Butterfly Effect: Part Three

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

As Jean did, Nate finds himself in the gazebo where he comes in contact with Betsy's subconscious.



Another visitor had come. Yes, he would understand. He was the one they had been waiting for. The tall red-haired woman could not grasp the story, her mind not tainted enough to understand the violence behind what must be known.

And the story must be told. Too much time has been wasted, trapped behind this great wall built by the treacherous.

His footsteps could be heard, traveling along the gravel path toward the gazebo and toward us. Yes, they thought, gloriously. It is time.

Nathan walked slowly down the gravel path, looking warily around him. Mindscape, definitely, and he was deeply into it, whatever it was. High level of verisimilitude, which suggested another telepath. If he'd been asleep when... whatever had happened, had happened, it would have made more sense. But he was most likely keeled over at his desk.

He spotted two figures in the gazebo, watching him. One was Betsy, dressed in white, and he raised an eyebrow. Fair was fair, he supposed, and he had certainly tugged her into his mind before.

The other figure, also dressed in white, wore its' mask menancingly as Nathan approached. Katana blade in hand, it stood at attention, waiting for something.

"It took some time to bring you here. You were...damaged." Betsy said, staring evenly at the man approaching the steps. She turned her head curiously at him. "Your mind was almost too fragile to try. We tried the other, the woman, but she did not understand. But the story must be told and we are desperate."

"Well," Nathan murmured quietly, "I'm here. If you want to tell me something, I'm listening." There was some pain, but it was at a distance, and he had a certain amount of faith that Charles was on the case and would disentangle him and whoever else Betsy had tugged in here if need be.

The representation of Betsy smiled eagerly. "Yes! We knew you would be the one." She stepped aside and the citadel moved dangerously close to Nathan before pushing passed him, moving down the steps and disappearing before it reached the bottom.

The scene rippled slightly and the Citadel returned, standing in the center of the room. This time, an elderly man sat on his hunches, keeping his gaze down but obviously aware of the blade at his throat.

"What is it you want?" The old man asked calmly. "I am merely a reformed man, a teacher, and once, even a father. "

"Do you see?" Betsy asked enthusiastically. She stood next to Nathan, looking on the scene with repressed glee. "It is too much for even me to ignore. But she remains blind." Betsy snorted. "Blind to the truth."

Nathan eyed the masked figure warily, then looked at the elderly man. "Is it a memory?" he asked, wondering just how conscious Betsy was of the fact that it was a mindscape, if at all. "Or a representation?"

"Trickier and trickier," Betsy said gleefully, clapping her hands together. She moved toward the pair acting out the scene, standing at the ready position once again. "Look, look." She pointed at the blade. It was the blade Betsy received from Logan before he left the school. "Can you not see it? It is both!"

The masked warrior pulled the mask up, revealing her face. The smooth features of an asian woman, high cheekbones stared blankly at the man beneath her. "You are no longer a father, old man. I am here to end that burden."

"Kuan-Yin," the man cried. "Do not. I am not lost to you."

"You are wrong." The sword faltered for the brieftest of moments before coming up high and deftly. The sound of something falling hard onto the floor, only to be followed by the old man's body slumping forward.

The scene played out again and again. Betsy watched Nathan intently. "Do you see it?"

Nathan looked away from the death scene as it repeated ad infinitum, and met Betsy's eyes. "I think I do," he murmured, thinking of his own tangled memories. "There's truth in it, but it's a truth you don't see when you're awake and aware."

"Yes, yes! He understands! He sees," Betsy turned around Nate, then walked over to the old man's decapitated form, looking curiously down at it. She tilted her head up as the katana blade came to her own neck and she smiled happily. "And you, wish it to not come to pass. But it will. I have seen to it."

"They will not understand," said the representation of Kwannon. "Even he does not fully understand it yet."

Betsy's smile grew, dark and feral. "But they will...."

The sword was pulled back as Kwannon moved to strike. Betsy's eyes remained closed, her arms outstretched, welcoming it.

Even knowing that this was a mindscape, and that in Betsy's state, interfering might do more harm than help, Nathan instinctively tried to reach out and change his surroundings, keep the blade from striking home.

But then the mindscape changed around him, of his own accord, and he was somewhere else.



*****

Shiro discovers where Betsy went off to last March.



The street was lit with overhead billboards and tickers. They reflected on her somber face, as she continued walking toward the one door that remained dark amongst the citylights. Betsy held onto her resolve and rapped on the door. Beady eyes revealed itself behind a moving plate placed at the center of the door. "Your business here?" the clipped voice questioned in Japanese.

Betsy stared down the door, her mind searching out that particular lock to allow her entry but could find nothing. She looked down and kept her expression from showing her dismay. She wasn't surprised that he was resistent to psychic manipulation. It was the way this world moved about. But she had been looking to trying that Jedi Mind trick. No matter. She gave the password Devin had provided earlier and the door swayed open.

The first thing to assail her senses were the deep, heedy smells emanating from inside. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but pushed past the tall figure with lank black hair. He resembled a snake more than a man but he remained at his post and slammed the door loudly behind her. "Our constituents will appreciate a woman of your figure and grace." Betsy turned curiously at him but pushed on. The second thing that gave her pause were the women dancing on stage.

One minute, Shiro had been getting ready to start a project for class. A little purple butterfly fluttered in through the open window and landed on his head. The next minute, Shiro was here. Despite the darkness, though, something told him that he was home. "Tokyo?" he said aloud to no one in particular, looking around. It wasn't his Tokyo, though. It was too dark and smelly and not noisy enough to be his metropolis. No, he was in Yakuza territory.

How the hell had he gotten here? He hadn't been sent to Asgard again, he hoped. Then he heard some voices behind him. Turning again, he saw a woman knocking on a door. Her voice was all too familiar. "Ms. Braddock?" But she didn't respond. The door opened, and he quickly resolved to follow her.

Searching Devin out, Betsy found him sitting at a table in the back. The table cast in shadow, kept his fair features hidden. A gai-jin in no man's land. Blaise obviously knew the art of self-preservation after years of being station in Japan as a British operative. He reached for his glass and tipped it toward her as he brought it to his lips. The glass disappearing into the shadows with the rest of him. Betsy walked past the men huddled over the bar as they watched the geishas commit to the fan dance, her eyes locked on the dark space only a few feet away. She reached him and took the seat opposite his and waited.

Finally, she allowed herself to look around. She noticed that there were several curious faces looking in her direction. #Look away!# Betsy commanded. And all the inhabitiants within had returned to their oogling of the dancers. But there were two that still watched, hidden by smoke and raucous laughter of the room to be noticed.

"You do know how to make an entrance," Blaise's voice said cuttingly. "Eh, Braddock?"

Shiro followed Betsy, his eyes wandering all over the place. He wrinkled his nose. He couldn't smell anything, but the looks of the place told him all he needed to know. Disgusting.

Shiro tried to pull out a chair so he could sit down next to Betsy and this other person, but found that his hand went directly through it. He looked at his hands, and then tried to touch the table. He moved through that as well. He was incorporeal.

"What the hell is this? Ms. Braddock, can you hear me?" he asked, trying to keep the frantic tone out of his voice.

Betsy turned in Shiro's direction, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Oi, Braddock!" The light brown haired man, peered forward looking curiously at Betsy before shaking his head and chuckling to himself. "You tell me you need to meet. That you couldn't take no for an answer. And now that I'm here, am not enough to hold your attention." After a moment, he realized that she was rapt up in something. "Bloody telepaths," Devin Blaise hissed, bringing the glass to his lips.

"Tell me about Matsuo and the Hand," Betsy said with conviction. She shook the odd sensation and turned back to the man in black. "Don't give me that look. I wouldn't have risked your cover if it weren't important."

Shiro's spirits lifted when he thought that maybe Betsy did sense him. But then her question was like someone dumping an ocean of cold water on him. He stumbled backwards, eyes wide and jaw dropping. The Hand? What did Betsy have to do with them? Granted, Shiro didn't know much about them himself, but he'd heard the legends and rumors. And his limited experience with the Yakuza had taught him not to discount anything.

"Bad business to ask those sort of questions here." Blaise tipped his glass towards the unassuming masses. "You see this place," he commented. She nodded her head, never taking her eyes off of him. "They run it. Hell, they run this whole city and they do it with stark efficiency. They even have them a group of trained assassins, the Yakuza." He leaned forward even more, placing his arms on the table. "But what I'm wondering here is, why do you want to know, considering you've given up the business and are..." He cleared his throat, clearly amused. "Teaching at that school in the states doing....."

"Don't you worry why I'm asking," Betsy stated calmly, though she looked quite irritated. "Tom said you'd be the one to tell me what I needed to know, being the foremost expert on organized crime within Southeast Asia. Look Blaise. Devin." She stopped mid-sentence and bowed her head. Her head felt heavy all of a sudden and she turned away, staring up at where Shiro stood. Her amethyst eyes locked with his and she looked ashamed. "I hurt some people because of them and I want payback. Tell me what I need to know."

"You must be joking," he said, backing up another step. "The Hand does more than simply flip out and kill people!" This was getting scary. Where was he and why was Betsy investigating The Hand? He wanted out. This was just a dream, he told himself. A product of his own imagination.

"I'm serious," Betsy continued. "I, more than most, understand the nature of these people, but this is important. I need to know."

"Fine," Blaise relented. He looked around, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. Sinking deeper into the shadows, he placed his glass back onto the table. "Let's head someplace a little less conspicuous, shall we?"

She stood up with him and headed toward a partitioned part of the club. A man, recognizing Blaise holstered his weapon, a semi-automatic weapon, and the two went down the stairs, disappearing into the bowels of the building.

"Chikshou," Shiro swore. He should follow them, try to find out what the hell was happening. But before he took a step forward, he recognized a familiar figure by the staircase. "Cyclops!" he cried out. Shiro didn't make it to him, though. The moment his foot left the ground, the world shifted.



*****

Looking for information from an old friend, Betsy follows Devin Blaise into the bowels of the club, and it is there things take a darker turn with Scott as an unwilling viewer.



She resisted the urge to head back upstairs and walk plainly out of the club, taking the next plane back to England. And yet, there was this frenzied look on Devin's face - as he led her to an emptied stock room filled with boxes of liquor, beer, and uniforms - that made her stay.

The space resembled a catacombs with the absence of light and the sheer number of rooms hidden in the basement, all lacking doors. Devin came to a stop and then began pacing back and forth. "Look, Betsy...." he started.

She watched him, his mind running at break-neck speeds. He was more than concerned, he was frightened. "You're backing out, arent you? You're not going to help me?"

He stopped in the doorway, leading deeper into the basement, and stared blankly at her. "Do you know what's going on here? You've been SEEN! They know you're asking questions and we both know that this will only end bad. If you tell me why you're doing this --maybe I can help?"

She narrowed her eyes, looking like dark slits in the poor light. "Well, well, the Great Debonair Devin Blaise has finally cracked under the pressure." Betsy squared her shoulders and shook her head, disappointedly. "I see no point in staying here any longer."

It hadn't taken Scott long to figure out what had happened. It wasn't as if he was unfamiliar with mindscapes, first of all, and the sudden transition from changing back out of his leathers in the locker room after a Danger Room scenario to being... here, wherever here was, had been enough to tell him that something strange was going on.

Spotting Betsy and a man he didn't know, he'd followed them, watching but not trying to interfere. How had he managed to get caught up in her delirium? Scott thought, frowning at the argument. Wasn't she being shielded in medlab?

"No, Betts." Devin started. "Wait."

She had already turned to leave but at the sound of her name Betsy turned around. It was then, a heavy hand came into contact with Devin's jaw and Betsy saw his body fall to the floor.

"Don't mind 'im," the gruff voice stated. A man with arms twice the size of her body came into view and Betsy took a hesitant step back. Her eyes wide and alert. "Look like he needed a nap, anyway." The man, no scratch that, the Building, kneeled down in front Blaise, studying him curiously. "What do yer think?"

"Yea," another voice called out from behind her. "Did 'im'a favor, methink."

Scott started forward, instinctively, but then arrested the movement. Mindscape, he reminded himself. Maybe one that was more interactive than it looked at the moment, possibly, but if he got involved there was the chance that he could miss something. Some detail that might tell him what was going on, how he could help Betsy.

Looking at Blaise, she assessed his injuries from where she stood. His mind was still intact though she knew the blow was hard enough to know that he'd regret waking up. If he woke up, at all. She turned her back toward the far left wall, keeping the two at each side. She panned her head to the first assailant to her left and then to the second on her far right. And while she did so, she scanned the rest of her surroundings. There was no one else, hiding in the rotting foundation of the club. So, when she dealt with these two oafs, she and Devin would be home free. But how did she missed them in the first place?

Adrenaline flowed, igniting muscles and tendons into action. She unsheathed her sais from her sides, silver and three-point knives with leather wrapped handles.

"Oooh, look," Jonesy said, unimpressed. "She's bringing out her toys."

This had to be a memory, not a dream. The level of detail, of realism was too high; there were none of the telltale signs that this was a creation of her subconscious. Having been linked to two telepaths in his life, Scott knew what to look for when it came to that.

Flicking her wrists, the air whistled, as the sais cut through it, signaling the attack. Jonesy rushed her from the right. Betsy took a step forward, her sai, cutting diagonally in front of her just as the man fell cautiously back. A yelp told her that she'd made contact with him, yet she was not satisfied. Betsy flipped the sai in her hand, holding the sharp prong in her hand, and smacked Jonesy twice with the blunt end. If he hadn't ducked down the first time, she'd have taken his head, and wouldn't have to resort to such brute force. Pity.

Betsy backed away slowly as Jonesy fell to the floor in front of her.

"You'll pay fer tha'," warned the Building, as he regarded his wounded comrade. Now, he began his attack, circling cautiously around her.

Scott watched, warily. The savagery of Betsy's attack... hadn't really surprised him. It was perfectly obvious that she would have killed the man had he not taken that step back.

"I'm shaking in my combat boots," Betsy replied, unphased. She followed him, as he made one rotation around her. "Do you really want to do this?"

"When I'm through, you'll be beggin' fer me to end yer life."

"Not bloody likely."

The Building charged and Betsy backflipped. As she completed her turn, he was right on top of her, but it didn't matter. She'd released her burden and it found its' mark. He hadn't expected it and she rather felt sorry for him as he fell to the ground, gasping.

"One inch higher and I'd have pierced your heart," Betsy said as she stood over him. "Two inches to the left, your lung." A drop of red fell into her hand. Her nose was bleeding. When did she manage that?

Jonesy rose and staggered toward her. Betsy pointed her untainted sai at him, yet keeping her eyes locked on the Building. "You'll be wise and stay down," she warned. "And we'll have your friend here tell me who sent you or he'll bleed out."

"No need, Elisabeth." A woman's voice replied from behind. A sharp pain shot through her skull and her free sai fell to the floor. Disoriented, Betsy felt another sharp pain at the base of her neck. She turned around, searching out the owner of that voice. Betsy's eyes went from Blaise, the two incapacitated men, and then the barren shadows. She saw nothing.

"Besides, I wouldn't want Blake to suffer because of a simple misunderstanding."

Betsy's knees gave way and she fell to the floor. There was a syringe at her feet but it was too late, she'd already passed out.

Scott stared at the woman who'd stabbed Betsy with the syringe, trying to memorize her face, file away the details. He had only an instant to do it, however, as the mindscape flickered around him, he was abruptly somewhere else.



*****

Time has passed but Shiro finds himself in a room full of trained assaisins and one British woman.



Shiro promptly fell on his ass. Swearing again, he looked up. He was in some room, and the walls were lined with men in business suits, all armed. Yakuza, he supposed. In the middle of the room stood Betsy and a Japanese man whom Shiro did not recognize. But the sight sent chills down his spine.

"Yoku irasshaimashita, Matsuo." Betsy said in greeting, bowing in respect to the man in front of her. Her gaze shifted to the bodies surrounding her, recognizing most of them. "Hayabusa, it is also good to see you." Betsy straightened up, amused at the astonish expression on Falcon's face. He was always the most excitable of the bunch. Her smug expression was slightly discolored by the series of bruises on her face, disappearing into the collar of her shirt. She looked weaker, drawn in, but her face remained defiant. Something had happened since Shiro had seen her last in the Geisha bar.

"She's a telepath, you idiot," a voice cut in, irritably. "Like the other."

"You are very bold, Lady Braddock." Matsuo said after a few moments. "Coming here. It is unwise to burrow into the matters of the dead."

Shiro thought he was going to pee his pants. No only was he now surrounded by a legion of The Hand (much worse than anything the Yakuza could dream of, in his opinion), but he was also in the same space as its fabled leader, Tsurayaba Matsu'o. Shiro couldn't get to his feet, but he could see into Matsuo's eyes from where he sat on the floor. It was like staring into an abyss.

"But it looks like you've already learned, if I'm to take these bruises as evidence." His English was spoken with immaculate pronunciation, the mark of western schooling. Betsy kept perfectly silent, taking in the visage of the man before her, like a memory coming to the surface. She knew he was a lover of all architecture. That he fought with every fiber of his being. Fluid and powerful. There was an insatiable passion within him, so much so that consumed all those flocked around him like moths to a raging fire. And they all fell to his mercy, grateful to be in his presence.

Betsy knew such things as she also knew that he would seek her out if she pushed deep enough. Hard enough. He would search her out. She kept her eyes boldly on his, knowing no fear.

You shall show some respect," one henchman said as he came toward her, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He knocked the back of her knees out and she fell unceremoniously to the floor.

"I came because I needed to know why," Betsy said, grinding her words and forcing back a cry of pain.

"Why what?" Matsuo asked curiously. He was a man rarely used to being questioned and he entertained her frivalities for the moment.

"Why you had Kwannon kill her father?" Betsy questioned, emboldened. "She was yours. He no longer had a hold on her, yet you insisted he die by her hands!"

"He's a fucking lunatic!" Shiro shouted, relieved beyond words that neither Matsuo nor his men could sense him (or so he desperately hoped). "You do not talk to The Hand. The Hand does not exist. Just leave them alone, Ms. Braddock."

Betsy's chest heaved. "And she did it." She began laughing, sounding quite hysterical. The unknown man behind her stood menancingly close, ready for word to lay down the striking blow. "She did it and then you...." Betsy winced, as if hearing something unseen. Looking up behind Matsuo, Betsy saw Shiro again and her eyes widened.

"And then I what," the leader of the Hand prodded.

Her breathing grew ragged. Again, she felt another swill of pain running through her. She shook her head, her eyes staring up imploringly at Shiro. Go away, they said. This is not for you to see.

"Where am I?" he asked her. "Where are you? Or better yet, when am I?" Shiro finally managed to stand up, but that was a pointless exercise. The moment he was back on his feet, his world shifted again, and he was falling.

He jumped up with a start, and heard the sound of an office chair crash behind him. He was back in his room, his desk a mess and his chair on the floor. He was breathing heavily, eyes darting around his room. Was this real or another dream?

He didn't take any time to find out. Hopping over the chair, he ran out of his room and flew down the stairs, heading straight to the one person who could tell him what was going on: Professor X.



*****

Jean finally makes contact with Betsy.



She'd lost sight of Brian. One moment, they were in the Grand Foyer of Braddock Manor and now, she was in her father's study with Jean. Betsy stared increduously at the woman before her. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Mainly?" Jean said. "Trying to figure out what's going on. This is your mind, Elisabeth, and your... memories?" They didn't have the unreal feeling of dreams, but the fact that the woman could see and respond to Jean's presence suggested lucidity. "Can you tell me why I'm here?"

Her hand went to her head. "I was at a cocktail party and then..." She closed her eyes. Her thoughts were as murky as Moira's coffee when left out too long. Wiggling her fingers, she realized she couldn't feel them. Numb. "Bloody hell," she heaved, collapsing into the armchair behind her.. "What's happening to me?"

That Jean could answer. "You're sick. Some sort of virus that's laid you out. And, apparently, seems to be affecting your telepathic control."

"I can't feel my hands," she said, trying to massage the feeling back into them. She shook visibly, trying to displace the sensation. "I don't remember anything. Though my head feels like its' been recently used as a pinata." Her face looked drawn in, sickly. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked up at Jean. "Where am I, now?"

Jean could tell she didn't mean where in her mind - she certainly had a better chance at knowing that than Jean did. "At the school, in the medlab. We're trying to isolate a cure. Or we were. Given I'm here, it's more accurate now that they are working on it." She hesitated. "Do you know, am I the only one you've... pulled in?"

"More? Here?" Betsy replied disbelievingly. She looked curiously passed Jean's shoulder and stood up. Walked over to the window and placing her hands firmly on the sill. she stared out onto the grounds. Betsy appeared to be focused on something on the outside. Unseen. With some exertion, Betsy looked back at Jean, her voice shaking. "Five or six....maybe more? But I can't see where they are. They're blocked from me!" A trail of blood leaked slowly from Betsy's nose, yet she remained oblivious. "Why can't I see them?"

This was Elisabeth's own mind, and so there really were only two answers to that question. And Charles wouldn't do that. "Why aren't you letting yourself see them?" Jean asked quietly. "What are you keeping locked up that you don't want to know?" And why are you showing it to everyone else?

"I don't know," she said, confused. She stared at her hands intently just as a droplet of blood fell into her open palm. Her head felt like a split coconut and she was manifesting her illness here. "I'm not even sure if you're really here right now."

A rumble from outside drew Betsy's attention back to the window. The clouds had darkened. Black sky against grey clouds, a storm was rolling in and fast. A loud crack from above sent Betsy into action. Grabbing Jean's shoulders with both hands, she began speaking rapidly "You have to go. I don't know what's going on, but it isn't safe here. " Her nose began to bleed again. "Go, please go!"

A split second decision and Jean was shaking Betsy's hands off. "I'm not going anywhere," she told the other woman. "Not if I can help." And the fact that she didn't know if she could leave wasn't even a factor.

"But you can't help it," Betsy countered. Her eyes slightly unfocused, the lower part of her face streaked with red, as she stared at a spot just above Jean's shoulder. "You have no choice in the matter."

"You'd be surprised..." Jean said, but even as she said it she caught a flicker of motion in the corner of her eye and spun towards it. Already, though, the white figure was in range and her sword swept down. This time the sword did not pass between Jean and Betsy but rather through Jean.

With a gasp Jean started up, almost falling off the couch. Breathing heavily she glanced around the room, remembering where she was. "Betsy..." In less than a second, Jean was out of the office and heading towards the main room of the medlab.



*****


Kitty is the last to fall and finds the most important bit of information to this ever-changing puzzle.



Biotech Laboratories based in Malden, England was the predominant facility for genetics. It's halls laden with scientists, running from office to office, all focused in their inner personal bubble and none would ever notice the young girl amidst their ranks.

Blond hair and blue eyes looked up at all their coats of white, wide-eyed and obviously lost. A pair of warm, welcoming hands picked her up and the young girl giggled, as she danced through the sky.

"Come on, Betsy," the young man said to the little girl, as they continued down the hall. "Mum and Dad are waiting for us."

Kitty stared around in confusion, completely confused. Where was she? What was this place? How had she gotten there? She caught the name 'Betsy' and looked around, hoping perhaps her teacher was here, but it was just a little girl. Although Kitty wasn't sure what the little girl was doing here, either. Curious, she followed the young man and his sister, wondering when someone would start asking who she was and why she was there. Although so far they seemed to be ignoring her. Or not even seeing her? The trio stopped in front of the double doors leading into the laboratories within the structure. James bent over slightly by the door panel and Betsy slammed playfully at the red button, letting the doors open with a loud swish. He set her down as she went careening down the hall, turning to the last door on the left, and running headlong into her father. "Daddy," she called out as she hugged his leg.

"What are you doing here?" He asked curiously.

She took a deep breath before speaking. It was an important message and she knew by the tone of it she would have to say it right. "Mum said to tell you that you were finish with work for today and that Jamie and me could...'drag you out of here or she'll come in and get you herself..'"

James came up behind the two of them, scratching the back of his head, and smiling sheepishly. "I don't think she was joking, dad."

"Neither do I, son."

Nobody had remarked on Kitty's presence yet, but maybe the two children just hadn't seen her... Fighting back the slight panic that perhaps her ghostly mutation had finally taken the next step, Kitty tried to get the man's attention. "Excuse me?" she said. "I don't mean to intrude, but... can you help me?"

"Oh, look what we have here? What is this?" James Braddock, Sr. said pulling out a stuff dog he'd been hiding from behind his back, sharing a look of amusement with his son, as his youngest child squeeled and hugged her new toy lovingly. With a look precariously to his office, Senior Braddock realized they were one youngster short. "And where's your brother?"

"Brian is with Paulie," Betsy replied quickly, beaming, as if being tested on the information. "He wanted to look at the micr---microsc-o-pe and the ickie bugs!"

"Ah, right then." Senior Braddock said, knowingly. "Jamie, could you fetch your younger brother and take your sister with you."

Kitty sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. She knew her Betsy had a brother named Brian, but it was almost impossible to recognize her violet eyed teacher in this blonde little girl. She watched the two children leave, wondering if she should follow, but she couldn't resist trying one last time... "Please, sir, can you see me? Am I here?"

He didn't even look in her direction this time, he simply stared at the door, a worried crease forming on his brow. He looked older than his thirty-some odd years, shaking it off, he returned to his office.

Worrying at her lip, Kitty reached out towards a chair, wondering if she'd truly phased out and not realized it. But no, the chair seemed solid enough. With a sigh, Kitty dropped into it. "I don't know what's going on," she said, mainly to herself as it seemed no one else could hear her. "I don't know what to do."

Light footsteps echoed behind Kitty, as young Betsy hid behind a table. She couldn't have been anymore than seven years old and the curious look on her face only made her appear younger. The walls in her father's office were made of glass and yet she moved closer, unknowingly standing in front of Kitty, holding her breath, as she made her way behind a large coat rack settled right in front of her father's office. It was burdened with many white labcoats, and so provided adequate cover for the task.

But that wasn't the interesting aspect to this little tale, what was interesting was that James Braddock, Sr had lost his jovial facade and had begun rummaging through his office, frantically collecting files from various locations and placing them in an uneven stack on his desk. All the files were labeled Namesake with a curious set of codes preceeding them. JB, BB, and EB. Those letters were on every file on their own or with varying combinations.

Kitty's own curiosity piqued, she leaned forward in the chair, watching closely. She glanced over to see the little girl peering out at her father with serious eyes. What was going on here?

"Have to keep these safe," the man kept muttering. over and over again. He looked up at his door in the direction of his youngest child. Betsy hid deeper into the coat rack, closing her eyes. A realization hit Jim Braddock with startling force. "No, no. Keep them safe."

He went to his desk and reached underneath. There was a soft click and the far wall of the room swished opened. Betsy's father walked inside, files in hand. Disappearing into the small room and muttering the entire time. "Yes, keep them safe. I must keep them all safe."

Ok, well, that was interesting. And having something new to think about at least would keep Kitty from fretting. And, if he couldn't see her, that meant he wouldn't see her follow him. Standing up and moving around the desk, she glanced underneath it briefly before following the man.

It was a room, a juncture between Jim Braddock's office and his main lab. This space was a newer addition over the years and something that was built in secret over many sleepless nights these last few years.

With files in hand, it seemed he found the space he'd been searching for. Running his hand along the right side of the wall, James pushed at the plate, and it too, shifted to reveal a three-feet deep square dug into the wall. Carefully, he hid all the files within the space. After all the files had been secured, he placed his hand on the plate and the wall resumed its' normal resting position. Satisfied, he turned back to return to his office, but stopped. His hand went to his labcoat pocket and pulled out a floppy disk. With a lighter in his right hand, he set the disk on fire, watching it burn.

A secret hiding place, inside a secret room. As Alice would say 'curiouser and curiouser'. "So, what are you hiding away in here?" Kitty asked, accepting that he wasn't going to answer. "JB, BB, EB... EB. Elisabeth Bradock?"

A loud noise from the main hall snapped James back from his brooding thought. His children had returned, decidedly dropping the disk into the empty bin, he walked out of the office. Kitty moved to follow them but the scene shimmered, rippled, and dissipated right where she stood.