Moira and Nathan

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Nathan started out of a restless doze, hearing something from the other side of the wall behind his head. A thud, he thought a bit groggily, or someone dropping something.

Sighing deeply, he closed his eyes again. He was still so tired, but he felt less able to rest today. This place was finally getting to him: the sense of being trapped, the unmistakable hospital-like feel and smell. At least the other doctors hadn't shown up wanting to do more tests this morning. *Yet,* the pessimistic part of him pointed out snidely, and he shifted on the bed, biting back a weary curse.

Moira paused in the middle of typing up a report and tilted her head. With a sigh, mostly of concern, she pushed away from her desk and headed down towards Nathan's room. The link felt all grumbly and irritated, which made her quicken her steps a little bit. Though concerned, she felt better than she had in days. A full night's rest, some naps on the side, a nearly hour long shower and several meals had brought her back from the brink of exhaustion.

She'd even gotten some work done as time had slipped away. Much to the other doctor's, all of them, complaints. She was supposed to be resting as well. When she informed Henry that she was, in fact, sitting down with little movement, he had given up.

Quietly, she slipped inside his room and closed the door behind her. "Nathan, ye okay?"

He opened his eyes again, giving her a guilty look. "I didn't mean to disturb you," he muttered, sighing. "Just... can't seem to settle down properly here."

"Ten t' one, one o' th' Doctors Three would 'ave barged in soon enough an' demanded I take a break anyway," she responded, waving a hand at him. "An' considerin' Leonard doesnae 'ave any concerns 'bout physically tossin' me over 'is shoulder an' makin' me leave me office, I think I'll do 'im a favor." Moira wandered over and smiled down at him. "Anythin' I can do ta 'elp?"

"Stay for a bit?" he asked, and then could have smacked himself for sounding so piteous. "I know I should be sleeping, but I can't."

"Considerin' 'ow much ye were 'asleep' th' last few days, 'tis nay a surprise." After making sure she wasn't going to sit on anything important or breakable, Moira seated herself on the small stretch of bed that was free. "Nathan..." She stopped and sighed, having felt the irritation at himself. "I dinnae mind, so dinnae feel bad 'bout wantin' me around."

"Is this you telling me I'm allowed to be clingy?" he said, with a good attempt at a bantering tone. She laughed softly, pushing hair out of her face, and he reached out to take her free hand. "I know I'm here through the weekend," he said, a little more heavily, "but fuck, I hate it. Am I allowed to say that?"

"Aye. T' bot' questions," she replied, winking. "But, aye, I know ye dinnae like this. I knew ye wouldnae when we decided it before ye woke up. I wish I could make it less...like a 'ospital."

"I have so many hang-ups," Nathan pointed out as wryly as he could. "Don't know how you put up with me."

"...yer good in bed?" Grinning a little, she pulled back slightly, out of poking range.

"Shallow woman," Nathan said severely, shifting again on the bed. His ribs were still bothering him.

"Tha' was th' short answer. I made a mental list while waitin' for ye ta wake up. 'Tis rather lon'." Moira eyed him with concern. "Want an ice pack or 'eat pack fer yer ribs?"

He couldn't help a smile at the fact that she hadn't even attempted to offer him a painkiller. "You know me too well," he murmured. "Ice would be good." Heat would only make him drowsy, and if he couldn't get back to sleep then that would just wind up being frustrating...

There were some ice packs in the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, she remembered, sliding off the bed. Moira shivered when she opened the fridge and a puff of cold air hit her in the face. Frowning, she poked an odd cylinder and sighed. She was going to kill Henry. For someone with fantastic taste in most everything else, he had horrendous picks in beverages. She reached behind the offending drink and grabbed the first ice pack. On the way back to the bed, she found a clean hand towel and wrapped it around the pack.

They actually hadn't changed him into a hospital gown, she had known how much he would have hated *that*. So she simply helped him pull down the covers slightly and tug up his shirt so she could position the pack just right.

Nathan shivered, wincing a little, but mustered another smile at the worried look she gave him. "It's--okay," he assured her, trying to relax as she rearranged his shirt and the covers. A comfortable numbness was spreading already, and he took as deep a breath as he could, then released it.

"Ye sure?" she murmured, looking down at him in some concern. He was probably going to have bruising, she knew, from the CPR she had administrated. Frowning a little, she fussed with the covers.

"I can cope with the bruises," Nathan said wryly. "I mean, how many times I have broken those ribs, anyway?"

"More times than I 'ave fingers?" she guessed. "An' I'm still goin' ta be concerned." Moira huffed at his annoyed look. "Look 'ere...in twenty years are ye still goin' ta be naggin' me 'bout rememberin' ta eat when I'm workin' on somethin'?"

Oh, he knew where this was going. "Fussing is good," Nathan said, and, pushing a little, projected an image of himself holding a little plaque with words to that effect on it. "I won't complain about the fussing."

Laughing, at both the image and Nathan, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Good. I promise never ta get annoyin'...much, anyway. Ribs feelin' any better?"

"Getting nice and numb, yeah." He watched her as she straightened up, and it just slipped out before he could stop it. "Sinnon'shai haldeicynan vaala, mi'laryan."

Moira jerked back slightly in surprise and then stared down at him, eyes wide. Trying to remain calm, she touched the link. No, it was calm, confused but calm. "Nathan, wha' th' 'ell was tha'?"

Nathan blinked back at her. "I said..." He stopped, his own eyes widening. "I said 'I don't know where I'd be without you, love'."

"I'd say speakin' in weird tongues but I think ye've got a 'andle on tha' wit' me," she said weakly. Worry crossed her face and she leaned closer. "Feel a vision or anythin' similar comin' on?"

Nathan shook his head slowly, and then tried it again. "Nahal, n'acraia issel fennail," he said. Moira's jaw dropped slightly, and he gave her a faintly shaky smile. "That's 'No, my head feels empty.' And don't say it, okay?"

Inwardly, despite the attempt at levity, he was reeling. It was as if he could flip a switch, and out came the Askani language... no, the langya bellaya, the battle language, he corrected himself.

"Are ye okay?" she whispered, feeling the confused thoughts from the him bounce slightly on the link.

"I think I'm fine," he said a bit wildly, after a moment. "I just... I think I speak thirteen languages now. Instead of twelve."

"Well. Damn. Somethin' else ye can mutter at me so I cannae understand it..." Well, that was an interesting development she realized. Interesting and kind of scary.

"I wonder why," he muttered distractedly. "It seems to be sticking, too." He could look around the room, and, if he concentrated a little, summon up the Askani words for nearly everything. "I don't think it could have been her... she told Charles she'd leave me alone."

"Ye've been 'avin' these for, wha', well over a year? 'Tis nay impossible tha' ye jus' learned it." Moira frowned at him. "Yer exposed t' a language for lon' enough an' ye'll eventually pick it up."

"But it's so easy suddenly," he protested, and then tried it again. It was like making your mind switch gears, almost. "~Is it making any sense to you?~" he asked tentatively, not sure about what role the link might be playing in all of this. "~It feels almost comfortable to me, now...~"

Moira scrunched her nose up as she tried to figure out the words. "I...know ye asked me somethin'. If I understood ye? If so, nay really, jus' a vague impression o' wha' ye were tryin' ta say ta me."

"I asked you if it made any sense to you." Nathan sighed deeply, raising a hand and rubbing at his head. "Hope to hell this isn't something left over from a shielding lapse," he said suddenly, depressed by the thought.

"Ye can ask Charles," she soothed, smoothing down his hair. A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Nathan, ye were fightin' this fer so lon' an' ye still are but I know yer tryin' more ta work wit' it than ignore it. Maybe ye've been able ta fer a while an' jus' really dinnae allow yerself ta?"

"Maybe," he said uncertainly, and then tried to smile again. "Would probably fit. Most of my problems being self-inflicted and all..."

"If'n ye werenae in this MedLab bed, Nathan, I'd 'it ye," Moira warned, teasing a little.

"Threats were always such an integral part of your bedside manner."

"But o' course. Worked on ye, didn't they?"