Moira and Nathan

[x-mactaggart.livejournal.com]

After Nathan dumps the pill bottle, Moira races up the stairs and finds him in less than perfect condition. She tries to help, he tries to push it away and Moira finds out why he's been pushing away help. They patch him up, she gets him to take a pill and reassures him that she's not going anywhere.



Moira had almost gotten out of practice taking the stairs two at a time. Almost. The last few times she had accomplished it, it had been out of worry and fear for Nathan. Now it was out of a sound desire to beat some sense into his head. She really had to stop and remind herself that she loved him and didn't actually want to see him dead, but it was getting hard with the inane cackling that came from the other end of the link.

After finally reaching their room, the door slammed shut behind her. "So, ye plannin' on flushin' anythin' else down th' toilet, Daysprin'?" Moira called, dropping her lab coat on a chair as she made her way through the room.

In the bedroom, Nathan looked up, plastering an entirely insincere smile across his face as she reached the doorway. "Only if you brought more of the evil pills," he said brightly, not moving from the chair. It hurt entirely too much. It was also still bleeding; he had broken a couple of the stitches, moving too injudiciously earlier. "Them I flush. Flush, flush."

"Ye try anythin' like tha' again, I'm sure'n I can other ways around tha'," she said, voice tight. Moira eyed him with concern. "Nathan, are ye bleedin' still?"

"Not still. Again," he corrected her blithely, managing to keep that cheery tone. She was giving him That Look.

"Damn it. Let me see." With a sigh, she tried to remember where she stashed the emergency first aid kit. Probably in the bathroom, next to his razors.

He waved a hand - not the hand attached to the arm attached to the muscles that were currently screaming out their hatred of existence - breezily. "No, I'm good," he said, distantly aware that the cheery tone was beginning to sound a little manic. "No more poking me, prodding me, or otherwise... doing anything to me, okay? I'm done with that for the week. No, make that the month."

That didn't stop her from walking over to him. As she knelt, she glared up at him. "Fine. Then ye can bleed on th' couch if yer goin' ta keep *tha'* up. Yer nay good, yer bleedin', yer in pain an' yer startin' ta sound like a damned record." The muscles in her jaw twitched. It was really, really obvious that Nathan was slightly off right now but she knew that he needed a kick in the head first, hugs later.

As she reached out to tug at his shirt, Nathan jerked away violently. "It's fine!" Her eyes widened, then hardened, and he tried to get up, intending to slip past her, but a stifled cry escaped him as he started to move and he sagged back into the chair, hunched over and breathing raggedly. "Damn it," he muttered, shivering.

"Let me see, Nathan." Her tone brooked no argument and it didn't show some of the hurt she was suddenly feeling. "Then ye can go back t' playin' Jock Man an' I'll leave ye alone ta tryin' ta pretend ye dinnae 'urt."

Nathan didn't sense the hurt on the link. Didn't sense much of anything, actually. The pain was getting in the way of him focusing, and had been all day. "I'm not--I'm not playing Jock Man," he muttered feverishly, but didn't try and move away this time as she reached out again. "Everyone keeps telling me to take more damned drugs and Amanda wants to heal me..."

"Did ye ever jus' think about *sleepin'* or restin'?" Moira asked between gritted teeth. With a gentle touch, she moved his shirt up and sighed to herself. The bandage was drenched in blood. She reached out to gently touch it, noting the hissed intake of breath. The only reaction she had when she pulled back her hand to find it wetter with blood than she would have liked, was a raised eyebrow. "Right. Stay put for a second. I'm goin' ta get th' emergency kit from th' bathroom an' change yer dressin'."

The good thing about being a doctor was the ability to slip on that mask of utter calmness that the job required of you. She didn't even curse when she braced her hands on her legs as she stood up and left blood on the khaki material of her pants. Moira would deal with the hurt surprise later. He'd never refused her help like that before.

"I remember them stitching me up," Nathan said, staring fixedly at the opposite wall for a moment. "Talking over me."

She paused on her way to the bathroom and looked over her shoulder at him. "Is tha' why ye've been pushin' me, an' everyone else's, 'elp away?" she asked, quietly, allowing some of the hurt to show through a little.

Nathan looked up at her, and his eyes blurred, embarrassingly. "I'm... I thought I was done feeling like this, Moira," he said, his voice coming out strained, but thankfully more or less steady. "I wasn't when I first got back. I was just... dreaming last night, and then I felt so jumpy when I woke up this morning..."

She stopped herself from going to him but made her way into the bathroom quickly. Only when she had the kit in her hand did she go back and kneel in front of him. "Why dinnae ye say anythin' t' me?" Moira asked. "God, Nathan, 'ad ye an' I would 'ave given ye more slack, instead o' comin' up 'ere breathin' fire an' brimstone at ye. Nay tha' ye dinnae deserve it...came close t' 'avin' me feelin's 'urt." She smiled a little, to show that the last part had been, mostly, a joke.

"I'm sorry," he muttered unhappily. "I didn't mean to... I just can't think straight." He took a shaky breath, pressing the heel of one hand against his forehead.

Moira reached up with the hand that didn't have his blood on it, and pressed it gently to his cheek. "Slightly feverish," she murmured, gently rubbing her cool hand against his feverish skin. "Yer side 'urts, 'eadache...fever...anythin' else?"

"Thirsty," Nathan said with as much of a sigh as he could manage with his side hurting so much. "Thought that was supposed to wear off?"

"Lean back a wee bit so I can see wha' I'm doin'." She glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. "It 'tis...'ave ye been drinkin' water or, hrm, did th' coffee pot in our room empty itself repeatedly all day, I wonder." Carefully, she started to peel the ruined bandages off his wound and winced. "Nathan, I'm goin' ta tie ye down if'n ye dinnae stop makin' these open up."

"They put them in there. Maybe it's better they don't stay," he said, staring up at the spot where the wall met the ceiling.

"Well, I can always get 'enry ta 'elp me take out th' stitches an' put them back in if'n tha' would make ye feel better." Half made in jest, half not, she noted, wincing a little as some of the blood got onto the chair. Moira's hands were not a pretty sight as she switched the bandages.

"Stitches in my side and shit in my head," he murmured a bit desolately. "Makes me wonder if anything's really changed."

"There, done," she murmured, gently taping it down firmly to his side. Moira looked up at him. "It 'as, Nathan. Ye 'ave people ta 'elp ye through this if'n ye'll let us."

Nathan let his head sag sideways in the chair for a moment. "Just... tell me what I should be doing?" he asked hoarsely, uncertainly. "I can't think properly, Moira. But I trust you."

Quickly, she wiped the blood off her hands using her pants again and then reached for his. "Right now? In bed, restin'. Drink' lots of fluids. In general?" Moira sighed quietly. "Jus' try an' remember tha' thin's *'ave* changed an' for th' better." She smiled at him. "For one, ye've got me."

"Okay." He tried to get up again, and managed it only because she immediately supported him, guiding him in the direction of the bed. "I got you all bloody," he said, blinking down at her stained pants.

"They can be washed," Moira reassured him as she helped sit him down on the bed. "I'm a doctor, I'm used ta it." Her forehead crinkled, though. "Wish it wasnae yer blood, though..."

"Me too," he confessed wearily, wincing as he leaned back. It felt so good to lie down. His head liked the pillows. "I do remember them stitching me up," he said dimly, staring up at the ceiling. "Talking about security. Disagreeing about doing... something with me. Not sure what."

Carefully, she sat next to him and reached up to arrange the pillow he was using. "God, I wish ye could remember without it 'urtin' ye. I'd give a damn lot ta find out wha' 'appened ta ye."

It dawned on Nathan that he hadn't told her about that IM log. But he was too tired to explain it at the moment, in entirely too much pain to focus enough to have a conversation like that. He tried to shift position on the bed a little, then stopped with a hiss, biting his lip hard enough that he tasted blood. "Fuck," he gritted feebly. "Can't it at least stop when I stay put...?"

"Nay really, nay right now. Ye managed ta open it up somethin' fierce durin' yer battle wit' th' last pill bottle." Moira gave him a measured look. "Maddie gave me some more in a plastic bag. Do ye want one? I'm nay goin' t' force ye." She reached up and ran a soothing hand through his hair.

Nathan blinked up at her. "I won't fall asleep and wake up somewhere else?"

She smiled down at him. "I promise, ye'll wake up in th' bed, in this room. Want me ta stay for a while?"

"Please?" he said uncertainly. She smiled at him, bending over to kiss him lightly on the forehead and then getting up. He tensed, but she merely ducked into the bathroom. He heard running water for a minute or two, and then she came back, her hands clean and a glass of water in one of them. As she sat down beside him and took out one of the pills, he fought back the instinctive wash of loathing and anxiety and took it, with a few extra swallows of water for good measure. "At least it's a pill and not a needle," he muttered, laying back again. "Or a mask... they used that when I tried to get away. Tried to call you but she wouldn't let me."

#I'm 'ere now, though.# Moira touched the link and imagined it was like running her fingers through warm water. If these people had wanted to help, why block her from him? She'd find out, one way or another, no matter how long it took. "Nay goin' away any time soon, either. Ye know tha', right?"

"I know," he whispered, closing his eyes. He wanted to wrap the link around him like a blanket and just rest...

"Then do so," Moira whispered back, taking one of his hand in hers. The link was suddenly much more open and she pushed, gently, into it, reaching towards him. "I trust ye an' I'm nay leavin'."