Moira and Nathan, Monday evening / Alison and Nathan, late Monday night

[x-cable.livejournal.com]

Nathan finds Moira on the flying platform after she's had a very bad day. He does the comforting-boyfriend thing, they talk a little about his dreams, and then he takes her stargazing. 'Up close'.


Moira stretched out on the flyer's platform carefully, grateful that at least it wasn't raining. The way her day had gone she was vaguely surprised a little cloud didn't appear above her head and open up on her. Ten experiments that either went haywire or came out the way she hadn't intended. Her entire day gone to pot because they didn't want to cooperate.

She winced as her stomach suddenly protested and she sat up, surprised as a surge of acid reflux hit her. Swallowing and then breathing, she rolled her eyes at the sky and layed back down carefully. "Bloody brilliant," Moira snarled. "Experiments wron', students actin' like two year olds an' now this..."

Nathan emerged onto the flyer's platform, a sad little smile playing on his lips as he saw her lying there. His brow furrowed at the flash of discomfort he sensed down the link, and he sent back a wash of comforting thoughts as he came over and crouched down beside her. She didn't sit up, but stared up at him, and the defensive tightness around her eyes made him sigh.

"Bad day," he said mildly, reaching out to take one of her hands in his.

"Lousy," she groused, pouting slightly. "Tell me yer day was better...at least one o' us shouldnae been completely miserable today."

"Well..." He chuckled wryly, then shrugged. "Not miserable, per se, but it had its awkward moments."

"Can we jus' lock ourselves in our rooms an' make everyone go away?" she asked hopefully. "I 'ad experiments fail miserably, plus bloody students actin'...well, stupid. 'ow was yer day?"

"It did have its good moments, too. Mandarin class went a little better," he offered. "Manuel was... pleasant, actually." He tugged at her hand, urging her to sit up.

Grumbling, Moira sighed and didn't resist much as he pulled her into a sitting position. Her stomach balked again and she swallowed, cursing. "Damn it, dinnae know wha' I ate today ta cause this."

"Stress," he said softly, rubbing her back as he pulled her in close. "Probably a nice combination of mine and yours, actually. Don't we make a pair." He smoothed the hair back from her forehead, then pressed his lips against her temple gently. He had this strange, yearning urge to just wrap himself around her and keep the whole world away.

Sighing as she relaxed against him slowly, she curled into him more, craving the contact. "Aye, we do make quite th' pair...in all th' ways tha' matter," she reminded him. "Even if we do drive each other closer ta an early grave. I'm sorry, I know I'm completely irritable tonight."

He laughed softly, enfolding her gently in his arms. "You can be as irritable as you want," he said softly, leaning his head against hers. "Or as much anything as you want. I'm tough, I can take it."

"Still nay fair ta ye," Moira mumbled into his neck. "I swear, though, I'm close ta riggin' up systems in th' mansion ta play bad bagpipe music whenever anyone gets out o' 'and."

"I could point out how fair it isn't that you've got to deal with me falling apart twice a week," Nathan said with another faint laugh, "but then we'd just get into one of those discussion and that would be bad." He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair. "I'd rather just hold you right now," he said wistfully.

"'oldin' is good." Craning her neck slightly, Moira peered up at the stars. "At least 'tis a lovely night out, aye?"

"Sure is," he murmured. Maybe they could stay out here all night, where it was quiet and peaceful. Maybe he wouldn't go yanking people into his dreams again if he did that.

"Still 'appenin', love?" Moira asked, concern in her voice. With the last few days being so hectic they really hadn't much of a chance to talk about it.

Nathan nodded slowly. "Maybe I should start napping during the days," he offered a bit lamely. "No one sleeping to dream-nap, that way."

"Wha' 'as Charles 'ad ta say 'bout all this?"

"I... haven't talked to him yet," Nathan said uneasily.

Pulling away, Moira stared up at him. "...Nathan..."

"I know," he said, grimacing. "I will. I just... I was dreaming about h-home last night, and when I woke up I just couldn't..." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I couldn't," he said, more subdued. "I know I have to, but..."

"Come 'ere." Gently, she pulled him back against her and let her hands rub his back in an effort to sooth him. "I know 'tis 'ard," Moira whispered into his shoulder. "I know. If yer still 'avin' some trouble approachin' 'im tomorrow, do ye want me ta do it?" Feeling him stiffen a little, she sighed. "Nay because ye cannae but because 'tis sometimes easier."

"Okay," he whispered. "But... I'll psych myself up." He smiled a little at his own bad pun. "You just watch," he said a little more firmly. "Now you dared me to do it and all..."

"An' God forbid ye turn down a dare," she teased, smiling up at him as she felt some of the tension leak back off of him.

"Want to go find a more private quiet corner?" he asked lightly, stroking her hair.

"Sure, as lon' as we can still see th' stars." The smile she gave him was tinged with a bit of sadness. "Been ta lon' since we've taken th' time ta watch them, ye know."

Nathan looked out over the grounds for a long moment. "Idea," he said briskly, scooping her up into his arms. "I feel like flying. Want an up-close look at the stars?"

Startled, Moira tightened her grip around his neck for a second and then relaxed, beaming at him. "'ow close are we talkin' love?" she asked, pleased that her irritation was slowly fading away into nothingness.

"Well, I don't want either of us to freeze to death, so maybe, low-flying-aircraft close?" he asked whimsically, levitating them off the flying platform.

She laughed at that. "I think tha' might be jus' close enough," she teased, relaxing in his arms and in the knowledge that he wouldn't drop her. "Can ye duck a plane if need be?"

"Evasion is my speciality," he said with a deadpan look.


Late that night, it's Alison's turn to wind up in Nathan's dreams. Afterwards, she actually manages to talk some sense into him on the subject of talking to Charles about what is certainly developing into a continuing problem.


He had to keep moving. Too cold to stop. If he stopped he'd die, the little boy knew, and if he died they would leave him out here in the woods for the animals to find. They would all forget him because he was weak and didn't deserve to be remembered.

Wiping at his eyes, sniffling, the little boy stumbled on through the snow. Not supposed to cry, either. Crying was weak, too.

Snow drifting in a bitingly cold wind, everything around her white on white under a black and hungry sky. The chill was only too real and light seeped to life instantly as Alison looked around, warming her slowly, reflecting off the snowflakes and taking on a life of its own with each passing moment. Where am I? What is this place?

He slipped and fell, a cry wrenching itself free of his throat as he tumbled down the steep slope, grasping desperately at the trees he slid past, trying to break his fall. His arm smashed into one at a bad angle and he heard the bone crack, felt the pain, and stopped trying to catch himself.

The cry drew her attention. A small child, fear clearly ringing through the night. The sounds of tumbling weren't hard to follow and she ran, stumbling now and then through the snow, searching. Light flared around her brightly, a beacon for the child to see.

He looked up, cringing at the glowing figure coming running towards him. For a moment, there was a feeling of wrongness, that something was off here, but it faded just as quickly. "No," he cried out weakly. "I'll be good, I'll get up... don't make me stay in the woods..."

A small boy, pale, his arm twisted and bent at an unnatural angle stared at her as she neared him and her heart nearly broke at the obvious terror he was showing. "It's ok, sweetie, it's ok," she found herself saying over and over again as she reached him, kneeling beside him, shivering once from the cold before drawing in some of the wind's howl to heighten the heat radiance surrounding her. "It's ok, I promise, you don't have to stay in the woods."

Warm. The light around her was warm, and he reached out with his good hand, touching it. "Who're you?" he asked, sniffling and looking up at her with wide, still terrified gray eyes. She wasn't from the commune. His father said that people from the commune weren't to be trusted.

It was the eyes that did it, really. She shifted closer as soon as he reached out, catching his hand with hers but holding it loosely so he didn't feel trapped, using her body to shield him from the wind while radiating a soothing and warm glow. "I'm Alison," she smiled, somehow, holding back despite wanting to swoop down and hold the little boy she knew as someone else entirely, wondering at the terror in his eyes and if this was just a dream or the actual reliving of a memory for him. "What's your name, pumpkin?"

"...Nathan." She was warm and she wasn't hurting him. But she wasn't supposed to be here. He looked up at her, some of the fear ebbing to wariness. "'S wrong," he said, his voice slurred a little from the cold as the sense of strangeness came back. "I have to go back. It's a test. No one's supposed to help me. Helping means you're weak."

She looked around, the wind still howling around them, snow swirling in miniature dust devils. "Or maybe it's what makes us strong," she offered, more and more certain that this had to be some sort of dream. It was too detailed, too perfect in every which way. And the wind's sound was feeding her power although in a dream, that shouldn't matter, right? She looked at his broken arm but didn't dare touch it - his attention wasn't on it now anyway, after all. "Do you think I'm weak?"

"I don't know you," he said almost starkly. "You're from outside and people from outside are bad. That's why we don't live in the world."

How much of this was fantasy dreamland and how much of this was based in reality, Alison wondered, the chill in her bones having nothing to do with the cold of winter wrapped around them. "Do you think I'm bad," she asked, simply - still shielding him from the wind, still keeping him wrapped in a warm cocoon of light, the illumniation radiating from her skin steadily.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered weakly, shrinking against her almost instinctively. "He says. I have to do what he says..."

"Aaah..." she just nodded wisely, letting him curl up against her, her arm resting about his shoulders only lightly to not trigger the fight or flight reflex. A lullaby seemed required but she wasn't sure how it would be accepted - so she cheated, chosing a soothing folk song she'd learned while on her last tour.

"Tam v haiu, pry Dunaiu, solovi shchebech, vin svoiu ptashynochku do hnizdechka klyche..." the Ukrainian words had been learned by repetition, her accent far from perfect but deemed acceptable back then, after much practice - but the meaning of the words she knew only too well, still. They seemed oddly appropriate right then.

There was the sound of footsteps crunching on the snow, and Nathan, his adult self, was there suddenly, watching them. He leaned against the tree next to him, watching Alison and the boy sadly.

She looked up at him after a while, still going through the folk song in a low, soothing melody, carefully not rocking the boy so as to not jar his broken arm. Her eyes were full of questions though, some of which she already suspected the answers and couldn't help but wish she was wrong. It's not just a dream this, is it?

"I was five," Nathan said quietly. The boy didn't look up. "It was the first time. I learned how to keep it together, eventually." His eyes lingered on his younger self, there in the shelter of Alison's arm, and the longing sadness shifted across his face like clouds in the wind.

It's a very lonely path to be set upon, brother. The Askani thought wasn't hard to keep even as she kept crooning softly to the child in her arms, and somehow that didn't feel surprising. This was still a dream, after all. A harsh one, when chosen of one's free will. She didn't complete the thought, that it was unfair for one forced into it - it seemed feeble somehow, in the face of such a clear violation of the trust a child placed in a parent. Tears were slowly sliding down her cheeks as she sang, without her noticing.

"It doesn't matter," Nathan said, his voice colder suddenly, harsher. "Get up," he said to the boy, who looked up at him, blinking back tears. "You know what you have to do. Do you want to die here? Get UP."

Alison simply wrapped herself around the boy calmly, still singing, and did the only thing that seemed to make sense. If the cold was also a manifestation of the dreamscape, then warmth to fend if off would have to do... light grew steadily, creeping outwards until the same warmth that had been tightly wrapped around both herself and the child Nathan reached outwards in a ever growing pattern around them.

The boy sniffled softly. "Have to go," he muttered. "Be back by dawn. But it's so far away and I don't know where I am..."

"You're not alone," she murmured softly, voice tight with emotion. "And right now time doesn't matter. I promise you." And it was true after all, every single word - this was a dream. "Rest. You need to rest if you're going to be strong..."

"I have to be strong so I can run away," the boy said, suddenly sounding very unchildlike. "So that I don't die when they take me away. Because they leave the ones that are weak in the desert instead of the woods. But it's just as cold."

A sob caught in her throat at the words, at everything they implied and everything else left unsaid but still made clear, awfully so. "You won't die," was all she could find to say, all she could manage to think about - pitiful words really faced with the reality the boy faced, even if this was only a dream - but so much more, even so.

"Everyone dies," the boy said very quietly. "Don't cry, Alison."

***

She woke up with a strangled cry, denial and sorrow blending into one, her room lit up so brightly it might have been the middle of the day. She yanked the tangled bedsheets away, struggling with them for a moment before finding cotton jogging pants on the floor and tugging them on, pausing to wipe at her cheeks yet unable to stop crying. She ignored her cane, tugging on a shirt and then leaning on the wall as she left her bedroom, not quite aware of how long it took or even how she made it to Nathan's bedroom door before leaning on it with a heavy thump.

Nathan's eyes flew open. For a disoriented moment, he wasn't sure where he was, but then he heard the knocking at the door. Moira stirred beside him, but he reached out shakily, nudging her back down into deeper sleep as he slid out of bed, closing the door behind him as he moved out into the sitting room. He opened the door to the hall and saw Alison standing there, tears on her face.

"What... what's wrong?" he asked hoarsely.

She looked at him searchingly for a moment, the memory of a little boy's terrified gaze echoing in her mind and hovering above his own - and burst into tears again, one hand pressed to her mouth as she shook her head slowly.

Nathan actually rocked backwards, the images hitting him almost like a physical blow. "Alison," he said unsteady. "I--I'm sorry, I didn't..." Frustration surged up inside him, shame and embarassment for having pulled her into that. "I don't know why that happens," he said raggedly. "My shielding's been... I'm so sorry..."

"Don't." She lunged forward, not letting him pull back, wrapping her arms around his waist fiercely. "Don't you dare apologize. Don't!" The words were hard to find if only because she was fighting sobs with every breath, but she fought for them nonetheless. "Not for that. No apologizing for that. Ever."

"Don't apologize?" he said, shuddering a little. "I shouldn't apologize for yanking you into my nightmares?" He tried vainly to smile. "Don't think it's proper telepathic behavior..."

She shook her head against him, still crying - for the little boy she'd seen in her dream, for the child he'd been and the one still hidden deep within him, still trying to be strong because he didn't know any other way to be. "Shush. Please." Holding would do for now and after that dream, she needed it as much as she needed to hold him.

Tentatively, blinking rapidly, Nathan wrapped his arms around her, responding instinctively to her obvious need for comfort. "It's...all right," he said uncertainly. "Don't cry, Alison..."

"Will cry," she answered hoarsely, doing just that - someone needed to cry for what had been and still was, somewhere inside of him. "Be ok," she added belatedly. It would be, somehow.

It had to be.

"Did you... want to come in and sit down?" Nathan asked uneasily, trying to lead her into the room. Standing out in the hall crying probably wasn't a good thing for her to do.

She couldn't help it, half laughing and half sobbing at the sound of his voice. Of course. Her leg twinged firmly at that point, a reminder of the fact that she'd climbed the stairs up to the third floor far too hastily at that, but she ignored it, shaking her head. "Moira's sleeping. Sit in stairs?" She sniffled, rubbing her cheeks with the back of her hand tiredly.

One arm around her, he led her back towards the stairs, careful of her leg. "I'm not... sure what you saw," he said heavily. "I don't remember..."

"Little boy lost," she murmured, breathing shallowly to try and keep herself from crying all over again. She waited until she was sitting down, stretchign out her leg and patting the floor next to her before going on. "It was night and cold."

He sat down. "In the woods? The snow?" She nodded jerkily, and he nodded more slowly. "Suppose that's always one of the things that's stuck with me," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "I was supposed to find my way back to the commune before the sun rose."

She leaned against him, pure reflex combined with her natural affinity towards simple physical touch for comfort. "I know." A long, slow breath and she shivered, light dancing into life to warm herself, barely in the visible spectrum. "It was so very cold." There was so much more too, but it remained unsaid - he knew, after all.

"Alaska in December is cold." Nathan stared down at her, still shivering a little, despite the warmth of the light.

t seemed silly somehow, to ask 'why?' or 'are you ok now?' when the answer to the first would never make sense to her and the one to the second was too hard to face, just yet. So instead she reached out and too his hand in hers, looking down at it and breathing slowly, quietly.

"Are you going to be all right?" Nathan asked, trying to focus on her. "Can I... can I do anything?"

"It'll be all right," she murmured, as much to convince herself as to reassure Nathan as to her state of mind. "It... just hit close to home." Her voice wavered over the last word and she kept looking down.

"I think..." His voice wavered a little. "I think it's got something to do with... being in contact with you as often as I have telepathically. Or maybe just in general... it seems to have been happening most with the people I'm closest to..." Alison looked up at him, her eyes widening slightly, and he forced himself to go on. "It's... not always my dreams. Sometimes it's the other person's... although it's been mine more often, lately..."

She sighed a bit and gave him a tired, but genuine smile, dispelling the shadows from the dream for a moment. She understood the implications of his statement but didn't remark on them, shaking her head at him instead. "Nathan," she murmured gently, "it's ok. I'm not upset with you, not a bit. Really." A pause, and she tilted her head to the side. "It's been doing that more since your talks with Charles, or less? Have you told him?"

"I...mentioned it to him," Nathan said uncertainly. "The first couple of times it happened. But the last few days..." He took a deep, unsteady breath. "Since Tuesday night. It's been worse. And I'm not lucid-dreaming when it happens..."

Alison shrugged a bit - not dismissing, just not sure what to say. Telepathic dreams weren't her specialty, though she felt a twinge at the thought as it wasn't the first time she'd experienced this in a sense, either. When Betsy had been reaching out to her in her dreams, crying for help while Kwannon had taken her over...

"Your shielding is slipping in your dreams. Your control slips when you lose your temper or... get afraid." It reminded her, ironically enough, of what had happened with Sam the previous year. "And training isn't proving to be a fix because it's a deeper issue than that. Am I right?"

Nathan nodded mutely. "Stirring up stuff," he said softly, thinking about Jack's words on Saturday. "Maybe I ought to start sleeping in the Box?"

"It's a bandaid," she said, "not a solution. Temporary at best but if it helps you sleep and rest and gain enough control to work on the deeper issues..." She tilted her head to look at him, giving him a calm look. "Would sleeping in the box feel like running away to you, or something that would help you get a handle on things? Who would help you with the rest? Pick people, make a plan, give yourself something solid to work with."

Nathan tried to smile. "Running away," he said with a sigh. "Definitely running away. As for the rest..." He managed a shrug. "Time to go to Charles and say my occasional nightly wandering is turning into a real problem. Maybe I'll talk to the Askani some more about it, too... I can't be disturbing people like this. I'm not the only who needs my rest."

He was doing it again, and Alison prodded him in the ribs lightly. "I'm not upset with you." Oh, she was upset about some things and with other people she didn't even know, but not him. "You keep saying 'other people' and 'everyone else' as though that's the only valid reason to get help. Just plain needing it on your own is reason enough, Nathan." She finished the last words gently - maybe she was misunderstanding but with the dream she still remembered only too keenly... "I'd like to help, if there's anything at all I can do. Please let Charles know this when you talk to him?" She added the comment, leaving Nathan the option to simply pursue that line of talk.

Those you do trust - let them take some of the weight sometimes. Don't push them away when things are getting out of hand. Jack's advice echoed in his mind, and Nathan took a slightly shaky breath, squeezing Alison's hand. "You... are a really good friend, little sister. Have I ever told you that? he said, meeting her eyes and letting his walls down for a moment, let himself sense the steady support and caring she was projecting at him. "I have such a hard time... leaning on people," he went on, struggling with the words. "Showing weakness... scares me, so much."

She smiled as he seemed to relax a bit, or at least allow himself to lean. Ever so slightly. "Baby steps," she finally murmured, after thinking that over for a while, trying to come up with a good response. "You don't have to do it all at once, you know. But... you do need to do it." She didn't point out the dangers to his lack of control over his power - he knew of course, just as she had known for so long before coming to the mansion even. Having so much destructive capability at one's fingertips... "There is help to be had here. And," this she could promise, at least, "I won't judge. There are others who won't, either."

"I do need to do it," Nathan murmured, searching inside for those reserves of determination that had gotten him this far, despite everything he'd lost, despite the virus and Mistra and the Askani. "I know. I'm just..." His voice broke a little, despite his efforts to keep it steady. "Just so tired, Alison."

She reached up and tapped the tip of his nose ever so lightly, as one might a little boy - and perhaps she was seeing that little boy for a moment, the one with the broken arm and the scared eyes. "That's when you lean on someone else and let them help you a few steps of the way..." She leaned into him a bit, knowing he was likely picking up on her thoughts. "You're not alone anymore."

Is that what the dreams had been about? Nathan wondered for a moment. Him trying to call out for help, not wanting to be alone to face those moments... "That's got to sink in at some point, doesn't it?" he asked, mustering a shaky smile. "I'm not actually that thick..."

"No, you're not." She chuckled lowly, giving him a small smile. "But some things are hard to shake off, and if it's so deeply ingrained you don't even realize you're doing it..." Her lips quirked, memories of reading psych manuals in preperation of being a counselor for the students resurfacing. "Self-defense mechanisms rarely consult us before kicking in."

"Years of practice," Nathan said, staring down at their joined hands. He sighed heavily. "I don't know that I'm going to be able to back to sleep," he confided. "Who knows who else I'd drag into my head if I did?"

"Well, someone you can trust, most likely." She grinned, a bit wryly but without any reproach at all. "And they'll come see you most likely and talk to you a bit, and that'll be that. Not the end of the world, Nathan." She patted his hand comfortingly. "~What is, is.~"