Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop.

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

This took place the night before this thread.



A long knife coming at her, tearing flesh and blinding her. His breath mere inches from her face, his laughter ringing in her ears.

Betsy woke up with a start, greeted with the darkness and a cacophony of voices. The onset of panic was subsiding and she steadied her breathing. Within moments, she was dressed in sweat jacket and pants, and walking the halls, barefoot.

She was a creature of habit, a side effect of her blindness. Yet Betsy had stopped paying attention to where she was going. It was a few steps and she was down the stairs, inside the elevator, and standing in the hallows of the Manor, shivering against the cold of the medlabs.

"Hmm?" Essex looked up from his display to see Betsy enter, holding herself and casting about blindly. The medical labs were kept cool for the experiments, and the sterile stainless steel surroundings were wickedly chill, especially for a woman in bare feet.

"Essex," the recoil evidently fell on Betsy's face, as she said his name with obvious disdain. "I didn't think you would be down here so late."

"Ms Braddock," Essex said mildly, turning back to his terminal. "I assumed that you of all people would know how little that I leave my work. Besides, I have certain deadlines that I have to meet."

She nodded her head absentmindedly as she clutched onto herself, "The devil rests on the Sabbath, Nathan."

"Yes, but I have no such restrictions, Ms Braddock." Essex tapped a few keys. "Indeed, with Moira's work down here, it is even more important that we stay on track."

"Will you tell her? Ms. Mactaggert, that is?”

"Tell Moira what?”

Betsy took in a breath before responding, "About the surgery. I don't see it possible to keep such a thing from her, being as she is down here with you."

"Moira will not be in the mansion at the time of your surgery. Besides, she is hardly a neurosurgeon.

"Hmm," Betsy said, not really listening. "Right."

Essex leaned forward in his chair, switching his monitor off and reaching for the coffee pot in the maker. "Ms Braddock, I can't imagine that you came down here solely to discuss Moira's non-involvement in your procedure." He poured a cupful and sat back. "Is there something you'd like to discuss?"

She rubbed her temple, grimacing to some shadow pain from the dream. "No, I didn't. I'll be going back to my room, doctor."

Essex sipped his coffee. "Are you unwell, Ms Braddock?"

Her head turned sharply in Essex's direction, "No, I've just been walking and thinking...nothing of circumstance. But, thank you for asking."

"Walking. Thinking. At two in the morning in the medical bay?" Essex said. "I may not be a psychologist, but that clearly is not benign behaviour, Ms Braddock."

She let out a laugh, "Indeed. Let's say I'm suffering from some subconscious issues that are manifesting themselves within my conscious mind. In other words, I'm having trouble sleeping."

"I could prescribe something if you'd like. It won't affect your surgery."

Betsy shook her head, "No, no. Nothing. It'll be fine, just twelve more days." Betsy opened her mouth to continued, but decided against it.

"No doubt the time will pass quickly enough." Essex sipped. "Enjoying having everyone back in the mansion?"

"It's feels less empty, and everyone seems to be happy, with the exception of Marie and Alison."

"Killing and nearly being killed has that effect on people, I'm told."

"It does have a staying effect. And I'm sorry they had to experience it. But, it's the way of things, of choosing to fight. I can't escape that and sadly, neither can they."

"Choice." Essex snorted into his coffee. "Of course."

“Yes, their choice, their decision. Don't scoff it off so quickly, because you seem hell-bent on stressing that to me via your emails, or student courier. It is their choice to do what is necessary to continue on whatever path they wish to take."

Betsy shuddered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Consider this choice, Ms Braddock. You are sending children out to fight, to kill and to die. Half trained and barely able to contain their own emotions, much less handle taking lives." Essex said, his easy manner beleing his intensity. "What will you do when Ms Morlocke kills a policeman who tries to arrest her? Or when Mr Starsmore destroys more than a music room."

"Did the children at Jonestown really make a decision?"

A sigh escaped her lips, "Yes, yes, Sarah and Jono were placed in situations which were dangerous, but they are capable of protecting themselves. Unfortunately, I've realized the world will not coddle them, as I'd like to. Those machines won't differentiate child from adult; it will only see Mutant. And God help them, if we're not there to protect them."

"Ms Braddock, there is a vast difference between protecting themselves and paramilitary terrorism, as you are well aware. They came for help controlling their abilities, and you've thrust them on the front line with the most cursory training. You fear the Sentinals? Good, you should. Because there are far worse things out there than them, but you should be on that line, and not minors who can't even grasp the true nature of this conflict."

"You have your point of view, I have mine. If you like, you can bring it up at the next staff meeting. I'd bet Ororo would love to talk to you in depth about your feelings." Betsy smirked.

"With those jackbooted drones? I prefer not to squander my efforts in futile debate." Essex set down his drink. "In any case, I won't be forced to watch them kill children. I am leaving once your rehabilitation is complete."

Betsy started, "Leaving?" She let her hands relax at her sides, "after my rehabilitation, how long will that be? Is this what you do when things don't go according to plan. Shut yourself up within your lab and leave before things get too difficult."

"USAMRD has offered another position, as has Moira." Essex sipped. "Ms Braddock, my ethics do not permit me to stand by and contribute to this cult. If violence, terrorism and madness is the best you can offer at this school, then I want no part of it. I came here to research, to teach and to help young mutants understand their powers, not to train shock troopers for some genetic war."

Frustrated, Betsy clenched her fists, "Then be that voice for them, Essex. Don't abandon this school because you would rather have some easy desk job. Somehow, you've endeared yourself to Kitty and Sarah. How do you expect them to react to your departure?”

"Ms Braddock, as you yourself have said, they have been committed to the front line." Essex rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "And as much as I would like to have this school shut down and those students moved to other facilities, I owe Charles the opportunity to come to his senses."

"Well, I'm glad you're giving him the benefit of the doubt, for now." Betsy's arms were hugging her once again.

“Charles is an idealist. I suppose that's why he draws fanatics like Summers and Munroe to him. Hopefully he can come to his senses before they sacrifice the graduating class on the alter of his dream."

"You are so melodramatic. Scott and Ororo are doing what the can, and I don't think it produces a great work environment, if you fill Ms. Mactaggert's mind with overdramatized notions."

"Moira is intelligent enough to see this environment for herself." Essex stood up, moving swiftly past Betsy to the other side of the lab. He picked up a stack of files from the desk and walked back, shuffling them in his hands. "Moira has over forty young men and women in foster homes and controlled environments, teaching them control as early as their mutant powers emerge. You teach combat tactics. Is that difference obvious enough for you, Ms Braddock.”

Betsy tensed even more at his sudden movement, "yes, obvious."

"Then you should be able to understand why I would rather be a part of that, than this… farce."

"Fine." She said stiffly, "I don't see the point of arguing this with you, if you've already made up your mind."

"Ms Braddock, you were never arguing this with me, I was telling you." Essex' voice had hardened. "I'm done with trying to bring vision to the blind. Until the 16th, don’t wander down to my lab again, Ms Braddock." Essex turned back to his work.

Without her shades, Betsy's expression was filled with hurt. "Fair enough." She bowed her head, "well, I’ll spare you the trouble of dealing with my ignorance this evening. Goodnight, Essex." Betsy turned quickly and left.

Essex watched her go for a moment before turning back to his computer. He put a hand to his chin and tapped his lips with his finger. His other hand beat a staccato rhythm on a file marked ADAM, and he smiled. "Good night indeed, Ms Braddock."