xp_logs | Nathan and Charles, Monday afternoon (Reply)

Nathan receives another package from Mistra and brings it to Charles, wanting to avoid any more unintentional disappearing acts. It turns out to be a memento of a different sort. Nathan gets angry. Then he gets determined.

The package under his arm, Nathan limped determinedly towards the Professor's study, hoping that Charles wasn't busy. He would go to Pete or Moira if he had to, but Charles was the obvious best choice to keep an eye on the proceedings. Hesitating outside the door, he knocked - physically, this time - even as he sent out a questioning thought. #Charles? Do you have a few minutes?#

#Please come in, Nathan; it will be only a moment while I finish a phone call.#

Charles hung up just as Nathan took his seat; he smiled. "What can I do for you today? More practice on your shields? You're doing quite a bit better lately."

Nathan took a deep breath, mustering a smile in return as he laid the package across his lap. "Feeling quite a bit better, too, or at least I was until I got my mail." He tapped the spot on the package where the return address was written. "Trinchera, New Mexico is a ghost town. Which coincidentally happens to be fifteen miles from where the original Mistra facility was located."

"Ah." Charles frowned. "I'd hoped we'd heard the last of them. Forlorn hope, but nevertheless. I'm glad you told me; how can I help?"

Nathan's hands moved restlessly over the package. "Lee's scanned it thoroughly, obviously, or I wouldn't have it up here. But I'm concerned about notes, letters... MacInnis got me to New York on my own with a few lines of a poem, after all." He looked back up at Charles, striving for a business-like tone even as a very odd little smile tugged at his lips. "So basically, I was wondering if you would watch me open this, in case there's anything in here that does anything similar. I can't not open it, but I don't want to wind up vanishing unexpectedly again."

"May I presume you mean 'watch' in all applicable senses of the word?" Charles smiled faintly. "All appearances to the contrary, I am not, in fact, trying to run my teaching staff off the property. Is there anything in particular I should watch for . . . or watch out for?"

"Any zombie-like behavior?" Nathan said, trying very hard to make it a joke. "Seriously speaking, if my mind goes blank, there's almost certainly a problem. That generally means I'm either waiting for or processing orders." He thought hard. "Memory loss was a sign the last time, too."

"Very well. I'm prepared for the risk if you are." Charles' lips twisted. "I will never cease to be amazed--if amazed is the word--at the lengths some are willing to go in the name of security, or the national interest, or whatever the catchphrase of the moment happens to be."

"I had a professor once who called nationalism the most destructive force in history," Nathan said tightly, tearing at the paper carefully. "Moreso even than religion. I remember staring at him blankly, not understanding what he meant. I'd had... five years of fairly steady indoctrination in the joys of serving one's country at that point." The box beneath the brown paper was wooden, he saw, briefly surprised. He pulled the rest of the paper away and then opened the clasps at the front of the box, his heart beating a little faster.

What was inside surprised him, though it shouldn't have. The weight, the shape of the box... Nathan's jaw clenched, an Askani profanity slipping past his gritted teeth as he reached in and lifted the sword out of its case. "It's a xiphos," he said, his voice sounding like metal scraping over gravel. "The sword of a hoplite... a Spartan soldier."

"So it is. How do you feel?"

Nathan pulled it out of its scabbard, his eyes going flat as he saw the two tiny symbols etched into the blade near the hilt. The Greek letters nu and delta. Not just 'a' xiphos. His xiphos. "How do I feel?" he asked, his voice still that angry rasp. "The opposite of blank." The rage building steadily inside him was increasingly incandescent. "They gave these to us when we survived the training program. Them and their damned Spartan rhetoric..." He trailed off, spotting a small piece of folded paper sticking up just over the edge of the box's lining. Reaching out, he yanked it free without a moment's hesitation and opened it. "'Last chance to take it back of your own accord, Nathan'," he read, and then, absurdly, laughed. "Are they insane?" he asked, all but shaking with incredulous fury. "Seven years, and they think they can threaten me into..." He stopped, his eyes going wide as his mind processed the implications.

But all that did was fan the flames higher.

"Unless they're not threatening me," he said, much more quietly.

"That seems likely--they would know that threatening you directly wouldn't bring the response they want." Charles paused. "There is another possibility--that, in fact, they still possess the means to _take_ you back, without harming anyone save yourself. The process they used seems to be remarkably resistant to telepathic therapy."

Nathan took a deep breath, placing the sword back down into the box. He could rage all he wanted, but there was no target for it, so it was ultimately as unproductive as running would have been the last time. But he couldn't banish the anger entirely. "I'm getting so very tired of this, Charles," he said, but it came out sounding fierce, rather than fatigued. "I'm so... sick of being afraid." He closed the box, then crumpled the note in one hand. "My life does not belong to them. They can't have it."

"No, they cannot," Charles replied, equally fierce. "And rest assured, I will do everything I can to prevent them from succeeding."

Nathan was silent for a long moment, thinking hard. Logic, that was what he needed, and not just survival-oriented logic. "If I... had Pete, maybe, debrief me more fully... it might give us more to work with. More to pass along to the government if their investigation is still ongoing." He looked up at Charles, managing a bitter smile. "I'm not thrilled by the idea of going over those fourteen years in detail, but there's a lot of detail there that's still unexplored."

"It is." Charles smiled wryly. "One of the benefits to electing a man of principle to the Oval Office. I'm sure the investigation would benefit from your help." He paused. "I realize it will be difficult for you to revisit those experiences. If I can be of any assistance . . ."

"Thank you," Nathan said, his smile turning a little more natural before it faded. "I seem to say that to you a lot, Charles." He folded the wrapping, then ran a hand over the smooth wood of the box. "I'll talk to Pete, see how he thinks this would best be done." He rose, managing a slightly brittle laugh. "I'm not sure what I did to warrant these repeated shots across the bow, but I'm going to take advantage of it. Time to stop running figuratively, as well as literally."