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xp_logsBackdated to Wednesday night. Manuel, with Valentia safely in bed and most visitors to the infirmary gone for the day, visits Nathan again.
Amelia hadn't approved of Manuel coming by this late, but after the usual warnings about not disturbing her patient, stepped aside and allowed Manuel into Nathan's room without further ado (although she had 'happened' to walk past the door twice in the last three minutes). Nathan hadn't acknowledged either her hovering or Manuel's presence. There was still tension and pain in the way he held himself, even sleeping.
Manuel observed Nathan, though this time, he did nothing to relieve him of his burden. It was better to feel the pain sometimes though he wanted Nathan semi conscious if he were to help his friend. Still, the contact of a warm hand against a cold one was important and he was controlled enough to withhold all his inner conflicts within his own shield, maintaining a casual distance while keeping the contact focused.
It was a few more minutes before Nathan opened his eyes. Gray eyes roamed the room for a moment before not-quite-focusing on Manuel's face. "You're making a habit of this."
"You are giving me a work out," he replied and looked over his shoulder, searching for the cup with the straw in it. He removed his hand to pick it up, offer it to Nathan, though he did not want the telepath to struggle through vocalizing his thoughts. His inner turmoil was bad enough that putting it into words would be worse. Now that Nathan was awake, he used that opportunity when the water went down to expand on the cool but brief relief it spread.
Nathan took a second small sip of the water before he let Manuel take the cup back. "Sorry," he murmured. The water did help his throat. He wasn't sure what to say to Manuel. He knew what he had to look like to an empath right now, but there wasn't a damned thing he could do about the projected pain - or anything else.
"Stop feeling guilty. I am not feeling as much as I was before hand. More control, you see?" Manuel replaced his hand over Nathan's and closed his eyes briefly. It was quite the headache he got whenever he came to see Nathan, like being hit by a blinding light and expecting his vision to remain. It was easier to concentrate, easier to slip into a a coma of emotions though if he was not careful, he'd drown. Not what you were, he thought to himself, though really, Nathan was always listening.
It was a sharp, jerky tangle of emotions that met his empathic senses. Physical pain was all bound up in bone-deep fatigue, laced through with a sense of disorientation and a strange, quiet despair that seemed to be focused at the room around him, oddly enough. Deepest and most pervasive, however, was the tangled grief and guilt.
Manuel felt he was going to be sick, sinking so quickly into the mess that he had to withdraw. Carmilla had been taking most of his focus lately, most of his internal energy that he had very little to supply to Nathan. It was worse than before and he lifted a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the headache forming behind his eyes. "You are worse," he said, though his voice was drained and suddenly tired, like a heavy weight was set on his shoulders and he knew his current energy was not enough.
There was no answer for a long moment. "John's dead," Nathan finally murmured. "I killed him."
"Do you feel it was necessary?" Manuel asked, sure that Nathan had asked himself that question countless times since he'd woken.
"...no." But it wasn't a firm denial, and not just because he didn't have much of a voice.
"Perhaps you are thinkin' too deeply about it, that acting was the only way?" Manuel didn't know how John died, how Nathan fought him or how the events had unfolded but the rain of colours blur in and out of his vision was clearly enough to be able to piece together and construct assumptions. Nathan always lectured him about making assumptions, so he simply asked outright. "Did you kill him because you want to?"
"God no." Tears shimmered in Nathan's eyes, but didn't fall. "Never."
Silence hung heavily between them and Manuel's hand placed over Nathans warm forehead, caught up in an undertow of all consuming grief. The waters settled a fraction but like winds of warning, he could sense the storm coming.
"But it was the only way."
"Not ready to believe that yet." He knew that at some point, he'd have to. This guilt wasn't something he could carry around with him indefinitely, much as part of him felt he should.
"When you are ready," Manuel said, removing the hand. "I will be there to carry that burden with you."
"How far we've come." There was only the faintest trace of irony in the hoarse words. Because he certainly wasn't mocking the offer. It meant... rather a lot, really.
Amelia hadn't approved of Manuel coming by this late, but after the usual warnings about not disturbing her patient, stepped aside and allowed Manuel into Nathan's room without further ado (although she had 'happened' to walk past the door twice in the last three minutes). Nathan hadn't acknowledged either her hovering or Manuel's presence. There was still tension and pain in the way he held himself, even sleeping.
Manuel observed Nathan, though this time, he did nothing to relieve him of his burden. It was better to feel the pain sometimes though he wanted Nathan semi conscious if he were to help his friend. Still, the contact of a warm hand against a cold one was important and he was controlled enough to withhold all his inner conflicts within his own shield, maintaining a casual distance while keeping the contact focused.
It was a few more minutes before Nathan opened his eyes. Gray eyes roamed the room for a moment before not-quite-focusing on Manuel's face. "You're making a habit of this."
"You are giving me a work out," he replied and looked over his shoulder, searching for the cup with the straw in it. He removed his hand to pick it up, offer it to Nathan, though he did not want the telepath to struggle through vocalizing his thoughts. His inner turmoil was bad enough that putting it into words would be worse. Now that Nathan was awake, he used that opportunity when the water went down to expand on the cool but brief relief it spread.
Nathan took a second small sip of the water before he let Manuel take the cup back. "Sorry," he murmured. The water did help his throat. He wasn't sure what to say to Manuel. He knew what he had to look like to an empath right now, but there wasn't a damned thing he could do about the projected pain - or anything else.
"Stop feeling guilty. I am not feeling as much as I was before hand. More control, you see?" Manuel replaced his hand over Nathan's and closed his eyes briefly. It was quite the headache he got whenever he came to see Nathan, like being hit by a blinding light and expecting his vision to remain. It was easier to concentrate, easier to slip into a a coma of emotions though if he was not careful, he'd drown. Not what you were, he thought to himself, though really, Nathan was always listening.
It was a sharp, jerky tangle of emotions that met his empathic senses. Physical pain was all bound up in bone-deep fatigue, laced through with a sense of disorientation and a strange, quiet despair that seemed to be focused at the room around him, oddly enough. Deepest and most pervasive, however, was the tangled grief and guilt.
Manuel felt he was going to be sick, sinking so quickly into the mess that he had to withdraw. Carmilla had been taking most of his focus lately, most of his internal energy that he had very little to supply to Nathan. It was worse than before and he lifted a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the headache forming behind his eyes. "You are worse," he said, though his voice was drained and suddenly tired, like a heavy weight was set on his shoulders and he knew his current energy was not enough.
There was no answer for a long moment. "John's dead," Nathan finally murmured. "I killed him."
"Do you feel it was necessary?" Manuel asked, sure that Nathan had asked himself that question countless times since he'd woken.
"...no." But it wasn't a firm denial, and not just because he didn't have much of a voice.
"Perhaps you are thinkin' too deeply about it, that acting was the only way?" Manuel didn't know how John died, how Nathan fought him or how the events had unfolded but the rain of colours blur in and out of his vision was clearly enough to be able to piece together and construct assumptions. Nathan always lectured him about making assumptions, so he simply asked outright. "Did you kill him because you want to?"
"God no." Tears shimmered in Nathan's eyes, but didn't fall. "Never."
Silence hung heavily between them and Manuel's hand placed over Nathans warm forehead, caught up in an undertow of all consuming grief. The waters settled a fraction but like winds of warning, he could sense the storm coming.
"But it was the only way."
"Not ready to believe that yet." He knew that at some point, he'd have to. This guilt wasn't something he could carry around with him indefinitely, much as part of him felt he should.
"When you are ready," Manuel said, removing the hand. "I will be there to carry that burden with you."
"How far we've come." There was only the faintest trace of irony in the hoarse words. Because he certainly wasn't mocking the offer. It meant... rather a lot, really.
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