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[x-snowflake.livejournal.com]

Very late night, Tuesday June 23. Nathan and Illyana meet, and discuss the day's events on the porch.

The night was warm, if not uncomfortably so. Huddled in the chair on the porch, Nathan stared out blankly at the grounds, wondering what time it was. He could sense Moira on the other end of the link, working frantically in the medlab. For a while, he had tried to pay closer attention, to figure out what was going on, but in the end, he hadn't been able to bring himself to persist. Time enough to hear the news when what could be done was done.

Illyana stepped outside, making no effort to be quiet; not that anyone was usually out here this late, but she figured she owed people at least fair warning if she was going to enter. Sneaking was hardly ever good for the reputation, anyway. Her eyes caught on the large man on the chair -- Nathan something, she was almost sure -- and she nodded in greeting, going to lean on the railing and try to calm down.

Nathan blinked at the girl. She wasn't registering telepathically. "Illyana... right?" he said, his voice rusty from several hours of disuse. Although it was a relief, not to have any more adolescent thoughts pressing in on his shields.

"Illyana," she confirmed, with another brief nod. "You're Mr -- " she struggled for the name -- "Dayspout?" She had the vague impression that he had something to do with language, but languages weren't something she had much interest in.

"Dayspring," Nathan said with a ghost of a smile. "Not that that's much better than Dayspout. You can call me Nathan." He eyed her for a moment, remembering the thread he'd been reading on the journals earlier. For all his new resolve to stay out of these things, he hadn't been able to keep away entirely. "I appreciated your words on the journals tonight," he said very quietly. "I may be the only person who actually tells you that, so take it for what it's worth."

She was taken aback; it showed for a brief moment in the shock across her face, schooled quickly into resignation. "Thank you," she said finally, turning to face him fully. She leaned back against her elbows. "It's a hard thing to explain to people who haven't -- been there," she said, shrugging. "I shouldn't hold it against them." But I do, was all too apparent, although she refrained from saying it.

"I've been a soldier since I was fourteen years old," Nathan said, no energy at all in his voice. "Before that, I grew up among religious fanatics who believed that you were either the fit, and survived, or the unfit, to be swept away." He gave her a faint, humorless smile. "All of the drama today... rings a little hollow. And stupid."

The corners of her mouth quirked. "They think it's the right thing to do. Too much television, I think. They think morality has something to do with acting like a hero." She paused, regarded him carefully. "I was seven, when he took me to Limbo. I can't remember if you were here when it happened."

"I'd just arrived," Nathan murmured. "I was quite ill when I first got here... for a while, actually. I helped evacuate the rest of the children from the house. It was about all I was up to doing." He stared back at her just as steadily. "You don't show it," he said. "Or maybe it's just that I can't see you telepathically."

She nodded, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "I guess I don't." She shrugged again, mildly. "I don't think I really need to. Wish I could help you out with the telepathy view, though, but it's out of my hands." Half-lies don't hurt anyone.

"You know," he said with a trace of dryness, "I'm okay with that, really. I have had... quite enough of other people's thoughts today. You're rather refreshing."

"I can imagine." She half-grinned. "With all the drama that goes on around here, I should think you'd all be mad by now."

"We telepaths? I wonder sometimes." He slouched a little further in the chair, sore muscles protesting loudly. "I think there's a middle ground, though," he said distantly, his eyes drifting back to the grounds. "Choosing not to engage in the drama."

"Interesting tactic," she commented, raising an eyebrow. A light wind blew the hair over her face, and she reached up to tuck it behind her ears and push it over her shoulders. "How do you manage? It seems to renew itself almost daily."

Nathan gave a brief, gravelly laugh. "You misunderstand. I don't... I just thought it might a good idea to try. To see if the choice is even feasible. I'll probably be sadly disillusioned within the week."

She glanced at him. "No, it's a good idea," she said, suppressing a smile. "So long as you're prepared to drop-kick the ones who think emotional messes are better shared."

Nathan stared at her for a long moment. "I think I liked it better when I was dropping dead every second day," he commented. "Life was much less complicated."

"I think I know what you mean," she said dryly. "Things were easier when I didn't have to deal with a houseful of overly-emotional superpowered mutants mucking up their lives and mine in the process."

Nathan let his eyes close for a moment, taking a deep breath as more anxious thoughts rolled up the link from Moira's end. "Would you like to go for a walk?" he suggested quietly. "I need... to put some space between myself and the mansion. Too much going on in the medlab."

To her surprise, the idea didn't fill her with nearly as much reluctance as she thought it would. "Sure," she said, glancing behind her at the dark grounds. "You can -- feel the medlab?" she asked as an afterthought, looking vaguely skeptical.

Nathan shook his head, pushing himself up out of the chair and leaning heavily on his cane. "Moira," he said, starting towards the steps. "We're linked. I'm getting the goings-on from her perspective." He smiled, faintly and bitterly. "Sarah's not the only one paying the price for her revenge."

She nodded, understanding, and stood upright. "I think revenge usually ends up screwing the wrong people," Illyana said quietly. She rolled her eyes, suddenly dry and matter-of-fact. "Not to mention the culmination of bad planning and worse odds coming back to haunt everyone," she added.

As they headed down the stairs and across the back lawn, Nathan studied the girl thoughtfully. "You know what you're talking about," he said, an observation rather than a question. "They don't see that. That's why you get the reactions you do."

Illyana glanced up at him, expression obscured by the darkness. "I guess so," she said, neither really an acceptance nor a denial, and kept walking.