Nathan and Illyana, Sunday afternoon

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Illyana takes Nate up on his offer to spar, and they do that and arrange to continue their sessions. Set before this log with Angelo.



The door to the gym swung shut behind her, and Illyana glanced around, somewhat relieved to be the first one there. She was outwardly calm, if a little bit tense, and the only sign that she'd spent the previous night in considerable pain were the slight bags beneath her eyes. She took a moment to stretch, and to pull her hair back, twisting the elastic with more force than was probably necessary.

Nathan, coming in, found himself wishing that he could read her properly, just this once. The conversation with Amanda had been a little unsettling, and he really didn't like going into things blind. "Hey," he said easily, masking his unease with the skill of long practice. It was even less hard once he got a good look at her and noticed the signs of tension she was almost successfully hiding. If there was nothing he could do for her on the magical level, Nathan told himself, there were plenty of other levels that needed addressing. "How's the head?"

She glanced up at him and half-smiled, tugging at her hair for a last time. "It's a lot better, thanks," she said. "No more pain or light-sensitivity, anyway."

"Headaches are the bane of a psi's existence," Nathan said, starting to stretch a little, knowing he'd better warm up after being hunched over at the desk for three solid hours. "I tend to pop over the counter painkillers like candy when I'm doing any kind of continuous telekinesis. Not to mention the telepathic headaches - I actually think they're worse." He smiled dryly. "Especially given how the atmosphere tends to be around here."

She snorted. "I can imagine," she said, tilting her head to one side carefully -- she didn't want to irritate a muscle and give herself another headache. "Makes me glad I don't have to worry about all that psychic stuff," she added lightly, offhand.

Nathan snorted softly. "Says the unreadable girl," he said just as lightly. He thought he saw her tense a little, but it was so brief a reaction he couldn't be sure. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "I'm not much of a telepath and I don't like using that particular abilities - I wouldn't have been digging in your head even if it was possible."

She shrugged it off, hoping that was the appropriate reaction. "I don't worry about it very much," she said, which was untrue, but if she admitted to worrying about all the things she did worry about, they'd never get started. "Since it's not something I control, I mean, there isn't much use."

Nathan continued stretching, toying with options. Full honesty obviously wasn't a good idea, judging by her reaction there - she wasn't as good an actress as she probably imagined herself. But there was part of him that thought he owed her an acknowledgement, at least - a warning? No, that was the wrong way to look at it, too. "I got told off the other night for my attitude on the issue of inevitability," he said conversationally. "Rather sharply, as a matter of fact. I'm not sure I've bought it."

She glanced up at him, mildly startled by the shift in the conversation. "Your attitude regarding inevitability? Howso?" she asked, mostly to stall until she could catch up with the change in topic.

Unpredictability might work if honesty didn't, Nathan thought. Keep her just a little off-balance, just the tiniest bit disarmed... "I believe in inevitability," he said with a cheerful shrug. "Person yelling at me didn't. Not all that realistic - there are things you can't control, not matter how much you maybe wish you could. Forces in the universe bigger than you, and all that."

Her lips quirked upward in not quite a smile. "Isn't that the truth." Despite her levity, she was almost wary now, watching him carefully while she stretched.

"Ah, dear," Nathan said with a lopsided smile. "Not fooling you, am I? I've noticed that the flaky-act doesn't work on everyone."

She smiled back, tensely, still on-edge, but not angrily. "It's really very good," she said. "Not something I've ever been particularly prone to, though." Especially not after her session with that doctor yesterday.

"I have other acts. Acts for all different occasions and circumstances - I find they get a little tiring sometimes, though." Nathan winced a little as his shoulder throbbed. "Takes a lot of energy," he said. "All the different layers of masks..."

"Doesn't everyone? I suppose it must, though," she said quietly.

"I find they're cracking, lately," Nathan said, just as quietly. "Too many years, too much stress - and there's my old friend inevitability, come back to visit." Deciding he'd stretched enough, he rose, smiling faintly at her. "So what am I dealing with here?" he asked lightly. "Do you know what you're doing, fighting-wise, or are we starting at the beginning?"

"I know my way around it," she said modestly, glad for the reprieve, and took a moment to assess him. Better to underestimate herself; it had been months -- gods, really months, since coming to the mansion -- since she'd done any fighting at all. "Can I assume you're something of an expert?"

"Twenty-two years as a rather unconventional soldier," Nathan said. "Although I'm definitely a little slower than I should be these days - still getting over those pesky gunshot wounds and all." He tilted his head, regarding her speculatively. "You said you know your way around it. A specific style? Armed, unarmed?"

Twenty-two years -- well, at least she knew what she was getting herself into. It would definitely be the distraction she was looking for. "Unarmed, mostly," she said, "although I can work my way through with a weapon if necessary." She hesitated. "Style, though, I don't think so. Not, er, not conventionally."

"Good," he said crisply, then grinned at her. "Not much for style myself. They taught us to worry about efficiency, first and foremost." He took a step back on the mats, falling into a defensive position. "Anytime you're ready," he said calmly, centering himself, focusing closely on her.

"Right." It was strangely familiar; she could remember doing the same thing long ago, in a place very unlike this one. She took a moment to collect herself, to stay extremely still. She could also remember being thrown on her backside thirty or forty times doing exactly what they were doing now. I hate this part, a very small voice inside of her said. Her stillness was the one thing she'd learned absolutely: How to be in control of herself at all times. Don't lead with your shoulder, she told herself, don't look where you're going to hit, and she moved, faster than she thought she'd be able to, aiming a roundhouse kick at his midsection.

He blocked the kick, startled by the confidence of her movements. "Good," he said approvingly, then backed off a little, falling back into a defensive stance. "Again?" He wanted to see more of her technique, to get a better idea of what he was dealing with."

She recovered gracefully from the block and nodded only very slightly, concentrating more on economy of movement than human interaction. She'd never been encouraged to talk during training. Then again, training then was life or death, and this was not even close to similar. It took her only a second to decide on her next tack, and she feinted left before going high with a fist.

Fast, as well. She had definitely been trained. He blocked, then lashed out with a carefully measured strike of his own, just hard enough to send her stumbling back a step. "You and I have something in common, I think," he said quietly. "Too much time in the medlab?"

"Well, just the month and a half after I got back here," she said, deliberately misunderstanding him. "Though if we're talking net time spent -- "

"I meant, too much time spent from the standpoint of keeping in shape for this," Nathan said, not letting her away with the evasion. "You're tense. Frustrated. I don't need to be able to read your mind to see that."

She sighed. Sometimes she thought she was speaking one language, and everyone else had decided on another. "Right," she said, dropping that pretense. "I'm -- well, I didn't mean to be obvious about it, that's all. It's been a bit difficult this weekend, that's all. Sorry."

"You don't need to worry about letting me know that you're frustrated," Nathan said easily. "I was just about going out of mind with frustration all those weeks I was hopping around on crutches. Not being properly mobile was driving me crazy."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, with no intention of doing so. She was really slipping lately -- that much was becoming more and more obvious every time she talked to someone. "Not being mobile can be hard," she added.

"And now you're humoring me," Nathan said with a faint smile, then deliberately went on the attack. Only at half-speed and at even less than half-strength - she didn't have the conditioning at the moment for anything faster or harder, even if her reflexes were still in good shape. "Come on, Illyana," he continued in a conversational tone as she retreated, throwing up block after block almost desperately. "I've as much as told you I'm not going to push. That means you don't have to work so hard at being the immovable object."

She'd been so caught up in how slow she'd got in only five months that it took a moment for Nathan's comment to register. He was good -- better a fighter than she'd ever been up against, fast and skilled, although the fact that he lacked horns, claws, and poison of any type was kind of a bonus. She had a feeling that he could wipe the floor with her nonetheless. His remark had taken her by surprise, though, and she was lost for the right response. "I'll try, sir," she said finally, between blocks.

"I know it's easier said than done," Nathan said, keeping up the pressure with ease. She wasn't leaving him many openings, really - oh, there were some he could make, but he was more interested in getting a clear look at her reactions. "And I don't expect you to trust me not to take advantage. I like to think I'm a realist that way." He smiled slightly, backing off a step to let her catch her breath. "I'll just have to not take advantage and hope I can demonstrate a trend."

Illyana took the opportunity to catch her breath as presented. She wasn't stupid enough to try to catch Nathan off-guard, and, she told herself sternly when the thought occured, she'd outgrown that kind of thing long ago. He was confusing her, and she didn't understand to what end he said the things he said to her. She nodded at him, looking almost as bemused as she felt for a moment, and said, "Right. I appreciate that."

"Good," Nathan said briskly, composing himself in a defensive position and waiting. "Do you want to do this on a regular basis?" he asked. "I'm willing, if that's something you'd want. Might even be able to teach you a little more, as well as help you get back in shape."

"I would like that, I think," she said carefully. "If you want to, I mean. It's been a long time since I've had instruction." She brushed the sweat out of her eyes and only realised after that she'd admitted to actual instruction -- not that it really mattered, but she wasn't watching herself, and her displeasure flickered in her eyes.

Nathan caught the betraying flash of emotion in her eyes, but chose not to comment on it. "I would," he said seriously. "I'd be happy to, I mean. I'm not much on formalities, like I said, so we can take things as they come."

She nodded, looking at him as though she really wasn't sure what to think. "Thank you," she said, at a loss for anything else. She shifted slightly to redistribute her weight, indicating that she was ready to continue. "Shall we?"