Hank and Betsy, Sunday Evening.

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

Players: Hank and Betsy.
Time: Sunday evening, 11 p.m.
Subject: After Hank has recovered from his illness and gotten some well-needed rest, he takes some time to visit the resident recluse.



Hank had worked late... after sleeping for eighteen hours, he wasn't sleepy gain yet. But once he was sure everyone was in bed, he'd decided to head up to Betsy's room. It had been so long since she'd posted on the journals, even a small comment.... he hoped it was a good sign. She rarely talked, even to him, although he let her know when he was going to be working nights, and sometimes she came down to sit silently in his office for a while, before leaving again. He hoped it helped... at least it meant he got to see her and make sure she was still physically all right, now and then.

He tapped quietly on her door. "Betsy?" he called softly. "It's Hank. Do you feel up to talking for a minute?" If she didn't , he'd back off.... he didn't want to push, just now that she seemed to have made a little progress.

Betsy sat on the corner of her bed, staring off into space. At the sound of the rapping on the door, she inhaled deeply, as if emerging some deep trek underwater. Betsy looked from her bedroom and into her living room. Rising slowly, she made her way to the main door, leaning against it heavily.

The locked clicked loudly in the silence and she opened the door. The light from the hall streamed into every dark corner within her room and Betsy remained firmly hidden behind the dark wood door. She would not ask him to come inside, but she left enough room for Hank to manage his way inside, if he so wished.

Hank paused a moment, then entered the room, looking around. No lights on.... damn. Sitting in the dark wasn't good. "I was glad to hear from you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I wasn't around, for a while."

Closing the door behind him, Betsy stood in front of the doctor, studying him. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat under her fingertips. She sighed, satisfied. "It is good to see you, Hank."

Hank reached out to touch her cheek, cupping it gently in his palm for a moment. "It's good to see you too, Betsy," he said gently. "It's been a while." He worried, when he didn't see her for more than a week or two... but when he'd been sick he'd been so confused and forgetful that he hadn't realized how long it had been.


She let his touch linger for a moment, before moving her head back and walking to her desk. She turned on the lamp and blinked against the light introduced into the room. "It's of no consequence," she replied, matter-of-factly. "You were sick. I should apologized for not seeing you when I should have." But everyone was always around. "But, I was occupied."

"As was I." Hank nodded. He looked at her a little anxiously. She might have been missing a few meals, but she didn't look like she'd been starving herself. Good. "Would you like me to bring you up some food? I don't know if anyone let you know where they're keeping it now."

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry. " She picked up on the stray thoughts, his little internal notes, his concern. Betsy self-consciously tugged at the hem of her fleece sweater. She closed her eyes, shaking her head at the thought of food, all the while trying to keep herself from listening in to the good doctor's thoughts. "Though, I'm sure I can find something to eat before I starve to death."

Hank strengthened his shields automatically, when he saw her eyes close. "Is there anything else I can do?" he asked wistfully. He hated to see her like this.... but telepathic trauma was something that had to be handled incredibly carefully. "I could go back on night shifts for a while, now that I'm well again. I can work just as well at night."

Betsy's eyes snapped open, but she kept from responding. Her bright irises flashed at him for a moment and then, she turned away. "Thank you."

Hank nodded. He closed his own eyes for a moment, calming his mind, projecting quiet, ordered calm, rather than concern or affection. The more settled and calm he was, the more comfortable she seemed to be... "You're welcome. You know you have only to let me know, if you need anything."

There is something I would care to know." Betsy looked at Hank with some reservation and decided against it, instead she moved toward the sofa and sat down. She brought her knees up to her chest and stared off into space. After a few awkward minutes, she continued. "Can you tell me what Scott was like with Jean?"

Hank blinked. Still... this was progress, of a sort. "Of course. When?" he asked, sitting in a chair near the sofa, but not too near. "When they first met? When they first got involved? Before she died?"

Betsy grinded her teeth, thinking on whether she truly wanted to know. "Before she died," Betsy said, quietly.

"They were happy," Hank said softly. "They argued, now and then, but by and large they were happy together. It's not easy, being involved with a workaholic who verges on the obsessive-compulsive... or with a telepath. It takes work. They made the effort, though."

Her eyes burned and she swiped angrily at her face with the back of her hand. "He seemed happier, then." A slight shudder swept across her and Betsy closed down on the inside.

Hank pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her. Dani had washed and folded these, too. "He was, in some ways. But people change, over time. Loss, grief, constant danger... they change you. Being hurt, that changes you. He would have been different, afterwards, no matter which of the people he cared about had died."

"Perhaps," Betsy said, resignedly. She took the offered handkerchief, but it remained unmoving in her hands. There were changes in death, to the living and those crossing over. The dead often forget about the living and still move on. And yet, Jean had not let go of her hold on Scott. With that burning thought, Betsy rose from her seat on the sofa, walked over to the lamp, turned it off, and disappeared into her bedroom.

Hank sighed. Well... he'd tried to help. He just hoped he hadn't made things worse. "I'll be around," he said softly, hoping she'd hear him. Then he left, closing the door quietly behind him.