Scott and Betsy; early Monday morning

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Scott and Betsy after this log here. and here Character development and all that stuff. It's a beginning.



She couldn't pull her eyes from it. His words. The defiant strokes in his handwriting. The force in the carefully chosen lines.

She tenderly placed a hand on her lips, reminisicing about him. Yet, in her mind's eye, she saw his stoic face, watching her with disdain, not a few weeks earlier. It all began and ended with Kwannon. And it tainted her world, which meant /she/ was tainted.

Something wet fell upon her cheeks and Betsy looked up from the letter. Staring at the clock on the wall, quickly realizing it was night. She walked over to the mirror, wiping her stray tears and ran a hand through her unkempt hair. The lavendar dye faded, her eyes looking dull and without life. Wrapped in black sweats and a white tank top. She was truly a sight to behold. No longer an object to be revered, but a broken rag doll. She turned away from the mirror, looking back at the clock. He should be asleep by now.

For her, she knew. There would be little to no chance of sleep tonight, or any night. Perhaps, she could wander the halls, avoiding any of its' occupants, and get some air as the Professor had suggested.

Come into the light. Betsy zippered up her black hoodie, put on the some running shoes, and walked unnoticed out the medlabs. All the while, she cursed every deity under the sun for bringing a very stubborn Scott Summers into her life.

*******

Scott turned over in bed, asleep. His dreams were slightly troubled by what he had left for Betsy, his mind playing out her response in all manner of ways, including a return of Kwannon.

Her wanderings had brought her to the faculty floor and sleeping quarters. She glanced hesitantly down the halls, as she moved about, walking as if she feared some unknown attacker. Of course, her last experiences before Kwannon subsumed control was of walking this very floor.

She heard them. The whispers dancing on the horizon of her conscious mind, memories best left forgotten. But she couldn't forget. Perhaps, a gift to remember her former captor by. Betsy tightened her eyes, desperately trying to shut them out. She leaned against a door, falling in a little further before pulling out.

Room 322

You did have a reason for coming here. Though that reason quickly escaped her. Betsy's hand fell resignedly on the wood, as she tapped lightly.

He woke quickly, eyes closed, listening for the sound that had brought him to out of sleep. He'd thought it was a knock at his door and strained his ears for another sound. It may have just been a student down the halls, he thought as he rolled over, reaching for his glasses.

It took all of her to fight the urge to run. All those days, locking herself in the medlab, were just another way to prove it. She was a coward. This instance was no different than any other. Scott was wrong, wrong about everything. She had lived most of her life in shadows. And so, Betsy started to back away from the door.

He heard the footfall in the silent corridor, his ears straining for the sound. Someone was there. "Come in," he called out, sliding on his glasses and sitting up. He was wearing his usual t-shirt and sweatpants, so headed to the door, trying to catch whomever it was out there.

She stopped. Mostly because she heard Scott's voice. And well, her retreat had been blocked as her back hit the wall. She tried to steady her breathing. Her mouth trying to work around the words. "It's me," she finally grounded out.

Betsy. Scott calmed himself. She wanted to be here, but she retreated She came to him. She read the letter. He walked to the door and opened it, wide enough for her to come in, if she wanted. An invitation, a request. "Hi," he said lamely. His hair was tousled, and his shirt slightly askew.

"Hi," she said, running another nervous her hand through her hair. She took a deep breath, before looking back up at him.

"I take it you got my letter?" He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even further, looking very unlike Scott, and very unlike Cyclops. "Want to come in?" He lowered his head, almost shyly.

Her left hand, the one still behind her back, clenched. Realizing the letter was, in fact, still within her grasp. She pulled it from behind her. "You can say that," she said grimly. She eyed the door, a little wearily. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? "Yes, but if you wish for me to leave, I could..."

His voice was low, growly with sleep. "Betsy..." he said in a warning voice, then threw caution to the wind. He let go of the door and crossed to her, taking her head in his hands, and kissing her thoroughly. Pulling back after a few seconds, he smiled crookedly at her, dropped his hand to hers, and led her toward his room.

She let him lead her, there wasn't much fight left in her anyway. Betsy watched as he closed the door behind them, his hand in hers. "You always know just the right thing to say, don't you?"

"No, I don't," he said, releasing her and closing the door. "I think I have to hit a level of frustration before my brain kicks in." He gestured toward the chairs to the side. "I'm glad you're here."

Betsy nodded as she took the seat, her head still bowed. She could tell from his expression, he still didn't hold her responsible, even if she still did. And once again, she felt ashamed in his presence. And even though she kept herself guarded, constantly in fear of losing control once again for remembering. She felt compelled to say it. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," he said quietly, sitting next to her on the small couch. He took her hand. "Talk to me." He stroked the back of her hand with a finger. "About anything you want. I just want to hear your voice." He left off the "again," but it was implied, hanging there in the space between them.

Betsy pulled back from him, shaking her head. She didn't deserve it, any of it. "I don't know what to say." The words sounding strangled. "They could've....I could've."

He sighed softly. "Please," Scott whispered, reaching for her hand again. "This isn't for your sake, it's mine. I need this. Please, Elisabeth."

She couldn't stop the tears welling up in her eyes, but she didn't back away from him. "To wipe the image of the monster from your mind?" Betsy finally said, sadly. "I was so tired. Each day, I fell further into the abyss. And in the end, I almost gave up...until I came here, until she came here."

Scott touched her again, hesitant, afraid she'd pull away again. When she didn't, he took her hand in his, weaving their fingers together. "No, not to wipe the monster. Because I'm selfish. She was afraid of me, you know. Afraid I'd give you the power you needed to beat her. I missed the feel of your skin. Your smile. The way I can make you blush."

He brought her hand to his lips, and inhaled her scent before he kissed her hand, the inside of her wrist. "If you want to assign blame, there's plenty to go around. Stop taking it all on yourself." His tongue flicked against the skin inside her wrist. "I'm glad you came here. That you stopped hiding," he whispered to her palm.

"I know," she whispered. Betsy watched almost disbelievingly at him, her cheeks reddending at each gesture. "Though you should thank Alison. The both of you have been persistent."

Betsy eyes closed, as his breath danced on her skin. It would be so easy to let herself rest. "I'm still scared."

Scott made a mental note to thank Alison in the morning. But it was only a brief thought, concentrating on the woman at hand. He put her hand on his cheek, encouraging her to touch him, to come out of her shell. "And you think I'm not scared? Not of you, never of you. Nor of her. I'm scared of myself, of my feelings for you."

"Why on earth would you...?" She opened her eyes then. "Your feelings for me?""

He nodded. "But I won't let the fear stop me. I won't let it rule me. It's a part of me. Like my belief in this school, and my love for you. It just /is/. It's hard to accept it and work through the fear sometimes. I was so afraid I was going to lose you. Not to her, but to how she's made you feel."

Scott leaned into her hand, hoping she'd take the hint, that he craved her touch. I want you, all of you. I never stopped he thought at her, opening his mind to her, if she wanted to take that chance, that risk. Touch me, Elisabeth.

She hadn't known, she didn't realize. Betsy reacted on instinct, as her mind took another trip away from him. Her back shoved against a wall. Betsy got up quickly, backing away from him. A scapel tearing across flesh Even in the dark light, Betsy's eyes shone with fear. She hadn't realized it, as she projected the images to Scott, in the way that she did. She had no control.

Goodbye, Elisabeth. Adrenaline shot fiercely through her veins, finding it hard to breath, to think. He wasn't here. Essex wasn't here. The back of her knees connected with the desk, and she crumpled to the floor. "Stop," she hissed.

Scott forced down the rage that flowed through his mind at seeing Essex. The last time Betsy had been in his head, she had shown him what she looked like in a mirror, without the ruby quartz lenses. A memory of herself in a mirror. He pulled that image out of his memory and focused on it. Now was not the time to think of Essex.

He looked over at where she had collapsed, unsure of where to go, what to do. "Always know the right thing to say, you said? I am at a loss for words, for what to tell you. Do I go to you, hold you? Will that make you flash back to another memory? Do I stay here, and have you think I'm afraid of you, or worse perhaps, that I pity you? Or that I don't want you?"

He got off the couch and knelt down, halfway to where she had curled up. "How about if I just stay here, halfway to you? If you want me...not necessarily sexually, but as a friend, as a companion, as someone who cares about you, unconditionally..then let me know by coming here." He didn't reach out a hand to her, keeping his by his side. It was up to her, now.

Half-lidded eyes turned toward Scott, she shivered despite herself. The memories were slowly subsiding into the background, Betsy wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.

"I don't want your pity." She reached out with her right hand, letting Scott pull her to him.

"I don't pity you." He reached out to take her hand, but did not pull her close. He meant what he said, she had to come to him, at this point. She needed to initiate this, and see it all the way through. "Never did."

Betsy nodded her head, understandably. She just had a massive attack with just a few words and a caress. "I just can't stop it. I've been trying." Her chest heaved. "It's like being sucked back into memories, but this time, I'm living them. Nightmares that refuse to stop, after I've waken up."

"It's like I can't breath, Scott." Betsy stared at him, at his hands, his fingers intertwined with hers. "She was right, I am a coward."

He looked at her, and a short, sharp breath escaped his lips. It was almost a laugh, but not quite. "And I doubt there is anything I could say to convince you. She's won. I'm reminded of an email conversation I had with Sarah, long ago. There wasn't anything I could do to convince her that she could live in the 'pretty pretty' world. I thought the letter would show you that you're not."

He looked down at the hand he held, studying it for a long, quiet moment. "Do you really think I would love a coward? The only thing I can think of is a daily reminder. Each day, I'd point out an incident where you weren't a coward. Including coming here to see me tonight. Do you think that might work?" He looked up at her then, into her eyes. "Because if it didn't, then I might have to recant an earlier statement I made. I might have to pity you."

Betsy placed a hand on his lips, to silence him for a moment. "I love you," she said softly.

She felt her lips turn up at the admission and him. Her hand leaving his lips, running along his face, and trailing down his cheek. Beneath everything she knew it. It warmed her in a way, she didn't think possible. And the thought, his words, everything about him, grounded her.

Their emotions were so close to the surface, everything between them felt, more tangible, that way. And it managed to keep the very bad thoughts at bay, for now. She looked like a child, as she studied him Tilting her head, as Betsy focused her hand on his jawline. If she focused, she wouldn't think too hard about things that couldn't be undone. And they could talk. "So, it's a fair assumption that I've made you hit your own new personal frustration level tonight?"

Grinning, that impish, boyish grin, Scott moved his hand to her waist. "Not at all, Ms. Braddock. You've just made me realize how hard I'll work to not lose something I love." His fingers tickled her waist. "And I don't even know that it was my limit. But," he added quickly, "I'm not that eager to find out, you know."

"I know. Neither am I." She smiled genuinely for the first time since waking up in the medlabs. Betsy pulled back, slowly, still smiling. "I think it best if I go now. Before one of my personal guard realize I'm missing and sound the alert."

Or before she suffered another relapse, she feared. But Scott didn't need to know that.

You could stay here. He wanted to say it, to have her next to him on the bed, to wake up with her once more, holding her close. I can call Hank, or Madelyn...But he didn't. Instead, he stood up, offering her a hand up, and holding her close for a moment, wrapping his arms around her.

He settled for a soft comment in her ear. "Just don't stay hidden down there. Or next time, I'll send in stronger forces." Scott kissed her cheek, then set her away from him with reluctance, and turned toward the door.

You could stay here. She heard him. And that look, that was just plain unfair. How could she say no to that face? Betsy smile faltered for a moment, she just wasn't stable enough right now. "I won't. Goodnight." She said abruptly, quickly turning away from him. But not before sending one thought in his direction, before turning down the corridor and disappearing down the stairwell

I love you, Scott Summers. More than you know.