xp_logs | Log: [Betsy, Haller] Danger Room Session

In the Danger Room, Betsy engages in the long process of teaching Haller the art of avoiding death. Many tennis balls die for a half-learned lesson.

Jack swore as he clipped his shoulder against a beam. In deference to his blindfold the lower supports had been fitted with gymnastic padding. It was part of an extensive scaffolding, and as such theoretically climbable, but he didn't care to try.

Tennis balls winged towards him; Jack's arm came up in a reflexive block even though it was his telekinesis which made the interception. Ball machines had been placed at multiple heights and angles and set to irregular firing cycles. They were impossible to predict, and each shot scraped his nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

Distracting him from the real threat.

"That makes six," Betsy's voice boomed over the intercom. "If you've lost count. And remember, after six you get..." The smell of ozone indicated the inciting charge before a bright, sharp electrical current tagged his skin. "Shocked."

"Dammit!" An additional alarm sounded as the shock fouled his concentration enough to allow two tennis balls through his defenses. The setting wasn't high enough to cause major discomfort, but pain wasn't the point. The point, as the shock so handily reminded him, was to make him acutely aware of his blindspots.

Teeth gritted, Jack resisted the urge to yank what he strongly suspected was a hunting dog's modified shock collar from his upper arm and tried to refocus. "What the hell are you doing, dropping them on me?" he demanded, deflecting another volley.

"If necessary, but I don't need to. This is the fourth time we've done this and you still can't pinpoint nor decipher a target that doesn't appear as an immediate threat." Betsy crouched down from her high beam, directly above Haller. She sent another tag at him while three tennis balls made a quick volley. The tag spun in air and made contact with no response from her opponent. "Or realize that its the slow blade that cuts deepest." Betsy sighed. "One."

"I'm built to catch bullets, not playing cards." From the back-brain Jim said, She's kicking our ass.

"Fuck off," Jack hissed, and located a wall with one groping hand. He put his back to it, limiting the direction of potential attacks, and tried to explore his surroundings with his mind. Nathan had done it, hadn't he? Used his telekinesis as a kind of sonar? It couldn't be that hard.

The alarm sounded again as a tennis ball smacked him in the side of the face.

Betsy realized this wasn't working. She couldn't teach Haller if his mind swatted at everything angry and irritated. She lowered herself from the high beam and jumped down. "The problem, we face, " she opened her mind to him while closing her eyes. "Redirect target - Elisabeth Braddock. Top Level." A volley of tennis balls shot their way at her while more tags approached her from behind. Her mind stilled as she braced herself and listened. At the last possible moment, her body twisted, ducked, pivoted, avoiding each ball and tag. All the while, she made sure Jack could see how she kept her attention to her surroundings instead of her attackers. "Is retraining a mind stubborn to change but I know you can do it and we won't stop until you do." She laid a kiss on his cheek. "Again?"

Jack gave a frustrated snort. "Again," he said. He shook out his shoulders as Betsy clambered back into the rafters and reset the program. This shit will not beat me.

Are you mad we suck at this, or that she's clearly better than you? asked Jim as they took a cautious step forward. The alter's jaw tightened, but he tried not to allow himself to be distracted.

She wore a black leather catsuit that would provide some small amount of protection against impact of high velocity projectiles. Hell, she was no fool. This would hurt. It was an idea she had to test, without resetting the computer, she called out. "Program resume." Closing her eyes again, the high whistle of the approaching targets were the only warning she received before bracing herself against the pain. "Bugger."

A moment passed and Betsy opened her eyes, she inhaled loudly. "Oh wow." She was surrounded. Her finger pushed at one of the tennis balls, mere inches from her face, still spinning from its earlier momentum. Betsy took a step forward, the balls and tags moved with her, forming a halo so thick she could only see a taller man with broad shoulders, he was blindfolded but there was a visible bead of sweat on his brow. He looked solid, whole. "Jack?" But then, like a mirage, Haller's form returned. Betsy shook her head, blaming her tired mind for the illusion.

"What?" At the word the balls pattered to the floor, with the tags following-- and then, almost simultaneously, a curse and the blare of a ball making contact with Jack.

Too many people were talking at him. Okay, maybe if he focused on the slow -- some tags she placed herself, others just rained at random. He tried to imagine the movement of a falling leaf, what that must feel like to him, and then he felt one: right over his head, drifting down. He reached out to halt it--

A tennis ball hit him in the stomach.

Betsy had quickly jumped into the rafters to avoid getting hit as a flurry of projectiles were shot into the air. She looked down at Jim. Theory proven. Bruises avoided. Point, Braddock.

She winced, as the program dropped another tag on his shoulder. Closing her eyes as the last charge went off, she tried not to giggle. "You're a grown woman." She whispered to herself. "This is an important exercise. Lives are at stake."

Another groan from below and soft, chortling noises came from above. Hushed but definitely there.

Betsy cleared her throat. "Ahem. Maybe we can pick this up later? Much later."

There's a reason you're bad at this, Jim commented as Jack pulped the offending tennis ball into nylon wreckage. She showed us how to do it.

"The woman can put her legs behind her head," Jack retorted. "You want us to do that shit, take up yoga."

There was the distinct sensation that Jim was rolling his eyes. Not the flexibility, the mindfulness. The telepath sighed, and his tone became softer. I know you're not really "made" for that. But what she means is that we shouldn't be so focused on what's coming and try to pay more attention to what's already there.

"Very zen," Jack said, dripping sarcasm.

Jim hesitated, but it wasn't for a retort. There was something else, he said, and now with a different sort of thoughtfulness. Something . . . a minute ago, there was something there. It pulled us. Did you feel it?

The telekinetic silently repelled projectiles for a few moments. It was hard not to argue with Jim, especially regarding things in Jack's sphere -- the intercession of the primary personality actually aggravated the schism. As Haller's most competitive aspect it was even worse when he was already feeling outclassed. But they were still fundamentally the same person, and it was worth considering any questions he asked of himself.

And in an instant he realized there was one thing he could always find.

Betsy hung upside down on the rafters just above. She held three tags still in her hands, debating on placing them when she felt a shift in the blindfolded Haller. Her eyes widen just as he locked in on her. "Whoa!"

The telekinetic grip was, compared to what he'd done to the tennis ball, actually rather gentle, but it was also all-encompassing. Betsy found her grip on the beam broken without any say in the matter.

"Program halt," said Jack, striding calmly towards Betsy as she was lowered to the Danger Room floor. He tugged the blindfold from his eyes and grinned at her as she hung at eye level, up-side down and immobile.

"Now, what were you saying about restraining minds?"

"Oh, this is childish." Betsy chided. She was restrained from crossing her arms. "You know, you can't want pay back for something that is meant to help you."

"Can't I now?" A gesture rotated her right-side up as he came to a halt in front of her. "Funny thing," he commented as he prized the tags from her hand, "hadn't realized it before, but this close my TK reacts for you. It shields you, doesn't it?" He peeled off a tag and placed it on her breastbone with a grim smile.

She looked up, surprised to see Jack staring down at her. Her breath caught at the man before her and the intensity to him. She'd seen in glimpses of him in Haller's eyes but never witness him as a full psychic projection not since.... Betsy's smile fell a bit. "I really didn't want to believe that your TK reacted to me instead of that knife. I'd hoped that you'd seen it and I had simply gotten in the way."

Realizing how close they were, uncomfortable with his proximity and unable to move, Betsy spoke, voice thready and slightly out of breath. "But I see you're tired and sweaty." She grimaced. "So we can call it a day, you get clean up and muscle, I mean, rustle up some food. So, tomorrow." She nodded fervently, trying to move away. "We start fresh tomorrow."

Jack peeled off another tag. "In a minute. You scored what, nine on me? I'd say I'm owed a few." He placed the next at the bottom of her ribcage, smiling at her expression.

"Interesting though. TK and telepathy, those don't usually cross for me. Guess you're factored into my spatial awareness." He placed the last tag on her stomach, just below her naval, and leaned in. "But then," he said, his hand lingering, "I know your body pretty well."

Then he released her.

Betsy dropped maybe an inch but it was enough to leave her off-balanced. She leaned into him, then quickly pulled away, tried to move but her back was up against a beam. And in the front, she was blocked by Jack's body, all of his body, still holding her in place. Her skin felt the heat of his hand on her, and her hand remained firmly on his chest, Betsy visibly swallowed. Her mind coming to a complete halt. This is wrong. Wrong. What are you doing? Her voice in her mind kept climbing higher registers as she made herself look up and felt awash in gray. "Christ."

There was a soft laugh. The posture of the body against her changed, and suddenly it was Jim she was leaning against. He pulled back enough that she could see his eyes. They had returned to their normal heterochromia, though the right was still a much paler shade of blue than normal.

"Fortunately it's not so crowded in here that Christ is available," Jim smiled at her flushed face and rotated the thumb still pressed to her stomach in small circles. "Sorry about that, but I owed you for the post-it note ambush."

"Oh, oh, okay." Betsy exhaled, still out of breath. She felt a form of mental whiplash and her mind was racing to catch up. "Good one." She offered, still fumbling for words but holding firm. "You know, we're still going to do this until we get it right." She closed her eyes as Jim's ministrations sped up, unaware she'd tilted her head up towards his and offered. "But maybe later?"

"Mm hmm," was Jim's distracted contribution as he pulled the zipper of her leathers down a few leisurely inches, still flush with what could tactfully be called Jack's success. He leaned in and started to kiss her bared neck. "I'm familiar with your teaching methods. Just like the Hellfire Club, right? Practice makes perfect."

Her smile was wide and open. "Hmm-mm," she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. She brought her lips down hovering over his mouth, smiled, then brought her lips inches from his ear, giving her offer. "Sounds like a plan. Maybe I can even teach you some yoga?"