Disclaimer: Characters and setting are property of Marvel Comics. The plot wandered off from theirs sometime after O:ZT, and after Stryfe came back but before the Blood Brothers crossover. We make no claim on their property and neither expect nor intend material profit resulting from this story.

Ashes of Chaos: Break of Dawn
by Jaya Mitai and Persephone
Part 13

Moira dragged herself from sleep with some effort, glaring blearily at the ceiling before cursing loudly and sitting up hastily, still in her bathrobe with a towel on her head. It was still damp; she'd only been asleep a few hours -- and here I thought I was laying me down for a wee rest before I...

Checked on my patient...

She sprang from the bed more sluggishly than she would have liked, dressing herself quickly and cursing as things went wrong -- her sock was slightly unraveling and caught her toenail, her shoes refused to be put on, her hair refused to sit correctly after a quick blow-dry and brush...

And to top it off, as she hurried down the stairs, she managed a jaw-cracking yawn. This was ridiculous...

Down the stairs, past the labs -- thank the Lord above she hadn't been doing anything that needed immediate attention -- and to her camera, to view Stryfe. By now, actually, he might be wondering at the break in routine... she wondered oddly if he thought she might carry a grudge. His life signs seemed calm, not elevated, but that didn't mean much.

Rahne had seen to him, och, what a lovely, thoughtful lass she was, and he was currently staring at the camera, as if able to sense her eyes. He didn't appear to have moved much, but there was evidence he'd eaten whatever Rahne had brought him. He tended to prefer eating things she brought, and Moira hadn't yet figure out if that was because he preferred the dishes, or he was trying to make a statement.

Or he seriously thought she was trying to harm him, still.

She shook her head in disgust at the thought, noticing a coffee mug left over from last night. She picked it up and sniffed -- not too old. She sipped the room-temperature contents and looked at the remarks she had in Post-It notes around the monitor.

Closes eyes -- removing himself, denying or an attempt to replace his telepathic shield.

Turns away -- classic avoidance. Anger? Not his usual style...

Speaks -- to alleviate fear or mask it.

Stares -- thinking

Which still didn't explain why he was still afraid. Rahne had only confirmed it recently, but he was still afraid of her! After all this time, nearly three weeks... and had his lashing out yesterday afternoon been a symptom of fear... or simply the habit of an acid tongue kicking in to hide his vulnerability? For she was sure he was more aware of it now than when he literally had been at their mercy. Now, if he felt like resisting the examinations and exercises, he could.

And he didn't. He did everything she told him to, despite the pain, took probably about a third of the vitamins, and generally ate what was given to him. She wasn't worried about malnutrition anymore -- she gave him his vitamins via shot these days, which he didn't like one bit but accepted, and for some reason, he trusted the food more than he did the pills.

Which made little sense, considering it would be just as easy to hide a drug or poison in spaghetti as it would Tylenol.

She shook her head, rubbing her eyes gingerly, surprised at how strained they still felt. Since that nap, she'd gotten at least five hours, it would be enough, it would have to be enough.... Her fingers felt rough, the skin on the web between thumb and forefinger chapped and scaling. She'd have to see to that with lotion; she'd been washing her hands even more frequently, having a patient... she'd been doing a lot of things more frequently, and she hadn't yet decided whether it was a strain or a welcome change.

If only he'd learn to trust them! If only he would accept her offer for what it was... she half wished he hadn't burned himself out so completely. That spike in brain activity hadn't been repeated in the time she'd been specifically watching his brainwaves, and she'd have to hook up the equipment again to see if it ever was -- and if it wasn't, now wasn't the time to nurture and dash that hope. Not when he was finally responding to them!

Grabbing a clipboard out of habit, she clicked her soft way towards his room, stopping only to make sure her equipment was still functioning normally, the refrigeration units still operational, and her computer systems working. It was all habit, and took her a little under three minutes, giving her the peace of mind necessary to start what she knew would be the first day of his mental therapy.

Stryfe turned his head, watching her come in, then turned back towards the ceiling rather casually, and Moira tried not to smile to herself. She had snapped, what was called for was an apology -- she had gotten the last word yesterday, let her emotion get the better of her. There was to be no lying to Stryfe, certainly not from now on.

"How are ye today, Stryfe? Have ye taken the initiative to move yuirself around a wee bit, or did ye wait for Rahne to come and help ye?"

He didn't deny that he needed help, as she would have thought, just stared at the ceiling, before ever, ever so slowly bringing his hands up and folding them beneath his head. Which proved that he'd been doing quite a bit of stretching -- and that had to have hurt a great deal, as the undermuscles of his arms hadn't been stretched at all when she'd been present. She hadn't thought him ready to extend his arms above and behind his head yet.

"Well, then, A take it ye have," she said, gently and approvingly. "Dunnae push too hard, though. Ye won't be happy if ye pull a muscle."

He turned to look at her, again with a strangely... void expression. "Who said I was happy?"

Moira tried not to change expression at all. What was he up to? Back into that depression. "Dunnae start down that road, Stryfe, ye're making this hard enough on yuirself as it is."

Stryfe turned back to the ceiling, hands still cushioning his head, as if he was looking at stars or fluffy clouds in curious shapes. "I wasn't aware I was starting down any road, doctor." He blinked, lazily, and continued. "And to answer your question, yes, Rahne came and took care of me." Biting sarcasm, at the end... as though for having to admit that that was what she was doing, and he required it. But there was something else....

"Good for her, then." Moira crossed to lean over him and check his sinuses. She had to find that allergen, and soon. "A shouldnae have snapped at ye earlier, Stryfe. A apologize."

He pulled away from her gentle examination of his sinuses and the nodes on his neck, now using his hands to bat her away clumsily. "They're just as painful as they were the last time," he growled, breaking his emotionless mask. "Oath, woman, use your eyes!" She ignored him and his attempts to force her away, and after a moment, he ceased.

Ceased physically trying to drive her away, at least.

"And of all things, you apologize for snapping at me?" A low, guttural chuckle. "That was the first truly helpful thing you've done for me."

Moira didn't snap, but did scribble down his comment on the clipboard, noticing his attention sharpen. Though one usually used this tactic in an interrogation, not a therapy session. She was beginning to think they might become one and the same, with this man. "Oh? Sick of being bored, were ye? It was yuir choice tae keep silent, like it was yuir choice to nae eat or drink when ye first came here."

A reminder of her statement yesterday made him smile. "Not so sorry that you won't remind me again, I see. But then, you're one of Cable's acolytes, these days, and 'sorry has no meaning.'" He said it almost mincingly, not changing the pitch of his voice, but the undertones...

She slid the pen into its holder on the clipboard and tapped him sharply on the end of the nose with one finger. For an instant he looked almost stunned. "Ye seem tae need reminding, and an acolyte, indeed! Where ye got that notion A have nae idea, and ye speak it as if ye were a taunting bairn."

She nearly grinned at his bewilderment. He wanted an argument, obviously, in order to push her away, admitting verbally that he needed help without wanting to have to accept it. Classic, actually. Not at all surprising. It was a little... disappointing, actually, that nineteenth and twentieth century psychology was so applicable on a mind from the fortieth century, with all the complexity of the future.

"Now, how do ye feel? Well enough tae sit up for a wee bit? Maybe ten minutes, no more, tae give yuir back a workout?"

He glared at her as she moved to help him, grabbing the bedrails with his hands, instead. His hands had become more and more able to grab things and hold them; dangerous, when close to him, but he'd never threatened her with physical harm, nor Rahne, to her knowledge. He used them as well as his abdominal muscles to heave himself upright, then letting go and allowing his weight to settle. His legs were bent, as she had forgotten to do that long week before, and his breathing sounded only slightly elevated.

The pulse monitor was telling her something else entirely.

She then scribbled something else on the clipboard, something useful. Was his heart rate due to pain? Was he anxious about showing off? Was he showing off, or was he trying to demonstrate his ability to take care of himself? Was he capable of taking care of himself? She'd have to see him walk, first, and maybe today he was ready to stand, just maybe....

She then put it down, guiding her positively glowering patient through exercises. She had him draw increasingly large circles with his arms, slowly. She had him flex his arms, she had him reach toward the ceiling, now that he seemed able. When had he stretched those? She'd have to watch the tapes of him during the night... no. No, it was better to be surprised, genuinely surprised, so he would feel confident enough to make more strides when he felt he was ready, without fear of their watching his every stumble and fall.

"Ye've improved greatly in yuir flexibility," she noted, with no small approval in her voice. He needed positive reinforcement, and while his iron-hard face never wavered, she knew he'd think on her words later. So he had discarded his depression for the stoic, petulant child mask again. He felt confidant in it, because that mask would allow him to talk himself into believing he didn't need their help, he was merely allowing them to help him, using them, until he was fully capable again.

She wasn't sure if the depression would have been any more dangerous to him. Or them.

He had displayed no previous discomfort or embarrassment at her rather brisk examinations of his body, and didn't now, as she pulled back the sheet in order to test the response in his lower legs and feet. Still numb, in most places, or had been the last time; she was hoping the light exercise might stimulate the nerves here more quickly. He could move every muscle down to his toes, it would be a shame if he never regained feeling there.

Of course, once she had him walking around, she'd have to give him a gown, as it wouldn't be necessary to keep such a strict eye on his heart and lungs, but she'd rather not add anything to his environment until she'd nailed that bloody allergen! They'd checked the detergent, cleaning solutions, intravenous solutions, air, air filter, everything. Change in food did nothing, removing the blanket she'd given him last week did nothing. Nothing alleviated his symptoms, though the antibiotics had done their work, controlling the infection and fever. Furthermore, he was building a tolerance to it, so his sneezes came less frequently, but she was afraid that only marked the beginning of a deep-chest problem that could take him right back down to square one, health-wise.

She shook that off, tapping each of his toes with her penlight, watching them fail to twitch in response. But he could curl them and spread them apart, which meant, luckily, the spinal damage done was minimal, surprisingly so. He was lucky, he would do far more than regain his ability to walk. She didn't start getting reflexive twitches until near his ankle, and he nodded curtly as she looked questioningly at him, tapping his knees.

"A think ye should be ready tae stand," she said briskly, sliding the penlight into her labcoat and collapsing one of the bedrails. His look had gone from glowering to considering, and she forced herself not to hesitate at that. She helped him swing his legs off the bed, then half-sat on it herself, their difference in height making it easy for her to slide his arm comfortably around her shoulder. If he wanted to physically attack her, he wasn't going to get a much better opportunity.

Though her Scots Guard training would make it a very abbreviated attack, at this point. Rahne would still be scolding her for this.

"Up ye go," she grunted, sliding them both off the bed to the floor. His knees immediately attempted to give, and hers as well as she was forced to support a great deal of weight. His other hand was braced on the bed, and his breathing... she should have given him something for the pain. Still, this position was much like sleeping; at least he wasn't having to deal with pulling muscles.

He fought to keep his knees under him, whole body shaking with the effort as legs that simply had not been used to supporting any weight at all were forced to hold up his body. Even though he probably weighed fifteen to twenty pounds less than he did at the time of the attack, it was still too much. She tried to straighten a bit, give him a better angle with which to use her as support, and he shifted suddenly, away from her, mistaking her intention and moving to support all his weight on his other arm -- which was also not up to the task.

His knees gave, and Moira held onto his arm for dear life as he caught himself on the bed with his elbow, barely keeping himself from sliding further. Sweat was standing out on his forehead, slicked the palm that wasn't strong enough to actually hang onto her as she staggered against the bed, and his breathing rasped in the sudden, tense silence.

"Whoa, Stryfe, easy --" It would be next to impossible for her to get him off the floor if he fell, not to mention any damage it might do to still-numb legs.

He growled something in that strange language, pretty much what Cable occasionally lapsed into, his voice strained with effort as he moved to force legs that simply were too tired to straighten. She scooted closer to him, able to better support more of his weight, and her back popped loudly in protest. Under his left arm, she could feel his heart pounding beside her, almost in a half-time pulse to the trembling of his frame. Between the two of them, they just managed to get his waist about mattress height, and with a grunt and a hissed breath, she tipped him back, just enough of his weight over the bed to keep him from sliding off.

She leaned down quickly anyway, swinging trembling legs back onto the bed as he lay there, his breathing fast and shallow, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. He sneezed twice, a tiny moan in there somewhere, before he pulled a badly-shaking hand to his face, wiping his nose. She clucked and grabbed a Kleenex, wiping away the moisture as he dropped his hand to his chest, where it rose and fell quickly.

"That's more than enough for today. Ye did well."

A guttural chuckle, when he had breath enough for it. "Well? You call almost falling flat on my face well?"

"Ye supported more than three quarter of yuir own bodyweight, an it's been three weeks since yuir legs had weight tae support... ye'll be standing without support by the end of the week."

He had gained some control of his breathing back, with no evidence of wheezing, but chose not to respond, eyes still closed. After a moment she covered him back up with the light sheet, only up to his mid-chest. She didn't need him sweating too badly after his ordeal, but she didn't want him getting chilled, either.

"And ye wouldnae hae lost yuir balance if ye hadnae flinched when A moved. What did ye think A was doing, ye daft man?" She shook her head as she moved to get his water bottle, not noticing his eyes open and glower at her.

"I thought you were moving," he said in measured tones, keeping the glare as she turned and saw his eyes. She rolled her own.

"Och, yes, A was going tae just walk away and leave ye tae sink or swim as ye pleased?" She plopped the bottle on the table and swung it over his abdomen, half to make it easy to reach and half to convince him to stay lying down. However, water appeared to be the last thing on his mind, and his eyes abruptly... flickered, for a brief instant.

"Why not? Apocalypse would have."

Moira was stunned nearly speechless. Was he so tired, that he was finally going to give her an inkling of his past? That he was willing to open up, just for the moment? She mentally filed the comment away, her mouth plowing right on ahead.

"Do A look like Apocalypse tae ye? If so, it was nae my intention." Tired herself, she leaned on the edge of the bed, folding her arms on the table. "A'm not yuir keeper, Stryfe, A'm yuir healer. And ye're going tae hae tae give me some sort of trust if we're going tae get anywhere with ye."

Whatever had flickered in his eyes was gone, and in its place... anger. The moment, whatever it had been, was over, and Moira mentally kicked herself. What had she said wrong? Why had he slipped back into the old mask? And what had brought him out in the first place?

"Trust?" A tired laugh. "You expect me to trust you? Friend of Cable, former love of Xavier? The only thing I trust you to do is hand me over to them when you've finished with me." His tone was growing increasingly bitter, and Moira leaned forward quickly. No ye dunnae, ye bloody idiot. A'm nae letting ye back into that depression.

"Finished with ye? What is it ye think A'm gonnae do tae ye? Why are ye so afraid of me?" Her tone was intense but low, her volume soft. Again, something changed in his eyes.

"Afraid of you?" He shook his head in disgust. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not... stupid enough to believe your drivel about it being your duty to help me. You want something in return." Steel eyes, both of them, though one still shone pale gold.

Pale gold that, unless she was mistaken, was glowing, ever so slightly --

She pulled her eyes away from it quickly, lest he notice. She'd need to analyze his mind again, maybe another CAT scan --

"And I'm not going to start trusting you until I know what it is."

She threw back her head and laughed. Laughed long and sourly. "Oh, is that all? Why didnae ye say it in th' first place? Stryfe, ye ken what A want? A want tae see ye walk on th' cliffs an' stare out at the ocean. A want it tae bring ye peace, and A want tae see ye willing tae undo all the damage ye've done yuirself over the years. A want tae see ye laugh because something made ye happy. A want tae see ye doin' normal things, like shopping at th' grocery store an' falling in love with some fair lady and living in a nice house that ye bought for pocketchange an' fixed up yuirself.

"A want tae see ye proud of something, really proud. An' dunnae ye dare tell me yuir proud o' Legacy or what ye've made o' Cable, I ken that isna true. A want tae see ye confident enough tae believe in yuirself. A want tae see ye walking in the sunlight, and A want tae see Charles and Cable and yuir parents watching ye, proud of the steps ye've taken. You mentioned Apocalypse, what he would hae done. Ye hate him, I ken that. Why are ye letting him destroy ye even now?"

She'd gotten through on some level, but mention of Apocalypse and her words snapped a guard down around him as surely as if he'd erected a TK shield. So, he knew it was true, on some level, or it wouldn't have affected him. She made another mental note, even as his lips twitched and he bared his teeth.

"Somehow, I don't think Apocalypse is the reason I can barely move, woman."

Her voice was mild. "Have A harmed ye, Stryfe? Have A done anything at all besides do me best tae make ye better?"

"You call this better?" His tone was acidic, and he leaned up a bit. "Or did you miss the fact that it's been three weeks and the best I can do is lie in this bed!"

Her tone became a little harsher. "Oh, so yuir accusing me o' doing me best tae keep ye from getting better, then --"

"If you're trying to help, you're doing a poor job!"

Moira stopped and stared at him, disbelievingly. "Ye -- och, A wouldnae hae pegged ye for an idiot! If A wanted tae harm ye, do ye nae think A'd hae managed it by noo! Not that ye wouldnae deserve it," she growled. "But 'tis my place tae be healing ye. 'First do nae harm,' A swore, and A do the best A can tae carry it oot as a doctor!"

Stryfe raised his head, eyes blazing. "'First do no harm,'" he said mockingly, though the words caught hoarsely in his throat. "Magneto. Proteus, for that matter. Can you say you didn't harm them? Your oath is shattered; you're worse than the healer-torturers Apocalypse employed; at least they acknowledged what they really did!"

Moira reeled back as if he'd actually reached out and slapped her, sliding off the bed and to her feet without even realizing it. "If ye have pain, don't hesitate tae press the grey button," she managed, almost formally, before walking stiffly from the room. And catching sight of Rahne's somewhat guilty-looking face, leaning against the corner of the door.

"Ye ken better than tae listen in when A'm talking tae patients, Rahne," she said, more angrily than she meant, and her heart nearly broke as she saw Rahne flinch. But she couldn't bring herself to say another word, let alone apologize, and stopped to lay a hand on the girl's shoulder before continuing down the hall, head still held high.

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