Nathan and Manuel, Monday afternoon

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Backdated to Monday afternoon. Now that he's out of the medlab, Nathan sneaks out (as much as one can sneak, in a wheelchair) to speak to Manuel. He does after all have a message he promised weeks ago that he'd deliver - from Pete.


He was probably out of his mind, and should be waiting at least another week before he did this. But it had waited too long already, Nathan suspected, and he hated the idea of Manuel worrying about what was going to happen next. He'd have enough to cope with, losing his father - he should at least be reassured that there weren't going to be further consequences to him.

Nathan winced at the pain in his arms as he wheeled down the hall towards Manuel's door. He was starting to get some of his strength back, but that didn't mean that wheeling himself around with a lacerated arm and a burned shoulder was any more fun.

From inside Manuel's room came the sound of some very angry synthesizers. The beat was jarring, discordant, and seemed to almost be alive. Whoever was listening to or making that kind of music was far from in the best headspace imaginable. The door was cracked, to get some air into his room, and not coincidentally to let some of the sounds _out_.

Nathan hesitated, then tightened the coiled spiral-pattern he was using to keep his emotions inaccessible. Tell Manuel, let him process it. Don't get engaged. He didn't have the energy. Raising one hand, he knocked at the door, loudly enough to be heard over the synthesizers.

Manuel stopped playing, and then walked over to the door. He was sweating hard, and almost out of breath. "Yes?" he asked, impatience dripping from every pore. "Oh. You. Didn't know you were up and around. What do you want?"

"Well, not quite up..." Nathan glanced down at the wheelchair, then back up at Manuel. "Can I come in? I have something I need to talk to you about."

Manuel nodded, and then stepped well-back to let Nathan maneuver the wheelchair into his room. "You're not strapped to a bed anymore, I'd call that up and about." he said unkindly. "And I am truly not in the right mood for word-play, so I will make this brief. What do you want?" he asked, sinking into his desk-chair with a sigh.

"I need to tell you something," Nathan said, adjusting the brake on the wheelchair. He regarded Manuel levelly. "You're probably not going to want to hear this, but it's something that Pete asked me to tell you, several weeks ago."

Manuel stopped fidgeting and stared at Nathan. "You have a lot of gall, coming up here to pass along a message from my father's assassin." he said coldly.

"Believe it or not, I'm well-aware of the gall." Nathan didn't look away from Manuel's icy gaze. "But you need to know that he's not coming after you."

Manuel barked out a laugh. "I'm sure that will make me sleep better at night." he said. "What assurances do I have, besides the word of a murderer, that I won't be snuffed out in my sleep?"

"You have my assurance that he was telling the truth," Nathan said simply. "My assurance as a telepath."

"A murderer and a broken mercenary." Manuel said. "I suppose that, since I have no choice anyway, I should resign myself to the idea." he said with another sigh. "I don't believe you, but that's hardly a new development. It is another thing I will have to just live with."

"How many times have I actually lied to you?" Nathan asked, with more patience than he really felt.

Manuel picked up on the discontinuity, hating it but realizing the truth of his words. "I'm not inclined to be terribly rational right now. I am still grieving, and I yo-yo through the stages of grief with irritating regularity."

"It's understandable," Nathan said quietly, sympathy blurring the careful spirals of his defensive pattern. "I wouldn't have pushed this on you right now but I was concerned that you'd be worried about what might happen next. You have enough to deal with, without that."

Manuel nodded. "But Mr Wisdom is returning to the Mansion, is he not?" he said with a sudden terrible weariness.

"No." Nathan thought about that conversation in Chicago, then shook his head. "I don't think that's in the cards, Manuel."

Manuel smiled. "Oh, that's a relief. He may not be coming after me next, but the last thing I wanted was to live the next however many years under the same roof as him. It will be difficult enough to process Amanda's cowardice and betrayal without adding any more to the pile." he said through gritted teeth. "But I'm not going to discuss her with you. I know how she feels about you, and right now I think that you will get your wish from so long ago. She will be free to see someone more appropriate, someone more stable, more of what she needs."

"Amanda is... pretty much immaterial to the reason I'm here," Nathan said, "and you're right. I don't want to discuss her." With Manuel, or with anyone. "Whatever choices you and she make are your own. I have no opinions anymore." He took a deep breath, ignoring the ache of his ribs, then let it back out again. "There was a little more to what Pete asked me to tell you."

Manuel leaned back in his chair. "I am breathless with anticipation as to this new revelation from our wayward assassin." he said sarcastically.

"He isn't coming after you," Nathan said, "but that doesn't mean he won't defend himself if you should ever decide to come after him." He smiled, without humor. "It's one of the lingering consequences of revenge, you know. Forever having to look over your shoulder."

Manule smiled thinly. "He's a professional. He took my father down, on his own turf, through his security. Even with my power, I wouldn't last thirty seconds." he admitted. "I know that there will be no justice for him. I am not entirely sure he even deserves any. And, of course, since Mr Wisdom is a fine, upstanding citizen there will be no repercussions to him, no consequences. Only his conscience, and you will forgive me if I'm not going to trust myself to the conscience of a trained killer."

"Oh, there are always consequences. Not of the kind you'd prefer, perhaps, but trust me... you always pay a price for revenge." Nathan's gaze was distant for a moment, as he remembered... no. No need to go there. He focused back on Manuel. "I was worried," he said, "given how you feel about family honor."

Manuel smiled thinly. "I have compromised or abandoned so many principles already, really, what's one more? My fellow students don't give a shit about family honor, or even about families in general. So why should I? It just isolates me more from them. I should be glad, I suppose, that mine is gone now. Makes me fit right in."

"You don't need to be glad," Nathan said softly. "Hyperbole or otherwise." He paused for a moment. "No one's asking you, or expecting you, to be glad about any of it."

"Except Amanda." he said bitterly. "But we are not going to speak of her." He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself. "If I leave her out of things, I almost feel like this is something I can work through on my own."

"Sometimes narrowing your focus," Nathan said, choosing his words carefully, "is the only way to survive things like this."

Manuel quirked an eyebrow. "Are you saying what I think you are saying?" he asked.

"I'm saying that right now," Nathan said with a sigh, "the... complication, is not here." He looked up at Manuel, unable to quite hide his discomfort. "This is coming perilously close to me sticking my oar in. But one thing at a time, Manuel. The most immediate thing."

Manuel smiled bitterly. "No, the complication took her cowardice and fled back to merry olde England." he said bitterly, ignoring with fine style that he'd told her to go and made sure that she would by poking her in very sensitive bits of her brain. "I wish I could forget her and just move forward. It would make things so much easier."

"One thing at a time, Manuel," Nathan said, and thought that he had probably said enough. "I should go. Before Moira gets back to the room, finds that I'm not there, and sends out search parties."

Manuel waved a hand dismissively. "Go, then." he said. What Nathan wasn't getting is that the two issues were intertwined, and resisting his every attempt at unravelling them.

He supposed he could consider himself dismissed, then, he thought wryly, with a trace of real relief that was thankfully well-hidden from Manuel. He'd been half-afraid of getting pulled back into the morass that was Manuel's mental state even on good days. "Take care of yourself," he said idly over his shoulder as he wheeled back out into the hall.

Manuel barked out a laugh at that notion, but let it pass unchallenged.