Not So Plain Jane - Catfight

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Betsy comes back to the country for the briefest of visits, intending only to sign some papers for her lawyer and talk over some issues. The plan changes, however, when it turns out that her lawyer's firm represents some other people as well.

Come on, admit it, you've missed the Jean/Betsy snark just as much as we have.



"I'll be right with you, Betsy." Stanley said, reassuredly. "Just wait here with Maureen and I'll prep the necessary documents."

He ushered her from his plush office to the main hall of the high-rise building. Betsy looked down at her watch and sighed. She'd managed to adhere to her schedule and the meeting with Stanley wasn't quite so dreadful. The day was almost done and just a few more stops and she could make an end of it.

There were definitely times when Jane had to admit that her new job's dress code was a tad strange. She didn't object, really - kind of liked the shocked looks passers-by would give her as she was treated well by respectable shopkeepers and businessmen despite what was only a few steps up from hooker wear, but there was still something a little weird about walking through such a high powered law firm as though you owned it while wearing stilettos and a black leather mini-skirt.

"This way, ma'am," the legal aid said, leading her down the hall with that ernest air that only a lawyer can manage and only in the presence of a client with a LOT of money. "Mr. Bradley knows you're here..."

A flash of red and Betsy stilled. She turned slowly to her right as two women entered into the main lobby from the far wing and into Betsy's line of sight. For a moment, the telepath looked upwards as if questioning the Fates on their comedic timing. Betsy almost turned her back at the redhead but the curious sensation she felt rolling over her gave Betsy pause. "Jean?" It was another moment before she took in the sight of her clothes. "Oh, dear lord," a startled laugh. "Jean."

Jane turned at the voice and her eyes widened. "Fucking hell," she muttered as she realized who it was. Betsy might not be in the top three list of People Jane Didn't Want to See, but she was up there. Not that there wasn't a lot of potential, it was just that the woman was such a Bitch, and a telepath to boot. "Betsy. I'd say it was a pleasure to see you, but it's not."

Dark eyes rounded in shock and shunted amusement. But that response had definitely garnered a reaction and well, hell. So did the mini-skirt. She cleared her throat. "Likewise, but if we all got what we wanted you wouldn't be here of all places." Betsy pushed off the main desk and walked to where the two women stood. "In fact, why are you here at all Jean?"

"Aw, Bets, we don't live together anymore, don't have to deal with each other at breakfast or staff meetings. Say what you mean. 'If we all got what we wanted', or rather, if you got what you wanted, I wouldn't be anywhere, would I now?"

"Now, that's a bit harsh," Betsy ground out. The air between Betsy and Jean seemed to ionized and a squeak from Jean's left told Betsy that the woman that had acommpanied the redhead was gone. "I think Asgard would be perfectly far enough. Unfortunately, I'm all out of pixie dust and you seem to have forgotten your broomstick. Pity."

Jane grinned brightly. "See, that's what I mean. Isn't it nice to not have to fuck about and say what you really mean? It's just so much more relaxing to actually come out and say I wish you were rotting in hell, and that I'd happily pay Ilyana if she'd give you a one way trip to her demon dimension."

"Oh, Jean." Betsy exclaimed, bringing her hand to her chest with a soft caress. "You say the sweetest things." Taking two steps closer, the expression on Betsy's face hardening. She was now standing so close to Jean, she could see the green-gold flecks in her eyes like the surface of the sun, slowly burning her retinas out and leaving painful after images in their wake. "Now, seriously," her next words softer. "What are you doing here? We both know that these offices mostly handle the work of some less than sterling characters."

Jane stared back, utterly unimpressed. "You mean like you?" she asked, not giving an inch.

That gave Jean one perfectly arched eyebrow in response. "Quite." None of this added up and Betsy wasn't fooled. But before she could do what came naturally, Betsy couldn't help what she said next. If asked she'd tell them, 'the stilettos made me do it.'

"So, I'm assuming your here to service the clientele with that getup? But since when has table-dancing been considered a respectable business?"

Jane grinned brightly, clearly amused. "Hey, when did I say I was going into respectable business after I left Xavier's. And it pays far better than teaching..." Honestly, if the woman was going to hand her a straight line like that, she was not going to just drop it.

"Wait, what!" Betsy exclaimed. She grabbed the other woman's right hand and pulled Jean towards her. The grip on her wrist was uncompromising and unrelenting. "You left Xaviers?" And Scott?

Betsy felt her gut wrench painfully as the thought took hold. "Right, that's it." She pulled on Jean, sending a blanket of psionic static out to all those within distance. They were there, but then again, they were not. "What the fuck is going on, Grey? No games."

Jane wrenched her hand free, stepping back but not leaving. "God, you live in your own little world. Yes, I left the school, and the team, and Scott, weeks ago. It's not a game, it's my life, but everybody seems to think they get some say in how I live it and what ought to make me happy."

"You're mental," Betsy scoffed. She swiped tiredly at her face before speaking. Something was off and it gnawed at her. "You know, that shite might've worked for the others, but it doesn't fly wit' me. You left the school," she reiterated slowly as if talking to someone especially slow. "Why?"

"I wasn't happy," Jane replied in the same manner, innunciating each word carefully, "so I left. There you go. All in small, easy to understand single syllable words."

"Maybe not," Betsy reputed. Dark eyes took in all that Jean exuded and still it felt off.

The first time Betsy had met the redhead, they stood in a courtyard on opposite sides not so unsimilar to today. But somehow, Jean managed to hit every nerve and stomp on every insecurity then with such stunning ferocity that Betsy had to wonder if she hadn't managed to nick her personal journal. With each new barb, Betsy imagined the pages scanned, catalogued, and stuffed someplace seedy for future entanglements. So much so, that after every encounter, Betsy would often run into her quarters and ensure that the journal was exactly where she'd left it.

Betsy shook herself from the memory. "I'm sorry that you felt so claustrobic in your life that you felt it necessary to walk away from it. I guess that means that you still haven't quite gotten over feeling of being boxed in. But you know, I'd almost buy that perfect lie if I hadn't heard so many bloody stories about the flawless Jean Grey. Who would've guessed she turned out to be such a ruddy liar." Betsy moved closer, unbearably close. Her teeth bared as she spoke. "I don't care what else you have to say --- No woman could smile the way you did and not have been happy."

This time Jane didn't back away, although she wanted to. Fucking telepaths. "Which is it, then?" she bit out. "Am I flawless or flawed, was I lying then or am I lying now? Go on, tell me. Everybody seems to know more about me than me, so go on, tell me what I actually am, tell me what insight you have into my soul."

"Cut the defenseless act, Red." Betsy snapped, using the endearment to ground her. "Perhaps, I will tell you another thing...." Taking a slow, casual glance at the Jean's wardrobe, Betsy licked her lips. It'd finally fell into place. That little bit of information. Right in front of her. "You know, Jean. No woman can pull off that skirt or those shoes by not knowing exactly who she is. Call it model's intuition. But whatever this is, I'm not buying it."

"There we go, I knew using multiple sentences was a bad idea - you have such trouble following abstract concepts, Bets, dear. Let me be clearer - I was being facetious. I know who I am, and what I want, but nobody else gets it. Everybody insists their view of my life is the right one. 'No woman could smile the way I did and not be happy', right? Wrong."

"Right," Betsy said with a snap of her teeth. She decidedly pulled back and gave another cursory glance at the people around them, oblvious to the shitstorm happening right in front of their faces. Feeling the flow of anger pooling around her, too close to the surface for her own liking. Betsy couldn't help but picture Scott in that moment and it took all of her self-restraint not to cross the few inches between them and rip Jean's throat out. Instead. "My apologies, then."

"Not accepted." And with that, Jane turned and headed back down the hall the way she'd been going.

What the fuck? Betsy felt the ebb of her anger lessen in intensity with each passing moment. She hadn't realized she'd been shaking until a hand rested firmly on her shoulder. "Fuck!" Betsy gasped, turning to see the secretary with her prepared files.

Unphased, Maureen handed over the paperwork. "Here are your requested materials, Ms. Braddock."

Betsy held onto the documents like a lifeboat in a torrential storm. All the while, following Jean's presence down the hall. The thought of going after her had crossed her mind more than once but something stronger, instinctual, told her to run and count her blessings. And that feeling alone was enough to make Betsy shiver and she wasn't exactly sure why.