xp_logs | Nathan and Cain, Saturday night

Bird-in-tow, Nathan heads down to the boathouse to visit Cain. They have one of their usual rambling conversations. Topics as diverse as Shiro and Clarice, the Superbowl, MacInnis, and nursery plans are discussed. Bella charms Cain, maybe. Just a little.

Nathan climbed the steps to the boathouse, smiling at the squawk from the bird on his shoulder. "We're almost there," he reassured her.

"Cooold!"

"I know. We'll be in where it's warm and you can call Cain nasty names anytime now." He knocked on the door, and Bella snickered in his ear.

"S'open!" Cain called, shuffling around on his walker. While Jubilee had been by to install a larger doorknob on the inside of the door - and hadn't done a bad job with Cain's instruction - he wasn't really feeling like lugging his nonresponsive body across the house when the door was unlocked.

Nathan came in, grinning at seeing Cain up and moving around again. "Evening," he drawled. "I was walking my bird and thought I might stop by."

"Walk'n'... y'r bird?" Cain grumbled, smiling back at Nathan reluctantly. "She ain' gonna shit on th' carpet, is she?" He gestured to the overstuffed recliner, dropping himself down on its matched partner across the room. "Don' matter. Kids done cleaned up... aft'r Mao. Li'l bastard's protestin', I think."

"I'll have you know that Bella only shits in her cage and when she's outside," Nathan said, going over to the recliner and sitting down. "She's a very well-trained bird. Aren't you, feathers?" he asked as Bella tumbled down into his lap, giggling.

Cain smiled despite himself, waggling his fingers weakly in a halfhearted wave at the bird. "Speak'n' o' which - congrat'lashns on... team." Cain tugged at his collar, "heard from... songb'rd y'got y'r spot."

Nathan grinned a bit sheepishly. "She tell you what the running me into the ground was meant to accomplish? You weren't all that far off with what you said about old thinking patterns." He paused a beat. "Actually, you were pretty much spot-on. Do you ever get tired of being right?"

"Voice o' 'sperience," Cain chuckled, "Spent better part o' two decades runnin' cross-country, stayin' out o' th' limelight. Learn lot by... watch'n' folks when they don' see y'." He patted himself on the chest. "Same's gone here. Folks don' alw'ys see who's payin' 'teshun."

Bella hooted loudly and nipped at his fingers. Nathan grabbed her beak, gave her a stern look, and then scratched her head as he turned his attention back to Cain. "I gather you were paying attention to our latest example of young love in action the other day, too."

At that, Cain snorted. "Should've heard Al'son laugh. They're... good kids. R'memb'r when I's their age. Jus' 'bout did... same thing t' that tree."

Nathan smiled at the nostalgic edge to Cain's thoughts suddenly. "They are kind of cute," he confessed, then laughed. "Although I don't have any doubts as to who's going to be wearing the pants in that relationship if it goes on for any length of time."

Cain smirked at that. "Ain' takin' bets there. So when's y'r lady due back, eh? 'bout time t'share some o' y'r good news?"

Nathan sighed, his smile slipping a bit. "Still not sure. She can't leave until she's got a replacement for Rory in and settled." He brightened a bit. "We had a good time last weekend, though. The damned weather actually held, and some of the Pack was over to help with the security system and rebuilding Billie's pub."

"Good, good," Cain mumbled. He'd gotten used to Dr. Bartlett handling his recovery, but Moira was his doctor, dammit. Still, needs must.

"Y' had somethin' come up this week," Cain pointed out, "Ain' sure what - but s'like y've dropped ... big weight off y'r shoulders. 's goin' on?"

Nathan blinked. "Huh. Well, I suppose I have, in a way..." Once the shock of MacInnis' revelations had worn off, he had started to see the possibilities. "Alison and I had something of a no-holds-barred conversation with my 'old friend' MacInnis on Tuesday night. He laid all his cards on the table for us, finally." He grimaced. "Some of them were more of a surprise than others. The old bastard helped found Mistra, Cain."

"No shit," Cain's eyes opened wide at that. From what Nathan had told him of Mistra, this was somewhat equivalent to MacInnis having admitted to shooting Kennedy. "Where you bury th' body?"

"Oh, he's still walking around breathing. Unless he managed to get hit by a bus in the last few days sometimes." That image really shouldn't be as appealing as it was. Nathan shrugged at the look Cain gave him. "He spent the last six years of his time there trying to sabotage the program from the inside. He blew his cover when he tried a little too hard to help an operative whose conditioning had broken get out with his family."

Mulling that over, Cain reached to take a sip of the tea that Alison had brought by. His face screwed up in distaste. Mint? Who put MINT in tea?

"Life's little s'prises, eh Nate?" He reached up with his left arm, pantomiming a wave weakly. "Things ain' always turnin' out like y'd planned. But s'good, yeah?"

"Potentially very good, yeah." Nathan shook his head. "I shouldn't feel bad that he blew his cover trying to help me," he said with a sigh. "But I do. Thinking of all the good he could have done if he'd managed to stay in for another couple of years, even... instead of having to run for his life because of what I..." He stopped, took a deep breath. "I didn't precisely vanish quietly into the night after they killed my wife and son."

"Coulda, shoulda, woulda," Cain drawled, waving his hand dismissively. "Y'got good life now. Gon' have a wife. Gon' have a kid. Second chance, yeah? An' y'ain't got this ol' fart M'cInn's t' hate anymore." Cain pulled himself up to a standing position, then turned to lean on his walker.

"I know what's like... livin' on th' run. Y' get used t' not havin' anyone. Not wantin' t'. S'why always comes as ... shock, when y' find y'got people. Y'can't get back what'cha lost, but y'c'n hold on t'what y'got now." He sighed deeply. "I had... thought I had evr'thing I needed, jus' w' m'self. Ain' th' case now. Loss makes y' thankful."

"I know you're supposed to keep learning until the day you die," Nathan said dryly, "but I still feel like I'm playing catch-up." He looked up at Cain inquisitively. "Need something? Or is this just walking for the sake of walking?"

"Ain' walkin'," Cain corrected. "Don' feel much like sittin'. Doc says... muscles 'r fine. 's m' brain what's busted. 'pparently, I ain' used it f'r years." He laughed at that, touching the scar on his chest through his t-shirt "'s funny, but lit'rl. Brain ain' used t' givin' orders t' m' body no more."

Nathan shook his head a little, watching Cain. "So it's your brain that needs retraining, rather than your body." It wasn't quite a question. "Kind of gives a whole new meaning to 'all in your head', doesn't it?"

Cain nodded. "Can' ev'n have y' or Chuck go fix stuff," he explained. "Doc says... overstress c'n cause... an'rism. Stupid brain."

"Huh." Not that he'd have even attempted anything like that, but it sucked that it wasn't even possible for Charles. Without really thinking about what he was doing, he tilted his head, letting his perceptions slide down several levels to look at Cain that way. "Funny," he said. "I can still see traces of psionic energy when I look at you. Just... flickers, here and there. Residue, maybe."

Cain squinted. "From... acc'dent? Doc says s'possible. Whatev'r y' did t' keep me 'live, 's reason I'm healin' fast'r. Y' an' 'manda. Y'hear from her, off w' Remy?"

Nathan made a face, letting his vision fade back to normal. "Nothing," he muttered. "And Remy, blast it, was looking for Moira's number earlier this week. I don't know why. Makes me worry."

"Breath'n' makes y' worry, Nate," Cain chided. "Girls'll be fine. Remy knows what 's doin'. As profesh'nl as y' are. S'why y' hate him, ain' it?"

Nathan blinked again. "I don't hate him," he said, surprised. "Sure, sometimes I want to wring his neck when he decides that it's time to lecture me, but..." He stopped, laughed, and shook his head, stroking Bella's feathers. "You know, he's not actually ever said anything to me that Pete wouldn't have." Or GW, even. It was just that he was used to taking it from Pete and GW, he supposed.

Cain nodded. "He's... not good guy. S'okay. I ain' either. But he's lookin' t' change. Penance, he said once. Ain' much f'r th' whole guilt thing, but if works f'r him, yeah?" He waved his arm briefly before shuffling into the kitchen. "Y'wan' salad? 'Ro made stuff, don' know whass' in it, but s'good."

"Sure," Nathan said, not offering to help but glancing back over his shoulder to keep an eye out just in case Cain needed it. "That was one of my other realizations, this week," he said. "That it can't be about penance for me... the team and all, I mean. That's too close to what they were trying to train out of me with all those insane no-win scenarios in the Danger Room."

"Ev'r tell y'..." Cain began, scooping two bowls full of Ororo's green salad and sliding them across the counter. "f'rst time Mo'ra took me t' Danger R'm? Runnin' tests. Broke Chuck's big 'spensive machine. Went f'r pancakes."

Nathan tugged at the bowls lightly with his mind, and they floated over. "That wouldn't be the IHOP incident, would it?" he chuckled.

"Should've seen... look on his face," Cain scooted around the corner, holding back uproarious laughter until he was back in the recliner. "Chuck, he hates gettin' mad 'round folks. He does, though. Jus' don' show much."

Nathan let Cain's bowl come to a gentle landing on the small table beside his chair, then reached up to pluck his own out of the air. "She quizzed me on how you were, you know," he said. "When I was over there. I mean, Hank and Maddie give her regular updates, of course, but I got the third degree when I showed up. Well, not quite precisely when I showed up." He grinned. "A little later."

Cain immediately turned his attention to his salad. "Don' need t'know that, Nate. Mo'ra's m' doctor, an' she's m' friend. Things man wasn' meant t' know, yeah?"

"Right," Nathan said, feeling somewhat repentant. Really. "I know you're one of the reasons she wants to get back here," he said more seriously. "I mean, turn that woman loose on a problem, even one like yours, and she's going to come up with half a dozen brilliant solutions, even if it takes a while..."

"She's th' best." Cain said it as a matter of fact. "An' if anyone c'n work a mir'cle, 's her. I mean - ain' never been nothin' like me b'fore, but she knew how t' fix me." He shook his head, remembering Moira's demanding physical checkups once he'd regained consciousness. "Though she's gon' have 'nough of her own soon, huh?" Cain patted his stomach in sympathy. "'bout time f'r th' rough parts t'start, huh?"

"She's starting to show, yeah," Nathan said, with an entirely different sort of smile - half-embarassed, half-wistful. "The tests have all been okay so far," he went on. "Hasn't stopped her from worrying, though. We make quite the pair."

"'s 'nother gal pregnant up there, I hear. Gon' have t' build ... nurs'ry once I get movin'." Cain noticed that, for the first time since the accident, he hadn't used the qualifier "if". He smiled at that. "Jus' may need bit o' time, s'all."

"Actually, I was measuring that second bedroom up in the suite," Nathan said, brightening a little. "Certainly got plenty of room, and it's not like we actually need a separate study when we've both got offices downstairs."

Cain snorted, shaking his head. "Needs bett'r ins'lation. Kids rooms do. Get colds easier, all that. Gon' take some work. S'pose I'll have t' get th' hang o' movin' 'round in th' next few months. W' y'r rep'tashun w' th' windows, ain' 'bout t' let you do it."

Nathan smiled, but the smile faded. "I need to talk to Charles," he said. "About what it would take to shield it, if we have to. Whether we could duplicate what's in the Box..." He sighed, shaking his head. "Okay," he said, stabbing at the salad with his fork, "enough of the obsessive-compulsive tendencies on parade. You watching that football game tomorrow? I hear there's some sort of plan to descend on Harry's in force." He made a face. "Personally, I'm still mourning the hockey season."

"Game? T'morrow?" Cain looked at the calendar. "Fuck. S'per Bowl? Dammit." He looked crestfallen. "Ain' gon' make it t' Harry's."

"Hmm. Let me talk to the resident evil scheming songbird - I'm sure we can come up with the next best thing," Nathan said after a moment. He really wasn't much of a football fan. But that had been a genuinely woeful look there... "Alison wasn't going either. She's on-call this week."

"S'pose could deal w'that," Cain mused. "Worse fates, eh?"

Bella slid off Nathan's lap, landing on the floor with a thud and then scuttling over to Cain's chair. She climbed up onto the arm, chirping. "Football! Bah!"

Nathan waved a fork at her. "Stop with the mimicry. One of these days you're going to repeat something really embarassing."

Cain smiled. "Y'know," he said slowly, "salad missin' somethin'. Yappy bird McNuggets, maybe?" He brandished his fork at Bella mock-threateningly. "Think there's 'nough meat on 'er?"

Bella giggled at him, wings flapping for a moment as she settled herself on the arm of the chair. Nathan tsked at her, shaking his head.

"Fickle bird. Throwing me over already, I see." She hooted at him and he grinned. "She spent the weekend with Miles while I was gone, of course. He adores her. She sleeps on his pillow."

Cain smiled widely at the mention of Miles. "Little guy's hell of a helper, huh? Keeps switchin' m' beers out f'r choc'lit milk, though. Little brat." Slowly exhaling, he lowered himself into the bed and lay back slowly. "Kid likes me," he announced, "ain' sure why. Prob'ly brain damage."
"Probably," Nathan said blithely. "I mean, look at me. It's got to be the multiple concussions and brain-sprains that keep me coming down here for what passes for conversation." He stopped, thinking. "Whoa. Speaking of, I'm coming up on two months brainsprain-free here. I think that's a record."

"C'n be remedied," Cain shot back, waving a fist weakly from the bed. "Jus' run int' this a lot. Fix y' right back t' normal."

"If I hit the three month mark, I'll get back to you on that. Because three months would be just... creepy," Nathan said very sincerely.

"Y'think..." Cain said slowly, "when y'fixed me up... fixed y'rself as well?" He held a hand up, stalling Nathan's response. "'m serious. Like kickin' th' washin' machine. Don' make sense, but gets it t' work, yeah?"

"That's exactly what I did," Nathan said with a flicker of a smile. "I just... didn't realize what it really meant, when Charles first told me." He waved a hand, almost uncertainly. "Everything's changed. Things that were a strain aren't, anymore. I can see the lines of force... uh, call it TK-vision, without it hurting. And I can feel what I touch with my mind, now." He shook his head slowly. "I can read a book telekinetically, Cain, just by feeling the ink on the page."

"An' that worries y'?" Cain asked, remaining on his back, just staring up at the wood-planked ceiling. "Y' were broke, y'got fixed. Simple 's that."

"Second chances," Nathan murmured, staring down at his hands. "They aren't simple things." He smiled mischievously. "Although I have to say, I blow shit up real good now."

"Good," Cain remarked, "so long's y' don' blow up no more trees when Mo'ra gets back. Had 'nough of that this week."