Nathan and Jean-Paul, late Monday night
Jul. 20th, 2009 11:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsThe Blackbird arrives home, and Nathan gets a hand so that he can leave the plane on his own two feet.
They'd left him on the plane. Nathan honestly didn't know who to thank for that. He had some dim memory of Jean murmuring at him that the stay-put order remained in effect, and Angelo saying he'd be right back, and something about a stretcher. He didn't feel like he needed to worry too much, one way or the other. They were back, the Blackbird had landed. It was all done. And he was so tired.
So he stayed where he was, still strapped securely into his seat, eyes fluttering open once or twice as X-Men moved around him, leaving the plane or helping with the post-flight checklist, or maybe just checking on him. He thought he heard a couple of voices say his name, but no one pressed. The painkillers weren't working all that well at this point - every uneven breath made pain flare across his chest - but it all seemed so distant.
Underneath the bustle of disembarking and what Nate was becoming increasingly certain was the grinding of his own ribs against each other, Nate could make out a familiar voice, but not quite what was being said beyond his own name.
Scott's voice, on the other hand...
"--not actually supposed to be down here. Did you race the hangar doors?"
"My captain must be worn indeed to ask such obvious questions." The supernova of worry and restless energy next to him was Jean-Paul. Of course.
"I'll give you a hard time about this later." It sounded like a promise. Nathan's eyes slid shut again, and Scott's voice seemed to fade out.
A hand landed softly on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. Jean-Paul was leaning over his seat, radiating relief.
"Welcome home," he said quietly. "If I undo your harness, am I going to need a broom and dustpan to get you down to the infirmary?"
"Don't think so," Nathan murmured, after far too long a pause. The words came out slightly slurred, and he blinked at Jean-Paul, trying to focus. "Did we land on the lawn?" he asked finally, haltingly.
"No, we are in the hangar. And I am most likely going to be in trouble regarding my impulse control once you are squared away. It has been a while for that." The speedster wasn't even bothering to hide the fact that he was looking Nate over. "How bad?"
"Not as bad as it could have been." It was all he could think of to say. His eyes were stinging, and he blinked rapidly, trying to smile, to tell Jean-Paul that against the odds, it was all right. But the words wouldn't come.
And he wanted off this plane. He really, really did. Wanted to go back home and rest, now that he didn't have to dream about this anymore. Now that they wouldn't haunt him. Forgetting what Jean had said, he fumbled with the harness, trying and failing to open the clasps.
Whatever remark Jean-Paul had been formulating fled as Nathan started trying to open his harness.
"Hey." Jean-Paul lay his hands over Nathan's to still them. He was in no way under the impression that the X-Men had left one of their own injured and strapped in place because they had been so eager to deplane that they'd forgotten he was there. "They will be back in a minute. They are probably bringing a stretcher for you now..." Which was likely the problem. On his own two feet indeed. "Nathan, can we just this once sacrifice your dignity on the altar of your good health?"
The hazy look in Nathan's eyes receded somewhat as he focused on Jean-Paul. "...I can't just sit here," he finally muttered, not quite clear on the nature of the objection. "Got carried back here from Greenland. Twice in one day's too much..."
"Fine. But your own two feet and someone else's shoulder is as low an offer as I'm willing to make." Jean-Paul muttered under his breath as he undid Nathan's harness. "Moira is going to kill me, Angelo is going to help her, and they will be right to do it."
To say that Nathan was leaning, as Jean-Paul got him on his feet, would be to understate the case more than a little. "You need to talk to Shiro," Nathan muttered, once the spinning world slowed down a little. "He has something to tell you, I think..."
"I will, as soon as I am assured that you are not going to scare me too badly." They took the ramp in careful steps, Jean-Paul on guard to catch both of them with flight if need be. "It is finished, then?"
"Great dramatic irony. Torturers are prisoners," Nathan said disjointedly, "and prisoners are... patients, I guess. Patients, not vegetables. I think this is an improvement. Are we going to the boathouse? Someone's got the A/C cranked too high in here..."
"Not for a while, I think." Jean-Paul found himself nearly supporting Nathan's entire weight as they reached the last step. The doors at the other side of the hangar opened again, revealing Voght and a stretcher heading for them at best speed.
They'd left him on the plane. Nathan honestly didn't know who to thank for that. He had some dim memory of Jean murmuring at him that the stay-put order remained in effect, and Angelo saying he'd be right back, and something about a stretcher. He didn't feel like he needed to worry too much, one way or the other. They were back, the Blackbird had landed. It was all done. And he was so tired.
So he stayed where he was, still strapped securely into his seat, eyes fluttering open once or twice as X-Men moved around him, leaving the plane or helping with the post-flight checklist, or maybe just checking on him. He thought he heard a couple of voices say his name, but no one pressed. The painkillers weren't working all that well at this point - every uneven breath made pain flare across his chest - but it all seemed so distant.
Underneath the bustle of disembarking and what Nate was becoming increasingly certain was the grinding of his own ribs against each other, Nate could make out a familiar voice, but not quite what was being said beyond his own name.
Scott's voice, on the other hand...
"--not actually supposed to be down here. Did you race the hangar doors?"
"My captain must be worn indeed to ask such obvious questions." The supernova of worry and restless energy next to him was Jean-Paul. Of course.
"I'll give you a hard time about this later." It sounded like a promise. Nathan's eyes slid shut again, and Scott's voice seemed to fade out.
A hand landed softly on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. Jean-Paul was leaning over his seat, radiating relief.
"Welcome home," he said quietly. "If I undo your harness, am I going to need a broom and dustpan to get you down to the infirmary?"
"Don't think so," Nathan murmured, after far too long a pause. The words came out slightly slurred, and he blinked at Jean-Paul, trying to focus. "Did we land on the lawn?" he asked finally, haltingly.
"No, we are in the hangar. And I am most likely going to be in trouble regarding my impulse control once you are squared away. It has been a while for that." The speedster wasn't even bothering to hide the fact that he was looking Nate over. "How bad?"
"Not as bad as it could have been." It was all he could think of to say. His eyes were stinging, and he blinked rapidly, trying to smile, to tell Jean-Paul that against the odds, it was all right. But the words wouldn't come.
And he wanted off this plane. He really, really did. Wanted to go back home and rest, now that he didn't have to dream about this anymore. Now that they wouldn't haunt him. Forgetting what Jean had said, he fumbled with the harness, trying and failing to open the clasps.
Whatever remark Jean-Paul had been formulating fled as Nathan started trying to open his harness.
"Hey." Jean-Paul lay his hands over Nathan's to still them. He was in no way under the impression that the X-Men had left one of their own injured and strapped in place because they had been so eager to deplane that they'd forgotten he was there. "They will be back in a minute. They are probably bringing a stretcher for you now..." Which was likely the problem. On his own two feet indeed. "Nathan, can we just this once sacrifice your dignity on the altar of your good health?"
The hazy look in Nathan's eyes receded somewhat as he focused on Jean-Paul. "...I can't just sit here," he finally muttered, not quite clear on the nature of the objection. "Got carried back here from Greenland. Twice in one day's too much..."
"Fine. But your own two feet and someone else's shoulder is as low an offer as I'm willing to make." Jean-Paul muttered under his breath as he undid Nathan's harness. "Moira is going to kill me, Angelo is going to help her, and they will be right to do it."
To say that Nathan was leaning, as Jean-Paul got him on his feet, would be to understate the case more than a little. "You need to talk to Shiro," Nathan muttered, once the spinning world slowed down a little. "He has something to tell you, I think..."
"I will, as soon as I am assured that you are not going to scare me too badly." They took the ramp in careful steps, Jean-Paul on guard to catch both of them with flight if need be. "It is finished, then?"
"Great dramatic irony. Torturers are prisoners," Nathan said disjointedly, "and prisoners are... patients, I guess. Patients, not vegetables. I think this is an improvement. Are we going to the boathouse? Someone's got the A/C cranked too high in here..."
"Not for a while, I think." Jean-Paul found himself nearly supporting Nathan's entire weight as they reached the last step. The doors at the other side of the hangar opened again, revealing Voght and a stretcher heading for them at best speed.
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