xp_logs | Nathan and Moira - Santorini, day 6

Backdated to Thursday. It's raining on Santorini, and Nathan and Moira are hanging around the hotel. The conversation goes some odd and difficult places, and Nathan finally tells Moira some of the details of his childhood, pre-Mistra. Moira begins to understand more about the guilt and shame he's been carrying around for so long, and recognizes that this isn't something she's going to be able to help him fix on her own. He agrees to consider seeing someone when they return home. Much later that night, after they've both relaxed and recovered from the Heavy Emotional Stuff, Moira goes for a moonlight swim, and she and Nathan wind up ending the vacation on a happy note.

Moira snickered under her breath as she pushed the laptop away from her. It sounded like Doug was doing his best impression of trying to melt into the floor right about now and she had to admit, she found the entire thing incredibly amusing. Normally she wasn't one to tease the students...much...but this was great fun. Leaning back, she glanced over at Nathan. "Evil, evil man."

"Oh, it won't hurt him," Nathan said blithely from where he was sprawled on the bed. He had protested a little when Moira had stolen the laptop, but then, she was clearly having fun, too. Which was good.

"Yer still evil," she pointed out, getting up from the chair she'd been sitting in to go sit next to him. Lightly, she poked him in the ribs. "But its maybe good for 'im...help t'break him o' all tha' blushin' 'e tends ta do."

Nathan chuckled, shifting over to give her more of the bed. "He'll grow out of it eventually," he said easily, relaxing back against the pillows again. "Well, either that or Angie will drag him kicking and screaming out of it..."

"Probably tha' latter," Moira said, snickering a little as she curled up next to him. "Girl's got a subtle stubborn streak in 'er. Once ye get 'er goin', look out."

"Must be a redhead thing," Nathan teased as she laid her head on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, listening to the rain, the distant rumble of thunder. It was still very warm and the rain was being decent about coming straight down, so they had the doors to the veranda open. "You wore me right out last night," he said with a chuckle. "Again."

"Awww, poor thin'," she teased, laying an arm across his chest. "I dinnae 'ear ye complainin' last night."

"Just a statement of fact," Nathan said contentedly. "Not a complaint."

"Good. I'd 'ave ta throw ye in a lake or somethin' if'n ye were. Glad ta see th' kids are loosenin' up after everythin' tha' 'appened. They bounce back pretty well."

"The resilience of youth," Nathan agreed quietly, opening his eyes and staring up at the canopy of the bed. "Ought to send some more postcards before we leave tomorrow..."

She murmured an agreement. "We can pick more up at tha' wee store down th' street," Moira mused, snuggling closer. "Willnae be tha' difficult an' they'll probably reach them before we get 'ome."

"Home," Nathan murmured. "Can't believe the week's over already..."

"I know. I miss it but this 'as been so lovely. I 'ate tha' good thin's go by so quickly an' th' bad seems ta take so lon'."

Nathan laughed a little bitterly. "Funny how that works out, huh?" he said, trying to make it a joke.

Raising her head slightly, Moira frowned a little. "Wha's wron'?"

"Nothing," he tried to reassure her, kissing the top of her head. "Just brooding again, that's all. I think it's the rain."

The frown didn't go away, even at his reassurance. The link felt moody and not just because of the rain like he had said. There was something troubling him, rather deeply. She scooted up a little further, to lean on one elbow but still be able to be close. "Nathan, 'tis nay jus' th' rain...wha' is it?"

He sighed, seeing the concern in her eyes. "Just thinking about the kids, I guess," he said slowly. "Regretting the fact that they need to bounce back. So much for their safe place to learn and grow, huh?"

"They're resilent. Nowhere's really safe if'n ye think 'bout it. World's ta bloody dangerous these days." She reached up to sooth his hair down gently.

"It's not fair," Nathan muttered and then bit his lip, hard. "Would you listen to me?" he grumbled, aggravated. "I think maybe I need a nap or something."

Moira frowned down at him, trying to catch what was on the other side of the link. "Nay 'tis nay fair, but we can only do so much," she responded, still worried. "Nathan...is there somethin' else botherin' ye? This is more than grumpiness at th' rain an' needin' a nap."

"I'm okay," Nathan said, shifting a little as he felt her reach down the link inquisitively. "Guess I'm just thinking of the kids I had crying on me after the latest crisis. And the ones who were trying so hard not to." He bit his lip again. "They weren't asking 'why', any of them. Lots of wondering if what they had to do made them bad people, mind you..."

She tilted her head a little. "I think me post 'bout Skippy 'elped," Moira offered quietly, still watching him. There was something boiling under the surface, trying to push its way into the open. If she was anything, she was a patient woman, so she waited. "They werenae bad people, jus' in th' wron' place at th' wron' time, tryin' ta survive."

"I tried to tell them that," Nathan muttered. Her hand was still resting lightly on his chest, but it felt strangely heavy, as if she was pinning him there by that gentle touch. "Saying the same thing over and over again. I don't think any of them believed me, really, but why should they?" He stopped, blinking at Moira. "Wait... um. You meant Jamie's twins."

An eyebrow slowly rose. "Aye, I meant th' incident wit' Jamie." Moira studied him carefully, raising her hand to touch his cheek. "Wha' were ye talkin' 'bout?"

"Uhh..." He sat up slowly, unable to quite meet her eyes. "The kids... thinking they were bad people."

She moved around slightly to catch his gaze. "Nathan, there's this...boilin' feelin' from th' link." She really couldn't think of any other way to describe it. "Somethin's eatin' at ye an' yer avoidin' tryin' ta tell me. Wha' is it?"

"It's not..." He stopped, swallowed, and tried for a more even tone as he went on. "I just don't want any of them thinking they were murderers for trying to defend themselves. That's all they were doing. Should have clear consciences and so forth..."

"This isnae 'bout th' kids, is it?" Moira asked quietly.

Nathan blinked at her, his chest feeling tight again suddenly. "I'm so inconsistent," he said, his voice rough, strained. "I don't want them tormenting themselves, but I nearly took poor Shiro's head off, and snarled at Sarah..."

"Shiro's comment was poorly timed an' ill-thought out," Moira responded. "Sarah...I see a lot o' good, but she can be verra tryin' at times an' she puts 'erself in most o' th' situations she finds 'erself in."

"I just want them to be happy," Nathan said, almost under his breath. His hands were plucking at the comforter almost aimlessly, and he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stop. "Want them to be happy, well-adjusted, not me..."

There it was, she noted. Finally. Pushing him gently, Moira wormed her way under an arm. "'ey, yer gettin' everythin' back together," she murmured, stroking his back.

"I'm trying to help them," he said a bit wildly, "and yet I don't know, Moira. Don't have anything really to teach them about how to make it all work."

"Ye are 'elpin' them," she insisted. "By listenin' ta them, treatin' them like they're adults. They respect tha', an' ye."

"They wouldn't if they really knew me," Nathan muttered, running a shaking hand through his hair.

"I respect ye an' I 'really know ye'." Moira twisted away a little so she could look him in the face.

Nathan gave a shuddering sigh, shaking his head. "You don't know all the things I've done," he said wearily. "I mean, I've tried since I left Mistra not to be... too much of a thug. Not to take jobs that would involve hurting innocent people deliberately... but that doesn't make up for all those years."

"Oh Nathan." She paused to gather her thoughts. "Ye dinnae 'ave any choice wit' Mistra. Aye, ye did thin's tha' ye wished ye 'adnae done. But by tryin' ta be better than wha' they made ye ta be...tha's all tha' matters."

"I don't know that they had to do much to change me," Nathan said very softly. "Not really."

"Wha' do ye mean?"

"I always wondered if the conditioning worked so well on me, if I was so... good at my 'job', because I was suited for it." Nathan looked away, swallowing hard again, having to force the words out. "Because I grew up believing that being... strong was all that mattered. Might makes right and all that crap..."

Moira breathed quietly for a second. Nathan rarely brought up his childhood, even to her. She knew bits and pieces, mainly that it wasn't a happy childhood because of what his parents did. But she'd always wanted to know. He always listened to her tales of growing up with that small, mysterious smile and she never pressed about his. "Talk ta me?" she asked, quietly.

Nathan gave her a pained look. "I wouldn't... know where to start," he said hoarsely. "I don't even... I really haven't told you much, have I?"

"Only a wee bit, 'ere an' there. I know ye were unhappy, tha' ye lived in Alaska an' yer parents..." Moira thought as she reached over to take his hand. "Social darwinists, ye said?"

"In the religious sense," Nathan said very quietly, laying back against the pillows, but keeping hold of her hand. She settled down beside him, propping herself up on an elbow. "They... it was a cult, that's probably the best word for it."

"A cult?" she responded, looking slightly startled.

Nathan stared up at the canopy, his throat tightening again. "A whole little fringe religion, yeah. We weren't living in Alaska because the adults in the commune liked the weather. They wanted the isolation."

"'ell," she muttered, lowering herself down so she could put her head on his shoulder. "Why?"

"So they could do what they wanted without interference," Nathan said. "So that they could raise their children the way they wanted..." He took a deep, unsteady breath. "I don't remember it all properly, you know... I'm not sure whether it's because of the conditioning, or whether I've just blocked it out. There are definitely gaps."

"Ye comfortable tellin' me wha' ye do remember?" Moira asked quietly, looking at their joined hands on his chest.

"No," Nathan admitted, "but if I don't do it now, I'm not sure when I'll have the nerve to try again." He was silent for a long moment. "They were very... big on teaching their children how to be 'strong' from an early age. It started with simple things. I don't know how old I was the first time they put me outside to find my own shelter for the night."

Moira stiffened slightly beside him but she focused on him and not her own instinctive, horrified reaction. Instead, she squeezed his hand gently, reminding him that she was there.

"Couldn't have been very old," Nathan murmured. "I remember I fit under the stairs of the shed." He closed his eyes, trying to even out his breathing, to stay calm. "That's the sort of thing they did to teach us. Toughen us up early, that was the idea." Remembering that he had told Amanda some of this in an email months ago, he ventured a little more. "I do know how old I was the first time my father drove me out to the highway and told me I had to find my own way back to the commune before morning. He said I was five, and that was old enough to be... tested like that."

"Oh God, Nathan." The link seeped hurt thoughts and Moira was quick to try and soothe them away as best she could. She had found that he liked the little touches she sometimes did on the link, so she kept that up, hoping to help.

"Most of my clear memories are about him," Nathan said, keeping his eyes closed. "He was a big man, probably my size. He was one of the leaders of the commune, or maybe just one of the loudest of the older men, I don't really know..." He gave a shaky sigh, trying to concentrate on the comforting touches on the link. "My mother was this... tiny little cowed person. Fourteen years old when she had me."

"Fourteen?" This was all very surreal, she thought, but then reminded herself that no, it had been very real. For him.

"One of the cornerstones of the faith," Nathan said, much more bitterly than he should have. He opened his eyes and stared up at the canopy again, stonily. "Women were weaker. They did the domestic work and had the children. I don't even know what my mother's name was, Moira. He never used it."

She winced at that, a little, and felt more than a little outrage starting to seethe beneath her careful control.

"I hated him," Nathan said, his voice very quiet and very tight. "Fuck, how I hated him. I think I always did. He used to... goad me. Shout at me, hit me, until I hit back. Then he'd beat the crap out of me and stand over me talking about how it was just another lesson about being weak and being strong..."

Even if she wanted to remove her hand from his, which she would never do, Moira knew it would be hard to do...he had almost a death grip on it. Holding tight against the memories, it seemed.

"We were encouraged to fight amongst ourselves," Nathan went on dully. "The kids, I mean. That was good behavior, according to our fathers. Taught us how to exert our will on the world and the people around us. Sometimes someone would get really badly hurt, and one of the adults would take them away in the truck..."

"Fight...tha's why ye get upset wit' 'ow some o' them act," Moira said softly.

Nathan's jaw clenched. "They wouldn't come back," he gritted out. "The kids that were taken away, I mean. And we weren't supposed to talk about them after that, it was supposed to be like they hadn't ever been there..." Just like T and Hope and the rest of his team...

"God..." Closing her eyes, she just focused on holding him tightly.

"I used to sneak away and talk to the Inuit children... there was a village not far away from the commune," Nathan said softly. His mind kept skipping from memory to memory, image to image, as if it couldn't go in a straight line. "That's where I picked up some Yu'pik. They were... different, I remember how different they seemed."

"Were they nice?"

"They were. They'd give me food... we never got a lot." Nathan raised his free hand, rubbing at his eyes. "I tried to stay once. One boy's mother... she tried to convince me to come back with her and her son. Told me I'd be safe, that she and her husband would look after me..." He laughed a bit weakly. "I was so tempted. But I knew he wouldn't let me, that he'd come get me and hurt them..."

"God, Nathan, I'm sorry." It seemed that was all she could say right now. "Ye 'ad it so bad an' I never realized..."

"I didn't want to talk about it," Nathan said hoarsely, the words nearly choking him. "I didn't want to remember being... him. That kid. Weak, or vicious... one or the other, always one or the other..." He gave another faint laugh. "And then the Askani show up, and it's people like my father that killed them..."

"Bloody 'ell," Moira said, softly but vehemently. "I'll never understand why people think like tha'."

"Because it's easy," Nathan said. "They get what they want and they don't have to give anything. They don't have to worry about anyone but themselves. If you're the center of your own universe, nothing else matters."

She sighed quietly and shook her head. "I wish ye 'ad 'ad it differently, love."

Nathan watched her for a moment, feeling exhausted yet somehow full of nervous energy at the same time. "I left because she was pregnant," he said abruptly. Moira blinked at him. "My mother, I mean. She was pregnant, and my father told me I would have to help... t-teach it, if it was a boy." He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and forced the rest of the words out. "I grabbed the... shovel, the snow shovel, and hit him. From behind, so he wasn't expecting it. He went down and and I just kept hitting him, over and over..."

"Oh, 'oney..." Moira turned a little so she could wrap both her arms around him, feeling him shake slightly. "'Tis okay..."

"She kept saying 'Stop, Nathan.' Didn't shout it, just said it calmly..." Nathan wrapped his arms around Moira, clinging to her almost fiercely. "I dropped the shovel and ran," he whispered. "Got out to the highway, got picked up by a trucker... and that was it." He struggled for a brisk tone as he went on, but didn't manage it. "I was... twelve, I think, somewhere around that age. My powers were just starting to emerge. I kept moving down the West Coast, lived on the streets for a couple of years. Then I got picked up by Social Services in San Francisco, and they shipped me out to New Mexico. To Mistra."

"Ye did th' only thin' ye could," she whispered, tucking his head under her chin as she rocked him gently. All of her instincts were rumbling in outrage at the thought of anyone doing that to a child. No matter the reason. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"Just... example number one of me running away," he whispered harshly, trying to stop shaking. "Ran away from them, and left my little brother or sister.... ran away from Mistra and left all the others there..."

"If ye 'ad stayed..." Her voice shook and she held onto him tighter. "Ye 'ad nay choice, Nathan. 'orrible situations when ye 'ave nothin' ta fight wit', sometimes th' best weapon is ta leave."

"I could have tried," he choked out, the pain and shame welling up inside him too overwhelming to suppress any longer. "I should have tried..."

It poured over the link and she shuddered a little. "An' th' situations would 'ave engulfed ye," Moira whispered. "Ye would 'ave been lost."

The laugh that slipped out was closer to a sob, and he couldn't find his voice for a long moment. "Hindsight?" he finally said, brokenly. "I know what they say about hindsight, but I can't, Moira... I can't convince myself that I wasn't a coward... I was every bit as selfish as my father ever was. Just looking out for number one..."

"If'n ye were jus' lookin' out for number one, would ye 'ave 'elped me?" Moira pointed out. "Years later, aye, but I've found tha' a truely selfish person usually cannae break their ways."

"I can't, Moira," he whispered miserably, not sure what he was talking about, what he meant. He started to pull away, half-heartedly, but she didn't let him go.

"Aye, ye can. Ye dinnae jus' 'elp me, ye saved Bridge. Ye saved Dom. Yer nay a selfish person!"

Her utter belief in what she was saying flowed over the link, and this time Nathan did pull away, trembling violently. "Stop it," he pleaded with her almost feverishly, sitting up, starting to swing his bad leg over the edge of the bed. "You listened to me tell you that, you know about Mistra... you can't keep thinking that!"

"An' why not?" she asked, reaching for him again. "I believe in ye, I love ye, an' nothin' is goin' ta change tha'."

Nathan lowered his head into his hands as she slid closer, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "I don't know what to do," he confessed, his voice muffled. "I just don't... I can't..." He made a noise that was half-anguish, half-frustration and raised his head again, dimly aware of the wetness on his cheeks. "I don't know how to make up for it all, I don't know how to make it stop..."

The idea was there, she knew, but she hated asking him to do it. But Moira knew that she wasn't going to be able to bring him out of this alone. "Ye do what ye've been doin'," she said softly, rubbing his arms. "Bein' there for people ye care 'bout. Nathan...ye want ta make it stop?"

"Yes," he whispered, bitter shame nearly overwhelming him. He had no right to want it, but he did.

"Ye 'ave every right ta want it," Moira insisted. "Listen ta me. I cannae 'elp ye on me own...I'm ta involved, ta emotionally attached. Would ye consider seein' someone else ta talk ta them, a professional?" She felt him stiffen slightly and she soothed him through the link. "Someone I recommend. I 'ave other friends, Nathan, in me field. Good ones..."

"I... I would have to tell them all of this," he said unsteadily, feeling almost nauseous at the thought. Someone who didn't know him, who had no reason to forgive him for everything he hadn't done...

"Shhh, 'tis okay," Moira breathed, trying to get him to calm down as the link went nuts. "Even if'n I wasnae in love wit' ye...after 'earin' tha' as a professional, I would know 'tis nay yer fault."

"But it--" He cut himself off, blinking rapidly at Moira as she shook her head at him.

"Do ye trust me?" she asked, edging to his side again so she could look him in the eyes.

"Yes... of course I do."

"Then if'n I can find someone tha' may be able ta 'elp ye, will ye see them? Just once ta see if'n yer comfortable, t'start. I'll come wit' ye an' be outside."

She thought this was a good idea... no, she was positive it was a good idea. And you, Dayspring, are not thinking all that clearly at the moment, a dry voice pointed out in the back of his mind. "All... all right," he said tentatively, his voice wavering.

Smiling, Moira reached up and brushed his cheek. "It'll be all right," she told him, leaning in to kiss his forhead. "I won't leave yer side, ye'll be fine..." She didn't just mean the therapy session and she hoped he knew that.

Nathan took a deep, shaky breath and then wrapped his arms around her again, tightly. She was murmuring to him, her voice too quiet to understand the words, but they didn't matter.

***

The water was cool, almost cold, against Moira's skin, especially on the places where she had lightly burned during the rest of the vacation. She ducked under the water again and swam a few paces before surfacing. There was some mild guilt seeing as Nathan couldn't join her, but the feel of the pool at night was too hard to pass up. She surfaced again, drawing in a deep breath as she pushed her hair out of her eyes.

Sprawled in a lounge chair, Nathan watched her swim, letting his mind drift. He felt... odd, tonight, hollow and tired, yet somehow peaceful, too. As if telling her all that had helped, opened up an infected wound and let the poison drain away. The rain had stopped around dinnertime, but Moira had insisted he stay put, and run out to the little cafe down the road for dinner. Not that he'd eaten very much of it.

Glancing over at him in the chair, she swam over to the side and cradled her head on her arms. "Ye okay?" she called, worried.

He smiled at her. "I'm good," he said, just loudly enough for her to hear. "Enjoying the view."

She arched an eyebrow at him, mostly in amusement, but continued floating where she was. She enjoyed the floating sensation it created, muscles unwinding as minutes passed. "Wish ye could join me," Moira sighed, casting a baleful glance at the cast.

"I promise that once it's off," he said, the smile playing on his lip, "I'll be spending lots of time in the pool back at the mansion this summer. I like swimming. And it'll also be really handy for drowning Manuel if it comes to that."

A snort escaped and it caused her to bob slightly. "Remind me ta keep ye two away from the pool area when ye 'ave ta interact," she said wryly. "Good thin' we bot' like water, considerin' 'ow often we tend ta end up in it." Moira sent him what really could only be classified as a smirk.

"I don't quite have the water fixation you do," Nathan pointed out. "What's all this about you rolling Charles into the lake, anyway? Seems to be a running joke..."

Moira laughed and shook her head. "I cannae really threaten ta beat 'im up, can I?" she asked. "Jus' downright mean, 'im bein' in a wheelchair. At least if'n I push 'im in, I can claim 'twas an accident." She giggled at the look he gave her. "Aye, 'tis a joke tha' we've 'ad pretty much since our...nay sure it was a date...really wasnae much o' anythin' but talkin' an' 'e said somethin' ta anger me. I threatened to roll 'im inta lake while we 'ad coffee an' I'd never seen anyone laugh tha' 'ard."

"I know a number of students who would probably pay good money to see you do that," Nathan said with a soft laugh, slouching a little further in the lounge chair. She was beaming at him, and he smiled back, a little ruefully. "Moira, have you had a good time this week?"

"O' course I 'ave, why do ye ask?"

"Well," he said dryly, "you've spent it with Mr. Mood Swing. I thought it was a valid question."

With a sigh, Moira pushed down slightly and with the bounce of the water, managed to climb out of the pool rather gracefully. Quietly she padded over to Nathan and, careful not to drip too much on him, leaned down to kiss him. "I've enjoyed meself immensely, Nathan," she said, standing back up. "An' if'n ye bein' Mr. Mood Swin' means ye open up an' talk, then all th' better...I'd think o' no one I'd rather spend this time wit'."

Nathan reached out and took her hand. "You are one of the most amazing people I've ever known, you know that?" he asked quietly, his smile turning almost wondering as he gazed up at her. "I still have no idea how I lucked out like this..."

She blushed a little but smiled back down at him. "We bot' lucked out," Moira pointed out, squeezing his hand gently. "Bot' managed to 'ook each other before we finally admitted it."

"So what does that make us?" he asked, sitting up and wincing a little as he swung his leg over the side of the lounge chair. Tugging at her hand until she sat down beside him, he couldn't help a smirk. "That bathing suit actually looks even better on you after having been, um, in use."

Laughing a little, she leaned into him, he didn't seem to care that she was getting him wet. "Thought ye'd like it," Moira teased, a hint of blush disappearing. "Wha' does tha' make us? Completely stubborn an' 'oplessly in love?"

"I think that was one of those questions I already knew the answer to," Nathan sighed, his eyes lingering on her face. "I am a lucky, lucky man," he murmured. "I really am."

"Ye should know by now nay ta ask me rhetorical questions," Moira teased, leaning up for another kiss. "I always try ta give ye an answer."

It really was a good thing that the pool area was deserted at this time of night, Nathan reflected as he took her in his arms and kissed her soundly. "Want to hear a cliche?" he whispered a bit unsteadily when they finally drew apart. "One of those true cliches, I mean..."

"Sure," Moira whispered back, relaxed in the circle of his arms while she looped hers around his neck.

"You make me want to be a better man," he said softly. "You always have."

She blinked back a slight burning sensation in her eyes as she slide a hand down from his neck to his cheek. "Cliche for cliche?" Moira managed. "Ye make me whole..." Gently, she tugged his head down again so she could kiss him once more, enjoying the feel of the link as it buzzed and sang in their minds.

Nathan sighed as she finally broke the kiss and leaned against him, her arms sliding around his chest. The moonlight was stronger than it had been when they had come out, and he smiled slightly at its reflection on the water. "We ought to go up and get some sleep," he said. "Early flight in the morning and all that."

She couldn't help but chuckle a little as his thoughts slid along the link. "Sleep, 'uh? Is tha' wha' they're callin' it these days?" Moira teased, giggling.

He flushed a little. "It's our last night here," he said a bit defensively, although a smile was playing on his lips despite his best efforts to keep a straight face. "And while I'm sure the heartfelt, exhausting conversations have been a beneficial thing, I think I'd like to put them out of my mind for at least a little while and spend a few hours exhausting you in the good way."

"'bout time I made ye blush." She looked smug. "An' I'm nay complainin', nay in th' slightest," Moira pointed out, nuzzling a little.

"Fair's fair," Nathan said, with one last look at the water, to memorize the view, so that he'd always have this moment there in his mind. "Come on," he said with a subdued grin, turning back to Moira. This view was even better, he decided. "We ought to get you out of that wet bathing suit before you get a chill."

"Aye, I do need some 'elp warmin' back up," Moira agreed, untangling herself from his arms and tugging on his hands.

"I live to serve," Nathan quipped as she helped him to his feet.

"Do ye now?" she asked, walking backwards with him trailing after. Moira smiled at him. "Let's test tha', shall we?"