Moira and Nathan

[x-mactaggart.livejournal.com]

Moira's mulling over a letter that Rory sent her when Nathan gets back from Harry's. They talk about Muir and the possibilities there-in before she discovers that Nathan is just a little tipsy and in an incredibly affectionate mood.



Grimacing, Moira shifted slightly on the couch and reread the letter. It had unexpectedly arrived from Muir--from Rory, to be specific. They hadn't really talked since she had been at Muir, except for terse conversations regarding Muir and the patients still there. It was a surprisingly long letter, everything considered. She knew Rory wasn't one for writing.

The soft noise of the clock interrupted her thoughts and she looked up at it, blinking. Nathan should be back soon, she thought. Hopefully.

When Nathan arrived back at the suite, he found her still curled up on the couch, reading. "So," he said wryly, coming over to sit down beside her and kissing her lightly - on the cheek, since he probably had beer on his breath. "I think Haroun and I have actually buried the hatchet now."

"In each other's backs?" she murmured, distracted.

He laughed quietly, slipping an arm around her shoulder. "What's Rory have to say?" he asked, recognizing the handwriting.

Moira made a noise and leaned against him. "Most o' it is apologizin' ta me for bein' such an ass--note tha' 'e doesnae apologize ta ye or Manuel for freakin' th' lad out. A few mentions o' 'ow th' patients are doin'." She chewed on her lip. "An' tha' 'e's 'avin' a 'ard time runnin' th' place without me an' is wonderin' when, or if, I plan on comin' back."

Nathan leaned his head against hers. "And that particular question comes back to bite you on the ass yet again," he said quietly. "What are you thinking? My head's too fuzzy at the moment to hear you properly."

"Tha's wha' ye get when ye try an' fill it wit' beer," she teased. A frown soon replaced the smile, though. "'onestly, I'm nay sure. Muir is _'ome_, Nathan, but so's this place. I built Muir from th' ground up an' I do miss it. But I locked meself away there...wha' did ye say ta me once? Me white tower..."

"Ivory tower," Nathan corrected her. "And Moira, Muir would still be home even if the clinic was closed."

"But there are still patients there," Moira muttered. "Patients who need Muir rather badly. I'm tryin' ta think o' a way through this..." Reaching up, she pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated again.

"Is Muir the only facility that can give them what they need?"

"Right now? Pretty much. We've got some--most o' th' ones who 'ave ta stay at Muir are nay immune ta their own power. So they need constant care an' rehabilitation to get them ta th' point they can leave. I thought about transferrin' them 'ere but th' environment probably wouldna be good for most o' them."

Nathan thought about it more. "Is there anyone you could get out there to help Rory?" he asked more tentatively.

"I...dinnae know. An' tha's th' problem. I've got no answers but a 'ell o' a lot o' questions." Moira looked up at him, clearly miserable. "Wha' I wouldnae give for Jamie's powers right 'bout now..."

He took Rory's letter from her, setting it aside, and wrapped his arms around her firmly. "We'll sort it out," he said definitively. "Have you talked to Charles about it? Think of all the resources and contacts he has. At the very least he has that fearsomely logical brain that can help you sort out what the options are."

Giggling a little, she snuggled closer and buried her head in his shoulder. "So bloody frustrated," she grumped. "Wha' I wouldnae kill for a plane o' me own."

"You have too big a heart, you silly woman," Nathan murmured fondly. "Trying to do everything for everyone... we make a hell of a pair, you know."

"Dinnae we though?" Moira smiled at that. "We do--we try ta take on everythin' 'ead first."

"Hey, I'm learning. Which reminds me, I have to email Charles tonight." He smiled a bit faintly. "Going to tell him I can't work with Manuel anymore."

Blinking, she raised her head slightly to look up at Nathan. "Everythin' okay?" she asked, knowing that, no, it really wasn't.

He shook his head. "Can't do it anymore," he said with a sigh, trying to keep the smile on. "If for no other reason than the fact that I have a lot of work to do if I want to be an X-Man."

"Ye gave it yer all," she pointed out. "I jus' 'ope somewhere in th' back o' tha' stubborn mind o' yers, yer keepin' tha' in mind. An' ye'll get everythin' sorted out an' I'll be seein' ye in those leathers in nay time."

"I keep getting told it's not a personal failure to recognize your limitations," Nathan murmured, holding her eyes with his. "Or to make choices as to where you're going to expend your energy."

"Wonder who told ye tha'?" Moira asked dryly. "But yer right, 'tis nay a personal failure. In fact, 'tis a verra good thin'. Ye need ta learn when ta stop, when ta realize tha' if ye go on, ye'll put yerself in a bad place, alon' wit' other people.

He poked her in the ribs, grinning. "And? Going to take some of your own good advice?"

Yelping, she squirmed, slapping at his hand. "...I'm learnin'," she admitted, grudgingly.

"So we're learning together. Call it a bonding experience." He kept grinning, but stopped poking. "So do I really have to wait until Saturday for those tests?" he asked, knowing he was jumping from subject to subject. He blamed the beer.

"Well, if ye dinnae want me 'ead ta explode, then aye, waitin' until Saturday is good. Ta many thin's goin' on right now, tryin' ta plan for classes. Saturday equals nay insane day."

"Oh, so it's just scheduling?" He gave her a very wide-eyed look. "I can actually start using my TK before the tests, then?"

Leaning back, Moira smacked him on the chest. Rather hard. "Over my dead body," she said.

"Ow," he said meekly. "I wasn't serious." Well, not really. "I'll be good. I promised."

"Nathan, I love ye but yer _never_ good. Yer 'alf th' reason I bought so many o' those bloody koosh balls."

"Hey, it's not my fault you've got a thing for bad boys," he said wickedly, bending his head and kissing her on the neck.

Even though the kiss sent little electric shocks up and down her neck, Moira still rolled her eyes at him. "I swear, 'tis in th' lake wit' ye," she muttered.

"Anytime you want, love. We never did try the clothing-optional swim, and that might be safer than the pool..."

"One track mi--" Her words died off in a surprised, but husky, yip as Nathan nibbled a little harder on her neck. Tipsy Nathan apparently meant _incredibly_ affectionate Nathan, she thought in a haze.

He raised his head. "I could keep my hands to myself," he offered, meekly again, even as he let them roam downwards.

"Thought ye admitted tha' yer never good?"

"No, you said that. I just said you had a thing for bad boys." She shivered and leaned back against him, and although yes, there was a whole lot of 'throw her over your shoulder and head bedward' thoughts rattling around in his mind, there was a different sort of warmth there as well, one that crept down the link, a sort of shy joy that was doing a whole lot more to make his heart race than the honest lust. "I love you," he murmured. "For wanting to take the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Moira reopened her eyes and found herself nearly nose to nose with Nathan, staring into his eyes. She shivered again, though for an almost completely different reason. "Love ye ta," she responded. "For bein' stubborn but learnin' when ta back down." She grinned, impishly, all of a sudden. "Might even be tempted ta tell ye some o' tha' list..."

"Promises, promises," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Can I distract you?" he asked, raising a hand and tracing the line of her jaw gently. "All of the things needing worried about will still be there in the morning."

She leaned into the touch, almost purring at the sensation. "Distract me, please...but only after ye go brush yer teet'." Moira grinned and leaned over, kissing him almost on the mouth. "Smell like beer--but 'ow 'bout ye go do tha', an' I'll change?"

Nathan all but sprung off the couch. "I'll be right back!" he called back over his shoulder.

Laughing, Moira got up and switched off the lights in the living room before heading towards the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Nathan brushed his teeth. Then, for good measure, took a swig of mouthwash. "Minty-fresh breath and ready to distract, ma'am," he said cheerfully, coming back out into the bedroom.

She couldn't help but grin at the expression as she tugged on the sleeves to one of his silk shirts. She could have just waited without anything but she rather disliked not having clothes on, except under certain circumstances, and besides, this got better reactions. "Yer adorable when yer tipsy," she teased, stretching out a hand to him.

Nathan sighed, shaking his head at the sight of her. "You're trying to kill me," he murmured as he took her hand. "Have I mentioned lately that you are just radiantly beautiful and I am possibly the luckiest man on earth?"

While she didn't actually believe it, it was still nice to hear. "A few times," Moira teased, bringing the hand up to kiss.

"I'll just have to keep telling you until you believe me," Nathan murmured, drawing her closer. "Over and over and over... I don't mind sounding like a broken record."

"I like this particular broken record," she reminded him, reaching up to kiss him. "Ooo, much better..."

Nathan scooped her up in his arms. "Glad you approve," he said with a grin and carried her over to the bed. "And I'm very glad I put Bella back in her cage before I left with Haroun. She was getting very affectionate with your pillow all afternoon."

Looping her arms around his neck, Moira raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask? Was it me pillow or was it th' scent o' me shampoo on th' pillow?"

"The shampoo, I think. She kept giggling about it being pretty, and I'm fairly sure she wasn't talking about the pillowcase." Nathan started to undo the buttons of the shirt, grinning. "And can we stop talking about the bird now?"

"Thought ye'd never ask..."