xp_logs | Five Against One: Face to Faces

Backdated to Sunday morning after Charles' assessment, Betsy is left to face the madness head-on.

He was too short. All the things that had happened, and all the things that were going to, and all he could think about was how wrong it was he would have to look up into her eyes.

It had always been a different kind of relationship.

Jemail stood there in the sterility of the Medlab hallway, self-conscious in the shabbiness of his threadbare grey sweatshirt and unkempt black hair, and searched for something to say to the woman standing just feet away. But words had never been his strength, so he said the only thing he could think of.

"He's resting now."

"And so should you," Betsy said as she wrapped her arms around herself. Insulating. Comforting. Safe. She lowered her eyes, trying to minimize his discomfort. There was a brief flicker of recognition in her expression as Betsy moved back a few paces and leaned up against the wall, and then proceeded to remove her stiletto boots, one foot at a time. "I know I should be completely terrified of the similarities alone but for some odd reason I'm not."

"You're a special woman." The words hung as awkwardly as their speaker as the difference in height was quietly decreased. He swiped a hand down his face, and was stricken by how short they felt. Jemail dropped his hand and turned it slowly, as if it were a rock that could have been hiding a poisonous snake that would lunge out to bite. Nothing did. All there was was dusky skin, and the lace of old scars crossing his knuckles. Right again . . . and wrong. All wrong.

"This is so fucked up," he whispered.

"Amen," Betsy murmured. Looking on both sides of the abandoned hallway, she spoke with forced casualness. "Want to get some air?"

Jemail hesitated, torn. He didn't want to refuse her, but he also didn't want to leave David in the state he was in. But it was late, and David was asleep. Moira was there, and so was Amelia. The professor was watching.

And Jemail was tired.

"Yeah," the young man said. "I need a cigarette." He let his hand go slack at his side and breathed out. Muscle control, unkit. Neck, shoulders, back. Relax.

"My sentiments exactly," Betsy said with a bright smile. She pulled her hands from behind her back, the pack already in her right hand as she tossed it over to him. Betsy bent down and picked up her shoes as she headed toward the staircase. "C'mon, I know just the spot."

Jemail snapped the pack out of the air and clasped it. The stiff wrapping crinkled under his hands. Marlboros, cheap and common. Just picking them up must have caused Betsy physical pain. It was his brand of choice.

No words were exchanged until they reached the upper level. The distant hum of a television drifted through the foyer; some student, or group of students, staying up late to watch a movie; televised automatic gunfire snapped. For two telepaths, avoiding chance encounters posed no challenge.

Betsy walked out the edge of the porch, stopping to appreciate the landscape before putting her boots back on. She turned as Jemail joined her, offering her right hand to him. "I've always been meaning to take you there and it kept slipping my mind. It's a bit of a walk but secluded enough, do you feel up to it?"

Jemail began to reach out for her, then froze. "Babe, you've done things I never thought a woman would do for me. A lot of them are even things I can talk about in public. But we're officially into above and beyond the call of duty." The warm air moved his shaggy bangs as he looked at her, her face illuminated in the porchlight. "Do you really want to do this?"

Because I know we never wanted to do this to you.

Betsy regarded him for a moment, smiled, and walked over to where Jemail stood. She placed both her hands in his and pulled gently. "Come on, Jem. You'll really love this spot. It's absolutely stunning on a night like this and it'll help, I promise."

Her hands glowed against his darker skin. Jemail said, "Okay."

"Now, you don't get an option to not like this place," Betsy said, jokingly as she pulled him up with her. She turned her head to the side slightly and if you caught the angle just right you'd see a stray tear falling quickly down her face. But instead, Betsy quickly wiped it away, placing a playful smile in its place. "Not that you will."

"Well, they always say you start appreciating the little things more before you--" Jemail caught himself, and cut off before the last word could escape. Not that it was in time to make any difference.

Betsy remained silent for a moment, her eyes avoiding Jemail's face. "Is that what they say will happen?"

The smaller man matched the length of her silence as they crossed into the trees, thinking of Charles' conclusions and the weight in his eyes as he'd given them. "Some things don't get a do-over," he said finally. A low-hanging branch was in front of them, almost indistinguishable in the darkness. He reached out to push it away from her path. "When you were blind, did you ever go walking like this?"

Their steps carried his arm beyond the reach of the branch, and his fingers parted with the tip. It snapped back into the night behind them.

"When it first happened I was sent back to Malden. Back then, I couldn't go to the loo without being terrified. But as I settled into my...change of circumstance, my telepathy began accommodating and soon, I could move about without any trouble. Well, as long as there was someone around that was." Betsy added. "Though that doesn't answer your question does it?" She pulled a leaf from a low-lying branch. "Once," she said offhandedly. "It was after a few weeks of living here and in my over-confidence of agonizing the layout of the school and grounds I'd decided to test my knowledge and explore my surroundings. I'm not sure if it was simply to see if I could do it or if I wanted to have a sense of autonomy so badly that I was ignorant to what a monumentally stupid move it actually was. And well, by the time I'd realize my error I'd been lost for quite some time." She laughed at the memory. "It was already quite late and I was too stubborn to call for help." Betsy commented. "It was not one of my more memorable moments."

"I just wondered if you'd ever walk into overhanging branches. Of course, I'm also going to burn in hell." He squeezed her hand, the gesture automatic and familiar. All the inconsistencies faded in the dark. "Yeah, I know what that's like. Hoping you'll find a way out even though it might just get you more lost, because moving in any direction is better than standing still." Now he did glance over to her, eyes tracing her profile. "So what happened?"

"Salvation," Betsy answered, turning back towards Jemail. The trees opened up to reveal the school standing just under the moon, stars sprinkling the sky. It was truly a magnificent sight.

Jemail looked at the mansion, windows glowing gold, the lawn's lights cutting the odd oval swath. Jemail turned to her and smiled despite himself. "Well, this place has made me think about turning to prayer before."

"It has its moments," Betsy said grinning. "Feeling a bit better then?"

His smile turned into a gentle snort. "You don't need props to be a religious experience." To fill his lack of follow-up he reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt to extract the pack of cigarettes.

Saying goodbye was hard when you'd never thought anyone would care enough to need it.

"Thanks, Betts," Jemail said. "For the last few weeks. Year. You helped keep it . . . sane." He smiled again. "Must have been some kind of double-negative since neither of us has much of a claim."

"Sanity is overrated," Betsy answered. "And you're welcome. Though it was hardly a humanitarian effort on my part." She brought her hand from his shoulder back down to his fingers. "Come on, we should be heading back."

"Don't sell yourself short, Betts. You did take on one hell of a charity case."

Leaves shuffled under heavy footsteps, and Jack stepped out of the shadows.

"Nice night," the alter observed.

Jemail's hand tightened around Betsy's, an imperceptible tensing. Then, remembering who he was with and what Davey had made Jack promise, steadily forced his gripping fingers loose.

"Ahlan, Jack," he said.

"Hello," Betsy said, ignoring the tension between the two men. "It's a beautiful night for a walk. Good of you to come out and take in the sights. But we were just about to head in, isn't that right Jem?"

"Yeah, we were." The possessiveness in the alter's grey eyes was clear. It set his teeth on edge, filled his mouth with hot copper.

She wasn't only yours.

But he couldn't call Jack out on it. Not here, and not in front of Betsy. This was bad enough already. Especially when Jemail knew that if it ever came down to a physical fight there was no question who would come out victorious.

Not that Jack would have had to throw a single punch. Charles had confirmed the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

Betsy stuttered to a stop and regarded Jack and then Jemail. The thoughts escaping from the two of them like a cacophony of sound. An orchestra of thought, each one outlying another emotion. She shuddered slightly at the more concentrated sensation. It was different now with the alters out in the world, little speakers to one strained mind. Instead of one point of noise, there were five, and Betsy was overwhelmed by the intensity of it. The possessiveness.

Jemail squeezed Betsy's hand once more, then let go. Clasp, step back. Like a dance. "You should go see David, then get yourself some rest. It's been a long day."

She took in a few deep breaths to get her bearings. Her face paled slightly as the minds of the men grew louder, mirrors of psionic energy. "No, we all should go back. I'm not going to be the one held responsible for losing either one of you."

Jemail's reply was stolen by a spasmodic jerk from his left hand as pain lanced down the side of his wrist; the packet of cigarettes fell to the ground. Breath drawing inwards in a hiss, Jemail shoved the fingers of his good hand under the cuff of his sleeve and found the skin beneath it wet.

"You all right there, Jemmy?" Jack asked.

Hand away from wrist, quickly. It was still covered by his sweater. Jemail stooped to retrieve the cigarettes, unobtrusively bringing his right hand against his thigh to wipe away the evidence.

"Fine," he replied as he uncrouched, forcing his posture straight and his mind calm. His telepathy was shaky, but keeping the contents of his mind away from others was something he knew well. He was grateful for Betsy's support -- more than he wanted to admit, bordering on desperation -- but there were some things he couldn't ask her to see.

Jemail turned to look at the woman standing in the moonlight. "I'll be fine," he said, voice less tight by sheer force of will. "I'm going to go back to my room. Look after David, okay? He needs you more."

"All right," Betsy finally acquiesced. She left the area, forcing herself not to turn back as she disappeared from sight.

Jemail turned to where Jack had settled, his back against a tree. "Happy?" he asked quietly. The alter looked from Betsy's retreating form to the young man, and there was none of the expected smirk of triumph evident on his face.

"That our infection makes her suffer?" Jack pushed off the tree and turned back into the woods. "All those years in the head, and you really don't know us at all."

Jemail watched the taller man disappear into the darkness, then turned to find his way back to the school.

When she reached the medlab, instead of turning towards Haller's room, she found herself standing inside a familiar space. She listened as the door closed quietly behind her and she braced herself against the vacant bed. It was quiet. Her eyes closed blissfully as she slowly sank to the floor. She brought her hand over her mouth to keep from being heard as the sobs began to rack her body. It'd had gotten to be too much. Emotionally drained the prior two weeks, Betsy collapsed inside the Box, overcome.

The door opened again, softly.

"Hey, Betsy."

David stood in the doorway wearing sweats and an Xavier's t-shirt that left his arms bare, exposing the mottled bruising of Jack's rage. Gauze wrapped his right hand, crisp and white. Evidence of just how determined Davey had been to make an impression.

Betsy tensed at the sound of the door opening, she wiped hastily at her face. "Hey," she said, surprised her voice remained even. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I can walk. I can talk. Just not well." Slow and stiff, he dropped down to the floor beside her and crossed his legs. He folded his hands in his lap and met her red-rimmed eyes. "How are you?"

She let out a sarcastic laugh. "Grand," Betsy sniffled. "Never better."

"You look it." A bandaged hand raised to wipe at the dampness on her cheek. "Betts," David said, more quietly, "this isn't your fault."

"I never said it was," she said unconvincingly. "Just because I'm in here now, crying, does not necessarily mean I'm doing so because of you. I came all the way here because...because I was desperately in the mood for Chocolate Mint ice cream and realized Bobby is gone and we're out. So please don't make this about you when it clearly isn't."

"Okay." There was a leaf in her hair. He reached up to claim it, dragging long strands of purple with it. He held it pressed between his forefinger and thumb, as if trying to fathom its meaning, then let it drop. The leaf drifted to the floor. Blue eyes rose.

"Thank you," David said. "For coming back."

I'm sorry.

Betsy closed her eyes and let out a sad huff of air. She turned away from David to keep him from seeing her minimal hold on calm disintegrate. "Don't be."

"Mind reading is cheating," David murmured.

"I don't have to be psychic to know what you're thinking," Betsy said, looking up at David and then around the room. "I turned it on before I came inside. A great deal more peaceful, that way."

The Box was on. That was a blessing . . . for her, at least. For David it made no difference. His telepathy was gone, carried off like all his other powers. It wasn't just the lack, it was the void of it -- like a slow-bleeding wound. Maybe it would come back when this was all over.

Was that good, or bad?

David slipped his hand beneath the hair at the nape of her neck, lifting it away from her cold skin. The sensation was blunted by the gauze around his palm. It seemed like his thoughts were wound in the same. But for this, he found, he could still muster some kind of feeling.

"You're the only thing we could ever completely agree on," he said.

"I'm glad there was a consensus about something." Betsy said rolling her neck slightly at the press of warm fingers against her skin. She shifted closer to David. "I want you whole again."

He thought of Jack's foot lashing out at Jemail's stomach, and the hate on his face . . . and the look on Jemail's face when he and Charles had come into the Medlab.

"A day."

David wrapped one arm around Betsy's waist, his mind numb and chest cold.

"Me too."