xp_logs | Nathan and Moira

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Moira dozed fitfully, curled up in a tight ball next to the medical bed where Nathan had been since Wednesday evening. Leonard had nearly tossed her over his shoulder the previous day in an effort to "talk her into" getting some sleep in her bed, shower and get something to eat before returning. She'd only down so, reluctantly, because of that worried look he'd gotten in his eyes. Leonard never looked worried.

She started awake as her laptop nearly slide off her lap and sat it down next to the bed as she looked at Nathan. The link was still *there*, quiet, subdued but he wasn't dead. Not by a long shot. There was hope that his body had merely shut itself down, giving itself time to really rest and repair before waking up again. Hope, always hope. Blinking back fresh tears, she leaned over and pillowed her head on exposed mattress, resting her hand on top of his. She'd done very little else, except for dropping off work for her classes to do. They'd all heard what happened, she trusted them to complete the work by the time things got back to normal. And someone said they'd check up on them.

Waiting. Always waiting.

Someone was touching his hand. It struck him as a very familiar feeling. Comforting. But there was something else behind it, a silent pain that pierced the peaceful void, fanning the tiny, flickering flame of conscious thought. Nathan felt himself rising through the void as if he was swimming up through dark water. There was no light above, just a strong sense that it was where he needed to be. Where she was waiting.

He broke the surface, and then there was light, hurting his head as his eyes fluttered open. His vision wouldn't focus, but he was fairly sure that was a ceiling above him. Not a familiar one.

The link flickered, emerging from slumber and into tentative wakefulness. Cautiously, she lifted her head, hoping she wasn't just imagining things in her head thanks to lack of sleep, too much coffee and acute worry. But when she felt his hand move slightly and saw him blink, all confused, at the ceiling, she fought back a sob. "Nathan?"

He had tubes in awkward places, Nathan thought disjointedly, but the thought fled his mind as he heard her call his name. She was leaning over him then, her face more distinct that anything else around him, and he saw how tired she looked, saw it and felt it on the link. He opened his mouth, trying to answer, but his voice wouldn't work, and he couldn't seem to summon up the strength to answer her on the link.

When she saw him try to respond but failing, she touched his face gently. "Easy," she murmured. "'avenae talked in a few days, love, may be a bit 'ard." The gentle humor was strained even to her own ears and she covered it by reaching over. She didn't want to shock his system by giving him a full glass of water but she wet a sponge Henry had left for just this purpose. "'ere, this'll probably 'elp." Gently, she passed it over his mouth with a shaking hand and let some of the water go into his mouth.

It was just enough to make him realize how dry his throat was. It helped, but only enough to let him manage a croak instead of nothing. Frustration seethed up through the dull, oppressive weariness, and he blinked up at her, trying to read her face, to listen to the link. So controlled, though. As if she were shielding.

Moira pressed the sponge into the water again and gave him some more. "Better?" she asked, checking the machine read-outs quickly, to make sure everything was reading normal.

"...yeah," he managed finally, the whisper barely audible. "Wha... happ'ed?"

Steady breathing, she reminded herself. "Ye were talkin' wit' Manuel after dinner while I took a nap. Went fairly well until ye were 'it wit' a particular bad vision." Moira's voice was tight, controlled, some of the accent dropping away as the Doctor in her stepped up to bat. "When ye collapsed, Manuel tried t' find 'elp an' then found me number. When I got there, ye were nay breathin' an' by th' time I got ye back up ta speed, some time 'ad passed." Her voice wavered. "Tha' was Wednesday night...'tis Friday mornin', Nathan."

Manuel? He remembered the dinner... sort of, at least... "Friday?" he whispered hoarsely. She nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright, and he let the air in his lungs out on a sigh that turned into a wince. Moira leaned forward immediately, her brows drawing together in concern. "Ribs... hurt..." he wheezed.

"Well, they would...it took some time for ye ta respond ta CPR." Far, far too long. She remembered her hands shaking as she used her entire weight to, damn it, get him to *breathe*.

The memories burned down the link and Nathan shivered, feeling her terror, her desperation, sharp as if it was happening now, rather than two days in the past. #...scared you... sorry... so sorry...# he thought, barely managing to push it along the link.

"Th' link," she whispered, fighting back her tears. "It dinnae...I could still feel ye, barely. But I knew ye were alive." Not that it helped, much. Not that it was much comfort late at night as she listened to the machines beep in time to her heart beat and saw him *look* like he was dead. But it had been some comfort and she had taken any she could get.

#...don't cry...# he thought hazily. #...don't cry... love you...#

It was too late, the tears were running down her face as the shields she'd been holding onto so dearly finally crumpled into dust. #Love ye, t'#, she sent back, holding onto his hand for dear life. The pain was still there but lessening now that she knew he was pulling through. With a tug, she pulled the chair even closer and pillowed her head next to him again. With him still woozy and her exhausted, they didn't have the energy for words. But instead, the link pulsed between them, hot and emotional and desperate, saying all the things they couldn't.