xp_logs | Nathan and Betsy, early Friday evening

Betsy makes an escape from the medlab but doesn't quite make it to her office. On his way out of his own office hour, Nathan stops to see if she needs help - which she turns down - and offers her some advice - which she ignores - from his own experience with psi-links.

It didn't take long for Betsy to try and plot her escape from the medical bay. With Moira busy tending to the other patients, she had managed to slip past the Scottish woman without detection. She was in the elevator before anyone could realize she was gone. It was just a minor jail break while she checked on some loose ends in her office.

She had all but gotten over the stiffness in her legs. Then, she took an awkward turn around the corridor. Her legs gave way and Betsy fell unceremoniously to the floor. She sat there for a few minutes, contemplating who might come across her fallen form and put her out of her misery.

Nathan, on his way up the stairs and back to his suite, stopped as he spotted Betsy sitting on the floor farther up the corridor. "I'm fairly sure you're not supposed to be out of the medlab," he said, coming over to her.

A wide grin fell upon her lips. "Hello, Nathan." She ignored his comment altogether, instead looking about her surroundings, as if searching for someone or something. "Fancy meeting you down here."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. Yeah. Someone wasn't quite here. "That wasn't actually a greeting," he said, offering her a hand. "Can you get up, or should I play the gallant again? I'm rather good at sweeping women off their feet if I do say so myself."

Betsy eyed the offered appendage with disdain. One would assume, from her expression, that Nathan Dayspring offered her the wet end. "No, thank you. I'm fine for the moment."

"You're on the floor, Betsy," he replied dryly, noting the abrupt shift in her demeanor. "And, incidentally," he went on more seriously, "in pretty severe link-shock. Did you know that?"

"I'm well-aware of where I happen to be sitting, Nathan." Betsy shot back. "And I'd prefer if you would go about your business, so I can continue to sit here in peace on the floor. Rather than be forced to listen your expert knowledge of what I happen to be suffering from when I never asked for your diagnosis in the first place."

"Expert knowledge," Nathan said without batting an eyelash. "I realize you're trying to be sarcastic - " And failing, really; she was entirely too 'flat', that was part of what would tip off anyone who knew what they were looking for. " - but that's actually quite accurate." He folded his arms across his chest, gazing down at her calmly. A little shock treatment, maybe?

He took a deep breath. "My first wife was a telepath. I was linked to her for ten years, and that link exploded when she was murdered," he said coolly. "Then, Mistra deliberately broke my link with Moira and looped it back on me so that I'd have the pain as a reminder. You're not going to find anyone else in this house with more personal experience with link-shock." He smiled very faintly. "And I don't recall asking you if you wanted my diagnosis. I asked you whether you know that's what happened to you, or whether you're still under the impression that this is normal."

Her eyes hardened and while she could feel something welling up within her, Betsy knew she wouldn't get to "feel" the emotion. Over the past week, she had assumed that she had to be suffering from something, but had refused to offer a reason for the doctors to run more tests. So, Betsy had done all she could to hide her most recent "ailment" from everyone else. If detachment could even be classified as a disease?

"Go away, Nathan." Betsy propped her hand against the wall and tried to stand up.

Nathan offered a hand again, but didn't push his assistance on her. "You have to want it to improve," he said quietly, not entirely sure why he was pushing. Except that he knew this, he knew it far too intimately, and he might not have put himself through nearly as much as he had if someone had laid it all out for him. "Otherwise it won't. Your mind is injured and you're shielding yourself. I'm not saying drop the walls and throw yourself back into it all, but if you don't start lowering them bit by bit as soon as you can, you risk going years like this." There was a flash of real pain in his eyes. "I did."

Isn't that what she wanted? To feel safe, protected. What was wrong in feeling insulated? Nothing. Betsy stumbled away from Nathan, using the wall as an anchor, and still managing to keep herself upright. "I'm fine, the doctor's say I'm fine, even the Professor said I'd be in top form in a few weeks." She averted her gaze, choosing her words carefully. "So, if you would kindly bugger off I'd be the better for it."

"Oh, you'll be in top form. Your mind will heal, because Charles is here and will make sure of that," Nathan said, wondering if he should be sticking his nose in after all, if Charles had chosen not to mention it to her. He just... no, he was not going to start second-guessing his instincts. It wasn't as if he was trying to tear her walls down himself. "Whether or not you even open yourself back up again is entirely up to you, though. And I think we both know him well enough to know that he won't force that choice on you, one way or the other."

"Of course, Charles wouldn't force the issue. It goes against everything he stands for," Betsy said, matter-of-factly. A spike of red hot fire shot up her spine, blurring her eyesight, and her legs almost buckled from the strain. It was then she thought, somewhat bleakly, how relieving it was that she could still experience physical pain. Betsy shut her eyes, internalizing the pain, keeping herself from crying out in front of Nathan. When the moment passed, Betsy's eyes fluttered open. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to remember what I said," Nathan said quietly. "I want you to rest and to heal, but I want you to remember." He would have reached out to take her arm, offer support, but he suspected she would just flinch away. And he had no desire to see her wind up back on the floor. "Especially when you look at Scott."

"That is none of your concern," Betsy replied, her voice low. She fixed her dark hollowed orbs on him for a moment before offering Nathan a stiff nod, excusing herself and turning her attention to the harrowing journey down the hall and to her office.

He didn't call out after her, of course. He'd planted the seed, Nathan told himself, pushing the conversation out of his mind. There really was nothing more he could do.