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xp_logs2009-02-01 01:10 pm
x-cable.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2009-02-01 01:10 pm
Nathan, Betsy, and Jean - Sunday
It's Betsy's turn to be the sane one of the trio as she confronts first Nathan, then Jean about all the things they're not facing. Nathan is made aware that continuing avoidance may not, in fact, be tolerated.
The library was quiet; he was a little surprised by that, but he wasn't complaining. The mostly-unoccupied space was kind of nice, actually. Nathan had found an armchair by one of the windows, and had settled down with another couple of African language grammars. His initial plans for the afternoon were long since forgotten, however. He'd slipped into a comforting sort of fugue, staring out at the snowy landscape beyond the glass, his mind nowhere in particular.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Leaning into Nate's space and staring out at the landscape. "Nothing like upstate New York in winter to make you want for a simpler life." Betsy straightened up, brushing out the errant snow from her hair and coat. It was quite a bit of snow, more than the weather suggested. Carefully removing her coat and hanging it up on a nearby rack, Betsy sat down on the arm of Nate's chair. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I warned her. Hell, I warned the lot of them but they couldn't help themselves and well, I was only happy to oblige."
"Snowball fights with the kids, huh?" Nathan's voice sounded rusty, as if he hadn't used it for much longer than just the last couple of hours. "Don't they know that telepaths cheat?"
"I think they failed to reach that portion of the studies that informs them that telepathy is a worthwhile gift when anticipating errant snowballs." She leaned in against him and looked down, smiling softly at him. "Why don't you come out for a bit, two against ten. It's not the best of odds but we'd give them a good show before completely obliterating them. Besides, it'd be good for you to get out."
"Not really up for snow wars, Betts." He managed a faint smile in response to hers, however. "Old and creaky and currently busted-ass, as Kyle would say. What else is new, huh?"
"The attitude," Betsy responded. "I've seen you many ways over the years, Nate and I don't think there are many secrets between us when it comes to how we both feel about any given thing. I've simply never been good at trying to hide something from you. You've always been able to call me on it. You and Alison. It's why when it gets to be too hard I try to keep away." She regarded Nathan for a moment, looking into those hollowed out gray eyes. "But maybe that wasn't the wisest of decisions."
Nathan's eyes flickered back to the window. "We're busy people," he said quietly. "Busy little bees. Don't regret missing my latest misadventures. They're really nothing to write home about."
"Yes, we are." Betsy said darkly. "But we're not too busy to realize when we've left someone behind. Nate, don't you understand that it matters to me because it's happening to you." Frustrated with the dullness surrounding his bright mind, Betsy stood and moved away. "Yes, I know what happened. I can feel the memory of it choking you every time you think of closing your eyes and don't get mad at me for going where I'm not wanted. You've not a tight hold left on much at this moment."
"It's not 'happening', Betsy; it's happened." There was nothing but weariness in Nathan's voice. "Not much to be done about it at this point."
"To hell there's not." A fire burned inside of her, hotter than she expected and every syllable spoken was tinged with forced restraint. She would not let him fall any further. "You aren't working through this, Nate. Our minds work differently. Memories simply do not disappear into the ethos for us. They remain as fresh and as painful as the moment it happened, if we choose it. And for you, you are still reliving it. It is still happening because you can't let go."
Nathan rose from his chair - slowly, like a mountain uprooting itself. The faint smile on his lips as he loomed over her was not a pleasant expression. "You 'know' what happened," he said, almost under his breath. They were in a library, after all. He wondered just how much she actually knew, whether he was leaking or she was prying... hard to tell. She was subtle when she wanted to be. "If you do, really... you shouldn't be surprised in the least. You've known me for a long time, Betsy."
Betsy took a step closer to him, unperturbed by the rivulets of tension coursing through him. "I'm surprised because I have known you for so long. You once told me that I could only control my actions in this life and not to take on the burdens of choices unseen." She placed her hand on his forearm and squeezed. Betsy let her shields fall enough for him to see the truth in what she felt and what she believed. "I love you enough to tell you that the world is not yours to carry, Nathan. It wasn't your fault and I don't blame you for what happened."
Nathan was very still for a long moment, until a faint tremor ran through his too-rigid frame. "Maybe you don't," he said, his voice still very low. "But they do. And they should." And there was one standing over in the shadows by the librarian's desk, watching him with blank blue eyes.
Betsy turned around and saw nothing in the corner. She grimaced and looked backed at Nate and let his mind wash over her, watching as the library changed. It was duller now, grayed at the edges with more shadows than the bright windows would let in.
Staring up into Nate's face, Betsy turned back around, looking towards the librarian's desk, and saw the jarring image of a little girl around eleven years old. Her head was completely shaven and she wore a gray jumpsuit. She had blue eyes that would have been stunning if not for the lifeless flat expression they held. God, Betsy thought to herself. Hallucinations were not the best sign. Why hadn't she been by sooner? Not allowing too much time for errant thoughts, Betsy moved between the pair and tightened her hold on Nate's arm. She forced him to look at her, all the while the wiping away the image of the child, letting her disappear from the space behind her. "Little one doesn't seem bothered, perhaps a little tired." Slowly and carefully, Betsy began to work, to help her friend who couldn't help himself. "She probably needs some rest and that's not such a bad idea come to think of it."
"Don't you d-dare-" But the indignation that flashed across Nathan's features was a passing thing, there and then fading almost as quickly as it had come as the telepathic compulsion slid smoothly past his battered shields. He managed not to quite collapse back into the armchair; it was more of a gradual wilting. His eyelids felt like they had lead weights on them. Say what you wanted about Betsy, she was very good.
Cradling Nate's head as he sank down onto the armchair, Betsy let her hand linger on his cheek before letting it go comb through his hair. "Stubborn git," Betsy said softly. She rose and looked back at the librairan's desk and sighed. ~Jean, I have a bit of problem and I'm going to need your help to be discreet about it.~
~My problem?~ Betsy smiled. ~Well, it's 6'4", unconscious, and very, very heavy. And before you ask, yes, they're still alive.~
---
Nate was asleep in the other room. Well, no, that was an understatement. Nate was deeply, deeply unconscious, because Betsy was very, very good at what she did. There wasn't anything physically wrong with him, at least, nothing new, so there wasn't an easy explanation for why Jean was still loitering about after having gotten the ex-mercenary safely into the bed, but she was. Seated on the couch, elbows propped on her knees as she regarded the purple-haired woman across from her. "I'd say it was good to see you, Bets, but..." She shrugged.
Betsy's lips twisted up at that. "But then we'd all be lying to one another and I, for one, do not have the energy." She regarded Nate's prone form and then looked back to Jean. "How did it managed to get so bad?"
There was another shrug, although Jean didn't meet the other telepath's eyes. "Honestly, I couldn't say. He's been refusing help - I can't treat a patient who won't see me."
"You're joking?" Betsy said incredulously. "He wouldn't see you? He didn't want help?" She took a few steps closer, crossing her hands over her chest. "Jean?! He's in pieces."
"I am aware of that, Betsy," Jean said, her voice tight. "What did you want me to do? I'm not exactly going to whack him over the head and drag him in for counseling. If Charles really thinks he needs that he can do it himself."
"Yes, you do. You force him to do what he rallies against because he's too stubborn to realize it's for his own good." Betsy tried to rein in her anger but Jean's reaction was puzzling enough to set her on edge. "Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?"
"He went away, he came back all shot up. I treated him. Even once he's all healed, he'll be off the team roster until Charles clears him psychologically, because he's not coping with whatever happened, but it's not my job to stage a fucking intervention, Betsy!" And Jean was on her feet, glaring at the other woman. "He wants to pretend he's not dreaming corpses, fine. Not like I can thrown stones there."
Betsy blinked back in surprise. "I'm sorry, what?"
Jean started to snarl something and then stopped herself. Ran what she'd just said through her head again, and then sighed, all the anger seeming to flow out of her along with her breath as she dropped back onto the couch. "Nothing. He's just... never mind. He's having nightmares about whatever happened and he really needs Charles. This isn't something I can deal with. Fix."
Betsy groaned inwardly. When had she become the sane one out of this trio? She pulled the seat chair by Nate's bed and dragged it closer to where they stood. Betsy regarded Jean for a moment before sitting down. "Care to talk about what's been putting you on edge lately?" She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. "And unlike Charles, I prefer having such discussions when it's completely inappropriate."
The look Jean gave her was completely flat, but the mental #Is there anything you do which is appropriate?# was very definitely pitched to be 'heard'. "Where did you want me to start?" she asked, more than a little facetiously. "I mean, one of my best friends, the inside of whose brain is indelibly inked on parts of mine, is 'in pieces', as you so aptly point out, four of my acquaintances, two of whom were students, were horrifically murdered and then came back basically the physical reflection of Nate's psychic trauma and one of whom, I'm practically re-enacting the psyche healing I did for his sister three years ago, and between everybody else's nightmares it's a wonder I even have time for my own. And it's not like I don't have enough of those, given that this time of year last year I was convinced I was twelve, and the year before that my husband almost died, again, and the year before that I went completely round the bed and took up with the Hellfire Club. And, of course, a year before that I was still dead." What little calm she'd regained had once again completely vanished, the words almost tumbling over themselves to get out, and if she were any less stressed Jean would probably be marveling that Betsy, of all people, was the one she was unloading to.
Betsy bit back her normal response. This wasn't about their friendly rivalry, she would not allow Jean to provoke her. "It's quite obvious what you need, Jean, but maybe I'm the only one with enough backbone to tell you that you have a breaking point. Same as me, same as you, and same as Nate here. You both have an overdeveloped sense of duty and responsibility and it's eating its way through the both of you. Honestly, what would you do if one of the other doctors had presented your history without you knowing who the patient was?" Betsy eyed Nate for a moment, her eyes losing the hard edge around them. She looked back at Jean, already knowing the answer. "What would you say?"
Jean scowled and started to reply, then signed and let her head thump back onto the couch. "The problem," she said, staring up at the ceiling, "is that one can't be dispassionate and clinical about friends and family. Living with your patients, working in your home, there's no distance. It all strikes too close."
"Sounds like an excuse," Betsy responded, getting up from the chair and taking a seat next to Jean on the couch. She placed her hand over the other telepath's and smiled, trying to cut out the sting out of her words. "I didn't ask why the patient was presenting, I asked what would you do, Jean. What would you tell them to help them?"
"I need a vacation," Jean said, without looking over - she could hear the smile in Betsy's words, and didn't trust herself not to snap at the other woman if she actually saw it. "And maybe three days of uninterrupted sleep."
Betsy couldn't help the wide grin on her face. "Glad you agree. Honestly, you are much heavier than you look and I would hate to ruin this manicure." Betsy waggled her perfectly manicured nails in front of Jean's face. "I simply love the little white tips."
Jean looked up at that, and there was Death in her glare. "I promise not to ruin the manicure, then, when I rip your fingers off," she said, batting the other woman's hands away.
"You're simply no fun, Jean." Betsy huffed. "Which is part of the problem but at least your odd sense of humor is still intact. You'll take a break," she continued keeping Jean from interrupting. "A few days and I'll help you work through this. It'll be good to get some separation and you'll be back before anyone realizes you've been gone. But first," she sat up and went to the door. "I'd like to make arrangements and ask a few favors to ensure Sleeping Beauty doesn't try to strangle himself with his own TK."
---
He didn't know where he was at first when he woke up. The reaction was instinctive; he drew in on himself, all but curling into a fetal ball, and a telekinetic shield popped into life around him. Just in case. Because it was quiet, but the quiet wasn't reassuring, had never been reassuring...
Then the unmistakable presence there in the room with him registered and Nathan relaxed slightly as he made the rest of the way back to full awareness. "I'm going to kill her," he mumbled, not opening his eyes yet.
"No, you're really not," Jean said. Her voice was dull as she regarded him - he'd relaxed when he sensed her, but there was still such tenseness in him. "You needed the uninterrupted sleep and you know it. Which is not even touching on the hallucination Betsy told me about."
"Did she." Nathan opened his eyes finally, pushing himself up slowly to a sitting position and blinking around at his surroundings without any real recognition. "Well," he said, after a moment. "I have always had a thing about seeing dead people. Overactive projective telepathy. Thanks, Askani."
"Mmmm, yes, of course." Jean shrugged, collapsing back into her chair. "So, this is when I ask you to tell me about the girl and you blow me off again, right?"
Nathan drew his knees up just enough to be able to rest his arms on them. His shoulders hunched, he let his head sag forward for a moment. Needed to relax a little, before his muscles started to spasm in protest. "You don't really want to know. Not really."
"Yes, I know," Jean said. "That's kind of the problem. It's become clear to me that that's why I've been neglecting my job." She took a deep breath. "So, remember when we accidentally decided that becoming a gestalt entity made of pure psionic power would be a good idea? Turns out having nightmares of things you don't understand and can't remember is every bit as upsetting when they're someone else's nightmares as when they're your own."
A weak laugh escaped Nathan. "Shit. I really am a menace, aren't I? I'm sorry." His hands were shaking. She'd seen? She'd been dreaming, and seeing... welcome to one of your worse-case scenarios, Nathan. Of all the people to be picking up on that, it shouldn't have been her, because she was quite possibly the one person it would hurt the most. There was a reason he hadn't confessed to her.
"Well, to be fair, the hive mind thing was at least as much my idea." She shrugged again, then shook her head. Focusing on Wakanda and what had happened before was still avoiding what was happening now. "The dreams aren't very clear; most of the time I don't know what I'm looking at. Most of the time. But I've seen enough to agree - I don't want to know what happened." She paused, watching him. "But I've been letting this fear keep me from helping you, Nathan, and that's inappropriate. Because I'm your doctor, but more because I'm your friend, and you do need help. You're not coping with this."
Nathan ran a finger down the track the bullet had scored along his temple. Nearly healed, now. "Everyone wants to help," he murmured. "I wanted to help. It's how it all started. I'm so tired, Jean. I don't have the fight left in me for this."
"And yet giving up isn't exactly doing you worlds of good." There wasn't any venom in her tone, but there also wasn't any sympathy. If anything, she sounded almost as tired as he did.
"How do you keep going, when history repeats itself and you fail the same way, over and over..." Nathan swallowed, resting his forehead against his knees for a moment. His hip was twinging furiously in protest at the position, as were the other healing bullet wounds and so many other aches and pains he'd gotten so used to over the years.
He was getting old.
Jean scowled at him. "Well, not using pessimistic hyperbole'd be a nice start. You have not failed over and over."
"Haven't I? It used to be the story of my life. Now it's the story of my life again." His voice was hoarse, gravelly. "Makes me wonder if the things I thought I did right all those years ago weren't just a fluke."
"I know scores of people who would happily kick your ass for even suggesting such a thing," Jean said, leaning forward in her chair and frowning. "Not that I think it would help much; you're doing a pretty good job of kicking it for yourself."
"Jean." He was looking up finally, shaking his head, another hoarse, exhausted laugh escaping him. "I'm not going to run off the rails here. I can't. You know that." He wouldn't do that to Moira and Rachel. Why else had he been fighting so hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other, if not for them? They were worth trying to live with the unbearable. They were more than enough reason. Even if they were the only reason.
He was too tired, his control too shaky, and Jean didn't have any compunctions about listening in a little bit, and she scowled at that. "Yeah, well, living for other people only gets you so far, trust me."
"I don't know. They do a very good job of keeping a man going." It was a feeble enough reply, as banter went. Nathan swung his legs over the edge of the bed, moving stiffly, as if it hurt.
"And you think they would want for you the kind of half-life you're living?" Jean asked, and it was a low blow but he damned well deserved it.
His reaction was oddly muted. "Probably not. Moira is liable to flip right the hell out when she's in proximity to me again, and Rachel..." It was like all of his self-control had been stretched to the breaking point with the mention of his daughter's name, and Nathan rested his head in his hands for a moment, a sound escaping him that was caught halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"You can't keep hiding from this. You're hallucinating children and dreaming of corpses. This can't go on, Nate."
"And yet it does." His face still hidden, the reply was muffled. "I just...I need a little more time, Jean." He raised his head, finally, and his gray eyes were suspiciously bright. "Please. I can't. Not yet."
Jean gestured outward with her hands, distancing herself from him, leaning back in the chair. "I've been giving it to you. Now you get to convince Betsy not to knock you out and make me drag you to Charles next time."
The library was quiet; he was a little surprised by that, but he wasn't complaining. The mostly-unoccupied space was kind of nice, actually. Nathan had found an armchair by one of the windows, and had settled down with another couple of African language grammars. His initial plans for the afternoon were long since forgotten, however. He'd slipped into a comforting sort of fugue, staring out at the snowy landscape beyond the glass, his mind nowhere in particular.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Leaning into Nate's space and staring out at the landscape. "Nothing like upstate New York in winter to make you want for a simpler life." Betsy straightened up, brushing out the errant snow from her hair and coat. It was quite a bit of snow, more than the weather suggested. Carefully removing her coat and hanging it up on a nearby rack, Betsy sat down on the arm of Nate's chair. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I warned her. Hell, I warned the lot of them but they couldn't help themselves and well, I was only happy to oblige."
"Snowball fights with the kids, huh?" Nathan's voice sounded rusty, as if he hadn't used it for much longer than just the last couple of hours. "Don't they know that telepaths cheat?"
"I think they failed to reach that portion of the studies that informs them that telepathy is a worthwhile gift when anticipating errant snowballs." She leaned in against him and looked down, smiling softly at him. "Why don't you come out for a bit, two against ten. It's not the best of odds but we'd give them a good show before completely obliterating them. Besides, it'd be good for you to get out."
"Not really up for snow wars, Betts." He managed a faint smile in response to hers, however. "Old and creaky and currently busted-ass, as Kyle would say. What else is new, huh?"
"The attitude," Betsy responded. "I've seen you many ways over the years, Nate and I don't think there are many secrets between us when it comes to how we both feel about any given thing. I've simply never been good at trying to hide something from you. You've always been able to call me on it. You and Alison. It's why when it gets to be too hard I try to keep away." She regarded Nathan for a moment, looking into those hollowed out gray eyes. "But maybe that wasn't the wisest of decisions."
Nathan's eyes flickered back to the window. "We're busy people," he said quietly. "Busy little bees. Don't regret missing my latest misadventures. They're really nothing to write home about."
"Yes, we are." Betsy said darkly. "But we're not too busy to realize when we've left someone behind. Nate, don't you understand that it matters to me because it's happening to you." Frustrated with the dullness surrounding his bright mind, Betsy stood and moved away. "Yes, I know what happened. I can feel the memory of it choking you every time you think of closing your eyes and don't get mad at me for going where I'm not wanted. You've not a tight hold left on much at this moment."
"It's not 'happening', Betsy; it's happened." There was nothing but weariness in Nathan's voice. "Not much to be done about it at this point."
"To hell there's not." A fire burned inside of her, hotter than she expected and every syllable spoken was tinged with forced restraint. She would not let him fall any further. "You aren't working through this, Nate. Our minds work differently. Memories simply do not disappear into the ethos for us. They remain as fresh and as painful as the moment it happened, if we choose it. And for you, you are still reliving it. It is still happening because you can't let go."
Nathan rose from his chair - slowly, like a mountain uprooting itself. The faint smile on his lips as he loomed over her was not a pleasant expression. "You 'know' what happened," he said, almost under his breath. They were in a library, after all. He wondered just how much she actually knew, whether he was leaking or she was prying... hard to tell. She was subtle when she wanted to be. "If you do, really... you shouldn't be surprised in the least. You've known me for a long time, Betsy."
Betsy took a step closer to him, unperturbed by the rivulets of tension coursing through him. "I'm surprised because I have known you for so long. You once told me that I could only control my actions in this life and not to take on the burdens of choices unseen." She placed her hand on his forearm and squeezed. Betsy let her shields fall enough for him to see the truth in what she felt and what she believed. "I love you enough to tell you that the world is not yours to carry, Nathan. It wasn't your fault and I don't blame you for what happened."
Nathan was very still for a long moment, until a faint tremor ran through his too-rigid frame. "Maybe you don't," he said, his voice still very low. "But they do. And they should." And there was one standing over in the shadows by the librarian's desk, watching him with blank blue eyes.
Betsy turned around and saw nothing in the corner. She grimaced and looked backed at Nate and let his mind wash over her, watching as the library changed. It was duller now, grayed at the edges with more shadows than the bright windows would let in.
Staring up into Nate's face, Betsy turned back around, looking towards the librarian's desk, and saw the jarring image of a little girl around eleven years old. Her head was completely shaven and she wore a gray jumpsuit. She had blue eyes that would have been stunning if not for the lifeless flat expression they held. God, Betsy thought to herself. Hallucinations were not the best sign. Why hadn't she been by sooner? Not allowing too much time for errant thoughts, Betsy moved between the pair and tightened her hold on Nate's arm. She forced him to look at her, all the while the wiping away the image of the child, letting her disappear from the space behind her. "Little one doesn't seem bothered, perhaps a little tired." Slowly and carefully, Betsy began to work, to help her friend who couldn't help himself. "She probably needs some rest and that's not such a bad idea come to think of it."
"Don't you d-dare-" But the indignation that flashed across Nathan's features was a passing thing, there and then fading almost as quickly as it had come as the telepathic compulsion slid smoothly past his battered shields. He managed not to quite collapse back into the armchair; it was more of a gradual wilting. His eyelids felt like they had lead weights on them. Say what you wanted about Betsy, she was very good.
Cradling Nate's head as he sank down onto the armchair, Betsy let her hand linger on his cheek before letting it go comb through his hair. "Stubborn git," Betsy said softly. She rose and looked back at the librairan's desk and sighed. ~Jean, I have a bit of problem and I'm going to need your help to be discreet about it.~
~My problem?~ Betsy smiled. ~Well, it's 6'4", unconscious, and very, very heavy. And before you ask, yes, they're still alive.~
---
Nate was asleep in the other room. Well, no, that was an understatement. Nate was deeply, deeply unconscious, because Betsy was very, very good at what she did. There wasn't anything physically wrong with him, at least, nothing new, so there wasn't an easy explanation for why Jean was still loitering about after having gotten the ex-mercenary safely into the bed, but she was. Seated on the couch, elbows propped on her knees as she regarded the purple-haired woman across from her. "I'd say it was good to see you, Bets, but..." She shrugged.
Betsy's lips twisted up at that. "But then we'd all be lying to one another and I, for one, do not have the energy." She regarded Nate's prone form and then looked back to Jean. "How did it managed to get so bad?"
There was another shrug, although Jean didn't meet the other telepath's eyes. "Honestly, I couldn't say. He's been refusing help - I can't treat a patient who won't see me."
"You're joking?" Betsy said incredulously. "He wouldn't see you? He didn't want help?" She took a few steps closer, crossing her hands over her chest. "Jean?! He's in pieces."
"I am aware of that, Betsy," Jean said, her voice tight. "What did you want me to do? I'm not exactly going to whack him over the head and drag him in for counseling. If Charles really thinks he needs that he can do it himself."
"Yes, you do. You force him to do what he rallies against because he's too stubborn to realize it's for his own good." Betsy tried to rein in her anger but Jean's reaction was puzzling enough to set her on edge. "Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?"
"He went away, he came back all shot up. I treated him. Even once he's all healed, he'll be off the team roster until Charles clears him psychologically, because he's not coping with whatever happened, but it's not my job to stage a fucking intervention, Betsy!" And Jean was on her feet, glaring at the other woman. "He wants to pretend he's not dreaming corpses, fine. Not like I can thrown stones there."
Betsy blinked back in surprise. "I'm sorry, what?"
Jean started to snarl something and then stopped herself. Ran what she'd just said through her head again, and then sighed, all the anger seeming to flow out of her along with her breath as she dropped back onto the couch. "Nothing. He's just... never mind. He's having nightmares about whatever happened and he really needs Charles. This isn't something I can deal with. Fix."
Betsy groaned inwardly. When had she become the sane one out of this trio? She pulled the seat chair by Nate's bed and dragged it closer to where they stood. Betsy regarded Jean for a moment before sitting down. "Care to talk about what's been putting you on edge lately?" She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. "And unlike Charles, I prefer having such discussions when it's completely inappropriate."
The look Jean gave her was completely flat, but the mental #Is there anything you do which is appropriate?# was very definitely pitched to be 'heard'. "Where did you want me to start?" she asked, more than a little facetiously. "I mean, one of my best friends, the inside of whose brain is indelibly inked on parts of mine, is 'in pieces', as you so aptly point out, four of my acquaintances, two of whom were students, were horrifically murdered and then came back basically the physical reflection of Nate's psychic trauma and one of whom, I'm practically re-enacting the psyche healing I did for his sister three years ago, and between everybody else's nightmares it's a wonder I even have time for my own. And it's not like I don't have enough of those, given that this time of year last year I was convinced I was twelve, and the year before that my husband almost died, again, and the year before that I went completely round the bed and took up with the Hellfire Club. And, of course, a year before that I was still dead." What little calm she'd regained had once again completely vanished, the words almost tumbling over themselves to get out, and if she were any less stressed Jean would probably be marveling that Betsy, of all people, was the one she was unloading to.
Betsy bit back her normal response. This wasn't about their friendly rivalry, she would not allow Jean to provoke her. "It's quite obvious what you need, Jean, but maybe I'm the only one with enough backbone to tell you that you have a breaking point. Same as me, same as you, and same as Nate here. You both have an overdeveloped sense of duty and responsibility and it's eating its way through the both of you. Honestly, what would you do if one of the other doctors had presented your history without you knowing who the patient was?" Betsy eyed Nate for a moment, her eyes losing the hard edge around them. She looked back at Jean, already knowing the answer. "What would you say?"
Jean scowled and started to reply, then signed and let her head thump back onto the couch. "The problem," she said, staring up at the ceiling, "is that one can't be dispassionate and clinical about friends and family. Living with your patients, working in your home, there's no distance. It all strikes too close."
"Sounds like an excuse," Betsy responded, getting up from the chair and taking a seat next to Jean on the couch. She placed her hand over the other telepath's and smiled, trying to cut out the sting out of her words. "I didn't ask why the patient was presenting, I asked what would you do, Jean. What would you tell them to help them?"
"I need a vacation," Jean said, without looking over - she could hear the smile in Betsy's words, and didn't trust herself not to snap at the other woman if she actually saw it. "And maybe three days of uninterrupted sleep."
Betsy couldn't help the wide grin on her face. "Glad you agree. Honestly, you are much heavier than you look and I would hate to ruin this manicure." Betsy waggled her perfectly manicured nails in front of Jean's face. "I simply love the little white tips."
Jean looked up at that, and there was Death in her glare. "I promise not to ruin the manicure, then, when I rip your fingers off," she said, batting the other woman's hands away.
"You're simply no fun, Jean." Betsy huffed. "Which is part of the problem but at least your odd sense of humor is still intact. You'll take a break," she continued keeping Jean from interrupting. "A few days and I'll help you work through this. It'll be good to get some separation and you'll be back before anyone realizes you've been gone. But first," she sat up and went to the door. "I'd like to make arrangements and ask a few favors to ensure Sleeping Beauty doesn't try to strangle himself with his own TK."
---
He didn't know where he was at first when he woke up. The reaction was instinctive; he drew in on himself, all but curling into a fetal ball, and a telekinetic shield popped into life around him. Just in case. Because it was quiet, but the quiet wasn't reassuring, had never been reassuring...
Then the unmistakable presence there in the room with him registered and Nathan relaxed slightly as he made the rest of the way back to full awareness. "I'm going to kill her," he mumbled, not opening his eyes yet.
"No, you're really not," Jean said. Her voice was dull as she regarded him - he'd relaxed when he sensed her, but there was still such tenseness in him. "You needed the uninterrupted sleep and you know it. Which is not even touching on the hallucination Betsy told me about."
"Did she." Nathan opened his eyes finally, pushing himself up slowly to a sitting position and blinking around at his surroundings without any real recognition. "Well," he said, after a moment. "I have always had a thing about seeing dead people. Overactive projective telepathy. Thanks, Askani."
"Mmmm, yes, of course." Jean shrugged, collapsing back into her chair. "So, this is when I ask you to tell me about the girl and you blow me off again, right?"
Nathan drew his knees up just enough to be able to rest his arms on them. His shoulders hunched, he let his head sag forward for a moment. Needed to relax a little, before his muscles started to spasm in protest. "You don't really want to know. Not really."
"Yes, I know," Jean said. "That's kind of the problem. It's become clear to me that that's why I've been neglecting my job." She took a deep breath. "So, remember when we accidentally decided that becoming a gestalt entity made of pure psionic power would be a good idea? Turns out having nightmares of things you don't understand and can't remember is every bit as upsetting when they're someone else's nightmares as when they're your own."
A weak laugh escaped Nathan. "Shit. I really am a menace, aren't I? I'm sorry." His hands were shaking. She'd seen? She'd been dreaming, and seeing... welcome to one of your worse-case scenarios, Nathan. Of all the people to be picking up on that, it shouldn't have been her, because she was quite possibly the one person it would hurt the most. There was a reason he hadn't confessed to her.
"Well, to be fair, the hive mind thing was at least as much my idea." She shrugged again, then shook her head. Focusing on Wakanda and what had happened before was still avoiding what was happening now. "The dreams aren't very clear; most of the time I don't know what I'm looking at. Most of the time. But I've seen enough to agree - I don't want to know what happened." She paused, watching him. "But I've been letting this fear keep me from helping you, Nathan, and that's inappropriate. Because I'm your doctor, but more because I'm your friend, and you do need help. You're not coping with this."
Nathan ran a finger down the track the bullet had scored along his temple. Nearly healed, now. "Everyone wants to help," he murmured. "I wanted to help. It's how it all started. I'm so tired, Jean. I don't have the fight left in me for this."
"And yet giving up isn't exactly doing you worlds of good." There wasn't any venom in her tone, but there also wasn't any sympathy. If anything, she sounded almost as tired as he did.
"How do you keep going, when history repeats itself and you fail the same way, over and over..." Nathan swallowed, resting his forehead against his knees for a moment. His hip was twinging furiously in protest at the position, as were the other healing bullet wounds and so many other aches and pains he'd gotten so used to over the years.
He was getting old.
Jean scowled at him. "Well, not using pessimistic hyperbole'd be a nice start. You have not failed over and over."
"Haven't I? It used to be the story of my life. Now it's the story of my life again." His voice was hoarse, gravelly. "Makes me wonder if the things I thought I did right all those years ago weren't just a fluke."
"I know scores of people who would happily kick your ass for even suggesting such a thing," Jean said, leaning forward in her chair and frowning. "Not that I think it would help much; you're doing a pretty good job of kicking it for yourself."
"Jean." He was looking up finally, shaking his head, another hoarse, exhausted laugh escaping him. "I'm not going to run off the rails here. I can't. You know that." He wouldn't do that to Moira and Rachel. Why else had he been fighting so hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other, if not for them? They were worth trying to live with the unbearable. They were more than enough reason. Even if they were the only reason.
He was too tired, his control too shaky, and Jean didn't have any compunctions about listening in a little bit, and she scowled at that. "Yeah, well, living for other people only gets you so far, trust me."
"I don't know. They do a very good job of keeping a man going." It was a feeble enough reply, as banter went. Nathan swung his legs over the edge of the bed, moving stiffly, as if it hurt.
"And you think they would want for you the kind of half-life you're living?" Jean asked, and it was a low blow but he damned well deserved it.
His reaction was oddly muted. "Probably not. Moira is liable to flip right the hell out when she's in proximity to me again, and Rachel..." It was like all of his self-control had been stretched to the breaking point with the mention of his daughter's name, and Nathan rested his head in his hands for a moment, a sound escaping him that was caught halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"You can't keep hiding from this. You're hallucinating children and dreaming of corpses. This can't go on, Nate."
"And yet it does." His face still hidden, the reply was muffled. "I just...I need a little more time, Jean." He raised his head, finally, and his gray eyes were suspiciously bright. "Please. I can't. Not yet."
Jean gestured outward with her hands, distancing herself from him, leaning back in the chair. "I've been giving it to you. Now you get to convince Betsy not to knock you out and make me drag you to Charles next time."