xp_logs | Hank, Nathan, Wednesday Night

Hank comes to check on Nathan. He, too, tries to comfort and cheer the grieving Nathan... and, being Hank, he's brought visual aids.

Hank slipped into the room, frowning a little as he heard the tiny whimper issue from between clenched teeth. Nathan was dreaming again... a bad one, probably. He set the folder he'd brought in with him down, moving over to the bed to rest a broad, warm hand on Nathan's forehead, hoping the contact would be reassuring. "Nathan?" he murmured. "Nathan, it's all right, it's just a bad dream..." He tried to project calm and reassurance, hoping the physical contact would help.

He was standing in front of the directors in New Mexico, trying to convince them that Anika deserved another chance, that the termination order was unnecessary and that he'd take full responsibility for the rest of her training if that was what it took. Only this time, he couldn't stay as calm and focused as he'd been that day, couldn't persuade them, because he kept thinking about how devastated Mick would be if she was killed, except Mick was the one who was dead, wasn't he, and...

Someone was calling his name. Nathan forced his eyes open, tried to focus on the blue blur above him. "Hank," he croaked, his voice shaking.

"Right here. Came in to change your IV, and thought you might want to be woken up. That didn't sound like a nice dream." Hank smoothed his hair back and smiled a little. "Want some water? Or some juice? You sound kind of dry."

"Okay..." The dream was letting go slowly, though, and he couldn't quite get his breathing back to the rate it should be. His ribs disapproved of that. Loudly.

Hank filled the water-glass, angling the straw so that Nathan could sip the water slowly. "There you are... how are you feeling, by the way? Amanda gave you another healing, this morning... feeling any better, since then? And she's being careful not to overdo it, even. Perhaps because she realizes she won't be able to fuss over either you or Moira if she's incapacitated."

Nathan tried to concentrate, so that he could answer Hank's question. "Better, I think," he said, his voice still hoarse but stronger, thanks to the water. "Still hurts... not quite as bad, though."

"Good." Hank put the cup down. "Soon, I think, we'll be able to scale back the painkillers a little, so you won't feel quite so fuzzy. In the meantime, I brought you something to cheer you up a bit. A pleasanter focus for your thoughts."

Nathan looked up at him mutely, not sure what to make of this. There had been other people who'd told him he needed to cheer up, but Hank sounded like he had something specific in mind.

"First, pictorial evidence that we're ensuring that Moira take care of herself." Hank pulled the first blown-up picture out of the folder, showing it to Nathan a little proudly. It was a particularly good picture, he thought.... Moira, fast asleep, with her hand tucked under her cheek and her hair loose across the pillow. He'd planned to ask her for a smiling picture, for Nathan, but when he'd gone up she'd been asleep, and she'd been so cute that he'd thought this would do just as well. "See? She sleeps! And in bed, even."

A faint smile tugged at Nathan's lips. "Lucky... you didn't get one with her drooling on the pillow. She'd never have forgiven you."

"Now, would I do that?" Hank smiled. "I thought I could put it up on the ceiling for you, if you liked, so you can see her when you wake up. You must be getting tired of the blank ceiling by now."

His smile wavered a little. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Kind of... nowhere else to look right now."

Hank nodded. "I have something else for you," he said softly. "To put up with it. A surprise... I haven't told Moira, yet, even. I managed to fiddle up the passive scanner to give the computer the best image it could manage." He reached into the folder again, and drew out a blurry image in shades of pink and red... it wasn't very good, but the curve of the head and spine were visible, and there were hints of curled limbs. "I thought you might like a look at your son or daughter," he said softly.

Nathan's eyes filled with tears, abruptly. He didn't know why, why an indistinct picture just about undid what shaky self-control he still had. But it did. All at once.

Hank rested a hand lightly on what he thought was an unbruised portion of Nathan's shoulder. "I thought it might help," he said softly, "if you could see them. Moira and the baby. I know you must be going through hell right now in ways entirely unrelated to your physical injuries and... well. I know it would comfort me, to be reminded of the joys of life as well as the sorrows."

He couldn't quite catch his breath, and his ribs stabbed with pain every time he tried. "I can't even... hold her," he wheezed. "I can't do this, Hank... can't be like this for weeks..." It was almost a moan, something close to terror slipping free finally, all the old panic about being restrained coming flooding back.

Hank took his hand gently, giving it a tiny squeeze. "It won't be for too long," he said gently. "And you'll have full mobility back eventually. Better that than moving too soon, and never being back to normal." He sighed. "I know it's hard, Nathan. But you can do it. Every time you think you can't..." He held up the picture of the baby again. "Remember that you're going to have someone to toss up in the air, in a while. You're going to need your spine for that."

The combination of encouraging and matter-of-fact reached him as one or the other wouldn't have done on their own. "Cute for a b-blur, no?" he choked out, tears trickling helplessly down his cheeks.

"Very cute." Hank smiled, dabbing away the tears with the corner of a sheet. "I'll go get the stepladder. I'm putting these right up on the ceiling so you can see them. There's a couple more blurs... and Moira hasn't seen them yet. You can show them to her."