Scott and Betsy--Three Weeks Ago
Dec. 9th, 2003 11:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-psylocke.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsThis log takes place after this thread. This is well before Emma returns, the new arrivals, and the explosion.
Scott walked into the staff lounge, searching out Betsy. He looked fatigued, lines around his mouth and dark circles that just appeared below the edge of his glasses.
"Hey," he called out when he saw her, a worried smile hidden quickly with a brighter one as he walked over to her. "So what happened with you while I was gone?"
Seated on the leather sofa in the faculty lounge, Betsy supported her book in her left hand, as her head leaned on her right. With her back turned away from the door, she didn't hear Scott enter, but her shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. She looked up to his approaching form. "Oh, hello."
She replaced the bookmark onto the open page and delicately closed the cover. "Actually, I've been putting fear into the student body," she paused. A quick glance at his worn features and Betsy forced back her need to ask how he was doing. "I've been better."
Scott debated squatting on the floor in front of her or sitting on the couch. Since this was likely to take a while, he settled for the couch. Not next to her, but an arms length away. /Some/thing had happened, and he was concerned.
"I thought that was supposed to be my job, Ms. Braddock," he teased lightly, then reached his hand out to cover hers. "Tell me about it."
"Aren't you still upset with me?" She couldn't bring herself to laugh, an undeniable weight had rustled itself in her chest, she recognize the feeling. Guilt. Betsy always hated her conscience.
Looking at his hand on hers, Betsy sighed. "That's the problem, I can't remember."
"I didn't say tell me what you remember. I said tell me about it. Give me your perspective. Dreams? Hallucinations? You said you were imagining things." Scott removed his hand and faced her on the couch,the leather creaking softly as he adjusted his
position. "And it doesn't mean that I'm not still pissed off. But this is more than just you and your own personal choice. It's bigger than that. And you can't hide it from nearly everyone this time."
His voice was soft, but the words were harsh in and of themselves. And he wouldn't change a one.
She bowed her head, hair falling in her face. "No, I can't hide it this time, even if I tried. I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I'm having blonde moments, Scott and I'm terrified." She cracked a grin, hoping to break the seriousness of the mood.
Betsy forced herself to continue. "The long and short of it is. I stole a katana that belonged to Logan. Don't ask me how; I don't even remember doing it. And the worst part is, I have to find it by this weekend,or else, or that's what I got from the teeth grinding. Oh, I've been deemed unfit to be around the students after what happened to Sarah, which I don't remember either. I saw her, said hello, and then there's blood everywhere. I tell you, it's been a great week."
"Shiro mentioned seeing a purple-haired woman practicing with a katana? I'm assuming you've searched your room for it - did you try asking him where he saw you practicing? Maybe it's there."
"I've gone through everything in my room, this afternoon, and found nothing." Her voice strained, her words clipped. "I'm almost afraid to find it."
Scott paused then, thinking about what she had said. "Have you called Essex yet? I don't imagine you'd get a fully truthful answer out of him, but I don't think he'll lie to you." He looked at Betsy then, peering intently at her, though it was hard to tell.
She pulled a stray hair out of her eyes, sharing the same look. "I asked Moira for his number, but no, I haven't called him. Not that I haven't been thinking about it. But, I wanted to...ask you what you think I should do."
"Do you think something might have fractured...mentally...based on the psychic coma you put yourself in after the surgery?"
She gave him a grim smile, "The only person who can answer that is at Muir right now."
"Then call him," Scott replied shortly. "I'd recommend having Hank in on the call, at least listening in. Speakerphone, perhaps? Or some other doctor or medical person you'd trust. They may know more questions to ask." He paused, frowning. "If Emma were back, I'd recommend having her in. I don't think Essex would take it well to have the Professor in on the call. If this has something to do with your mind..."
"Emma wouldn't go for discretion and tact when approaching Nathan, but I wish she were here, nevertheless." She smiled lightly. Scott was actually working out the problem with her. "But, Ithink he would mind. It was why he left the school in the first place, Scott."
Shrugging, Scott gave up on that line of thought. He just didn't have the medical background, nor the psychic one. "Have you talked to the Professor, asked him to do a scan?" The thought brought Scott up short.
He had been going to mention Jean. She had been having problems, and he waited to talk to the Professor. Waited a day too late.
"We already had one session and he didn't find anything abnormal. Though getting him to do another more thorough scan shouldn't prove too difficult." He reached out a hand to her, covering hers, then taking her hand in both of his, pulling her slightly toward him as he leaned toward her. "Go to him. Don't wait. Before you even talk to Essex. Please. Maybe it's nothing, a reaction from the neural surgery. Maybe it's a side effect of the coma. Maybe Essex planted something in your mind. Waiting on this ... just don't. Please." His words became tinged with worry, spoken at a rapid pace that was unlike Scott.
"What?" Betsy looked blankly at him. "Alright. I will. Oh, please don't look so worried, it isn't that grave a matter."
"Isn't that grave? I think Sarah might disagree with you." Scott stood up, walking away from the couch and the woman upon it. "I've had experience with waiting to ask for help, Betsy. I don't want that to happen again." He leaned against the window frame, looking outside. "Triggers. I wonder if there is a trigger. I wouldn't put it past Essex...," he muttered, his breath beginning to fog the glass.
"I know it's not like that," Betsy replied. She watched him as he walked over the window. "I'm only trying to keep from making everything so bleak."
What is wrong with him? She could see it in his stance, the way his shoulders fell. It would probably be something she'd regret, but she bowed her head, focusing on the part of her mind that refused to react. At first, there was nothing. Then slowly, Betsy felt a stirring of emotions flowing off of Scott's body. Confusion. Concern. She looked up at him, not knowing why she was so angry. She gritted her teeth, "I'm. Not. Like. Her."
Turning away from the window, he looked at Betsy, surprised. "Of course not." He wasn't going to pretend he didn't know to whom she was referring with that tight, angry tone. He walked back, this time squatting down in front of her. "You're getting help. You're not ignoring the problem. Hey, we'll get through this together." He reached out for her again.
Jean. Repeatedly, she heard him throw out her name, his worry. Betsy opened her mouth to give him a scathing remark on the behalf of her upbringing, but closed it abruptly. No need to sink to his level, she told herself. She was only his replacement part,another telepath to moon over till her found a better fit.
Cold, dark eyes stared down at Scott and Betsy pulled her hands back. "No, I think not." She stood up to leave, untangling herself from him and his hang-ups.
Scott fell back on his ass with a soft thump, surprised by the cold look and cold words. He watched her go, but couldn't let her leave without comment.
"You asked for my help. Is this Betsy, or whatever Essex did to you that you speaking now? I'd just like to know before I put my hand out again only to get it bitten off. Believe me, if this is Betsy, I won't be offering again."
Betsy stopped in front of the door, refusing to turn around. "Then you'll be doing the both of us a favor now, wouldn't you?" She opened the door and left, taking a walk down the all-familiar halls of the school and not recognizing them at all.
Scott watched Betsy depart, noting her walk, her body language. He needed Doug here, to watch Betsy. He might be able to tell when Betsy was present, and when .... whatever else, was there.
What the fuck did Essex do to her?
He stood up, and dusted himself off, and looked around. Betsy had left her book on the couch. Scott picked it up, and looked at the title.
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders DSM-IV-TR (Text Revision)
He picked it up the thick book and flipped through a few pages. Frowning, he closed the book and took it with him as he left, headed back to his room.
Remember: The walls have ears and paper doors have eyes.
Scott walked into the staff lounge, searching out Betsy. He looked fatigued, lines around his mouth and dark circles that just appeared below the edge of his glasses.
"Hey," he called out when he saw her, a worried smile hidden quickly with a brighter one as he walked over to her. "So what happened with you while I was gone?"
Seated on the leather sofa in the faculty lounge, Betsy supported her book in her left hand, as her head leaned on her right. With her back turned away from the door, she didn't hear Scott enter, but her shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. She looked up to his approaching form. "Oh, hello."
She replaced the bookmark onto the open page and delicately closed the cover. "Actually, I've been putting fear into the student body," she paused. A quick glance at his worn features and Betsy forced back her need to ask how he was doing. "I've been better."
Scott debated squatting on the floor in front of her or sitting on the couch. Since this was likely to take a while, he settled for the couch. Not next to her, but an arms length away. /Some/thing had happened, and he was concerned.
"I thought that was supposed to be my job, Ms. Braddock," he teased lightly, then reached his hand out to cover hers. "Tell me about it."
"Aren't you still upset with me?" She couldn't bring herself to laugh, an undeniable weight had rustled itself in her chest, she recognize the feeling. Guilt. Betsy always hated her conscience.
Looking at his hand on hers, Betsy sighed. "That's the problem, I can't remember."
"I didn't say tell me what you remember. I said tell me about it. Give me your perspective. Dreams? Hallucinations? You said you were imagining things." Scott removed his hand and faced her on the couch,the leather creaking softly as he adjusted his
position. "And it doesn't mean that I'm not still pissed off. But this is more than just you and your own personal choice. It's bigger than that. And you can't hide it from nearly everyone this time."
His voice was soft, but the words were harsh in and of themselves. And he wouldn't change a one.
She bowed her head, hair falling in her face. "No, I can't hide it this time, even if I tried. I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I'm having blonde moments, Scott and I'm terrified." She cracked a grin, hoping to break the seriousness of the mood.
Betsy forced herself to continue. "The long and short of it is. I stole a katana that belonged to Logan. Don't ask me how; I don't even remember doing it. And the worst part is, I have to find it by this weekend,or else, or that's what I got from the teeth grinding. Oh, I've been deemed unfit to be around the students after what happened to Sarah, which I don't remember either. I saw her, said hello, and then there's blood everywhere. I tell you, it's been a great week."
"Shiro mentioned seeing a purple-haired woman practicing with a katana? I'm assuming you've searched your room for it - did you try asking him where he saw you practicing? Maybe it's there."
"I've gone through everything in my room, this afternoon, and found nothing." Her voice strained, her words clipped. "I'm almost afraid to find it."
Scott paused then, thinking about what she had said. "Have you called Essex yet? I don't imagine you'd get a fully truthful answer out of him, but I don't think he'll lie to you." He looked at Betsy then, peering intently at her, though it was hard to tell.
She pulled a stray hair out of her eyes, sharing the same look. "I asked Moira for his number, but no, I haven't called him. Not that I haven't been thinking about it. But, I wanted to...ask you what you think I should do."
"Do you think something might have fractured...mentally...based on the psychic coma you put yourself in after the surgery?"
She gave him a grim smile, "The only person who can answer that is at Muir right now."
"Then call him," Scott replied shortly. "I'd recommend having Hank in on the call, at least listening in. Speakerphone, perhaps? Or some other doctor or medical person you'd trust. They may know more questions to ask." He paused, frowning. "If Emma were back, I'd recommend having her in. I don't think Essex would take it well to have the Professor in on the call. If this has something to do with your mind..."
"Emma wouldn't go for discretion and tact when approaching Nathan, but I wish she were here, nevertheless." She smiled lightly. Scott was actually working out the problem with her. "But, Ithink he would mind. It was why he left the school in the first place, Scott."
Shrugging, Scott gave up on that line of thought. He just didn't have the medical background, nor the psychic one. "Have you talked to the Professor, asked him to do a scan?" The thought brought Scott up short.
He had been going to mention Jean. She had been having problems, and he waited to talk to the Professor. Waited a day too late.
"We already had one session and he didn't find anything abnormal. Though getting him to do another more thorough scan shouldn't prove too difficult." He reached out a hand to her, covering hers, then taking her hand in both of his, pulling her slightly toward him as he leaned toward her. "Go to him. Don't wait. Before you even talk to Essex. Please. Maybe it's nothing, a reaction from the neural surgery. Maybe it's a side effect of the coma. Maybe Essex planted something in your mind. Waiting on this ... just don't. Please." His words became tinged with worry, spoken at a rapid pace that was unlike Scott.
"What?" Betsy looked blankly at him. "Alright. I will. Oh, please don't look so worried, it isn't that grave a matter."
"Isn't that grave? I think Sarah might disagree with you." Scott stood up, walking away from the couch and the woman upon it. "I've had experience with waiting to ask for help, Betsy. I don't want that to happen again." He leaned against the window frame, looking outside. "Triggers. I wonder if there is a trigger. I wouldn't put it past Essex...," he muttered, his breath beginning to fog the glass.
"I know it's not like that," Betsy replied. She watched him as he walked over the window. "I'm only trying to keep from making everything so bleak."
What is wrong with him? She could see it in his stance, the way his shoulders fell. It would probably be something she'd regret, but she bowed her head, focusing on the part of her mind that refused to react. At first, there was nothing. Then slowly, Betsy felt a stirring of emotions flowing off of Scott's body. Confusion. Concern. She looked up at him, not knowing why she was so angry. She gritted her teeth, "I'm. Not. Like. Her."
Turning away from the window, he looked at Betsy, surprised. "Of course not." He wasn't going to pretend he didn't know to whom she was referring with that tight, angry tone. He walked back, this time squatting down in front of her. "You're getting help. You're not ignoring the problem. Hey, we'll get through this together." He reached out for her again.
Jean. Repeatedly, she heard him throw out her name, his worry. Betsy opened her mouth to give him a scathing remark on the behalf of her upbringing, but closed it abruptly. No need to sink to his level, she told herself. She was only his replacement part,another telepath to moon over till her found a better fit.
Cold, dark eyes stared down at Scott and Betsy pulled her hands back. "No, I think not." She stood up to leave, untangling herself from him and his hang-ups.
Scott fell back on his ass with a soft thump, surprised by the cold look and cold words. He watched her go, but couldn't let her leave without comment.
"You asked for my help. Is this Betsy, or whatever Essex did to you that you speaking now? I'd just like to know before I put my hand out again only to get it bitten off. Believe me, if this is Betsy, I won't be offering again."
Betsy stopped in front of the door, refusing to turn around. "Then you'll be doing the both of us a favor now, wouldn't you?" She opened the door and left, taking a walk down the all-familiar halls of the school and not recognizing them at all.
Scott watched Betsy depart, noting her walk, her body language. He needed Doug here, to watch Betsy. He might be able to tell when Betsy was present, and when .... whatever else, was there.
What the fuck did Essex do to her?
He stood up, and dusted himself off, and looked around. Betsy had left her book on the couch. Scott picked it up, and looked at the title.
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders DSM-IV-TR (Text Revision)
He picked it up the thick book and flipped through a few pages. Frowning, he closed the book and took it with him as he left, headed back to his room.
Remember: The walls have ears and paper doors have eyes.
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Date: 2003-12-22 10:47 pm (UTC)What she means by that is someone who shall remain nameless didn't hand in her additions in a timely fashion. *hides under a rock*
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Date: 2003-12-23 09:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 08:00 pm (UTC)