Fiddler's Green: The Telempath

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Nathan wakes up in the hands of Taygetos, only to discover he's posing more of a challenge than expected. This isn't a good thing.


"Nathan."

He shuddered at the light touches on his face, but kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to open them. Everything hurt, and it would be so easy to slip back into unconsciousness (which he suspected was a state to be preferred, at this point).

There was a 'tsk'ing sound from the same direction as the voice. Cold hands framed his face for a moment, fingers pushing against his temples. Lightly at first, but then harder, and he jerked at the spikes of pain.

"Open your eyes and look at me, or I'll do worse." The voice was composed, a clear, precise alto. Not familiar, and Nathan reluctantly forced his eyes open. His eyelids felt so heavy, and the light in the room only made the sick, throbbing ache in his head grow sharper.

The shape leaning over him came slowly into focus. The woman looked like... a schoolteacher, something like that. A primary school teacher on the verge of retirement, maybe. One of those teachers all the kids hated. Her thin, sharp-featured face was framed by chin-length, graying brown hair. The thick glasses she wore were far too large for her face, but the eyes behind them, vaguely bug-like or not, were intent, absolutely focused on Nathan.

She favored him with a slow, thoughtful half-smile. "Better," she said. "I understand Martin has many reasons to be less than fond of you, but setting the children on you like that was counterproductive. To be fair to him, I doubt he realized how much time we'd lose." Her fingertips trailed down the side of his face, resting for a moment on the pulse point at his neck. "Your mind is so unusual, Nathan. Your subconscious is all but impenetrable when you're unconscious. These patterns... are they some sort of defensive construct? I've never seen anything quite like it. It's like the fabric of your mind has been altered at a very fundamental level."

Nathan stared up at her dully, awareness of his injuries starting to reassert itself. Nothing too bad, he thought; those girls had followed their orders. There were drugs in his system, he could tell that much, but they weren't doing much to cut the pain. The exhaustion, bone-deep and all-encompassing, was the frightening thing; he didn't feel like he could move if he tried.

When he didn't answer, the woman leaning over him grimaced slightly. "I'd really like to understand, Nathan. They're getting in the way of me getting deep enough to do what I need to do. Do you think you could explain it to me?" she asked, moving around to stand at the head of the - gurney? He thought maybe. He was horizontal, in any case, but the surface beneath him wasn't quite as hard and cold as it might have been. There were straps holding him down, but his hands were restrained separately at least, not behind his back. Less chance of dislocated shoulders that way. That was nice.

"Nathan. Pay attention." He let his eyes slide shut, instead - then jerked at the sharp slap she delivered. "Where did you learn this? Was it Xavier? Think of who taught you for me..."

No. Nathan closed his eyes again, tried to let go, to ignore the sensation of thin, cold fingers reaching into his mind. Can't make me. He might not be able to hold off another telepath consciously right now, but he could do it passively. At least for a while. Long enough for rescue? Well, he'd have to see.

"Young man, I hate to disappoint you. But I am not a telepath, per se." Her fingers pressed against his temples again. "And you should really be far more afraid of me. It would be wiser."

Nathan's eyes flew open and he pulled against the restraints involuntarily, a choked moan escaping him as he was suddenly gripped by terror so overwhelming that the tiny part of his mind still thinking clearly knew it had to be externally imposed. But the intensity of it only increased, and knowing that it was her doing it didn't help. The instinctive reaction took over and he kept fighting the restraints, ignoring the way they bit into his wrists, the agony of the straps pulling against his injured ribs. His heart was pounding in his ears - fast, far too fast and erratic - and the adrenaline coursing through his system left him shaking.

Eventually, the fear started to recede like the tide - slowly, as if to prove to him just how much control she had over the process. And over him. Nathan laid there, trembling, his breathing uneven and shallow. Hell. This is going to be bad...

"You see?" She moved back into view, her thin lips curved in a faint, cool smile. "I don't need to enlist the children. Or the security team my so-protective employer insists I travel with. I can make you feel anything I want you to feel, Nathan. You might say, I can play you like a piano. Do you truly want to explore your vulnerabilities in detail? Do you really want to go down that road?"

Telempath. Like Kritzer. Nathan closed his eyes, trying to slow down his breathing. The gasping hurt. "Fuck you. Not l-letting you in," he managed, wheezing.

"He speaks." She sounded pleased, mildly amused. "I think he deserves a reward for that." Her hand rested on his shoulder, and Nathan stiffened, jaw clenching.

But the imposed sensations were very different, this time. It was like a spreading warmth, taking the edge off the pain and making it (somewhat) easier to breathe. Empathic painkilling. Far more dangerous than her last tactic, he knew.

"Much preferable, isn't it?" she murmured as Nathan's breathing slowed, his muscles starting to relax. "This doesn't have to hurt. If you give me what I want, I'll even give you something in return. I'll help you go quietly, before Martin gets back. Wouldn't it be preferable to simply go to sleep, and not wake up again? If I leave it to him, he'll take his pound of flesh before he puts the bullet in your head. For a businessman, he has a vindictive nature."

"No." The word was slurred, barely audible. Even though all he wanted to do was to sink into the comforting warmth and let the world fade away.

Her other hand, which had been stroking his hair with an abstract sort of gentleness, stilled for a moment, then resumed. "He is going to kill you. Why make this harder? I have a deadline, too, Nathan. If I don't make sufficent progress in forty-eight hours... well, suffice to say that he's only willing to toss the dice quite so far." Nathan pressed his lips together, and she sighed. "You want to do as I say," she murmured. "You do."

And he did, suddenly. So much. He had to tell her. She only wanted to help him, and she needed him to cooperate so badly. He couldn't disappoint her. Couldn't let her fail in her important work. But even as the powerful urge to lay everything bare for her grew stronger and stronger, part of him held the line. Pushed back.

He heard her click her tongue, in irritation. "Do as I say, Nathan," she said brusquely. "Let me in. Let me in." Those thin, cold fingers clawed at the defensive patterns deep in his mind, like nails on a chalkboard. "This is ridiculous. How did you ever survive Mistra without being properly broken? Someone wasn't doing their job." The hand moved away from his forehead, and she leaned over him, both hands on his shoulders. The need to please her abruptly faded, and he shuddered, trying to catch his breath.

"Let's see," she said. Her voice was crisp now. "I think we'll skip pain, for now - I've seen the old training profiles, we adapted them for our children. Until I've peeled away some of these marvelous patterns, it's only going to harden your resistance. And we don't want that, do we? Shall we try something different instead?"

Nathan braced himself, expecting - what, he didn't know. For a moment he thought she was trying to confuse him with her comment about something different, because the sensations felt very much like the empathic painkilling of a few minutes ago. But then they grew steadily more intense. Sharper. The realization of what she was doing dawned on him, and he turned his head back and forth in denial, his breathing growing faster again, but for entirely different reasons.

And those cold fingers were reaching into his mind again, stirring up images to accompany the sensations, crafting a shockingly vivid illusion. The bedroom on Muir, Moira leaning over him, smiling, whispering to him to show me, love, let me see. And of course he would. What would he ever hide from her? At a moment like this, at any moment...

No, that tiny, clear-headed part of him said firmly. No. Just hold on. They'll find you. Don't give her what she wants.

You'll show me, Nathan, Moira whispered, smiling wickedly. Begging is good for the soul.