Snarky!Essex and Bamboozled!Betsy

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

After a night of psychic defense training with Alison, Essex has alittle fun.



Essex looked over from his perch at the window, staring sightlessly out over the quad. Behind him, the sound of a door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and he watched Alison Blaire leave Betsy's room, headed no doubt for her tryst with the Kentucky boy. His lip curled slightly, and he availed himself to the glass in his hand. He noted that Blaire had left the door open to the hall, hanging halfway on the hinges.

Within her room, Betsy waited a few moments after Alison left to exhale the breath she was holding. If her head would not stop pounding, she would go mad. She angrily took the icepack from her face and dropped it on her bed. Realizing that she would be in for the remainder of the evening, Betsy rose from her bed and went to her armoire. She needed to change into her night clothes, if she'd plan to get any sleep.

Obviously Blaire had forgotton that Braddock's impairment kept her from realising that her door was wide open. Essex considered for a long moment, and drained the rest of his glass. With a whisper soft tread, he crossed the hall to the door frame, and crossed his arms, leaning against it.

Before opening the armoire, she leaned her head against it as she fought another dizzy spell. Her hand shooting out to brace herself, Betsy took a deep breath. Without the burden of her glasses, Betsy opened her blue eyes, seeing nothing but darkness. She pulled her armoire door open and grabbed on the farthest end of the rack, a pair of silk pajama top and bottoms. She turned her back to the door leading into her living room area and began to undo the button on her black blouse.

Essex stayed at his position in the door, not even the barest hint of breathe revealing his presence. Braddock was truly blind around him only, which was something special. That vague element of uniqueness gave him a curious intrigue. He watched Betsy worry the buttons of her blouse behind half slitted eyes and allowed himself to experience.

Finally, she pulled off her blouse and sighed. Her face contorted into a look of contentment. She let her black top fall to the floor, organization be damned. Betsy bowed her head, as she worked the back of her bra. She turned around to face the door and her nostrils flared at the familiar scent wafting toward her.

For a moment, Betsy's blind eyes locked on Essex', and a smile grew on his face. She had detected something. He could taste her confusion. Was it a sound, a scent that told her someone could be watching? Would she challenge the darkness. Essex was not worried that he could soundlessly retreat to his room before even the slightest alarm was raised, but he waited for her reaction; her test.

She took her hands from behind her back and kept her face in Essex's direction. She recognized that smell of gin on his breath before she would recognize his voice. She spoke, her tone murderous. "Is it customary to spy on your patients before cutting them open." Betsy bent down to grab her discarded shirt, her steely blue eyes still focused on him, "or is this a special case, because I would've dressed to mark the occassion." She waited for his response. If he was still in her room, she was almost positive she would hear him retreat, so she waited.

Essex smiled thinly, and waited, drinking in her uncertainity; her helplessness. He could feel the fear behind the anger. The idea that if he really was there, nothing in the heavens could help her if he meant her harm. Her anger, viciousness, mockery over the last while, all open to reprisal in a brutal fashion. For once, with him, she was mundane and it terrified her.

She quickly pulled on her blouse and fastened the buttons, moving to the doorway, as her heart raced She silently cursed herself for being so inept. But, she had to find out if someone was in here, she couldn't rest until she knew.

Essex rotated soundlessly on the ball of one foot, shifting from the doorframe to the wall. Even as Betsy reached the frame, he was close, just inches from her questing search. Again the indecision in her movements. He watched her eyes and ears swivel, trying to isolate anything to find clues. Finally, but instinct, her blind gaze swept past him, and settled on the door of his room.

Keeping her eyes focused straight ahead as the scent of Essex intensified, Betsy paused for a moment, and then her hand reached out to her side as she made a grab for him. Her fingers made contact with his labcoat, and she gasped in shock at the touch. Instinctivally, Betsy pushed away from him.

"Ms Braddock. Are you in the habit of accosting people in the hallway?" Essex said archly, his voice calm and almost amused. He leaned against her door frame, his movements obvious, the whisper of carpet beneath his shoes and rasp of wood against his coat gloriously loud in her ears.

She was obviously startled, as Essex's voice filled the eerie silence. Betsy regained some of her composure, as she made an unconscious touch to make sure her shirt was still on. "I am not accosting anyone. Besides, you were the one standing in my doorway, obviously enjoying the view." Her voice shook as she looked down, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"Are you quite alright, Ms Braddock? I was reading a message on my RIM when you came flailing out of your room." Essex said, steel in his voice. "Besides, I have seen you in a black blouse before. In locations not as excluded as our mutually adjoining doorways."

"I'm...I'm fine. I just thought...nevermind." Betsy's nostrils took in his scent as she moved her head to the side. The hint of gin still on his breath, she fortified her steel. "Why were you watching me?"

"Ms Braddock, I've come to the conclusion that I will have to remove myself from my position as your surgeon." Essex said, almost sadly, it sounded. "Since you came to me, you seem determined to cast me as some sort of medical Mephistopheles in your world. I am not here to harm you, woman. Nor am I willing to accept being treated as some sort of demon. Really, Ms Braddock, accusing me to attempting to peek at you like a thirteen year old schoolboy? Was that why you left your door wide open, which is incidently across the hall from mine, while changing? So you could make an indecent charge at me? I am a doctor, Ms Braddock, and a man far removed from beauty. You accuse me of being less of either."

"Yes, I am. But I'm surprised that you've found our conversations together unfair. I would've thought you of all people would be able to handle a few friendly jibs and not allow it to get in the way of your professional tenacity. However, I was mistaken. As for the door, I was unaware that it was open, as I was not the last to leave. Though it would appear that you were standing in the doorway, Doctor Essex. You were amusing yourself with the view, like a young schoolboy as you so kindly put. But your honor as a gentleman, is safe with me." She paused for a moment. "But, if you still wish to take back your offer to help, so be it."

"Ms Braddock, you treat every meeting with me as a haunted, Faustian affair to you, and now you attempt to laugh it all off as mere trifles? Your manifest rage moments before, now tittered away? Ms Braddock, who do you honestly believe you are fooling. I told you once, that I would not allow any operation to proceed without the patient being fully aware of the
circumstances and the risks. If your mind is as nebulous and erratic as your emotional state, you aren't competant to make this decision." Essex walked into his room, turning just before he closed the door. "When you are ready to face your fears, Ms Braddock, we can speak of your operation. That way, if you wish to lie to yourself, you at least won't be endangered by it."
Essex sat down in his room, his back to the door and one foot up on the leather ottoman, contempting the night outside.

Betsy counted to five, took three deep breaths, and left her room. She walked to Essex's adjacent room and knocked on his door, her hands trembling slightly as she withdrew them. "Nathan, may I come in?"

Essex smiled into the dark, and then schooled his face into an unnecessary somber mask. "The door is open, Ms Braddock."

She pushed the door forward and took a few steps into the foyer. Her hesitation apparent, she plowed through her words. "I wanted to let you know that I do trust in your abilities as a surgeon. You've been nothing but kind to me and I've reciprocated that kindness with sarcasm and distrust." She wanted to move closer, but without knowing exactly where Essex was, Betsy expression showed how vulnerable she felt. She took a few more steps into the room, hoping the general layout of the room was similar to her own. "I'm sorry that I've been so difficult during this process. But, I would still be willing to continue, if you still are."

"Ms Braddock," Essex stood and took her by the hand and upper arm. "Please, sit." With surprising gentleness, he manuveured her to a chair. He walked over to the sideboard and poured a finger of whiskey into a glass. Betsy caught the scent as soon as it was poured, and he set the glass beside her chair. "Perhaps we can talk."

She drained her glass, quickly. Betsy nodded her head, looking both defeated and confused. As she faced the smell of alcohol and the voice carried behind it, Betsy replied, "I'd rather like that, actually."

"Ms Braddock, I'm the last person to wish to impede on your life. I'm your doctor, not your friend. You have no obligation to like me, but you do have to trust me or all of this is doubly dangerous for you." Essex sounded almost tired to her, for the first time. "If you have doubts, either in my procedure or myself, please talk to me about them now."

A voice in her head screamed for her not to talk. To rise from her seat and return to her room, yet she fought the urge to leave and continued. "After our last conversation in the lounge, I did some research on you, professionally and personally. I make no apologies for this, but I must say, I was surprised at what I found."

"Indeed." Essex said, intrigued. He sipped his drink. "And what might that have been, Ms Braddock?"

"Several mentionings of attending popular galas, your involvement with the government, and the reason you have those scars," Betsy motioned to his hands. She held onto the glass with a vise-grip, as if bracing herself for the subject she broached next. "I also found pictures of your family, and of your wife."

"Interesting." Essex studied his glass, his voice gone icy. "I had assumed something more sinister than my family photos, Ms Braddock."

There was a definite drop of warmth from his voice and she laughed nervously, "Give me time."

"Obviously that SHIELD training. Tell me your theory, Ms Braddock."

"My training has come in handy, on more than one occasion. As for the pictures, I couldn't help but notice some similarities between your wife and myself. Nothing pronounced, but it has made it difficult to have faith in your motives, when you have no reason to help me, besides your word as a physician."

"Interesting. Well, Ms Braddock, let us consider this information. First of all, you did not notice some similarities in the pictures. Someone else did, and considering recent arrivals, I'd say the assassin helped you." Essex said. "Yes, I suppose there are some similarities. And a shocking number of differences, as well. Obviously those didn't enter into your thoughts."

The dark-haired telepath itched for another glass of something, as her fingers traced the rim of the glass as she spoke. Her temper reinserting itself, slowly. "Recent arrivals aside, Pete did not help in this matter." She lied without hesitation. "I've been researching this information for quite some time and I do believe I'm more than capable of finding out such information. There were probably some substantial differences, but sadly, I could not take much of the differences into consideration since the photo was two-dimensional and therefore lacked a personality to properly compare it to."

"Rebecca did have some similarities with you. Around the cheeks, the nose, the structure of your face. I wouldn't be surprised if you shared a common ancestor." Essex said. He got up and took the decanter of whiskey in a long fingered hand. "But you're taller. Fitter. Rebecca was lush, almost tiny. She had gloriously long curly brown hair. She was dark, where you're pale. I used to kid her that she had Italian blood from her grandmother's wintering on the continant. And, of course, the biggest difference," Essex refiller her glass and his own. "is that she's dead."

"I'm sorry." Betsy bowed her head in lack of tact. Essex had been right, she realized. She had shown him nothing but disrespect. And to bring up her childish suspicion to him about his family was nothing but cruel. She faced him, drained her second glass far too quickly, and smiled, "who knows, risks taken into consideration, I might join her."

"Not while I attend you, Ms Braddock." Essex said. "Do you really wish to hear my reasons for helping you, Ms Braddock? Are you truly ready to face my dark purpose?" Essex was very close. She could smell the whiskey on his breath, and feel him, inches from her face, his entire body terse and alive with energy.

She wanted to push away from his sudden closeness to her, but kept her mouth shut. Betsy would not react though the alcohol working in her system would have her do otherwise. Her face breaking into a wide grin, "Your dark purpose. Yes, I'm ready."

"Because, Ms Braddock, I can do it, and there isn't another damn person on this planet who can." Essex' voice was rich with amusement. "Because I can make you whole again, and not even God himself can make that claim." He touched her face, running a thumb down from the bottom of her eye to her jaw. "I like beating Him at his own game, Ms Braddock."

Though, she didn't flinched Betsy's smile faded slightly at his touch. "Fair enough." She said abruptly. "We all have our issues with God. Some are far more demented than others, but we shouldn't judge. So far as when this is all over, I don't end up in a mortuary, being painted with god awful makeup, by a woman named Marge, I'll be fine."

Essex straightened abruptly. "No, I can't imagine that would be a likely result." Essex capped the decanter and sat back down. "I am not anticipating any complications in your surgery. I am also sure I can handle anything that might arise."

"I know you don't." Betsy leaned forward and started to laugh. "You are something else, Nathan. Now, if we can work on you calling me Betsy, then I'll feel a bit more comfortable with you cutting my head open.

"Indeed, Ms Braddock. We all have things to work on." Essex said. "Now, it is quite late, and unless you are planning to preform another impromptu strip show, perhaps we should both be getting to bed."

"Agreed." Betsy rose slowly from her chair, bracing herself as she felt the alcohol hit her system. She smiled as she spoke. "At least you do admit that you were watching. Hmph. Good night, Nathan."

"Good night, Ms Braddock." Essex closed the door behind her, and smiled thinly.