Betsy and Nathan -- Tuesday Late Evening

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

Betsy and Nathan have an unexpected chat on school grounds. The conversation escalates to an not-so-friendly encounter.

Be forewarned: This is not fluff. These two are definitely prickly around one another.



It started with an unfamiliar feeling in her hand, a loss. It was as if her hand was denied something it longed for. A companion. The feeling lasted for days, a nervous twitch that she had to keep in check. Something to be ignored, she told herself. It wasn't until she was going through her armoire that she seen it there. The graceful weapon Logan had left her. Her right hand twitched again, begging to be reunited with it. She leaned in, grabbed it at the hilt, and pulled it from the confines of her closet. Betsy closed her eyes, relishing the feeling, the growing anticipation. She was already out the door and heading for the main grounds.

She had left the Manor at a brisk run, feeling the warm summer's air, filling her lungs. She found a spot isolated from the school’s view, her eyes darting around the area, searching for onlookers. Betsy carefully unsheathed the katana and took a testing slice through the air. Her hand, body, mind all rejoiced at the feeling. It was freedom.

Switching his runs to the evenings hadn't been as helpful as Nathan had hoped - it wasn't encouraging him to sleep soundly, or even without help. He had used up his distractions tonight, which made things worse. There was no work to be done for tomorrow's class, or the one the day after. Nothing but a stretch of hours left before he could drug himself and slip back into his dreams.

Gritting his teeth, Nathan picked up the pace, darting off the path and into the woods at a dead run, ignoring the jolting pain that shot up his leg with every step. Sprinting was important too, he told himself and ran, sacrificing rhythm and measured breathing for speed, barely managing to stay on his feet as he stumbled over tree roots and uneven ground.

He exited the woods onto a part of the grounds he didn't recognize, and stopped dead, seeing the woman with the sword.

Betsy grunted as her swordplay progressed. The katana became an extension of her arm as she continued the onslaught on her imaginary attacker. Her movement betrayed any forethought, it was more of a reliance on instinct. She did not seem like a woman who understood the transformation she had undertaken, but had learned to accept the changes as they came. Yes, Betsy had learned to take the knowledge of a dead woman's technique and all the nightmares that came with it.

She charged forward, the katana at her side. She released another series of damaging blows. The moves only caught by the half-moon's light reflected on the surface of the blade. Betsy let out an anguished cry as she gave the killing blow. She fell on her knees, feeling the tension ebb away from her body. There was sweetness in the agony she felt. Her mind rode that wave of pain and she was floating. Her consciousness traveled through the quieted minds of the school and its' occupants and eventually returned, sensing the lone stranger, watching her from a distance.

Betsy didn't bother looking up. "Is there something I can help you with, Nathan?"

Nathan actually flinched, taking a step backwards and slamming his shields up. "What..." No, idiot, he told himself fiercely. None of your business. "I'm sorry," he said, breathing heavily. His leg was throbbing steadily, the pain so bad that he started to favor it, trying not to wince. "Didn't sense you here... I'll..." Go? Leave her to whatever she was doing, whatever that had been... He reeled backwards a little, his balance threatening to vanish on him. So maybe sprinting hadn't been quite such a good idea.

Her expression was cold to his intrusion. But, Betsy had already stood up, noticing his strain. Her hand already on his, steadying him. "You shouldn't overexert yourself." Betsy released her grip, noticing his uneasiness. "It tends to do more harm than good, or so I hear."

She turned away from him and retrieved her katana. Betsy looked back up at him, her expression shedding the cool exterior as she placated him with a smile. "I really didn't expect anyone to be out here so late."

Nathan swallowed, straightening up. The stitch in his side was gradually easing, his breathing beginning to slow. "Likewise," he said, his voice hoarse. "I've started running at night. Went off the path - didn't intend to end up anywhere in particular." A metaphor for his life? He thought with a sudden flash of irony, then shook his head angrily.

"I tend not to believe in coincidences, anymore." She tentatively twirled the katana in her hand, the ghosting of that freedom calling back to her. Betsy listened to them for a few precious seconds, before resheathing it. And all was quiet again. She sighed and started walking toward the school, not really checking if Nathan followed. "Besides, I think this is Fates little way of saying, I've avoided you long enough."

He very nearly turned around and dashed back into the woods. But that would be 'panicked flight', not 'strategic retreat', and besides, she wasn't the only one who'd been practicing avoidance. Gritting his teeth, Nathan limped after her. "We never did have that talk, I suppose," he said with a sigh.

"Really, Nate." She tried to keep herself from laughing, but that face of abject terror was making it hard to keep a stern face. "You should learn to curb your enthusiasm. If I wasn't an able-bodied telepath, I would start to think I wasn't the only one trying to be unavailable."

Betsy found the path, leading back to the main courtyard. Her voice suddenly taking on a serious tone. "I don't think it's particular healthy behavior for ourselves, nor the students, to keep playing this game, do you?

"Possibly ourselves," Nathan said warily, "although sometime games are the only thing that keeps one sane. As for the students, for... this to affect them in a negative way would involve them actually noticing."

She quirked her head at that and smiled. "Touche. We've all been more self-involved lately. Though, really, I don't bite. And I especially don't think my contact with you will drive you toward insanity. Some actually say I can be a good friend when I'm not being so stubborn about it." She stopped along the path, collecting her thoughts. "And I hate to think that something I did is affecting you as much as it has that you cringe whenever you're around me. While all I could think to help you was give you the space that you needed to deal with me, it, whatever. I should've talked to you about it. It was a coward's way out and I'm sorry."

Nathan stopped before he ran into her, stiffening a little at her words. "It's not... just that," he said slowly. "That dream. Or you, really. Hell, I'm still occasionally terrified of Charles, Betsy, even when he's trying to help me improve my shields." He swallowed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "As for what happened... we both saw things we probably wish we hadn't. I didn't... want to push either."

"Well, I'll apologise for the both of us." Her smile returned. "You know, you do have a knack for coming in when I least expect it, be it in real-life or on the astral plane." She continued her slow pace back to the Mansion, this time, with Nathan walking right along side her. "If you don't mind me asking, why is it that you feel so ill at ease around telepaths? I know it isn't your primary ability, but I doubt that is the reason."

If he had thought that it would make any difference, prevent him from having the nightmares again tonight, he'd have asked her to ask him again in the morning. He took a deep breath, telling himself to consider it practice for his debriefing with Pete. "When I was fourteen, I wound up in a covert program that trained mutant children for black ops work. They used telepaths and empaths to rewrite our minds. To make us more obedient, and better killers." His gaze flickered sideways to Betsy as he fought back his unease. "That was Mistra. The place you saw in our dream."

"I see." Betsy felt the warmth being sucked out of her, as the memory of that blasted cell resurfaced. Betsy's jaw clenched and she fought back the urged to play with the katana. She bit back the response to say she was sorry. It would only sully his existence and survival. She bowed her head, trying to find the right words. "Yet, you somehow broke from their control?"

"After sixteen years," Nathan said heavily. "They sent my team on a mission, without the proper intel. I was the only survivor, and the shock partially fractured the conditioning." He looked sideways at her, a tight, humorless smile playing on his lips. "Then I tried to run, with my wife and son. I got out of the country; they didn't." Betsy said nothing, and he went on, almost angrily, although the emotion wasn't directed at her. "They try to retrieve me every so often. Most of the conditioning is still there - Charles can't do anything about it - and if they had me for a few days, they could 'fix' me. So there's my sad little story, Betsy. I should tell Charles he can use it as a cautionary tale if he wants."

"Self-pity doesn't suit you any more than it does me, dear. And I don't think it helps much that you sound about ready to give up." She tensed for a moment, rethinking her proximity to him. She wondered if by being there, she agitated the situation even further. She shook her head. Nathan needed something besides caution, he actually needed someone to force-feed him some sense. Betsy tentatively placed her hand on Nathan's arm, giving him a comforting squeeze. "It took sixteen years, you say. I think it would take more than a few more months before you can discount what Charles can or cannot do for you. And if you don't find Charles disposition soothing, I'm sure I can provide more than an accommodating session."

Betsy batted her eyes at him. It was a horrible tactic, but she hoped it would gain the right response. "You're suppose to laugh, Nate. As this is my horrible attempt at humor."

Nathan tried not to flinch at her touch. He really was on the raw edge tonight, he reflected bleakly. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "It just... seems inevitable, sometimes. They've sent me... warnings, since I've been here. A picture of my wife and son, even... they sent that to Moira." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "That weekend I vanished... I still don't know what happened. What they did to me."

Betsy released her hold of him, fixing him in an equally crushing gaze. "Nothing is inevitable, Nathan. It'd do you well to learn that and quickly. I wouldn't want to risk your life, or Moira's on your lack of confidence in your abilities."

Betsy increased her pace, leaving Nathan there to stew. But, he felt the familiar presence of her mind, her words, echoing. You're no longer a scared fourteen year-old. So do something about it.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he felt his telekinesis shiver through the air around him, bending the blades of glass, ruffling the leaves on the trees. Straining to lock it down, he pushed his emotions down and away, trying to empty his mind like he'd been taught. It was growing less and less effective these days, though. "Protecting Moira is my priority," he said, his voice brittle as he stubbornly stuck to speaking aloud. He started to limp after her, not trying all that hard to catch up.

Betsy stopped midstride, her back still turned to him. "Of course, it is." Her voice cold and sarcastic. It was a tone she'd avoided for six months now. The signal of the beast within, asleep for now. "Though, if you feel the need to martyr yourself in her name, I'm sure she'd appreciated that just as well."

Nathan stopped, staring at her in disbelief. "You have a lot of gall," he growled, more shakily than he'd intended. "This is what, our second real conversation? And you feel qualified to pass judgment on my motivations and my relationship?"

"Someone has to," she said rather annoyed. "As this being our second real conversation, as you put it, I think I'm one equally vested to know when I hear bullshit. And at the moment, it's pretty thick out here." Betsy motioned to the surroundings with her hands. "Everyone of us have our personal demons, but you need to suck it up and deal with it. And all I'm hearing, all I see, is a resigned mercenary waiting to be slaughtered by his previous owners."

She shut her mouth, smoothing down her features, calming her raging emotions. She would find control in this. She felt the shuddering from the link Nathan shared with Moira. She felt his rising emotions reverberating back to her in growing force. Realizing the repercussions, Betsy carefully siphoned off the connection. It wouldn’t do well to have the good doctor found curled up in the fetal position, her ears bleeding from the pressure on her brain. This way her lashing of Nathan would be almost guilt-free. Almost. "Stop thinking like a captive, Nathan. You're free!"

"Slaughtered?" A laugh, wild and almost contemptuous, slipped out before he could stop it, and he took a step towards Betsy, girding himself for a fight almost unconsciously. "Fuck, I wish it was that, I wish they just wanted to kill me... they want me back, Betsy. They want to reach inside my head and take it all away again..." His voice broke but he went on, ignoring how ragged the words became. "Everything they need to do it is still there, all they need to do is pull my strings... how do I deal with that? How do I fight when a verse of poetry can get me to walk out of here without a care in the fucking world?"

She needed to push him further, to break his control. Betsy needed to wake him up from this debilitating cycle. “You think your return to them won't kill whatever is left in you? Whatever makes you who you are? We both know that the human mind has never been an easy thing to navigate. Those men took you and reworked the normal parameters in which your brain works. Conditioning or not, a few more shoves in the wrong direction and you'll cease to be the man that you are. A vegetable, a killing machine, it’s the same thing in the end. A shell without a soul." She scoffed at him. "To me, that is being slaughtered."

"So, please wake up from whatever delusion you've allowed yourself." Betsy said disgusted. "It'd do all of us a favor, in the end."

He felt like she'd kicked his feet out from him, like he didn't know which way to turn, how to respond. Fight or flight, no, don't lash out, stay in control, she's trying to push you... do them a favor? Snap out of it, stop dwelling, suck it up...

There was a sharp crack as a strip of grass in a diagonal line turned to glass, as if he'd flung a hand in that direction and his telekinesis had followed, and the small flowering bush at the end of the line tinkled instead of rustled in the wind as its leaves shifted from soft and green to hard and clear. "Shut up!" Nathan growled at her, scorching, bitter hate surging up from deep inside him and exploding at her as if joyously pouncing on a target. "I'd rather be a vegetable! At least then they couldn't use me!"

There was a maelstrom brewing at the center of Nathan Dayspring. His walls were slowly succumbing, but so was his control on his abilities. Her head snapped up as the tree branches groaned at the pressure. She turned her gaze back to him, feeling the assault of his emotions. She braced herself as a wave of rage made her stagger backwards. This had better work, Braddock. Or you'll have a rather pissed off Scot, asking for your head in the morn.

"Of course you would." She shouted back at him, as if the storm within was brewing around them. Betsy's words echoed in the still night air. "Again, you're choosing the easy way out, Nathan. I hope your starting to see a pattern. But then again, I never took you for much of a fighter, anyway."

"FUCK YOU!" A whole row of bushes exploded soundlessly, and more streaks of glass shot across the grass, one twisting crazily to avoid Betsy. Everything seemed touched with dull gold, and he could feel every cell in her body as a thing that could be individually manipulated. "You think you know, that you've got some kind of insight?" he snarled at her, the air quivering around him as he moved forward, invisible forces pushing at her. "The easy way? I have never gotten to take the easy way out, NEVER!" He laughed wildly, his fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically, and a whirlwind of dirt and grass bits and glass shards whipped itself into existence around him, the ground beneath his feet shuddering. "The only thing I have ever been able to do is survive, just stumble onward like a fucking zombie and because I'd rather die than lose everything again, you're calling me a COWARD!" He did shove her this time, although he ached to do it with his fists. "Fuck you, you sanctimonious bitch!"

Betsy watched as the scene degenerated around her. And then, the force of his telekinetic blow sent her flying a few feet away. Her katana flew off in the other direction, disappearing into the brush. She knew that Nathan had lost his handle on his well-tailored wall of control. She felt it crumble, as the man before her bellowed in anger, lashing out in pain. Yet, she would not fight back. The nature of this confrontation would work best if Nathan released his fears, admitted them, and worked to move on. Though, she hoped that the process would not wake up some of the more telepathically adept students, if not staff. But Betsy didn't have to scan to know that the Professor was watching with concern, but he wouldn't interfere, at least not yet. "You don't trust us to help you! So, yes, it does," she yelled back. "It makes you a coward. And if I'm the first person to tell you so, then I think you're better for it!"

Betsy slowly rose, gasping for breath. She had the distinct taste of iron in her mouth, as she clumsily wiped the blood from her stained lips. She gingerly held her side. "You place too little faith in us. You fail to see that we wouldn't let you give up so easily? Mistra may be coming, Nathan. But we'd also be waiting for them."

Power was lashing around him like crazed snakes, turning a pair of trees into glass and then shattered them, surging down through the ground, making the air itself burn. "You CAN'T!" The words erupted out of him on a fountain of grief, of pure terror oddly untainted by guilt. "Do you know how many operatives they had seven years ago?" he shouted at her. "Seventy-eight, Braddock, seventy-eight trained killers, most of them alpha-class mutants... do you know what they'd do to this place? To the children?" He laughed wildly, knowing dimly that he was well over the edge into out and out hysteria but not caring, not even trying to pull himself back. "You want me to wake up? Fine, I'm awake, I see it now... I don't trust you to help me because you CAN'T! No one ever did! They ripped my mind apart and made me kill and killed everything I love and NO ONE EVER CAME! NO ONE EVER HELPED ME!"

"I'm sorry." Her breathing shallowed, as she moved forward. Her heart ached at the enveloping sense of loss. She blinked back the tears that were forming. "Nothing I can do can make it right. But, does it not count that we're here now." She looked up at him, her face without fear. Betsy placed her hands on his face, forcing Nathan to look at her, to believe.

A part of her felt the edge of the destruction welling up around them. Something within her warned her to extended her mind to his, to taper off the magnitude of his onslaught. No, she would not violate his trust until he would acknowledge her presence in the here and now.

Nothing but pain now. No fear, no anger, just this vast, echoing pain, and all of the edges to his power softened, faded, the air going still. "I--I'm so scared, Betsy," he choked. For Moira, for the kids, for this place... for himself. "I can't... please tell me it won't happen again, please..."

"I know." She enclosed him in a encompassing hug, filling him with mental reassurances. And even though, she felt the cold, gnawing sensation seeping from Nathan, consuming any warmth she had left within her. Betsy kept herself from shivering. She mustered a strong facade. Betsy had brought him in the cold and by God; she would not let him suffer alone. "I can't promise anything." She said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I can promise that I'll be there with you. Every step."



(OOC: Mr. Cain, I'll have that check for the damages ready tomorrow morning.)