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[x-mactaggart.livejournal.com]

When Moira is beyond angry at the pestering from Pym, Nathan tries to calm her down. Moira starts to realize why Pym bothers her so much, Nathan makes things better by planning revenge.



With a muttered curse that would have made any sailor's ears redden, Moira slammed the door behind her. With a glare at the items in her hand, she threw the book--the signed book from Pym--across the room and the picture soon followed. For now, she ignored the startled noise from the bedroom and started slamming things around in the kitchen, cursing the entire way.

The jerking around of the coffee supplies nearly hid the fact that her hands were shaking slightly and she refused to give in and admit it was more than anger. The creepiness of the entire situation had just been turned up a notch with those damned items. Moira muttered about not checking her damned mail anymore and letting Cook handle anything unusual.

Nathan stopped dead in his tracks as he came out of the bedroom and saw her slamming things around in the kitchenette. He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but then spotted the things on the floor by the couch, a book and--a picture frame? That hadn't been there a few minutes ago while he had been out here. Going over, he bent down to pick them up, his eyes widening slightly as he noted the name on the spine of the book, but the flash of unpleasant surprise was swamped by a tidal wave of pure rage as he turned the frame over and saw the picture of Pym it held.

"Son of a bitch," he growled, straightened up.

"Ye can say tha' again," Moira spat out, something inside of her knowing he'd know the venom wasn't for him. With another curse, she reached over to open the mini-fridge and find the milk. When she slammed the door to it, the entire thing shook for a few seconds. Her fingers tapped in irritation when she realized she had to wait for the coffee to finish brewing before she could do anything else with her hands.

But she spotted the few dirty dishes from the night before and slammed the tap on to full and hot water. "Where's th' bloody damned soap?" she muttered before finding it hiding behind a small trash can.

Nathan glared down at the picture, appalled by the sheer arrogance behind a gesture like this. "Moira," he said, looking up at her. "Shall I throw these out?"

Her hands clenched tightly around the mug she was washing to the point her knuckles went white in sharp contrast to the red of her skin from the hot water. "Fire's good," she replied sharply, jerking the mug around to get at the other side. "Either on them or th' fuckin' bas--shit!" The cup slipped out of her hands and splashed into the sink, sending water everywhere.

Nathan set the book and frame aside and headed purposefully to her side. "Leave the dishes," he said firmly, taking her hands, ignoring the soap suds, and pulling her into the living room. "This is getting ridiculous," he said, leading her over to the couch.

"'e makes me want ta waste a verra good coffee pot on 'is 'ead," she said darkly, watching the soap and water drip off her hands and onto the carpet as she sat down. A tremble ran up and then back down from her spine and she gritted her teeth, ignoring it. "Bloody idiot."

Nathan rubbed her back soothingly, struggling to control his own anger. She didn't need it echoing down the link and making things worse, he told himself. Be calm. "I think it's time something was done," he said. "He cannot keep upsetting you like this."

"I'm nay upset, I'm jus'...jus'..." A weird look crossed her face. "*Why* will 'e nay take nay for an answer?" Moira whispered, closing her eyes tightly.

"He probably doesn't hear it enough," Nathan said tightly, his eyes flickering to where the book and the picture were sitting on the coffee table. He put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close. He never should have jumped at the opportunity to facilitate Jamie's prank, he reflected grimly. It seemed Pym had taken that as a sign that this was a game, and Moira was the prize.

With a tired sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder. "Kept goin' on 'bout 'ow smart I am. But 'e mustnae believe tha' if'n 'e doesnae take me *seriously*!" Anger and slight trepidation rolled together in her stomach, making it upset with the emotions. She started to shake off the water and soap suds, mind suggishly trying to figure out how to get rid of him. And trying to figure out why she was this upset...

Nathan sorted through the tangled thoughts on the link, hating the way her mind was running in helpless little circles. What he really wanted to do was go and beat some sense into the man, quite literally, but that wasn't going to help anyone. "I'm sorry," he said softly, kissing the top of her head.

"Shouldnae be a problem," she muttered, more to herself than to Nathan. "I should jus' ignore it. But it..." She gave Nathan a slightly wild look. "I think it scares me a wee bit. Unflaggin' attention an' someone who willnae take nay fer an answer. But this is *me*, I shouldnae be afraid o' some bloody idiot wit' a crush!"

Nathan's eyes narrowed a little as he looked down at her. "It's because he's not thinking of you as a person," he said, reacting to what was coming across the link rather than her words. "You're afraid because you know how he would love to have you on his arm at a dinner like the one this all started at. How good that would make him look, and you know that's what's important to him. Not you."

"I jus'...ye know, I tell me patients tha' fear is a natural, healthy thin' at times. An' yet..." Mentally, she kicked herself. "'e acts like Joe," she murmured, voice dry and quiet. "First year o' our marriage was fine...well, as fine as it could 'ave been under *those* circumstances." A pregnancy scare at 17, a near shot gun wedding and all. "But through it all, up 'til Kevin, I wasnae real, ye know? Despite me 'andlin' college faster than any expected an' jus'...I thought I got past tha'. Past tha' fear..."

Nathan was silent for a long moment. "I think Pym and I need to talk," he said very calmly.

She paused for a second and sorted through the link. "Does th' talk involve large buildin's fallin' over on 'im, by any chance?" she murmured, raising an eyebrow just slightly.

"I'm serious, Moira," he said bleakly. "Much as I'd like to just off the bastard out of hand, that's only going to create worse problems. But a man-to-man talk might actually accomplish something." If nothing else, he could scare the crap out of the miserable piece of shit.

"I 'ope it works better than th' talks I've 'ad wit' 'im," Moira replied dryly, scooting closer to Nathan's warmth. "Man's got a 'ead like an anti-sponge, I swear."

"Imagine me showing up on his doorstep," Nathan said coldly, but the chill in his voice wasn't directed at her and he knew she would understand that. "I think he'll get the message."

"So temptin'. So verra, verra temptin'." She paused. "Think we can shove 'im an' Joe in a box an' mail them somewhere?" Moira asked, trying to get some humor back in her voice.

"Him and Joe in a room," Nathan snorted. "There wouldn't be room for their egos." Something very, very evil occurred to him, and he looked down at Moira. "Wouldn't it be a shame if Pym ran into trouble like what your darling ex is facing these days?" he said lightly.

With a blink, Moira looked up at him slightly confused. "...where would we...o' my God..."

"Wouldn't that do terrible things to his image?" Nathan asked, a very unpleasant smile tugging at his lips.

"God, it would." A smile started to spread, slowly. "But where would we..." She caught his look. "Oh...oh nay...yer nay thinkin'..."

"Dom doesn't like men with that particular mindset," Nathan said simply. "At all."

The mental image of Domino 'playing' with Pym entered her mind and suddenly she couldn't stop laughing. "God, I'd buy 'er beer fer a bloody *week*..."

"We'll have to talk to her about it," Nathan said, relaxing a little as the tension on the link started to ease. Even if Domino laughed off the suggestion, it had been good to make it.

"We'll brin' it up," Moira murmured, yawning a little bit. "Cannae 'urt ta try." She suddenly smiled up at him and leaned closer. "Thank ye."

"For what?"

"Calmin' me down. Bein' yerself. Threatenin' ta beat Pym up. I told ye I 'ave a weak spot sometimes for when ye get all overprotective."

Nathan smiled slightly, stroking the hair out of her eyes with a gentle hand. "Sho'vanoia seelaya, mi'laryan," he said, the Askani slipping out automatically.

"I'm goin' ta need a translator, aren't I?" Moira eyed him in amusement. "Wha' was tha'?"

"'Between you and all harm, my love'," Nathan translated.

Laughing, Moira reached up and brushed his cheek with her hand. "Wonderful. Ye can sweet talk me in 13 languages now," she quipped, leaning up to kiss him soundly.