Moira and Nathan

[x-mactaggart.livejournal.com]

Moira wakes up to find Nathan back home but a little worse for wear. Nathan, for his part, doesn't really remember much of anything and is a little loopy. He's been stabbed, hit and drugged and yet he's not panicking. Moira, on the other hand... Oh, and he gives her a gift among them trying to figure out what happened to him. She finds this all very surreal.



Moira started awake, groaning slightly at the sudden bright light. The curtains were open. Why were the curtains open, she wondered, trying to swim out of the fog of sleep. A sigh escaped her as she tried to move to see the clock but the arm slung over her waist prevented her from moving far. Moira paused and glanced down at the arm, confused all over again.

The sudden rumble behind her and the sudden realization that the link was much more open than it had been, made her twist around on her side, eyes wide. "Nat..." Her breath caught in her throat as she got a good look at his shirt. Stained with blood. "Nathan?!"

Someone had just shrieked his name, Nathan thought hazily, dragging himself back out of the rather comfortable doze he'd been indulging in until just a moment ago. That same someone was jostling the bed, suddenly, tugging herself out from under his arm and - "Ow!" he protested sleepily as she pulled his shirt up and started poking at the bandage. "Leave it alone, it's not hurting anyone--"

"Well, if'n yer goin' 'ow' than 'tis obviously 'urtin' ye!" Moira gritted her teeth as she inspected the bandages. "An' yer bloody well bleedin' on our bed!"

"Am I?" He blinked up at her, then smiled a little goofily. "I like your hair in the morning," he proclaimed with a sort of groggy glee. "All... tousled and stuff."

She stopped prodding to stare at him. "Nathan. Ye were supposed t' be back *Saturday*. Where th' bloody 'ell 'ave ye been an' wha' th' bloody 'ell 'appened t' ye?!" Her voice cracked slightly, tinged with more than a bit of worry, but she ignored it. At least he was alive. If bleeding on the comforter.

Nathan opened his mouth, and then closed it again, looking up at her quizzically. "What day is it?" he asked, finally.

"...Monday. Mornin'. I fell asleep, worried t' *deat'* mind ye...an' I ran int' Wisdom ye pillock...an' I woke up wit' ye next ta me. Smellin', by th' way, an' bleedin'!"

Nathan frowned. "Monday?" he asked doubtfully, then glanced down at the bandages, noticing that yes, they were a little on the leaky side. Probably needed changing. "Are you sure it's Monday? And would you stop that?" he asked with some irritation, batting at her hands as she reached for them again. "It's all stitched and everything, and the knife didn't hit anything vital."

"Knife?" she yelped, what little color she normally had draining from her face. "Wha' th' bloody 'ell did ye get yerself int', Daysprin'?! An' dinnae even try pullin' a fast one on me like ye did tellin' me ye were goin' ta take Pete! An', aye I damn well know 'tis Monday because I've been waitin' for ye since Saturday night!" Moira fumed. Anger was better than going back to the waves of worry, doubt, and fear that she had been fighting with since she went to bed Saturday night, without any word from Nathan.

Nathan pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing at the stiffness of his muscles, and then looked around at the bedroom, his eyes narrowed against the morning light. There was his duffel bag, looking as if he had dropped it on the way to the bed, and his coat, a couple of feet closer. "Looks like I just came in and crashed," he muttered, rubbing his eyes and then focusing on her, trying not to frown. "Um... I really have no idea how it's Monday, Moira. To be perfectly honest, I don't remember getting back here." Or much of anything after meeting MacInnis at the bar...

Worry flooded past the anger now. "Wha' 'appened, Nate? Ye shut th' link down pretty tight. Ye dinnae take Pete...I know because I ran int' 'im an’ ‘e ‘ad nay a clue wha’ I was talkin’ ‘bout...so I 'ad no idea wha' was goin' on. When ye dinnae come 'ome Saturday night, I got scared." Moira's voice was tight and it was probably rather obvious that she hadn't gotten much sleep over the course of the weekend.

"I..." Nathan bit his lip, trying to put the pieces together. "I met MacInnis at that bar - Colin MacInnis, he was one of my first instructors at Mistra. Retired now. I always liked him..."

"An' then wha'? I'm assumin' ye dinnae go out for tea an' cake, Nathan."

"We talked, and then..." Nathan frowned more deeply, starting to rub at the back of his neck and then freezing as his fingers encountered a small, but noticeably lump at the back of his skull. "Ow," he protested again, half-heartedly.

"Ow?" Moira repeated and then batted his hand away from the back of his head. "Wha'...wha' 'appened t' ye bein' careful?" she asked, voice suddenly not steady at all as she gently felt the bump.

"I thought--I was," Nathan said, starting to get seriously bewildered. He had talked with MacInnis, then... "I don't know what happened," he said, the words coming out sounding decidedly lost. "There are--bits and pieces afterwards," he said, gesturing a bit aimlessly, "but I thought it was all the one night..."

"Damn it, Nathan," she whispered, staring at the back of his head like it would give her the patience she needed not to either chew him right out or burst into tears. "Tell me this was bloody well wort' it! It 'ad better be."

Nathan didn't answer for a moment, running over the fragmented memories in his mind. The conversation at the bar he could remember, at least. "He told me... he said that there were people who were trying to help me, when I first tried to run with Aliya and Tyler. They didn't make it to the hotel in time either," he said slowly.

Moira froze and then snuggled up slowly against his back. "I'm sorry...did 'e say who? An' why did 'e need ta talk ta ye now?"

"He was cagey about names," Nathan muttered. "But apparently they kept some of the heat off while I was... getting ready to leave the country." You would have made our lives so much easier if you'd just headed to Mexico that night, son, MacInnis's gravelly voice echoed in his mind. "He was telling the truth," Nathan told Moira as she gave him a dubious look. "I could tell that much."

She sighed and nodded against his shoulder. "All right. But wha' was th' urgency tha' ye 'ad ta go *now* an' then apparently get th' crap kicked out o' ye?" Moira asked, closing her eyes tightly. The waiting, again, had nearly damned well killed her. Waking up in the middle of the night to finding an empty, cold bed beside her had done nothing to ease her nerves.

Nathan frowned again, staring down at the bandage. "He didn't do this," he said with a certain amount of certainty. "I remember... there was a warehouse, I was fighting..."

"O' good, I dinnae 'ave t' 'urt this fellow," she tried to joke. "God, Nathan..." Mentally, she cursed herself because she knew she was on the verge of just cracking.. The entire weekend had been hell.

Her obvious upset finally pierced the haze of bewilderment, and he turned to her, wrapping his arms around her awkwardly. "I'm... sorry," he said hesitantly, honestly not sure... well, not what he was apologizing for because that was obvious, but why he found himself in the position of needing to make the apology in the first place. And why he wasn't more freaked out by his apparent memory gaps. As she leaned forward, against him, and he shifted his grip on her, there was a twinge of pain in one arm. He drew back, ignoring her startled look and soft protest, and yanked the sleeve of his shirt upwards. "That," he said after a moment, staring down at three small bruises in almost a straight line down the inside of his arm, "bothers me."

A strangled gasp managed to get out as Moira grabbed his arm, gently, and stared down at the marks. "When yer more awake, MedLab. I mean it, Nathan. We're goin' t' run a full barrage o' tests, x-rays as well. Make sure nothin' 'armful was slipped in. I'd say trackin' device but *they* already know where ye are, so we can rule tha' out. Oh God." She turned her head, away from him and the marks, to try to get her bearings. This was not how she envisioned him coming home.

"I feel all right," he said uncertainly.

"Nathan! Ye may 'ave been drugged an' wit' yer virus--! I'm nay leavin' anythin' ta chance, nay wit' ye." Moira felt her mouth tremble a little bit and steadied herself. "Later, then, but...please? For me?"

"No, it's all right... whatever tests you want," Nathan muttered, rubbing his eyes again. This was all some kind of very weird dream, he told himself. Surely it was. Only dreams made this little sense. "I just don't want you to worry too much. I think MacInnis was trying to help me."

"By *druggin'*...nay, I'll stop, I'll stop, ye dinnae know if'n 'e did it." Careful of Nathan’s injuries, Moira circled his neck with her arms and snuggled into his lap, and blinked back tears of worry. "Ye still smell, by th' way an'--OW, wha' th' bloody 'ell?!" She jumped a little when she settled into his lap, when she felt something jab her in the leg in his pocket. "Nathan, wha's in yer pocket?"

He reached into his pocket, grimacing, and then pulled out a small velvet box. "Oh," he said, and then brightened a little. "Your birthday present. Picked it out Friday afternoon before I went to the bar."

Moira eyed him with some concern but he seemed so pleased with himself. She looked at the box and blinked at it. "Nathan...wha' is it?" she asked, reaching for it.

"Just... something that said 'Buy me for Moira' when I saw it in the window," Nathan said, and hesitated for a minute. "Maybe I should save it for your birthday," he said. "I don't want to spoil the surprise."

She really couldn't help the small pout. "Please? Ye know 'ow batty waitin' an' surprises make me." This really was surreal, Moira decided, but gave up. Nathan was home, safe for the most part, and they'd find out what happened to him later. Right now, all she wanted to do was enjoy having him back.

Nathan handed the box over. "I thought I had put it in my bag," he muttered, then shook his head, remembering someone - who? bending over and picking up the box off the ground, handing it back to him and telling him he didn't want to lose it.

Moira took the box and snuggled back against him, frowning a little at him when she noticed the far away look in his eyes. But when she cracked the box open, the sudden glint of platinum caught her eye and she gasped and stared at the ring. Sapphires winked at her in the sunlight and the design was Celtic in origin, no doubt about that. Small flower designs were among the Celtic ones and Moira felt tears suddenly rise up in her eyes. "Oh...Nathan..."

"Happy birthday," he said a bit wistfully. "Early birthday."

Her hands were shaking slightly as she tugged the ring gently out of the box and slipped it on her right ring finger. "Nathan, I love it...love ye," she murmured, reaching up to kiss him as she blinked back the tears.

"Oh good," he said a bit faintly as she hugged him carefully. "I was hoping you'd like it..." She made a muffled noise that sounded almost like a sob, and he hugged her back tentatively. "I'm sorry, Moira," he said, his voice coming out a little wild. "I didn't mean to scare you... I really don't know what happened."

"I know, Nathan, I know. I jus' worry 'bout ye so much." She really didn't want to let him go, she realized, despite wanting him to get checked out in the MedLab. "An' th' rin'...'tis beautiful, really...ye really shouldnae 'ave."

"It seemed like an awfully good idea at the time," he said with a weak chuckle, quite content to sit here like this, holding her. There was part of him that felt like it was just waking up now, waking up from a much deeper sleep and wanting to pull the covers over his head or something and hide from the world. Weird feeling. Very weird. Why am I not panicking? "I'm just glad I'm home," he muttered without really thinking about the words.