xp_logs | Nathan and Moira, Monday afternoon

Moira finds Nathan in his empty classroom, and evasion is no longer a viable option. Nothing's resolved, but a few first steps are taken.

"Nathan?" Moira stepped inside the classroom and ignored the fact the students weren't there. After the phone call from Jack, she had gone in search of him. Domino had found her and had let her in on a few things. Number one being that he had gone to the gym. And that he had been headed towards class.

He raised the letter with his good hand, waving it aimlessly at her. "My students - " He stopped, clearing his throat. His voice was still awful. "Have apparently decided they don't need my services. Awfully... independent-minded of them, don't you think?"

Walking over, she took in how tired and beaten up he looked. "Wha's th' letter say?" she asked.

"That they're going to hold study groups. Until I'm 'fit to teach'. Angie's idea. Probably with Doug's help." He swallowed, letting the letter fall back to the table.

A part of her wanted to reach out and comfort him but Moira *agreed* with them. "Maybe they're afraid ye'll collapse in th' middle o' class?" she asked. "God knows I am."

"I'm not going to collapse." He wasn't. He felt a little light-headed, maybe, but that was just the concussion. "And what... good, precisely, am I around here if I don't teach?" His voice, still raw, caught on the words as it rose in volume.

"Why is it tha' tha's wha' it always comes 'round ta?" Moira demanded, walking to stand in front of the desk. "Amanda, ye...wha'., do ye think we need ye ta be useful ta want ye ta be around?"

"Amanda is a student," Nathan said hoarsely, not looking at her. "She's not here to be useful. She's here to learn, and... be safe while she does it. I'm supposed to be one of the people making sure she's safe, and..." He stopped, swallowing as his voice took on a wild note. No, he told himself. Don't go there. "I'm supposed to be useful," he said, not much more calmly.

She stared at him for a second and then sighed. "I, we, care 'bout ye. Ye dinnae 'ave ta prove yerself ta let yerself accept tha'. 'ow many times do I 'ave ta say tha' an' tha' it *wasnae yer fault*?"

Nathan blinked at her for a moment, trying to sort out just how he wanted to respond to that. "First of all," he said, his voice a little steadier but still strained, "I don't see what this has to do with me thinking I need to prove myself. I think I proved what I was this weekend, and so... not really seeing the relevance." Moira opened her mouth as if to respond but he went on, cutting her off. "And I know... I know there are people here who care about me, even when I kill dozens of innocent people, which is really nice, but that says more about them than it does me."

"Why am I botherin'?" Moira asked, jaw tight. "Everythin' I say, ye'll turn around as an attack against yerself. An' when ye dinnae do tha', ye simply dinnae listen ta me." Turning around, she paced the room, resisting the urge to kick over one of the desks but only barely. "Wha' do ye want me ta say because, obviously, yer jus' starin' at me an' if we talk, I might as well spout off somethin' ye'd be willin' ta actually tune inta."

"Then tell me the truth," Nathan said, his voice coming out even wilder. "Tell me I've made things harder for mutants here in the States. Tell me how many parents and siblings and children and friends are out there this week arranging funerals because of me. Tell me that Charles is wondering what the hell he was thinking, and that you're supposed to be coming up with a kind way of telling me that I don't belong here..."

"'TIS NAY BECAUSE O' YE!" Moira bellowed, turning around again. "Yer one o' th' fuckin' victims, Nathan, wha' do I 'ave ta do ta show ye tha'? "Tis nay yer fault tha' they grabbed ye at 14! 'Tis nay yer fault tha' they decided they wanted ye back at any cost! Nay matter wha' ye would 'ave, nay matter, thin's would 'ave gone down th' same way as they did!"

"Would they? If I hadn't been there, would that have happened? If I hadn't been pretending I could have a normal life, pretending..." His breath caught in his chest, and he pushed himself away from the desk, standing up, swaying a little. "I can't even be satisfied with being... a killer myself, I have to put children in the position where they have to kill, too? Manuel's... somewhere, hating himself, and everything the Askani did to help him doesn't mean a fucking thing anymore because he thinks he's a bad person!"

"So wha' makes ye any different from Manuel? Sittin' in 'ere, arguin' wit' me, an' everythin' th' Askani 'ave done wit' ye doesn't mean a damned thin' anymore because o' 'ow yer beatin' yerself up."

Nathan turned and stared at her for a long, silent moment. "Because he's just a kid," he said, as if it was self-evident. "He hasn't had a chance yet."

"...yer a loon." Moira shook her head. "An' ye 'ave? Jesus, look at yer life, Nathan. Ye dinnae 'ave much o' a choice, either."

He took an unsteady step backwards, to let the wall support him. "Had choices," he muttered. "Had choices for seven years... anything I do now is all mine, Moira. Just me. No one else to blame anymore."

"Nay when it comes ta Mistra."

"I told her," Nathan muttered distractedly, shying away from that idea. His thoughts were all over the place, as if he couldn't make his mind stay in a straight line.

"Told who?"

"Betsy. I... told her, they couldn't..." He pressed the heel of his good hand to his forehead, an inarticulate, anguished noise wrenching itself from him, almost of its own accord. "I knew this would happen. I knew it, Moira, I told her... what they could do to the school, and they did, it just wasn't this school!"

"Nathan..." Slowly, she edged closer to him. #Nay yer fault.#

"Stop saying that!" he half-shouted, half-pleaded, his voice breaking. "It happened because I was there, there's nothing anyone can say to change that, so what does it matter that I didn't start it?"

Moira stared at him, at a loss for words. "I won't because I'm afraid ye'd leave if I said otherwise. But at this point Nathan, yer nay listenin' ta anyone...so I guess I'll jus' stop talkin'."

His eyes stung as he stared back at her. "They talked," he said, his voice softer, lost-sounding. "They... enjoyed what they were doing. I don't understand why. Before... if you felt like that, you were killed in training. Taken out of the barracks in the middle of the night."

"They're nay th' same people they were before, they're worse. An' ye cannae be blamed for anythin' tha' 'appened. None o' it. An' I swear ta God, I will repeat it until we're old an' gray, Nathan." Quickly, she wiped her eyes and looked away from him.

"Every time I walk past a television, it's on," Nathan said hoarsely. "You saw it?"

Moira nodded. "Aye, I saw once...Sean let me get up after I collapsed."

"It was worse, in the middle of it. So much those poor bastards on that television crew didn't get to show..." Nathan trailed off, the images vivid in his mind.

She shuddered as some of the images fell down the link and played over in her mind. There was no way she could ever imagine how he'd feel and she was glad because that enabled her to help him get past this. If he listened to her.

"Moira," Nathan said dully, absorbing the intent, shocked way she was regarding him. "I don't think I can do this."

"Wha', get past it?"

"I can't." The desolation crept back into his voice despite his best efforts to keep it out. "I don't even know how to live with it, because it's the way I was trying to live that made it happen. What the fuck did I think I was doing?" He sagged back against the wall again, breathing hard. "I've been on the run for seven years, from them, and suddenly I'm waltzing in and out of New York like I'm an ordinary person, someone who gets an ordinary life..."

"Ye dinnae think ye deserve one?" Moira asked, not moving towards him as much as she wanted to. "So there's nothin' anyone can do for ye?"

"I've been trying... so hard to believe that it's all right to want one," Nathan said, his voice breaking. "Trying to... forget. And look what happened."

"So wha' do ye want me ta do?" she asked quietly. "Because everythin' I've tried...ye ignore."

"Tell me I didn't do this."

The words slipped out, literally slipped out, as if something else had taken possession of his vocal cords for a moment, and Nathan found himself covering his mouth with his hand as if doing so would prevent anything else from escaping.

Moira gazed at him, chin held high. "Ye dinnae do this. Ye dinnae make those men kill those students an' civilians. Ye tried ta stand down. Ye. Dinnae. Do. This."

He forced himself to lower his hand to his side again. He was shivering, as if the temperature of the room had taken a dip downwards. "I can't... get it out of my head," he said shakily. "The number. It's like an equation, Moira, and I keep subtracting myself from it, and then that number's gone... but I know I can't ever do that, and I don't know which hurts worse..."

"Dinnae think tha' way," she murmured, closing the gap between them. A hand raised but hovered just next to his cheek. "Think tha' they did this, nay ye, build from tha'. Jus' realize tha' yer a victim as well, love."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "It's so hard," he murmured weakly, hating himself for whining. "Control over the situation... I had some, at least, but I didn't know... I didn't know they'd do this..."

"I know, Nathan, we all do." Slowly, Moira touched his cheek and brushed her thumb up gently. "Ye 'ave ta tell yerself tha' ye couldnae 'ave controlled it."

Opening his eyes again, he gazed down at her, pure misery in his eyes. "My shields are all shot to hell, but I'm afraid to let them down," he said exhaustedly. "I don't want to know... what anyone's thinking about this. Does that make me a coward?"

"Yer allowed ta be frightened," she pointed out, stroking his cheek. "Perfectly natural, Nathan. God, ye need sleep..."

He took a deep, shaky breath. "I have to see Charles first," he said, trying to smile. The expression came out strained and hesitant, but he saw the way her eyes lit at the sight of it. "I think I'm getting a stern talking-to."

"'e willnae yell, jus' look up at ye in tha' stern tone o' 'is," Moira said, smiling a little bit. "Then...nap? I'll even promise ta nap wit' ye..."

"I don't know if I can sleep," he confessed hoarsely. "I really don't, Moira... I know I need to, but the dreams..."

"Rest? Any an' I'll relax a wee bit. Jus' turn th' lights off an' we'll rest...'ow's tha'?"

Nathan nodded jerkily. "Just... please don't..." He trailed off, not even sure what he was asking, and a despairing little laugh slipped out. "Oh, yeah, I would have done a real good job teaching this afternoon... I think I have about two functioning brain cells to rub together."

"Tha' means ye need rest." Firm, not allowing for arguments. #An' I'm nay goin' ta leave,# she murmured along the link, smiling up at him a little.

He took a tentative step forward, hugging her with his good arm. "I am tired," he admitted, his voice wavering again. "I'll see Charles, then meet you upstairs?"

Circling him for a brief second, Moira nodded against his good shoulder. "Aye, I'll 'ave th' bed turned down an' some soothin' tea waitin' for ye when ye get up."

He ought to check on Amanda and Manuel, before he... no, Nathan thought suddenly, fatigue pressing down on him even more heavily. He couldn't do them any good in the shape he was in, and if that was selfish, so be it...

"All right," he said with a flicker of a smile, drawing back. "Wish me luck?"

"Jus' tell 'im if 'e's mean ta ye, I'll roll 'im in th' lake," Moira said cheerfully, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek.