Jamie and Lorna, Thursday afternoon

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The situation with Nathan has been taking a toll on Jamie. Lorna finds him suffering the effects of a nightmare and sits with him a while. They talk about Skippy, choices and talking about your problems instead of bottling them. Lorna practices hypocrisy with a straight face.



Jamie tore himself awake with a choked sob. Mercifully, this time, the nightmare ripped itself to shreds and vanished, all the details scuttling away into the dark. It had been Skippy, Skippy and Nathan, like it had been the other times, ever since the Professor's announcement, he knew that much . . .

His stomach heaved, remembering some of the other times, and he scrambled to the bathroom--wondering, even as he did so, why he was in such a hurry, it wasn't like there was anything _in_ his stomach.

He knelt over the toilet bowl anyway, making strangled retching noises and burning his throat.

“Jamie?” Lorna rapped on Jamie’s door and poked her head inside when it came open at a touch. The sound of gagging from the bathroom made her stomach twist in sympathy. She slipped inside and crossed the room, knocking again on the doorjamb. “You okay?” She knelt beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder.

Jamie flinched at the touch, but recovered quickly when he saw who it was, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. "S-sorry, Lorna, I just--it was--" He sighed, and took a quick glance into the toilet. ". . . I guess 'ate something that disagreed with me' isn't gonna fly very far."

“Pretty much, no.” She sat back on her heels and regarded him solemnly, “Want to tell me what’s up?” She put aside her own errand for now as unimportant.

Jamie closed his eyes and nodded, slumping back to rest against the wall. ". . . It's Nathan," he began, quietly. "They--" Taking a deep breath, he let the rest out in a rush, eyes fixed unseeing on his knees. "They took him, and they--they changed him, made him somebody who could hurt the people he cares about, and it's too much the same, I can't take it, I can't sleep without seeing those dead eyes in my face, it's too much."

She shifted so she was leaning against the wall as well and snuck an arm around his waist. She hugged him without knowing what to say. “We’re going to get him back,” she said finally, though she knew that wasn’t the problem.

"Yeah, well." Jamie leaned into Lorna's shoulder, shivering. "That doesn't always help. Some things don't get better."

“No. Some things you can’t change. But it had to be done, Jamie. You couldn’t have saved him, not without losing yourself.” She’d been telling herself that all week, had been praying it was true.

"I could have tried harder," Jamie murmured, tears starting at the corners of his eyes. "Maybe there was a way. I'll never know now. Instead--" He sobbed, once, and choked it back. "Instead I'll always know it happened once. Could happen again. I don't want to be him!"

“We should have been there so you weren’t the one who had to deal with it. You did what you could,” Lorna responded, firmly, “You didn’t have time to try to find a better way. He would have killed the kids, would have killed you. It’s not wrong to grieve for him. But in the end, you didn’t have a choice.”

"I had a funeral for him, sort of. Thought it might help. Mostly it does, just . . . this whole week, it's been bringing that day back over and over." He squeezed his eyes shut. "God, and I want to call Kitty, because she always helps with the bad stuff, just hearing her voice--but there's no way to have that conversation that doesn't sound scary, and I don't want her parents to have any more reason not to send her back--" He chuckled brokenly. "And God, doesn't that sound selfish--shouldn't I want her safe, even if that means away from me? But when I'm with her, I don't think so much about how whatever Skippy ended up as, he was me when they started."

“I think Kitty would have something to say about you deciding where she ought to be and what she should or should not hear.” She hugged him again. “You should call her. I would want to hear from Alex if he was going through something.”

"Oh, I want her here. I want to talk to her. More than anything." He smiled wryly. "I just don't know if I _should._ I hurt her, before, being wrong about how I was dealing with my problems. Don't want to do it again."

“You’re a nitwit.” Lorna stretched forward and snagged a piece of toilet paper, dabbing at the tears on his cheeks, “Talking about it is better than bottling it up. If you’re worried you could run it by Samson but he’s just going to tell you to call her.”

Jamie laughed helplessly. "Okay, to start with, I'm pretty sure when you find people having flashbacks on the bathroom floor you aren't supposed to call them nitwits."

“I call ‘em like I sees ‘em.” Lorna gave him a grin and handed him the tissue. “I would expect to be told the same if I was being as nitwit-esque…nitwit-ish…nitwitty…whatever.”

Jamie wrinkled his nose dubiously. "I have a really active imagination. I'm trying to picture you standing still while somebody calls you a nitwit, and I'm coming up blank. In fact, I'm pretty sure Alison's called you a nitwit, and usually it causes tickle fights made famous in story and song."

“Did I say I’d stand still for it? Course not. I would just expect it.” She gave him a suspicious look, “You’re not going to tickle me, are you? Because I think that tickling someone you find having flashbacks on the bathroom floor is considered illegal so I would hate to have to fight back.”

Jamie raised his hand solemnly. "Rain check on the tickling, my word of honor. At least until I stop feeling like something if you found it on a dishtowel, you'd burn the towel." Jamie sighed. "The worst part of it is, there's this part of me that almost envies Nathan. I mean . . . at least the Professor knows to look for him."

Lorna hugged him again, “We messed up. Skippy was right about that, at least. We failed him. And you because you’re the one suffering from it. But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t make him like that.”

"That's the other worst part." He shivered. "I don't want to do what I want to do to the people who did."

Lorna blinked slowly as she unraveled that then sighed, “That’s…yeah, I know that feeling. I don’t want to let go of the…anger I have for, well, several people at this point but then I feel guilty. How can I, a fairly moral, sane and compassionate person, want to do such horrible things?” She thought of Selene, of Manuel, of Mistra. “We’re only human.”

"That's what I keep hearing." Jamie gave a halfhearted shrug. "On the other hand, though, and I guess it's sort of the bright side . . . so are they?"

“It’s the bright side and the warning. There but for the grace of god go we.” She shook her head, “Still, they’re chose to be what they are. And we choose differently. Makes all the difference in the world.”

"I did choose," Jamie said somberly. "At the end, there . . . it wasn't much of a choice: kill him or be him. But I chose. And I'm not--well. I'm sorry it cost so much. Keeps costing so much. Days like this. But better this than the other."

Lorna nodded and sighed, “It’s a terrible choice to make. You shouldn’t have had to.” She hugged him again, “You did the best you could with a terrible situation.”

Jamie leaned his head back onto her shoulder. "That's like the third time you've said that." He smiled. "But I think I need to hear it a lot, Thank you."

"I'm willing to repeat it as often as necessary." She smiled sadly and didn't tell him that she was saying it as much for herself as for him. She pulled away and stood up, offering him her hand, "Come on, I'll make you something. You look like you're in need of soup."

Jamie took her hand, levering himself to his feet. "Think I could use some soup, yeah."