Shadow King: Confrontations

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Escaped from the medlab and on the hunt, Betsy targets the only attacker she remembers.


Ladies never tiptoed.

And so, Lady Elisabeth Braddock was absolutely not tiptoeing out of the medlab with a scalpel and other things hidden up her sleeves. She merely glided out of the underbelly of the school and sought more suitable areas to entertain her time and also to settle a score. And if both activities required a sharp object or two, who was she to argue?

She reached the second landing and from the silvers of light skimming the floor, it was early morning. And so her search led to the entrance leading up to the roof. She stood there and waited and smiled.

Because in three, two, one...

Jack closed the door behind him. The way he felt, he didn't think he could take someone chewing him out for letting in a draft. . . . Well, that was technically untrue. He could take it, but he was fairly certain any surrounding furniture wouldn't.

Normally it would have been Jim going to the roof. For a morning cigarette, to watch the birds fly. To sketch on warm days. Jack didn't do any of that. For him, it was just a place to be alone.

. . . almost.

With his nerves this raw a physical presence was as tangible as someone breathing on the back of his neck. Right now even the act drawing a breath was enough to shiver his awareness, and someone was very definitely doing that. Releasing the knob, he sighed and turned the corner to confront whoever had beaten him here.

"There's not usually a line for the roof," he said dully, hands sliding into his jacket pockets, "but if that's where you're going, suppose I can take a number . . ."

"No," Betsy stated, coolly. Her gaze took in the haggard alter's appearance. "I'm not and you can drop the charade, Jack. I will not be fooled again. I am going to kill you this time, nice and slow."

Betsy stood there blocking the door, defiant in pink silk pajamas and glass slippers. The pink -- that caught his attention first, but it wasn't the most startling thing. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Though Jack had no particular opinion of them on other people, they became inexplicably unsettling when worn by his lover. He'd been gently advised to stay away from her, if he could. Now he understood why.

And yet . . . the trappings had changed, but not her physicality. Her bearing, her movements, were all the same as before. But the coldness -- something behind those blue-tinted eyes was different. As if whatever was behind it had slid fractionally to the side. The same, but askew.

Maybe this was what people felt like when they saw Haller switch.

"Wasn't aware we were roleplaying," Jack said. He didn't move, but the nearest grit and fragments of dead leaves that had blown in from the roof began to stir. After she'd nicked Tommy's earlobe in the course of teaching him, he'd be an idiot to disregard an open declaration of murder. He widened his stance a fraction, hands still in his pockets. "Mind telling me how I earned the death sentence?"

"Shut up!" Betsy stomped her foot, taking a step forward, anger radiating off of her. "You stole his face, his thoughts, his mannerisms. Everything." She raised her right hand, the scalpel pointed directly at him. "And then, used me to hurt them, break them and I'm going to make you suffer for it because the others are too cracked to do it themselves."

The scalpel whipped out of Betsy's hand. Flashing silver, wheeling end over end until it struck just under the join of the wall and ceiling. It buried itself most of the way up the blade and stuck there.

Jack lowered his hand, clothes settling as the waves of telekinesis ebbed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack said, meeting Betsy's furious gaze with his own. His tone was remarkably calm. "You want a fight, fine. You tell me why. You mean this? David's disease?" Jack passed a hand over his face. "Didn't seem to trouble you before, short of the burning and occasional crack-up, that is."

"Yes, of course. I apologize, I must have been mistaken." Her eyes focused on the scalpel on the ceiling before looking back down at him. Her face loosing all the intensity from just moments before. "I don't know why I....." Betsy stepped aside and motioned for Jack to continue on his way. Her stance and demeanor resembling a Stepford wife dressed in pink, head tilted curiously to the side. "Again, my apologies."

Jack looked at the vacant, polite expression on her face. It was only marginally less suspicious than Betsy Braddock capitulating without a fight.

So we're playing games. Fine.

"Glad to hear it," Jack said, removing his hands from his pockets. He nodded politely and made to move past her.

Betsy waited as Jack almost cleared her and then swept her left hand back and made contact with Jack's neck, pulled him back and slammed him painfully against the wall. Her voice hard and full of venom. "You tried to put me to sleep, to let me cower in the dark but I fought you. I stayed sane. Enough. To come back here for you, O King of Shadows. And you think that if you use Jim's face or even Jack's face you can trick me again." Her left hand now holding another scalpel right against Haller's jugular. She pressed it into his neck. "I am not that stupid."

The shove hadn't been gentle. Jack looked down at her, heedless of the warm metal pressed against the skin of his neck.

"Good," he said. "Neither am I."

Jack's telekinesis was not adapted for delicacy, but some things were worth the extra effort. That was why the telekinetic blow that shoved Betsy against the opposite wall only knocked the wind out of her instead of breaking ribs.

He pushed himself away from the wall stiffly, walking directly over to where his mind held her. Before continuing he pried the second scalpel from her hands and threw it down the hall. He turned back to her, grey eyes steady.

"That thing in the dark," he said softly. "You mean that when you met it, it had my face."

Betsy remained silent. She closed her eyes, turning her head away from him.

Jack stared at her for a moment. Then, slowly, the telekinetic hold on her began to lessen. She slipped down the wall, silk-rippling centimeters at a time until her feet touched the floor. Jack stepped back, averting his own gaze.

"Now that I am sorry about," said the alter, his voice still quiet. "That thing in there . . . it used what we trusted. To catch us off guard, and then to tear twice as much when it got us." He looked up, trying to catch her gaze. "You're out now, and I'm no sham. We never would hurt you, and we never would try to lead you anyplace you don't want to go." One hand rose, slowly and purposefully, to hover a bare inch from the blonde hair slipping over her face. Jack murmured, "That I promise you."

Betsy found herself instinctively leaning towards his hand as the realization of what she was doing took hold. "Lies!" She raised her hands back and pushed Jack away. "Used the same pretty words and...." Betsy's fist flew towards Jack's face. "No more promises. I will break you like you tried to break me."

The blows were so clumsy and obvious Jack caught one wrist as it scraped the side of his face, then the other as she fought to free it. He held her, flushed and furious behind the curtains of her once-impeccable hair, and met her eyes.

"First time we ever kissed," he said, so close his breath warmed her cheek, "was when you fell, and we caught you."

One hand still trapping a wrist, Jack cinched his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He said, "Like this."

And kissed her.

With a soft thump, Betsy's back connected with the wall. "I remember, but" she smiled against his lips as she shoved herself hard against Jack, slamming him against the opposite wall. "You should always ask permission before kissing a Lady." She leaned flush against his body, her pink lips hovering over his mouth. "Especially when her honor is at stake."

"That so?" A short, sudden burst of movement reversed their positions again, rolling Betsy next to the spot previously occupied by Jack. The alter pressed her against the wall, hands on either side of her shoulders and palms flat against the wall. He leaned towards her, their noses almost touching, but instead of pressing he left space between them now. He locked their eyes.

"So tell me."

"I broke out from medlab to skewer you into tiny bits not snog you death." Betsy sucked in her breath. His presence still having an affect on her as her chest heaved slightly. "And I have a number two pencil in my pocket to prove it. I can't waste a completely good escape because you say you're not naughty even though you kiss like it."

"If you think I'm naughty, then I am flattered." Jack hesitated, then eased back. "From a purely tactical stance, I'd say the time wasn't altogether wasted. You've determined you can keep trying to stab me any which way you can manage, and I can keep sending whatever you do the slicing with hilt-deep into the nearest solid object -- not being stabbed being something of a speciality of mine. Likewise, much as I enjoy you slamming me into walls, I've no particular interest in continuing hostilities. I'd say that amounts to enough intelligence for a truce. Opinions?"

Betsy shook her head. "No." She looked up at Jack, her hair falling back to show a bruise just under the hairline. "If I stay still, it only gets worse." Still against the wall, Betsy paused, closing her eyes as if she was being overwhelmed. "At least I can stave off the...."

Jack frowned. Her voice was starting to get the same trailing quality Nathan's had. "The what?" he pressed.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." She blinked a few times then her eyes fluttered open - jarred from her own thoughts by Jack's tone. Betsy pushed herself off the wall and headed back towards the main staircase. "Good day."

Crisp and prim again, just like someone had flipped a switch. The spark behind her eyes had almost centered, almost brought her back to herself, but then . . . reset.

It was starting to add up. Jack couldn't switch, two decades of Jean's memories remained buried, and when they'd gotten too close Betsy had gone blank again. He was beginning to see a theme: protection.

Because whatever hit us is still happening.

He could try again, but he was in bad shape, and even if he'd had Jim's skill at drawing people out there wasn't much chance of success. When it came down to his will versus Betsy's, that was one match guaranteed to go into extra rounds even on a good day.

"And a good day to you, too," he said to her retreating back. Jack started to back towards the door to the roof, then turned. "Oh, Betts, one thing."

"Yes," she said turning around and smiling at him, all her teeth showing in their saccharin sweetness.

Jack's return smile was both fainter and devoid of hostility -- in that combination, the expression seemed almost alien on his face.

"There is no color on this earth you couldn't carry off," he said, gesturing to indicate the blonde of her hair, "but the purple suits you best."

"Than--" Betsy started then went silent, her eyes glazed over as her smile fell away. Blinking a few times as a look of confusion washed over her face, followed by her hand slowly going to her head. "Thank you."

But Jack was already walking away.