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xp_logs2009-03-27 09:54 pm
x-cable.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2009-03-27 09:54 pm
Nathan and Jean-Paul, Friday night
Not long after arriving home from Morocco, Nathan decides to go vent at Jean-Paul about his crappy, crappy trip.
The boathouse had been far too quiet, and after a while, Nathan had headed up to the house in search of some specific company; he wanted to tell Jean-Paul what had happened in Casablanca, if he hadn't heard about it already. He would be lying if he said he didn't need a sounding board, as well. He was still wrapping his mind around the whole thing. Arriving at the suite door, he knocked and waited.
Jean-Paul appeared at the door promptly, considering the lateness of the hour. His somewhat suspicious expression turned to genuine pleasure at the sight of his visitor, however. "You're back!"
"I am." The presence of another psi-imprint in the suite registered on his rather tired brain, and Nathan frowned for a moment before his expression cleared. "One of the kids?"
"Curled up on my couch and using my copy of Shogun as a teddy bear, yes." Jean-Paul cleared his throat. "He locked himself out of his suite. Or so he said."
Nathan gave him a steady look, leaning against the doorframe. The fatigue was starting to catch up to him; he hadn't slept the previous night in Morocco, and certainly hadn't closed his eyes once on the flight home. "Tell me, has he imprinted yet?"
"Oh, hush. It was too late to go knocking on doors anyway. Give me a minute and I'll get him to the other room, and then you can fall over on my sofa." Jean-Paul lead the way back in, lifting the white-haired bundle of blankets on the couch with little effort and carrying it to the unoccupied bedroom. "You look beat."
He waited until Jean-Paul had closed the door to the bedroom. "Kidnapping attempts will do that," he said, not quite bitterly.
"I can't let you out of my sight, can I?" The tone was easy-going enough, even casual. Jean-Paul's usual fierce protectiveness was just beneath, and closer to the surface than was typical. "What happened? And are you on any medications that preclude me from getting a bottle out of hiding?"
"I don't have a scratch. Neither does Catseye, although it was a near thing..." And he really shouldn't have brought that up, because all at once, he was back in that moment, the gun pointed at Catseye to force him into compliance. And from there it was a short trip into other, worse moments... Nathan gave himself a shake that came off looking more like a shudder and re-focused on the room around him. His heart was racing, though. "It was Trask," he said, his voice hoarse. "Apparently for my own good, as my acquaintances from Puerto Rico have figured out I got out of that building after all."
"Calice." Jean-Paul started to head to the kitchen, then turned and gave Nate a stern glare. "You. Sit down." He returned to the couch shortly, bearing a strong, sweet red that he'd picked up on impulse and a pair of coffee mugs. "So the bastards are stalking you now?"
"I guess." Nathan drifted in the direction of the couch, sitting down beside him. "Trask's cheery little minion who slapped the inhibitor bracelet on me said something about them trying to figure out how to get at me. I suppose public appearances are out for the time being. Oh, well - my minions will be thrilled. More meetings for them."
Jean-Paul shook his head and poured their drinks. "Congratulations. You win. I am plus one loveable, mildly brain-damaged ex-mercenary for the next week or so." He picked up his mug and frowned at the Latin on the side before taking a sip. "How was Catseye in this?"
"... frighteningly impressive. I don't think I would have gotten out of there without her. Not to mention that she took down a couple of Trask's people all by herself. They weren't equipped to deal with a very protective panther." Nathan's hands shook violently, all of a sudden, and he set the cup back down before he spilled it. "She could have so easily been hurt."
"Nathan." Jean-Paul put a steadying hand on his wrist. "You got her out, non? You got both of them out of an ambush, alive and unhurt. You did not fuck this up."
A ghost of a laugh, soft in deference to the boy in the other room, escaped Nathan. "I didn't get us out of anywhere. I acquired a pair of guardian angels who don't pull their punches and claim a connection to my hopefully dead mother."
"That...is an interesting new detail." Jean-Paul offered Nate the mug he'd set down a few moments before. "Perhaps you should expand on it for the benefit of the non-telepaths in the room."
"Two of them," Nathan said. "Malachi Hark, that courier from the Hellfire Club back in December... he shot one of Trask's people and told us to get the hell out of there while he covered our retreat. And then there was the reporter." Nathan shook his head, not quite quizzically. "Irene Merryweather. Monet met her the day before. Then she showed up duking it out with William Moses, who was leading the group Trask sent to get me. She actually killed him, too." A pause. "I really need to email T'Challa and tell him that."
Jean-Paul digested this, frowning. "More flags on the field. Wonderful. How does your mother fit into this?" Perhaps it was naive to even ask; such claims rarely came with solid answers. But maybe.
"Not a clue. She was evil and manipulative like the rest of my family, and you'd think they'd quit once they're beyond the grave," Nathan said, not quite vehemently. "I don't even know if I want to know why saving my ass was breaking a promise to her. Probably more Social Darwinist crap. I was supposed to sink or swim on my own or something."
"That level of dedication, and yet breaking a promise to let you die if you cannot save your own ass? Does not add up. But trying to apply logic to this sort of thing rarely turns out well; it just means you're more surprised by the bullet in the back." Jean-Paul grimaced. "I'm glad that wasn't you, by the way."
"Me too. Had enough gunshot wounds lately," Nathan said tiredly, lifting his mug again and sipping at the wine. "So, that was my trip," he went on. "Elpis was not implicated in any way, shape or form, so that's one blessing... you know," he went on, a suggestion of heat in his voice suddenly, "this is my own damned fault. Thinking that one part of my life wouldn't cross over into another. There's compartmentalization, and then there's self-delusion."
"Most of us are trailing pasts behind us that bleed into our present, whether we want them to or not. I hope you're not thinking of doing anything overly foolish in relation to that."
"Other than being really careful and doing most of my work from the office?" Nathan was looking increasingly miserable, though, as if the implications were only now sinking in. "I've been hunted before. I suppose I got used to being free to go where I wanted, when I wanted..."
"Or keep company that is not overly fazed by bastards attempting to snatch our friends. I do think that a good number of your friends and employees fall into this category. So no going to other countries with the new interns, just jaded bastards."
"And no leaving campus with Ray."
"No. No leaving campus with Ray." Jean-Paul wasn't even going to try and talk Nathan around from that one tonight. "But I suppose that means I cancel the reservations at Funtime Ranch and see how badly we can embarrass you here."
Startled out of his brood, Nathan gave him a disbelieving look. "You didn't actually... you did." He actually smiled, if faintly. "I should have known you'd take me seriously."
"I am just a poor literature professor, not an accomplished telepath. How was I supposed to judge your intent simply from text?" Jean-Paul smiled into his drink. "I'm afraid it's too late to back out of the cake, but Rachel should love it anyway."
The boathouse had been far too quiet, and after a while, Nathan had headed up to the house in search of some specific company; he wanted to tell Jean-Paul what had happened in Casablanca, if he hadn't heard about it already. He would be lying if he said he didn't need a sounding board, as well. He was still wrapping his mind around the whole thing. Arriving at the suite door, he knocked and waited.
Jean-Paul appeared at the door promptly, considering the lateness of the hour. His somewhat suspicious expression turned to genuine pleasure at the sight of his visitor, however. "You're back!"
"I am." The presence of another psi-imprint in the suite registered on his rather tired brain, and Nathan frowned for a moment before his expression cleared. "One of the kids?"
"Curled up on my couch and using my copy of Shogun as a teddy bear, yes." Jean-Paul cleared his throat. "He locked himself out of his suite. Or so he said."
Nathan gave him a steady look, leaning against the doorframe. The fatigue was starting to catch up to him; he hadn't slept the previous night in Morocco, and certainly hadn't closed his eyes once on the flight home. "Tell me, has he imprinted yet?"
"Oh, hush. It was too late to go knocking on doors anyway. Give me a minute and I'll get him to the other room, and then you can fall over on my sofa." Jean-Paul lead the way back in, lifting the white-haired bundle of blankets on the couch with little effort and carrying it to the unoccupied bedroom. "You look beat."
He waited until Jean-Paul had closed the door to the bedroom. "Kidnapping attempts will do that," he said, not quite bitterly.
"I can't let you out of my sight, can I?" The tone was easy-going enough, even casual. Jean-Paul's usual fierce protectiveness was just beneath, and closer to the surface than was typical. "What happened? And are you on any medications that preclude me from getting a bottle out of hiding?"
"I don't have a scratch. Neither does Catseye, although it was a near thing..." And he really shouldn't have brought that up, because all at once, he was back in that moment, the gun pointed at Catseye to force him into compliance. And from there it was a short trip into other, worse moments... Nathan gave himself a shake that came off looking more like a shudder and re-focused on the room around him. His heart was racing, though. "It was Trask," he said, his voice hoarse. "Apparently for my own good, as my acquaintances from Puerto Rico have figured out I got out of that building after all."
"Calice." Jean-Paul started to head to the kitchen, then turned and gave Nate a stern glare. "You. Sit down." He returned to the couch shortly, bearing a strong, sweet red that he'd picked up on impulse and a pair of coffee mugs. "So the bastards are stalking you now?"
"I guess." Nathan drifted in the direction of the couch, sitting down beside him. "Trask's cheery little minion who slapped the inhibitor bracelet on me said something about them trying to figure out how to get at me. I suppose public appearances are out for the time being. Oh, well - my minions will be thrilled. More meetings for them."
Jean-Paul shook his head and poured their drinks. "Congratulations. You win. I am plus one loveable, mildly brain-damaged ex-mercenary for the next week or so." He picked up his mug and frowned at the Latin on the side before taking a sip. "How was Catseye in this?"
"... frighteningly impressive. I don't think I would have gotten out of there without her. Not to mention that she took down a couple of Trask's people all by herself. They weren't equipped to deal with a very protective panther." Nathan's hands shook violently, all of a sudden, and he set the cup back down before he spilled it. "She could have so easily been hurt."
"Nathan." Jean-Paul put a steadying hand on his wrist. "You got her out, non? You got both of them out of an ambush, alive and unhurt. You did not fuck this up."
A ghost of a laugh, soft in deference to the boy in the other room, escaped Nathan. "I didn't get us out of anywhere. I acquired a pair of guardian angels who don't pull their punches and claim a connection to my hopefully dead mother."
"That...is an interesting new detail." Jean-Paul offered Nate the mug he'd set down a few moments before. "Perhaps you should expand on it for the benefit of the non-telepaths in the room."
"Two of them," Nathan said. "Malachi Hark, that courier from the Hellfire Club back in December... he shot one of Trask's people and told us to get the hell out of there while he covered our retreat. And then there was the reporter." Nathan shook his head, not quite quizzically. "Irene Merryweather. Monet met her the day before. Then she showed up duking it out with William Moses, who was leading the group Trask sent to get me. She actually killed him, too." A pause. "I really need to email T'Challa and tell him that."
Jean-Paul digested this, frowning. "More flags on the field. Wonderful. How does your mother fit into this?" Perhaps it was naive to even ask; such claims rarely came with solid answers. But maybe.
"Not a clue. She was evil and manipulative like the rest of my family, and you'd think they'd quit once they're beyond the grave," Nathan said, not quite vehemently. "I don't even know if I want to know why saving my ass was breaking a promise to her. Probably more Social Darwinist crap. I was supposed to sink or swim on my own or something."
"That level of dedication, and yet breaking a promise to let you die if you cannot save your own ass? Does not add up. But trying to apply logic to this sort of thing rarely turns out well; it just means you're more surprised by the bullet in the back." Jean-Paul grimaced. "I'm glad that wasn't you, by the way."
"Me too. Had enough gunshot wounds lately," Nathan said tiredly, lifting his mug again and sipping at the wine. "So, that was my trip," he went on. "Elpis was not implicated in any way, shape or form, so that's one blessing... you know," he went on, a suggestion of heat in his voice suddenly, "this is my own damned fault. Thinking that one part of my life wouldn't cross over into another. There's compartmentalization, and then there's self-delusion."
"Most of us are trailing pasts behind us that bleed into our present, whether we want them to or not. I hope you're not thinking of doing anything overly foolish in relation to that."
"Other than being really careful and doing most of my work from the office?" Nathan was looking increasingly miserable, though, as if the implications were only now sinking in. "I've been hunted before. I suppose I got used to being free to go where I wanted, when I wanted..."
"Or keep company that is not overly fazed by bastards attempting to snatch our friends. I do think that a good number of your friends and employees fall into this category. So no going to other countries with the new interns, just jaded bastards."
"And no leaving campus with Ray."
"No. No leaving campus with Ray." Jean-Paul wasn't even going to try and talk Nathan around from that one tonight. "But I suppose that means I cancel the reservations at Funtime Ranch and see how badly we can embarrass you here."
Startled out of his brood, Nathan gave him a disbelieving look. "You didn't actually... you did." He actually smiled, if faintly. "I should have known you'd take me seriously."
"I am just a poor literature professor, not an accomplished telepath. How was I supposed to judge your intent simply from text?" Jean-Paul smiled into his drink. "I'm afraid it's too late to back out of the cake, but Rachel should love it anyway."