Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction. No material profit is expected and Marvel's ownership of the characters, setting, relevant past fictional events prior to the divergence of our story from the comics, and improbable imaginary pathogens is fully acknowledged.

Ashes of Chaos: Break of Dawn
by Jaya Mitai, Mel, and Persephone
Part 9

Moira stumbled into her lab, searing hot mug of coffee in her hands. Was a bit chilly; she'd have to make sure Stryfe was comfortable. Her own slippered feet were quite nicely cozy, and she sighed deeply of coffee aroma as she walked over to the printer, green light flashing to tell her it was out of paper and a stack half an inch thick on the tray.

Sure enough, it was the tests she'd had running last night. Her spectacles slipped lower as her mouth lowered her cheeks in a scowl.

"Ye stupid bloody bastard!" she exploded, and before she even calculated the extent of the potential risks, she had marched down the hall and pushed open the door to Stryfe's semi-private room.

"A'm sick of this dance," she announced, plopping the mug down forcefully on the elevated tray above his chest. The loud sounds didn't seem to phase him; he'd trained himself not to react. Well, fine. She was going to get a reaction out of him if it killed them both.

She waved the print-off under his nose, and was pleased that his eyelids flinched instinctively at the sudden rush of air. "Do ye ken what yuir ridiculous stubbornness is doing tae ye?" She read a few of the results out loud, stressing the important ones, like the steep drop in white blood cells, stemming from lack of protein and movement.

Still nothing. Not a single physical indication to hint that he was even really listening. She slammed the papers -- and her hand -- down on his chest, and his eyes flew open and focused on her with a speed she found startling and a good sign. They were indeed focusing properly, the pupils not dilated, though the lids were wide apart in surprise and -- fear?

"A dunnae care if ye've lost all yuir self-respect, A still expect ye tae respect me!" Her angry green eyes burned intently into his still-surprised dull blue ones. "What do ye think ye're accomplishing with this? Ye're hurting yuir chances of ever recovering again! All this for what? What are ye trying tae accomplish?" Her next question hit him even harder. "Do ye think ye're making progress?"

His eyes quickly adopted a dull, glazed look, and closed. And he reacted, all right. He turned his face away.

Damn him! "Sae yuir just givin' oop now?" She kept her face dangerously close to him. She knew without a doubt from the scans that he could move, if he wanted to. His muscles might protest, but he could. He probably lacked the coordination to actually grab her, but she wasn't in the mood to be thwacked by a large child. Particularly not one as strong as he was still likely to be, regardless of muscular deterioration. "Ye donnae think 'tis worth the pain, tae be able tae move yuirself around again? Ye're afraid tae try?"

His adam's apple bobbed in a swallow loud enough for even her to hear in the startling silence, and she let that silence ring for almost a minute. He was frightened of her! She hid her astonishment well in her audible, angry breathing, but continued to glare, noting the sudden sweat. What was he so afraid of?! What did he expect her to do, harm him, after all this time? She dropped her voice to a mere whisper, smoothing some of the edge.

"Look. At. Me." He didn't move, and after a moment she put out a finger, hesitating only then. Her touch had literally terrified him, and she didn't want any sort of fear to be associated with this. She wanted him angry, to respond, and to do so without thinking, without noticing until it was too late that he was capable of emotion, of action.

She touched his chin, and he flinched. And she pulled his unresisting face around to look at her. His eyes opened, slowly, looking at some point on her upper nose rather than her eyes.

If he became afraid now, she was going to be undoing any good before she'd even done it.

"Ye can do it and ye ken that," she said very slowly, very quietly. She took the steel from her voice, yet didn't let it soften as much as her heart told her she should. He didn't want her pity, and what she was doing was dangerous enough. His eyes closed again, slowly, and in the most defeatist manner she had ever seen.

She half expected a tear, but apparently he had seen that rare display of emotion as a weakness, wouldn't allow it for himself now. Didn't even bat an eyelash, kept them closed, kept his breathing timed perfectly to his pulse.

Damn! She leaned back, letting contempt seethe into her voice. It was her last card, and the most risky of all. "Fine, Stryfe, ye've made yuir decision. But ye best ken this -- if ye willnae try, ye're a coward pure and simple!"

His eyes did open then, fixing her with a glare so murderous it took all her courage not to step away, to keep the disgust in her eyes as she stared at him. Oddly, his face wasn't matching that glare, his sinuses looked rather swollen, now that he was allowing animation of his face. She didn't back off, and after an eternity, he took a breath, opened his mouth --

And sneezed.

It wasn't just a single sneeze, but an explosion of three nearly simultaneously, clearly having been held back for some time. She was instantly supporting him, calculating why he had that reaction even as his pain-filled moan reached her ears.

Of course. Chest muscles, diaphragm, lungs, tensed shoulders, tensed neck, tensed face -- all those would be screaming at him for making them move so swiftly and suddenly. And the pain only made him that much more tense, which augmented the problem. She laid him back down as quickly as she dared without exacerbating the problem, then hurried to the small counter behind him, throwing open a cupboard above the stainless steel sink.

Moira popped the syringe into her mouth, biting off the cap even as she checked the color of the plastic she was tearing off. It was codeine, would help the pain as well as keep coughing down, if he decided on that, as well.

Fool! He'd most likely caught some sort of bug, with his white count down that low! Idiot man, stubborn as his brother. His eyes were clenched shut with the pain, breathing hoarse in the tense silence that had settled about the room.

"Relax, Stryfe, ye have tae relax or the pain'll just get worse --" He had wonderful arms for finding veins, and even as she grabbed his right arm, getting a blood vessel to rise to the surface, he tugged weakly at her.

Tugged. Moved his arm.

Independently of an involuntary action like sneezing. He tried to pull his arm away from her.

She administered the shot anyway, watching his blood pressure and heart rate climb as he only managed to worsen the pain, and she was certain she heard the tiniest of whimpers from him as he felt the ice running through his arm.

"'Tis codeine, Stryfe. A ken ye want tae be aware, ye're afraid tae be drugged. A'm doing my best here tae cater tae that, but ye're in too much pain tae let this foolishness continue."

At her words his eyes snapped open, dilated and less of a dull blue, tending more towards a thundercloud grey. He managed to stare at her for several seconds before watching the ceiling, clearly struggling to get his breathing under control.

Moira patted his arm until it seemed to be untensing, watching his first rapid blinks slow to those of a drowsy infant. "A ken ye're afraid that ye'll tell me something ye want tae keep tae yuirself, so A'm going tae leave for a few hours, till the codeine wears off. Then ye'll have tae start therapy, tae shake off this bug ye obviously caught."

She tapped his sinuses, gently, and he blinked, trying to flinch back into the pillows. Definitely pressure there, but he had no known allergies, they would have shown up before... perhaps an infection? She glanced at the monitors, unsure as to whether the slight temperature was a symptom of infection or merely a reaction to the drug or his own actions.

It didn't matter either way. She'd come back, when he was still asleep, later, and take a few blood samples, see what she could find.

"And by the way, Stryfe?" His eyes, now quite glazed, moved ever so slowly to her, and she could barely resist a triumphant grin. So he had been paying attention all this time, consciously keeping himself from responding, or he never would have done so under the drugs. "Ye moved yuir arm, just now. Ye almost pulled away from me."

She leaned in ever so close, whispering in his ear, "A told ye you could."

* * * * * * *

Stryfe awoke to the surprising and less common discomfort of being a little chilly. He was covered with only the white bedsheet, and though the room was free of drafts, the air itself was cooler. He'd never been hot here, granted, but something about this morning? afternoon? seemed a bit to the chill side. His head was pounding in rhythm with his heartbeat, and his tongue felt swollen and not entirely his own.

And somewhere, in a room far away, he could hear Moira ranting.

He kept his eyes closed, well aware that there had to be some sort of electronic device in the room, surveillance of some kind, and that the object of her anger was probably him. She'd been far too level-toned with him, far too civil, and he had been expecting such a break in patience even before now.

He had dredged up his memories of shield-disciplines for the headblind -- disciplines he knew well but had never expected to use from within -- as soon as he had been able to think clearly enough to recall them. One small thing he could control, one thin layer of protection, one more thing to help him hide his thoughts from her, one small stumbling block to cast before any telepath she might finally bring in to pry out his secrets.

He had expected her to lose patience with him, to stop playing the current game.

But he wasn't ready.

Nor was he ready as her footfalls, surprisingly soft and intent in one, carried her into his room. She was going to yell, and he steeled himself not to flinch. It didn't matter, if he didn't respond she could learn nothing from him. He was safe, just so long as he gave nothing away.

Just so long as he didn't break.

He heard her sweep in, could practically feel the waves of frustration rolling off her. Would, if he wasn't mindblind. Could, if he had his telepathy.

"A'm sick of this dance," she growled without preamble, her voice dangerously close. He did nothing, and couldn't help the flinch as a wall of air assaulted him. "Do ye ken what yuir ridiculous stubborness is doing tae ye?" She seemed to be almost snarling as she read off some bloodwork results. White count off. That was to be expected, might even explain the splitting headache and swollen tongue.

Still he said nothing, tried desperately to remain still, and there seemed to be a pause in the way time flowed.

And then she struck him.

His eyes flew open in surprise and shock, feeling quite clearly her hand as she forcefully pinned the pages of results to his chest. It hurt a little, a twinge of pain fading into the ocean of aches, and she closed the distance between them with her eyes, wild and full of rage. Her gaze was inescapable.

"A dunnae care if ye've lost all yuir self-respect, A still expect ye tae respect me! What do ye think ye're accomplishing with this? Ye're hurting yuir chances of ever recovering again!" She waved a hand in the air, not distracting him from those clear, angry green eyes. Such intensity he had seen in few others.

"All this for what? What are ye trying tae accomplish?" She paused, glaring, before adding mockingly, "Do ye think ye're making progress?"

He allowed his eyes to take on a glazed look, turning his head from her, hoping beyond hope that she would leave, she would count her victory and leave him be! Oath, why wouldn't she leave him alone? What hints had he given her, how did she know he was so close to giving up? He'd done nothing! He had no chance at recovery! Surely she had figured out by now that tactic would not be effective!

Why was she trying? Why did she still believe there was anything there at all? So much of him was gone, just a shred of defiance remained, and even that she had to chip until it was nothing! Would she not rest until every last wisp of the man he had once been was destroyed?!

He felt himself swallowing, trying to loosen the swollen feeling of his tongue. Perhaps the only way to convince her was to voice it? Make her think, perhaps, that he really knew nothing? Wasn't even a cold prison preferable to this woman's company?

"Sae yuir just givin' oop now?" Definitely taunting. He felt a sneeze building, and fought it down desperately. The last thing he needed to was to convince her how badly he truly felt. "Ye donnae think 'tis worth the pain, tae be able tae move yuirself around again? Ye're afraid tae try?" She was almost touching his face, he could feel her warm breath on his cheek.

He ignored the instinct to strike, to bat her away, almost screaming in frustration that simple proximity would panic him so! She couldn't hurt him, not any more than he had hurt himself.

But the mantra was getting old, and his pain was never-fading, and he was beginning to wonder just how much control this woman had over his fate. And how his tiny amount of power was quickly slipping through his fingers.

Her voice, now, soft, nearly a whisper. "Look. At. Me." But he didn't respond, didn't turn his head. Didn't show her the fear, the pain, the despair. Couldn't.

She didn't know it yet, but she had already won.

He felt the hesitance in the room, as thick as a liquid, as deafening as the silence of a mountain breathing. And then she touched him. And he flinched back. But the touch didn't hurt, a warm finger on his jaw that turned him slowly, a slight torture, one he could resist. He'd moved his head already, and faster than that.

"Ye can do it and ye ken that," she murmured. Her voice was very soft, very low. Enticing. Asking something of him, but it was the wrong question! Did the woman not understand that she simply wasn't skilled enough to heal him? Was she simply assuming that mere physical therapy could get him over this injury? He was mindblind! A telepath without telepathy! A warrior without a weapon! Nothing was left of him, she could not save him! Why did she insist on this tactic, why did she try so to instill that false hope in him?!

He closed his eyes slowly, had to to keep the sudden tears from escaping. He was not going to cry like a child, he was not --

"Fine, Stryfe, ye've made yuir decision," she spat in disgust, filling the silence with her anger. "But ye best ken this - if ye willnae try, ye're a coward pure and simple!"

His eyes flew open as a sudden anger filled him. It wasn't true, it wasn't! He was not running from his destiny, his fate! He had not fled to another century to escape his own failures! He was Stryfe, the Chaos-Bringer, and he was not a coward!

He felt himself reacting without thinking, sucking in the breath to reply, to make her understand, and the building sneeze came from nowhere.

Three times his chest contracted, expelling air from his lungs at over a hundred miles an hour. And three times agony gripped him, as if the talons of the Phoenix had buried themselves into his skull, so this tore through him. Had he the breath he would have screamed, and as it was a moan erupted from somewhere in his chest, just before another wave, this one from his lower abdomen and shoulders, back, arms -- it was too much.

He felt her arms behind him, lowering him slowly backwards, and terror gripped him. She was making her move, the woman sensed victory, and he could do nothing -- nothing! to stop her! The pain was too great, he fought the urge to curl up into himself, to hide in a ball until it passed him, until it was simply the lapping puddles of lesser discomforts, until it just ended -

He felt her grip his arm, felt the pressure of her fingers, trying to raise a blood vessel. "Relax, Stryfe, ye have tae relax or the pain'll just get worse --" He tried to tear his arm away, finally actually tried and her grip never flinched, the ice flowing into him as surely as Death would have claimed him beneath the rocks. He shuddered as it started to take effect, relaxing muscles he hadn't even been aware were clenched.

It was more than a shudder, he was trembling from exertion. He shouldn't be, he shouldn't have been able to tense to the extent of this reaction, surely it was a side effect of the drug --

"'Tis codeine, Stryfe," she murmured, in a surprisingly soothing tone of voice. Not the triumphant ring he expected, not at all. "A ken ye want tae be aware, ye're afraid tae be drugged. A'm doing my best here tae cater tae that, but ye're in too much pain tae let this foolishness continue." He heard her drop the syringe, felt even more of himself uncurling, and with it the pain receding.

Codeine, codeine -- wasn't that a derivative of morphine? He suppressed a moan of despair, opening his eyes, watching her. It would debilitate him, it already was, creeping tendrils that were making his awareness less and less sharp.

He felt her hand on his arm, patting him almost too gently for him to feel. "A ken ye're afraid that ye'll tell me something ye want tae keep tae yuirself, so A'm going tae leave for a few hours, till the codeine wears off. Then ye'll have tae start therapy, tae shake off this bug ye obviously caught."

Even in the state he was rapidly falling victim to, fear clenched a knot in his gut. She knew. It had been a game, then, she knew -- she was leaving? No, he couldn't have heard right, she was lying, trying to relax him even as he fought the drug, fought the muzziness that crept over him like a soggy down comforter.

She reached fingers for his face, suddenly, tapping ungently on his swollen glands, making him start back at the surprising pain there, and she stopped almost immediately. He tried to focus on the ceiling, she was too close to see comfortably without his eyes unfocusing. What was she doing, surely it wasn't concern, surely it was still part of her game --

"And by the way, Stryfe?" There was a pause, and she removed her fingers from his face. "Ye moved yuir arm, just now. Ye almost pulled away from me." No, no, he had tried, surely he hadn't succeeded, surely she was... she was lying, wasn't she? He dragged his eyes back to her, slowly, and only saw the blur of her, coming closer, closer still, she was right beside him --

"A told ye you could."

* * * * * * *