Trojan Horse, part eight - Visiting Hours - (Nathan, Betsy, Madelyn, Shinobi and Alison)

[x-cable.livejournal.com]

In the medlab, Nathan wakes up first to Betsy. She tries to tell him he's safe and back home. He proceeds to try and convince her to let him go. The suggestion doesn't go over well.


Something was beeping, Nathan thought, his thoughts sluggishly pulling themselves together as he struggled back up out of the darkness. He knew that sound. Heart monitor? He tried to move, but something was holding him down, keeping him pinned flat. A brief shock of panic flashed through him and his eyes flew open. The pitch of the beeping picked up.

A hand came down on his chest. "Relax, Nathan. You're safe and back home." Betsy down at Nathan with a warm smile, she indicated the sedative drip by the side of his bed. "Try not to get too excited. Or this will be a very short conversation."

Nathan stared up at her blankly, then his eyes flickered around the room, taking in his surroundings even as he tried to focus. Automatically, he was already slowing his breathing, trying to do the same with his heartrate. Nothing would be accomplished if he was unconscious.

"The mansion," he said, his voice rough. Memories started to slot back into place. The art exhibit. Fighting with Pete. Something hitting him from behind?

"Yes, home." Betsy took her seat next to his bedside, please to hear the heart monitor slowing down. Weary eyes turned toward the door, she should signal for the others to return. It had been a harrowing time, watching him. And it drew on her inner strength, as she watched Nathan struggled within himself. Betsy looked down at him, a few tears already falling down her face. "How're you feeling?"

Assess the situation. Bruises, felt like. A couple of burns? Well, you were fighting a pyrokinetic... His head hurt, but it had been hurting since the reconditioning. Which had happened very much like this, part of him thought bleakly. Strapped to a bed, drugs, a telepath standing over him...

"You have to let me go," he said, his voice a little stronger.

"Excuse me?" Her eyes widened at his urgency, she hastily wiped her face. Nathan hadn't asked about Moira. Betsy pulled back from him and sent a careful nudge to Scott and Hank on the other side of the medlab. #He's awake. And not appealing to my favorable bedside manner. #

"You have to let me go." Think. The tactical imperatives were screaming at him, driving him to try and access his telekinesis, even though he knew there would be a block there even before he slammed into the smooth, oddly cool wall barring him from his powers. "If I get free and have to fight my way out of here, I'll kill someone."

"And where are you going to go, Nathan?" Betsy asked, cautiously. "What could be worth so much you'd want to kill the people who care most for you?"

The flash of anguish her words provoked was sucked away instantly, leaving him empty again. Hollow. "Escape and evasion," he said, his voice sounding odd even to himself. "Have to get back. Report in." He was silent for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling as he finally started to process what that would involve. "Tell them I failed."

"I'm sorry." Betsy let out a soft sigh, shivering at the hollowness of his voice. She rose slowly from her seat and headed to the door. "No, Nathan. I failed you."

He jerked at the restraints on his wrists, something cracking through the icy veneer. "You lied," he whispered, hoarsely.

"I tried," her voice cracked. "But, I couldn't stop him in time." Thinking about that blasted telepath made Betsy's hand itch. Her back still to him. "I made the bastard pay for what he did to you."

Nathan closed his eyes, trying to breathe deeply. His ribs hurt. Definitely bruised. "Not about him," he said. Part of him was doing this to try and unsettle her, to gain an advantage. But deep beneath the ice, there was another part of him that wanted to scream at her that he had been right all along and didn't this prove it? "You told me you'd be there. You weren't there when they fixed my conditioning." The beeping picked up a little. "You weren't in the room with the other telepaths and the empaths. There were... seven or eight of them there. They wanted it done quickly."

"I would've been if there hadn't been a pesky building in my way." Betsy grimaced, thinking of Scott blocking her from the blast and Nathan. "They were thorough."

He pulled again at the restraints on his wrists. "Liar," he said almost restlessly, emotion bubbling up through the ice. "You and Charles... you're both liars."

"Believe what you wish," Betsy said softly, she moved closer to him. Her mouth inches from his ear. Her voice ripe with pain. "I would've died, trying to find you, Nathan. And that is not a lie."

"No one did," he said under his breath. Wishing suddenly that he had the ability to strike out at her, silence that lying voice... "No one did, just like no one ever has. And they took it all away again."

"I guess almost doesn't count, then?" Betsy replied irritably, she pulled back, trying to keep the hurt from her voice. "Just what you need, more bodies to line up your martydom, Nathan? I still sense you, feel your strength. Mistra didn't take what makes you precious to us. Please don't give up because it's easier."

"Pete should have killed me," he muttered, and yanked at the restraints again. "He should have killed me," he said more loudly, some of the anger breaking through into his voice. The beeping picked up a little further. "I ought to be dead, before I hurt any of you... why the HELL would you bring me back here? WHY?" He was snarling the question at her, and part of him dimly realized that there was more anguish than anger in it. There was something else at work, though, lassitude stealing over him, trying to take the edge off everything. "Kill me," he insisted more quietly, his voice starting to slur. "Before... I can't.... please?"

"You're not going to hurt any of us, you git!" Betsy's eyes darted to the heart monitor, his rate continued to increase, and there was no way to calm him now. "We're not going to give up on you, you hear me, Nathan! Not now, not ever!"

The sedative was flooding into his system. He made a frustrated noise and went limp against the bed. "Already gone," he muttered, his eyes fluttering closed. "Too late..."


After seeing Moira, Nathan is at the mercy of Mr. Sedative again. He wakes up to Madelyn. Maddie demonstrates her professionalism and tries to give Nathan a bit of a dose of reality. It doesn't take.


Madelyn checked the heart monitor, then felt for the pulse in Nathan's wrist, confirming the machine was doing its job. From there, she examining the dressings on the burns. Her movements were sure, quick, her face a carefully-schooled mask.

Nathan was peripherally aware of someone leaning over him. The sedative was still casting a haze over his thoughts, but he fought it, struggling to open his eyes. It was Madelyn, he realized after a moment as he tried to focus on her face. She either didn't notice him looking at her, or was pretending not to. He wasn't sure. Between the drug and the fact that his telepathy was still locked down...

"You shouldn't be in here," he muttered.

"I'm a doctor, of course I should be here," she answered coolly, checking the levels of sedative in the IV bag and making a note on one chart. More had been used than she'd expected, but he had seen Moira. She glanced over at Betsy, silent and unmoving in the corner, almost one with the furniture. Whatever it was she was doing, Madelyn hoped it was working. She lay the chart down, pulled her penlight out of her pocked and flashed it briefl into his eyes, first one, then the other; reactions were as sluggish as to be expected from the drugs in his system, but not dangerously so. She picked up the clipboard and made another note.

Clinical, the tactical part of his brain assessed; she was being completely professional, not wanting to give him an opening. Nathan stared up at the ceiling, tuning her out for a moment as he tried to sort through his options. It was hard, with how sluggishly his mind was working. He didn't have an 'in' with Madelyn. Didn't know her well enough.

"So," he said, his voice still rough. "Am I going to live, doctor?" The bitter edge to the words wasn't planned, but he saw the flicker in Madelyn's eyes.

"That was never in doubt, Nathan," Madelyn replied. Her eyes flickered to the restraints. "Told you so."

It took him a moment to remember what she was talking about. Everything before the fight in the warehouse was hazy, far away. Hard to reach. "I thought I was back there when I first came to," he murmured, his gaze still lingering on the ceiling. "Same setup for the conditioning..." The restraints, the IV... the bleeping of the heart monitor picked up again and he stiffened, pulling at the restraints on his wrists, a noise that was half-frustration, half-despair escaping him. "Telepath in the corner. Only there were more..."

Again Madelyn's expression flickered, but this time with the faintest trace of compassion. "Calm down," she instructed, laying her hand briefl on his forehead. "You'll end up giving yourself an overdose. And that would destroy Moira."

Moira. "She wouldn't listen," Nathan muttered, that lassitude creeping over him again. "None of you are listening. Have to go. Before I kill someone..."

"Which part of being tied to the bed and drugged to the eyeballs makes you think you're going anywhere?" Madelyn asked with a sudden flash of irritation. "This is the part where you trust us, Nathan. Whether you want to or not, we're taking care of it. And I won't have you wrecking the lives of my good friend or the gaggle of students being sat on upstairs by letting you back out there."

"Trust you," Nathan echoed dully. "Heard that one before..." Charles and Betsy, Moira... he yanked at the restraints again, harder this time, feeling a stab of pain from the wrist that was still healing. "Go away," he snarled bitterly, trying to ignore the way his eyes were stinging. "Words, just empty words. All of you, always were..."

Madelyne observed the way his eyes were drooping, the heart monitor's beep becoming slower. "Well, it's not like you have a whole lot of choice right now," she told him, before stripping off her gloves and tossing them in the waste bin near by. "And I have other patients to deal with. I'll be back to check on things later." The doctor's professional mask firmly in place, Madelyn left, closing the door with a click behind her.


Later, Shinobi takes a turn on watch. Nathan's increasingly Not Handling the situation, and Shinobi finds a way in through the Cable-armor.


His head was feeling much better, after spending a day or two doing nothing but laying down and resting under the doctors' watchful eyes - at least, as far as the almost completely vanished concussion was concerned. The events of the last week had been emotionally exhausting, to say the least, and had left Shinobi with a dull, lingering ache behind his eyes that he'd learned to ignore in short order. With a copy of the New York Times in hand, he eyed the door to the room Nathan was being kept in for a moment before he very quietly let himself in, closing the door behind himself and sparing a nod towards Betsy before he located himself a chair, and very gingerly seated himself. The ribs would need a little more time to stop complaining.

Someone else was in the room. Someone new, Nathan realized, even in his drugged haze, and forced his eyes open, blinking up at the ceiling as it blurred in his vision. He turned his head to the side, slowly, wincing as he did, and saw a familiar figure sitting in one of the chairs. "Come to g-gawk?" he rasped, his voice like metal scraping over gravel.

Shinobi arched an eyebrow and glanced towards the raspy voice, carefully unfolding his newspaper in preparation to begin reading it. "No," he replied simply, then eyed Nathan a moment longer before looking to his paper.

Nathan turned his head back away, staring up blankly at the ceiling. "Foley told me... he didn't kill you."

A faint, thoughtful noise was Shinobi's reply as he scanned the front page, his lips forming a thin line at one of the headlines. "Was that his codename, or actual name? The latter would be almost unfortunate."

"Real name. Mick Foley. Always thought it was funny..." He was still seeing double. Or triple. "Said you put up a good fight. Wouldn't go down."

"Did anyway," Shinobi observed, shrugging and glancing towards the bed with a faintly curious tilt of his head. "How was his arm, last you saw? Was the damage I did permanent?"

"They weren't sure yet." Nathan blinked up at the ceiling. "Sent me back out so fast..."

"I wonder if that's why they wanted you back in the first place," Shinobi murmured thoughtfully, his newspaper forgotten as he cast a look towards Elisabeth, and then the door. "For how well you know Charles."

No discussing the mission, his tactical imperatives reminded him acidly, and Nathan felt his expression go blank, wooden. "You shouldn't be in here..."

Shinobi's attention wandered back to Nathan, and he eyed the man's newfound blank expression with a grim smile. Oh well. It was worth a try. He'd just have to make a note of his thought to Charles, so he could ask Nathan about it later. "Why not?" he asked, changing gears smoothly and taking up his paper again.

"Don't want you..." Nathan trailed off, unable to finish the thought. To see him like this? To be here if he found a way to get free? As if that was going to happen. A choked noise of despair and frustration escaped him and he pulled hard on the restraints, ignoring the pain. The beeping of the heart monitor started to increase. "Go away," he said in a growl that was more than half-plea.

"Relax," Shinobi said firmly, watching Nathan struggle out of the corner of his eye, though he was paying more attention to the status of the IV and restraints than anything else. "Take a deep breath, Nathan. I'm not going anywhere, so you may as well be conscious while I'm here. I doubt you really want to be drugged into a stupor so soon after waking."

"I have to go back," Nathan said almost desperately, yanking at the restraints again. No give, at all. "I have to report in... let me go!"

"No," he replied calmly, frowning and looking to his newspaper again. He wasn't too worried about Nathan getting loose - the IV would knock him out before he could, and Elisabeth was right there, in the event that somehow didn't work. He'd just.. worry about the biting ache in his chest at seeing the man reduced to such a state later, when it was less inconvenient. Phase now. Shinobi later.

Had to slow his breathing down or he'd be unconscious again. "Pete should have killed me," he said raggedly. "Shouldn't be here... not here..." Why couldn't they see that?

"Perhaps," Shinobi replied vaguely, sighing as he once again abandoned his reading to look over at Nathan. "But you're here anyway, and I sincerely doubt anyone is in a mood to let that change. Moira, especially."

A mixture of longing and anger and grief, blazing through him before it could be extinguished. His eyes were stinging and he squeezed them closed, his breathing growing unsteady again, labored. "It hurts to think of her," he murmured faintly. "They made it hurt to think of her..." Anytime he remembered too clearly...

"Then why go back to them? They obviously care nothing for you." Shinobi eyed him thoughtfully, gaze briefly drifting to the machines before returning to Nathan's face. "She and I cried, you know. Together, as a matter of fact."

"Don't," Nathan said fitfully, fine tremors shuddering through him as the image settled in his mind, took root. Moira in tears... "I have to go back. Have to report in." He forced the words out through the pain. "Not supposed to be here anymore. Not safe..."

Shinobi rolled his eyes, though his tone was gentle, almost tired. "Wake up, Nathan - we're mutants! It wouldn't be safe for us whether you were here or not. The school's been attacked more than once, and you were not the reason either occured. We choose to face the risk you bring, because you're worth facing it for."

Pain flashed into anger like a match dropped in kindling, and part of Nathan protested. Wasn't supposed to be happening like this. The emotions were supposed to drain away. But the words were spilling out of his mouth, almost of their own accord. "Go sit with the liar in the corner!" he spat at Shinobi, shaking violently as he threw himself against the restraints. The heart monitor was beeping frantically, and he could feel the sedative taking hold again. He fought it almost feverishly, determined not to go under again. "Liars, you're all liars... should never have trusted, never have believed..." Hysteria. He could hear the hysteria in his voice, but it was at a bit of a distance, growing further away.

"I have never lied to you, Nathan, and I have no intention of starting now," Shinobi replied quietly, a wince sneaking its way out despite his best efforts to hide it as he watched the man struggle and forced himself to stay where he was. "You're family to me, Nate, and whether you like it or not, I love you. Even when you're being a dope. You really should try to relax without the aid of sedatives."

Family. Family? His eyes were blurring again, tears trickling down his cheeks, and he couldn't catch his breath properly. "Hurts.." he gasped, almost sobbing. "Don't make me... it's all gone, they t-took it all away..."

Sighing, Shinobi set his newspaper aside and rose to his feet, ignoring his ribs' protests as he fished in one of his pockets and approached the bedside. "No," he chided, fishing a fresh Kleenex out of his pocket and reaching down to carefully wipe away Nathan's tears, trusting the sedatives and nearby telepath to keep him safe. "Not all of it."

Nathan flinched violently as Shinobi leaned over him, part of him bracing for a blow, harsh words, some sort of attack. "It's too late..." His voice came out in a hoarse whisper, barely audible as he struggled to catch his breath. "It's empty... she's g-gone... all the lights in my head are gone... I'm not him anymore, I can't... I can't remember myself..."

The hand with the tissue paused for a moment at the flinch, then moved in to do its job anyway. "We'll help you remember," Shinobi promised gently. "You would do the same for any of us. But for the moment.. you should rest. Hyperventilating would be a bad thing."

The drug was stealing over him, pulling him back down. "Not real," he choked out, his eyes drifting closed. "Wake up there... back with them..." Maybe this was all just some cruel illusion. He was still strapped to a table back at Mistra, and they were taunting him as they broke through his shields, dangling one last glimpse at what he'd lost. Parading ghosts through his mind...

Shinobi dropped the tissue into the small trash can next to the bed, frowning quietly down at Nathan as he began to doze off. Best to let him sleep. Running a hand over his face, Shinobi returned to his chair, taking up his newspaper again as he once again got himself settled comfortably. Wake up there... back with them... "Not if I can help it," he murmured to himself, opening the paper and trying to find the place he'd left off.


Alison's turn. She is alarmingly clever. Bye-bye, armor.


The first thing Alison heard when she opened the door was these steady sound of the heart monitoring equipment, bleeping away regularly. The light impact of liquid falling into liquid followed, followed by a light breathing sound - Betsy in the corner, slumped in a chair and unmoving. A less strong but still present rhythm of breathing echoed as well, and finally Alison looked at the bed and the prone form upon it.

Nathan.

He was dreaming. Running through the hallways of the old Mistra facility in New Mexico... no, the new one in the Canadian Rockies... the mansion? The walls shifted around him with the fluidity of water, but the footsteps following him - chasing him - didn't change. Nathan spared a look back over his shoulder, and saw...

"NO!" He went from asleep to fully awake in a flash, the hoarse shout echoing in the room as he heaved against the restraints. The heart monitor started to bleep frantically, and he cursed, trying futilely to breathe deeply, to calm himself. Didn't want to be knocked out again...

"Easy," Alison murmured softly, one hand hovering before resting light on his shoulder, which looked like it might be able to deal with the touch. "You're home. You're safe. Moira is here too, safe and unhurt."

People kept telling him that. Home, safe... bitter, broken laughter wrenched itself free of his throat, even as he flinched violently at her touch. "Go away," he rasped, yanking desperately at the restraints on his wrists, ignoring the pain from the broken one.

She removed her hand calmly, shaking her head just a bit. "But I don't want to go away," she sighed, looking down at his broken wrist. But she didn't mention it, didn't ask him to stop hurting himself and instead remained quiet for a moment, until he gave a sign of quieting his struggles, however temporary that might be.

His eyes were burning with tears again. Falling apart, Dayspring, definitely falling apart. He was supposed to be able to cope with captivity, to find a way out. But the constant parade of people, as if he was a sick friend and they were visiting his bedside... "Get away from me," he choked out, looking away from her calm, vaguely sorrowful expression. "Leave me alone, damn you..."

She looked at Betsy pensively for a moment, the purple-haired telepath still lost in whatever she was doing to keep Nathan from accessing his powers. His power to reach out was negated, they had been told. His shields down. "If you let me show you one thing, I promise I'll do as you ask - if I can. After. Is that fair?"

"S-Show me..?" He stared up at her, not comprehending. Asking him? Giving the choice? No one did that...

"If you want." She nodded slowly, waiting for him to understand. "It's something... important to me. But I'll only show you if you want to." That she hoped he would agree was clearly visible - just as she kept her hands firmly at her sides, allowing him the minute distance and lack of touch that his telepathy required for privacy, of a sorts.

He kept staring up at her, not understanding at all. "I don't..." he started disjointedly and then trailed off, lost in her eyes. "Will... it hurt?"

"I don't think so, but I can't promise not." She moved closer to the bed and tilted her head to the side. "If it does, tell me and I'll stop." A pause. "Is it okay if I sit on the side of the bed?"

"J-Just... don't touch me," he murmured shakily. He really didn't get this. All of the others were just like the telepaths and empaths back at Mistra, telling him they'd fix it, make it better, but she was confusing him...

"Okay, Nathan. I won't touch you." She moved slowly, letting him see exactly what she was doing, reminded of how wary Miles had been when she'd first found him. Little boy lost, scared of being hurt again. "I'll just sit down here," she did just as she was telling him, one hand resting on the bed a few inches away from his hand. "I don't know if this will work. But you'll know before I do." She smiled a bit, tentatively. It would be up to him, what happened next.

He stared up at her, wide-eyed and wary as he fought the sedative.

With a final nod Alison closed her eyes, running through some of the meditation exercises both Emma Frost and Betsy had taught her, trying to reach that state which she had been told was not only the most receptive but also the clearest, for even the weakest of telepath. If Mohammed could not go to the mountain...

Breathing deepening steadily, Alison crafted an image in her mind. The sound of the medical monitors faded, slowly replaced with the lazy drone of bees wandering through a garden. The coolness of the room was replaced by the warm touch of sunlight. Her lips curved a bit as a woman's voice called out to her, the words not clear yet. But it didn't matter - it was the love held within that captured her attention.

Warmth... contentment... safety. Nathan took a deep, ragged breath, trembling as the images flickered through his mind, ephemeral but still somehow vivid. "What... where..."

"Home," Alison crooned softly, smiling to herself as she lost herself to the memory without a second thought. Her younger self walked into the garden, the flowers in bloom heady with scents, a ladybug flitting by to land on her upraised hand before taking off again.

"Darling girl! The lemonade is ready!" That was grandmama's voice, clear as a bell, music always hidden in its depths no matter what happened. With a laugh of delight, Alison started towards the center of the garden, where she knew the table would be set. And paused. "Are you coming?"

Nathan stood at the edge of the garden, trembling from head to toe. Feeling out of place, disjointed... "I shouldn't be here," he breathed. "I shouldn't..."

Bright blue eyes looked up at him, wide and calm. "But we're having lemonade." The girl smiled, delighted - clearly the lemonade was something important. "And I would very much like if you'd be my guest," she declared solemnly, curtsying at him before straightening up and stretching her hand out towards him, palm open and facing the sky.

"No..." Nathan said uneasily, taking a step back. "No, this isn't real... they did the same thing, they..." Illusions, tricks made out of his own memories to get in past his defenses, map out every bit of his mind so that they could twist it...

Standing in the light, dust motes moving about lazily in the air around her, the little girl gazed up at him, eyes growing sad. "It's all right. You don't have to come. But... it's grandmama's bestest lemonade. No one makes it like she does. A pinch of sugar and a touch of love." The light in her eyes was bright for a moment as she repeated her elder's words, almost too much - but then she sobered, a grave expression on her features. "It's all right, you know," she whispered, conspiratorially. "I'm scared all the time. I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Stop..." Nathan pleaded, taking another staggering step back and falling to his knees. He doubled over, hiding his face in his hands. "Please stop... please..." This wasn't real, or at least it wasn't real for him anymore. His world wasn't like this. Couldn't be like this anymore. They'd taken everything like this away...

"I'm sorry," a small voice said, "I didn't mean to make you sad." Hidden tears lurked under the surface and after a moment two small hands rested on his shoulders, the barest of touch, as though asking permission. The bees droned on, fading slowly however, until the garden seemed dimmer somehow, or perhaps just a bit removed. "I can go if you want. But..." and there was a childish voice, a tear slowly rolling down her cheek. "I'd rather stay. If that's ok? Will you let me stay?"

Asking him, again. This wasn't... this couldn't be real. She wouldn't stay. No one had stayed. No one who had promised him they'd be there had been there. He'd been alone in a roomful of shadows, ripping at his mind. No one had come to help him. They'd lied... He opened his mouth to shout at her, to give voice to his sudden rage, but the pain was too much and he was doubling over again, great racking sobs tearing through him.

The little girl's hands settled lightly on his shoulders this time, ready to move at the slightest request. "I'll stay until you tell me to go," she crooned, voice changing slowly, growing older somehow, a touch more careworn but still with that same promise held within. She held him gently as he cried, loosely though, never binding him in the least. A low, warm light radiated from her and she whispered the words to a lullaby, the language of a people dead centuries from now wrapping around them slowly.