Darkness Falls - Betsy's mysterious illness takes a daunting turn (part one)

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

Prologue. Betsy and Jim find eachother in Genosha.

[this log has a brief mention relating to the death of a child.]

There were so many bodies. Betsy pushed past mounds of people, trying to make her way to Haller. She wondered if her attempt would prove fruitless but she had to try. Betsy owed it to him to try. She passed another group of survivors and called out, "Jim!" He was close. She knew that. "JIM!" Pausing at by a tent, she hesitated. His signal was so sporadic, almost non existent. Was it her fear that kept his location a mystery or was it his scattered mind? Betsy inhaled, trying to gain center. She wanted to see him. No, she needed to see him. "Jim," she whispered. "Are you there?" "I'm here." The voice came from a point over her shoulder, and the moment it hit her ears a flood of emotions followed: relief, profound relief, so strong even the suffocating fog of exhaustion couldn't dampen it. Behind her, nose still swollen from the recent break, covered in dust and blood and still in his prison overalls, stood Jim. "Hey, babe," he whispered. Her heart leapt for joy. He was safe. Alive. Whole. Betsy had her arms wrapped around him before she realized she'd even moved. "You're okay." She gasped, pulling back to study his swollen face "You're okay." The memories that came to mind and the utter fear that took its place. She couldn't place which was real at this moment. "God, please. Tell me you're okay. That I didn't break what couldn't be fixed." Jim shook his head and pulled her back into his chest. "It's nothing serious -- and there's a healer. I'm just waiting my turn. I'm fine, I promise. Just tired." For a long moment he just held her tight against him, his entire reality the weight and warmth of her body in his arms. Slowly, the fist that had been squeezing his heart since he'd first seen her loosened its grip. It was her, it was Betsy again, sounding like herself, moving like herself, and his mind embraced hers and let his worry and fear and elation and love roll over her like a gentle wave. When he could finally bring himself to end the embrace, Jim stepped back so he could look at her. "Something's different," he said. He touched her forehead, brushing back her short-cropped hair as he searched her eyes. "You feel . . . lighter." "Is that your way of saying you didn't like it long?" She swiped self-consciously at her short crop of hair. It'd been nine years since she'd worn it this short. It was foreign and familiar all at the same time. A call back to a different time, to when she was a different person. Betsy regarded Jim's face, lightly touching his bruised face. She knew full well what he was asking but Betsy still hadn't processed what had happened to her in the last day. What would it mean for her now? No longer forced to listen to dark whispers that questioned every thought, every action. Alone, for once in so long. There was joy in that thought. Happiness. It must've shown. "It's going to take ages to grow it back." Though he sensed the evasion Jim couldn't help but laugh. "I know this trap, lady. I'm not comparing." Jim lifted her hand from his face to kiss her knuckles and pulled her in again for one more embrace, half afraid she would cease to exist once he let her go. With a shaky exhalation the telepath leaned forward to press his cheek into Betsy's hair. "I'm so sorry, Betts," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner." "Not a trap," Betsy said with remorse. She shook her head, sadly. "I don't know what to say about it all. About what happened or why. I can't parse out how I feel. Conflicted. Relieved. Terrified. But you shouldn't be apologizing to me," Betsy stated with feeling. "It should be the other way around. Oh god, Nathan. Moira. I helped them kill their little girl and let loose another monster into the world." Overwhelmed with emotion, Betsy bowed her head. "Oh god, I am so sorry." Jim's heart lurched, and for a moment the mention of Rachel threatened to grey him out. No, he thought as he struggled to avoid retreat into the comfortable nothingness. Not now. I want to stay here now. Put it away. Put it away. With a shuddering breath, the telepath opened his eyes. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't even you." He finally brought himself to pull away enough to look at her, and as he did his eyes widened. He put a hand under her chin, tilting her face upwards until he could search her eyes, and the intimacy of the contact confirmed what his senses had whispered. "It's her," said Jim, only now realizing what Betsy had meant. "That's what's different. She's gone." "Essex orchestrated it all. For her." Betsy confirmed. "Kwannon. Scooped her up from inside me like he'd forgotten to buy milk at the grocer's. Something in him snapped all those years ago. Something hard and sharp cut out his heart the moment he brought me back to life and realized he'd saved her as well. Revived both of us from the dead and returned his hope in saving his son. All of this pain and suffering, the manipulation and the destruction, for the chance to bring back the child he lost." She hadn't realized she was shaking, her voice escalating as she relayed the details of this horrible nightmare. The purple-haired telepath tried to calm her breathing. "She is going to make good on all those promises. My reckoning, as she called it, is about to come to bear." He killed Nate and Moira's child for the chance to bring back his own, twisted the knife-sharp thought in Jack's snarl. But another voice, the one that still remembered the man when he had been Dr. Essex of Muir Island Research Center, whispered another. Even after he had what he wanted, he let Betsy live. That conflict, the fundamental conflict of the man David had known and the one he had become in the years since -- that, too, he had to wall off before he could be overwhelmed. Because there was so much, too much, and if he allowed himself to stop and think about it the fucking disorder that still struggled to protect the wreckage of Haller's broken mind would swallow him and he would disappear-- All he wanted was to stay with Betsy. "But she's gone." One foot in front of the other. One thought at a time. Priorities. Jim breathed again, deeply, and his long hands closed around Betsy's trembling shoulders. "She's gone," he repeated, and suddenly found himself smiling even though his eyes were wet. "She's gone, and you're free." "I know, I know." Betsy whispered. "It's amazing and I...." I'm so happy. Betsy thought but the words couldn't make their way out of her mouth. "I....." She was grateful and not for the first time that Jim was in her life. Her hand found her way to his bruised face again, feeling the turmoil, knowing that all this was eating him up inside. But he remained steady, for her. He was always strong for her even while he was breaking. And he wouldn't have it any other way. Helped him center, he often reminded her. She smiled, unnoticed tears falling down her face. He was everything. "I love you." Jim stood for a moment, every part in his mind frozen. Three words. Three words they had never spoken in the six years they had spent together, prevented by some instinctual fear that to acknowledge something so private and precious would lay it open for the world to shred. But what could the world do to them now that hadn't been done already? "I love you, too." When the reply came, it came without hesitation. He was crying now, too, but he didn't care -- he took Betsy in his arms and kissed her fiercely, heedless of the pain that radiated from his broken nose. Kissed her until her tears were no longer distinguishable from his own and two minds lost themselves to a single thought. I love you. I love you. They held onto each other as the swell of bodies moved past them. There was nothing that distinguished them from everyone else. All around them, life was beginning on Genosha and they remained unmoved, unaffected, simply basking in this moment, together. After six years, still in love.

=====



With Haller in the city, Betsy arrives in medlab and takes a leap of faith, in the hopes of finding out what's wrong with her once and for all.



Muted sounds. Soft breaths. In. Out. In. Out. The beeps of monitors fading into the background. Cool table at her back. The shift of rough material against her skin. Medicated smell in the air. The rapid beat of her heart. All familiar sensations as she laid on the medlab table.

Elisabeth closed her eyes, trying to keep calm, to keep in control. She was so tired. With each flutter of her eyelids, it was sheer will that kept them open, that kept her fighting. God, she was so tired. The sounds of footsteps approaching shook her out of her internal check, helping her keep present, to keep her here. A trail of red in the periphery. She smiled as she saw it approaching. "So, what's on the agenda today? A new drug or test from god knows where? Or something herbal? Have we tried Echinacea? Or was it St. Johns Wort? I can't remember."

"St. John's Wort," Jean said with a smile as she pulled up a chair, taking a seat. They were both moving carefully because of their particular reasons. She still wore her hand cast and walked with a bit of a limp. "The other one you use if you have a cold. I was actually thinking we could try what we discussed before. Hypnosis. It's something we haven't done yet."

Betsy pulled herself up, slowly, resting her arms on her raised knees. She kept her head bowed. Without looking up, she grimaced. "Usually this is where they pull out the cameras and say, gotcha!" The nausea managed to creep up despite her care from committing quick movements. She kept taking settling breaths. In. Out. In. After a moment, she squared her gaze on Jean. "You think this is all in my head?"

"I don't know," Jean admitted. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not going to lie. Right now I have no clue. And part of my job is eliminating possibilities. We haven't explored this option yet....which it why I would like to give it a go," she said. She glanced her over.

"We don't have to do it if you don't want to, though."

"No, no, anything is better than this." Betsy said with sad acceptance. She then added hopefully. "And who knows, we might get lucky."

Jean smiled. "Maybe," she agreed. Hopefully.

"So, I'm going to have you sit up and we're going to go into my office. It's a lot more comfortable than a cold exam table. The idea is to get you relaxed. We'll be using a drug to ease the anxiety, but it'll be at a low dosage so it should go through your system quickly."

"Lovely," Betsy stood up gingerly, keeping her arm firmly on the medlab bed. "If we could maybe reconsider the low dosage..." More steadying breaths as she made her way to Jean's office with the other telepath's help. Making small talk, she added. "Even though I haven't talked to him in over a week, Jim's still sniffing around. Part bloodhound that one. Figured if I'm still here, alive, that means whatever this is isn't fatal but since it's been getting worse... It'd be nice to tell know what it is exactly. Maybe even tell Jim."

"I wish you would've told him when I asked you to," Jean said with a faint frown. "He could've been here with you, driving me crazy with incessant questions. Then he wouldn't have to be playing detective." She shook her head as the door opened and a comfy brown leather couch slid back to give Betsy an easier path to sit down.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't." She admitted. "Telling him would ..." Make it real, she thought but couldn't voice. Betsy eased herself into the couch. "It'd be nice to not play at being well. I don't think I have it in me to do another training exercise anyway."

"The low dosage should be enough. It's worked pretty well in the past but I'll have some more on standby just in case. Every case is unique."

Sighing, she gripped the armrests. "He's so much better than before. You should see him." There was an undercurrent of pride. " You know, I think I'd be fine with ...." She stilled as the realization hit her. Dying. Yes, she could die and be happy with how she lived. She did what she set out to do.

Jean sensed a certain amount of kinship in her words, and it elicited sympathy, but she still remembered how well keeping her own secrets turned out.

"You'd be fine with....telling him?" she said, trying to make sure she understood what she meant.

"No, I wouldn't. Seeing him worry about me and unable to do anything about it." Betsy said, with a shake of her head. "It would break me. I know it. The man mothers me when I get a papercut, god forbid, he think something truly wrong."

"Keeping him in the dark won't help either. What do you think he's doing now? You said it yourself...he's been sniffing around. He doesn't know what he's worrying about but he knows enough to figure there's something going on," Jean said, trying to keep the exasperation from creeping into her voice. She suppressed a sigh before straightening. This was the opposite of what she should've been doing. It was supposed to be a calming environment.

Feeling the emotion behind Jean's words but it all felt muffled. "I know you're right." Her eyes fluttered, as she felt the room spin again, clutching the armrests even tighter.

"Let's...just focus on the session. Then maybe we can discuss this later," Jean said softly. Glancing away, she pulled out a syringe. Betsy was already hooked up to an IV to administer fluids, which they brought with them.

"Alright, I'm going to start the medication. You should start to feel fuzzy, like being wrapped up in a mental warm blanket."

It was a few moments after Jean administered the drugs before she felt it hit her system. The nausea and dizziness slowly subsided. Betsy groaned softly, her muscles relaxing, unaware they'd been so tight for so long. The tension eased out of her and she felt her head fall back on the couch, her eyes shuttered. "You've been holding out on me..."

"I was hoping we wouldn't need it," Jean said as she tossed the syringe in a biohazard bin, then pulled up a chair and sat down across from the couch. She preferred to address things without medication if she could. Less risk. She studied Betsy. The woman looked quite comfortable all of a sudden, as if a weight had been lifted. The feeling would only intensify as the Diazepam worked its way though her system.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," she nodded. Her head swam, everything was swimming. Her brow furrowed, as thoughts rushed at her. "Whoa. That's quite a bit of ..how old are you supposed to be to drink in the states? That's quite a bit of lingerie." Betsy giggled. "My word, Angelo."

Jean paused, cocking her head to the side. "Well, this is new," she said with a faint smirk before clearing her throat.

"Okay, Betsy, I need you to focus. I want you to count backward from 10, keeping your mind on only the numbers. Let all other thoughts leave your mind."

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six..." Her thoughts stilling, her mind focused on counting. It was peaceful. "Five, four, three..."

"Good," Jean said, closing her eyes. "Now I want you to go back, back to the day when you woke up in my bed. Tell me about what you were doing that day. What was your morning like?"

"We were in bed..." Her voice sounded far away. "I'd just come back home. Had to keep Jim safe. Protect..." Betsy's breath shuddered. "I'm dying. I'm dying."

Jean's hand reached out, clasping hers. "You're not dying. I promise you. Focus on my voice. Concentrate. What are you seeing? What are you feeling?"

Betsy calmed, feeling Jean hands, her self grounding her. "In Jim's room....I'm cold...I'm so cold."

"Why are you cold? Is something happening? Do you see anything out of the ordinary?" Jean said. At this point they didn't know what it was.

Falling. She was falling. So fast. "Can't stop it..." Betsy felt the tremors in her body. "Need to stop it." Her mind was taking her to the edge of the memory. To the black. "I don't want to go there." Her voice broke, plantively. "Please don't make me go."

Jean squeezed her hand. "It's a memory. Nothing more. It can't hurt you. I'm right here with you. It's okay," she said gently, trying hard to be strong to push her through it. She knew it would be difficult but in the end it would give Betsy the answers she needed.

"I'm cold...I'm cold...because ...." From one moment to the next, she felt herself fall through the edge of her memory. "This is death." She felt pressure pull at her body, pull her away from this place, her home. Betsy fought against it, then she let out a blood-curdling scream just as her body seized. She fell across the couch, body bowed away from the cushions, mouth open, as all the air was forced out of her lungs.

=====



In Genosha, Betsy brings Haller to Commander's Braddock's home.

He had forgotten where he was. The only real trace of Betsy's taste was the abstract art on the walls and a few of the scant furnishings. There were no personal effects -- no photos, no diplomas, no trace of a life beyond Genosha. Commander Braddock, it seemed, had not been one for creature comforts. Everything about the dwelling bespoke a utilitarian simplicity. Nonetheless, it had food and water, and someplace to rest while matters were arranged with the Genoshans. Or that had been the plan. The apartment was also dark and private, and the healer had left him feeling better than he had in days. The moment Betsy closed the door Jim had found the battle hadn't taken all his energy. "What are you....?" Betsy asked as Jim picked her up. She squealed in shock and then wild laughter. Later, resting his head in the hollow of Betsy's neck with his arm curved around her waist and one leg twined with hers, he remembered thinking there was no reason they couldn't have found out what the bedroom was like. Then time had skipped. He was in the shower. He didn't remember stepping under the showerhead. He didn't even remember finding the bathroom. Stomach sinking, Jim squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against the tile. Her hands appeared over his shoulder, pulling him away from the tile. He faced her without resistance. Betsy studied Jim as his expression blanked out again. The third blackout in the last hour. He'd always told her of his stress-induced episodes but she had never witnessed one up close. Betsy exhaled quietly, almost afraid to speak and interrupt the moment. She continued to steadily clean the grime from his sweat soaked skin, almost removed in the act, forcing herself to remain quiet until she was done. Turning off the faucet, Betsy wrapped a towel around his waist and helped him out of the shower. Jim came back to himself to find Betsy brushing her fingers through his wet hair, and his heart gave a painful jerk. Shit. Wincing, he averted his face. "I'm sorry, Betts," he said. "I'm . . . give me a minute." Jim pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to use the physical pressure as a point of focus. Damn it, keep it together. That hot, familiar ball of anger and frustration began to build in his chest. It had been a long time since he'd had episodes this frequent or severe, but the time in Genoshan custody and the circumstances surrounding it had taken their toll. It was agonizingly unfair that his backsliding had to be now, when it could be witnessed by the person he least wanted exposed to it after so long apart. An hour ago, he'd been happy. "How is it that every time I go to pieces, you push even harder to stay with me. I think if it wasn't for you all those years ago, I'd have ended up in a gutter somewhere...dead" Betsy paused to collect herself. "Yet every time you struggle with anything, you'll do everything in your power to keep me from seeing it." She sighed, her hand grasping his. "I always thought it was because you didn't trust me. And part of me believed that's why you could never love me but I finally figured it out. It came to me. Out of the blue." She tightened her hold of his hand, hoping to ground him. "You never wanted me to see you fall apart. It shames you. Not for the others to see, but just me. Why?" The response was sharp and immediate, almost Jack-like. "Because I didn't want you to have to see it. Okay? I'm ashamed. I don't want you to be my nurse. You go through it with Jamie, you shouldn't have to go through it with me. I don't want you saddled with . . ." Jim pressed a fisted hand to his forehead before he could bring himself to continue. "I'm sick," he said, with excruciating control. "When we're together I can forget for a while, but I'll always be sick. I'll never get better. Not telling you I loved you wasn't because I didn't feel it, it was because I didn't want you feeling like you were tied to . . ." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and let his hand drop. "As long I could keep it away from you, I could pretend I was somebody you deserve." "Pretend you were somebody..." He wouldn't look at her, as he pulled his hand away. She tried to get him to look up but he kept averting his eyes. Finally, Betsy kneeled down in front of him, forcing him to see her. "I know you're sick. I've met your sick. And some days I'm glad I don't see Davey because I feel less like a pedophile. Your age already makes me feel like a craddle robber, so yes, I'll admit it. Your younger alters gave me pause." Betsy looked away and stood up. "But so help me, if you believe that I was with you because you avoided being 'sick' around me....I may have to throttle you!" She paused and firmly stamped down on her anger and continued. "How could you believe that? Of me? Of us? I know what I'm saddled with, it's been in my life longer than we've been together. So don't tell me you're trying to keep me safe from you. If I wanted to be safe, I would've stayed a model or actually became a pilot after all that training. I wouldn't have been an X-Man or taken any other job I'm not at liberty to talk about." She felt her chest heaving, the strain of it all eating away at her. But she had to say this, for him. "I love you. All of you. Every one. Don't be an idiot and try and delegate what parts I have a right to. It isn't fair and it hurts." Jim forced himself to meet her eyes. You didn't have to like everything about a person to love them. That was a fallacy that fell apart once you left the honeymoon stage and the pleasant buffer that had kept you from noticing the other person's flaws and annoyances lifted. But love did mean you couldn't just pick and choose what you accepted. He'd always tried to convey to Betsy that he accepted her as she was. He'd never really appreciated that during all that time he'd been trying to plaster over the things she would need to accept about him. Or the impact it might have on her. Her last sentence had summed it up eloquently. "It isn't fair and it hurts." Jim breathed in, then out, then in again. He let the weight of her words settle in his head, then replied. "I know," he whispered. "You're right. I know. It was selfish." He tried to smile to mask the pain of the confession as apology. "I'm just angry. At myself. Because I want to be here for you, and before too much longer I won't be able to be." "Wait, you want to be here for me?" Betsy stood in front of Jim, placing her hand on his forehead. "Why does that matter to you. Please tell me this isn't because of some over exaggerated macho exhibition." She angrily swiped at her hair, thinking. I don't need a protector, I need a partner. "Sometimes I'm a ten year old boy and sometimes I'm a sixteen year old girl. When I'm an adult I want to feel like an adult." There was heat behind the response, but even as he said it he knew it was unfair. Jim gave his head a sharp shake and swiped a hand across his eyes. Betsy waited a moment, thinking out options. If he was caught between this world and the next, his hold slipping. She couldn't force out this conversation now. He needed her support not her anger, judgment or pain. "How long will you need? Will I need to call the others to collect us? Do you need me to do anything for you, for this?" "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm frustrated." Jim lowered his hand and again made him look at her while he spoke. He owed her the effort. "I don't know," he continued, forcing himself to be blunt. "How long it'll be, I mean. It started when I got here and it's been getting worse. You may end up needing to call someone. If I don't come out of it on my own, it's not going to happen." "Okay, then tell me how Charles did it." Betsy tenderly placed her hand, cupping his cheek. "I'll bring you back. I promise." "It was always a major excavation. All the walls go up until I process things. After I stopped using it as my default all the time he'd just let me come out of it on my own." He closed his eyes and allowed himself to lean into Betsy's hand. It felt cool against his face. The exhaustion was leeching away at his wounded pride. He wished he had a better answer to give her, but he didn't. Still, what he said next was something he'd never asked of anyone else. "If you could just . . . stay with me. That would be okay." He met her eyes to smile faintly, and for the moment both of his were blue. "And if I don't come out in time, just tell Scott, or Jean." "I've seen the walls." The Santorium. Is that where he went? Betsy held back a shiver. A part of her didn't want him to do this alone but knew he needed to do exactly that for now. "Of course, I'll stay. There isn't any place I'd rather be than here with you." She said with a big smile. "Don't worry, I'll bring you out. I'll think of something."

=====



Home early, Jim waits for Betsy outside Jean's office in medlab.



She'd been dodging him since the fight, and Jim was not particularly proud to admit that he'd let her. His emotional state had been so scrambled he doubted any productive communication would have occurred; going along with it had just been easier. However, things with Topaz seemed to be settling down and he had nearly recovered from his psychic injuries. This was as good a time to corner Betsy as any -- starting with why she seemed to be scheduling her appointments with Jean during times patient visits would normally take him to the city. Specifically the insomniac prone to late-night panic attacks that occasionally kept him so late he just booked a few hours at a hotel rather than drive home late, but who, tonight, had finished early.

The idea of interrupting the appointment was immediately dismissed. The last thing he wanted to do was get slapped down for forcing his way into Betsy's business again. Besides, they would need to end their current Cold War before she would even consider getting into that.

So Jim positioned himself in the waiting room to lurk. He'd barely begun a disinterested pick through a magazine before starting to feel . . . strange.

The exhaustion came first. By the time he realized the sensation might be referred the light-headedness had set in, removing the presence of mind to question it. For a time he just sat back, wondering vaguely what was going on, and then--

Betsy -- cold -- fear --

There was no transition between sitting and running, none between his shift from Jim to Jack. He was just moving.

Jean's office. The door was shut. There was screaming on the other side. The door remained intact, but its hinges did not. Betsy was the one screaming. Light began to bleed off him, and as he charged the threshold the pressure of the wild power shattered every piece of glass in the room -- including the lights.

"Get away from her!"

The alarms on Betsy’s monitors rang out. The patient was in distress.

Jean's head snapped toward the door, finding Haller, a very upset, irrational Haller, and a screaming, seizing Betsy. She didn't have time to deal with him.

A brilliant fire blazed across Jean's eyes before igniting her body into flames and she rose from her chair, remaining perfectly still as the phoenix unfurled from her, bathing the room in a warm orange glow.

It was like being on a plane, when it suddenly decompressed. In her mind's eye, she saw Jim, water swirling in thin air while Jean, red hot, flames licked at their edges, facing off.

Betsy couldn't cry out for help, or catch her breath. Her hands outstretched, she tried to stay with them but Jean and Jim were too far away. Her eyes shuttered.

~" Calm. Down,"~ Jean said, her voice echoing from her lips and her mind with a halting tone like the equivalent of a psionic slap to the face. Jack was in charge. It was the only way to get him to see reason. She ignored the pain that shot through her head from unleashing the Phoenix and the question of how it was possible for now.

Jean's words bored through the tumult of rage and panic, lancing it like a wound. White energy skirled around the phoenix's wings, then abruptly winked out. The room went black.

"Jean." The word was dazed; the feedback from Betsy and Jean's actions had disoriented him. It lasted exactly as long as it took him to settle on an identity. Abruptly, Jim snapped back into focus.

"Jean, what the hell is going on?!"

Reaching into her pocket, Jean pulled out her flashlight. But when she went to turn it on she found it wasn't working. Of course.

"She's seizing, that's what's going on," she said. The emergency lights weren't coming on in the room either. So, as a last resort, she summoned the Phoenix again as she fumbled for another dose of Diazepam. Her head felt like Molly was using it for powers training.

"I'll tell you--"

And as the light spread through the room once more she found Betsy gone. The IV stand remained, along with a few droplets of blood on the couch.

"Oh God."

"What is it?" Jim moved to see what Jean was looking at. A piece of broken ceiling light shifted under his feet, nearly twisting his ankle. He stumbled and grabbed the armrest for support. The leather where Betsy's head had lain was cold as ice.

In the background, the heart monitor continued to give off an alarm, the patient has flatlined.

"Jean," he said quietly, "I can't sense her anymore." He turned to the redhead, face pale in the crimson light.

"Where did she go?"