The X-Project

Players: Scott and Betsy
Time: Thursday evening, after this post here and this log here
Subject: Goodbye

Truth is truth
To the end of reckoning.

--William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure.



Twitchy. If that was the word she'd use to describe her mood tonight, it would definitely be twitchy. She was always on edge on game night, one of the few highlights of her week, and yet she wouldn't admit it, Betsy looked forward to pummeling Scott. After sending off her email, she picked the game for the night from her bedroom closest and set up the game in the living room.

When she was done, Betsy sat on the edge of her couch, her hands propped up on her knees, waiting. Her eyes went to the clock hanging above the door. It was ten minutes after nine now. She fiddling with the arrangement of the game again when there was a knock at the door. "Come in."

The door opened, a very chagrined-looking Scott stepping in. "I was in my office," he confessed almost meekly. "Lost track of time. I was going over... well, never mind what I was going over."

Betsy stood up and shrugged her shoulders at him. "You're here now. Is all that matters." Yes, let the pummeling begin. Taking a seat, she motioned to the game "Is Scrabble alright?"

"Scrabble's good. You've kicked my ass at Scattergories far too many times already this year."

Scott settled into a chair opposite hers, across the board, with a barely-suppressed sigh. The chair was too comfortable, and he was entirely too tired.

She was entirely too focused on the letter pouch to pick up on Scott's e expression. HIghly amused with the squares she'd picked, she felt more than heard Scott's sigh as her bangs blew into her eyes. Betsy leveled her gaze at him, her expression clearing showing she was annoyed by the interruption. "Long day?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Is it ever anything but?" he asked wryly, then nodded his head at the letter pouch. "Pick and pass," he suggested, a teasing
edge to his voice.

"I'm not done," she quipped, even though she had seven letters settled safely on her row. She lowered her eyes to her letters, satisfied she placed the bag on the table and pushed it towards him. "But longer than usual?"

"I suppose it didn't need to be," Scott said after a moment, more quietly. "Easier to stay in the office and find things to do, though."

"Or find different ways to fiddle about in one's room," she added, nonchalantly. Scott set the pouch down and Betsy placed her first word on the center of the board. Candle. Eyes lit, bearing a strong resemblance to the Betsy of old, she settled back into the couch, daring him to outdo that.

Scott studied his letters, then the board. "There is that," he said, then added his word. Dared.

"Cheeky," Betsy muttered. She inched closer to the table, nibbling on her lower lip in concentration. Her hand disappeared into the dark blue bag, claiming her six replacement letters. She shot a few glances over at her opponent, garnering his mood. "I talked to the Professor."

"Oh?"

She continued speaking, not acknowledging the shift in his demeanor. More serious. Betsy mimickedg the Professor's tone, as she laid down her next word, making sure to avoid the look on his face. "We've decided that my stay here is becoming detrimental to my health and I shall be making arrangements for my departure." She kept her hand on the last letter, feeling what little warmth inside her extinguish.

Scott stared down at the word she'd just laid down. 'Abandon'. "Where will you go?" he asked quietly, firmly stepping on the ache he felt at her news. This wasn't about him. It hadn't been about him for a long time. If this was what she needed to do...

"I'm not quite sure," she said, feeling the sting of the rejection. She felt the cracks within the solid, thick wall that blocked her from her basest emotions. And now, she felt like a marionnette given the first vestiges of life and crumbling under the pressure. The pain dug deep and she took in a shaky inhale of breath, feigning indifference. Even though, the decision was mutual, having her instability voiced by the man she respected and honored felt like betrayal.

He looked up at her suddenly, almost sharply, hearing something in her voice. "Say it," he said, and laid down another word. 'Lost'.

The faintest of shadows crossed her face, before she carefully tucked it away. She studied the board, planning her next mode of attack. "Are you ready to admit defeat, Summers?" Betsy asked, trying her best to drop the more serious conversation.

"Not hardly. Remember how rarely I do that," Scott said, watching her watch the board. He hadn't expected her to come out with whatever she was thinking, but it had been worth a try.

She knew suppresion was the fastest way to get a headache. So, Betsy wasn't surprised when she felt the onset of a doozy setting in. She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting against the tinges of pain striking her temples with fervor. She plotted her letters on the board, her next word hitting two Triple word score squares. She looked up from her work, her jaw tightening as she met's Scott's gaze. Her hand slipped from her face. "I remember promising you once that I'd never keep the truth from you," Betsy managed with great restraint.

Scott stared down at the word. 'Mistake'. Well, that was nicely ambiguous. He swallowed his first reaction - then, for good measure, his second as well. "I just haven't understood the truths you've given me sometimes," he muttered finally, distractedly.

The headache throbbed and pulsed until finally settling at the center of her brow. "Would it help if I admitted I wasn't entirely sure." Betsy said with an exasperated sigh. "I've always been strong on the outside, because I had to be, but around you, I felt paperthin. And I couldn't trust myself with feeling so fragile. Even now," she paused, trying to work her mind around the concepts with straining something, badly. She turned her head away, frustrated. "I need help."

It was the first time she'd asked him that since waking up from her coma. Scott was silent for a long moment, wondering if he understand what sort of help she was asking for. "Is this you telling me that you want me to push?" he asked slowly. It had been a couple of months. He'd tried to be there, tried to be a friend, but he'd never looked for an opening.

"I want to know I did everything I could. Whatever the outcome, good or bad." Betsy steadied her gaze, determined to maintain eye contact. "Do your worst,
Mr. Summers."

Scott leaned back in his chair, gazing at her. "I spent so long blaming myself for everything I didn't manage to do to help you," he said slowly. "But if you want the unvarnished truth, Betsy, you didn't do much helping of yourself, either."

"Alright," she said. Her hands blanched in her vise-like grip, waiting for the truth to hit.

"I cannot imagine, for a moment, how you feel," Scott said very quietly. "How everything that's happened to you in the last couple of years has impacted you. And I'm saying that having been linked to you for months. It didn't help, Betsy. There was no reaching you unless you wanted to be reached." He reached out, fiddled with a letter. "I got the sense that part of you was glad when I was having so much trouble this fall. Not because you wanted to see me struggling, because I know you didn't, but because it gave you something else to focus on, rather than yourself."

She kept her face placid, but a voice within her recoiled at his words. "Continue, please," she managed in a very hushed tone.

"I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for not being what you needed," he said, his voice low, more tired than anything else. "For not helping you more. And maybe, in the end, you needed to close yourself off like you have. For survival, if nothing else. But if you did it out of fear, too, out of lack of trust for yourself or for me... then I can't take all the responsibility for it after all."

What you needed.... She exhaled audibly, loosening the tension from her hands. The headache was subsiding, but replaced with this strange gnawing sensation. Yes, she was feeling something beside faint traces, ghost signals from her brain. No, this was something substantial. It hurt and Betsy grimaced. "Well, I think we're on the right track."

Scott frowned. "I don't know what else to say," he confessed wearily. "Without digging back into things that really don't need to be revisited."

"S'alright," she said softly, shaking her head in protest. "I think I have enough to process for the next few days and if anything, I know I have a few more wonderfully 'insightful' conversations to have before I leave." She brushed back an errant strand of hair from her face. Letting the silence occupy the air between them until it became unbearable. "I owe you an apology."

Scott started to shake his head, but then stopped. "For what?"

Her eyes fell on the board, a torn expression on her face, the emptimess was filling fast. "We've been....No. I've been playing this game for over a year now. I was never what you needed and I didn't realize it until you were already lost to me." She placed her arms across her chest, protectively. "I should've been stronger."

"Betsy..." Scott let his breath out on a long sigh. "I think if there's fault here, there's plenty to go around. You could... very justifiably tell me that I was being unfair to you from the beginning, getting involved with you when I hadn't come to terms with Jean's death."

She stood up, moving away from him. Why did he have to bring up that blasted name? "I...." Why did it elicit such deep....and I mean, deep images, mostly of the maiming nature. "I'm dealing with it."

"You're not. Isn't that the problem? You're not really dealing with anything?" Fatigue was making him a little reckless.

"What am I suppose to say?" Betsy exclaimed, her voice going up a few octaves. "That yes, I knowingly kept myself at a distance because you couldn't let go of her. Then, yes, I did. But, I don't hold that against you, I can't. Couldn't. But even still for some demented reason, I care about you more than I should. My breakdown, your breakdown, it's all the same, in it? We're just a couple of cracked eggs searching for the missing pieces." Her chest heaved. Her eyes filled with dimension. Substance. It was a start. Betsy clapped her hands together, bringing them to her lips, in shock.

Scott smiled very faintly. "Doesn't it feel better to get it out in the open?" he asked very osftly.

"Oh god," Betsy whispered. "I did not just....Oh, that was lovely." She collapsed into the seat behind her, her eyes glazed over, relishing the moment. "Thanks," Betsy said, alittle out of breath. She focused her eyes back on him, amused at his now bewildered expression. "Is it alright if I stop in before I leave?"

Scott gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. "I'd be hurt if you didn't," he murmured, another slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Never that," she said, studying her letters and the board for another word. "Want to finish? I'm sure you can make a comeback before all hope is lost."