Moira/Betsy

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

A short trip out of the medlabs, Betsy returns to her quarters. Moira happens to be on the faculty floor and notices Betsy's door is open. It goes from there.



Moira paused in front of her door and gave her neighbor's door a good glance. The door was almost, but not completely closed. She frowned. She hadn't seen Betsy make her way up to her room again but that didn't account for anything. She walked over and hesitated. On one hand, Betsy obviously needed the space. On the other...she was secluding herself away from everyone, including her doctors, and in a time like this, it really wasn't all that healthy.

So, she knocked. Loudly.

Her quarters shrouded in darkness, if only she could stay in the quiet for alittle while longer. She was staring at the far corner of her bedroom, when she heard the knock. Slowly, Betsy turned her head, drawn to the crack under the door, enthralled by the light seeping through. "Come in," she said, her hand already turning on the nearby lamp.

Moira poked her head in, blinking as the room went from darkness to light. "Betsy?" She fully entered the room and eyed the other woman with concern. "Jus' comin' ta see 'ow ye were doin'. While we're glad yer up an' about, 'tis was a wee bit startlin' ta find ye gone wit' nay a word."

"Oh, I'm doing fine." Betsy responded, absentmindedly. Her attention drawn away from Moira, as her eyes focused on her bedroom across the way. "I was checking in with the Professor, and then thought to get a change of clothes, too. Didn't think I was gone for that long?"

"Hmm. Three 'ours, but since we 'ave been seein' ye on a more regular basis..." Moira raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad yer gettin' out, though."

“Didn't feel like that long. I guess that's a good sign." Betsy said more to herself. She turned her attention back to Moira, noticing her expression, and hoping to draw attention away from herself. "So, how've things been going for you, lately?"

Both eyebrows now. Moira was a master at dancing conversations and it looked like this was going to be one. "Good, been nice an' peaceful lately. 'ow're ye doin'?" She paused. "'onestly."

Good try, Moira. In all honesty, she was probably a fucking mess, if she let herself think on it. But when was she ever honest with herself, or anyone else about her well-being? The small upturn of her lips, the realizing more things about herself as time passed. "Truthfully, I've been enjoying the quiet. Besides that, I really couldn't tell you."

Moira blinked and hrmed. Odd. She used to say the same thing when she was drinking heavily. "Aye, th' quiet's been nice. Gives ye time ta think."

"Time to reflect, to try and understand." Letting her shoulders fall forward alittle, Betsy continued speaking. "'Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself and know that everything in this life has a purpose.' My father use to say that to me, when I was a little one. I use to think he used it as a ploy to shut Brian and I up."

Her face darkened as she let the words hang between them. "I'm trying to understand, Moira. But, I can't seem to..."

Moira walked further into the room. "'Tis 'ard, tryin' ta put th' pieces back together after so lon'," she sympathized. "But ye'll get it eventually." As she walked towards Betsy, she noted the bottle of gin on the kitchen counter. She mentally filed that away.

"I'm sure you're right about that." Betsy said, her voice a few octaves higher than normal. She quickly wiped her hands across her face, as Moira came closer. "Don't let me keep you. You've already done enough. I don't want you worrying yourself over me."

"T' late," Moira said, firmly, sitting down next to her. "I'm nay bein' kept from anythin' tha' willnae be there when I get back." She and Betsy hadn't been given much time to become close but she had a feeling they probably would have. And a small part of her felt...guilty about Essex.

"I..." Betsy opened her mouth to rebut, but taking in Moira's gaze, something told her not to argue with the elder woman. Instead, she focused her attention on a stray strand sticking out from her duvet.

"Ye...?" Moira prompted and then sighed. "I dinnae want ta push ta early but, Betsy, ye've got ta open up an' let it all out sometime. Or else it'll eat yer from th' insides an' when it finally does burst..." She winced, remembering a few weeks back, the incident with Sarah.

"What would you like me to talk about then, Moira?" Betsy replied, her hand clenching and unclenching. "What I remember and wish I didn't? How about what god awful things I did when I couldn't stop myself?"

"Anythin' ye feel like," Moira said simply. "Sometimes, th' best thin' ta talk 'bout when yer 'urtin' inside is simply nothin' at all.”

Betsy stood up and moved away from the couch, her form shaking uncontrollably. Everything within her being was screaming for Moira leave. "I can see how your patients fall for that psycho-babble. But, if you haven't picked up on it, doctor. I don't need your aid, nor do I want it."

"Tha's bullshit." Moira stood up as well, shoulders set. "Tha' wasna bloody well advice for me patients. Tha' was wha' I *did*. Ye dinnae want it, tha's damn well fine, but stop an' *think* fer a minute an' ye'll realize ye need it. It took someone tossin' me 'ead first inta a lake and screamin' at me fer 'ours before I realized it."

"You just don't get it!" Betsy snapped, putting more distance between the two of them. Her hands wrapped around herself. "I don't want to think about it, I want to forget. Everything. And dammit, I can't, I just can’t."

“Nay, ye cannae. So...are ye goin' ta 'ide until yer memories fade, all o' them?" Moira sat back down on the couch. "I do understand. Ye look back through yer memories, try an' figure thin's out. Try an' rearrange so they make sense. But they *dinnae*. I ran fer a verra lon' time, Betsy, an' I got so tired." She looked up at her. "I'm sorry, I thought I could 'elp...maybe it's ta early, maybe I'm nay th' one. But I know wha' 'tis like ta be tha' tired."

"I don't think you do understand." Betsy faced Moira, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes looked haunted and hollow in the dim light. "If you don't mind, Moira. I'm just going to stay here a while longer before I head back down."

Moira nodded and got up to go. She paused at the door but didn't look back. "If ye want ta start thinkin' I do, one o' these days ask Charles why th' childrens section o' Muir Island is called th' 'Kevin MacTaggart Win''. Pain is pain, nay matter wha' th' cause." And with that, she shut the door behind her.