Scott and Betsy; medlab

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

In between reconstructions, Betsy checks in on Scott and his aggravated condition. Some days it's good to be this close.....



Her hand went to her forehead, casually pulling her hair away from her face. Leaning against the far wall of the infirmary with her arms crossed over her chest, Betsy tilted her head and smiled down at him. "You know, it's usually you asking me how I'm faring? But somehow, I think I'm managing better than you at the moment."

"Mmm. I don't know," was Scott's murmured reply from the bed. He'd actually been sleeping - not soundly, but he'd take whatever he could get at this point. Betsy's arrival at the door of his room hadn't woken him up. The awareness that he was being watched had. "You're looking a little worn yourself, you know."

"Aw, Scott." Betsy cooed. "You always know just the right thing to say to a girl." She moved to his side, pulling a chair by his side, and sat down. Betsy brought her hand down to his shoulder and squeezed. "You should've said something," she said softly. "Anything."

"Honestly thought it was just stress. It's not like it's been a very good spring thus far." Scott shifted, wincing, and his jaw clenched at the wave of nausea. Was Amelia going to keep him in here? He hoped not. People were liable to start missing him at some point soon, and he'd been hoping to avoid that.

"Yes, well, we all know your lovely track history of handling stress, don't we?" Betsy said with a grimace. "Now, this may seem like a completely idiotic question but how are you feeling, truly?"

"Like warmed-over shit. Although at least not warmed-over shit vomiting blood anymore - something Amelia included in the little cup of pills seems to have helped." He shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position, and gazed up at her assessingly. "Don't worry about me," he finally said quietly. "You've got enough on your plate this week."

"Thought as much," she muttered. "Don't think I'm being too forward now," Betsy said with an impish smile. "But this is for your own good." Rising from her seat, she moved her hand from his shoulder, gripping his forearm. She shifted then her tall slender figure onto the bed and into the space left just in front of him with little trouble. Taking his arm and wrapping it over her waist, Betsy exhaled. "This way, you'll actually get some rest and I'll get to watch over you and still manage not to fall head first on the ground."

"Well... if this means you get some rest too. Suppose I could manage not to spring off the bed and run for the hills." There was the sense of humor. Amazing. Also amazing was the fact that he wasn't pulling his arm back where it belonged, mostly because he didn't care if anyone opened the door and saw them like this.

It wasn't as if he had a wife whose reaction to this he needed to worry about, did he? Besides. Betsy was tired and worried, he could tell, and if this let her rest... and who was he kidding, there was a whole lot of selfishness going on here, on his part. But he didn't care.

"Stop thinking so much," Betsy grumbled, her eyes already closed. "And no, I didn't sense that," she added, actually picking up on his errant thought then. "You do know by now that you've always had a tendency to tense when in the habit of over-thinking in bed. Now, please for both our sakes," she scooted closer to him, the space between them non-existentent and sighed happily. "Sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," Scott murmured, closing his eyes.