A/N: Basically I thought that while the demon uprising certainly sped things up a bit Nathaniel still would have found his way to a redemption arch even without it. Even at the beginning of P.G. He's starting to distance himself emotionally from his government persona, so this is what I think could have happened if his life continued as normal with him steadily feeling more and more that something is wrong or missing, until he eventually seeks out Ms. Lutyens the same way he did in P.G.

I found Nathaniel in his office, which was not at all unusual for the time of day (1). What was unusual was the state in which I found him. Where normally the boy would be hunched over some piece of government issued propaganda penning out upbeat lies for the common people (2) today he had maneuvered his chair out from behind his great stately desk and parked himself over by the window. He was staring out over a dreary, rain soaked London of into the distance, where, in between towering buildings of steal and iron, one could almost make out trees. The boy looked forlorn and almost wistful, the bags under his eyes were even more pronounced in the grey light. His face was open and unguarded, he looked worn. This had the disturbing paradoxical effect of making him look simultaneously young and very very old. It was clear that his eighteen years of life had weighed heavily on him.

"Hey Natty, I'm back!" I called cheerfully from my position leaned up against the door frame. I was in Ptolemy's familiar form, though outfitted with more modern attire. The boy whipped around, eyes darting about the room for anyone who could have overheard my use of his birth name. Upon realizing we were alone the tension seemed to drain out of him, and he slumped further into his chair like a marionette with the strings cut.

"Hello Bartimaeus," his voice was a hoarse and exasperated murmur. He dragged a hand across his face. "Have you finished your task?"

"I have, Nathaniel" I said, drawing out his name with pointed intention. "And I might add that fetching your damn dry cleaning is not a fit task for a noble djinn such as myself. Me, who conversed with Solomon the wise, me, who built the great walls of Prague, me, an ancient spirit of the other place who has witness the rise and fall of thousands of petty human civilizations, sent to fetch your laundry. It's a disgrace is what it is, it's disrespectful! What will you have me stoop to next, scrub your floors, fluff up your pillow, take out your garbage?"

"Are you quite done?" He cut in, looking not the least bit amused.

"Hey- you listen here buddy!"

But the boy wasn't listening. He was back to gazing longingly out the window.

"What are you even doing in here anyway, this place is a wreck." It was true too, as I looked around I noticed his normally carefully filled and organized documents and poster designs were scattered about the room. Books had been knocked from their shelves, his desk lamp had been overturned. Even the boy himself was more disheveled then I had initially noted, his shirt was wrinkled and the buttons done haphazardly and incorrectly, his hair flopped limp and disheveled against his forehead, and his hands where they lay in his lap were shaking like leaves in the wind.

I took all this in with a pinched frown, "what's the matter with you? Did you loose a fight to your office supplies while I was gone? Had a dangerous run in with the copy machine?"

Nathaniel fiddled and squirmed in his seat, not meeting my eye. "It's nothing, I just- it's nothing."

"Now John," I chided, taking the form of a rather motherly looking master I'd known a few centuries back (3), and crossing the room to ruffle his hair "why don't you tell me what's wrong, hm? I'm sure it isn't all that bad" at my words the boy went ridged like a stone, his face looked even more pinched than usual.

"Don't." He snapped, his voice like ice.

"Come on Nat, you can tell me. What's got your panties in a twist today" I reverted to Ptolemy's form and leaned up against the back of the chair, prodding at his face with my finger.

"Don't!" he said again, but this time his voice broke in the middle, and as he jerked away and scrambled to his feet I noticed a wet gleam in his eyes that indicated unshed tears.

"Er, come on now... no need for that,"

The boy seemed to collapse in on himself as the floodgates opened, his body wracked with sobs.

"Uh... there there.. er, it's alright... or maybe it's not, but carrying on like this isn't helping- oh come now, you're only upsetting yourself"

He had really worked himself into a fit now, face a shade of red bordering on purple, heaving for breath between sobs. Fat tears rolled down his face at an alarming rate. I considered offering him some sage advice, going to fetch someone more equip to handle these messy human emotions (4), or even closing the distance and offering him some physical comfort, but to do any of that would have given the clear impression of caring for him, so I stayed where I was. Finally he seemed to calm. He stood there swaying and wraith like, looking faintly embarrassed, but mostly just tired. Clearly his little episode had taken a lot out of him.

"I talked to an old tutor of mine today," he said in a flat and empty voice, barely more than a breath. "Ms. Lutyens, she taught me art"

"That's nice," I replied distractedly, carefully edging a little closer in case his legs gave out.

"Do you know what she said to me?" He continued "she said she's sorry she couldn't save me" he gave a little laugh, but it sounded hollow. "She thinks I'm beyond saving"

"Mhm" I was within arms reach of the boy now.

"I thought she'd be proud, but..." he trailed off. I placed a hand at his elbow,

"Let's get you to bed." The boy barely seemed to have registered my words, but followed my lead complacently through his workplace down to the car. I gingerly maneuvered him into the vehicle and the driver started towards his home. We did not speak at all during the ride, and did not interact save for my gentle nudging whenever I noticed his eyelids beginning to droop (5). When we arrived I helped him from the car and led him up to his room. The boy moved almost as if in a trance, slow and fumbling as if his body was something distant from himself which he was having difficulty operating. We made it up to his room, though not without some difficulty (6), and between the two of us were able to remove his work clothes and exchange them for a sleep shirt and flannel pajama pants. He settled down beneath the covers and was already drifting off. I turned to leave, but was stoped by a cold hand closing weakly around my wrist.

"Do you think I'm beyond saving, Bartimaeus" Nathaniel mumbled from his pillow.

"What?"

"Do you think there's any good left in me?"

"Oh." I carefully observed my fingernails for a moment, shifting uncomfortably, then sighed. "There's still plenty of good left in you Nathaniel, even if you don't know it sometimes. You have a conscience about you, that's a rare thing for a magician. Despite you're best efforts, you're still good, and you're still worth saving."

I looked down to see what effect my rousing speech had had on the boy... to find him sound asleep with a trail of drool coming down from his open mouth. His hand, which had been clutching my wrist, was now just hanging limply off the bed I placed the hand on his chest overtop the covers and, as an afterthought, pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Goodnight Nathaniel"

(1) or for any time of day, or night really. The boy worked around the clock, barley taking time to sleep or eat. On more than one recent occasion his exhausted secretary had tasked me with wrangling him into bed or forcing meals on him.

(2) "Join the Army, See the World, Bring Glory to Your Country" all conveniently leaving out the high probability of death. In thousands of years on earth, it always surprises me how little war changes. Sure the details and semantics shift, and the weapons get bigger and more efficient in their killing, but at it's most fundamental level it's all the same.

(3) she'd been a plump, aging woman with a kind face and a fondness for cardigans and little half moon spectacles. Unfortunately her friendly outward appearance didn't translate to her treatment of her slaves. I suffered the essence rack many a time at her hand.

(4) his secretary, probably just a few doors down filing paperwork, sprang to mind

(5) while I suspected he would have been easy enough to cary, owing to his sparse eating habits more so than my significant strength, I did not want to suffer the indignity of doing so if it could at all be avoided.

(6) the stairs were particularly problematic