Moira and Nathan, early Monday evening...

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Following this conversation between Moira and Charles...



Rubbing her head, Moira closed her door behind her. She had forgotten how disconcerting getting tests run on yourself was. The headache, though it was more from annoyance than anything else, would probably last a while. Hearing something, she stopped in her tracks, tilting her head to listen.

The voice was Nathan's but...

She cursed and headed towards the bed. That wasn't English.

Nathan was sprawled, taking up nearly the entire bed in the process. He didn't seem like he was having a nightmare but he was definitely having -something- happen. Moira leaned over him and shook his shoulder gently. "Nate?"

He was somewhere else, but not in the same way he was somewhere else during the visions. Enough of him was here that he felt the touch on his shoulder and reached automatically, grabbing the wrist of the hand shaking him and jerking the person forward hard. He heard a yelp in a familiar voice and stopped himself before he took the next inevitable step. "Moira?" he asked a bit hazily, opening his eyes and blinking at her. She was on her knees next to the bed, staring wide-eyed at him. That was odd.

"...ow..." That was not what she had expected, she thought, bewildered. Nathan still had her wrist in a tight grip, enough to hurt but loose enough to make her realize that it could possibly be worse. Her floor also wasn't the best thing to land on or so her knees were telling her. "Good mornin' ta ye to," she said weakly, blinking back tears.

Realizing with a shock that he was still squeezing her wrist, Nathan let go instantly and sat up, reaching down after a moment and pulling her up to the bed. "I'm sorry," he said guiltily, rubbing at his eyes. "I didn't know it was you. I was--" He stopped, staring blankly at her for a moment. "I don't know what I was doing," he said, confused.

As she settled next to him on the bed, she cradled her wrist to her chest. "Well, bloody glad ye never did tha' when I hit ye upside th' 'ead..." The headache, now her wrist and her knees. "Bloody 'ell, did I miss th' calendar date o' Physically Poke Moira Around Day?" She looked up at him. "Ye okay?"

"I don't know," he said a bit dazedly. "I don't think I'm all here."

Both eyebrows were now up. "Well, where's th' rest o' ye?" she teased gently but she was worried. Very worried.

Nathan looked around at the bedroom, blinking rapidly. There was whispering in his head, he thought dimly. Someone was--hissing things at him. "Are you trying to talk to me on the link?" he asked uncertainly. "It's not loud enough--I can't hear."

"Nay," she answered slowly. "Do ye want me ta...?" With the memory of being pulled to the floor suddenly still fresh in her mind, Moira was making sure to be careful right now.

"No," he muttered, massaging his temples for a moment. "She might hear you." Then he did feel something on the link, a wordless flash of shock, and looked up at Moira, forcing a weak smile. "Fuck. I really sound like I'm losing it, don't I? Maybe this is just some elaborate form of schizophrenia after all."

'She'. The woman from the other night. Moira frowned. "Nay..." She paused and stared at her wrist for a minute. "I talked ta Charles today."

"Does he want the crazy man out of his house yet?" Nathan kept trying to smile, to make it clear to her that it was mostly a joke, but it didn't seem like it came out that way, judging by the look on her face.

"If 'e did, which 'e doesna, I'd be leavin' as well," she replied, darkly, starting to get up from the bed. "I asked 'im ta look at me memories o'...whoever it is after I got done wit' Bartlet runnin' tests on me."

Nathan watched her, grateful that the conversation was helping him focus, even if he didn't precisely like the direction it was going. "What--did he say?" he asked uneasily.

She didn't answer for a minute, instead went into the bathroom and got herself some asprin and a washcloth to wrap around the wrist. Moira settled herself back on the bed. "'e didna recognize th' face but, Nathan, there -was- a psychic signature. Nay yers or mine." She stopped to let that sink in.

Nathan rocked backwards, feeling the words almost like a physical blow. "The link's dangerous, then," he muttered, after a long moment of silence. "If--someone else can reach through me to you." He didn't think he could cope with that, if he'd put Moira at risk, too--

Moira felt her ire raise another notch. She had not been having the best of days and while she realized Nathan was being trying to keep her from harm... "Well, ye could try ta cut it, possibly 'armin' bot' o' us or attempt ta keep a shield around it 24 'ours." The silence stretched for a moment. "Or, ye could realize tha' I'll be -fine- an' if this bloody well 'elps then let me -try-!"

The washcloth fell off her wrist and she cursed in irritation as she tried to slip it back on.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," Nathan said quietly.

The tightness in her chest had returned and Moira stopped fiddling with the washcloth. "Nay anythin' is goin' ta 'appen ta me," she told him, reaching up to cup his chin. "I'm too bloody stubborn, remember?" She smiled impishly.

Nathan took a deep breath and reached out and took her other hand, the one he'd grabbed, turning it back and forth gently. "You're going to have bruises," he said heavily, feeling guilty all over again. "I know you want to keep an eye on me, but I can't help wondering if I maybe shouldn't move back across the hall if I'm going to start doing things like this in my sleep."

The wrist was starting to bruise slightly but Moira shook her head. "Only if'n ye want ta. Never 'urt me before an' 'tis nay like I'm scared o' ye." A thought crossed her mind and she grabbed Nate's chin and made him look her in the eyes. "Ye know tha', right? There's verra little ye can do ta frighten me off."

He tried his hardest not to quite meet her eyes. Part of him wanted to tell her that yes, there was plenty he could do to frighten her off, that she had just never seen that side of him before. But it hurt, to think of shattering the faith she had in him. Wouldn't he do it anyway, though, if he stayed? If he--

#Stop tha'.# The touch on the link was gentle but firm. She dropped his chin and tried to back away, slightly hurt. #Ye were leakin' tha' onta th' link...I'm nay stupid, Nathan, dinnae treat me like I am.#

"Doul'anhria sunathre insulenraya," he muttered, frustration hazing his thoughts. Why couldn't she understand? "Iyandra nuhrai--"

"Damn it, Nathan!" She sighed and concentrated. #English, love, I don't know what yer sayin'.#

Nathan stopped, confused and wincing at the feel of the link. "It's like static," he said disjointedly, shaking his head. "Something's not connecting right. It's the part of me that's not here."

"All right," she said slowly. "Nathan, tell me what t' do, ta 'elp...please?"

"I don't know," he said tiredly, sliding off the bed and swaying a little as he stood up. "I don't know enough about this--about telepathy." *And I don't want to know,* he thought wildly, trying to keep that at least off the link.

Her frustration and helplessness came roaring back and she just watched him. #Then we'll learn as we go?# Nothing she knew would help, nothing she -did- helped and she just ended up making him more aggravated than before.

"What else did Charles say?" Nathan asked dazedly, blinking at the brightness of the sun through the windows.

"Tha' I should try an' 'elp ye wit' yer visions, tha' I keep ye grounded an' tha' I'm nay as bloody useless as I feel." She scooped up the washclothe and went back into the bathroom to put more cold water on it. She refused to look up into the mirror and see him out there. As much as she knew Charles was right, she always ended up feeling like she was floundering.

The seething at the end of the link was clearer, now. Nathan tilted his head, then quite deliberately started to sing 'Fly Me To The Moon' in his head.

Moira blinked and then facepalmed. "Damn it, Nathan, tha's cheatin'," she grumbled, trying to ignore the song. He knew it was her favorite. She edged out of the bathroom and peeked at him through her fingers. "Bloody bastard..."

"I guess the link's working okay in the other direction, then," Nathan said with a flicker of weary humor, looking back at her. The woozy feeling was beginning to fade, thankfully, and the room was beginning to seem much more solid around him. "Moira, I'm not doing any of this to frustrate you, you know," he went on tentatively, hoping she'd realize that he didn't mean the song.

"I know," she replied softly, mentally replaying the song. "It's nay ye, it's jus'..." The expression in her eyes was pained. "I cannae 'elp, or at least it feels this way an' then I go an' get ye more aggravated than ye already were an' jus'..." She stopped, frustrated again.

"You don't aggravate me," Nathan said, moving slowly over to stand in front of her. Tentatively, shaking a little, he reached out and enfolded her carefully in his arms. "You really don't," he whispered into her hair.

Moira curled around him and nuzzled into his chest. "I jus' feel so bloody useless ta ye," she sighed, the words muffled. "I want ta make everythin' better an' I cannae an' 'tis 'urtin' ye."

"You're doing everything you can," he murmured. "I'm just--rather monumentally screwed up at the moment." A small, pained laugh escaped him. "The more things change."

Moira leaned back a little and looked up at him. "Then we'll fix it, together. Ye jus' 'ave ta do one thin' fer me...?"

"Okay?" he said, a bit uncertainly.

"Amanda told me ta ask ye 'bout th' wild monkey thin'? Wha' th' 'ell is she talkin' 'bout?"