xp_logs | Nathan and Haroun, Tuesday evening

Nathan and Haroun meet in the dining hall. Nathan is still feeling the effects of the Danger Room session. Haroun is stewing over his love life. Nathan proceeds to demonstrate that when he's in pain, patience is not his strong suit. Nor is basic civility. Haroun, not surprisingly, doesn't respond well to Nathan's "advice". Nathan then demonstrates, yet again, that he doesn't know when to back off. The conversation winds up in the gym, where things don't go quite as wrong as they could have, but go pretty wrong nonetheless.

He needed to stop cursing under his breath. The kids he passed in the hall were looking at him as if he were a volcano about to blow. Breathing very carefully - if he was careful about it, his ribs didn't protest too loudly - he hobbled into the dining hall. He spotted Haroun at a table and headed over there.

Haroun was about three-quarters of the way through a very, very nicely cooked steak. He'd bribed Lorna for it, and as usual she'd come through with flying colors. The meat was practically fork-tender and made his tastebuds _sing_. And after the last few days, he deserved a treat. He spotted Nathan approaching and waved him to an empty seat. "Hail the conquering hero!" he called out with a grin.

Nathan stopped. "Oh, shut the fuck up," he growled, then came the rest of the way over and sat down. "I'd have liked to see you do any better with that scenario."

"Not me. I'm not the one with the action-packed genome. I'd last about thirty seconds in that run." he said knowingly. "You still struggling with those Danger Room runs?"

"You could say struggling. That would be an understatement." Nathan winced as he sat down. "Fuck. I feel like an old man... and don't say it."

Haroun was about to speak, but instead put his mouth to work chewing on another bite of steak. "Well, at least your frustrations you can do something about." he grumbled. "Alison is trying to drive me insane. I am firmly convinced of this. And Madelyn's no better."

Nathan stared thoughtfully at the steak. "Why?" he asked absently. "What are they doing?"

"Alison has decided that the name of her game is Hot and Cold. And Madelyn enjoys teasing me and telling me I'm cute when I talk to her about it." he said around bites of steak. "And for a former rock star, she's weirdly passive."

Ah-hah. "Well, I would ordinarily try and give you good advice," Nathan said, "but right now, the idea of any sort of physical contact is making me wince, so I'm not sure I could be entirely helpful on the subject."

"I am really tired of Hot and Cold. Pick a fucking direction and stick with it!" he said as if he hadn't heard Nathan. "Either you're hot and you want to get into it, or you're cold and you don't. Hot one day, cold the next is infuriating."

"Haroun?" Nathan asked a bit waspishly. "How old are you?"

"Mid-20s. Why?" he asked. "Does it really matter?"

"Well, given that you seem to be doing your best to emulate a sixteen year old at the moment, yes."

"Fuck you very much." Haroun said, flipping Nate the bird. "I don't need shit from you, too. Have a little pity on us, the still-single. How quickly they forget..."

"If you don't want shit from me, stop and think for a fucking second before you open your mouth," Nathan growled. "Have you even told Alison that it's bothering you?"

"Yes." Haroun shot back. "Does she listen? Noooo. She's always got something to cover for herself."

"And now you're talking like she's deliberately stringing you along. Do you really believe that? And if you have, have you told her that?"

Haroun looked at Nathan like he was from Mars. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but she calls the shots around here. She says that she's sore from jogging, then that's the way it is. Grousing about it isn't going to change anything."

Nathan groaned. "You... are going to give me gray hair, I swear. More gray hair." He started to get up, intending to go over and investigate what the lined-up students were waiting for, dinner-wise, but stopped, grimacing in real pain and sinking back down into the chair. "Never mind... not that hungry."

Haroun shrugged and polished off the last of his steak. "It's very frustrating. Some times she's a complete animal. Others times, Ice Princess. No rhyme or reason."

"There is always rhyme and reason. It's seeing it that's the challenge." Nathan bit his lip and straightened from the hunched-over position, breathing heavily. "I still think you're clearly not being forthright enough with her. Does she really know it's bothering you this much?"

"She'd better." he grumbled again. "And I don't want to push it, man. She can kill this whole deal with a word, and while she can get anyone she wants to, I don't exactly have that luxury." he said with real worry. "I can deal, really."

Oh, the insecurities. "If you don't push it," Nathan warned him quite seriously, "it won't ever change. Sitting around waiting for her isn't going to do anything but get you more frustrated."

"And pushing things gets my ass busted or lased. No-win, man. It's gotta be her decision." he said firmly. "I let her know how I feel, the ball's in her court now."

"Coward."

Haroun growled at that. "Be very careful." he warned Nathan. "I'm no coward."

"Yes, you most certainly are," Nathan said. Okay, he was actually insane, that was the only explanation. He was picking a fight with Haroun, in the dining hall, when he could hardly move. "If I could pursue a relationship with Moira for months with Mistra hanging over our heads, you can sure as hell suck it up and tell Alison that the mixed signals are driving you nuts. If you can't, then, yes, you are a coward. Yellow. Bellied. Coward."

Haroun smiled nastily. "Unfair comparison. You're a telepath, as you take great delight in reminding me. You _knew_, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what she was thinking at any given point."

"And you would know, if you asked. As for whether or not you trust Alison enough to believe what she tells you... that's an entirely separate issue."

Haroun flipped Nate the bird again. "What makes you think I haven't? You know her - she gets flustered or doesn't feel like answering the question, she clams right up."

"Then we're back to the fact that you're too scared to push," Nathan said. "Coward. Like I said."

"Sure, Nate. I push, and then she pushes back. And then the next thing you know is she's walking out the door." Haroun said sarcastically. "That's just brilliant, man."

"You know, I thought I had a self-esteem problem," Nathan scoffed. "Fuck, if you think she'd dump your ass that easily, what are you doing involved with her in the first place?"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained? And she has the nicest ass out of anybody in the Mansion. Nicest body, even, and we have some _hardbodies_ around here." he said with great appreciation. "I mean, _damn_. Sam is just an idiot, that's all I can possibly say."

No throttling fellow teachers in the dining hall. Nathan was sure there was a rule about that somewhere. "You drive me insane," he said almost conversationally. "You're an idiot. I don't know how she puts up with you."

"You're just jealous because she's got a much nicer ass than Moira's." Haroun taunted.

"While Alison's ass is certainly a paragon among asses, rather like her boyfriend, I tend to be attracted to that thing women carry around in their heads."

"OK, you got me on that one. Your little PhD-monster beats the rock star." he said with a wave of his hand. "Not that Alison's dim or anything - far from it! - but she's not in Moira's league. Nobody around here except Hank and maybe Charles are."

"This is not a competition, you twit." Nathan got up, very carefully, and glared at him. "Stay put. I'm getting dinner, and I'll be right back." He headed over to the line, trying futilely to move in some approximation of a normal manner rather than like an eighty year-old.

"No, but that doesn't mean we don't compare them anyway." he said after Nathan was mostly out of earshot. This thing with Alison did have him spooked. He didn't know what she wanted from him, and not-knowing was preying on his mind.

Nathan came back with a salad and a side of what smelled very much like fresh bread. "So what are you going to do about it?" he demanded, lowering himself back into the chair gingerly. "Hope it resolves itself?"

Haroun nodded. "Pretty much." he said. "Not much I can do. I push, the whole thing could go boom. She's in charge, she's calling the shots, and that's just the way it is. Even if it sucks sometimes."

"Why is it only her that gets to call the shots? Why the sense of futility..." Nathan stopped, piece of bread halfway to his mouth, staring wide-eyed at the opposite wall. "Fuck. I must have driven Moira insane when I was going through that phase."

"Because I'm in America now, and she's an American, and that's how it is done here? In Morocco, it wouldn't ever be an issue." Haroun explained patiently.

"You think American men are whipped." Nathan raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, it's more that American women are ... forceful." he said delicately. "They show their faces, they show their bodies shamelessly, and they're not afraid to persue whatever they want. Men, success, wealth, whatever they want. It's a wonderful system, overall." he said.

"Oh," Nathan said scornfully. "So because you find yourself on a level playing field, you withdraw from the game and let them walk all over you? That's the logic behind this?"

Haroun growled at Nathan again. "No. But there are _laws_ in this country. Take too firm a hand, press too hard, and you could find yourself in jail, being - what did Brainy used to call it? Ah, yes - being a bad man's boyfriend?"

"Oh, and telling her that you're confused as to what she wants and where the two of you are going is going to wind up with you in jail." Nathan stabbed a piece of lettuce viciously. "Right. Haroun logic is not earth logic. I knew this already. Coward."

Haroun sighed. "Are you trying to be dense? I am trying to do the Right Thing here!"

"You're wimping out! You're taking the easy route because you're afraid, and using gentlemanly behavior as an excuse."

Haroun growled again. "You're such an American." he said with a sigh. "Look. Bottom line - I don't want to risk what I do have by pushing for what I _want_. It's not like I am swimming in opportunity, being who and what I am."

Nathan set his fork down and looked Haroun right in the eye. "Coward."

Haroun looked Nathan right in the eye in return. "Sensible."

"Scared. Scared stupid, in the very literal sense of the word," Nathan growled. "You're going to go right on convincing yourself that you're happy with what you have, all the while stewing over the fact that she cannot read your mind and give you what you really want. In the end, you'll lose it all, and it'll be your own damned fault, you moron."

"Easy for you to say, Mr Telepath." Haroun shot back.

"You think my relationship with Moira has been easy?" Nathan demanded.

"You're a telepath. Yeah, you've had your brain put through the wringer a bunch of times, and that makes things hard, but overall, you've got all the advantages. Psi-bonded and a telepath. Shit, man, you don't have to _guess_. You can just _know." he said.

"And what about all of the millions upon millions of people who aren't telepaths who make relationships work?" Nathan snapped. "Who have to rely on honesty and verbal communication? What makes you different than them?"

"Cybernetics?" Haroun joked. "Seriously - nothing at all. And I've done that. Been honest, talked to her. So far, nada."

"Well, I don't believe you," Nathan said. "At least, not that you've come flat out and told her everything. Because, speaking of course as the all-knowing, all-seeing telepath that I am, I can tell you with some certainty that she would not want you sitting here moping instead of letting her know that's how you feel!"

Haroun shrugged. "Then don't believe me." he said dismissively. "I'm telling you how it is."

"No," Nathan said with a tight, nasty smile. "You're not. Telepath, remember?"

Haroun stood up and looked at Nathan. "Don't play with me on this one, Nathan. I have little tolerance for it."

Nathan looked up at him, rolling his eyes. "Oh, don't bluster. Sit down and let me finish my salad. If you're still pissed off when I'm done, we'll go down to the gym and you can beat the crap out of me for it. I'm not much of a challenge at the moment."

Haroun glared at Nathan, and then sat down sullenly.

"You can't have it both ways, by the way," Nathan informed him. "I can't be a telepath who miraculously understands everything women think - " And holy fuck, was that a laugh. " - and yet not see right through you. Unless you think telepathy is gender-specific?"

Haroun snorted, and left things at that. "You just enjoy being a Cryptic Bastard."

"No," Nathan said, waggling his fork at him, "I enjoy applying logic to a situation. Perils of the law degree." He snorted and stabbed another piece of lettuce. "Consider yourself on the stand, if you like."

Haroun snorted again, but this time just contented himself with imaging graphic ways for Nathan to die slowly inside of his head. Intermixed with those were some fairly graphic scenarios involving himself and Alison.

"Am I supposed to be disturbed by that?" Nathan asked innocently, buttering a piece of his bread. "Incidentally, people don't really react like that when you disembowel them."

"Sure they do." Haroun said cheerfully.

Hrm. No getting off track. "I ought to dump you in the lake," Nathan accused. "Dunk you, and keep dunking you until you smarten the fuck up. I could do that."

"You could, and then you'd be in trouble with the CO and XO of X-Men Black. Bad idea for a man trying to get back on active service." he pointed out.

"With you, yes. With her? I don't think so." Nathan smiled cheerfully. "All I'd have to say would be 'Guess who thinks you're leading him around by the metaphorical you-know-what?' and guess who'd be in the doghouse then, junior?"

"You willing to risk it?" he asked snidely.

"Charming. Just really charming, Haroun - here I have your best interests at heart and you're threatening to sideline my career plans." Nathan took a bite of the bread, wondering whether it was the pain that was making him reckless or what. "If I didn't know you were being a jackass to cover up the scared little boy, I'd be pissed."

Haroun stood back up again. "I don't need this from you. From anybody." he said, and then stalked off. He was headed in a vaguely Gym-wards related direction.

Nathan sighed rather woefully at his salad and got up, wincing, but forcing himself to move properly. Damn it, he'd known Haroun was going to do this. #This is me, chasing you,# he called after Haroun cheerfully, following him out of the gym. #Didn't think we were done, did you?#

Haroun didn't turn around or slow his pace. #Fuck off, old man. Take your busted ass and go get some downtime. You do NOT want to get in my face right now.# he thought back at Nathan.

#The fact that I'm following you down the hall would tend to suggest that's not the case,# Nathan persisted. #If I have to chase you to the gym and kick your ass once we're there, fine. I'm not backing off until you pull your head out of said ass, though.#

#I'm not much inclined to be gentle right now.# Haroun mentally warned. #So if you insist on doing this, I _WILL_ put you back in the hospital. And you will NOT get back up quickly.#

#If it does anything to encourage you to stop whining like a little girl, I'll cope,# Nathan shot back, still following him. #Gym, junior. Ten-hut.#

Haroun grinned. The prospect of a little therapeutic violence really, really appealed to him right now. He walked into the Gym, and headed right for the comm panel down to Medlab. "Medlab, this is Jetstream. Bring up a stretcher and a field surgery kit to the Gym." he said, and then killed the connection.

Nathan managed a half-decent approximation of a stalk over to the far wall, where the weapons were. Holy shit, does this hurt... Pulling down two of the staffs from the wall, he tossed one to Haroun. "That staff-fighting we were practicing," he said, his tone not leaving room for argument. "Let's see if I managed to get any of that through that overly thick skull of yours." It was adapted from the psimitar sparring drills, of course.

Haroun looked at the stick in his hand, and then shrugged. "Whatever. Don't need this piece of wood to whup your ass. I'm going to _enjoy_ putting you down." he said. The most disturbing thing was, he really would, too. His mind was aglow at the possibility.

Nathan fell into a guard position. "Don't knock the stick of wood," he said with a tight smile. In fact, he was banking on the stick of wood being his salvation, here. And it was a damned good thing Moira was safely in Scotland, really. "So, about those rampaging insecurities of yours..."

"Two hits. I hit you, you hit the floor." he said, before going from nothing to full speed in about a quarter of a second. Haroun was looking to do some _damage_, aiming a flurry of strikes at Nathan's elbows and knees. Crippling strikes. Painful strikes.

Haroun was faster, but he was new to the staff. Nathan had been learning the psimitar in his dreams for months, and although the weight was different, the patterns were second-nature. Not to mention the fact that Haroun telegraphed his attack as if he were screaming his intentions aloud at the top of his lungs. Forcing his bruised, aching body into motion, Nathan blocked each strike, content to stay on the defensive for now.

"Talk to her, you wuss," he said breathlessly. "Is it that hard? Really?"

Haroun switched up his attacks at every opportunity, his mind too incoherent to think about much of anything but bloodlust. He was younger, stronger, faster, and right now in far better shape than Nathan. They should compensate for the freaky Askani martial arts and the telepathy and the telekinesis quite nicely. He kept the pressure up on knees and elbows, adding in the occasional shot at Nathan's kidneys and throat as well. All it would take is one good shot. That's all. Just one.

"Talk to her!" Nathan snarled, spitting the words out with breath he didn't really have to spare. He was barely managing to block. No energy. The pain was sapping it. "For fuck's sake... everything the two of you could have, and you're too scared to reach out for it?"

Haroun found it in him to turn it up to eleven, and he did. Faster and stronger. For fuel, he imagined Alison walking away. Alison laughing. Alison rubbing his face in the dirt. He took that hurt, that fear, and turned it into anger. That anger he then turned around and spit at Nathan via his hands and his feet and his elbows and his knees and the staff in his hand.

Okay, this was not supposed to be going this way. Haroun was supposed to be venting, yes, but also listening... dammit. He staggered as he blocked another strike, and didn't anticipate the kick coming at him. The very much flesh-and-blood leg it made contact with buckled, sending Nathan to his knees.

"I said the staff-fighting!" Nathan raged at Haroun, gasping for air. The air around him started to burn gold, light coalescing around his staff as if it were a psimitar. "You want to cheat? FINE!"

Haroun whirled the staff around, building up a frightening amount of momentum to end this by cracking Nathan across the temples with the staff. His target was on his knees. Easy meat. He finished his twirl and then lashed the staff out, aiming it right for Nathan's head. "No such thing as cheating in a real fight." he growled, sounding barely human.

It froze in the air. "Fine," Nathan hissed, hauling himself back to his feet as Haroun struggled to pull his staff free of his TK grip. "Then you can just stand right there and not move, and we won't consider that cheating." He imagined a hand closing around Haroun, holding him in place.

Haroun struggled hard against that grip, straining to break it with everything he had - and then some. His tendons screamed, his joints protested, and his blood pressure skyrocketed - to no avail.

"Are you under the impression," Nathan growled, leaning heavily on his own staff to keep himself upright, "that anytime you've laid a hand on me, it's been for any other reason than the fact that I let you?"

Ooh, that was the _last_ thing Haroun wanted to hear. "Fuck you. I can take you man-to-man, you've got to use your _power_ to win. I'm the better man here." he said, dangerously cold in tone. "So now who's cheating?"

Nathan flung the staff down, sinking back to his knees with a pained noise. "Fuck this," he muttered, releasing Haroun, but not before giving him a telekinetic push hard enough to send him back several steps. Just to buy a little space for Haroun's initial impulse to pass. If he still wanted to attack someone who wasn't going to fight back afterwards... fine.

"I wish you were telepathic," he said, wheezing a little. Hadn't he said that to Hank already this week? "So you could see. How much the two of you could have, how much you both really want, underneath it all. It's all there, you idiot. And unless one of you does something, you'll let it all pass you by."

Haroun stayed where he was, and then stalked over to the comm panel down to Medlab. "Medlab, Jetstream. Cancel medkit and stretcher request." he barked, then cut the comm again. "Get out of my sight." he said, in a low and dangerous voice, to Nathan. "I'm going to stay down here and work a little of this out. Then I will work very hard to forget this ever happened."

"That's all right," Nathan managed as he hauled himself back to his feet, swaying drunkenly. Door. One foot in front of the other. "I'll remember for the both of us."

Haroun ignored Nathan in favor of the weight bench. He started stacking weights onto it - only stopping at his own bodyweight. With the 'ware considered. He then slid under the bar and started doing reps - no spotter, no prep, no stretching.

Badly planned, badly executed, something that sounded very much like a tactical imperative pointed out from the back of Nathan's mind. He ignored it and limped, very slowly, towards the door, projecting telepathically as he went. Images to counter the ones Haroun had been using as a goad a moment ago: Alison smiling, Alison holding out her hands, Alison looking at him with an undeniable look of love shining in her eyes.

Haroun took those images and used them for fuel as well. He didn't run strictly on negative emotions and thoughts, although they came far easier to him than the positive did. She loved what was left of his body, he was fairly sure of that if nothing else. Maintaining it and making it more appealing was about the least he could do.