xp_logs | Jamie and Nathan, Manuel and Nathan, Thursday afternoon

Nathan finds Jamie in the library and tries this whole dispenser-of-advice thing again. And gives him a book recommendation. Jamie is perhaps not quite as good at the facade as Doug was.

Jamie poked listlessly at the library bookshelves. He probably should have known better than to look for mindless entertainment in a library stocked by Professor Xavier, but there wasn't anything on TV even by relaxed standards, and . . . Jamie really didn't feel like thinking at the moment.

Pausing at the door of the library, Nathan tilted his head contemplatively as he spotted the solitary figure browsing the shelves. Jamie's mental state was perfectly obvious, even if his body language hadn't been telling. He'll have had the chance to see Samson a couple of times by now, Nathan reasoned. Time for an additional perspective, maybe? He hobbled forward, then very deliberately - and carefully, as he didn't really want to hurt himself - fell over. Coming down a bit harder than he'd expected, he didn't find it at all difficult to curse loudly.

Jamie started, whirled, and scooted over to help Nathan up. "The Doc's gonna smack you one if you get any more hurt," he pointed out.

"Has," Nathan said with his best sheepish grin as Jamie helped him up, "and will again. I would say she's quite violent at times, but she only resorts to smacking me around when she can't get through to me with words. Which doesn't happen often, because she has a tongue like a razor. You may have noticed."

"See, I woulda thought 'claymore,' myself. Kinda blunt, impact you remember for a while, and hey, Scottish."

"Do me a favor and don't give her any ideas," Nathan said with a snort as Jamie helped him over to one of the tables. Lowering himself into the chair, he looked up at the young man, giving him a keen look. "So what were you looking for? On the shelves, I mean."

"Distraction. It didn't work." He waved carelessly at the shelves. "The Professor wants us to think, which is kinda inconvenient sometimes."

"Mmm," Nathan said. "I'd point out that there are all kinds of ways to stop thinking, but... well, the ones I'm expert at, I wouldn't want to teach you."

"Kinda have a feeling I shouldn't be trying to avoid it anyway. That didn't do me much good last time--after the hurricane, I mean." Jamie frowned. "There should have--I should have found a better way."

"Jamie..." Nathan paused, shaking his head slowly and going on very gently. This wasn't someone who needed to get in touch with his anger. "Could you have? With what you had, in terms of support, for what you needed to do..." He hesitated again, then went on a bit awkwardly. "I'm... sorry. I wanted to tell you that. For not being able to do more to help you and the others."

"You were shot. I think being shot gets you off the hook. And I--" He paused. "I knew who I was sending to the warehouse. And I could have stopped Doug earlier--he was trying to get Skippy mad at him--and . . . but I didn't. I _wanted_ Skippy dead, then, I wanted him--gone."

The word that Nathan heard the loudest was 'then', and he nodded slowly. "And now?" he asked, still very gently.

"When the Professor took Skippy's memories out . . . he took the memories, but I was in his head for a while--Skippy's, I mean--and what that was like, that was _my_ memory." He rubbed his arms. "There was . . . he hurt, all the time. It was just about all he knew, anymore. And he didn't want to, so he came back here, and . . . got my attention, and . . . that was the only way he knew how to do it. He was reaching out, and all I could think to do was kill him. I could have--maybe I could have helped him, instead, but I'll never know. He hurt you, and he hurt Alison, and Artie and Miles, and tried to hurt damn near everybody else, he was twisted and evil and insane, and I'm sorry as hell that he's dead. And I don't know if I should be, or if it's a good thing he's dead, or . . . both, or I don't even know what." He shivered, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "There should have been a better way."

Nathan waited until Jamie got it all out, then gave him a moment or two to process what he'd said before he replied. "There always should be," he said softly. "But there very rarely is." He went on before Jamie could answer. "You're a good person, Jamie... and I mean that seriously, I'm not just tossing the words at you. You believe in the power of compassion and mercy, and you should hold onto that, whatever happens, because that sort of belief can lead you to do a lot of good in the world." He paused for a moment. "But on Sunday, you had your back to the wall, in a horrific tactical situation where the people you cared about and your own existence was on the line. That sort of situation... strips people down. Reactions are more primal. Less rational."

"That doesn't make it right, what I did. What I asked other people to do."

"Killing is never right, Jamie," Nathan said. "Not even when it's done for the best of intentions, not even in self-defense. It's still ending a life."

"That's what I'm saying. But I did. And I decided to do it."

"And what now?" Nathan asked. "Because you didn't find a better way, because you reacted out of instinct, to protect people you cared about... how long do you think you should punish yourself for that?"

"I don't know," Jamie confessed. "I just . . . keep thinking, what if I'd been a little faster, or what if I'd sent different people to the warehouse--or at least _not_ Sarah, or . . . what if I hadn't sent anybody, if I'd gone alone to the quarry like he asked, maybe I could have talked to him. It feels like I made the wrong decision every time."

"Expand the what-if scenario a little," Nathan said. "If you'd gone alone to the quarry, you might have been able to talk to him. One possibility, out of many, most of which don't end well."

Jamie shrugged. "But some of them end better."

"So is a do-over an option?" Nathan asked, putting just a trace of steel into his voice. "Does talking about what could have happened, what you could have done, do anything but serve to torment yourself? Really, Jamie, I'm curious. Because if you really think you're going to come up with a way to make every life and death situation end painlessly, with no one dying, I'll leave you to it. No one's managed to do it yet, but maybe you'll succeed where the rest of the species has failed."

Jamie's shoulders hunched. "No? I mean . . . no, no do-overs, but . . . I can't just go on like nothing happened. Something happened. I killed somebody, on purpose, and I don't know if I had to. And he used to be _me,_ which is . . . a whole new _level_ of bad. So how am I _supposed_ to be handling it?"

"Right now? Probably just about like you are," Nathan said steadily. "Or worse, depending on what the nightmares are like any given night." He paused, sighing. "This is not me telling you to 'snap out of it, soldier'. You don't shake something like this off, Jamie. But you have to want it to end, want that as badly as you wish you could have found another way to deal with this other you. For all the pain and the should-haves and could-haves, you can't lose sight of the fact that you want to come out the other side." He smiled very faintly. "Look at Kitty, or those two cute little roomates of yours. When it gets bad, look at them. Let them remind you that Sunday was one fucking horror of a day, but only one, when it comes right down to it."

"Look forward, not back?" Jamie's mouth quirked up at the corners. "Figures, from the guy with the future people in his head. But . . . yeah I'll try, anyway. It isn't always this bad. Comes and goes."

"It will," Nathan told him. "But eventually, it'll do more going than coming." He stopped, grumbling to himself and rubbing at his eyes. "Okay, definitely starting to sound like a broken record here. I keep having this conversation with people this week... I suppose I'm beginning to sound inane."

"Eh. Not if it's only once per customer. At least it's new to somebody every time, that way. And it's good advice."

"Well, persistence is a virtue," Nathan said wryly, getting rather laboriously to his feet. His eyes raked around the library for a moment, then rested back on Jamie, assessing. He had said what he could for now, he decided. "If you need a fresh set of ears, my door's open," he said. "And as for distraction, I'm almost positive Charles has a copy of 'Testament of Youth' around here somewhere. The author's name is Vera Brittain. You might find it food for thought."

"I'll look for it. Thanks."

A little later, Nathan runs into Manuel, who is continuing to suffer from his lack of cooking skills. Nathan gives him half a sandwich and decides he's not the only one who needs to see Charles. Guess-starring a very grumpy Askani empath.

Thank goodness for telekinesis, Nathan thought. He was getting the hang of bracing himself with it - the single crutch was really not helping a whole lot, even now - and it let him do things like float his lunch behind him, since he didn't have a free hand to carry a plate. Hopping forward, step by painful step, he reached the door of the Dining Room, his eyes narrowing as he saw the students already in there. Just a handful, most of whom were already getting up to leave, but one of them was Manuel, who looked like he had just sat down. Nathan snorted softly, then hobbled over to the nearest chair and lowered himself into it, catching his breath as he floated the plate and glass over to a soft landing on the table in front of him.

Manuel ate slowly, languidly, taking no pleasure in his ... salad? Pile ot lettuce? It was truly hard to tell, but he was eating it, albeit slowly. His old walking-stick was propped up next to his chair, and he's got his right leg propped up and sticking straight out to one side.

As the other students left, leaving him and Manuel alone in the dining room, Nathan eyed the young man speculatively. "I see we're both lacking two good legs," he observed, his eyes lingering on Manuel's walking stick.

Manuel turned slowly to look at Nathan. "Mmmm mmmm mmmm." he said, his mouth full of lettuce. Chewing and swallowing, he then said "I tore up my knee fighting Jamie."

"Not Jamie," Nathan corrected automatically, risking a headache by reaching his mind out a little towards Manuel. His telepathy still wasn't back up to strength, but the kid's apparent lassitude bothered him.

Manuel waved a hand in the air lazily. "Not quite Jamie. Close enough." His mind was still, even a few days later, soaked in death. Every other thought held some trace, some air of dying in it. He speared some additional lettuce, and put it in his mouth to chew.

Nathan bit his lip, then turned inward. #A little help here?# he asked the starry sky in his mind. There was silence for a moment. Then a new voice spoke up, a man's voice, age-roughened, and Nathan listened intently to what it told him. Gritting his teeth, he reached out farther, brushing across Manuel's mind and projecting memories at him, the memories of hundreds of Askani psis watching babies be born, memories full of the brightness of those fresh new minds...

Manuel shook his head, instinctually fighting the onslaught of foreign thoughts and images. He's a poor psi, but Nathan's telepathy is not very strong and he's far from the top of his game, so he manages to block most of them out. Oblivious, he continues to idly spear and eat lettuce. Apparently his cooking skills haven't improved much, or he couldn't find anything else he wanted to put into the salad.

#Well, that didn't work,# Nathan growled at that new voice, which acidly suggested the Askani equivalent of shoving it where the sun didn't shine, and then faded back into the stars. "There are better things to eat than plain lettuce," he said aloud, more irritably than he'd intended. "Do you want half my sandwich?"

Manuel looked over again, then at the sandwich. "What kind if it?" he asked. "I don't like sandwiches much, except for some stuff."

"Salami, fontina cheese, and olives," Nathan said. "Grilled, on ciabatta bread. I was feeling creative."

"That does sound tolerable." he said, voice still a little flat and lifeless. "Hand it over."

Nathan picked up his napkin, using it to lift the half-a-sandwich, and then floated it over to Manuel. His fine control was definitely still shaky, he thought, frowning as the sandwich wobbled in the air. "Take it before it falls on the floor," he said once it was within Manuel's reach.

Manuel reached up a hand, slowly, and snagged the sandwich before Nathan's teek-grasp failed completely. He then stared at the sandwich for a long moment or two. "Dead." he commented idly to the sandwich. "All dead."

"I know," Nathan said quietly, watching him. "A little, at least. Telepathy and empathy are different, and mine's not as strong as yours, but I have experienced death. Lots of times."

"Pop, pop, pop. Watch them wink out, all at once, a glorious collapse back into ... nothingness. All those feelings, all that twisted hate and love, gone." he soliquies to the sandwich. Then his stomach rumbles, and he takes a bite. "This is pretty good." he said with a faint smile.

"A little more filling than the lettuce, at least," Nathan said with a muted smile of his own. "Has Charles not talked to you since Sunday?" Backlash of some sort, had to be.

Manuel takes another large bite of the sandwich, and spends a minute or so chewing and swallowing. "No, he's been busy putting Jamie's head back together." he said calmly. "I don't need to see Charles. There's nothing wrong. I've just had my eyes opened to a whole new experience. Oblivion's kinda nice, but I'm afraid I can't indulge yet. Too much to do here, and Amanda's waiting for me."

Nathan opened his mouth, then blinked as there was a sudden shift in his mind, leaving him briefly dizzed. But words were coming out of his mouth, words that weren't his, and his voice didn't even sound like his, but older and gravelly and more tired. "You crossed the border of death, boy," Nathan heard himself say almost crankily. "With your lack of control, you're fortunate it wasn't permanent."

"Is _that_ what that was? Hey, wait. You're not Nathan! You're one of THEM! I was RIGHT! I _knew_ it!" he says, showing more emotion than he has this entire conversation. Taking another bite of his sandwich, he grabbed with his free hand for his walking-stick.

"Yes, child, I'm one of them." Growling inwardly, Nathan tried to push that very insistent presence back where it belonged, but it snapped at him that it was just talking to the boy and to mind his own business. "What do you intend to do with that stick of yours? Run away because an old man's talking to you?"

"I was pondering slitting your throat if I felt any invasion of my mind, actually." he says honestly. "But mostly I just want to finish this sandwich and get out of here. I can't look at you, it is too much." And towards that end he took another huge bite of sandwich.

Nathan swore inwardly and pushed as hard as he could, shoving the presence - old, male, empath, he realized - back where it belonged. The effort left him trembling slightly, and he sank his head into his good hand. #Askani... if anyone does that again...# There was no answer, suprisingly, and he raised his head, blinking as his vision blurred. "There will be... no slitting of throats, Manuel," he managed, his voice hoarse.

Manuel chewed and nodded. "Good, You are now you again." He then took his hand off his swordstick and took a moderate bite of what was left of his half-sandwich.

"I thought I wasn't me at all anymore," Nathan couldn't help snapping back at him.

"You're as you as you get now that _they_ moved in." he clarified helpfully, then took another bite.

"Lovely to see you're still a judgemental little idiot, even when you're still reeling from backlash-shock."

"What, now I'm not permitted to make my own judgements?" he said after swallowing his bite of sandwich. "That was tasty. I should thank whichever one of you came up with the idea. Thanks."

It struck Nathan that he hadn't touched his half of the sandwich at all, but he banished the inconsequential thought, focusing on Manuel. "We can have a discussion of linguistic nuances when you're back to what passes for yourself. After you've seen Charles."

Manuel shook his head. "Nah. Charles is busy. Too many other people to see, to hold their hands and reassure that it's all OK, that everything's back to normal now. I'll get by."

"Oh, you'll see Charles. Once I tell him the state you're in, you'll be dropping by his office to see him. Probably this afternoon," Nathan said, picking up his glass of juice and taking a sip.

Manuel shook his head again. "He's booked solid for the rest of the week. I've already checked, and so has Amanda. I'll be _FINE_, really. A couple more days' rest, tops."

Nathan took another sip of his juice. "He'll squeeze you in. Believe me."

Manuel shrugged. "You waste your time. I'm non-critical compared to some."

"It's my time to waste. You can't know whether damage has been done. If it only takes Charles five minutes to scan you and decide I'm being overly cautious, so be it." Nathan poked at his sandwich, wondering where his appetite had gone.

"I'm fine. No doctors, no scans." he said firmly, before picking at his salad again. "This is really terrible." he said to the collected leaves.

"That's because you're not a rabbit," Nathan grumbled. He could get more exercised about Manuel's apparent stubbornness if the kid was being his usual arrogant, 'This is what I say and thus it is how it shall be' self. This calmness was just a further sign that there was something wrong, and his energy would be better spent talking to Charles about it as opposed to continuing the argument.