xp_logs | Jean-Paul and Nathan, Monday morning

Jean-Paul finally returns to full consciousness - and wishes he hadn't.

Nathan sat at Jean-Paul's bedside, sending back a wordless affirmative as Charles let him know that he was removing the mental suggestion that had kept the speedster asleep as he and Jean had finished their work.

They'd done everything that they could to restore Jean-Paul's memories and reintegrate his mind. Nathan would have given anything for Jean-Paul to open his eyes and have the worst of his problems be confusion about why he'd lost a week of time and why they weren't enroute to Istanbul, but that was a fantasy. His friend would have to cope with the memories of the attack and captivity; Charles been unhappily certain that Jean-Paul would remember the Taygetos operatives who had died at his hands, even if the memories were at first repressed. Worse, though he'd no longer mistake the false memories that Shrine had created for scenes from his own life, the after-images of them would remain, perhaps permanently.

In the end, all they'd been able to do was give Jean-Paul control of himself again. Coping with the ordeal was still his burden.

Nathan took a deep breath and then let it out, running over a few quick meditative patterns in his mind. He couldn't afford to be anything but calm. Still, his heart gave an odd little jump in his chest as Jean-Paul's eyelids fluttered.

"Jean-Paul," he said softly, almost under his breath.

Even that quiet hail caused the blue eyes to snap open and Jean-Paul to startle to a sitting position. He blinked at Nathan, obviously disoriented, but that was already an improvement over the blank stare that had greeted all comers the last few days.

"Nathan?" His name was a rusty croak. "I...oh..." Horror flooded the speedster's expression as memories began to assert themselves. He dropped his gaze at once, pressing a tightly clenched fist to his mouth, muffling the strangled noise that might have been a scream had there been enough breath to give it full life. "...non, non...oh Dieu..."

"Listen to me." Nathan's voice was still soft, almost soothing now. His gray eyes were steady and calm, and although he wanted to move closer, he held off - for now. "You're back at the mansion. It's over."

Jean-Paul shook his head. "~Don't tell me that, please don't tell me that...I could still wake up...~"

Nathan swallowed, and rose from the chair - slowly. Approached the bed even more slowly, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as he sat down on the edge. But as much as natural caution was telling him this was a very, very bad idea, there was another part of him that didn't think Jean-Paul would actually hurt him. Watch him prove you wrong. Nathan told the voice at the back of his head to shut up, and reached out to take his friend's hand, squeezing gently.

"You are awake," he said, his voice more hoarse than it had been. "I know what it's like... to not know if what's around you is real. But this time it is. I am. And I'm so sorry this happened." His voice shook, and he stopped, blinking rapidly until the burning in his eyes had faded. "But we went and we brought you back," he said, forcing the words out past the tightness in his throat.

"~I took them apart.~" Jean-Paul finally looked up again as he struggled to make some kind of sense of the roil of blood-soaked images in his head. His expression was twisted, his face streaked with tears. The hand in Nathan's grip was cold and shaking. ~Why did I...I didn't need to do that. It wasn't...it wasn't necessary. I would not have killed them!~

Nathan tried French, hoping that it might get through to him where the English words wouldn't. "~You were in no shape to know what you were doing,~" he said, fighting to keep his voice low and soothing. Not as successfully as he would have liked. "~What they'd done to you... I don't know how you got free, but you were acting on pure instinct. They hadn't left you anything else.~"

Jean-Paul's brow furrowed. He'd been given something else to focus on, a question to answer, and he lunged for it desperately. "~A needle scratched along my brain and then...~" He glanced down at his right arm, at the bandaged spot where the IV needle had been torn out. "~...and then everything else.~"

Nathan's eyes fell on the bandage for a moment as well, as he found himself at a loss for words. "~It's going to be okay,~" he finally said, the hoarseness back in his voice - and wished he could take the words back, as soon as they were out of his mouth.

"Do you know what I saw when I looked at you, Nathan?" Jean-Paul's voice lowered to something that was almost a growl as he dropped into English. His gaze had grown sharper, more aware. "Ghost images. Would you like me to list them off by the ways I killed you or by the ways I violated you? All things I could have done. And then I had the true memories -- remembered the children I tore apart with my bare hands and I see that I am locked away here in another little white room so that I do not do it again and how is this going to be okay? Tell me that, please tell me!" He was nearly screaming again by the last words...but he had not pulled away.

Nathan's only outward reaction to Jean-Paul's words was a near-spasmodic tightening of his jaw. "The ghost images," he said, his voice gravelly, "are just that. And I hate like hell that you have to live with them, but there are other things to set against them. Better things. Truer things." His grip on Jean-Paul's hand tightened as his voice shook again, but he forced himself to go on. "As for the little white room-" He nearly choked on the words, some distant part of him reeling in horror at the parallel.

"We didn't know," he finally whispered, raggedly. "Whether you'd be back with us or not."

Jean-Paul looked away again. "Non... no knowing, if...you were right. Desole. I...should stay here, for a while, I think. If it happened again...yes, I should stay and...and..." He couldn't think of what to do next. His head hurt and he was stumbling to pick words out of the cavalcade of nightmares behind his eyes, so he used Nathan's words instead. "You brought me back." An anemic little smile tugged the corner of his mouth at that new line of thought, out of place on the speedster's disheveled and distressed face. "He said you would not. Crosseur. And bad at it."

"I was coming." Nathan breathed in, shakily. "Even before Jean and the others found me, I swear. I was just too far away."

"Told him he was full of shit." Jean-Paul squeezed Nathan's hand weakly.

Nathan managed a weak smile in return, although his eyes still stung. "Definitely full of shit," he said, not quite gruffly. He knew better than to hold on too tightly to this moment. His own shields were still in such disrepair, even days later, that he could feel the memories reaching up to try and suck Jean-Paul in again. "No more platitudes," he said, his voice a little stronger. "But I'm not going anywhere. And you are going to get through this."

"Even if you have to carry me." The smile had faded and there was no conviction in Jean-Paul's voice; the leaden tone was almost mocking. "I am tired, Nathan." He could not imagine sleeping, but at least trying would allow him to retreat somewhat.

"Then you should get some more rest." Nathan squeezed Jean-Paul's hand once more, then laid it back on the bed and rose, moving back to the chair. He'd said he wasn't going anywhere.