you don't believe in the idea that there is one true match out there for each of us."

Nathan managed a flat stare, a flicker of anger surfacing through the haze. He couldn't... quite believe that Gideon had just raised the subject of his first marriage. Of Aliya, who was dead because of him. Gideon merely tilted his head at the glare, then shrugged slightly.

"It's a fair question, Nathan. But I won't press. For me, in any case... Tara was not that woman." His smile was thin, now, humorless. "She sees what you saw, and what Esther saw. But for her, it's different. She watches. She doesn't live it - and so, she doesn't truly understand it."

"Are you telling me she sees the Askani?" Nathan made a noise that might have been a laugh, if it hadn't turned so quickly into a cringe as his battered ribs protested. He squeezed his eyes shut, his voice very faint as he continued. "Oh... why not. Three's company." This was a little more than he could process right now.

"I didn't care for her interpretaton of what she saw in the end. Although I thought for a time that she could be my answer, since your mother was so very resolute in her... resistance." Gideon gave another soft laugh, his fingers drumming absently on the arms of his chair. "Resolute would be putting it mildly. Esther was... an immovable object, in so many ways. I suppose that makes me the irresistable force? I've always preferred the third response to that paradox, the one that states that the consequences would be an indescribable collision."

Nathan opened his eyes, stared through the blurriness at Gideon's face. "That's the second time," he muttered. "The second time you've talked about her, and sounded like... that." Warm. Admiring.

More than admiring?

Gideon looked at him, raising an eyebrow. After a moment, he spoke, his words slow, considering. "I called your mother a worthy opponent. She was. But she was also brilliant, and strong... and quite beautiful, Nathan. I envied your father, more than you can know. My greatest regret is that she found it necessary to fight us - me, for so many years. What we could have accomplished, working together..." He spread his hands wide, palms up. "I regret the lost chances."

"That's why you don't want to believe she hated you," Nathan said, remembering that conversation back in Rio.

Gideon shook his head slightly. "I was an opponent to her, not the source of all evil," he said dryly. "You can choose to believe that or not, Nathan. Really, it makes very little difference to me." He paused for a moment, eyes moving to the door. "I will confess, I think she did... dislike Tara, rather intensely."

"Why?" He didn't know why he cared. Stories from the past weren't going to do him much good here and now. But if Gideon was talking, he wasn't trying to synch to him, and he'd take some more breathing room. Take it gladly.

Gideon sighed, shrugging. "I was never entirely sure," he said. "Saul and I had to pull them apart once - for all that Tara was younger, Esther was doing a fine job of attempting to beat her to death with her bare hands and her telekinesis."

Nathan jerked at the bluntness of the image. "So," he said. "Mom had a temper."

Gideon actually smiled - a little. The contemplative look came back as he went on. "Tara felt she and Esther had many things in common. Esther felt differently. I suspect she saw Tara as an obstacle to her own work. I find it very interesting that Tara did not begin gathering her own disciples in earnest until after Esther died. I think perhaps there was some fear there."

There was something beneath the surface of those words, something implied. "Her own disciples," Nathan repeated slowly, trying to get his foggy brain to puzzle it out.

Gideon's look was speculative. "Your mother was many things," he said, "but she was very rarely passive. What have you done with what you see, Nathan? What legacy have you tried to create for the Askani here in their past?" Gideon shook his head slightly before Nathan could answer. "Esther had many more years of direct contact. I don't think I'll ever know all that she did - the plans she made, or which of them she set into motion. Not," he corrected, the smile almost delicate, "unless I can convince Askani herself to tell me."

"... good luck with that." Nathan closed his eyes, wondering if he could fake drifting off. The conversation was unsettling him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know any more.

There was the sound of movement, and it was hard to keep his eyes closed, and impossible to keep the tension from gripping his body. "I would have married Tara," he heard Gideon say, "if Esther hadn't told me what she would become. The threat she would be, to our family and our long-term goals. She said Tara would try to bring everything we built tumbling down."

But you... don't build, Nathan thought, confused, and opened his eyes. Gideon was standing there staring at him almost warily. As if he'd picked up on the thought and realized, perhaps for the first time, that what Esther had said and what she'd meant had been two different things.

Because Gideon didn't build, not really. At the heart of it, he was an agent of chaos. If this Tara was the same, what threat was she to him?

The wariness in Gideon's expression... hardened, as Nathan watched. Gideon tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "I'll do something for you, Nathan," he said. "I'll prove to you that I really have no intention of killing you, whatever you believe. That I believe you and I will be continuing this struggle - possibly for years to come, given you have a full share of your mother's stubbornness."

He advanced slowly, and Nathan jerked backwards in the chair, trying to lean away futilely, to increase the distance between them. "I can kill two birds with one stone," Gideon said. "An opponent left in the dark is easier to defeat. You're much more pliable when you have no idea what's going on."

Nathan felt his own telekinesis pinning him to the chair as Gideon synched smoothly to his abilities. Still moving slowly, delibately, Gideon walked around behind the chair and reached out to lay his hands lightly on Nathan's temples.

"And I do expect you to live, Nathan. Otherwise, I wouldn't bother taking this memory away too."

Blackness.

--

For all the speed with which Jean tore back through the facility to the lab, for all the tight corners she raced around, the form following behind her in a tight telekinetic grip didn't waver a centimeter up or down, holding perfectly stable as she raced Nathan to the medical tools she needed to save his life. "Blink!" she called ahead of her, "prep one of the medical beds in there; I need a flat surface to work on."

Pulling everything off the first bed, Clarice threw it over to one side where it hopefully would not be needed, including the sheets and everything. The last thing they needed was a mess made on the only clean sheets that could be used later. There wasn't much else she could do with the unfamiliar equipment, but they were not without resources, "Done!" she yelled back, waiting for them to arrive. It would be any second now.

The power was back on in the lab when Jean got there - a small but welcome blessing, although they hadn't had time to figure out just why some of Lense's people had stayed out of the fighting to work on the generator. Whatever their reasons, they had left with the others. The sound of the departing helicopters had faded into the distance a few minutes ago.

Angelo was staring, pale-faced, at Nathan's still form, but he snapped into action as the women did. "Jean, tell me what you need", he said tensely.

"Hot water," Jean said as she burst into the room, maneuvering Nate onto the clear bed with the utmost care. "We need to get him warm before we can work on any of the extra damage." Of course, that was a secondary concern after getting him breathing again... "Clarice, CPR, I've got the compressions." Which she actually started telekinetically as she began stripping off his soaking uniform.

Liplocked to a mostly dead Nathan was not something Clarice much cared for, but she did it anyways. It wasn't so much the CPR part that bothered her as it was NATHAN. Nathan was like....that special needs child who was constantly needing help, but had the overprotective Scottish mother who would kill you if you looked at her child wrongly. Except in this case, the overprotective mother was his wife. And it was Nathan. Ew.

"Hot water", Angelo muttered in agreement, then grabbed the biggest container he could see and ran for the sink, almost tripping over his own feet on the way.

Jean winced as she peeled his uniform down, revealing more and more bruised skin. She was willing to bet his ribs were in a sorry state; the advantage to telekinetic heart massage being, of course, that she didn't risk breaking any more of them. Come on, catch, she thought to herself. Breathe. You bastard, you are not dying. Not today.

More quickly than they had perhaps hoped, given the time that had already passed since he'd been trapped beneath the water, their efforts bore fruit. Coughing into Clarice's face, Nathan began breathing on his own in long ragged breaths.

"Oh good," Clarice was glad not to have to breathe for Nate anymore. He was a mess though. "Breathe!" she commanded as he paused for too long before beginning again. Nate never could do anything the easy way, could he?

He was breathing, if unevenly, but his eyelids didn't even flutter. If any color had come back to his face, it wasn't particularly noticeable.

His heart was beating again as well, and that was the important bit; given the amount of damage he'd suffered, unconsciousness and shock were not unexpected. "Where's that water? If there's anything about that will serve, make up hot water bottles. We need to warm him up!" Jean called out, moving quickly to check his ribs; definitely several cracked one she thought might be broken. That meant he was probably bleeding internally. Damn. It was a well equipped medical lab, but they weren't prepared for surgery here... Looking up to see if Angelo was coming her eyes fell on one of the machines that had been shoved away. "Oh, perfect. Clarice, bring over that ultrasound."

"Right here." He was manhandling a whole tub of it, easily big enough to soak Nathan's feet and legs if nothing else. "Don't know if there's anythin' for bottles..."

Baird appeared at the door, his expression tightening as he saw them working over Nathan. "Morrisseau's looking after the other injured," he said as he quickly gathered a few supplies of his own. "None of the rest of your people have more than minor injuries, apart from Wildchild's hypothermia, but our pilots are in rough shape. Radio's working again - we should have help arriving in a couple of hours."

Pushing the ultrasound machine over, Clarice was glad it was on wheels, though one was loose and it wobbled erratically. Once it was next to Nathan, Clarice unwrapped the power cord and plugged it in, glad the lights had come back and they were no longer relying on the backup generators. Flipping the power button she went to look for ultrasound goo in the cabinets. The goo helped she had learned, though it was all cold and slimy. "Found the goo!" she called, half hidden in a cabinet.

"Excellent," Jean said, holding out a hand for the container. "Now cross your fingers we don't have to do emergency surgery here."

It was the work of several minutes for Jean and Clarice to complete the examination, and the tally was not pretty, the only bright side being that the internal bleeding didn't need to be sutured right now, and could wait until they could get him back to proper facilities.

Not a good thing, Jean thought to herself, when the upside is 'oh, well, he's bleeding internally but it's not that bad...' But in addition to his broken ribs, which Angelo had to carefully work around in his efforts to warm Nathan up, Jean discovered he'd fractured his skull. Telepaths and head injuries, oh joy. Given who he'd been fighting, and the odd bruising that was beginning to show up as he warmed more, she'd put her money on there being other fractures in his extremities as well. At least now he was breathing again they'd have time to work on the rest of it.