xp_logs | Nathan and Jean-Paul, Monday evening (Reply)

Jean-Paul stops by the boathouse with lunch for Nathan, and gets perhaps the first real admission out of Nathan as to what happened while he was away.

The chair in the office was making his back hurt. Nathan kept telling himself that it was the only reason he was in here reading files on the couch. Didn't have anything whatsoever to do with not wanting to be social. After all, it was just Juliette in the office today, and she would have left him along entirely. Except for the looks.

The universe hadn't gotten the message about his lack of sociability, it seemed. A few minutes later, he heard someone enter through the office, exchange brief words with Juliette, and head back his way.

"Good afternoon." Jean-Paul was still slightly hoarse, but otherwise seemed fine (though it seemed he was going to be wearing turtlenecks until the last of the bruising faded). His arrival was heralded by the rustling of plastic bags and the squeak of styrofoam. "I come bearing gifts: the long-promised six-pack and take out."

Nathan looked up, half-warily at first from the files. The smell of the food hit him, and he nearly grimaced at his stomach's traitorous rumble. "Surely you have better things to be doing than feeding me," he said tiredly, but after a moment, closed the file and set it aside.

"Not a thing. Life is so strange, non?" Jean-Paul cleared a space on the table and began setting out cartons of high-end take-out. "I will confess that my schedule is the main reason behind you getting all of these lovely little containers instead of homemade, but wouldn't have bothered making banana crumble for you, so I suppose it works out. You're owed it, anyway. I doubt figuring out the settings on my blender was how you wanted to spend your Saturday."

"It was actually the high point of my Saturday," Nathan murmured, inwardly flinching as he thought about that period of the afternoon that had ended with Jane finding him in the woods. He still wasn't entirely sure what had happened there. At least he'd managed to shake it off and wander back to check on Jean-Paul before too much time had passed.

"That is a depressing thought. I'm glad there is beer to chase it away." Jean-Paul's tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, watching Nate intently. "So who is this 'David', and should I be jealous?"

Nathan gave him a blank look, but it dawned on him what Jean-Paul was talking about, and a smile took shape on his lips, almost despite himself. "David the speedster to whom I was comparing you? He runs Elpis's Tel Aviv office. He and I and GW were the ones who got together and first formed the Pack... before that he was with Mossad. He has a little boy now," Nathan said, more quietly. "He named him after me."

"Jealous for certain." Jean-Paul dashed out for a moment, returning with plates and forks. "Though I suppose I owe him some thanks for conditioning you to speedsters. We tend to be, as you noted, impossible to live with."

"Not impossible. Just a challenge. Occasionally, even a trial," Nathan said wryly, opening one of the containers and sniffing at it. "I don't think I had breakfast," he said, setting down and reaching for a plate. "I was down here kind of early. But it's so quiet around here today... the office used to be full most of the time, you know? Now it always seems so empty. I wish I could go to some of these meetings, get off the grounds for a bit..."

"Why not?" Jean-Paul handed Nate a beer, his tone mild and curious, his suspicions deep. "You are healing up all right, aren't you?"

"I'm healing up fine," Nathan said, folding his hands around the beer to hide the slight tremble. His words were a little too rapid as he went on. "I just think it's better if I leave the meetings to the minions for a few weeks, you know? I'm having trouble concentrating, and I'm not all that diplomatic at the best of times."

"Yes," Jean-Paul said with a nod. "All very good reasons." He cracked open his own beer. "Want me to stake out the couch tonight?"

A faint laugh escaped Nathan. "You enjoy dodging furniture that much, huh?" He'd finally confessed to Moira that his subconscious was playing poltergeist while she and Ray were away; she'd suggested, if gently, that the problem wasn't likely to go away until he addressed the underlying cause. He hadn't been able to give her an answer.

"It's like extra training sessions," Jean-Paul said with a smirk. "And it seemed very forward to simply invite myself into your bed. There are times when I could be just that brazen, but generally not near a powerful telekinetic and a frozen lake."

"Moira told me to tell you that she was going to have to grill you when she got home on just what sort of furniture-levitating I was doing." Nathan gave another laugh, this one slightly despairing. "Apparently I have patterns. Good to know she's so used to this."

"It's not so much flying," Jean-Paul said, considering. "Some of the smaller stuff, perhaps, but not the larger pieces. More...shuffling? Half-waltzing? Either way, I think I must stay now. I can put up with you growling at me better than a doctor who wants to pick my brain."

"I used to send her medical equipment out the window. Back in the day." Nathan spooned some of what looked like duck salad out of one of the containers and onto his plate. "Rearranged the furniture in the suite a few times... I remember one night, after-" He swallowed, shaking his head slightly. "Well, Rachel was just small, and it hadn't been a good night. Moira brought her into the bedroom, and next thing I know, I'm waking up with her asking me to move the dresser back away from the door."

Jean-Paul hesitated before he spoke; revealing that they had unintentionally revealed information was sometimes the best was to make someone shut up, but Nate seemed willing to talk at least a little now.

"During the worst of the nightmares, you project with your telepathy. The smell of smoke, the...memory of fire, I think." Jean-Paul managed not to clench his hands into fists. "Has this happened before?"

Nathan set the fork down, and it rattled slightly against the plate as his hands shook again. He reached out and picked up his beer again, not meeting Jean-Paul's eyes. "Specific to the situation," he said unsteadily. One hand went up, brushed against a nearly-faded burn along his neck. His breathing was ragged, a little too loud in the quiet of the living room. "There was a fire," he said, unnecessarily, and then swallowed visibly.

The motion of the furniture made more sense now, the pushing outward. There had been a fire. Nate had been trapped in it and, from the way he'd come home, been unable or unwilling to use his powers to escape it. Jean-Paul knew that he'd probably paled at least one shade, but he felt amazingly calm somehow. He gave Nathan's shoulder a firm squeeze, trying to draw him back into the present.

"I'm staying tonight," he said firmly.