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[x-mactaggart.livejournal.com]

Moira sits in a corner of the library, surrounded by books on chemistry, mutants, and all the science magizines she can get her hands on. She's created quite a good fort out of them, allowing her to still see the door but offers her some privacy. Her mind's racing, trying to process everything that's happened. She sighs, and curls up tighter on her chair.

The door to the library swings open slowly, and Alison almost staggers in. The events of the mission weighing heavily on her heart still, along with the condition they found Bobby in... and what has happened, with Betsy. She leans on the side of the door for a moment, looking over the room, pausing as she sees the book fort. Raising an eyebrow she sighs, and heads for the table, hoping she won't make a mess of this, at least.

Hearing the door open, Moira sits up, just a bit. 'I hope it's nay one o' th' students...couldna handle much an' I dinnae think they need ta see any more o' me dramatics...'

Instead she sees Alison peeks over the books, gazing down at her with a pensive expression. "Hey," she manages, sticking with the simple things for now, not sure she can manage more - keeping to numb for now, because Moira doesn't need to see her uspet or as angry as she could get, if she lets herself do so.

Surprised but kind of not, Moira offers her a broken smile. "'ey yerself...I dinnae think this is be accident tha' ye find me?"

"Saw your email just now," Alison murmurs, offering a ghost of a smile in return. She doesn't add that she saw the Professor's as well first - or that if she hadn't seen his, she's not sure she could have managed to find the courage to crawl out of her room to find Moira either.

Moira moves back slightly, sliding her chair over, silently inviting Alison into the little den of books and quiet. "Aye, I thought ye had." She looks like hell, worse than before, really, but a little more composed. "Ye dinnae look so hot yerself but...one thin' at a time, aye?"

Oh yeah. One at a time. I don't think I can handle expressing myself without doing a whole lot of collateral damage right now, too. The brief surge of emotions, grief and anger, fades just as quickly as it surged, and all Alison shows Moira is a tired sort of agreement. She brings a chair nearby, settling it next to Moira's, and curls up on it, chin resting on her knees. "I'm... glad you reached out." It sounds odd she knows, but she expects Moira will understand what she means. Perhaps in more ways than one.

"Aye, so am I." She looks at Alison and mentally shakes her head. Doug is not the only one to read body language, though she doesn't match his ability obviously. But, again, one step at a time. 'She reminds me o' meself...then an' now...' "It took a lot."

"I can't even imagine," is the simple reply. Alison hesitates briefly, not wanting to push, but then again, Moira did send her that email... so she settles for something she did notice, and that allows Moira room to go where she wants with the conversation, for now. "You've been having nightmares, I'm guessing? The not sleeping thing,it was kind of obvious, not long ago." When we helped Jamie.

"Dinnae think anyone noticed really...then again, ye've a sharp pair o' eyes in tha' 'ead." She sighs. "Sleepin' is jus' one o' me problems. I've been catchin' some odd sleep in here..." Moira reaches over and patts Gregory Mendel's biography on the cover. "Tis quiet an'I dinnae tend ta fall out o' me bed as easily. Plus there's th' guilt an' seein'...him in all o' them..."

Things have been way too wild around here, lately. We all need a break. "The tensions are enough to affect anyone, even without the more... spectacular things that have happened, lately," Alison agrees, nodding minutely. "And a few of those had to - sting..." shaking her head slightly. And for some reason, she can't help but think that perhaps Rory coming over for a visit might be a good thing. A known face and quantity for Moira, in a new environment she has yet to adapt to fully.

"Stin' they did, a lot." She squints slightly. "Ye know, he reminds me o' Kevin. Jono...I dinnae know 'im ta well an' I'm scared fer him." She clenches her hands in front of her.

Alison nods slowly - she's had her own worries and fears for Jono, and still holds them, most of the time. Just - sometimes less near the surface than other times. And if any of the children might have reminded Moira most acutely of her son, it would be Jono. "He's prickly," she says, smiling slightly. Because Jono is, and she doesn't think that would ever change. And that's just fine. "And he's not quite as bad as he was when he got here," though she knows her view on this is biased. She has music to share with him, which has given her a chance to get to know him not all the others have had - and she is friends with Paige. A non-negligible factor at all, though she only know realizes she has been also metering Jono's mental state by relying on Paige's reactions on the matter.

"Nay, he's not. It's jus'..." She takes a deep breath. "Charles knows, obviously, as does Rory since 'e was there. An' one or two other people..." She remembers her fiery conversation with Haroun. "When Kevin's powers reached critical mass, so ta speak, 'is body
couldna handle it. Fer years, we had noticed his body startin' ta decay, be eaten away by what he was holdin' inside o' himself. Kevin...was a reality maniuplator. A verra stron' one. An' his body jus' gave up on our reality." Tears stream down her face but her voice is oddly cold, collected. It's like she's not really speaking. "He was screamin', jus' screamin'. He was 7, how could he 'ave understood why mummy couldna make th' pain go away. I tried ta hold him durin' those last hours but he was so hot...he burned up an' I nearly went wit' him if Rory hadna dragged me kickin' an' screamin' out o' there. I tried ta
kill meself, Alison, by diein' wit' me son but Rory wouldna let me. I was so angry wit' Rory, part o' me still may be, an' me response was ta crawl inta a bottle so deep tha' I didna see th' light o' day fer...a lon' lon' time..." She stops, her body shaking but still looks...not all there.

Wordlessly Alison uncurls from her chair, shifting it even closer to reach over and rest her hands on Moira's shoulders - slowly and carefully, offering what comfort she has while trying to blink away the tears that Moira's words have elicited, the tears speaking oh so much, even though her voice is cold. It's no wonder Jono is such a keen reminder of her son to her - while their power are different, the manifestation is so very similar...

"I cannae stop, really. If'n we had finished th' containment unit in time, if'n we had managed ta do...do somethin'. But we failed. An' tha' is our sin. I believe, Alison, in God. I hate him, I'm so mad at 'im an' I've been mad at 'im since Kevin died." She leans into the contact, just a little, trying not to give in.

A foot hooked through the leg of the chair, brings it a bit closer, and Alison shifts, wrapping one arm lightly over Moira's shoulder. She's not the religious sort, to be honest, but dating someone who is gives you an appreciation of how some react to that, in many ways. "But you've blamed yourself, more than anyone else," Alison murmurs, sighing faintly. There's no blame or censure to her voice - just a quiet knowledge that in a similar situation, Alison knows she'd have blamed herself as well.

She sighs, more in tiredness than anything else and leans in. It's truely been a long time since she's accepted comfort like this. "Aye, I could 'ave been faster, known more...so much I could 'ave done an' ta see it all wasted, ta lose him right as it seem we were makin'
progress."

"You're only human, Moira. All of us," her voice wavers, the dead body of the senotor's son flashing before her eyes briefly. "And sometimes, no matter how hard we try, and no matter how much we want," she takes a breath to steady her voice, "it's just not up to us, how things turn out. And children who should have had a better chance at something... don't."

"But I -had- th' bloody plans...jus'..." She looks at Alison and something cracks inside of her. "Jus' a few days more an'...maybe..." She starts sobbing and cups her head in her heads. "A few days...that was all I was askin' for..."

Just a few more minutes... seconds... and the boy might have lived. Throat tighetning over her own emotions, suddenly aware of the tears streaming down her face steadily, Alison just slowly wraps her other arm about Moira as well, bringing the older woman closer in a firm hug. And hangs on as well, mourning both children, who should have had a life to live, without the fear and pain of their final moments, instead.

Moira holds on tightly, knowing somehow that this isn't only for her comfort. She hasn't cried like this in so long, and it just flows. "I was his -mother-," she whispers, "I was supposed ta be able ta play God. But I failed."

Replies float to Alison's mind, all of them dismissed. Trivial right now, trite and empty. It doesn't matter how much one reminds oneself that being human means being flawed. Means failing. In the face of failure, with the death of a child on one's hands, such things as 'we're only human' doesn't seem to matter so much. Not in the face of 'but I still should have been able to change this'.

And so Alison just nods and listens, clinging to Moira just as Moira is clinging to her, offering what comfort she can, and hoping that one day, she'll find a measure of comfort for the day's events as well. Somehow.

Moira relaxes slightly, still tense but crying less. "It's obvious I push meself. I dinnae sleep well, I dinnae eat. I learned all I could 'bout th' x-gene an' from Kevin's ashes, Muir Island really started. I've done good but...so much I could 'ave done instead. So
much." She pulls away slightly and looks a little more at peace. Not much, it's going to be years before she's come to terms with it. "I...I've never talked aboot it, except wit' Charles an' Rory. Thank ye...it helped, I think."

Alison nods, not really moving herself - but then again, closeness is second nature to her, not something she questions much. "You're welcome," she murmurs, pausing to wipe at her cheeks, closing her eyes briefly. She manages a faint smile after she re-opens them, along with a sigh she can't hold back. "Moira? Can I ask you a favor?"

Moira takes a deep breath, getting herself back to herself really. She's all over the board and she needs to focus. "Aye," she responds, though it's a little shaky from the tears.

"One night a week. We hit a nice coffee place. And just talk. School, students, music, mocking the people that walk by the window of the place... just getting away from things and relaxing. Either I drag you out, or you return the favor to me. Whatcha say?" she takes a deep breath, wondering how to ask the question she actually meant to ask first, and chickened out of saying.

Her breathing eases from the crying and it's almost as if Alison can watch the walls rebuild themselves slowly around Moira. Maybe not as deep or as thick but right now, Moira needs these walls to keep going. She quicks an eyebrow. "Aye, I would like tha'...a lot, really.
've been hidin' in me lab lon' enough, I suppose. An' sometimes...someone needs ta be there fer those who counsel, aye?" She finishes that question softly, looking at Alison. Her own hurt is still there, still simmering, but she's dealing as well as she can.

"Counselor, heal thyself?" Alison smiles faintly, having heard Hank go on a variation of that more than once before. "Something like that, yeah." She pauses, smiles fading. "Moira? What would you suggest as viable alternative or treatment, to help someone stop drinking?"

Blinking in surprise, Moira eases back a bit. Not enough to remove comforting contact but enough so she can look at Alison. "There are...several ways. Fer me? Personally, it took me family an' friends comin' an' kickin' me ass. Me uncle runs a pub on the main isle, so
twas easy ta get me poision whenever I needed it. It took pressure, from them an' meself, it took me findin' other thin's ta sub in fer drinkin'. Me patients, really. Rory. Me da had taught me ta hunt, I started learnin' how ta really shoot." She squeezes Alison's hand
gently. "Ye dinnae have ta answer this but...why?"

"High stress rate of living tends to faciliate that for some," Alison flips her hand around, catching Moira's in hers briefly. "There's someone I'll be keeping an eye on. I hope I get to anyway." If she wakes up. Though not being blind might... resolve that on its own. Maybe. "If I see it happening, I'll rat her out mercilessly to you and get you to help me," Alison nods firmly. "It's - good to know I'd have back-up, on that one." And she can't help but chuckle a bit - the mental image of Moira fetching her hunting rifle to get a point across flitting through her mind.

Moira grins a little bit and squeezes her hand again. "Aye, I went through that hell wit' help. I would nay want anyone ta go through it alone. It's still temptin' but I remember how I was an' I know...I know Kev would nay want me ta be like that." Her voice cracks a little but she looks stronger than she has in some time.

Noting that, Alison relaxes a bit, giving her a quiet smile in response, and trying not to dwell on the fact that she has several kids to hunt down and put through the wringer tomorrow - minus one, whom she thinks she'll let the Professor deal with, for fear of
vaporising a student. "Why your coffee is so damn strong?" she blurts out suddenly, knowing no one else around the mansion has dared ask this point blank so far. "I swear, the stuff ate through a mug once." She blinks, still mildly awed by that fact.

Laughing in surprise, Moira just shakes her head. "Well, ne'er been asked -that- one before! Ye really want ta know? I make a pot an' then I use tha' coffee to make th' next pot...do this 'bout four or five times. Then I add in a wee bit o' molassas ta th' mix. Better'n sugar any day."

A look of mingled awe and horror greets that statement. "Good lord. Never let Lorna know this," she breathes, before starting to chuckle. "No wonder the mug died... I had to laser a layer of the floor in the lab to hide the mark the stuff left on the floor! Hank glared at me and muttered about his precious floor for days!"

"Hah! That's me darlin'. If brewed properly, it'll take th' rust off o' silver. We tried it."

A quiet laugh answers that, and Alison decides that sticking around here for about as long as Moira will put up with her is a good idea. She has no intention of even trying to sleep tonight, really - worry for Betsy keeping her far too awake and the image of Jeffrey, dead and sprawled on the floor where they found him, just waiting to haunt her dreams.

"Speakin' o' coffee..." Moira suddenly turns around in her chair and reaches behind her. With a gentle tug, she suddenly unearths a small, coffee machine looking contraption. The coffee in it looks fresh and she grins at Alison. "I dinnae think we're goin' ta be sleepin' much tonight...but some peaceful talk an' some coffee might make th' mornin' come faster, aye?"

"The things I do for friends," Alison gives her a look of mock terror, but nods firmly. "You're on."